Chapter Four: Breaks

He looked up in confusion, not when she came in, but when she closed the door behind. To top it all off, she closed the blinds as well, casting the room into semidarkness. Greg shook the eerie feeling off, flashing her one of his famous grins. "You know, if you wanted to be alone, we could have gone to my place."

Sara shook her head in disbelief, turning towards him. Part of her wanted to come back with her own comment, another part wanted to tell him to shove it. She was in no right mood to play, and Greg was quick to catch on because his smile faded, and he cleared his throat. "What's wrong?"

"What are these?" She thrust the bottle out at him, pulling them back when he reached for them. Her thoughts were more than irrational at the moment, the very reason she had tried her hardest to not come to a conclusion. She wasn't sure what she wanted to hear, part of her suspected that Greg would lie, and it make her uneasy, sick to her stomach. If Greg lied to her, how many other times had he lied to her in the past? But at the same time she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear the truth.

"Where did you get those?" Greg breathed softly, all the sudden feeling very uncomfortable. He shifted from one foot to the other, avoiding her gaze. He had never seen her quite this mad; sure, she had come close, but that was at suspects…never at him before…

"You left them in the car," Sara's voice wavered then, and she turned away, calming herself. "What is it…you know…why?" All he questions were unfinished, and she found herself stumbling over her own words. "Do you need help?" she asked softly, almost tearfully.

Greg frowned; the situation had gone from bad to worse. If Sara didn't suspect before, she certainly did now. Perhaps he should tell her…his arm was hurting worse as the day went by, and no amount of pain killers had worked to even numb it. The thought did cross his mind…but so did another. He could imagine telling her, could see her reaction clearly. The whole sequence of questions that would follow, and he would stand there listening to her as she chastised him…it wasn't something he was looking forward too, plus the simple fact that she would want to see his arm, another big something he wasn't looking forward to doing.

"Greg…" Sara had taken a breath, calming herself, but it hadn't lasted long. "Do you need help? If you do, I know a good counselor; we can get you in, get you cleaned up…"

"Whoa…" Greg was quick to interject, holding his hand up. "Wait a minute…you think I'm…"

He let out a laugh, feeling relief flood through him. She did suspect something, but not what he feared. His eyes met with hers and he could see the worry and confusion there. Needless to say, he felt glad that he didn't have to lie.

"I'm not a druggy, if that's what you thinking," he said calmly. "I had a few drinks last night…I felt pretty bad about everything that happened, I was trying to take the edge off." Greg shrugged his shoulders, "I guess I had too much, when you called, I woke up, realized I had a migraine…hangover if you want to call it. You needed the help…and I didn't want to say no."

Sara bit her lip as she nodded. Greg wasn't sure if it was possible to tell a better lie…he fidgeted slightly. In a sense it wasn't a lie, but at the same time, it really wasn't the truth. He was just praying that Sara would buy it, and leave it at that.

"You're allowed to say no Greg," she told him quietly, "That's why I said it was up to you. Just because you're new in the field doesn't mean you have to do everything. You're still learning…if you needed the day off, all you had to do was say so."

Greg shrugged, sighing as he looked down. "Everyone else was still working," he argued, "That's why you called me. If I want to work the field, I have to work the hours too, right?"

"We don't expect you to, we work very different hours out here…it'll take some time getting used to" Sara counted him, coming to a rest on the table. She put the bottle down, running her finger on the top. "Why hide it though?"

"Because I know I'm not supposed to take medications without clearing it with Grissom first…and if he knew he wouldn't let me work…" Greg tried to shrug it off, not wanting to go into any detail. "I didn't think."

"That's the truth?" Sara asked quietly. She was holding her breath, praying that it was. She didn't want to think of the other options. Greg nodded slowly, watching her.

"Sara, you're an investigator, if I was a druggy, you would know. You've seen it enough times…you can't tell me that's what you see when you look at me."

She nodded sadly, taking her time to study him. He seemed tense…but given the circumstances it wasn't out of place…other than that…he seemed normal. Greg was right…she would be able to notice if he was on something…perhaps he was telling the truth.

