Life Changing Measures

Disclaimer: Yes, yes. I know it, not mine. Gosh darn it!

A/N: Please R&R. Thanks again to my Beta LibraryLady61. Meet you at Starbucks!

Summary: I'm the beholder. At random I decide on changing people's lives. Sometimes for their better, sometimes for their worse. OC POV on the nightshift A-Team Grissom, Sara, Greg and Brass.

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: None

I was born and raised in the City of Sin for a reason. I was five when I began to understand my purpose. That was the first time I changed someone's life.

My baby brother was crying all the time, my Mom and Dad fighting. Over him. Over responsibilities, over money. I made him be quiet. They called it sudden infant death, but knowing better my parents barely kept talking to each other, or to me for that matter.

Since I can remember my parents took me to church every Sunday. Occasionally I listened to the priest, and it was him who explained to me my burden and my destiny. I recall one important thing he said:

"Sometimes The Lord cannot do all the work by himself. We all can make a change and God needs us as helping hands." And that's what I am. I'm helpful. The touch of my hands would change people's lives.

Primarily I went there to watch people, to get a glimpse of their lives. I studied their faces to guess what they would feel, I monitored their body language and could tell whether they cheat or say the truth, whether they were happy or grieving, even who was going to live and who was going to die. But as long as nobody would ask, there was no way I would tell.

By the time I turned eight, I had already figured out that the best church goers were the biggest liars. One day I told Mrs Jenson that I had seen the deacon Mr Jenson very much and not very deacon-like engaged in Katy Dobson in the back office of their store. She started crying and I sat with her for a while to calm her down.

Two days later the police arrested Mrs Jenson for killing her husband and Katy left town for good.

In school I became a ghost, like I was at home. I didn't make friends but also no foes. I experimented with my special gift and continued changing people's lives.

When I was twelve, there was that bully, Chuck, who tortured the weak. I made him weak too. When he found his dog poisoned in his backyard, he couldn't stop crying for a week. After his second dog got killed, he finally understood that is was a revenge for his deeds and started changing.

Or that pretty girl with the long brown curls and hazel eyes. Her name was Sara Harper. I was seventeen by then. She was nearly drowning in the swimming pool, when I saved her, breathing air into her watered lungs. She always wanted to be a model, but after I pulled her back to life she started studying to become a doctor.

I remember that her thank you kiss left me with weird and tingly feelings, that I didn't necessarily wish to explore further.

I went on, I listened and learned and developed my skills. I became the beholder. I was helpful. I had the gift. At random I kept touching people's lives. Sometimes I changed it for their better, sometimes for their worse.

I never stayed long in my jobs because I wanted to keep a wide scope of choices and to broaden my experience. I became an assistant shop manager with the 24/7 grocery store on Industrial five weeks ago and had already begun with my selection.

Mrs Carmichael. She certainly was the nagging kind of an old lady, always complaining about her neighbours, the traffic, the service, the people. She couldn't stop. So I made her to. One evening I followed her home and exonerated her from the world's burden, or the other way round. Whatever. From what I've heard medics pronounced it a natural cause of death. Well, she was old, you know.

And there was Caitlin Rogers. Her boyfriend bailed on her, left her when she was already in the advanced stage of pregnancy. She didn't have to say it, I got it by the look. So I took care of her. Took her in my arms, comforted her, stroked her neck and then… then I did a little he said – she said charade. What else did you think I would do to woman carrying a baby?

She started dating that computer nerd Ken from the other side of the street. And Ken, a regular customer of mine by the way, came over yesterday, stupidly happy and proud with the delivered baby boy. They named it after me and I felt weirdly honoured.

I was twenty seven years old when I found out about forces existing beyond my own control, powers that would spoil my work, my art of changing people's lives, invade my privacy, destroy my talent and change my life forever.


They stopped by once a while. Sometimes she came alone, but this time a twenty something with spiky hair accompanied her. While the brunette was walking down the aisle, picking up some goods she kept teasing the younger guy, who couldn't control his sheepish grin when looking at her with his puppy dog eyes. I felt embarrassed for him.

Outside the store as usual an older guy with greyish hair and beard sitting in the driver seat of his SUV, would wait for them, probably listening to some 60s or 70s music whatever fits his age group. He wasn't the father and he wasn't the lover, that I could tell. Even from the distance I could sense the weirdness of that guy, something about him made me uncomfortably shiver. He never stepped in and purchased goods, he always sent his, what I had to guess, co-workers. It's hard to tell about peoples lives when you watch through several glass barriers.

