When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead…
--
For Greg, it was…nice to be home. It didn't necessarily make everything better, take away from what happened, but it was a welcome respite – even if the feeling was one that would be short-lived. He would take whatever he could get.
Nick didn't pick him until last night, which meant more time spent in the hospital, something Greg wasn't too fond of. Although, he couldn't say the wait was unbearable considering the majority of yesterday went by in a blur. Knocked out for most of the day – sometime between falling in and out of sleep – Greg was vaguely able to recall getting his vitals checked and Brad, who was apparently one of the assistant nurses, performing various monologues about his love of food.
Greg still wasn't too clear about the details.
That was six hours ago. Now, it was three in the morning and he was currently curled up on the side of the couch with Nick leaning heavily against his shoulder, the other man hogging the blanket that was supposed to be draped over both of them. But the heater was on, and Greg was warm enough to pretend he didn't have the energy to readjust the blanket so he wouldn't risk waking Nick.
Remote in hand, Greg continued flipping through channels on the TV. The light from the screen seemed abnormally bright in the otherwise darkened living room, encompassing Greg and flashing intermittently each time Greg changed the channel. He didn't expect anything interesting to be on this early in the morning. Aside from one of those bird documentaries only Nick would watch and an episode of a crime drama he tried and fail to get into, he wasn't disappointed. Eventually, he settled on a random infomercial, letting the remote fall somewhere in the couch as he felt Nick shift beside him.
Greg didn't plan on paying attention to it, though, not really. He closed his eyes, hoping the repetitiveness and monotony of some guy trying to sell the newest reincarnation of a handheld chopping appliance would lull him to sleep. The announcer's voice was fading into the back of his mind, becoming a kind of white noise until he said something about showing his nuts – jolting Greg like sharp static against the persistent sound of Nick snoring,
By all means, Greg should have been sleep, should have been on the bed and hidden under the comforter instead of stranded on the couch. The ID bracelet he received from the hospital was still around his wrist, but he was too tired to worry about taking it off. He was utterly exhausted, and whatever painkillers and sedatives left running through in his system were enough to ensure that he would remain so for at least another day.
He slept on the ride home from the hospital, evidently drooling on both his hand and the seat, and Nick had somehow managed to get him into the house through some combination of carrying and dragging that ultimately led to Nick dumping Greg on the bed.
And then he had that dream again.
Greg wasn't sure why or if there was really anything he could attribute it to, but it came back. The nightmare he'd finally been able dodge for a few days was suddenly in his thoughts once more, and it had nothing to do with what took place in Mesquite. Some part of him almost wished it did, almost wished he dreamed about the near-death experience. Because at least he would have some kind of reasoning, know why a dream was able to inspire so many seemingly baseless fears that made him feel alone and trapped in the dark.
He wasn't surprised to find himself on the bed when he woke up. The light from the hallway was on and he opened his eyes to see Nick's back facing him. He couldn't go back to sleep, though, and wandered to the bathroom, cringing when he looked in the mirror and saw his neck for the first time. But even seeing the bruises wasn't enough to distract Greg. It was easy to ignore the things he could see, scars that would disappear if he looked away. But he couldn't ignore the ones he couldn't see, not if they were there if he closed his eyes.
Twenty minutes later Nick found Greg in the kitchen hunched over his laptop. He was picking up the research on human trafficking he started a few weeks ago, trying to dull his mind with whatever information he could find about child laundering in China. Too engrossed with the information on the screen, Greg didn't hear Nick walk in the kitchen and was startled when the other man took a seat beside him at the table.
Nick didn't question why he was awake and only suggested Greg lay on the couch if he couldn't stay on the bed. Remnants of the nightmare that was keeping him awake still lurked in the corner of his mind, but it was the drowsiness in Nick's voice that eventually convinced Greg to move and the consuming guilt that followed when Nick offered to stay on the couch with him – trying to smile despite appearing worn out and jokingly asking Greg to pretend to close his eyes so Nick wouldn't have to go asleep alone.
It didn't take Nick long to get one of the big blankets out of the closet. He came back to living room when Greg turned on the TV, unfolding the blanket as he settled next to Greg and unfolding the blanket over them. And by the time Greg dropped the remote on the couch, Nick was already sleeping.
