CSI: Ghost: Chapter 12
A/N: Things will start to come together in this chapter. Some questions may be answered, or they might not be. Also note, this is not turning into a song fic by any means but the lyrics you will find are very important to the story, as you'll find out, so don't skip them! Also note there are spoilers for "Fannysmackin'" Hope you enjoy, and don't forget to review! Btw, this chapter was a lot of fun to write!
Nick stepped out of the SUV along side Greg. Just ahead of them stood Warrick and Catherine, surveying the crime scene in front of them. Nick nudged Greg slightly to get his attention as he pointed to the police officers surrounding the place and the crime scene tape.
"This place is crawling with cops, G."
"I know," Greg said in a low voice.
Warrick turned to face them and gave Nick an odd look. "Like that's anything new."
Neither of the two men responded.
"Where's the body?" Greg finally spoke up.
Brass approached the team. "Body's behind the tree. One gun shot to the head. Could possibly be his own gun. It's got a silencer which is why no one heard the shot, or found him until they realized his SUV had been here awhile. Also looks like he could work for Slick too."
"I guess Slick doesn't care about his employees too well," Catherine commented as she rounded the tree. Looks like he's been dead a little while."
Half an hour into processing the scene Greg stepped over to the civilian side of the tape to grab his bottle of water from the Denali. Taking a swig he leaned against the hood and watched the cops milling around as well as the other three criminalists doing their job. When his eyes came to rest on Nick kneeling in the dirt, he remembered the night before when Nick had crawled into bed with him and held him close. A small shiver ran up his spine and he could almost feel Nick's arms around him.
If there hadn't been crime scene tape up, if the place wasn't crawling with cops and their coworkers, if there was no dead body, he'd be wrapping his arms around his husband right at that very moment. He'd missed him so much, and the short period they'd been apart because of the stupid argument had been too long. Much too long. He sighed and took another swig of water. A small twinge of pain shot through his stomach, reminding him that he was on the job and thinking about Nick as anything other than his coworker was off limits until they got home. He growled low in his throat to himself. He hated that. Hated that they had to be professional. Maybe it would be a good idea to get another job after all. Maybe.
He turned his head away from the crime scene to force himself from thinking about Nick and saw the curious onlookers standing nearby. It was common knowledge that sometimes the perp came back to a crime they'd committed and watched the CSIs work the scene. Nick had even told him one of his own attackers, who called himself Pig, had done just that while he and Warrick were processing the scene a few years ago. Looking at the onlookers here, he wondered if any of them could have been the killer at this crime scene. They all looked normal, but then, didn't they all?
Somewhere inside his head he had a feeling he knew who'd done this horrific crime, but he didn't know how he knew or who it was that he suspected. He'd blocked so much out of his life that at times he'd been able to go to work most nights believing that he wasn't living with Nick, wasn't sleeping with the man, or even married to him. And he'd go home and believe his whole world revolved around Nick and had nothing to do with crime solving. Those were simple times, meant to get him through life's bumps. But now things were getting complicated. His work life and his personal life were becoming one, and pretty soon he would have to choose between one or the other. He couldn't do both together. They couldn't do both. They had to stay professional on the job. But he knew it was more than that. There was more to his life: The reason he wanted a simple one with a steady job, a loving husband, and nothing more. But he didn't know what that reason was.
A long time ago, before he'd arrived in Las Vegas he'd taken classes at Stanford because he'd loved chemistry so much, but he'd had to sneak them into his schedule. He wasn't allowed to go to college. But why? He couldn't remember. He remembered the gang he'd belonged to as a kid, the Wolf Pack, remembered all the foster homes he'd been sent to, remembered each face, every name. But something nagged at the back of his brain telling him he'd made it all up. But he hadn't. Had he? He remembered everything. How could Johnny Drake thrusting an AK-47 into his hands at the age of fourteen in a dark ally not be true? Johnny was only sixteen himself, tall, well muscled, tattoos all over his arms, a bandana covering his head, wearing a hooded sweatshirt with the hood hiding his face with it's piercing blue eyes and pointed goatee. He'd even had a cigarette hanging from his mouth that night as he held the gun out to Greg. How could it all be fake? It wasn't. It wasn't fake, that's how. And somehow, he'd made up the part about sneaking classes at Stanford because why would he have had to do that? His last set of foster parents had made sure he'd gotten in. His excellent grades in high school and his love of all things science, especially chemistry, had gotten him in.