They had been wearing badges, so I assumed that they had somehow to be with law enforcement. I could tell from their body language, they weren't cops though. Police officers just seem more suspicious all the time, less relaxed, and them, well, they also rather looked smarter.

Usually it takes some time to get in touch with the people to get drawn into their lives. But this time one look in her eyes was enough to make the connection. She frowned when she caught me staring at her, I gave her my best face, winked and she smiled back as if understanding me wordlessly. I had to turn away from her.

I could read in her eyes that she wasn't happy. It hurt me so bad what I felt for her. That never happened before, I mean, that I got emotionally involved. No wait, Sara Harper, back then I had certain feelings too. But this time it was different. That girl, no not a girl, a woman, left me stunned, gasping. An overkill of overwhelming emotions left a sting in my heart and choked my throat. My eyes still burn from gaze of her dark brown eyes.

She was desperately trying to change her life but she didn't know how to move on. My heart went out to her and I almost burst in tears. All this pain. I had to make that stop for her and I would find out how to do it.

If I could change her for the better, I would change the whole world. Hers and mine. I had met my masterpiece. She was my destiny.

I continued with my work while elaborating a situation which would draw her attention to me, something to get her in the loop of my action. As I was changing shifts every two weeks it took me a while before I figured that she would work only nights. So I asked my boss that I would preferably work nightshifts. And my colleague Tina was so glad that I volunteered and bought me a plant as a gift. So another life had been changed for the better. Glad I could help.

A couple of weeks later I met Clark Weiser. Not a regular customer, neither happy nor sad, although he was definitely living alone. I could tell from his movements that he was gay and he was checking out on me. I didn't mind though. Usually I never physically engage with people anyway, I mean, besides occasionally using my hands. I'm just not too much in favour of sexual encounters. I tried it out in either direction but it didn't turn out for me. I guess it's completely overrated.

But he could be useful for my purposes. So when Clark made a hit on me I responded. We met at his place after work and he admitted that he was into bondage and strangulation. Well that worked for me, too. We set up the rules and the code words. Although when he finally told me to stop, I didn't. Without giving it a second thought or hint of regret I left his apartment, not knowing that I had left several traces of myself behind. I got sloppy, I guess but I couldn't prevent things to come. Destiny.

Back at home I took a shower. While undressing I took a look at myself in the mirror. Blood on my face? On my hands? Where did all the dried blood stripes on my naked body come from? The only thing I knew for sure was that it wasn't my blood. But I couldn't remember.


The next day it rained. When it rained in Vegas it poured. I had the night off, and like other people I rather preferred not to leave the house in this weather. I enjoyed the quietness of my place, absorbed in my own thoughts, listening to some smooth Jazz music. When suddenly all hell broke loose.

There were police flashlights all over the parking lot, squealing tires, officers stepping out, with weapons drawn, securing the area, directing nosy neighbours out of reach. Though the window I watched some middle aged man slightly breathless directly running up to my place.

"Las Vegas Police! Open up, we have a warrant to search your apartment." While shouting someone broke my door open before I even had to the chance to open up. So I watched the door swinging rapidly, startled by its crash against the wall. I kept standing without moving, raising my hands slowly to show that I am not dangerous at all. Not to give him any reason to misunderstand my reactions.

"Mr Riley Cor? I'm Detective Jim Brass, Las Vegas PD. Hands on the back of your head, please. You are under arrest for the murder of Clark Weiser."

Then he gave me the Miranda crap, which I believed was only a set up for a third class TV show. But no, he gave me the whole speech. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used as evidence…" and then he read me my constitutional rights.

I waved it away, "Wow, you know this all by heart, Detective? I'm impressed. Yes, I get it. So how can I be of help?"

Brass scoffed "Yes, help me out here, explain to me what went wrong in your relationship with Weiser."

Inwardly I was shaken and confused. How could that be? What are these people doing here? I didn't get it. I didn't plan it to happen that way. "That was too fast. I'm not done yet." I murmured merely perplexed, but inaudible for the rest of the chaos crew invading my home.

Aloud I said "I do not have any relationship." He re-holstered his weapon and stepped back.