Greg closed his eyes again. The announcer's voice was growing fainter, words lost and quickly forgotten somewhere between the hum of light breathing intertwined with Nick's heavy snoring.
Allowing himself to be pulled further into the embrace, Greg relaxed when Nick unconsciously tightened the hold around his waist. He laid his head on top of Nick's, short hairs tickling Greg's cheek as he finally drifted off to sleep.
"Classified?" Sara asked, confusion marring her features. She took the nearly blank sheet of paper Nick gave her, skimming through the short list of information on Stephen White quickly. "He's on CODIS, and the FBI doesn't think it's important enough to let us know why?"
Nick shook his head. "Obviously, it's important enough to get his name in there, if nothing else." He shrugged. "Hey, I don't think it makes any sense, either."
"Okay, but what about what came up with the prints from the knife Grissom found? Did Mandy get anything from that?"
"The one he used to stab Evans and Meyers? Same deal – all that came up was his name, date of birth, and the last known address from ten years ago. No family, no contact information. Nothing."
"Nothing," Sara repeated. She placed White's file on the table, the light from beneath piercing through the sheet of paper. "It's starting to look more and more like somebody was trying to hide something and not just a lack of information."
Nick nodded in agreement. White seemed more like someone it was better to keep track of, and he could only wonder why White wasn't already behind bars. But it wasn't just because White was the one who attacked Greg. Nick wouldn't deny the fact that Greg was hurt – almost died – fuelled much of his growing resentment toward White. However, personal feelings aside, it was more than clear what the guy was capable of and somebody had to have known about it if he was in the system.
White was still out there, and Nick didn't relish not knowing where White was, nor what he was doing. Two cops were dead, and while Nick was grateful that Greg wasn't the one with the knife perforations in his back, there was something perversely intimate about the act of strangling.
Nick had seen it before, worked a couple of cases involving assailants who went after one person or similar people. It was uncommon but not rare. Seldom would it result in death, yet most of the time, the victim unwillingly became part of a one-sided obsession that was nothing short of disturbing.
It was a thought that made Nick feel more than merely uneasy, something tangled inside a myriad of emotions, and he was doing his best not to dwell on it.
"Hide what, a sociopath put under witness protection?"
Sara scoffed. "Can't say I would be surprised because what don't they have to hide? But my thing, is why bother having him in the system in the first place when you could just as easily make it like he was never there?" she said as she gestured to White's file. "I mean, we don't even have a picture we can reference. Evans and Meyers are dead, and I don't Greg wants to put himself through hell again just to remember what this guy looks like."
"Yeah, well…just don't give him any ideas." Greg already admitted he wasn't able to get a good look at White's face, but it didn't mean Greg wouldn't try to remember if he thought it would help.
"Based on the history of this case and who's involved," Sara began dryly, "I'm going to be one of the last people Greg will have to worry about."
"I didn't mean it like that."
Sara brushed off the roundabout apology. "I'm just letting you know what I think," she said offhandedly. "And it's really starting to feel like Greg and I are the only ones who aren't in on the joke."
Nick raised his eyebrows. "What joke?"
"Apparently, this case."
"Honestly, Sara, I don't know that much more than you. It was the same thing for me then as it is for you now. We're on the same boat."
"Sorry, I just…" Sara shook her head. "I guess I'm trying to say you have more experience," she said somewhat reluctantly. "And I'm just aggravated right now."
"Run it for me then," Nick said, trying to placate her. "Tell me what you know, and we'll get something from there."
Sara took a deep breath, turning her attention to the large board on the wall. It was a frantic collection of information relevant to the case, littered with various documents, maps, pictures, and handwritten notes on colorful pieces of paper – everything held together by an assortment of tacks, strips of tape and staples.
"Okay," she began, "starting with the Harrisons. They started the fire to hide the little girl they killed but blackmailed the neighbour into calling the fire department ahead of time, before the fire even started."
"And we weren't able to get anything on Dawkins other than tax evasion."
"Right, so you would think the Harrisons did it because they felt guilty and wanted somebody to find the girl. And I did think that until Warrick and Greg told me about Peterson."
