Chapter Nine: Turning Around

The water wasn't exactly cold, but at the same time, it wasn't all that warm. The cool liquid felt like a blessing to his skin, a relief from the blistering rays of the vibrant sun. He bent over, allowing the water to flow over his arms, clear up to around his elbows. Letting out a sigh, he held his breath as he brought a handful of the clear water against his face, relishing in the splendid feeling.

With his eyes still closed, the water running down his face, dripping back into the lake, Greg turned to call over his shoulder, hoping to provoke Sara to join him. She had refused once, something about not wanting to wear a bikini. Greg really didn't care at this point, he only wanted her to experience the wonder feeling, wanted her get out of the sweltering sun before she ended up burned.

When she did not answer back, Greg opened his eyes, glancing around. He was confused by the sudden lack in noise, and was even more surprised to find that he was the only one there.

The desert stretched for miles in every direction, the sun playing off the dry land for as far as he could see. Once again he called her name, his tense voice echoing back just as equal. He could feel the water moving around him, a shrill sound splitting the air as the lake suddenly dried up, leaving him trapped in the mud.

Greg groaned, opening his eyes as the sharp ringing noise once again filled the air around him. Blinking a few times, his eyes adjusted to the darkness of his apartment as he tried to shake off the strange dream. When the phone rang again, Greg realized that it wouldn't answer itself, and he let out another groan of disapproval as he reached behind him, fumbling for the small device.

"Hello?" he mumbled quietly, pressing the phone against his ear. He kept his eyes close, due to the simple fact that the room wouldn't stay still when he had them open.

"Greg, its Grissom," there was a small pause. "How are you feeling?"

Greg bit his lip to keep from laughing at his question. How did he feel? Like he was hung-over, that's how, except he had missed the entire part of being drunk. "Sore," he muttered instead, his head already nodding as he fought off a yawn.

He heard Grissom sigh on the other end, the man obviously hesitant to continue. "Do you think you can work at all? I'm completely backlogged, and I can't handle this by myself, you're the last one I have at the moment."

Greg opened his eyes slowly, focusing on the ceiling above him that was slowly beginning to swirl. After a moment, he squeezed them shut again, replaying Grissom's words in his head. "Backlogged?" he queried, "But Sara said there wasn't anything left, that's why she left early…"

"Ecklie fired Sara," Grissom stated quickly, his voice grim.

Greg sat up quickly, ignoring the pain in his chest as he held onto the cushions to support himself. "Fired?" he stuttered, making sure that he had indeed heard right. "When, how…why?" Greg blurted out quickly, only to be cut off by Grissom.

"I'll tell you when you get here," Grissom said, "I'll give you an hour."

Greg nodded, already sliding of the couch into a standing position. "I'll be there in fifteen."

Letting out a weary sigh, Greg closed his eyes, listening for a moment to his own breathing. In and out…in and out. He had come into work nearly sixteen hours ago, and still there was no close end in sight. Grissom hadn't been kidding when he said they were backlogged. The night shift had received four news shifts within seven hours; two homicides, one apparent suicide, and a hit and run.

Blinking, Greg opened his eyes, sweeping the beam of the flashlight over the undercarriage of the car he was under. It was a match to their hit and run from earlier, and Grissom had appointed him the task of searching for any trace. He had been working on the car for nearly two hours now, and had come up with nothing. Even that was absolute.

A light sheen of sweat had covered his body, prompting Greg to reach up with a gloved hand, wiping clean his forehead. It was far beyond hot under the vehicle now, and the jumpsuit wasn't exactly helping. Neither was the pain he felt throughout his body. He hadn't taken any more medication, he had gotten sick enough off of the last one, and the last thing he needed was to give Grissom any more worry and concern.

He lifted his head as much as he dared when he heard someone enter the garage, and he could see the tops of Grissom's shoes as the elder man stopped near the car, kneeling down.

"How's it coming?"

Greg shook his head, muttering that he had not, his voice muffled through the mask he had on. Frowning, he used his legs to push the flat cart out from under the car, reaching up with one hand to pull the mask free, resting his other arm across his chest, holding the flashlight that was still on.

"No scratches, no breaks, no blood, no fibers…no dirt even. I've never seen the undercarriage of a vehicle this clean before."

Grissom nodded, sighing. "Looks like he washed everything," he mentioned quietly.

"Still, there would be scratches, at the very least. A car doesn't plow into a bicycle and come out unscathed. This car is virtually untouched."

"Why wash it so well then?" Grissom wondered, prompting Greg to shrug in answer. He watched as the younger man yawned tiredly, his eyes closing as he did so.

"Let's call it for today," Grissom told him, "Go home; get some rest. This week will be busy."

"I can stay a few more," Greg protested, not quite ready to back down, despite how wonderful the offer sounded.

He was saved from his protest when Grissom shook his head in response. "Not today, you've already worked long enough. Though there is something I want you to do before you go."

Greg nodded when he paused, waiting for him to continue.

"I want you to talk with Ecklie, convince him that letting Sara go was a bad idea."

Greg frowned up at the older man, both hands resting on his chest now. "If Ecklie didn't listen to you, and he didn't listen to Sara, what makes you think he's going to listen to me?"

"You won't know unless you try, besides that, Ecklie doesn't very much care for me or Sara."

