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Chapter Seven: Questionable Answers

He pressed his way through the semi-crowded hallway, unbuttoning the top of his shirt as he did so. For a brief moment he closed his eyes, shaking off the unwanted, yet overwhelming feeling that started to creep over him. This was neither the time nor the place to lose it.

"Greg, over here."

He glanced up, seeing the detective wave him over, and Greg moved towards him, sidestepping the others that were trying to get past. Soon enough he was shoulder to shoulder with the other man, the pair walking down the hallway.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Brass commented dryly, studying him over with a keen eye.

"Just trying to forget some bad memories," Greg muttered quietly, swallowing as he tried to regain some composure. There was a reason why Grissom hadn't sent him to collect evidence at the hospital in a long while. The last time he had been here he had nearly lost it. This time there wasn't much of a difference. Yet Grissom had told him that he needed to get over his fears, and the only way to do that was to face the problem straight on. Greg wished quietly that there was another, easier way to get over it with.

"Funny," Brass mentioned, "I figured it would bring better memories. Considering the fact you wouldn't be alive without them."

"It's not so much of the fact of all the times I've been here…but how and why I ended up here," Greg explained, coming to a stop as Brass did so too. "Every time I come here…the sounds, the smells…everything seems to melt together, and that brings the memories. And they're not the best memories."

The other man nodded, still watching him as he did so. "Are you going to be able to handle this?"

Greg nodded without hesitation, even though he disputed it in his mind. He knew there would be someone else that could, and would willingly take his place if he chose to back down. Yet he knew it wasn't fair to always have someone cover for him. It was, as Sara said, over; there was nothing he had to worry about anymore. Why then, was he so afraid?

"I can call someone in," the detective offered, to which Greg declined almost immediately. He mustered a smile, lifting his case for show.

"I think I have it…I know I do." He turned to head on in, but the man stopped him by calling his name. Greg paused, his hand on the door to the room.

"You don't always have to pretend everything's alright, and you certainly don't have to put on an act. You have friends who are willing to help you out…hell, you have Sara. She's been by your side through thick and thin, no matter what you've put her through."

"What I've put her through?" Greg raised an eyebrow, still standing in the same spot he had been when Brass first stopped him. "What do mean by that?"

"Don't take offense to it," Brass told him curtly. "I was just referring to everything that's happened. I mean, first it was the kidnapping, and then all that trouble you two got into up in Oregon. Then you wrecked the car; I can honestly vouch that Sara went through Hell during all of that."

"And you think I didn't?" Greg snapped, his voice rising. He took a breath, calming himself and took a step closer to the detective, ignoring all the stares from around them. "Not only that, I'd like to be informed when all of the sudden everything became my fault."

"I wasn't trying to place any blame," Brass returned sharply, lowering his voice so anyone passing by wouldn't hear him. "But since you're so insistent, then yes, I think it's fair to blame you. The only reason Sara had to go to that seminar was because of the kidnapping. If she hadn't picked you up that night, she would have stopped at another store to get the items Grissom needed."

"Oh, and I suppose you're going to blame me for crashing," Greg stated quietly, putting on a false temperament. He wasn't as strong on the inside, and that scared him. After all he had blamed himself for a long while for everything they had gone through. Sara, as well as the others convinced him otherwise, but that didn't mean he never doubted himself. Late at night he would find himself waking from a dream, covered in a sheen of sweat and breathing with short, heavy gasps, his mind grasping at was real as he tried to forget what was not. He would spend the rest of the night in a false slumber, wondering what life would be like if things had gone differently that one night so long ago.

"We all know that couldn't have been avoided," Brass told him, and silently Greg let out a cry of relief. Finally they agreed on something; maybe now the man could see things from his point of view. But he didn't stop there.

"But things would have been a lot easier on Sara if you two weren't dating."

"Why are you doing this?" Greg wondered, swallowing as his voice nearly broke. "What have I done to you?"

"You're the one that accused me of trying to place blame," Brass reminded him. "If you're going to accuse me of doing it, then I certainly will. And I'm not going to be nice about it and lie like everyone else. I've heard what they've said when you're not around. I know how tired they were, and still are, covering hours for the two of you. The amount of money the departments lost, the amount of times Ecklie's tried to fire you both, only to have Grissom save the day. You were good once Greg, you were even better back in DNA. Now you can't work half the cases without having some sort of issue coming up and Sara…Sara's sick half the time. Maybe if she spent more time sleeping and taking care of herself instead of you she wouldn't be."

"I have a job to do," Greg cut him off, trembling now, either from rage or realization of the truth that now stung at him. He took a step back, hand resting on the door. "My life…is my concern; you can do me the favor and stay out of it."

"All I'm saying is that it's hard to do when you're consistently in it."

He pushed his way in, letting the door close behind him. Taking a few breaths he closed his eyes, shutting his mind to all the thoughts that were racing through it. He could do his job…just because he had a few breakdowns, or setbacks every once in a while didn't mean he wasn't capable. And Sara...half the time Sara ate or even slept was because of him. And she had to love him; his fingers rested on his pocket, the weight of the ring still inside. She must have…why else would she still be with him?

