A week later, Greg was still staying with Nick and started mimicking his work schedule. He had been kind enough to buy some blackout curtains for the living room (it's not a big deal, I can use them in the spare once I get it furnished). He was grateful for the support and he loved the guy, however he was starting to get sick of him constantly being around. He missed his apartment and the independence.

Brass had been the one to take his statement. He wasn't angry like the first time, in fact he was far more patient and understanding as he waited for him to stammer out all the details. The whole process was like ripping off tape from skin, painful at first, leaving behind a bright red sensitive rash. He was also kind enough to keep everything under wraps. The officers keeping watch over him were told to keep it quiet- most of the lab knew nothing more than rumors about how he was involved in the case, then the photos of the men surfaced (Greg's own photo's mysteriously disappeared), and far cruder rumors about that night he was attacked emerged. Despite his sympathy, Brass wouldn't look him in the eye afterwards, or maybe Greg was avoiding him, he wasn't sure. Most people were avoiding him, which was fine with him- he didn't want to be observed any more than he already was.

They never found more bodies in the yard and the ME managed to identify the two they had. One, approximately dead for 15-20 years, was Charles and David Hughes's father Tom, Cause of death ruled homicide- shot in the back of the skull. The other man was 32 year old Daniel Foster, who went missing 14 years ago, last seen leaving a bar to walk home. Cause of death could not be determined; the body was too decomposed to get tissue impressions, the bones didn't show ligature marks or appeared broken. He was seen in a handful of photos that were in the grave with him, though none of them pointed to how he died.

Brass released a picture of David Hughes to the press that same day and asked anyone who thought they had been attacked by him to come forward in the hopes of identifying the other victims in the photos. The phones rang nonstop for three days with people claiming to have seen him skulking about in their garden or buying Chinese take-out at 4AM. Eventually the calls began to dwindle with no helpful leads. His passport was never used and his bank accounts were untouched. He was gone.

Morgan was ready to start work again, limited though it may be (her arm was still in a sling). They kept her busy with filing cold cases for the majority of the night. Now sitting in the break room, she was starting to get a dull ache in her arm. She wanted to take some pain medication, however, Sara was there, sipping on tea and reading some journal that had been left on the counter. She didn't want to be seen taking them, they might send her home and after a week of binging TV shows, she was bored of her own company.

She was glad to hear two of the men who threatened the lab were found dead, and no one seemed worried that the third man would still be after them, though it was rumored that he'd be coming after Greg, however, the details of why were so far-fetched to her it seemed hardly credible not to mention the source of much of those rumors was Hodges. On the other hand, the brief glimpses she saw of him he'd been tapping his leg or clicking a pen over and over and she knew something was going on. The last time she spoke to him was when she slapped him and the thought of it made her flush. From the little she was told by D.B (who decided it was only right that she know why she was shot), Greg was meant to get that message and it was all too obvious in hindsight why he cancelled the date so suddenly. She was going to apologize eventually, when the time was right and her humiliation died down to a simmer.

It bothered her that he could be left out to dry for being blackmailed. "Hey Sara," Morgan spoke suddenly, "Can I ask you something? How much trouble is Greg in for stealing the chip?"

Sara glanced at her before saying, "I don't know. He hasn't said anything to me."

"They can't possibly punish him for this. He didn't have a choice."

Sara folded the journal, huffing slightly. "We got the chip back before any damage could be done, though to be honest I kind of wish we hadn't. It was full of war crimes. The FBI have it now but I doubt we'll ever hear about it again."

"They should be taking that into consideration, right?"

"I would hope so." The room went silent again, Morgan was now massaging her arm gently.

"I don't understand. If they were just trying to expose war crimes, then they should be humanitarians, but they killed a whole family and tortured an old lady. It doesn't make sense."

"Look, we really shouldn't be talking about the case, especially because it isn't our case anymore, not since Internal Affairs took over and wiped the place clean."

