Chapter Five: Decisions

His hands were held together nervously, elbows resting on the table as he leaned his forehead against his clasped hands. Closing his eyes he let out a quiet breath, warning himself to calm down. He was getting worked up over nothing.

"I'm sorry," Greg apologized, moving his hands away from his face. Instead he folded them across each other, placing them flat on the table.

"For what?" Catherine asked, bringing the cup to her lips.

"For everything," Greg let out a shrug, "for putting all of this on you…for ruining your night…" he swept his hand across the table, over the plate of uneaten food. "For not even eating all of this wonderful food you bought."

Catherine had spent most of the evening calming him down; even staying long after Greg had reassured her that he would be okay. Instead of heading home as she first planed, Catherine opted to continue walking the strip along with Greg, offering to even buy dinner. Greg had declined, but after she insisted he gave in easily. Maybe it was a tad too much; maybe she should have just let him leave. Then again, maybe the news of his condition frightened her more than she would admit, to the point she had to stay with him, for her own sake.

"No one's forcing you to eat," she reminded him, putting her own fork down. She hadn't felt much like eating either…dinner was definitely not a good idea. However, she would grimace at the price later. "We can find something else to do…"

"I'd rather go home…" Greg started quietly, pausing to see her reaction. When she said nothing he moved to continue. "I appreciate everything you're doing, I really do…but I'm a little tired…"

Catherine nodded, "Are you sure? I don't mind doing something else."

Greg smiled, turning away. "It's very nice but…I don't need to be pitied."

"I'm not pitying you," Catherine argued, "I just want to make sure everything's okay for you…"

"Because you feel sorry for me," Greg finished. Catherine opened her mouth to say something, but wasn't able to find the words. Greg only nodded, pushing his food to one side of the plate. He turned the fork over his fingers, sighing. "I told my family today…"

"How'd they take it?" she asked quietly, moving back as her plate was taken. Greg waited for the waiter to leave before continuing.

"My sister cried, my mom cried…my dad won't even talk to me. He still blames me for moving all the way out here."

Catherine wondered dimly what kind of father wouldn't talk to his own son, but remained quiet. After all, it taken nearly all her life to learn who her real father was, and that was on a hunch.

"They want me to move back there…to New York, so they can take care of me."

She nodded, "It's not a bad idea Greg…we'd miss you if you went, but if it's for the best."

"I don't know anymore," he breathed quietly. "I want too see them…but I don't want them to see me...to watch all this happen. They want me to come home so they can watch me die, and I don't want them to have to go through that."

Catherine nodded in understanding, seeing his point. "What about everyone here? Have you told anyone else?"

"Grissom," Greg shrugged, looking away.

Catherine spread her hands out, lifting an eyebrow. "Anyone else?"

"I haven't exactly figured out how to do that yet," he let out a sigh. "If I break down every damn time I tell someone, I'm not going to last…"

He dropped his head into his hands, sighing as he could feel the lump rising in his throat again. Not again, not again, he cursed silently, drawing in another deep breath as he lifted his head. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he shook his head.

"Why don't we head home," Catherine suggested, sensing his distress. She could see him nod dully, and a sudden feeling of remorse swept through her. She had no idea what he was going through, and there was little she could say to him. It wasn't something he could just forget, or get over with…

"You've been more than wonderful tonight," Greg told her quietly, "I think I'll just grab a taxi, get out here."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scolded him, a smug smile crossing her face. "I'll drive you home."

"You've already done enough," Greg insisted, taking one last sip of his water before standing.

Catherine was quick behind him, wrapping a hand around his arm. "I insist," she laughed as he rolled his eyes, but he followed without complaint, the pair leaving the restaurant behind.

Greg squinted in the bright lights, almost tempted to put his sunglasses back on. The store was small, three counters forming to make a partial square. He walked up the front, or in this case, the back of the store, glancing over the counters. The place was empty, a door in the back propped open by a chair.