"She gave us copies of the transactions she had with the Harrisons, along with any financial records that had to do with Baitu."
"Legally, we still don't have enough evidence to subpoena the information from the other account numbers to link them to the case," Sara pointed out. The Harrisons are probably the only ones willing to tell us what's going on. That's how we confirmed the connection with Baitu."
"And there's a pretty good chance he's Stephen White."
"Still, the only thing we having tying White to this case is coincidence and the card Davis gave Greg at the warehouse. For all we know, what happened in Mesquite could be something else altogether. I know we found a lot by the landfill, but most of the evidence we found can't point us to anyone."
"There's Davis, too. Greg saw her at the Harrisons' house and again at the warehouse, and now we can't find her. It's like she never existed."
"Child trafficking, drug smuggling…no wonder the FBI is involved."
Nick straightened in his chair, propping one arm on the table. "This is what it's like. And in a city like Vegas…people just don't caught like they should."
He took the bandage off yesterday, and even though the skin around the incision from his impromptu cricothyrotomy was still sensitive, it was on its way toward healing. Dr. Sobule told him it wouldn't leave a noticeable scar, but either way, Greg was just happy he no longer looked like he had a breathing tube sticking out of his neck.
It did wonders for his image.
Unlike the bruises around Greg's throat and the swelling caused because of them. They weren't as angry as they were before, but the purple and blue blotches weren't the battle scars he was going to readily share any time soon. Eventually they'd fade, though. He wasn't so confident about the emotional scars. Permanent stains in his mind more violent than the marks on his neck.
Time and patience was pretty much the sum of it, what it was going to take; time and patience Nick wouldn't hesitate to offer in that annoyingly unyielding way of his. Not that Greg did ask. He didn't need to. It was something unspoken between them, something he'd didn't have to think to question, and it made Greg feel better by knowing he had that kind of support.
But the reassurance didn't make Greg any less self-conscious when he finally came back to work.
He received a few stares, which he more or less much he expected. There were some concerned glances, short conversations about how he was doing that Greg couldn't avoid. Though, both instances only involved the small crowd of people he knew on more than a last name-only basis. The long walk to Grissom's office wasn't as long as it initially seemed, and Greg managed to convince himself the majority of his colleagues had better things to do with their time than to watch his every move.
Things, logic told him, like work.
Experience forced Greg to agree. During his days in the lab, when talking to Archie and Jacqui was more than enough to keep him up to speed, news would simply come and go. There was too much going on to be fixated on one thing, even when it may have pertained to a case. It was no more than fodder to help pass the time and keep their minds off what they were exposed to on a daily basis.
Still, the logic behind his thoughts didn't dispel Greg's insecurity, and the lack of rational influence was prominent enough to make Greg grab that ugly brown turtleneck on Nick's side of the closet. The itchy one a couple of sizes too big that was possibly the true cause behind the aforementioned stares, a possibility becoming more likely considering it was more than eighty degrees outside.
Greg didn't ask to borrow the sweater, and when he walked into the kitchen this morning Nick didn't say anything about Greg wearing it. He may have looked at Greg strangely for a few seconds, but if Nick had an opinion to go along with the low chuckle Greg pretended not to hear, the other man kept it to himself.
Although in all honestly, Nick would have preferred if Greg actually made use of the remainder of his sick leave. It was a point he'd been trying to stress for the past two days, but Greg considered nearly a week confined home and away from work somewhat discouraging. While he was far from expecting to return to fieldwork anytime soon, he still had an obligation to see this case through and do what he could to contribute despite the recent setback.
Yesterday made his situation even more jarring when Nick came through the door with a white envelope his hands and dropped it in Greg's lap. And after opening what turned out to be a get-well card from Wendy, Greg decided four days was more than enough time to recuperate. Though, apparently, Nick wasn't the only one to disagree.
Subsequent to nearly being dragged into his old lab the moment he tried to inconspicuously walk past her, Greg discovered Wendy was only part of a growing number of people who didn't quite agree – managing to divulge her disapproval somewhere in between her surprise at seeing him and Greg's hurried attempt to thank her for the card.
