Title: Au revoir, Sara Sidle.
Author: Welly Fandom: CSI Pairings: Nope Status: Complete Archive: If you really want to, but i would appreciate it everso if you told me.
Email: Series/sequel: First in series titled "la vie, quelquefois elle peut etre injuste"
Disclaimer: I have no imagination, so i borrowed these characters. Don't sue, I can't afford it.
Spoilers: None Summary: Sara and Greg are working on a case, but it all goes wrong when one of the characters is killed off...

A/N: I don't understand the concept of chapters, so I apologise for the length.

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The CSIs were all sat round a table. Grissom was sorting out assignments. He'd given Warrick and Nick an armed robbery in a casino, and he was going to take Catherine with him to the death of a high-ranking police officer. Only Sara was left.

"What do I get?" she asked.

"Body dump," replied Grissom. "You should take Sanders. He could use the experience."

"Right," said Sara.

"Okay then," said Grissom, standing up. The CSIs all set about their work, Sara went to the DNA lab. Greg was in there by himself, listening to his walkman. Franco from the print lab had been complaining of a headache, so Greg had got out his headphones.

"Greggo!" said Sara, flicking Greg in the head.

Greg pulled out his headphones and looked at Sara.

"Y'alright?" asked Sara.

"Yeah," said Greg. "It's been a long day."

Sara looked at her watch. "What time did you get here?" she asked.

"5 o'clock," said Greg.

"that's four hours," said Sara.

"AM," said Greg, rubbing his eyes.

"Whoa!" said Sara. "No wonder you look so rough."

"thanks," said Greg.

"Sorry," said Sara. "do you want to come out to a scene with me?"

Greg's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Get your coat," said Sara.

Greg smiled. "Where're we going?"

"I don't think I like body dumps," said Greg, as he and Sara went back into the lab.

"I think they can be challenging," said Sara.

"no," said Greg. "I mean, they are challenging and everything, and it does give you a chance to practice all your skills, but I was talking about the perp. When can just kidnap a woman, torture and murder her, and then just dump the body... there's something not right."

"I know," said Sara.

"So what do we do now?" asked Greg.

"Get coffee," said Sara.

"sounds good to me," grinned Greg.

"then it's off to the morgue," said Sara.

"Right," said Greg. "coffee first."

"Coffee first," said Sara, smiling. She like working with Greg. He was always enthusiastic, and always had a unique way of looking at things, yet despite being so inexperienced, always came across as intelligent. Sara didn't mind that Greg asked her lots of questions; she liked answering them. It wasn't often Sara was asked questions about processing crime scenes, so when she was, she enjoyed answering them.

Whenever Sara worked with Catherine, she found her quite patronising, so when Sara worked with Greg, a little part of her liked the fact that she was the more knowledgeable one, she just hoped that she didn't come across as patronising. "Greg."

"Sara," said Greg as he poured two mugs of coffee.

"Do you think i'm patronising?" asked Sara.

"no," said Greg. He picked up the two mugs, and held one out to Sara. "Sara, you're not patronising."

"Really?" asked Sara, taking the mug.

"Really," said Greg. "what made you think you were?"

"Oh, no reason," said Sara.

"Fair enough," said Greg.

"Cause of death?" asked Sara.

"Asphyxiation due to strangulation," replied Robbins.

"she was strangled," said Greg.

"that's right," said Robbins.

"was she raped?" asked Sara.

"Yes," said Robbins. "Greg, I'll believe you'll be wanting this."

"Thanks," said Greg, taking the rape kit from Robbins.

"She was tortured," said Sara.

"Yes," said Robbins. "I analysed her injuries, and found no signs of a weapon."

"What do you mean?" asked Greg.

"He did this with his bare hands," said Sara.

"Sara's right," said Robbins.

"So, er, this might sound stupid," said Greg, "but how did he manage to do this? Was she tied up? Was she drugged?"

"I found no signs that she was physically restrained," said Robbins, "and tox is still out on her blood."

"I think she knew him," said Sara.