"I'm not going to report you," she told him, earning a surprised look from Greg. "I trust you…but no more of this," she clutched the bottle in her hand. "I won't cover for you next time."

Greg nodded, watching her leave, letting out then the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. There would be no more…that was too close for comfort. He flexed his arm carefully, wincing. It was a shame Sara took the pills with her…he could have done with another one at the moment.

But he couldn't think that way anymore…Sara would be watching him closer now, that was obvious. So taking any medication at work was now out of the question. Part of him wished he had spoken up about his arm…maybe it wouldn't have been so bad. Sure, she would have chastised him, had gone off about how stupid and idiotic and stubborn he was being…

It was hard to believe himself…Greg knew something was wrong, and his mind left him to wonder how much was wrong, but he was afraid. In the end that's all it was. He was afraid to admit he had messed up, and his pride was hurting. It was all a silly matter, if he took a moment to really think about it, but that part of his reasoning was gone.

He shook his head, turning his attention back to his work. He would have to be much more careful from now on…

She wasn't sure if she had done the right thing. Sara knew that if it had been anyone else, that she would have reported it. Most of all it caught her off guard. Greg, of all people…he knew the rules, which was why he did well to try and hide everything. She chastised herself most of all; she should have noticed sooner that something was up. Laughing she shook her head, remembering when Greg had told her it was just mints he was eating.

Who would eat mints like that? She made a face at the thought. She herself never cared much for the small treats; they were always too…minty for her. It was the only word she could come up with. Besides, if Greg had said something along the lines of cough drops, the situation would have been different.

Sara paused for a moment, taking one last look at the bottle of pills that sat just inside her locker. Slightly paranoid she reached in, pushing it further to the back, behind her change of clothes. They would be safe there, even if someone found them in her locker there would be no way to prove she was taking the medication during work hours. Smiling in satisfaction she grabbed her purse, closing the locker.

She was on her way home now; Greg had already left near a half hour ago. The rest of the night had been awkward, she hated giving him the cold shoulder, but the youth seemed more withdrawn then normal. Part of it, she supposed, was that he was tired. She wouldn't blame him at all.

Greg had put in a full night's work, on his night off as well. He was expected back in only a few hours. Sara smiled softly to herself, pulling her coat over her shoulder. She would be back in as well, partly to finish the case, but also to keep an eye on Greg. Somehow she felt there was more going on with him, the single thought cause her to pause just outside.

The air was cool, and felt refreshing against her skin. The sun was slowly climbing into the sky, singling the beginning of the day…but the city was already alive, and thriving. She wondered if maybe she should drop by his place; see if he really was okay. Shaking her head she moved to her car. The next shift would start in hours, and if she missed another night of sleep…Sara laughed bitterly, letting those thoughts slip out of her mind.

It was only a few hours into the shift, but Sara knew something was wrong. Yesterday she had intended to keep a keener eye on him, which she had done so unnoticeably. At first she had missed it, but as the night passed by, she took in account on how Greg used his left arm…more so on how little he used it.

It was also odd, she noted, that Greg was wearing a sweater…it was warm in the lab, nearly too warm to be wearing a sweater…and the same sweater he wore yesterday. They didn't talk much, and Sara was unsure of how to approach him with her question. She didn't want to press him, but she knew something was up.

For half the night, instead of logging in evidence as she was supposed to, she sat instead, running the scenario in her head. After all, it as unfair to accuse him on just a suspicion, but to do nothing at all…it made her feel guilty. Her thoughts soon were occupied as she began working on her first case.

She hadn't talked to Warrick since that first night, but rumors had been going around, stating that Grissom had talked with the man. Apparently it hadn't been enough, because Greg was still avoiding the older man. It wasn't a surprise, and she blamed Greg little on that matter.

Her thoughts trailed off again, unable to concentrate on any of the work. Her concern was growing, and she knew then something had to be done…but what exactly? She glanced up, as Greg came in, handing her the folder. She took it without question; opening it though the action was unnecessary, as Greg was already rambling off the results.