The same incredibly cutesy card still on the coffee table where Greg left it, the pale blue one that had a little white teddy bear holding a red heart with words "miss you" written across it. Nick told him it was adorable, even claiming the bear's eyes resembled Greg's. Needless to say, the comment resulted with Greg shoving Nick off the couch and effectively wiping the teasing smile off the other man's face.
Nick may have had a penchant for it, but Greg just wasn't the type to go for the cutesy things. Even so, Greg truly did appreciate the card and the gesture behind it considering he and Wendy weren't really that close, if at all. Or at least they weren't beforehand. Of course, there was the harmless flirting between them, more an attempt on his part than hers, and the occasional small talk. He knew she cared to some extent, as he would with a colleague, but it still surprised him she would go out of her way. Or maybe the real surprise was when he opened the card and saw Hodges' signature right below Wendy's.
Greg wasn't even vaguely curious to know what kind of coercion had to have taken place to get Hodges to even look at the card, much less sign it. But any misgivings he had about the relationship between Wendy and Hodges took a backseat to the apprehension he felt when he finally reached the end of the hall and knocked on Grissom's door.
"Come in, Greg."
Opening the door slowly, Greg made no rush to walk into the office. He may have felt ready to come back to work, but the extent of what he would be able to do – if he would able to do anything at all – was ultimately determined by Grissom.
He took a seat in one of the chairs in front of Grissom's desk, trying to relax beneath the scrutiny of the other man's gaze.
"You look better," Grissom said lightly, crossing his arms as he leaned back against his chair.
"Yeah, and I feel better, too."
"But does that mean you're well enough to come back?"
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"Greg…" Grissom took his glasses off, sighing as he placed them on his desk. "Honestly, I think it may be better to take you off the case."
Frowning, Greg looked at Grissom in confusion. This wasn't how he anticipated his conversation with Grissom to go. He doubted his supervisor would actually take him off the case, but it still made Greg wary that Grissom was thinking about it enough to openly discuss it. He expected to compensate for what he missed, pick up the slack so he could fill in the gaps caused by knowing only what Nick was willing to tell him. Being taken off the case was the last thing on his mind.
"Because I was attacked? Look, I'm not exactly shying away from coming back."
"No. I'm more concerned with how it's affecting you, and more importantly, how it could affect you."
"You're not going to bring up the panic attack," Greg said flatly. He hoped Grissom wasn't referring to what happened during his stay in the hospital. It exposed a side of him he thought he left behind, but it was already over and done with, and Greg resolved not be that vulnerable again.
"You just did."
Greg blinked, staring blankly at the other man. "You can't be serious."
"Why wouldn't I be? Whether you want to admit it or not, you're in a susceptible position right now, and I need to make sure it won't interfere with your work before I let you come back."
"It won't," Greg said firmly. "I'm not asking to go back into the field anytime soon, but don't take me off the case when we're finally getting somewhere, not when you know I'm better off here."
Grissom rubbed his forehead, another sigh escaping him as Greg waited for a response. However, both men turned when the door suddenly opened and Ecklie stepped inside. But he didn't come alone. Following behind him were the two FBI agents Greg met last week, Tyler and Perry.
Perry crossed his arms, leaning against the wall as Tyler closed the door behind them. Despite the office being relatively office, they kept their distance, purposely creating space between themselves and Grissom and Ecklie, who were on the other side of the room. The tension was palpable, and it did little to put Greg at ease when he realised he was inadvertently caught in the middle.
"Gil, we've got a…" Ecklie began, trailing off when he took notice of Greg. "Sanders," he said politely, almost as if recognizing Greg was an afterthought. His eyes trailed along Greg's neck, but he refrained from saying anything about the bruises. "Nice to see you back at work."
"Yeah…" Greg answered hesitantly. "Thanks."
Ecklie turned back to Grissom, gesturing his head at Greg. "Is he–"
"Does it really make a difference?" Perry interrupted, not bothering to hide his impatience. "If he's on your team and following this case, it shouldn't. Let's just get on with this before we waste more time than we have to."
Tyler looked at her partner admonishingly, but nodded her head in agreement. "There's a lot of ground we need to cover."