"Yeah, picture that. How about a short ride in the black-and-white downtown to my place while my people have a little fun with your apartment." Brass said in a sharp voice.

A police officer approached and nodded "Checked and cleared!" at Brass and he ordered another crew to enter my house.

The grey haired man entered the room first, carefully as if too shy to invade my privacy. He wore a blue jacket saying 'forensics' on its back and carried a metal box. He looked sharp through his glasses, his eyes were of an intense blue. He nodded politely but didn't say anything. He made me afraid, he made me feel guilty. Didn't know why.

The older looked over his shoulder and said. "Greg, come on over."

The younger guy followed. The guy from the store. He wasn't trying to be funny or joking this time, he looked serious, older, even professional despite his spiky hear pointing in all directions. He stared at me rather surprised.

"Grissom," he whispered, "why doesn't it cease to amaze me that people who can come across so innocent or even angelic commit brutal murder."

Thanks for that, I have never been called angelic. I like it, I like him.

Grissom shrugged. "I stopped wondering, Greg. You never know. People change, we all do, take for example coping with strong feelings. Passion, love, hate. The wrong impression of omnipotence can create or enhance the capability of murder. 'Maybe there is a beast...maybe it's only us.'" He sighed. "Let's get it started."

I turned to Grissom and asked "Lord of the Flies? That's one of my favourites."

"Yeah, that's his second name, pal. We're done here." Brass cuffed me up and pulled me outside. "And good that you are into reading as well. Might keep you busy while you're lining up on death row."

He put me in a police car, carefully turning my head so that I wouldn't hit the door frame.

"That's very decent of you." I said politely.

"Hey, Cor! Take a break, will you." He growled. "Don't make me mad." And ordered a young police officer to escort me to the police station.

Officer Mick Deven was strangely afraid of me. I was probably one of his first arrests. He didn't like to touch me, while escorting me to booking. I felt sorry for him. He gave me some paper stuff to sign and showed me another warrant, which I accepted with a shrug.

They made me change my clothing. I was wearing orange scrubs and a white shirt by now. My hands were cuffed in front, which felt a bit more comfortable. Then I was left alone in the interrogation room. Alone with three chairs and a table. A mirror on the front and the rest of the walls plain concrete. The door was closed and locked. I felt being watched. This must be a one-way mirror. Somebody was watching me from behind.

I looked at my counterpart in the mirror and smiled. Angelic said Greg. I was six foot tall and slender, with blonde hair, an even face with gentle brown eyes, and my hands looked soft and tender. Funny, I never saw me the way he did.

So I sat and waited quietly, my eyes half closed, my hands folded, rested on the table.

Than the key turned, the door unlocked in she came in. My destiny. I stood up politely and she glanced at me in surprise. I offered her a seat, I mean as far as you can do that with hands cuffed up. Mr Grissom and Detective Brass followed but I just had eyes for her. Now that made sense. My subconscious mind figured out how to get in touch with her, that why I had to kill Clark. Clark had been the link, the connection.

"Mr Cor, I'm Sara Sidle. I'm with the crime lab." She sat down in front of me. The detective took a seat beside her and her forensic colleague leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the observer. I offered her to call me Riley.

"We found Clark Weiser bound and strangled with a leather belt. But you know that already, pal?" I smirked at Brass who was getting into his bad cop mode.

"On the bed sheets we found semen, some blonde hairs, and the laces had fresh epithelial on it. The magic word is DNA. We matched it with our database, it came back, you. You were a member of the Red Cross, blood donor. We gotta match. We processed your clothing we found in the laundry of your place and found remainders of Weiser's blood on it. Anything you want to explain here? Tell us what happened."

"Can I talk to her for a minute?" I asked them. "Just a minute. Alone? Please?" I had to explain to her how I found a way to get in contact with her. I needed to explain that I could help her.

Sara looked to Brass and to Grissom, but the forensics guy shook his head. So I decided not to answer any question and focussed on Sara, who stroked a strand of hair out of her beautiful yet serious face.

"Make yourself a home, Riley. You're not going anywhere and we have time." The detective rather annoyed me with his tough guy approach and I tried my best to ignore him while continuing to watch Sara, listening to her breathing, following every little crinkle in her face. I could even tell which was caused by laughter, which was caused by pain.

