Title: The Unburdening
Author: subobscura
See first chapter for complete headers.
Chapitre 7: 24 Hours
A/N: Thank you for the amazing reviews ladies and gents. I guess Ms. Piggy is safe. For now. You didn't really think I was going to kill off one of our lovely CSI's did you? A few things. The chapter title comes from the song called '24 hours' by The Sounds, an awesome neo-80's chick band from Sweden. I have no idea if they're huge with kids these days because I don't listen to the radio, so I'm plugging them because I love their stuff. A big welcome back to Tigerbutterflied, who has decided to grace us with her precence. )
"Who was that," Sara asked as Greg hung up his phone.
He glanced back at her as he was heading towards his bedroom. "Oh, just someone from New York calling to ask about one of my cases." Technically it wasn't a lie, although Greg hoped the fact that he was stretching the truth didn't show on his face.
Sara noticed his demeanor was off, but chose not to comment on it. Greg had been out of sorts since he woke up, in fact, had been a little off key for the past couple of weeks. She had chalked it up to the case, and was still willing to go with that explanation.
She nodded, then said, "That was Grissom," holding up her phone. "Mark Engels is dead, but I didn't get the details." Greg's eyebrows rose at this.
"I guess that means we're headed to the lab. We need to find time to visit those scenes though. I know it hasn't rained in three months, but that could change any time." Sara nodded.
"Yeah, for now, Engels is priority one, all hands on deck. I think Grissom is worried that we may have a vigilante on our hands."
"If there is, I don't necessarily blame the guy. Engels raped and murdered five 12 year old boys. Closed casket funerals for all of them."
"Yeah Greg. I know that, and you know that, and so do Brass, Nick, and Grissom. Nonetheless, we can't focus on how he lived his life, but only on how he died. His death may have been just, but it wasn't justice."
Greg's shoulders drooped. "Well, I'm gonna go take a shower real quick. I feel like crap. No, wait, you go first. You take longer."
"That is such a lie Greg. Your hair always takes like twenty minutes."
"Please woman. You always straighten yours, which takes forever. I'll just do mine in the car."
"Fine, whatever." She waved him off as she walked towards the bedroom, untying the sash of her robe. Sadie slipped in behind her before she shut the door.
Greg flopped on the couch, throwing one arm over his eyes. All he wanted to do was sleep and not think about the world rushing around him. Things had finally been getting on track with his job and with Sara, and then Mark Engels and the John Doe case had come up. He hadn't been directly involved with the Engels case, really. He just analyzed the hair and fiber evidence after Hodges had processed it. But it was a grisly case that had affected them all. And this John Doe case bothered him on a subterranean level. Now it was even worming its way into his subconscious.
And what was this about his own case? Four assailants? To his knowledge, he'd never even stepped foot inside a PD until his civics field trip in 8th grade, and then again when he'd applied for the internship back in New York. Something seemed very off-kilter, and Greg did not like that it was eluding his understanding. It was an uncommon and uncomfortable feeling. He flipped open his phone, and dialed home. It was time to get information direct from the source. Moren would probably just say that they had him confused with someone else, anyway, he was certain. Three rings, and his mother picked up the phone with a casual, "Hey sweetie, what's up?"
Greg switched to Norwegian. It wasn't often that he got to use what he considered his native tongue. That, and he knew Sara couldn't understand him if she overheard any part of their conversation.
"Hei, hvordan da du er alltid hjem?" Hey, how come you're always home?
"Hvorfor did du ringe, Gregers?" Why did you call, Greg?
"Ikke lykkelig over høre fra meg, moder?" Not happy to hear from me, mother?
"Ja , som du vet JEG er." Yes, you know I am.
"Hvor er Papa Olaf ?" How's Papa Olaf?
"Fint , fint. Han er glede seg over kilden vær og gjete å hans fuglene." Good, good. He's enjoying the spring weather and tending to his birds.
