Sequel to the sequel of the sequel of the... oh heck, now I'm confusing even myself!

As always - a million thank you's to everyone who reviews - every singly one warms the cockles of my heart ha ha!

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Finding Greggo

I have a gun.

I have a gun.

I have a gun.

As he trudged down the stairs of Sara's apartment block for the second time in an hour, the only thing that kept Grissom's wrath vaguely in check, was the repetition of that surprisingly calming mantra in his head. Because heaven knew – by his calculations, no one on god's green earth could blame him if he went psychotic-mass-murderer on their asses right now…

After all – it was the second time in sixty minutes he's had to get dressed.

Second time down the stairs.

Second time driving to work

Second time pulling into the parking lot at the lab.

Second time he's had to come up with a foolproof way of killing Greg Sanders.

I have a gun, I have a gun, I have a gun…

Gil Grissom did not consider himself a particularly short tempered man. He could work out on the fingers of one hand the amount of times he'd lost his cool over the last few years, and most of those incidents had been as a result of Ecklie, which didn't really count.

Not even Mother Theresa would've been expected to keep her temper under control around that abomination of humankind…

But over the last hour, he'd used so many - well let's just say…grownup…words, it would have made even the most straight-off-the-boat-full-body-tattooed sailor blush.

He also did not consider himself a stupid man. Quite the contrary – it was usually safe to assume, that in any given room, at any given time, he was at least going to be one of the smartest guys in there.

But when he saw Greg's dumbfounded face as he opened the door, he couldn't muster up a single, rational, intelligent thought to save his life. Instead, he'd stood there like a gutless wonder, with his mouth hanging open and his lower jaw scraping the floor, while Sara had scampered from the bathroom to the bedroom wrapped in nothing but the scantiest damn robe in her closet.

Even after Greg had pelted down the stairs like a man possessed, Grissom had been rooted to the spot – his mind suddenly having to work so hard to figure out what the hell just happened, that he could actually feel the cogs turning over. He'd once read somewhere that every day, approximately 20 000 brain cells died, and until he managed to come up with a better theory, that was going to be his justification for his slow reaction time earlier.

I mean really – 20 000 dead cells a day, 365 days a year, for 50 years – that has to add up, right? Plus, I was exhausted, half asleep, taken by surprise…

Pulling into his parking space, Grissom gave a deep sigh and switched the engine off.

Oh, who the hell are you kidding – you should've poked one damn eye through the peep hole first, instead of just flinging the door open with such reckless abandon.

Reckless abandon. Now there were two words that no one could accuse him of using liberally when describing himself. But the last few months had certainly brought a number of changes to the life of one Gil Grissom.

Reckless abandon – finally working up the nerve to tell Sara how you feel.

Reckless abandon – finally throwing all caution to the wind and sleeping with said Sara.

Reckless abandon – gradually moving bits and pieces of his life into Sara's apartment, until so much of his stuff was at her place, that he now pretty much lived over there full time.

Which is exactly what got you into this unholy mess to begin with. Question now is – what the hell are you going to do about it?

Sara's earlier phone call had made it quite clear that the cat was completely out of the bag, and that trying to keep anything a secret from this point forward, would be an exercise in futility. But still, they'd decided that it was probably a good idea to just let sleeping dogs lie.

Don't ask, don't tell. It was a policy that seemed to be working well for the military, so as far as Grissom was concerned, it could damn well work for him. At least until he'd had the chance to come up with a better strategy – whatever the hell that might turn out to be.

Or at least until I have the opportunity to flay the skin off a certain big mouthed, soon to be former, employee…

He was absolutely dreading coming face to face with the rest of the team. From now on, it would be an endless parade of vague, yet suggestive questions, not-so-hidden innuendo, loads of oblique secret glances and barely veiled smirking. It all made him want to go home, crawl under the covers, curl up in a foetal position, and quietly wait for retirement to roll round, or blessed death to claim him.

Well, you know what they say - "If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs…"

But then again, Rudyard Kipling never had to deal with Greg Sanders or Catherine Willows, or – heaven forbid – Conrad Ecklie. Because when dear old Conrad finally became privy to this little bit of office gossip, he was going to blow the proverbial gasket, and it was quite possible he would come hunting for Grissom, filled with murderous intent of his own.

I kill Sanders, Ecklie kills me. Sara kills Ecklie, Sofia goes after Sara, and so the circle of life continues…

Afraid that he was completely losing the plot now, and realising that he was liable to break out into the opening song from The Lion King any second, Grissom decided that it was time to go into the lab. By now, the team would've dispersed for the night – Catherine and Warrick to the DB downtown, Sara and Nick to the Missing Person's on The Strip, and Brass (hopefully) back to his office.

All of which would conveniently leave Greg alone in the Layout Room, sifting through the evidence of the robbery he had covered the night before.

Time for a nice, private little chat with Mr. Greg I-couldn't-keep-my-big-mouth-shut-even-though-my-clearly-pissed-off-boss-threatened-me-with-a-slow-and-painfull-death Sanders.

Let the ass kicking commence…

The lab was eerily quiet as Grissom entered, which suited him just fine. After all, today was supposed to be his day off, so the fewer people who saw him here, the fewer awkward question for him to answer later. Sneaking past reception, he stopped at the locked door of his office and took a moment to plan his next move. Looking around suspiciously and taking a deep, fortifying breath, he started his final assault on the Layout Room.

He'd barely taken a step, when a body came hurtling round the corner at the bottom of the hall, its arms stacked high with a variety of files and papers. Despite the fact that the pile of documents was so mammoth that Grissom couldn't even see the person's face, there was no mistaking the tottering gait of David Hodges.

"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes…"

Funny how that quote always pops into my head whenever I see Hodges heading my way.

Unable to take evasive action, he decided that the best plan under the circumstances was to act as nonchalantly as possible, and he tried to dart past Hodges with only a quick nod and an even quicker greeting flung his way.

But on hearing Grissom's voice, the sherpa doppelganger lurched to a stop, and - in almost exaggerated slow motion - peeped out from behind the lofty stack of files. Grissom had seen Hodges behave oddly before, and he never really held out much hope that this encounter would be any different, but he never imagined that a simple "hello" would be able to elicit such a flustered reaction.

With a high pitched, strangled whimper, Hodges took in the sight of his boss, and Grissom could only watch with barely contained amusement as Hodges's face turned a sickeningly ashen colour and he promptly dropped all the files on the floor.

Einstein was right – only two things in life are infinite, the universe and human stupidity. Double so whenever you're dealing with David Hodges. What a sad, strange specimen of humanity…

Grissom took a moment to ponder this thought as he watched Hodges's embarrassed attempts to gather up the files, before the lab technician gave him a watery smile and bolted down the corridor, not once saying a word. Glancing around, Grissom was relieved to see that no one else seemed to have taken notice of "Hodges: The One Man Show".

Operation "Kill Greg Sanders" could thus continue unhindered.

Finally reaching the door of the Layout Room, he took a cautious peep round the door frame. Never let it be said that Gil Grissom was not a man who learned from past mistakes. From now on, he was going to make damn sure that he knew exactly who was waiting for him on the other side of any door he might have the misfortune to encounter.

Greg was standing with his back to his supervisor, engrossed in the evidence laid out before him. Stealthily, Grissom slipped into the room and sneaked right up to the back of the lab's youngest CSI. Leaning over ever so slightly, he put his mouth as close to Greg's ear as he could, and then used that quiet, seemingly serene drawl that he usually reserved for talking to Ecklie, or some other manner of village idiot that happened his way.

"Hello Greg."

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A/N - I solemly swear that the next chapter will be the Grissom/Greg confrontation...