Foretold by SLynn

Summary: A woman walks into the crime lab only to tell Greg Sanders about her murder, a murder he's going to solve. Is she just playing games or is it something more?

Spoilers: Through 'Gum Drops'

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing and will return them all when I'm done, virtually untouched.

Notes: Canon? Hmmm. Nope. Doesn't ring a bell.

"Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live."

Norman Cousins

Chapter 12: Loss

It was a twenty till two and Greg was photocopying as fast as he could. He'd finished with the Post-it notes and all of the various materials Ashley had collected about him; all he had left was the journal.

Of course, he was going to try and talk Henry Baker into letting him keep it, try being the key word. He might not like that idea and Greg wouldn't blame him, so he had to have a backup. Granted, it wasn't a great plan but it was all he had.

But it was taking too long.

Greg had been surprised at the sheer volume of papers. She'd written everywhere and on any and everything. Ashley had even used both sides of the Post-it notes.

That and Anne kept calling. Despite Grissom's warning Greg had been forced to turn his cell off again. It was just distracting.

Ten more minutes passed and he was nearly done when he noticed something odd about the journal.

It was a hard covered spiral bound type, the kind you'd find in any stationary store, blue of course. But that wasn't it. Because it was spiral bound he could see that towards the end of the entries some had been torn out.

Knowing Sara would never damage evidence no matter what he could only assume that Ashley or someone else had removed the pages prior to her death or at least some time before Greg and Sofia had done collection at her apartment.

It was strange but there was no time to dwell on it.

He finished just in time. Almost immediately after he'd sealed the last bag the loudspeaker was calling his name announcing a visitor.

Rubbing his eyes briskly as he hurried down the hall, trying to appear more awake then he was Greg made his way to the receptionist's desk.

"Mr. Baker?" he asked the man standing there, extending a hand.

He nodded and shook Greg's hand.

Henry Baker was probably in his mid-fifties but today looked much older and it wasn't hard to imagine why. This couldn't be easy.

Greg quickly signed him in and handed him his visitor's badge.

"I'm Greg Sanders," he told him. "I helped investigate your daughter's death. I'm very sorry for your loss."

Mr. Baker must have seen the truth behind that statement because he gave him a weak smile in return.

"I still can't believe it," he said in return. "It just doesn't seem like it's…"

Greg nodded. He knew. It didn't seem real.

Opening the door, Greg ushered him inside and down the hallway to where the release paperwork was waiting.

Typically a supervisor would handle any release of evidence, and it was an enormous mark of trust that Grissom would even let Greg do it at all. However, if there was one thing Greg never messed around with it was the paper trail. Working in the DNA lab for so long had taught him the value of a signed receipt. Only one person had ever accused him of losing evidence, but even Ecklie couldn't deny his own signature when it had stared back up at him as proof.

Greg quickly explained all of the forms and watched as Mr. Baker signed them in a steady silence.

He knew that he should just let it be but this might be his only chance.

"Are those her things?" he asked once he'd finished, pointing to the two boxes Greg had only just finished packing.

Greg nodded. He wasn't good at this part, at dealing with the living victims. He never knew what to say and was continuously afraid of offending. Especially now.

But he had to ask.

"Mr. Baker," he began carefully, "did you have any idea that Ashley might harm herself?"

"No," he answered sadly. "None. But we haven't spoken in quite some time. Not since her mother died. She moved out of Indian Springs and that was that. Left it all behind I guess."

"So you haven't talked to her…"

"In quite a few years," he finished. "She was what we used to call a free spirit. Very bright. Special."

Greg stood there quietly, afraid to say more.

"But she had problems," Henry Baker went on, seeming not to notice Greg's turmoil. "I don't think she ever really felt like she fit in back home. I'd hoped she'd find her place here, but I guess…"

There was a heavy pause that Greg knew he had to break.

"Mr. Baker," he began, it was now or never, "while your daughter's case has been officially ruled a suicide there've been some discrepancies that we'd like to clear up."

"What kind of discrepancies?"

"Well," he answered, clearing his throat, "she'd come to our office a few weeks ago about another case she said she had information about. We think there might be something more to it in the papers we obtained from her apartment."

Mr. Baker looked at the boxes before him on the table as if considering it.

"We'd like to keep them for a little longer if you don't mind," Greg finished.

"What kind of case?" he asked, a look of concern etched into his features. "Was she mixed up in some kind of trouble?"

"No, nothing that involved her directly. We think she might have witnessed a crime."

Mr. Baker nodded his head and seemed to be eased by this.

"If it will help," he said firmly.

"We'll return them to you as soon as possible," Greg said gratefully.

"No hurry," he assured him. "Ashley would probably like to have been of help. It's what she'd of wanted."

Pulling into the parking lot Warrick wasn't at all surprised to see Greg's car even though shift change didn't happen for another two hours. Greg was getting as bad as Sara about work and Warrick had been meaning to talk to him for weeks now about it, which in itself was laughable. He never thought he'd find himself in a position where he'd be telling a grown man who frequently wore rubber gloves on his head to lighten up, but life was strange like that.