"but who is she?" asked Greg.

"I've got no idea," said Robbins. "I'm trying to get a hit off her dental records, but you might have better luck with missing persons."

"Back again?" asked Nick.

"Are you kidding me?!" said Greg. "I never left."

"but you seem so... awake!" said Nick.

"that's the caffeine," said Greg.

"Right," said Nick. "well, don't wear yourself out, alright?"

"Alright," said Greg, as his computer beeped. He put down his mug of coffee, and picked up the mouse.

"I'll let you get back to it," said Nick.

"Alright," said Greg. He looked at his computer screen, and it only hurt his eyes a little bit. At the top of the screen was the CODIS logo, and at the bottom of the screen was a little flashing window which read "MATCH FOUND".

"Sara!" said Greg, going into the room where Sara was working.

Sara looked up.

"I got a match," said Greg, waving a piece of paper. "I know who she is."

Sara took the printout from Greg, and scanned over it.

"Prior for theft," said Greg.

"Thankyou Greg," said Sara. "Good work."

"I haven't got any hits from the guy who attacked her though," said Greg, "but the DNA was good, i just need something to compare it to."

"I think we should get over to her house," said Sara.

"Okay," said Greg. "Can i come?"

"Of course," said Sara. "Greg, this case is as much yours as it is mine."

"Cool," said Greg. "Can we get some coffee on the way?"

"Definitely," said Sara. "And breakfast."

"Sounds good to me," said Greg, grinning.

"Good," said Sara, putting her evidence back into the box.

"This is definitely the primary scene," said Sara.

"Yeah," said Greg. "Look at all the blood."

"Do you wanna get a swab?" said Sara, "and check it's actually blood?"

"Sure," said Greg.

"I've got some phenelphthaline in my kit," said Sara.

"Okay," said Greg, going over to Sara's bag. As he closed it, he heard the front door open. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" asked Sara.

"I thought I heard the door," said Greg. "I was probably imagining it."

"I'll go and check," said Sara. She went out into the hall, and when Greg heard voices, he went out into the hall as well.

"Sir, you can't be in here," said Sara. "This is a crime scene."

"This is my house," said a man, who was stood in the doorway.

"Not at the moment it's not," said Sara.

"What are you on about, woman?" said the man.

"Hey!" said Greg. He didn't like it when people were rude to those Greg was with.

"Can you two get out my house?" said the man.

"Can you get out?" said Greg.

"I'll call the cops," threatened the man.

"Call them," said Greg.

"Do you know Joanna Anderson?" asked Sara.

"she's my wife," said the man.

"she's dead," said Sara.

"you didn't report her missing," said Greg.

"I didn't think she was missing," said the man.

"where were you yesterday?" asked Sara.

"I, er-" began the man.

"How would you explain all the blood in your lounge?" asked Sara.

At this, the man turned around, and ran out of the house. Greg dropped the swab he was holding, and chased after him. Sara radioed for some police backup, and then joined in the pursuit. When she saw that Greg and the man were already halfway down the street, she knew that she would not be able to catch them, and so she sighed with relief when she saw Greg grab the man by the shoulders and knock him to the ground.

"Could I get some caffeine in a drip?" asked Greg.

"We're all out of drips," said Sara, "you could just go to sleep."

"Not yet," said Greg. "I haven't finished profiling the husband's DNA."

"Fair enough," said Sara. "you could sleep while it's in the machine."

"Good idea," said Greg.

Sara was sat in the interrogation room, talking to their suspect. Greg had just finished profiling his DNA. It was a match. This was definitely the right man. Greg opened the door, and went into the interrogation room.

"Greg!" said Sara. "Have a seat."

Greg sat down next to Sara.

"what's up?" she asked.

"I finished profiling the DNA," said Greg. He looked at the man sat opposite himself. "You did it."

"No I didn't," protested the man.

"Yes you did," said Greg.

"Prove it," said the man.

"Okay," said Greg. He opened up the manilla folder he was holding, and took out a sheet of paper. "You see these little numbers-"

"Yes, I see them," said the man.