"Lytte. JEG som ikke har mange tid. JEG savnet å anmode du om en telefon ringe JEG fikk dags dato. Fra det NYPD , en Oppdager Buzzano. Han savnet å fortelle meg de var reopening meg rettssak. JEG fikk nei begrep hva han snakket om. Listen. I don't have much time. I wanted to ask you about a phone call I got today. From the NYPD, a Detective Buzzano. He wanted to tell me they were reopening my case. I had no idea what he was talking about.
"Oh God. JEG ha blitt venter for denne hente 23 år." Oh God. I've been waiting for this call for 23 years.
"Så det er sant , det er et eller annet å denne?" So it's true, there's something to this?
"Gregers , som du vet JEG elske du av hele mitt hjerte. Istedet for forteller du herom , JEG skal sende du et eller annet. Etter Dem ha lese gjennom den , du ville ha spørsmål." Gregers, you know I love you with all my heart. Instead of telling you about this, I'm going to send you something overnight. After you've read through it, you'll have questions.
"Hvorfor kan ikke du fortelle meg nå?" Why can't you tell me now?
"Mene meg , sønnen. Det er en bedre kom igjen denne vei. Jeg ønsker JEG det kan tenkes der med du , bortsett fra Papa nødvendig meg. Denne er ikke et eller annet du skal få kjennskap om over telefonen." Believe me, son. It's better this way. I wish I could be there with you, but Papa needs me. This is not something you should learn about over the phone.
Greg's stomach was a roiling mass of nerves. What could be so bad, its discovery entailed all of this secrecy? Hearing the shower switch off, he switched back to English. The hair dryer blasted on, signaling his turn in the bathroom.
"Mom, I have to go. I've been called early to the lab. Can you get the package sent there care of me, so the receptionist can sign for it?" He rattled off the address from rote memorization so she could write it down. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"
"No Gregers. You're not. But remember, me and your dad, and Papa Olaf and Nanna Aina have always loved you. We've always wanted the best for you."
"I know, Mom. Bye."
"Bye."
Greg really, really did not want to go to work today. He had a feeling more than one ugly revelation awaited him.
Sara, meanwhile, had been listening to the lyrical rise and fall of Greg's conversation with his mother through the thin walls of his cheap apartment. She didn't understand Norwegian, but she thought it sounded like singing. She hoped Greg might teach her someday. It would be cool to have their own secret language, and their kids would definitely have to learn as well. Wait. Hold the phone. Had she just thought about herself, Greg Sanders, and children, as in, biological offspring, in the same sentence? Holy cow. This being in love was driving her a little crazy. She made a face at herself in the mirror and turned on the hair dryer, missing the end of their conversation.
CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI
They walked into Grissom's office expecting to get assignments for processing the evidence coming in from the Engels murder. Grissom, it seemed, had different ideas.
"Hey, Brass. Let me call you back. Sara and Greg just walked in."
"Sara, Greg, don't get too comfortable. Brass just called and said the scene is a mess. Sara, you and I are going to head over to the Bellagio. Our scene is in one of the hotel rooms there. Greg, there's a lot of blood evidence that's going to be coming in. I know you're not going to like this, but I want you back in DNA for this one. You're the best, and on this, any less won't do, but don't worry. We're not going to cut you out of the loop. We'll need all the fresh eyes we can get."
Greg, although a little huffy, took his assignment without complaint. He'd spent a whole year in the lab after his accident, so it wasn't like he couldn't handle it. He just didn't like it. Besides, he still had enormous respect for DNA. He had broken the case hundreds of times in his former profession, and he was happy to go back once in a while to keep up his skills.
"Alright, Sara. Let's go," said Grissom, reaching for his kit.
One last glance at Greg, and they were gone out into the wider, murderous world.
CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI
In the car, Yo Yo Ma was playing a series of cello concertos in C. Sara sighed. Grissom's car, Grissom's music. It was a far cry from the Blondie, Ramones, and Raveonettes that she had gotten used to. She slid on her sunglasses against the rush hour glare and tried not to fall asleep in the heat that was collecting in the front seat. No matter how much you tried, spring in the Mojave meant hot cars. Grissom's silence wasn't helping.