Ecklie pursued his lips. "No. No, I guess it doesn't," he said shortly, his words negating any chance for Greg to leave. He turned back to Grissom, a grim smile on his lips. "Not that they need an introduction, but you remember Tyler and Perry?"
"How could I forget?"
Perry snorted. "With the history between us, I'd actually be bothered if you did."
Grissom ignored the comment, turning his attention to Tyler. "I thought you'd at least give us a few more weeks."
"Yeah, but that was until we heard you ran into Stephen White."
"Alice Davis," Catherine said as she entered the room, heels clicking on the floor as Warrick came in behind her.
Nick and Sara glanced in their direction, their attention quickly turning to the photograph and the short stack of papers Warrick placed on the table.
"Our Davis?" Nick asked as Catherine and Warrick took seats facing Nick and Sara. "The one who–"
"Yep, one and the same," Catherine said with a certainty that became somewhat less sure. "Or it seems to be that way."
Sara made a face. "Come on, either she is or she isn't."
"We're hoping she is," Warrick answered. "See, Mandy was able to pull a partial from Greg's card. It was a long shot, but we got a couple of possible matches from AFIS and one of belonged to an Alice Davis in Vegas."
"So, if this is Davis, then she's already in the system," Nick said thoughtfully. They already knew she wasn't a cop, or at least not one on the LVPD payroll. "For what, though?"
"She was booked here for prostitution fifteen years ago," Warrick added, "when she was she twenty-two."
Sara frowned, eyes narrowing at the picture of Davis. "She doesn't look anywhere near twenty-two. She doesn't even look eighteen. How'd somebody let that one get by?"
"Just because it's on paper doesn't mean it's true," Catherine pointed out.
"Yeah, but…"
Nick shrugged, gaze moving from the picture of Davis to Catherine and Warrick. "Good genes, I don't know, but you still haven't told us what any of this has to do with White."
Catherine glanced at Nick, a look of something akin to a warning on her face. "It's more or less speculation at this point, but there's a chance they know or even knew each other. Maybe going as far to say they could be related."
"But that doesn't make any sense," Sara said. "I know we don't exactly have a lot on the guy and his file isn't really that much of reliable source, but White's relatives weren't omitted. They're written down as deceased."
"Could be there to throw us off," Nick said. "But maybe this would help explain how Davis knew where White lived. The card she gave Greg had his address in Mesquite, and the one on file is from Vegas."
"Well, turns out her uncle poster her bail on the same day she was arrested, two hours after she was picked up. "Warrick said. "But get this: the uncle's name is Stephen White."
"Fluke?" Sara asked.
"Then this case is apparently full of them," Catherine countered.
Nick snorted. If it was the same White, the guy sounded more like Davis' pimp than her uncle, which, unfortunately, was a more tolerable image of White. But if the White then was mixed up in things he was linked to now, it was incredibly convenient no one looked any further into a man eager to post bail for his wayward niece, who looked more like child than an adult.
Too convenient if it took as much time as Warrick said and Davis managed to evade serving any time.
"Wait a sec – you said she was in for prostitution, right?" Nick asked again, only asking to confirm his suspicions. He had a feeling the prostitution angle was only scratching beneath the surface.
"Yeah," Catherine answered.
"How many years ago?" he asked as he retrieved one of the Polaroid pictures from the evidence board. He placed it on top of Davis' file, adjacent to the more recent photo of her taken at the time of her arrest.
"Fifteen," Warrick said slowly as he examined the two pictures side-by-side.
"Tell me I'm not just seeing things," Nick said uncomfortably. The similarities between the two girls were more than simply apparent. They may have been taken a few years apart, but with the same facial structure and that same haunting stare, it looked like it was Davis in both photos.
He only wished they had someone or some kind verification to prove it.
"Oh," Catherine said, taking a step back as she came out of a brief daze.
Sara looked at the woman curiously. "I thought you found the picture with the girl when you guys found her in the dumpster?"
"We did," Catherine said. "It's…definitely not possible. It can't be possible," she said slowly, the conviction in her voice wavering. "The timelines don't even match up."