"Okay," said Greg. "This is the DNA sample that you gave up."

"Right-" said the man.

Greg took out another sheet of paper. "And you see these numbers?"

"Yes," said the man.

"This is a DNA sample we recovered from Joanna Anderson," said Greg, "and I'm sure you can see that all the numbers on the two sheets match, which proves that you're guilty."

"Good work Greg," said Sara, quietly. She turned to the man. "I'm going to have you arrested for the murder of Joanna Anderson."

"Whatever," said the man.

"Is that all you're gonna say?" asked Greg. "You're gonna go to jail for the rest of your life, and all you can say is 'whatever'?!"

"She deserved it," said the man.

"Nobody deserves what you did to her," said Sara. "Nobody!"

"Look, bitch," said the man. "I don't know what your problem is."

"Don't call her that," said Greg.

"I'll call her what I like," said the man.

"You have a really low regard for women," said Greg.

"Yeah, well, can you blame me?" asked the man.

"What do you mean?" asked Greg.

"Women ain't no good 'cept for only one thing," said the man.

"that's enough," said Sara.

"what?!" said the man. "You know it's true."

"I've had enough of this," said Sara, standing up. Greg could tell that she was getting annoyed. Greg knew that Sara didn't really like men, which upset him sometimes, because he knew that not all men were creeps, just some of them.

"She was asking for it," said the man, "just like you're doing now." The man smiled at Sara.

"Hey," said Greg, who was now also stood up.

"what?" said the man.

"I should watch yourself," said Greg.

"could say the same thing about you two," said the man.

"Huh?!" said Greg.

"Just you be careful now, alright," said the man. "You never know what might happen."

"You're sick," said Sara.

"Isn't everyone a little bit sick?" asked the man, smiling.

Sara opened the door and left the room in a hurry.

"You need some help," said Greg.

"So do you," said the man.

Greg left the room as well. He was going after Sara, to check if she was alright. "Sara."

Sara stopped walking, and turned around.

"Are you okay?" asked Greg, with a lot of concern in his voice.

"I'm fine," said Sara. "It's just sometimes, some people really creep me out."

"I know what you mean," said Greg, "but it's okay now, he's gonna get locked up for a very long time."

"they should throw away the key," said Sara.

Greg grinned. "I don't know if they'll do that."

"They should," said Sara, who was also smiling a little bit now.

Greg suddenly felt extremely lightheaded. He fell backward slightly, and only the wall stopped him from collapsing in a heap on the floor.

"Greggo!" shrieked Sara. "You okay?!"

"I'm okay," said Greg, standing back up straight. The room started spinning again. "No, I'm not okay."

"Sit down," said Sara.

Greg fell backward against the wall again and slid down it till he was sat on the floor with his back resting against the wall. He pulled his knees into his chest, and rested his chin on them.

Sara knelt down in front of the young CSI. She looked worried. "Greg, what's wrong?"

"Just a bit lightheaded," said Greg. "It's nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing," said Sara. "You need to go home, eat something, stop drinking coffee, and get some sleep."

"Yeah," sighed Greg. "that would be good."

"I'll drive you," said Sara.

"I'll be okay," said Greg.

"Don't argue with me Greggo," said Sara. "I'm going to take you home, and put you in bed."

"Oooh, Sara!" said Greg.

"Not like that!" smiled Sara. "Y'alright to stand up?"

"Not yet," said Greg.

Greg woke up after sleeping for 14 hours. He showered, and then cooked himself some pasta. The sauce had a strong smell, and Greg's neighbour came round. After dropping several strong hints about how much he loved pasta, ("Oh, i love pasta, it's been ages since i've had any...") he convinced Greg to get another plate, though Greg did this only on the condition that his neighbour give him a lift to work.

When Greg got to the lab, he clocked in, and went to the staff room. Grissom was in there handing out assignments, and when Greg entered the room, there was a definite atmosphere, which unsettled him, because he was so cheerful. "Whoa," said Greg, cheerily. "Who died?"

