A/N: Make of it what your twisted minds will, but if you remember the case files (Chapter 1), McKenna isn't into that.

R/R are at the bottom of this page this time. (I change things around just to make ya crazy!)

FWE – You are the best! A good beta is a rare thing.

Chapter 6 - A Place For Everything

Sara had been sitting on the edge of the bed. She got up when they came in.

"Don't leave on my account," Greg teased, "I like having you in my bed."

Sara laughed and started to punch his shoulder, then remembering his injuries, settled for ruffling his hair, "Dream on labrat."

"Now you look like the Greg we all know." Said Warrick.

"No peeking," Greg said as the nurse helped him out of the wheelchair and onto the bed. He held the back of his gown closed with one hand, "I know you wanna see it but I'm just not in the mood right now."

Sara rolled her eyes, "Seen one butt, you've seen 'em all."

Greg pulled the covers up and settled back against the pillow, "And how many naked butts have you seen Sidle?"

Sara blushed and Warrick laughed.

Changing the subject, Sara said "Catherine and Nick will be by later, they had a scene out on Encanto Drive."

"Grissom?" Greg asked.

Warrick shook his head, "He's holed up with Brass."

"Oh."

"They'll be here as soon as they can." Sara assured him.

"So the nurse took you for a swim, huh?" Warrick grinned, "Alone?

Greg rose to the bait, "Yes. She was able to resist the Sanders charm. Just barely."

"Better luck next time." Sara said.

"So how are they treating you? Do you need anything?" Warrick asked, "Book, music?"

"The Rammstein and Psykosonic albums in my locker would be great. The music in here will put you into a coma."

"And Psycosonic will bring you out of one just to get away from hearing it." Sara laughed. "How about food? Are you tired of jello yet?"

"Jello is not a food, it's a garnish. I'd love a steak. I feel like I haven eaten in a week."

Warrick and Sara looked guiltily at one another.

"Hey, I will sneak you in a steak and a baked potato." He promised. "How do you like them?"

"Medium well and butter and pepper."

"If I knew where your coffee was I'd bring you some." Sara hinted.

"Un huh, I'm not telling you where it is Sidle." Greg shook his finger at her. "Forget it."

Warrick checked his watch, "Don't eat whatever mush they bring you, we'll be back with real food."

Grissom laid the evidence bag carefully on the table in front of Brad.

"You're a very tidy person aren't you Brad?" Grissom watched him carefully, "You keep everything very clean, everything in its place."

"Cleanliness is next to Godliness." Brad intoned, "A place for everything and everything in its place."

"You must have been pretty upset when you broke this paintbrush." Grissom pushed the bag closer to Brad. "You didn't clean it."

McKenna fingered the bag, refusing to meet Grissom's eyes. "He wouldn't be quiet, I couldn't concentrate. I had to make him be quiet so I could paint."

"Did you have to make the others be quiet too?"

"They were quiet." McKenna's smile was wistful, "I made beautiful pictures with them."

"How many others?"

Someone knocked on the glass and Grissom looked up to see Brass motioning him to come out into the hall. He went out closing the door behind him.

"What's up, Jim?"

"FBI is." Brass nodded toward the interrogation room. "They want us to stop questioning him until their profiler gets here."

"What?" Grissom asked angrily. "Why?"

"Apparently this guy is a possible link to a string of serial murders that have happened in the last six months or so."

"And how long are we supposed to wait on this guy?"

"Not long." A tall brunette woman stopped beside them. "I'm Jodi Duncan, the FBI profiler." She introduced herself.

Grissom held out his hand, "Gil Grissom, Los Vegas Crime Lab."

Jodi quirked an eyebrow, "The entomologist, Gil Grissom?"

"You've heard of me?"

"I read the paper you published for USSC." She looked past them at McKenna who as sitting at the table staring at the bag, "That our guy?"

"I don't know if he's your guy," Grissom replied angrily "but he is the one who attacked one of my people."

"I want a copy of the report." She pushed past them to enter the room.

"I haven't interviewed my man yet, he's still in ICU." Said Grissom.

"Then I'll do it when I'm through here." Jodi replied.

Grissom looked ready to explode and Brass grabbed his arm, "It's not worth it Gil."

Grissom took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "I'm going out to the Encanto scene. Call me if you need anything."

"Mr. Sanders?"

Greg turned off the TV and forced a smile for the woman who stood in the doorway, "Mr. Sanders is my dad, I'm Greg."

She smiled and came in. "I'm Agent Jodi Duncan," she opened her ID, "FBI. I'd like to ask you a few questions if you feel up to it."

"Okay."

She pulled up a chair and opened up a folder. "I want to ask you about what happened to you after Mr. McKenna abducted you."

Greg's smile faltered, "I… I don't remember much."

"I know it's hard for you, but it's…"

Greg laughed bitterly, "How could you know?"

Jodi put down her pen and paper "I know," she pushed up the sleeves on her shirt exposing scars on her forearms, "Because I've been there too."

"Sorry."

"Don't be." She picked up her pen and paper, "Do you remember anything McKenna said to you?"

Greg stared at the ceiling, "He wanted me to be quiet. He kept telling me to be good and he wouldn't…" Greg's voice broke, "he wouldn't hurt me."

"Anything else?"

"No. He didn't talk to me, except to tell me to behave." Greg's hand clenched the blankets.