"I guess I'm just trying to understand why I had to get shot." Morgan rubbed her arm again, rather more dramatically than before. Sara smiled knowing full well she was being manipulated and surrendered.

"Fine you win. I'll tell you what I know. We have three different people at play. One, Jason Markus, has a long history of assault, arson, burglary, you name it. He's hired by that company and goes off the grid, then he gets fired for reasons unknown and is later caught trespassing. Then we have Charles Hughes, the older brother, joined the Army right out of high school, served three tours across the middle east, then out of the blue is discharged with honors around the same time Markus is fired. Naturally, Alliance International has been tight lipped about the whole thing so we can't even verify they were in the same area, but we can't find another place they could have crossed paths."

"So you think they witnessed whatever it was they were doing, and the Army and that private security firm swept it and them under the rug? I mean, that is one major conspiracy theory."

Sara raised an eyebrow. "It's only a conspiracy because there's no proof."

Morgan scoffed and frowned. "That still doesn't explain why that family was killed."

Sara pursed her lips unsure if she should keep going. They were getting too close to pulling Greg into it. With Morgan nursing her arm, she supposed she's earned it, at least enough to keep her curiosity at bay. "We know David Hughes was at the house because the saliva found on Mr. Steidbakers fist matched his DNA and the boot prints matched a pair in his closet. And we know Jason Markus was there because we have a witness that puts the two fleeing the scene. Both of these men are pathologically violent."

Morgan leaned back in her chair thinking. "That's the other thing, if Charles Hughes, decorated war hero, knew these two were violent and his only goal was exposing the truth, why send them to do the job? Why not do it himself?"

"That I couldn't tell you."

Brass was staring at the clock in his office. Two minutes ago, he received his first solid lead that could identify one of the victims in the photos. He wavered back and forth on if he was assaulted, or maybe he didn't want to admit it, though as he described himself over the phone Brass found a photo that could be him. He was on his way in now to give a statement.

Brass didn't have a ton of experience dealing with male assault victims. He worked mostly homicides and the few times he did deal with sexual assault cases they were usually women. When Greg came forward with the whole truth, he didn't know what to say. He was sure he was nearly catatonic. Afterwards he couldn't even make eye contact without details of what he said popping up- he hated to think of the kid that way.

A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Mr. Ferris is here," said a young woman through the door. Brass thanked her and followed her out to greet the man, taking a deep breath.

In the waiting room, standing awkwardly by the door as if ready to bolt, was a tall gangly man in his early 40's. He looked out of place in the dark halls, with his bright blue sweater vest and tweed pants.

"Mr. Ferris?" he said. The man nodded and stuck his hand out for a handshake.

"That's me," he replied. Brass escorted him to his office, closed the door, and sat behind his desk.

"Thank you for taking the time to come in."

"I don't know if I'll be any help." Mr. Ferris, Brass noticed, was trying to hide his shaking hands by clasping onto his jacket tightly. He took out the photo he knew to be to him and pushed it across the desk.

"Can you identify yourself in this photo?" Mr. Ferris reached for the photo shaking and paled.

"Yeah that's me. Where was this- who took it? That man in the newspaper your searching for?"

"Can you tell me when the photo was taken?" Brass skirted over his questions. He wanted to keep him focused.

"I mean, without more information, I don't know, I look like I'm in my mid 20's so maybe 20 years ago?"

"That assault you mentioned on the phone, did that occur about this time?" Mr. Ferris put the photo back on the desk and stared at his hands.

"I was knocked out. I can't remember if I saw his face."

"Please Mr. Ferris, if you can give me as much detail as possible, it would be very beneficial to our case."

He hesitated, his palms sweaty. "I'd just finished a term paper and went for drinks with my friends. I must have been drunk, I don't remember most of it. I walked home, I was 20 minutes away, I'd done it countless times before. Then everything went dark. When I woke up I was on the floor of my living room and a friend from the bar was standing over me. He came to drop off my wallet." He looked at Brass intently. "I think he saved my life."