Catherine burst into tears, and put her head in her hands.

"Oh God," said Greg, looking round at the other CSIs. Someone was dead. Who? Greg noticed that Sara wasn't sat round the table, and he got a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Where's Sara?"

"Greg," said Grissom.

"No!" said Greg. He turned around and ran out of the room. He couldn't believe that Sara was dead, he refused too. After all, he'd seen her just yesterday, there was no way she could be dead. Was there? Greg needed some fresh air, he headed out of the lab. His head was spinning. He sat down on the grass, and leaned his back against the wall.

A few seconds later, Grissom came out. He walked over to Greg, and sat down next to him, also leaning his back against the wall.

"Greg," said Grissom, quietly. This was going to be hard.

"Is she dead?" asked Greg, staring into the distance.

"Yes," said Grissom.

"What happened?" asked Greg, without readjusting his gaze.

"We're not sure," said Grissom.

"What do you mean?" asked Greg. "Was it an accident?"

"No," said Grissom.

"She was murdered?!" said Greg.

"Yes," said Grissom, biting his lip. This was harder than he'd thought.

"Oh God," said Greg, welling up. He was finding it hard to speak, he couldn't say the words properly. "Who would do this?"

"I don't know," said Grissom, "but I've got Warrick on the case, and I've asked Ecklie to help."

"Ecklie?" said Greg.

"Yes," said Grissom. "He's the best person for the job."

"I thought that would be you," said Greg.

Grissom smiled a little bit. He was cheered up by the fact that Greg thought he was a good CSI. "No," said Grissom. "I'm too, er, emotionally involved."

"Isn't Warrick?" asked Greg.

"Warrick's not as close with Sara," said Grissom, internally correcting himself for not referring to Sara in the past tense. After all, that was what he'd have to do from now on, now that Sara was gone.

Greg worked the rest of his shift on autopilot, processing several DNA samples without really thinking about what he was doing. He clocked out, and drove home, all the time on autopilot. When he got home, however, he decided he needed some fresh air, so after taking some painkillers for the headache he had, he grabbed his keys, and went for a walk. Greg decided to go for a really long walk, and headed to a really quiet part of Vegas. He walked up a big hill, and sat down on the grass. From where he was, he could see the strip, not the crime lab, or his house. He was sat in a good spot for staring into the horizon and reflecting. Greg did not know that he'd been followed from his house, but he would find out soon enough.

Grissom was sat in his office talking to Warrick.

"The DNA was good," said Warrick, "but we didn't get any hits on any databases. He's a newbie."

"Maybe he just never got caught before," said Grissom.

"Maybe," said Warrick.

Grissom's cell phone rang. He made his excuses to Warrick, and hen put his phone to his ear. "Grissom."

"Hey," said the voice in the phone. "It's Greg."

"Hey Greg," said Grissom. "what's up?"

"I've been thinking," said Greg, "about Sara."

"right-" said Grissom. He wasn't sure what Greg was going to say next.

"I think I know who killed her," said Greg, "but I'm not sure he did, 'cause I can't see how he'd be able to-" Greg's voice was getting quicker and quicker.

"Whoa!" said Grissom. "Greg, slow down."

"Sorry," said Greg.

"Start from the beginning," said Grissom.

"Okay," said Greg. "the case me and Sara were working-"

"the body dump?" asked Grissom.

"Yes," said Greg. "We found the guy who did it, and he was being all threatening and stuff."

"Threatening, how?" asked Grissom.

"He said that the vic was asking to be killed, and he said that Sara was asking to be killed as well," said Greg.

"Right," said Grissom, as Greg screamed.

"Greg?" said Grissom.

No reply.

"Greg?" asked Grissom. "Greggo?!"

"What's wrong?" asked Warrick.

"Who are you?" asked Greg, as his surroundings came into focus. He had no idea where he was, and he was tied up. The last thing he remembered, he was on the phone to Grissom.

"You'll find out later," said the man.