"Break time's over Greg!" Warrick shouted. "Get your ass back over the line and help us out here!"
Greg came out of his thoughts and shoved himself away from the SUV which had been supporting him just as a twinge cut clear throughout his whole body. The water bottle fell from his hand and he hugged himself tight as he stumbled forward, unaware that sounds were coming out of his mouth. The next thing he knew his body was pitching forward and Warrick was breaking his fall, catching him.
"Sit down. Sit down. You alright?" Warrick asked, concern etched on his face as he lowered him to the pavement beside his spilled water.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be fine. Just give me a minute."
Nick was now kneeling in front of him beside Warrick, but he didn't want to look at Nick, afraid of what he'd see on his face. He looked to the side only to see Catherine at the tape watching them, concern on her face as well. Instead, he stared at the ground and took several deep breaths to calm his nerves. He saw Warrick's boots walk away and knew that he was alone with Nick as he saw Catherine move back to the scene from the corner of his eye. Nick's latex gloves snapped off his hands and he raised Greg's chin with a finger to face him. Worry lines looked as if someone had carved them deep and harsh into his face years ago and they'd never gone away. Greg winced, knowing just who'd created those lines and the actual time they'd arrived.
"I'm REALLY worried about you, Greg. And I'm not gonna take this lightly anymore. I can't."
"Nick, please," Greg tried. "I'm ok. Really."
"No you're not. Look, I'll take you home and in the morning we'll make an appointment with Dr. Rose."
"Nick, I'm fine! I don't need to go home!"
"Well, I can't have you working this scene in your current condition. If Grissom were here he'd tell you to go home."
"Yeah, well, he's not here." Greg finally relented a little. "If you really don't want me on the scene, I'll wait for you. But I'm not going home just because of one incident."
Nick sighed. "Fine. But if it happens again, would you PLEASE tell me?"
"Alright," Greg whispered. "Alright. I'll tell you."
"You promise?"
Greg stared at him.
"Hey, I promised to humor you last night with the cops. You can humor me and tell me when you don't feel good."
"Yeah, yeah, ok. I promise."
"Thank you."
Nick took Greg's arm in his, helped him to his feet, guided him around to the passenger side of the Denali and helped him inside.
"I doubt we'll be long. This scene's about done anyway. I'll see you soon, ok?"
Greg only nodded as Nick shut the door and went back to the scene, ducking under the tape and pulling a fresh pair of gloves from his pocket. Warrick looked up and asked him something Greg couldn't hear.
He leaned back in the seat for a few minutes and relaxed. That had been the last thing he needed. Sure he didn't feel too good these days, but to almost collapse at work was the worst. He was just glad it was Nick who was in charge of the scene instead of Grissom. Nick wouldn't report him to the boss and force him to take leave. Grissom would.
Greg leaned forward and pushed the keys further into the ignition and started the engine just enough to play the radio. When he hit the power button he heard the DJ speaking and wondered what station it was.
"And here's one that goes all the way back to 1978!" the DJ exclaimed. "The title is 'Manuela Run' and it's by the great band, Toto!"