Heading straight for Greg's usual haunt, the second layout room, Warrick wasn't disappointed.

"You know this is exactly why Nicky wears glasses now," Warrick said as he stepped inside and flipped on the main lights, "too much reading in the dark."

"What?" Greg asked, squinting at the sudden change.

"Didn't you go home at all?"

"No," he answered back, his tone curt. "No time. I don't know how but I'm like five cases deep again. I swear someone is just shuffling the dead-end cases into my inbox."

"I know that feeling," Warrick returned with a nod, sitting on the edge of the table and glancing over the very full table.

"I don't know what I was thinking. Really, I don't. I can't do this. You all make this look so easy. Like you're playing Clue or something. Walk onto a crime scene and it's like, 'It was Colonel Mustard, in the observatory, with the candlestick'. How? How do you put it together that quick?"

Warrick laughed despite himself. Greg's frustration wasn't funny, just the way he expressed it.

"And I can't keep any of it straight," Greg went on. "It's all bleeding together. I read this page four times and I still don't know what the hell it said."

"You need to take a break," Warrick cut in.

"I can't," Greg sighed, shaking his head. "I just took one."

"Greg," Warrick said shaking his head. "That was not a break. That wasn't a vacation you were on."

Greg didn't say anything, just looked back to the table.

"I know it isn't easy," Warrick went on despite the lack of response. "When my grandmother died it was… it was bad. It was a tough time, but I made it and you'll make it too. You can't ignore it or it'll only make things worse."

Greg was on the verge of saying something when a loud knock interrupted them.

"Greg," Grissom said, "I need to see you now. In my office."

He didn't stick around for confirmation, just left the two of them there. Greg stood, let out a big breath of air and shook his head slowly from side to side.

"I got this," Warrick said, indicating the paperwork, "go take care of whatever that is."

"It didn't sound good, did it?"

"No," Warrick said shaking his head, "but it isn't going to get any better by sitting here."

Greg nodded, knowing he wasn't just talking about his business with Grissom.

"Thanks, man," Greg said clapping him once on the shoulder as he headed for the door.

"I've got your back."

Grissom's face went from unreadable to perplexed in a matter of seconds as Greg sat down.

"Did you stay here all day?"

"Not all day," Greg answered. "Why?"

"You haven't changed."

"Oh," Greg said, slightly embarrassed. "I was going to before shift. I didn't think anyone would notice."

"That shirt's hard to forget," Grissom returned with a hint of his usual smile.

"Is that what this is about?" Greg asked hopefully.

"No," Grissom shot back. "It's not. I got a call from Ecklie. It seems that David Juarez called to complain about two investigators paying his mother an unnecessary visit. He was very irate about the whole thing and wanted both investigators reprimanded."

Greg, unable to help it, fidgeted slightly in his seat, but said nothing.

"However," Grissom went on, "he only had one name to give."

Greg nodded slowly.

"So what Ecklie wants me to find out is who went with you and why."

For a full thirty seconds, neither spoke. Grissom seemed perfectly at ease waiting, but for Greg it was a struggle. He knew Grissom had probably put it all together already. That having seen him and Sara together earlier he'd know the truth. But despite that, Greg didn't want to get her in trouble over this. He'd gotten her into it after all.

"I was alone," Greg finally said. "I went alone."

Grissom fixed him with that stare, that look that said he knew. He knew the truth.

"Mr. Juarez must have misunderstood," Greg babbled on, "because it was just me. There. This morning. Alone."

"I've already talked to Sara."

Greg shut his eyes tight and rubbed both hands over his face.

"Ecklie wants both of you suspended without pay for three days," Grissom started again as Greg continued to twist in place. "But, as I am your supervisor, it is ultimately my decision."

He paused again, letting that sink in and Greg felt like he was done for.

"Was this about Ashley Baker?"

Greg, knowing lying was useless and that in all likelihood Sara had already filled him in, nodded.

"Mrs. Juarez was mentioned in her journals and we," Greg stopped and corrected himself, "I thought she might be able to give us some more information about Ashley."

"Anything else?"

"I," Greg continued, emphasizing the word hoping to save Sara further trouble, "also thought that Ashley might have had information about Mrs. Juarez's missing daughter."

"Missing daughter?" Grissom repeated, sounding like he was hearing this for the first time.

"Lydia Juarez has been missing for fifteen years. Ashley mentions her in the journals as well."

Grissom sat back in his chair as if mulling it over.

"I'm not going to suspend you," he finally said. "I think a verbal counseling is enough. Just stay away from Mrs. Juarez's house."

Greg muttered a sincere thanks before standing to go.

"Greg," Grissom called before he got the door open, "try and keep this unofficial investigation a little quieter from now on. If Ecklie catches wind of what you're really up to I'm not going to have any say in what happens."

"I will," Greg agreed.