Thanks go out to Jenny and Kegel for help with this.
Chapter Eight: Unreal
"You don't really have to do all of this," Greg said quietly, watching as Catherine tucked in the last sheet. The blonde woman took a quick second to glance up at him, before turning back to her task at hand.
"And what do you expect me to do?"
Greg watched her with a sigh, already feeling guilty. He had told her several times that he was willing to find another place, but she simply refused to cast him out. She had even gone as far as instructing him to shower, having Warrick leave a fresh change of clothes for him when he was finished.
The clothes were a bit big on him, but it was doable, at least for a few hours when he would be hopefully sleeping. Greg hadn't seen the other man around more than a handful of times, noticing he seemed to disappear straight away. He was hoping that he hadn't interrupted anything, but Catherine was quick to assure him otherwise, stating that they needed to get ready for their shift anyways.
Greg knew that was a polite way of saying that he had. He had taken the opportunity in the shower to curse himself a few extra times, unbelieving on how stupid he truly was. It was hard to remember what was what, and what had actually changed. Perhaps the only thing he was thankful for was that Catherine seemed to have retained her mother like stature, perhaps the only reason he was here, and not hiding away at some park.
Finally pulling back Catherine dropped the two pillows at one end of the couch, turning towards Greg as she did so. "Lindsay's at a friends' house and won't be home till after school. Go ahead and make yourself at home, just try and not leave too big of a mess." She smiled warmly at him, as if sensing his apprehension. "You're welcome to stay as long as you need to."
"How about forever?" Greg asked mildly, relieved to hear her laugh.
"I'd have to charge you rent then," she drew in a breath. "Is there anything else I can get you?"
Greg stood for a moment, almost ready to shake his head, trying to reason with himself. He didn't need to know, but the question was gnawing away at him. Letting out a breath he nodded. "What do you know about the Jefferson case?"
His response was stunned silence. Catherine watched him for a moment, before shaking her head. "You and Sara were the leads on that," she told him quietly, "I only logged in evidence, and ran through some database reports."
Greg raised an eyebrow, as if pleading with her to understand. He didn't feel much like pointing out the fact he had no idea what anyone was talking about. Thankfully though she was able to put two and two together, and nodded quickly, remembering all that had happened in the past few days.
"A 419, young male in his late twenties, early thirties. COD was a gunshot wound to the abdomen, he bled out. Why do you want to know?'
"Is there a name?" Greg asked instead, ignoring her last statement.
"John Doe as of now, no identification was found, and no one's made a claim."
"Dental records?" Greg suggested, fully ignoring her perplexing look.
"Nothing," she replied, "Why so curious?"
"It's just…Sara said we lost the case…"
"FBI took it over," Catherine nodded, "as soon as we ran out of leads. Both you and Sara were reprimanded by the Sheriff, and placed on probation."
"Probation?" Greg frowned, shifting uncomfortably. "Exactly how does that work out?"
"Less field work, and closer supervision. You and Sara made some costly mistakes, cross contaminated some evidence. It's more or less forgotten by now, but that was what made us lose it in the first place."
"I'm sorry," Greg apologized without even realizing what he was doing. Catherine just smiled, and motioned the couch as she turned away.
"If you need anything I'll have my cell with me, don't hesitate to ask." She had said everything while gathering her belongings, and heading out the door. With a tempered sigh Greg sat himself down on the edge of the couch, arms wrapped around his torso.
He wasn't any more comfortable here than he was back at his place…his and Sara's that was. For a brief moment he had wondered what Sara was up to, but didn't ponder over it for very long, his thoughts already focusing on the case.
The case at Jefferson…the db that matched the same description, the same COD. It was all too familiar, he had seen it before. It was his case…he had gone back out to verify an answer…ask a few more questions. That's when everything had changed.
Maybe he wasn't as crazy as he thought. Greg weighed the facts heavily, arms resting on his knees as he crouched over, trying to sort through the ideas. It was something about the case, that was the turning point. As crazy as it sounded, Greg was afraid to admit that he might be right.
Now the hard part was trying to figure out what, and even harder…trying to convince the others. Maybe it would be easier to do the latter first, then at least he wouldn't be trying to solve the impossible alone. Closing his eyes he leaned back against the pillow, stretching his legs out above the pile of blankets Catherine had left him.
John Moore was their victim, Greg remembered that clearly. It was the only difference between the cases. There was a name to put with the face. John had been in a string of illegal thefts, petty robberies, breaking and entering into businesses. There had been an overwhelming list of suspects, and after three straight shifts, back to back, he and Sara had managed to narrow it down to just over a dozen possibilities.
It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, nothing that was high priority, or driven by time, or the lack of it. There was no kidnapping, no ransom…no nothing. Just a general case. Why then, was it so different, why had it changed everything?
He shifted, rolling to his side to glance at the clock with a frown. It had barely been half an hour since Catherine's departure, and while her generosity was overwhelming, Greg was having a hard time accepting it all. With such crazy thoughts racing through his head he had to wonder if he would ever get any sleep at all.