"Excuse me sir, are you okay?"

Greg opened his eyes, the thoughts still clogging his mind and he shook his head, as if hoping to help clear it. "Yeah…" he nodded slowly after a moment. "I was just…distracted."

He forced a smile at the nurse, nodding towards the bed. "How is he?"

"He'll live," she returned with a smile. "We're looking at some nerve damage, and he's lost a lot of blood. We recovered the bullets though, would you like them?"

Greg nodded, setting his case on the floor. "That would be nice. I also need his clothes he had on before, and any personal effects."

"I already have them bagged," she answered him with a smile. "I figured one of you would show up sooner or later; they're waiting on the table. Mr. Walters just came out of his second surgery about an hour ago. We weren't able to remove the second bullet until he built up some strength. He should be coherent enough for you to ask some questions."

"Has anyone come to see him?" he wondered, liking the fact that the nurse had been able to update him so readily. Usually getting any information from the staff at Desert Palms was in comparison with World War Three.

She shook her head sadly to this, offering up a smile of pity. "We get quite a few of these. A lot of people that come here moved to Vegas alone, they don't have much of a family history. We're lucky to even have emergency contacts half the time. But not in this case. Empty, just like most of his forms. Just had basic information, enough to get by on. You're the first person here other than a young woman who came to ask some questions, I believe you work with her, a Carla Raquel?"

"I do," Greg nodded, pulling on a pair of glove. It struck him as odd, wondering to why Carla had done the interview when Brass had been the one to meet him here. He was just starting to realize now the man hadn't' even given him an update; he would have to get his own statement to catch up to speed. "Thank you for help," he nodded towards, the woman smiling at him as she caught his cue to leave.

"If you need anything just use the call button. We'll be around, you can leave Mr. Walter's door open when you leave."

Greg smiled as she left, glancing up to the bed at their suspect turned victim. Their voices had been kept low before as to not disturb him, and Greg wondered if the man was even awake. He swallowed quietly, turning away to open his case, hanging the strap of his camera over his neck.

He remembered most of the time he spent in the hospital…most, not all. He would never remember some parts. He did remember the statements, the collections…even when he knew who it was, people he considered friends, he still had hated it. It made him feel vulnerable…made him feel….weak. The only reason he had been in the hospital in the first place was because of his inability to protect himself. Nick and Warrick would have never had that problem .Hell; even Catherine had been strong enough to do her own collection kit after being attacked a scene. She never even went to the doctors to be looked at.

And Sara…Greg blinked, casting his eyes to the side as he approached the bed. Sara never had any problems…not until that night…not until she had done him a favor…and it had only gotten worse the longer they remained together. He wondered blandly how much longer it would continue before everyone would see the pattern…and even more frightening, how much longer before something serious happened. Something serious like death?

Yet what he could he do? He loved Sara more than anything; leaving her would be just as painful as watching her die. But was it really fair for him to be selfish? Would it really help to let her go, or would it just hurt both of them more in the end? He could only wonder if she needed him, or in his twisted way of thinking he just assumed that, and in the end it really was the fact that he needed her more.

"I'm not getting any deader."

Greg blinked at the comment, his mouth hanging open slightly as he glanced up. "Huh?"

"If you're waiting for me to die I'm sorry to disappoint you. I don't plan on going anywhere anytime soon, especially not in that direction," the man told him gruffly, making his point firmly.

"Sorry," Greg apologized with a smile, at the same time berating himself mentally as he realized he was once again losing himself in his thoughts. He could understand now why Brass had questioned his ability. If he couldn't focus…nothing would get done. "I'm Greg Sanders from the Crime Lab, I'm here to ask you a few questions and take some photos and other personal evidence. It's going to help find out what happened and who did this to you."

It was the best he could muster. Not professional by any means, but working with Sara had taught him how to tap into sympathy, and feel concern with whoever had been harmed. It didn't matter at this point if he was both a suspect and a victim; someone had still taken matters in their own hands to teach a potentially deadly lesson. For now, just right now, he was a victim. No more, more less, until evidence said otherwise.

"I already answered questions," he replied, shifting in his bed. He let out a soft groan, head sinking back into the pillows. "I'm sore, and I'm tired. I'm not really in the mood for all of this."

"It won't take long I assure you, and you're cooperation will make things go even faster."

"All of you are the same. You don't understand the meaning of no."

"Well," Greg smiled at him, "If we always listened when someone told us no, half of the murderers in jail now would still be running free. You can start by telling me what happened."

"I can't do that," Walters replied grimly, brining a look of surprise to Greg's face. Most people were afraid to talk about what had happened to them…true, but very few out rightly refused.

"I can only tell you what I remember."

So this did make sense, Greg nodded as he brought the camera up to photograph the wound site. He had to admit, Michael Walters was certainly a different kind of man. "Start where you would like."