"Where am I?" asked Greg.

"Oh, I don't think that's important," said the man. "Right now, your location is the least of your worries." The man smiled.

Greg didn't like this man very much, and he'd only known him for 10 seconds.

"Do you know the names 'Joanna Anderson' and 'Sara Sidle'?" asked the man.

"Yes," said Greg, his head pounding.

"Do you know what happened to them?" asked the man.

"They died," said Greg quietly.

"Do you know what happened to them before they died?" asked the man.

"Yes," said Greg.

"What?" asked the man.

"They were raped and tortured," said Greg.

"I did that," said the man.

"But I thought-" began Greg, before the man interrupted him.

"No," said the man. "You arrested the wrong person, Greg."

Greg froze. The man knew his name. How did he know Greg's name? What was he on about they'd arrested the wrong person? The evidence said that the husband did it. Had they really been wrong? Greg was worried. If they had arrested the wrong man, then the right man was standing right in front of help, and he was helpless to do anything about it. He struggled against the ropes around his wrists, and the man walked toward him.

"Now now Greg," he said quietly. "I wouldn't be doing that."

Grissom's tried Greg's cell phone again. Come on. Pick up.

"Hello?" came a voice. It wasn't Greg, it belonged to a woman.

"Yes, hello," said Grissom. "who's that?"

"My name's Leela," said the woman, "but this isn't my phone."

"I know," said Grissom. "Did you see what happened to the person who's phone this is?"

"No," said Leela. "I just saw this phone, and thought it was a nice phone, so I picked it up."

"Leela," said Grissom. "Can you tell me exactly where you found this phone?"

"Sure," said Leela.

Greg felt sick. He wanted to just curl up and go to sleep forever, and never wake up. He was scared. He wished that all this would be over soon. He wished that if he was going to follow the same fate as Joanna Anderson and Sara Sidle, it would be over quickly.

Greg wouldn't get his wish.

Catherine had joined the search party to look for Greg. They'd been looking for what seemed forever, when infact it was just under two hours. They'd found the spot where Leela had found the phone, the spot where Greg had dropped his phone as he was knocked unconscious. They'd found no sign of a car, no tyre treads, which meant Greg had to be somewhere near.

Catherine and Brass were walking past a warehouse, when they heard a scream from inside. Catherine instantly recognised the voice, it belonged to a man she knew affectionately as Greggo. "That's Greggo!" she cried, internally hoping that Brass hadn't noticed she's said 'Greggo', instead of 'Greg'.

Brass didn't notice. He was already pulling out his gun. Catherine did the same, and followed Brass into the warehouse. The usual courtesy of 'ladies first' didn't apply right now, and Catherine was glad about this. She really didn't want to be the first one into the warehouse. She was scared about what she might find, and tried to put images of Greg's lifeless corpse lying in a pool of blood to the back of her mind.

Brass and Catherine went down a corridor till they entered a large room. In this room, they came across Greg, who was in the corner of the room, lying on his side. Stood over him was another man, about six feet high, with a brown crew cut, and intense green eyes.

"LVPD," said Brass. "Step away from him."

The man kicked Greg in the chest, and ran out of the room. Brass chased after him. Catherine flinched as Greg cried out in pain as his ribs cracked from the forced of the man's kick, the she rushed to Greg's aid. Catherine knelt down next to Greg, and put a hand on his face. "It's okay Greggie," said softly. "It's okay."

Greg didn't say anything, he just looked up at Catherine. He had a look in his eyes that Catherine wasn't used to seeing, it was a look that scared Catherine. Greg's eyes had lost their usual boyish charm, the look that Catherine liked seeing. No, now he had a different look in his eyes. It was a look of pure vulnerability, a look of sheer terror, a look of terrible pain. Catherine didn't like this look at all, not one bit. She wanted to make this look go away, but she didn't know how to. The only thing she could do for Greg right now was to reassure him, and call for an ambulance. She unclipped her radio from her belt. "This is CSI Willows. I need an ambulance."