Instead he closed his eyes, trying to remember what he could of the case. He could remember that Moore had a six year old son who was being raised by a brother, the boy's mother had abandoned him shortly after birth and the current time her whereabouts were unknown. She did, however, have several complaints filed against their victim, all of which were never seen in court. It made her a possible suspect, but without real proof of any interaction with her estranged boyfriend, there was little chance of making a connection. Last he had heard, Brass was trying to pull some information up on her.
The silence was shattered by the unmistakable ring of his phone, and Greg sat up quickly, letting out a curse. He had left his phone in the pocket of his pants…and his pants had gone through the wash, courtesy of Catherine, of course. It hadn't taken him long to find it, spilling words of quiet thanks when he found it sitting on the counter. At least she had been smart enough to empty the contents of his pocket first.
However, the phone's shrill ringing ended the moment he placed his hand on the small device, and while it was mildly irritating that he nearly stumbled halfway across the house, Greg was thankful that he had indeed missed it. The caller ID clearly displayed Sara's number and Greg shut it with a sigh. What could Sara possibly want now? Had she not already done enough?
It was unsurprising that he received a message a few minutes later. For a long moment he stared at it, before finally deleting it without so much as reading it. He wasn't ready to put up with Sara, and he didn't have to either. He hadn't made any commitments to her.
He headed back to the couch, sitting down with a sigh, the sudden realization that he wouldn't get any sleep coming to him. Glancing at the clock he noted he still had a good six hours before he would even think about getting ready for shift, Greg decided to give up, and just go in early.
As tired as he was Greg knew he had worse. It vaguely reminded him of the triple he had once pulled, a total of thirty six hours logged in just under two days. It was still four hours until he was supposed to be working, and he took the opportunity to get a large cup of coffee, and a seat on the couch, and a certain case file.
Taking a long sip of the aromatic blend he placed the cup down on the nearby end table, turning his attention only then to the folder in his lap. The case may have been closed, at least for them, but all information pertaining to it would still be recorded.
Flipping through the pages he let out a silent scowl, finding hardly anything. But then again what was he expecting? Everything else had changed for him, why not the case as well? He came to a stop at the pictures however, taking a long good look at the body. It was too far away to tell features, or injuries of any sort. Just enough to show location and position of the body, but nothing more than that.
Letting out a disgusted sigh he closed the folder, looking up as Catherine came in. She gave him a curious look before digging into the small fridge on the other side of the room. "You're here early," she remarked, sitting down next to him with a yogurt in hand.
"Couldn't sleep," Greg admitted dryly. "I appreciate all that you've done, don't get me wrong. There's just a lot on my mind, that's all."
"You and Sara?" she wondered mildly, hardly even looking at him.
Greg raised a curious eyebrow at first, but then nodded suddenly. It wasn't really what was bothering him, but the alternate was too difficult to explain, and fairly pointless to do so.
"Don't worry," she assured him quietly, her voice dropping down into a whisper. "The two of you will be back together in no time. Your fights never last for long."
"So we've had fights before?" Greg remarked, somewhat of a question, but more of a confirmation for himself.
"Always the same," she nodded, "But Sara never stays mad for long. She really cares for you."
"Yeah," Greg muttered his response quietly, but laughed dryly on the inside. As if you could really call Sara's domineering ways caring. Still it was just easy to pretend that it was, that and the simple fact that Greg honestly didn't want to talk about it. However he really didn't need to worry about that, as Catherine quickly changed the topic.
"You want to do a favor for me?"
He shrugged his shoulders, unsure of whether she was truly asking, or demanding in a polite way. Catherine had taken the last bite of her yogurt, moving to her feet.
"Brass is bringing in a suspect that I need to interview in about five minutes, so I can't go far, and I need an autopsy report. If you can just pull it up and set it on my desk for me that would be wonderful."
"Do I get brownie points?" Greg wondered mildly, cracking a small grin. It worked, the blonde laughing sweetly. It was a welcoming feature that he could still be himself, or at least who he once was.
"Robert Sanchez," she told him, smiling still. "Just let Robbins know you're taking it out for me."
Greg nodded readily, finishing up his coffee in one last swig before heading out. If it was something that kept him going, kept him from running into Sara perhaps, then he was willing.
It hadn't taken him long to get there, and he found the room unusually empty. Usually Robbins or Dave was there, or at least nearby. Even now he still couldn't shake the eerie feeling he got from being in this place. He should be used to it by now, at least one would think.
Greg shrugged it off, going over to the file cabinets as he sorted through them. He knew that as long as he left a signed note stating what he had taken there would be no harm or foul. He would just have to remember to state that it was for Catherine, and not himself.
Fingering over the files he finally came to the one he needed, grasping in and pulling it free. He was about to pull away, but a single marked folder not only caught his eye, but his breath as well.
For a short, brief moment everything seemed to stop, and it was as if Greg had lost all conscious thought as he dropped the current folder on the floor, reaching in now for the new one. It had to be a mistake, there was no other way to explain it, there had to be an error, a typo…or maybe even a double, a twin…a freaky coincidence. It had to be something…
But there was nothing he could do or say that would change the words on the top of the folder. Nothing he could do to erase the bold print, the capital letters that displayed his very own name.
TBC