"Did you report it?"

He shook his head. "Before we go further, Mr. Brass- "

"You can call me Jim."

"I've replayed that night in my head for 20 years and it wasn't until I saw a psychologist two weeks ago that I realized I wasn't trying to remember anything, I was trying to forget. Then I saw that man in the newspaper…and pieces started coming back to me like I was back in that apartment." He inhaled deeply. "I've come to terms with it, as much as you can I guess. My point is that if this goes to trial, I won't testify. I can't."

"Mr. Ferris, to be honest with you, your case is too old to be brought up in court. We could really use your statement though to establish a pattern."

He looked at Brass skeptically.

Mr. Ferris spoke hesitantly, "While I was out, I could feel-" (deep breath out) "I could feel him kissing my neck, his hand was up my shirt. Right before my friend knocked on my door he was unzipping my, my pants. His hand slid in and he was…groping." A tear slid down his face that he promptly wiped away. "Then he knocked and the man took off. Probably down the fire escape."

"So, you saw him then?"

"Like I said, I've spent the last 20 years suppressing a lot of it but something about that mans face, I don't know, I guess he seemed familiar. He's the one who took those photos of me, isn't he?" Brass nodded. "So he was stalking me, it wasn't just a robbery gone wrong." Mr. Ferris leaned back trying to take it all in. Then he remembered he was still on the loose and his heart started racing. "He's not going to come after me, is he? I have a wife and kids at home!"

"No, no. We think he's gone into hiding, you and your family will be safe. Just in case though, we'll put a car outside your house." Mr. Ferris didn't seem convinced. It was his worst experience finding him again after all these years.

" I have one more question, can you look at these other photos and tell us if you recognize anyone?" Mr. Ferris picked up a small stack and grimaced.

"No, I don't know them. Were they attacked to?"

"Possibly. Thank you again for coming in. I know this must be incredibly hard for you."

"Please, just find him. Lock him up or kill him, I don't care, just make sure he can't do this again. I lost part of myself that night, no one deserves that."

After he left, Brass was alone with his thoughts. Glad as he was to know that one of the men photographed was still alive, he was still filled with rage at the future he painted for Greg, and they were no closer to finding him.

Nick and Greg arrived back at his place in the morning after their shift. Nick had taken it upon himself to check the house for intruders every time they left the house. Greg was so used to it he'd wait automatically at the door of the garage scrolling through his phone. Once he gave the all clear, he locked the door and set the alarm. The home was darker than usual. Nick had removed all his normal curtains and replaced them with blackouts. The only light came from the beams bursting from the sides giving the whole home a soft glow as the sun rose.

Greg went straight to the kitchen and started making scrambled eggs for them. After a week, his face was now less purple and more of a sick yellow, and he was getting stir crazy. He went from Nick's house to work and back again. He always thought he spent his life this way anyways until the option to go out to eat or take a walk was taken off the table. Those small feats of freedom were sorely missed.

Nick joined him in the kitchen and started pouring orange juice.

"Morgan's been avoiding me," Greg said matter-of-factly. "Actually, what she's really doing is running away from me like I'm diseased."

"Well she did slap you in the middle of this whole thing, she's probably just embarrassed," Nick said smiling, putting bread in a toaster.

"She slapped me because I agreed to go on a date with her-"

"What?"

"-and then I told her I couldn't date her maybe a minute later."

"Well why would you do something stupid like that? You two have been dancing around each other all year. It's making me dizzy."

"Well that's when I heard her tell Brass the message she was supposed to give me, though she didn't know it. And when I looked into the crowd, we were being watched. He waved at me." Greg's eyes glazed over like he was trying to pick his face out of the crowd right there. "Anyways, I couldn't exactly start dating someone when they were already going after people I worked with. Imagine what they could have done if they knew I was dating her."

"Well shit Greg."

"Yeah I know."

"She has to know by now you were protecting her, it's all over the lab. You should ask her out again."