"Which room is Greg Sanders in?" asked Catherine. She'd explained to Grissom, and he'd sent her straight to the hospital.

The nurse checked the chart on the wall. "Room 12."

"Thankyou," said Catherine. She found room 12, and went inside. Greg was in there all by himself, sat up in bed, staring at the wall. "Greggie?"

"Hey," said Greg, in a voice so quiet it was barely audible.

"Can I come in?" asked Catherine.

"Sure," said Greg.

"Thanks," said Catherine. She pulled up a chair next to Greg's bed, and sat down. "How're you going?"

"Well, i'm not dead," said Greg, his face screwed up slightly with pain.

"Greg," said Catherine, frowning slightly.

"I've got three broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and some internal bleeding," said Greg, "and i've got twelve stitches in my head, but apart from that-"

"You're gonna be okay?" asked Catherine.

"Yeah," said Greg.

"Good," said Catherine. "Good." She didn't know what to say next. She knew that there were some difficult questions she had to ask Greg, but she was struggling to find the right words. "Greggie," she said softly.

Greg coughed, and flinched form the pain in his ribs. "Yeh?"

"I have to talk to you about what happened," said Catherine.

"I don't want to talk about it," said Greg. "I can't."

"I know," said Catherine. "I know it's gonna be hard for you. I understand."

"No you don't," said Greg. "You don't know what happened."

"Then tell me," said Catherine.

"I can't," said Greg, welling up.

"Were you raped?" asked Catherine.

Greg didn't say anything, he bit his lip, and this reaction gave Catherine her answer.

"Oh Greg," said Catherine. "I'm so sorry."

Greg burst into tears.

"Come here," said Catherine, putting her arm round Greg.

"How is he?" asked Grissom.

"He's a wreck," said Catherine.

"Is he going to be okay?" asked Grissom.

"Eventually," said Catherine.

"Good," said Grissom. He wouldn't be able to stand it if he'd lost two CSIs in the space of a week. Coping with one loss was bad enough, but if Greg was dead too, that would just finish him off.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," said Grissom, clearing his throat.

The door opened, and a woman with a striking resemblance to Catherine came into the room "Oh, am I interrupting?"

"No," lied Grissom. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for a Mr Grissom," said the woman.

"I'm Grissom," said Grissom, standing up. He'd guessed who this woman was.

"I'm Tracey Hennessee," said the woman, shaking Grissom's hand. "Your temp."

"It's good to meet you, Hennessee," said Grissom. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"Not at all," said Hennessee, "and please, call me 'Trace'."

"Okay," said Grissom. "Trace, this is Catherine Willows."

"Catherine," said Catherine, holding out her hand.

"Nice to meet you," said Trace, shaking Catherine's hand.

"If you'll both excuse me?" said Catherine. "I'm going to head back to the hospital."

Catherine went to the hospital, back to room 12. Greg was still in there, still sat up in bed, still staring at the wall.

"Hey," said Catherine.

"Hey," said Greg. His voice was slightly louder than last time, he was feeling a little bit stronger.

Catherine sat down. "Did you have a good sleep?"

"It was alright," said Greg.

"Good," said Catherine.

"Look," said Greg, "about earlier. I want to apologise."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Catherine. "I completely understand, I shouldn't have pushed you."

"I shouldn't have freaked out like that," said Greg.

"It's okay Greggie," said Catherine.

"Really?" said Greg.

"Yes," said Catherine. "I know you'll talk about when you're ready."

"Maybe," said Greg.

"Greg," said Catherine. "Did you let the doctors do a rape exam?"

Greg bit his lip and nodded.

"Thank you," said Catherine.

"They said I can go home later," said Greg.

"Really?" said Catherine. "That's good."

"Yeah," said Greg. "I don't really like hospitals."

"Me either," said Catherine. "Will you need a lift home?"

"Yes," said Greg.

"Well, give me a call," said Catherine, "and I'll come and get you."

"Thanks," said Greg.

"Catherine," said Trace, going into the staff room.