"And you assume Ecklie likes me any better?" Greg wondered dully.

"I'm just asking you to try," Grissom prodded him, this time provoking a nod from Greg.

"Good," Grissom said, standing back up, "Hopefully things go better with you."

He had gotten to the door when Greg called out to him, slowing his stride. Grissom turned back to find Greg still laying flat on the cart, the younger man watching him as he held up his hand. "Help?"

Grissom nearly laughed as he walked back over. Reaching out, he grasped Greg's hand in his, helping the young CSI to his feet, making sure he was up before letting go. Greg muttered his thanks, letting out a pained sigh as he followed Grissom out the door.

He felt like a lost puppy. Yet it wasn't his fault that Ecklie wouldn't stay still, walking from one end of the lab to the other. Greg followed without complaint, trying to talk with the elder man, feeling all the while that it was at a loss.

Ecklie finally turned on him, frowning. "Is there something you wanted to say Sanders?"

Letting out a sigh, Greg nodded. It was about time as well. This had been going on for nearly fifteen minutes now. "I was just wondering who you were hiring as a replacement."

Ecklie lifted an eyebrow, staring at him intently. "Replacement?"

Greg nodded, swallowing as he shuffled his feet. It had taken him nearly an hour to come up with some idea as to what he was going to say to Ecklie. "Well, with Sara gone, and Sofia on personal leave for the next month and a half, Grissom and I can't keep up with all the work. The only way we're going to get anything done is by working overtime, so the obvious answer is to hire someone knew, training and all of that. I was just curious to who it was. I mean, that's a nice deal for whoever it is, seventy-five of everything is paid by the lab. Training, supplies, schooling…"

Ecklie cut him off there, holding his hand up. "What do you mean three quarters of it is paid by us?"

Greg shrugged, his hands resting in his pockets. "Well, it is stated that when someone is fired, the replacement, if training is needed, will have to only pay one quarter of expenses."

Ecklie laughed softly, crossing his arms. "Where did you hear that Sara was even fired?"

Greg shrugged again, "The entire lab's talking about it. Word travels fast, you know."

"Well then," Ecklie stated softly, "when did you start listening to gossip? As far as I'm concerned, Sara still has a job here."

He turned to leave, only to turn back around again, "Oh, and you can tell her that I'm still watching her every move, another mistake like that and she will be gone."

Greg watched him go, biting his lip to keep from laughing. It was well beyond him how that had all happened, but it had. Smiling, he turned on his heel, already pulling his phone free from his pocket.

Sara drove slowly down the street, keeping most of her concentration on the road ahead. She was well beyond the limit considering alcohol; she had almost been caught once, it was sheer dumb luck that she had gotten out of it as well. Then again, if she did get caught, what could they do to her that hadn't already been done? Were they going to fire her?

She laughed bitterly at the thought, shaking her head. It was too late for that. Instead of heading home, Sara had gone out, had found a bar. Now she couldn't even remember how many drinks she had taken. Obviously it hadn't been enough, if she was still able to think logically.

Pulling up in front of her apartment complex, she let out a sigh as the figure walked towards her. Clambering out her car, she brushed his arm away, closing the door.

"What are you doing here?" Sara wondered, pushing towards her door.

"You didn't come home from work," Michael responded, following her. His short hair was slicked back with gel, an odd imitation of his wardrobe. Sara paid little heed to him as she walked up the stairs, fumbling for the keys.

"Aren't you going to talk to me?" Michael wondered, coming to stop behind her.

"I'm not much in the mood," Sara told him quietly. "I've had a bad day."

"Why are you avoiding me?"

Letting out a sigh, Sara turned to him, motioning for him to go inside. "We need to talk about this," she said softly.

Closing the door behind her, Sara set her stuff on the counter as Michael made his way into the room, eyeing her belongings as he did so. Reaching over he picked up the empty take-out carton, frowning. "This isn't healthy eating," he scolded her lightly; "This is why you should come home after work, so that you can have time to cook something better."

Sara shook her head, sorting through her mail. "I don't cook," she answered, "not enough time or motivation."

"I can teach you," he stated, dropping the carton into the trash can.

"Look, Michael," Sara let out a sigh as she stepped towards him. "This has to stop."

He looked up at her, frowning in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"This," Sara continued, watching him. "All of this…I can't have you following me around all the time, and calling me every couple of hours, and going through my stuff. It's too uncomfortable; I'm not ready for this."

Michael took a step back then, looking away. "You're breaking up with me?" he questioned slowly.

Before Sara could even nod, he turned back to her, slamming his hand on the counter. The sound reverberated through the small apartment, causing Sara to jump. "You can't do this too me!" he yelled, swiping his arm along the countertop, knocking both the phone and the small lamp off, as well as various papers.

The lamp hit the floor, shattering as it did so, the phone swung wildly, suspended by the cord. Sara took a few steps back, pressing against the wall behind her as Michael came towards her.

"Back off!" Sara warned him, her eyes darting for a way around him. She could defend herself if it was necessary; that was if she was in a coherent state.

"Why are you doing this?" Michael screamed at her again, raising his hands in frustration. In one seething second, he turned back on her, and Sara had hardly time to blink before his fist connected with her jaw.

TBC