Sara stood up and went to Grissom. He concentrated on what she whispered in his ear, while he seemed a bit uncomfortable upon her presence. I could see them exchanging intense gazes. What did I say before? Not a father and not a lover? I guess I have to change that statement. He is a lover. Their body language is telling me everything.

Brass draw my attention back. "So tell me, why did you have to slice him up post mortem? I don't get that part! I mean, Clark was already dead. Why leave the mess?"

"Everything has its reason, Detective." I responded with a smile.

"Well, that was near to a confession, I guess. You want a lawyer?" Brass offered.

But I told him it wouldn't be necessary. They would never understand that I had set up this murder case and had it look like it was committed by an obvious lunatic. That I had to create that image which would get me near to Sara and her needs. And it worked. Fate is a weird thing. My masterpiece. I had to make it right here. My ultimate purpose.

I stood up slowly and noticed that Brass got immediately alert. But too late. With a sudden burst I jumped over the table and kicked him against his chin and gave him another punch in the face. He was out in a second, his drawn weapon sliding against the concrete wall. It was a small room and I have had enough time to study the amenities, that worked for me. I turned around and threw a chair against Grissom before could get his gun out. I heard a bone break and he held his left shoulder, grimaced with pain. Than I grabbed Sara. I realized that she wasn't carrying a weapon.

The door slammed open and young officer Deven rushed in, his gun drawn, his eyes wide. He looked at Grissom who raised his good hand to hold him back. Deven stopped, weapon still pointing at me, or at Sara as a matter of fact.

Sara was brave, she kept kicking and struggling to get away from me, but I managed to capture her in front, inside of my cuffed arms. The others would just see it a classic hostage situation, but I didn't care. I just wanted Sara to listen to me, to explain how I would be able to change, to get out of her shell and move on with her life.

She didn't listen, or she pretended not to. But that wasn't necessary. I felt that my presence would be enough. That's how it worked. So I kept on holding her tight, amazed by the touch of her body, I smelled her shampoo, her curls were tingling my face. All of a sudden she stopped struggling and made herself heavy. We both fell down, she came to lie on top of me. So close. The connection was made.

Grissom kept talking to me, but I could barely listen to him, I was too overwhelmed with the emotional feedback I got from Sara. I was confused by her presence and her beauty. She was so strong and so weak. And he was the reason, it was him causing that weakness. Because while he kept talking, his eyes were locked with Sara's. Full of sorrow, pain and love.

"He loves you." I whispered to Sara. "But he's hurting you. Shall I kill him for you?" I offered her.

"No, Don't!" She hissed back angry and upset, trying to squirm out of my tight embrace. I felt her heat beat. "Come on, Sara, be patient. Just a few moments more, Sara." I said in a low voice repeating her name like an incantation.

"It will be over soon." I said in a wrong attempt to relax the situation. Officer Deven still had his gun pointed at me. Grissom glared at me.

"If you get a clear shot, shoot." Grissom told him in a cold voice, but his desperate gaze still locked with Sara's eyes. Deven was frozen. I smiled at him regretfully, felt his embarrassment.

I tried to regain an upright position with Sara. That moment something hit me in the head, I fell back, again drawing Sara with me. There was blood spatter on her face.

"Did he hurt you? Again?" I wanted to ask her but my voice failed me. My vision got blurry when I got it. Grissom had made use of his weapon.

Then Sara crawled away from me. She stumbled into Grissom's arms and started sobbing. He was pulling one arm around her to comfort her, he stroke her hair and her back, held her close, in this very instant forgetting about all rules they had set up to avoid each other for such a long time.

"That's a start." I whispered, feeling a weird copper taste in my mouth. I couldn't control my limbs anymore and decided just to stay put for a while, now that my masterpiece was done, my destiny was fulfilled.


Epilogue:

Detective Jim Brass had been delivered to hospital with a serious concussion. Dr Samantha Books, head of ER, took care of him, and more than that. They got married nine months later.

Officer Mick Deven changed his profession due to his failure on the job. He still liked being in law enforcement. So he went back to university and pursued a new career in forensics.

Sara Sidle had been in counselling for a while and learned a lot about how to cope with her past and even more important how to deal with her future.

Gil Grissom's shoulder would hurt from time to time due to changing weather, reminding him of the day he had to take a life to save a life, Sara's. He asked her out for dinner a couple of weeks later. And she didn't turn him down. That's a start.

FIN