"Trace," said Catherine. "How're you settling in?"

"Good," said Trace. "Everyone is so friendly."

"Yeah, we're quite close," said Catherine.

It was true. The people at the crime lab were like one big family, and Catherine was the mother.

"Can I ask you something," said Trace.

"Sure," said Catherine. "What's up?"

"The CSI that was killed-"

"Sara," said Catherine.

"What happened?" asked Trace.

"She was murdered," said Catherine.

"Oh," said Trace.

"She was a good CSI," said Catherine.

"She'll be missed," said Trace.

"She will," said Catherine.

"And your other CSI, he's in the hospital?" said Trace.

"That's Greg," said Catherine.

"Greg," said Trace. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Yes," said Catherine.

"Good," said Trace.

"Have you got my keys?" asked Greg.

"Yeah," said Catherine. "They were in your jacket."

"Okay," said Greg.

"Have you got your meds and stuff?" asked Catherine.

"Yeah," said Greg.

"Shall we go?" asked Catherine.

"Please," said Greg.

Catherine and Greg left the hospital, and Catherine drove Greg home. She parked the car in the quiet street, parked behind Greg's silver passat. Greg slowly climbed out of Catherine's tahoe, and ignored the pain in his ribs as his feet hit the ground.

"Do you want me to come up?" asked Catherine.

"Please," said Greg.

"Sure," said Catherine.

"Thanks," said Greg. He led Catherine up to his small apartment, and opened the door. The place was exactly as he'd left it the previous day. There were two pasta bowls in the sink, waiting to be washed. There was one message on the answering machine. Greg hit the button, and listened to his message. "Greg, it's me. I just wanna say thankyou for the pasta, you're such a good cook, and if you come round this saturday, i'm making curry. Speak to you soon, yeh?"

"I didn't know you were a good cook," said Catherine.

Greg smiled. "I'm a great cook."

"You'll have to cook me something sometime," said Catherine.

"Maybe," said Greg. "There's food and drink and stuff in the fridge, if you want to help yourself."

"Okay," said Catherine. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to have a shower," said Greg.

"Okay," said Catherine.

Greg took the bandage around his wrist off, he didn't want it to get wet. "I won't be long."

"Take your time," said Catherine.

Greg gave Catherine a little smile, and then slowly walked into the bathroom. He took a shower, though he couldn't seem to get the water to the right temperature. When he got out the shower, he saw himself in the mirror, saw the big cut on his head, the one with 12 stitches in it. 'Greg, you sure look rough.' Greg got dressed, and went back out to his living room. Catherine was sitting on the couch, staring out the window. She'd done the washing up, and got herself a glass of water. When she realised Greg was back, she looked up.

"Hey Greggie," said Catherine. "Y'okay?"

"I don't know," said Greg. It was true. He didn't know how he was feeling. He felt better after taking a shower, but he still felt awful.

"Come here," said Catherine, pulling a cushion into her lap.

Greg laid down on the couch, and rested his head on the cushion. He needed to cough, but knew that if he did, his ribs would really hurt, so he decided against it.

"How's the ribs?" asked Catherine.

"Sore," said Greg. That was it, he was going to cough, there was no way he could prevent it. Greg coughed, and cried out from the pain.

"Are you okay?" asked Catherine.

"Yes," lied Greg through gritted teeth.

Catherine storked Greg's head. Even though his hair was still slightly wet, it was really spiky. Catherine had no idea that Greg's hair was naturally spiky, she just thought he spent hours in front of the mirror with a vat of hair gel.

"Will you help me put the bandage back on my wrist?" asked Greg. "It kinda hurts." This was an understatement. It really hurts.

"Of course," said Catherine. She picked up the bandage from the table, and told Greg to hold his hand out. As he did so, Catherine noticed how skinny Greg was. At that moment, he looked so thin and fragile, as if he would snap if she touched him. Catherine put the bandage back round Greg's wrist as gently as she could, she didn't want to cause Greg more pain than he was already in. After she'd finished, she laid Greg's delicate hand down on his chest. He was so fragile right now, and Catherine felt like she was a little girl with a china doll, being extremely careful so as to not damage this six foot, 29 year old, trainee CSI doll called Greg Sanders.