Greg groaned, not in the mood for seventies music, but as he reached for the button to change the station he realized he was too late and the song had already started. The lyrics already had him listening hard:
Don't look now,
you better watch that sword that's hanging over you
It's a long hard road and they will spit you out
when they get through with you
Don't hang your head, so the wise man said
Or boy you'll soon be dead
You better run, run Manuela-uela run,
They're gonna shoot you in the back with your own gun
You better run, run Manuela-uela run
Manuela run
There's no more time for living out your life
Your sky is falling down
Don't close your eyes or make a wish on three
Cause they will still be round
Don't hang your head, so the wise man said
Or boy you'll soon be dead
You better run, run Manuela-uela run,
they're gonna shoot you in the back with your own gun
They'll shoot you in the back with your own gun
You better run, run Manuela-uela run
Manuela run
Manuela run
Don't hang your head, so the wise man said
Or boy you'll soon be dead
You better run, run Manuela-uela run
you better run, run, Manuela-uela run
you better run, run Manuela-uela run
They're gonna shoot you in the back with your own gun
you better run, run Manuela-uela run
you better run, run Manuela run
You better run, run Manuela run
They're gonna shoot you in the back with your own gun
you better run, run Manuela run.
It had an upbeat tempo for such a decidedly morbid tune and the lyrics were actually quite catching. Greg shook his head trying to get the words out, but for some reason he had a feeling the song wasn't just the DJ's choice. But why did it seem like they were directed at him? Why did he have the feeling it was a sign, like it was trying to tell him something? Perhaps it was the phone call from the night before that had him so jumpy over little things like this.
For the rest of the time they were at the crime scene, no matter what station he changed the radio to, no matter what song he heard after 'Manuela Run', whether it was one of his favorite heavy metal bands, or one of Nick's favorite country singers, he couldn't get the words out of his head.
"You sure he's ok?" Warrick asked Nick as they packed the rest of the evidence into the back of the second Denali along with Catherine.
"No. I'll admit, with him, I'm not sure of anything anymore."
"What do you mean?"
Both Catherine and Warrick were now looking at him.
"It's a long story and I'd rather not go into the details. I trust you guys not to tell anyone else about this, ok?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Wouldn't dream of it, Nicky."
"Thanks. I also need you to do me another favor."
"Anything."
"You mind taking this evidence back to the lab and start processing it without us? I'm gonna need you to cover for us, too, if you don't mind."
"Where are you going?"
"I'm sick of him avoiding the doctor, and I'm afraid if he leaves that vehicle he'll be a bitch to get into another to go to the hospital."
"You really think it's that serious?" Catherine asked.
"Yes." Nick sighed. "I just don't know what to do with him because he refuses to tell me what's going on, but I know this has been bothering him for awhile. He can't work if he's like this, but he hates taking time off. I don't know what else to do, and I'm afraid I'm gonna worry myself to death if I don't do something for him."
"Go man. We'll smooth it over with the boss. Don't worry."
"Seriously, I wouldn't worry about Gil, if I were you. That new case with all those bugs should keep him occupied. He'll never notice you're gone. Go take care of your man. And tell him we want him to get better too."
"Thanks guys, I owe you one."
Nick climbed into the other Denali where Greg sat waiting for him with a classical music station on the radio. Nick wasn't sure if that was good or bad. Greg hardly listened to the stuff, but when he had, it was never when he was in a certain single mood, so he wasn't sure.
"How're you feeling?" he asked to be sociable as he started up the engine and followed Warrick and Catherine out of the parking lot.
"Ok. Better than I was."
"Well, that's good."
Greg leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. "I'm really tired though."
"Well, you didn't get much sleep, so that figures."
Nick was glad Greg had closed his eyes. As they reached the light Warrick drove straight through but Nick made a right hand turn and Greg never noticed.
"So, did you find anything else interesting at the scene after I left?"
"No, not really. Whoever killed the guy was in and out of there quick. He was a pro, that's for sure, same as all the others."
"But the gun was different, right?"
"Maybe, maybe not. Could have been staged. When we get the bullet lodged in his brain out we'll know more."
Several minutes later Greg opened his eyes and surveyed their surroundings.
"Hey, I thought we were going back to the lab?"
"Sorry, G. We're not."
"What?" Greg turned in his seat and eyed Nick carefully, his eyes narrowing. "Where are we going?"
"I'm taking you to the ER," Nick admitted, hating the thought of lying to Greg and telling him they had another crime scene to process that night, when in fact they didn't. He steeled himself for his husband's response.