"What if you were wrong?" Nick asked.
"We found the photo attached to her," Catherine said decisively. "Someone actually went the extra mile to staple it to her shirt and to her skin."
"Then maybe they're sisters," Warrick suggested. "And maybe White really is her – their – uncle."
"So, it's a family affair, now," Sara said.
Warrick made a noise in agreement. "A dysfunctional one, I'll tell you that."
"Okay," Catherine said seriously. "Let's find out where Greg fits into this, then. That could give us some idea of Davis' motive if she has one."
"She could be reaching out…for whatever reason," Nick said. "Help…not so direct revenge," he added quickly.
"Why Greg, though?" Sara asked, tilting her head slightly.
"He was at the right place?" Warrick suggested.
Nick pursed his lips. "And look how that turned out."
"If that was the case," Sara said, turning to Warrick, "then she could have come to any one of us."
"Well," Catherine began, "it's not like he's a hard person to approach."
Nick didn't say anything, but he silently agreed. Though, he didn't miss the underlying meaning of Catherine's words. He wouldn't call Greg naïve – a little too trusting maybe, like Grissom but without enough experience to make him as cynical. Not yet anyway.
"Nothing against Greg, but then why not just go to the cops?" Sara asked. "Better yet, why not tell somebody about it a long time ago? Get help. Why wait all these years?"
Catherine shrugged. "Maybe she couldn't. Deep into something like this – you're putting your head on the line with anything that involves money or drugs."
"Or maybe she's not the victim anymore," Warrick said cautiously. "I'm not trying to play devil's advocate, but we don't know what her situation was – is – and we can't overlook the chance she's still part of it."
"His real name is Wei-Han Chen," Tyler said wearily, dropping a thick manila folder on Grissom's desk that landed with a heavy clunk. "Or at least it was before he gained US citizenship. He came over from China in the late 80's and has been a pain in our asses ever since."
Greg looked at the folder, silently trying to gauge how someone like White was able to keep under the radar. At first glance, judging by the size of the bulging folder alone, it seemed like there was more than enough evidence to put White away. While Greg was aware White was the one who tried to strangle him, he also knew White was responsible for killing Evans and Meyers, but didn't want to think about what else White was involved in. Not when he was someone so nonchalant about taking another person's life.
Yet, if the FBI knew what White was capable of, why didn't they say anything before?
Debating his earlier decision to remain quiet, Greg was tempted to ask. It was an earnest question, not only because withholding the information had a direct effect on him, but rather because it honestly didn't make sense. Though, Greg still wasn't eager to get in the middle of whatever it was that was going on and eventually opted to let the conversation play itself out.
Surprisingly, it was Ecklie who voiced Greg's concerns...something along those lines.
"And bringing this to light never crossed your mind? I don't know – maybe sometime before we had the run in with White?"
Perry pushed himself off the wall, taking a defensive stance beside his partner as he crossed his arms over his chest. "We didn't think it wasn't something you needed know then."
"And because you didn't think," Ecklie continued reproachfully, "two officers from Mesquite are dead, and one of my people is still suffering the consequences for it."
Greg could feel Tyler staring him, her gaze wandering to the darkened areas not covered by his collar. He didn't turn around, didn't want to confirm what didn't need to be said. He kept his eyes on Grissom, watching the other man's reactions and waiting for him to speak.
"Which isn't more than a result of unfortunate circumstances and something we had no direct part in," Perry retorted.
"No, I never claimed you did," Ecklie said calmly. He glanced at Grissom, the two men sharing a look Greg couldn't decipher before Ecklie turned his attention back to Perry. "But you're saying that telling us about White couldn't have passed for preventive measures when you were fully aware there was a possibility he was involved with this case?"
"And that's why we can't keep a hold on White," Tyler said determinedly, a hint of irritation seeping into her voice. She pushed a strand of brown hair behind her ear, her thin lips set in a straight line. "Nobody's willing to talk. People know what he does, but nobody wants to turn him in, and as soon as word of this investigation gets out…"
"Then we're really shit out of luck," Perry filled in.