"So, I'm only going to bring this up once." Grissom's voice came suddenly out of the stillness. His glacial gaze was steady on the bumper sticker ahead of them (WAR ≠ PEACE), his hands grasping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles were white.
Startled, Sara blinked a few times to get her bearings.
"You deserve better." He let this out on a quick exhale, like ripping off a bandaid.
"Excuse me?" Sara's blood pressure was beginning to rise. She decided to play ignorant for the moment. "Better what, Grissom? Better pay? Better hours?"
"Are you really going to make me say it out loud?"
"I think I should, because if I understand you correctly, and you'd better hope I'm confused, I'm about to be seriously pissed off." She had crossed her arms now.
"Don't take this the wrong way, Sara. I'm just trying to be a good friend. I just think that Greg and you," he paused. "Well, you don't strike me as the best match."
"Oh, you don't even get to play this game with me anymore, Grissom. And you sure as hell don't get to pretend to be my friend after you've spent the last five years not talking to me."
"Greg is…"
"What, Grissom? What were you going to say? A flake? Is that what you were going to say? Because I can count on one hand the number of times he was late for work while I was field training him, and he had a good excuse every single time. Or were you going to call him incompetent? Disregard the fact that he's broken the case hundreds of times and not just in the lab. Disregard his natural insight. Where's all that praise you had for him ten minutes ago?"
"I have no complaints about his talent as a CSI. I was going to say he's childish."
"Child-like, Grissom. And there's a goddamn difference. Childlike means having enthusiasm about everything you do. It means finding novelty in everyday life. It means not losing the ability to play. Childish on the other hand means manipulating people's emotions without regard to how they might feel. It means getting jealous when someone steals a toy you weren't even playing with. Wow, that sounds like someone else I know," she finished with a razor sharp sarcastic edge in her tone.
"That's not fair, Sara."
"Oh isn't it though? You know what isn't fair Griss? You bringing this up years after you found out how I felt. You don't even have plausible deniability about that. I told you three years ago that when you figured out what to do, it might be too late. Well, guess what? It is too late."
"But, you want maturity. Elegance. Beauty." He parked the SUV in front of the casino.
Sara snorted. "No, Grissom, that's what you think I want. Besides, Greg, ironically, is one of the most mature people I've met. He's honest, open emotionally, and without guile. Not qualities that I would associate with you, I might add. Now, Dr. Grissom." She spat out his name and title like a curse. "If you'll excuse me. Please, butt the fuck out of my life. I have a scene to help process." She slammed the passenger door and grabbed her kit from the back before striding through the front doors, a hard set to her jaw. Grissom sat there immobile, pinned in place by her words. He had never felt so eviscerated by a conversation, and worse, he knew that her accusations were accurate. Yo Yo Ma played on, unaware of the carnage that had just been wrecked inside the cab.
CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI
A/N: Ah yes, constant readers. I think that's a good place to stop for today. This is going to be longer than anticipated, I can tell. I was expecting three more scenes out of this chapter. Oh well, this provides good emotional setup. Teasers for the next chapter- imagine funky scenes and a guy's deep voice-over. Is it wrong to murder a murderer- Mark Engels death is investigated with an appearance by all of our favorite CSI's. Greg gets his package, and his past is revealed. Sara finds out too and wonders if he's been lying to her. Grissom steers the ship, but fails to see the looming ice-burg. We'll also find out more about our A case- the John Doe murderer. Dun dun dun. Reviews make the chapters come faster.
General notes: Don't read unless you want the musings of a CSI fanatic.
So I've been watching season 3 on DVD and I noticed a few things. First, I realized where Quentin Tarantino got his germ of an idea for Grave Danger. In the episode "Snuff," Nick processes a metal tool box in which the body of a man is primarily decomposed by fire ants. All I could think was Nick, box, ants. Plus, the A case in that ep was about film, so I was like, yeah, GD was totally QT's homage to that ep and CSI. I know this has probably been discussed before, but I was thrilled to find that. Also, when I rewatched "Play With Fire," I realized that if you listen closely, the paramedics say that Greg has partial to full thickness burns on his back and neck. So it's confirmed. The evidence never lies. )
"