Three hours.
Three agonizingly slow hours had passed, and all he had to show for it was a major cell phone bill and much frustration. If he didn't know the system, he could almost say that they were purposefully ignoring his calls, Those sympathetic looks from Sara and Nick didn't help any either-and if it wasn't for the fact that he knew that they were helping him all they could, he'd be downright infuriated.
Three hours without Robyn. For only knowing that little angel a bit longer than that, it hurt a hell of a lot to not have his own daughter.
Even Grissom was mildly concerned. For the sake of office politics and one Conrad Ecklie the older man couldn't and wouldn't be involved, but he was doing what he could to make things right.
And so far, nothing worked. So now Greg was resorting to having a staring match with his no longer trust cell phone.
"If you keep doing that, it's not going to ring," an amused but motherly voice broke him out of his reverie.
He thumped his head hard against the table in response.
"I've been there, you know." Greg glanced up to see Catherine smiling softly down at him. The strawberry-blonde sat down across from him, watching him with keen eyes. "When they might have taken Lindsay away, I didn't know what I would do without her."
Shifting anxiously in his chair, he stared at his hands. After a moment of silence, he shook his head. "If it wasn't for me, she wouldn't be in Social Services," the CSI muttered quietly.
"If it wasn't for you, she wouldn't even be here in the first place, Greggo." When the lab rat didn't say anything, she huffed and got up. "Tell you what. I'll see if I can pull a few strings and get you back together with her, alright?"
Immediately Greg jumped up and gave Catherine a huge bone-crushing hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
The older woman laughed and gave his shoulder a caring squeeze. "Now what was that Social Service woman's name?"
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By the time the next shift had arrived, hope had sunk lower than the Titanic. True to her word, Catherine had indeed called Anya Torqa with no luck so far.
Gone too far into misery to do anything constructive, Greg had been ordered home. Being the stubborn man they knew he was, it took both Warrick and Nick to haul him out of the lab short of kicking and screaming like a spoiled kid. It didn't prevent him from getting out some choice words about Anya before the guys could throw him into the elevator.
Of course that set off a whole new bunch of gossip.
Word had gone around the crime lab-for the grapevine was a quickly growing one-and now everyone knew the situation. Or at least thought they knew. All around, their friend was being shamed and jilted and scandalized, and nobody really seemed to care.
Except for Sara.
Sara didn't know what was worse for Greg: being condemned for having a bastard child, or being considered too incompetent to raise one.
And the sad part?
He believed every word of it.
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"Ms. Sidle?" A nauseatingly familiar voice rang out into the darkness from behind as the brunette entered the well-lighted lobby of her apartment complex.
Inwardly groaning, Sara turned around and her face paled in shock. Holding hands with Anya Torqa was a familiar blonde-haired angel, gazing tearfully at her. "I'm afraid I don't understand. What are you doing here?" Sara's chocolate eyes narrowed in confusion.
"You are on the list as a possible short-term foster care parent, correct?" Ms. Torqa questioned sharply.
"Yes, but-"
The dark-skinned woman gave a chilly smile. "Then it's settled. Robyn Altendorf will reside in your apartment until further notice in a week or two." Thrusting Robyn into Sara's arms like a rag doll, Anya spun around quickly on her heels. Upon second though, she half-turned and gave a sickly smile. "Oh, and one condition. Gregory Sanders cannot have any communication with the child until he has been approved by the state." Then in a blink, she disappeared into the Las Vegas lights.
A small embrace around Sara's knees jolted the woman out of her dazed state. "I wanna see Greg!" Robyn whimpered, tears creating dark stains on her now-foster mother's jeans. Sara nodded mutely, but inside everything was in turmoil.
Fuck.
What was she going to do now?
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A/N: Assume that this all happens before Sara gets that not-on-record DUI, since the system probably does not allow blemished records in foster parents.