Catherine looked at Greg's face. His eyes were closed. He looked so peaceful, and Catherine could only imagine the hell that was going on inside him.

"How's Greg?" asked Warrick.

"He's hanging in there," said Catherine, "but I think he's gonna get worse before he gets better. This is going to be really hard on him."

"Yeah," said Warrick. "Maybe I should go and see him, give him some good news."

"What good news?" asked Catherine. She could really do with some good news right now.

"DNA came back good," said Warrick. "We got him for murdering Sara, and for what he did to Greggo. There isn't a jury in Clark County that won't give him the death penalty."

"Oh Warrick," said Catherine. "That's good news."

"I'll call round and see him when I get off shift," said Warrick.

"He'll like that," said Catherine, smiling.

Greg got a knock at his door. He slowly stood up, flicked his CD player off, and went to the door.

"Hey Greggo!" said Warrick.

"Warrick!" said Greg. "Hey, come in."

"Thanks," said Warrick.

Greg closed his front door, and turned to face Warrick.

"How's it going?" asked Warrick.

"Honestly?" asked Greg.

"Yeah," said Warrick. "Always be honest."

"Terrible," said Greg. "This whole thing is so messed up."

"I know," said Warrick.

"I don't think you do," said Greg. "This whole thing is so goddamn screwed. Guys don't get raped, it's just not something that happens."

"It does," said Warrick. "More often that you would think."

"Yeah," said Greg, sarcastically. "Apparently."

"Did Catherine tell you we arrested the guy that did this to you?" asked Warrick.

"No," said Greg. "I don't think she knows what to say. She seems so worried she might say the wrong thing."

"I know what you mean," said Warrick. "But it is good that we got the guy, right?"

"I guess," said Greg.

"Oh," said Warrick. "I thought you'd be pleased."

"If we had arrested the right guy in the first place," said Greg. "None of this would ever have happened."

"Greggo?" asked Warrick.

"I could have stopped this happening," said Greg.

"How?" asked Warrick.

"The case that Sara and me were working," said Greg. "Joanna Anderson. We arrested the husband for it."

"Why?" asked Warrick.

"Cause that's what the DNA evidence said," said Greg.

"So you were right to arrest him then," said Warrick.

"No," said Greg.

"Why not?" asked Warrick.

"Because he didn't do it," said Greg, welling up.

"But you just said that the evidence said he did do it," said Warrick.

"I was wrong," said Greg.

"I don't believe that," said Warrick. "How often are you wrong?"

"I've never been wrong," said Greg. "Untill now."

"I'm sure you weren't wrong this time either," said Warrick. "In this job, you follow the evidence. If the evidence says the husband did it, then you arrest the husband."

"But if we had arrested the right guy earlier," said Greg. "then none of this would have happened. Sara wouldn't be dead, she'd still be here."

"Greg," said Warrick, inching towards the younger man, ready to console him if needed. "None of this is your fault."

"Yes it is," insisted Greg, tears rolling down his cheeks. "If I'd done my job properly, she wouldn't be dead, and I wouldn't be like this."

"That's not true," said Warrick. It hurt him to see Greg like this.

"Yes it is," said Greg, staring at the floor. He looked up at Warrick. "This is all my fault."

"Come here," said Warrick, going to put his arm round Greg, to try and calm him down.

"Don't," said Greg, trying to fight Warrick off, but in the end, he just gave up, and burst into tears.

"Hey," said Warrick. "It's okay." He wrapped one arm tightly around Greg's shoulders, and put his other hand on the back of Greg's head. "Ssh."

"I'm sorry," said Greg quietly.

"Don't apologise," said Warrick. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing, do you hear me?"

"It's just-" began Greg.

"It's just nothing," said Warrick. "Don't blame yourself. This is not your fault."