"Did he mention anyone else he'd done this to?"

"No."

"Did you see anyone else in the house?" Jodi made notes in the folder, "Was there another man there?"

"No. He kept me in a dark room, I never saw or heard anyone else."

"Do you recall having ever seen McKenna before?"

"The only time I ever got a look at him was when he gagged me with a broken paintbrush." Greg turned away, hiding silent tears behind his hands.

Jodi put her hands on his, "It's okay, you're a survivor."

"Yeah," Greg sobbed, "And I'll just get over it, right?"

"No." Jodi replied softly, "You'll get past it but it takes time and help."

"Does it ever stop?"

"The fear?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not going to lie to you. It goes away," Jodi pulled his hands away from his face, looking him in the eyes, "but sometimes it comes back."

"I'm always going to be like this?" he grew angry, "I'll never be the same again!"

"No, you'll be stronger."

Greg began to cry again, "I'm not strong, I'm afraid all the time."

"Growth takes time," she gently squeezed his hands, "you'll grow stronger."

She sat back down in the chair, but still held his hands, 'Please tell me everything you remember."

FLASHBACK:

The sun was rising; already the day was getting hot. After shift Greg had stopped at the convenience store across the street and bought a bottle of pop and a hot dog. It had been a ritual of sorts for the last six months or so, the clerk had stopping finding his breakfast an oddity and now had it bagged and waiting for him every morning.

Greg ate the hot dog on the way home, sipping on the pop while dodging the morning commuters. He pulled into his space at the apartment complex and waving to the landlord's daughter when he saw her on the stairs. The pop bottle slid out of his hand and he reached across the seat for it when the door opened.

"Just a sec okay Rochelle?" He finally caught hold of the container only to have it slide from his fingers when a jolt of electricity hit his shoulder.

McKenna stood up, one hand on top of the car, the other on top of the doorframe, surveying the grounds and lot. No one appeared to be out. He grabbed the boy's shirt and pulled him from the car.

"Be a good boy," he whispered, "Do what I tell you." He half dragged the boy back to the truck and laid him on the passenger seat and closed the door.

"Don't leave a mess." McKenna went back to the car and picked up the empty pop bottle shoving it into the sack that had contained the hot dog and closed the door. He went back to the truck and got in, driving slowly out of the lot. "Good boy, yes."

Exactly seven minutes later he pulled into the driveway of the house. He went inside dropping the paper bag on the kitchen counter. Leaving the back door open, McKenna went back to the truck and pulled the boy out, walking him into the house.

"Yes. Yes. You'll be a good helper won't you?" McKenna guided him into he bathroom and lifted him into the bathtub.

Greg was still dazed from the taser hit but he was beginning to be more aware of his surroundings. That frightened him. He still didn't have any feeling in his arms and hands but he didn't like the dark room and the wanted away from the strange man.

"No, no, no." Brad said as Greg tried to get away. "Be a good boy now and I won't have to hurt you."

Greg's hands were tied together and pulled up; his feet were barely touching the porcelain bottom of the tub.

"Yes. McKenna pulled off Greg's tennis shoes but left his socks on. "Yes, that's a good boy." McKenna said.

Greg heard the door close and the room was even darker. His heart began to pound and he had a hard time breathing, 'Get a grip Greg." He told himself. 'You're gonna have to keep a clear head if you're going to get out of here.'

He tried to climb the sides of the tub to relieve the pressure on his shoulders but the porcelain was too slick and he kept sliding back down into the deep tub.

Putting his weight on his arms and trying to pull himself up didn't work either; it just gave him a terrible pain in his shoulders and neck.

"Don't do that." Came the voice, close to his ear.

He'd been too busy trying to get free that he hadn't heard McKenna return.

McKenna stepped into the tub pressing close behind him and a scream caught in Greg's throat as he felt the other man's arms curl around his torso.

Greg shivered as the buttons on his shirt were undone one by one.

"Please, please don't do this, said Greg, "Just let me go and I won't say anything to anyone… I swear."

"Your hair smells nice."

"Please don't." Greg tried pull away.

"Be a good boy and hold still." McKenna's breath was hot on his shoulder.

Greg froze as he felt the steel touch his skin. The knife slid under Greg's shirt collar and up the sleeve, cutting the fabric with a buzzing sound.

"God please…" Greg whimpered as his shirt fell away in pieces.

"Shhh, shh," McKenna whispered, "Be a good boy and I won't hurt you."

CrimsonxBlackxBlood: When I started this I thought it would be pretty much like all my other attempts at writing: REALLY SHORT! But the more I write, the more I see that needs to be told. What was going to be a five chapter story could end up being over a dozen (provided I keep getting wonderful motivational reviews like yours ;) ) Keep reading and reviewing and the muse will keep whispering in my ear!

I read somewhere once that writers inflict pain and suffering in order to make the characters grow and to show how strong they are.

I'd like to say that's why I do it but the voices in my head disagree with that.

I don't think that we do it because we enjoy seeing them suffer, I think it's more of a hurt/comfort thing. We want to be closer to them and by giving comfort we receive their companionship, something that we crave (whether we want to admit it or not).

lins: Greg's strong than anyone thinks, even himself! It's not gonna be easy on his but I bet if we help him, he'll be back to the Greg we know and love in no time.

radioactiveracoony: Moi! I haven't done anything! points IT WAS HIM! HE DID IT!