"Nick!"Greg shouted. "I can take care of myself! I'm feeling just fine. If you really don't want me to work, then just take me home. But don't take me to the ER."
"This is no longer just for you and your health," Nick said as he pulled into the hospital's parking lot and found an empty space. "This is for my own peace of mind." He shut the engine off and found himself resting a hand on Greg's leg as he met his angry eyes. "Please, do this for me. Then maybe I can stop worrying so much and maybe we can both get some sleep. Ok? Please?" Nick begged, not wanting to get into another argument.
He watched as the anger slowly left Greg's eyes and they became the same deep brown pools of sweetness he loved to drown himself in whenever possible.
"Alright. For you, I'll go."
"Thank you, G."
Nearly two hours later Nick was still sitting in the hard, uncomfortable, plastic chair he'd first sat in when they'd arrived at the Emergency Room. He was reading a boring magazine he'd forgotten the name of when Greg finally came down the hall, a happy smile on his face, followed by a doctor in a white lab coat. Nick stood up, glad to get some movement into his legs, and met them halfway across the room.
"Well, I can't say that there's really anything wrong with him," the doctor said.
Greg beamed. "See? I'm fine. I told you so."
"How can that be?" Nick asked, dumbfounded. Greg had been in pain after all.
"I'm not sure. But I did run some quick x-rays and everything looks ok. I also drew some blood and I'll run a few tests, see if anything pops up, but it'll take a week or two for the results. All in all, he seems perfectly healthy to me."
Nick was still surprised that nothing had come up. "Well, thanks anyway."
"No problem. Glad I could be of service."
They shook hands and he and Greg went back out to the waiting Denali.
"See? I'm perfectly fine," Greg said.
"So he says. Thanks for humoring me, G. I really appreciate it."
"It's not like you gave me much of a choice."
"I know."
Getting into the SUV Nick knew that sleep still might not come the next morning. Sure the doctor hadn't found anything wrong, but doctors had been known to be wrong sometimes. Greg was in obvious pain, so there had to be something wrong, right? Or maybe the doctor was right and he was worrying for nothing. Nick wasn't sure what to think anymore.
Geoff sat in one of the two black leather wing chairs across the desk from Tony Biggs, and sighed. His boss had brought him there to chew him out for nothing. He'd already had his ass chewed out over the phone. He definitely didn't need this.
So, instead of listening to Tony, he let his mind drift. He saw those same cops the boss was complaining about processing his latest scene. He heard one of the Crime Scene Investigators, Nicholas Stokes, comment to another, Gregory Sanders, that the scene was crawling with cops. Ha! Did he think that would help keep him safe? He would have changed his mind real quick if he'd known an assassin was standing right there as he talked to his coworkers. He wondered if Nick would ever catch on that the guy he was looking for had been there. Geoff laughed inwardly, knowing he probably never would. He was still sad that the other CSI who'd gotten sick and collapsed hadn't contaminated the scene by throwing up. It really was too bad, he really looked like he could have yakked everywhere.
"Hey! Are you listening to me?" The Devil yelled.
"Huh? Yeah, yeah, sure I got it," Geoff said offhandedly.
"What the hell's wrong with you today? Come on. I want you to off the guy because you're an assassin. You've never had problems with this sort of thing before. I don't expect you to have problems now," his boss lectured him as if he were his father.
He wished he could remember his father, wished he'd known him at all.
"Slick's not dead yet. How come he's not dead yet?"
"I told you, I'm working on it."
"Yeah, well, not fast enough. Slick is almost terrified to leave his estate. I heard all his men keep getting killed every time he leaves the place. That's not helping. Sure you're scaring the shit out of him, which I like, but you're not doing the job you were paid to do. And now, he's cancelled the deal we had going. He's thinking he wants nothing to do with me now and I can't convince him I have nothing to do with the attempts on his death. I want him gone. And I want him gone now.