"Not exactly how I would have worded it, but David's right," Tyler said. "Regardless, the point is we've already drawn enough suspicion to ourselves and can't afford any more. We're on the verge of finally breaking into this trafficking ring, but you and your team snooping around–"
"Snooping around?" Grissom asked, looking at Tyler and Perry warily. The tone of his voice was cool, and there was a forced calmness Greg didn't miss. "You can't expect us to follow boundaries that were never set."
"I heard it's not necessarily something you feel the need to adhere to," Perry began forcefully, the aggravation clear in his voice, "but on our side, we have protocol and regulations we can't ignore anytime we want."
Greg turned to Perry sharply, taken back by the remark that hit a little too close to home. He knew he didn't always go by the book, but no one was free from making mistakes, and it didn't prevent him from doing his best.
However, despite being in a branch of law enforcement different than Tyler and Perry, Greg at least thought they were on the same side because they were after the same type of people. And aside from knowing something happened ten years ago between the other occupants in the room, he didn't understand where all the animosity was coming from.
"You're one of the last people to be throwing around accusations, Perry," Ecklie countered, appearing noticeably less composed than usual.
"We're not going to make any progress at this right," Grissom said tightly. "It's either give or take at this point because I can see we're going to have some trouble trying to compromise."
Tyler shook her head. "More than ten years, Grissom. I've spent more than ten years of my life chasing after this guy, only to have one lead fall through after another. You can't even begin to imagine the kind of bastard we're dealing with."
"I'm not going to argue a moot point," Grissom said offhandedly. "But if you don't tell us what's going, then we won't be able to help you."
"Believe me, I would have handed everything over in a minute, but I can't."
"We're pushing the limits enough as it for something as sensitive as this," Perry added.
"Then at least give us something we can work with," Ecklie said. "Because we're not going to drop this one anytime soon, not like what happened before."
"Damned if I do and damned if I don't, right?"
"Then you might as well do, Jessica," Grissom said to Tyler, voice rising slightly in anger. "Since all you've been able to accomplish so far is getting my team put in the crossfire because you feel the need to withhold certain information pertaining to what's going on."
"There's convention, and then there's being held accountable for your actions," Ecklie said resignedly.
"It's not White we're after," Tyler finally admitted after a moment of silence. "We don't know his real name, but we do know some of aliases he's used in the past. Nothing new in the past five years, though. We're hoping he's still circulating the older ones. You remember Li Davis?" she asked.
Grissom and Ecklie nodded while Greg's interested peaked at the mention of the name Davis. There was a pretty good chance it had something to do with the same officer Davis who gave him the card the led them to Stephen White.
Perry continued. "He's been around since the beginning of one of the largest international smuggling rings in the world – any kind of drug out there, any kind of person out there. Yeah, we caught a few breaks and broke some of the smaller networks, but opportunities like this don't come too often for us. So, you can see why we're a little on edge."
"More than usual," Ecklie said, but Grissom spoke before Tyler or Perry had a chance to respond.
"There's something else you're not saying," he said curiously.
"You always were the perceptive one, weren't you," Tyler mused, her gaze flickering to Perry and returning to Grissom. "But yeah, you're right," she agreed reluctantly. "It's just not something David and I like to bring up."
"What?" Ecklie asked.
"That White used to be one of us."
Remember the stuff from the first chapter? I didn't either, so this was a much needed filler...recap kind of...thing-ie with twists and turns that hopefully no one saw coming. This includes the hint of one-sided Hodges/Wendy that was supposed to serve as some kind of comic relief. Based on canon, it just seemed like the kind of thing Hodges would do.
And I know I took liberties with some aspects of this chapter, making use of that famed "TV magic"despite the lack of TV. But I still can't bring myself to feel bad because this is CSI I'm writing about, and I do love my drama. Though, I'll make no comment about the last part.
Regardless, I'm finally back on the case and just about ready to wrap up this little bugger. Next chapter will be a bit more emotionally driven (yet again) because of Nick's delayed anger, which I find highly enjoyable to write. There's just something about Nick angry, reacting on impulse...like angry Grissom from seasons past, and I'll stop right there.
Errant thoughts aside, thank you for reading and thank you LaugableBlackStorm and QueenOfTheUniverse for reviewing.