He considered wandering down there, just to take a peek inside…but decided against it. He felt it would be a little inconsiderate, still they knew he would be here. He reached out and rung the bell instead. Greg checked his watch, letting out a sigh. The others were meeting him at the diner in fifteen minutes for a quick bite to eat before shift started. This was just a quick stop along the way. Quick…but necessary.

It had taken a long time for him to come to this decision, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that this, all of this, was right. Then why did he feel so guilty? Greg paced slowly in front of the counter, fumbling with his sunglasses. Outside the day was bright, the temperatures already soaring into the triple digits.

He wasn't sure what got into him that morning; he had slept well the night before, waking up earlier than he was used to. With nothing to keep him occupied he had gone out for a morning jog. Doctors had stressed the important of exercise, as well as the important fact of going too far. Greg found out the hard way where that line was.

He was only thankful that he was able to make it back to his place, thankful that he was able to get his breathing under control himself. He couldn't have another episode again, not when he was this close…

It left him lightheaded, weak, and extremely fatigued, although he had more sleep the pervious night than he had in days. A phone call was what woke him up, and he accepted the invite to the diner. It was when he was getting ready to head out that the company called him, informing him that his order had come in.

Another tap of the bell…this was starting to take longer than he liked. Maybe he should come back later, after shift. Grissom had promised him that he would let him back out into the field tonight. The first time since being diagnosed with a bad heart. It had taken Greg a lot of convincing on his part in order to reclaim that privilege.

Grissom had let up a lot, Greg had to admit. He was making his way into work almost nightly now, although he had done that under his own will. Grissom knew full well about it, but hadn't said anything. His supervisor was anxious enough about him going back out into the elements tonight.

It would be a cool night, prompting part of his decision. The cold, as well as the heat, such as what was outside now, affected him more than Greg would like to admit. Of course, he couldn't deny that he was excited. Perhaps a little more excited than he should be. Still, he was starting to feel like a member of the team again.

Even Catherine had backed off a little. She had willingly kept his condition a secret, although Greg had forced her to swear a promise, he knew deep down that she would never tell anyone without his consent. She made a point of stopping by each day, if only to just say hi, to study his mood. A while back she had stopped asking him if he was okay, learning that it only made him more nervous. Yes…things were almost back to normal.

Greg let out a scowl, leaning over the counter as he tapped the bell once again. It would be incredulously easy for someone to rob this place blind with service like this. Maybe he should come back later…seven minutes left.

Straightening up he let out a frown as a man waltzed forward, coming in from the back room. His upper lip was stained with white residue, most likely a milkshake, one he hastily wiped off as he spotted Greg. "Can I help you?"

Greg rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to shoot back a sarcastic remark. Instead he let a false smile play across his face, his hands resting on the counter. "You called me about thirty minutes ago, my package is in."

"Ah right…Mr. Sanders, is it?" The heavyset man asked, walking over to the shelf that was covered in boxes. Greg nodded as the man poured through all of them, sighing heavily. This was starting to take an eternity, and unfortunately, he didn't have an eternity to spend here.

"Here we are," the man replied, pulling a box out from near the front. Greg reached out to take it, but was stopped as the man began to open it. "A .45 right?"

Greg nodded, eyeing the small gun as he pulled it out. When the owner offered it to him, Greg had to pause for a moment, wiping his hands on his jeans. It was the first time he had ever held a gun before. Turning it over in his hands he examined it closely, barely listening to the man as he talked. It felt incredibly heavy, though he knew that wasn't the case.

"You know how to work one of those?"

Greg glanced up at the man suspiciously…did he know? Was it really that obvious? Instead he nodded, clearing his throat. "Yeah, I just…it's been a while."

"There's a couple of good target ranges around here," the man continued without missing a beat. "If you're new here in town I can point them out for you."

Greg shook his head, "No, that'll be okay. I know my way around." He placed the gun back in the box, closing the lid. After paying, he thanked the man again, hurrying out to his car, where he stashed it under his seat. At this rate he would have speed the entire way just to make it on time. As he pulled out of the parking lot he tried to calm his racing heart, gripping the steering wheel tightly to ease his shaking hands. Everything would be okay…

TBC