"Look, Tony. It's like killing you. When you leave here you don't go without a brigade to keep you save. You take all these precautions just cause you're the second top crime boss in the whole city. So, killing him is like killing you, only much harder. But don't worry. He can't escape my guns forever," and with that last statement, Geoff got up to leave, giving Tony no room for arguments or more complaining about his work.
On his way home he stopped at the post office and checked his mailbox for bills and messages. Inside he found a small padded envelope waiting for him, something he wasn't expecting to find. He opened it right there in the lobby, out of curiosity, and was surprised when a cassette fell out into his hand. Opening the case and pulling the tape out he found it unlabeled. It was an old Sony recordable tape, so anything could have been recorded onto it. He hadn't seen a cassette in years and, thus, had no means to play such a thing. Confused, he left the post office and walked down the street, looking for the homeless that usually resided near there. Of course, when he wanted one, they couldn't be found.
Turning down another block he finally found Tim Frave, the Veteran whom he'd been friends with for years. Sometimes he'd stop and have a chat with Tim, bring him some coffee. Other times, if he was in a hurry, he'd drop him his usual hundred as he passed by.
"Ah! Geoff, so good to see you! How's life treatin' ya?" Tim asked as Geoff sat down on the curb beside him.
"Well, you know, could be better. But I'm still hangin'."
"Good. Good. Say, you bring me any coffee today?"
"No, sorry man. Wasn't thinking about it. And I've gotta get home soon anyway."
"Aw, rats. We haven't had a good conversation in awhile. And I know you've been wantin' to hear that story from the war."
"I'll make you a deal, Tim. Let me borrow your radio/cassette player for a hundred, and I'll be sure to look you up tomorrow with a coffee and time for that story. How's that sound?"
"Perfect, man. Just like music to my ears! But say, what do you need my radio for? Can't you afford your own?"
Geoff laughed a huge belly laugh. "I wish it were that simple. But I only need it once. I think. Someone sent me a cassette, and I need to know what's on it."
"Well, then, for a hundred... here you go!" Tim Frave pulled the battery controlled device from the top of his grocery cart heaped with the rest of his belongings.
Geoff opened the cassette door and slid the tape in.
"You sure I should be listening to this? What if it's confi-dential?" he asked, splitting the last word to make a point.
"Na, I wouldn't worry too much. Besides, if anyone's looking to kill me, I'd feel safer with you around, being a Vet and all."
"Glad to hear it, glad to hear it. So, what have we got? Let's see what the message will bring us!"
Geoff had to laugh again. Tim was excited over this little cassette as if it were bringing them a secret message, perhaps about a mission that needed carrying out. Geoff had gathered over the years that, that had been what Tim had done during the war. Though, what kind of missions he'd run, he didn't know because Tim was elusive with the information. He vowed that he was still under oath by the government until the day he died. When he went to heaven, then he'd spill his guts.
He pushed play and they waited together, hunched over the little machine with baited breath until the first chords of a song hit the air. They looked at each other with confusion.
"That's not a top secret mission message," Tim declared.
But then the lyrics hit, and Geoff felt himself reeling from them:
Don't look now,
you better watch that sword that's hanging over you
It's a long hard road and they will spit you out
when they get through with you
Don't hang your head, so the wise man said
Or boy you'll soon be dead
You better run, run Manuela-uela run,
They're gonna shoot you in the back with your own gun
You better run, run Manuela-uela run
Manuela run
When the song was over, Geoff was staring off into space. He knew he'd heard the song before, but he couldn't remember where or when. It was an unusual song, so upbeat for something so morbid. A song he wouldn't likely forget. But maybe it was because the song was so catchy that it felt like he'd heard it before.
"Sounds like you've got trouble on your heels," Tim commented, making Geoff shake his head to bring himself to the present. "You need backup?"
"No, no, I think I've got it covered. But, what do you mean anyway?"
"They're gonna shoot you in the back with your own gun? That don't tell you anything, Geoff?"
