Title: How Painful is Care
Author: Piaculumdefatum (Latin for Victim of Fate), Khrisrathi, Rathi
Rating: M for Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-consensual implied, some sexuality, character death ((the usual)). Additional warnings will be put on individual chapters, as needed.
Spoilers: Season 1—current; I don't guarantee that anything is safe.
Time-line: So, I have seen every episode of CSI: thus far, and I must say, I rather enjoyed Greg when he was in the lab dicking around and having fun. Henceforth, this is set in the years 2005-2006 (I started writing this in Dec. '05), but Greg is in the lab. Still. Again. I don't care which you prefer.
A/N and Disclaimer:All right, so here goes my first (published) story. A couple of things to notice: I don't own CBS, CSI, or any of their subsequent characters or locations. Chances are, anything you recognize isn't mine. And I'm fairly certain most of the things I use are cited as who or where they're from. Just to tell you, this WILL be a Sandle fic, though it won't get there for some time. Thanks to my lovely betas, Lindsey and Alyx. In any case…on with the show…er, the fic…whatever.
How Painful is Care
"And only a family, both loving and true
Can conquer this evil, so ancient, so new
As they fight to uncover what secrets they share
And see in their journey how painful is care
Beware the Betrayer, whose meaning is strife,
For their faith shall be tried by the makers of life,
And who shall divine, in the dead of the night,
The lies from the truth, the darkness from light?
Like the cry of the scavenger, torn through the air
A courage is needed, as deep as despair"
-David Clement-Davies
Chapter 1-Angry Young Man
"Give a moment or two to the Angry Young Man
With his working-class ties and his radical plans
He refuses to bend, he refuses to crawl
And he's always at home with his back to the wall
And he's proud of the scars in the battles he's lost
And he struggles and bleeds as he hangs on his cross
And he likes to be known as the angry young man"
Angry Young Man by Billy Joel
Grissom poked his head in the lab and shouted, "Hey Greg!" Greg studiously ignored him as the music pounded on in the background. Grissom sighed, shook his head, and calmly walked into the lab and pushed the pause button on the stereo.
"What the…?" started Greg as he turned around, but he stopped as soon as he saw Grissom. "Oh. Sorry," he said sheepishly, but his brown eyes glowed in amusement.
"Greg, shouldn't you be at home?" asked Grissom. "I thought I gave you the night off so you could catch up on your sleep." His keen eyes took in the shadows under Greg's eyes. Shrugging, Greg muttered something about how he was just about to leave.
Grissom nodded, saying, "Well, go ahead and head home. We shouldn't be needing you."
"Alright, alright, I'm going! I know when I'm not wanted," called Greg over his shoulder as he left. Grissom smiled, shook his head again, and went back to work.
"Grissom!" called Brass' urgent voice. Grissom looked up from his desk as Brass came into his office. "Have you heard anything from Sanders?" asked Brass, sounding worried.
"No, not since I sent him home. Why?"
Brass sighed resignedly and slid a manila envelope across Grissom's desk. "We received this about twenty minutes ago."
Grissom opened the envelope and removed the letter. He scanned it carefully, missing nothing. It read:
Dear CSI members-
I have your lab tech. If you want to see him alive again, you'll obey my demands. I'll be calling in an hour.
-Sandra Bishop
Grissom looked up, the epitome of external calm, but rage radiated from him in waves. "Sandra Bishop?" he asked quietly.
Brass averted his eyes and said, "You remember the case. Bishop's testimony put her father away for the rapes and murders of thirty women."
Grissom nodded slowly, his mind reeling. "Do the others know?" he asked finally.
Brass shook his head. "They're waiting in the meeting room. I thought you should be the one to tell them."
Grissom strode into the meeting room. His hand shook ever so slightly as he reached up to remove his glasses. When he spoke, however, he emitted no sense of trembling at all. "Greg was kidnapped today by Sandra Bishop, the daughter of Norman Bishop, who was convicted for the rapes and murders of over thirty women. She said in her note that we would be receiving a call from her in approximately…" He consulted his watch. "Fifteen minutes." He glanced up at everyone. "Any questions?"
Nick was the first to respond, slamming his fist down on the table before abruptly standing and pacing. Sara's eyes welled with tears as she blinked them rapidly. Warrick exhaled slowly before simply saying, "Shit," and Catherine closed her eyes, hands gently massaging her temples.
Nick looked up, eyes bright, and asked, "Where was he taken at?"
Grissom sighed and sat, swallowed and said, "Outside, here. Before he even got to his car."
Catherine lowered her hands and asked quietly, "Why Greg?"
Nick laughed dryly before saying, "I think that's what we'd all like to know."
She glared at him before continuing. "No, I mean that it doesn't make any sense to have taken Greg. He didn't even work on her father's case. He wasn't here then."
Grissom said slowly, "She probably doesn't care. Judging by my initial survey of the crime scene, she, or someone, was waiting behind a bush and grabbed the first person who came outside."
Warrick cut in. "Why was Greg even leaving? He had over an hour left in his shift."
At this, Grissom visibly sagged, his hard demeanor vanishing. "I told him to leave. I had given him the day off so he could sleep, and I insisted that he went home."
Sara spoke for the first time. "It wasn't your fault Gil."
Nick said roughly, "No, it wasn't, and we'll get him back. Make no mistakes, we'll get him back."
Greg's eyelids fluttered as he slowly came to. His head gave a dull throb as he attempted to sit. Groaning softly, he realized that his hands and feet were tightly bound with ropes. He was lying on his back in the backseat of a small car. The car wasn't moving; it was parked somewhere. Greg groaned again as his head gave another twang of pain.
"Awake, are we?" asked a cold voice from the front seat. Greg froze, eyes squinting slightly to try and make out the disembodied voice's form. "Mr. Greg Sanders," the voice continued. It wasn't a question. Greg realized that she must have his wallet, for it contained all his personal information. "CSI's lab rat." She, for the voice was definitely female, practically spat the word 'rat' out. Greg couldn't help but bristle at that. Laughter, sweet and smoky, drifted back. "I see you take offense. If I were you, I would realize that you're in no situation to take offense at anything." Greg bit back a retort, realizing that what she said was true. "Now, let's see what I can do for you."
She swung around and faced him for the first time. Her appearance took Greg by surprise. She was a petite brunette with big brown eyes, and looked positively incapable of kidnapping anyone. Her eyes narrowed as if she knew exactly what he was thinking, and she called, "Bruno!" A giant of a man appeared outside of Greg's window. He cracked his knuckles menacingly, giving Greg a wicked smile. Greg almost mentioned that this was the biggest cliché ever, but decided against it. "Now, Bruno, untie our friend's hands." Bruno opened the door and roughly untied the rope binding Greg's hands together. Greg gritted his teeth in pain as the blood rushed back into his hands. "Good. Now help our friend sit up." Bruno's hands shoved Greg into a sitting position. "Mr. Sanders, you and I are going to help each other."
Greg's dark eyes flashed in anger and before he could stop himself he snapped, "I wouldn't help you if my life depended on it!" Raucous laughter filled the small car as Bruno punched Greg in the stomach. Doubled over in pain, Greg's vision blurred as he groaned.
Still laughing, the woman said, "Mr. Sanders, you must realize, your life does depend on it." From the front seat she took a gun and calmly aimed it at him. "Now, let's talk."