A/N: Hey guys! I am so sorry for the massive delay, but here is a double update for you all! If you want to keep up with this story, you can follow me on Twitter: Carleo628 Enjoy!

Chapter 11: Bus Crash Part 3

Greg and I entered the lab with the evidence bag containing the bottle gripped tightly in Greg's hand, as if it would somehow disappear. "Hey," I spoke quietly as a placed my hand over his, which was shaking slightly as we walked towards the DNA lab. "What's up?"

He looked at our hands before looking forward, making sure he didn't run into anything. "I just don't want to mess this up."

"Greg, I'm sure you've run this test thousands of times. It'll be okay."

He shot me a smile as he pulled the door to the DNA lab open and gestured me first. I grabbed a lab coat and gloves before turning back to him. "Let's do this."

My pager beeped a little while later, informing me that Grissom was in the lab and was looking for me. I shrugged off the lab coat and made my way towards the door. "Grissom wants to see me, so I'll come back in a bit."

Greg nodded. "I'll page you when I have the results."

With that I opened the door and began my search for a wild Grissom.

Greg's POV:

I let out a sigh I didn't know I was holding when the door shut, letting me know Marilyn had left. I slumped back in my seat with a groan as I tried to control the thoughts racing around my brain. Why was this girl making my head spin? I hadn't even been working with her that long. Granted, I had known her before, but that wasn't something I wanted to dwell on. I needed to sort these feelings out, and fast.

Marilyn's POV:

I managed to track Grissom down at reception before he had gone anywhere else. "You paged?" I asked as I came to a stop in front of him.

"Yes, I wanted to talk to you about Greg." He motioned for me to follow as he began to move through the corridors. "How was he in the field today?"

"Why are you asking me?" I questioned.

"Because you have a good judge of character, Marilyn. Even though you two have a past, you are able to put that behind you and give me an honest answer, which I value."

"I think he did well," I answered honestly. "For having no field training at all he showed great potential."

We came to the DNA lab and I saw Greg looking at a piece of paper in his hands. His eyes met mine and I gave him a wave, indicating he should talk to Grissom. "Hey boss," Greg said, stopping in front of the both of us. "I had a feeling you were coming, so I ran the DNA on the whiskey bottle. Surprise; it's not the driver's."

"Told you so," I butted in, sticking my tongue out for good measure.

Greg smiled and rolled his eyes. "I do have the answer, behind door number 2. It belonged to the man in seat 1C. Calvin McBride, our ex-con. The DNA was in CODIS…"

"Good Greg," Grissom's eyes scanned the report as he talked. "Did you enjoy being in the field?"

Greg's face fell at the mention. "You heard about that too?"

"What?" Grissom asked. "Marilyn said you did an excellent job."

Color rose on Greg's cheeks as he met my eyes. I gave him an encouraging smile as he continued. "I… messed up," he admitted.

"No," Grissom and I both stated at the same time. Grissom gave me a smile and continued, "Marilyn told me all about her time with you in the field. She said you did very well."

"Well then I enjoyed it fine," Greg said with an even bigger smile on his face. He turned and headed back into his lab and I could see Grissom fighting a smile that was threatening to skip across his stern features.

"I'll catch up in a minute," I told him as I pulled open the door to DNA. Greg turned around and beamed when he saw it was me. "I just wanted to say congrats."

"On what?" He asked, puzzled.

"On passing the first unofficial step to becoming a field mouse. I wasn't lying when I said you did well."

He took a few steps closer so that he was standing only a few inches away from me. "Thank you," he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"You're welcome," I replied with the same level of volume. He then enveloped me in a hug, which I returned by wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my face in his chest. He sighed after a few seconds and slowly let his arms drop back to his side. I smiled softly at him, "I have to go catch up with Grissom, but I'll see you later."

I left the lab with an even bigger smile on my face, until my phone pulled me out of my stupor. "Sorenson," I replied curtly.

"Hey it's Nick. Would you mind coming down to autopsy?"

"I would love to," my excitement practically resonated through the phone. "I'll be there soon."

I hung up and made my way down to the land of the dead. Slipping on a lab coat I pushed open a large swinging door, being greeted by Nick and a man whom I assumed was the medical examiner. The elder man smiled as I approached the table. "Marilyn, I presume?" He asked while holding out a hand for me to shake.

I took it and smiled politely. "Yes sir, that's me."

"I'm Dr. Al Robbins, it's a pleasure." He turned to both Nick and I before opening the report and filling us in. "I can start off by telling you that this man wasn't drunk."

"I knew it," I chimed in, always happy to be right.

"He wasn't drunk?" Nick reiterated.

"Listen to the good doctor Nick, gosh." I teased.

He elbowed me as Dr. Robbins continued. "There wasn't a drop of ethanol in his system. Not even from cough syrup."

"The guy could barely formulate a sentence. If he wasn't drunk than what was he?" Nick pressed.

"Crazy? Loopy? Off his rocker? Nuts?" I offered.

Doc cracked a smile before answering. "My guess is that he was hungry."

"Okay I understand being cranky or grumpy from lack of food, trust me I have been, but aren't his symptoms a tad extreme?" I questioned.

"His medical evaluation from last month; Martin Draper, 40, overweight, one of the 15 million people in this country suffering from type 2 diabetes."

"Medication?" I questioned, peering at the report the Doc has passed to Nick.

"The primary course of treatment would have been exercise and weight loss to lower blood sugar," Dr. Robbins offered.

"Call me rude, but it doesn't seem like this guy was hitting the gym," I said, scanning the overweight corpse on the table.

"He was dieting. Crash dieting. Didn't find any food in his stomach, he hadn't eaten anything in at least six hours."

"How do people do that?" I mused out loud.

At this point Grissom had entered the room and was just catching the tail end of our findings. "An empty stomach can sometimes lead to hypoglycemia," Doc summed up.

Grissom cut in with, "Symptoms which can mirror intoxication."

"And in some cases," Doc pointed a pen a Grissom, giving him a quick pop quiz.

"Can lead to loss of consciousness and seizures," Grissom finished. "Do I pass?"

"With flying colors," I chimed in.

They both grinned as Grissom continued, "Cause of death?"

"Just what you'd guess. Massive internal injuries and internal bleeding," Doc answered.

Nick, who had been quiet the whole time, spoke up. "So if it's not the driver…"

"We blame the bus," I finished.

"Speaking of the bus," Grissom said, looking at him phone, "The parts just arrived. Nick, the company should be faxing over a maintenance report soon, go wait for that." Nick shrugged off his lab coat and exited the morgue. "Mar, would you come with me please?"

"I'd be honored," I smiled, taking off my own coat. I waved goodbye to Doc Robbins and followed Grissom back into the heart of the lab.