"Heh, yeah, right. Look, I've gotta run. But I'll be sure to stay safe, just for you. And tomorrow afternoon, I'll come hunt you down and we can chat with some coffee."
"You'll get the special kind too, right?"
"Of course. Nothing but the best for my friend and partner-in-crime!"
As Geoff walked back to his car he couldn't help but be reminded of a gang he'd belonged to in his youth. But he hadn't belonged to a gang. So, why could he picture each member and put names with faces? Why did he suddenly remember poor Loco who'd been his best friend, killed accidentally in a drive by shooting?
Nick hadn't gotten much sleep since he and Greg had gotten home a few hours ago. It hadn't helped that Greg had gone straight to the guest room to sleep without so much as a 'good night' let alone a good night kiss. Half asleep, he heard a door creak open, and soft footsteps on the carpet. The bed moved and he struggled to open his eyes all the way as he rolled over. Greg was indeed crawling into bed with him.
"Greg? What are you doing?" he asked, still groggy and half asleep.
"I'm sorry, I know I've been a real bitch lately."
Greg pulled the covers up over himself and slid closer to Nick, wrapping an arm around his waist and giving him a quick kiss.
"It's just this case. The stress is driving me up the wall. I just... I want you to know it's all me. I'm just stressed out. I think that's it."
"Are you sure? Cause..."
"I called my therapist. I've got an appointment to see her next week."
Nick was dumbfounded for a moment. "You do?" It had to be more than stress if he was calling his therapist. Right? "Are you sure you're alright, honey? Please tell me the truth."
For the first time in what felt like a long time Greg's beautiful brown eyes looked up to lock onto his and what he found there almost scared him. It was like Greg had put up a barrier to his true inner thoughts and feelings lately and for this one brief moment Nick was allowed inside.
"Greg?" He reached up and cupped his face in his hand, taking in the fear and the confusion radiating from him.
"I don't know," Greg whispered before burrowing his face into Nick's chest.
Nothing more was said as they held each other close with Nick resting his chin on the top of Greg's head.
The next thing Nick knew his alarm clock was going off. Once he'd slammed the button down to stop it, he realized Greg was no longer in bed with him. He sighed and got up to get ready for work when he realized the sliding door to the back porch was open. Padding through the livingroom in his bare feet, he found Greg outside watching intently at the smoke he was blowing out his mouth, a cigarette in his right hand. He was leaning up against the railing, and didn't seem to have noticed Nick come up behind him.
Nick snaked his arms around his waist and rested his chin on his shoulder.
"I wish you wouldn't do that," he admonished while surprised that his husband seemed so cool and calm and had hardly flinched at his touch.
"I'm sorry. I don't know why I find that these help. I couldn't sleep. My mind wouldn't stop racing from thought to thought. I feel better now though. Almost like I could drop off and never wake up."
"Maybe you should catch up on some sleep."
"Nicky..."
"I'm running this case, babe. You know that. And if you're not feeling well, haven't gotten much sleep, I don't want you collapsing at another scene. I'm just looking out for you is all. But I promise, if we get a whopper of a crime, I'll call you before I have Griss call swing shift in. Ok?"
"You promise?"
"I promise. Now when you finish that, go back to bed. I'm gonna go shower, then I'll make some dinner. You wanna attempt something?"
The look that crossed Greg's face told Nick he wasn't sure it was a good idea, but he agreed to Nick's special scrambled eggs anyway.
A/N: So, originally the song "Manuela Run" wasn't supposed to be in here, but I happened to be in the middle of writing one of the earlier chapters when I heard it for the first time and, you know, it just seemed to fit like a glove so I managed to work it in. It's on Toto's self-titled album, originally out in vinyl, should you care to find it.
Also, just so you know, my goal is still to finish this by March, however, I just got a job working 8 hours a day to help pay the bills as I continue to job hunt for what I really want. You all can guess what this means, I'm sure. It's been nice not having a job so I could concentrate on my fanfiction and other writing since May, but that time is over. I'm really hoping I can continue working on this at a regular pace, but if I don't, you'll know why.