"I work hard Mr. Sanders…just like you do I am sure. Living on your own is never easy, especially in Vegas. The temptation to spend your hard-earned money is sometimes too much. I've gotten in trouble in the past before, but I've learned from errors. The funny thing is…you step away from trouble and it seems to come and find you."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I do my job, I come home. I have dinner in the microwave, sort through my mail while I watch some good ol' television, when someone knocks on my door. After that…I can't tell you what happened. All I remember thinking is 'I'm going to die'."

"Did you see your attacker?" Greg wondered, jotting a few notes down on the pad of paper he had with him.

"No…well, I did…but I don't remember anything. It's just kind of one big blur. I was hit with the door when it opened, and he added a few of his own punches. I didn't even know he had shot me until I came out of surgery."

"You know for a fact that it was a man?" Greg confirmed, glancing up at him.

"Not one hundred percent…but I've never met a chick that could hit like that."

Greg chuckled quietly, understanding the man's point. Walters was a fairly big man, near six foot and weighing in around 190 pounds. They were more in likely looking for a male, although he couldn't quite check off a female for this either. After all, the crime lab had always had its fair share of surprises. Greg had learned to never fully assume until the evidence allowed you to do so.

"Can you tell me about Anise Clearbrook?"

"What about her?"

"You two were dating, is that not correct?"

"As far as I knew we still were," he shot back, this time an edge on his voice. "I love Anise, just because we got into an argument doesn't mean we're breaking up. Stuff like this happens before. She's a single mom, she has her own views and opinions, and I have my own. We don't always agree, we argue, we separate until we cool down, then we talk it over. Every couple argues; and you know that, especially with your line of work. It's not abusive or destructive unless it's excessive."

"I understand," Greg nodded towards him. "But I'm curious, when was the last time you talked with her?"

He watched the man shrug, his eyes half closed. "I don't remember for sure. I called her, when was it, just the other day. We talked for a bit, but she sounded…not irritated, but distracted though. I didn't want to bother her, so we said our goodbyes, and she promised to call me later. Why all the questions about her? If she's asking after me I'd love to see her…I know she's not immediate family or anything, but I'm sure you can talk the hospital staff here into letting her come in, even if it's just for a little while."

Greg smiled grimly, turning away for the first time since starting the questioning. It was clear this man did not know what had transpired…and honestly, how could he? Michael Walters had been gunned down within the same time the mother and her child had been killed. Once they got a key timeline they'd be able to tell if it had happened before or after.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Walters," Greg started, mustering up as much compassion and empathy as he possibly could. "Anise was found dead a couple of days ago."

He had been taught from early on in his training that it was critical to gauge a person's action when delivering any kind of news. Everyone reacted differently, but more often than not, most people could not pass of being shocked very well. And in this case Greg was certain the man wasn't pretending.

"Dead?" Walters repeated, his voice catching. "How can that be…I mean who would do such a thing?"

"Did Clearbrook have any enemies, or anyone that would be willing to hurt her?"

"Gods no," Michael replied with a quiet sob. "I mean, she wasn't perfect, but she did her best. She did an honest days work, took care of little Cynthia…oh my God, how's Cynthia handling all of this? The poor child had it hard enough growing up without a father…and now to not have a mother…"

He locked eyes with Greg and the young CSI stood unmoving, his face conveying what the man feared. Then suddenly he began shaking his head violently. "No…it can't be…it just can't."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Walters, for your loss," Greg sympathized, watching as the other man tried to regain his composure.

"What kind of cold heartless beast would kill an innocent baby?"

"A murderer," Greg offered quietly, doing the best he could to stay calm himself. "That's why we, why I need your help. Anything that you can tell me, anything at all could help in catching whoever did this. Even if you don't think it's important, it could possibly be."

"Whatever you need," he sobbed quietly, his eyes closing. "Although I don't know much…if anything at all."

"Did Anise ever talk about any family other than Cynthia? A father perhaps…grandparents?"

"No," Michael shook his head, "She wasn't very forthcoming in that topic. Whenever I brought up family matters she shied away. I learned fairly quickly it was no-no topic."

"She have any outside friends, contacts…anyone you weren't familiar with?"

"Acquaintances, like people at the bank, supermarket…a few people around the city knew her by name…but she never spent time with anyone. She moved her not too long ago…nine months I believe. She was still new to the city…and she didn't get out much, being a single mother. Either was working or staying home with Cynthia."

"What about Cynthia, did she have friends?" Greg inquired, continuing to fill out the notepad.

"Schoolmates," he replied, "she was shy. I thought it was unusual, but I don't have any kids so how would I know for sure?"

Greg nodded, giving him a small smile. "Understandable; I want to thank you for your time, and cooperation. We may come back and ask some more questions as the case progresses."

"If it'll help," Walters nodded, his composure mostly regained but still on edge. "Both of those girls were beautiful…I hope you'll make the bastard that's responsible pay for this."

Greg nodded, making eye contact with the man then. "I promise you, I will do everything in my power to see that it happens."

TBC