"She's the one who asked me actually, and I don't think now, in the middle of all this, is the best time to be dragging anyone closer to me. I'm like a grenade waiting for someone to pull the pin out of me." He thrust the spatula at the eggs so roughly a few flew out of the pan, which he promptly ate.

"When this is over you'll be able to take her on a proper date. Heck I'll even pay for it, I'm tired of you two making puppy eyes at each other whenever you're not looking."

"And how long is that going to take? I can't be protected forever. Eventually they'll stop sending officers and I'll have to go back to my apartment. He's not going to stop, I know it." He turned the heat off the pan and sighed. Nick stared at him curiously, toast in hand. "This was my choice."

Nick dropped the toast on a nearby plate, brushing the crumbs off his hands. "What are you talking about Greg? None of this is on you." Greg turned away from him hands on his hips.

"That's not- When Jason and Charles showed up at my place they weren't there to ask me for a favor. They were trying to get me to flee the country."

"What? Why?"

"He told me his brother was coming after me, that he wasn't focusing on the task at hand. They told me to leave for 5-9 weeks so they could finish what they started. I think he was trying to protect me weirdly enough. They never gave me an ultimatum, I volunteered to help just so that I wouldn't have to go on the run and it ended up getting Morgan shot."

"That's not your fau-"

"It is my fault though. If I'd left they wouldn't have needed to send a message, that's just a fact."

"If you'd left, who knows how many other people they would have killed to get that chip. We wouldn't have found them if you hadn't come forward when you did."

Greg turned to him with a laugh. "You do see the irony in all this right? I made the choice not to leave so I wouldn't have to go into hiding, and look where I am." He gestured to his surroundings. "It's so perfect."

"I know you're feeling kind of hopeless right now but please trust me when I say it will end soon and you'll be back to normal, well normal for you anyways." He gave him a smile. Greg smiled despite himself and returned to the eggs to dish some out.

"Aren't you tired of me being in your home yet? I'm certainly tired of hearing your snoring down the hall."

"Ha, ha, I do not snore."

"Like a congested hippo." Nick laughed.

"What would that even sound like?"

"Like you, it's weirdly snotty and wet, like you're inhaling buckets of saliva."

"Please, you're making that up. And I am tired of you actually. My bathroom has never smelt worse. It's like the entirety of all cologne combined."

"You're the one who gave it to me!"

"Did I?"

"Two christmas's ago. Was this your master plan all along, so the girls would only have eyes for you?"

"That would happen no matter how bad you smelled." Greg knocked the toast out of his hand, grinning.

"I'm only letting you get away with that because Morgan's never going to talk to you again. I'll tell her you've moved on-"

"Yeah to your mother. Sweet lady, always has a plate of cookies ready for me."

"Ooo a yo' mama joke, how original."

A moment later Greg stood up and went to the restroom. He cherished these few moments of privacy, where he allowed himself to be upset, nervous, angry, or scared. For the last week he'd kept himself composed in front of the others. Showing them how angry he was at the mess he got himself into, served only to send him spiraling. Every day he felt like he was waiting to get up for air only to be held down, drowning.

He washed his hands and leaned against the sink, letting a deep breath out, preparing himself for more strained laughter and forced conversation. It was exhausting just to speak. He had to keep telling himself it would be over, at some point they would have to catch him, or what else was he to do? He couldn't spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, wondering if he was being followed or if he'd be safe to sleep. He couldn't live like that.

He shook it off. He had to keep hoping, however dwindling that hope seemed to be with each passing day. He opened the door to return to the kitchen when a sudden force was clasped tightly from behind him, covering his mouth, the cold metal of a gun pressed firmly to his temple. He was in such a state of shock his breath caught in his throat. His brain was yelling at him to move, to speak, to do something other than stand rooted and petrified.

"Shhh Greg. I'm here now," whispered a gruff low voice. A scratchy kiss landed on the back of his neck making him shiver. "I'm here to end this."