It was then the idea hit her, and though it seemed a bit cruel in her mind, she knew logically that if something was wrong, it would get him to confess. Without missing a beat she cut him off in mid section, pointing over her shoulder without really looking. She knew in her mind what was up there, and if she wanted it to seem practical, she had to play the part right.

"I need that crate down, will you get it for me?"

Greg had finished his sentence before switching gears, his eyes trailing up the crate that sat on the top shelf above both their heads. It seemed easy enough, and he took a step closer, reaching up with both hands before pausing. He couldn't move his one arm that way, and he cursed himself silently.

It was then he noticed Sara was watching, and he took a quick step back, pretending to be thinking. Pointing with one finger he nodded towards Sara. "That one, there?"

"Yeah…" her voice trailed off, watching as Greg stepped closer a second time. He reached up with one arm, his right arm, grasping the bottom of the crate as he started to pull it off the shelf.

"Careful," she warned, "its heavy. You may want to use both hands."

Greg knew she was right, just by the size alone. Even if he were able to support the weight with one arm, he would never be able to keep it balanced. But if he admitted he couldn't do it, then Sara would want to know why. Not being one to let up easily, Greg positioned himself under the crate, pulling it out further with his one good hand.

He tried reaching up with the other as it began to tilt, wincing at the instinctive movement. The crate righted itself, back on the shelf and Greg stepped back, letting out a breath. He wasn't quite too sure how to get it down now.

"How long?"

Greg turned towards her, a frown on his face as he shook his head. "What?"

"Your arm," Sara stated, crossing her own arms in front of her chest. "How long has it been hurting?"

Greg shook his head, turning away. "I don't have time for this."

"If it wasn't hurting you, you'd be able to get it down. Don't play me Greg, what's wrong?"

"It's nothing," Greg ground out between clenched teeth. He had paused in the doorway, turning back towards her when she made her last statement. "I just slept on it wrong last night, it's really stiff today."

"And what's your excuse going to be for tomorrow?" she wondered, moving across the room towards him. "That you donated blood and they missed? And the day after that? Are you going to tell me you got into some bar fight? How many excuses are you going to make up before you start telling the truth?"

"I haven't lied," Greg told her firmly. This time he didn't back down, because even though he hadn't told her the entire truth, he hadn't lied either. He wouldn't be blamed for something he hadn't done.

"I'm trying to help you Greg," she said softly, taking another step. She could almost touch him now, but he turned away, heading down the hall. Sara was quick to follow, calling out after him, but he made no move to slow down.

She let out a sigh, one of frustration as she moved after him. He wasn't listening, wasn't thinking, both of which could be dangerous, knowing him. It wasn't often Greg became mad, but when he did he didn't slow down to think, and he began to leap before he had thoroughly looked.

Greg knew he had gotten himself into trouble the moment Sara asked him to get the crate down. He should had said no, although it would have created quite a sight. Then he supposed he could have gotten the ladder, or maybe straight out have told Sara he wasn't feeling well…there were a many number of things he could have done to get out of the situation, none of which he had tried.

Sara accusations didn't make anything better. His brain screamed at him that he was being stupid, yelling at him to listen to what she had said, doing everything it could to do to stop the pain. He no longer cared; he was starting to really miss working in the DNA lab. At least there no one hounded him.

He turned the corner, brushing past Warrick as he did so. At first the older man paid little heed to him, something Greg was thankful for, but as soon as he saw Sara hurrying down the hall towards him, calling out his name, he made a comment.

Greg didn't respond, only continued his quickened pace. He could hear Warrick curse under his breath, repeating himself a little louder that he needed to stop. He expected it; Warrick would jump at any chance to chastise someone. It was what he was good at, but what he didn't expect was for him to reach out.

He felt his fingers close around his arm, and if he had been thinking rationally, he would have stopped, would have given up as the vice grip closed around his bruised arm. But he was still angry, unwilling to submit to that simple fact, and he pulled away, cringing at the pain. It wasn't until Warrick pulled him back, spinning him around that the sharp snap could be heard clearly, and the look of horror on Warrick's face was a clear match to the one of pain that covered Greg's face.

TBC