A/N - o.k, here is my third offering. I had a random hour last night whereI just threw this idea together. Not a lot to say about it really LOL. Just read it and enjoy it (hopefully). Please read and review as I have tried to do this one a little differently this time.

This story is written from Greg's point of view and flashes back in places but I think it's pretty obvious where that happens.

As usual characters are not mine but story is.

Anyway read on...

Out of context

© CSI Dork 2005

I woke up in a cold sweat at three this morning. It was kind of strange not sleeping in the daytime. Damn Grissom, making me go home.

'You can't stay here, you're a liability Greg,' he'd said in his usual paternally condescending tone.

'But I need to do this,' I'd protested to no avail.

'Do what Greg? Mess everything up? You've already contaminated two pieces of evidence. If you can't focus – go home!' the paternal tone in his voice rising slightly to an authoritative threat suggesting I was not going to win this argument and that the conversation was over anyway.

Like going home could make me focus after what had happened tonight! It's crazy, you'd think being a CSI I'd be used to seeing dead bodies. But it seems so different when you're the one discovering it for the first time. It's so different stumbling across what you don't expect to see. No yellow tape, no police lights flashing into the night, their blue beacons attracting interest from the neighbours who were barely aware of the victim's existence, let alone cared for it. Somehow, I only realised tonight that the usual ruckus of a police presence at a crime scene was bizarrely comforting; like a safety blanket. Maybe it's coming face to face with your worst nightmare all battered and torn, blood adorning clammy grey skin thats makes you realise you are no different to every other human being out there. Experience or no experience.

I'd barely found the strength to call it in. I was so numb I wasn't aware that I was speaking but somehow I know the words were there.

'Grissom, I found a body…'

A body? A body! How could I sound so calm and callous, like this didn't strike any kind of feeling inside me? No hot nausea teasing the back of my throat. No weakening of the leg muscles reducing me to a quivering wreck. Nothing. But inside…inside was a different story.

My mind was racing but still my brain seemed to be communicating something to my body as I began to assess what lay before me. Caucasian female. 29 years old. Dress torn. Signs of struggle. One shoe lying some three feet away like it had tried to flee the scene without it's mistress.

No time for morbid humour now. I watched as the patrol car pulled up giving a screech of it's siren as if announcing it's presence to the neighbourhood. Mission accomplished. The first of the curtain twitchers began to emerge as the cop approached me.

'CSI Sanders?' I heard the voice but didn't respond.

The inquisitive residents were beginning to seriously piss me off. She's not a piece of meat. Give her some dignity. My heart screamed the words my mouth couldn't voice. The cop was waving his hand in front of my face, trying to get my attention. I took a disoriented step back and felt my foot connect with the slender elegance of the body's fingers.

And so was evidence contamination number one. Grissom was not suitably impressed to discover that the shoe impression he lifted from the vitim and spent a good hour analysing was a match to mine. Given that my brain had conveniently omitted this event temporarily from my mind in the chaos that ensued with the arrival of the remainder of the forensics team, I had neglected to inform Grissom of this fact.

'You stood on the body?' Grissom asked as I sat in the break room wondering what to do next.

'Um yeah,' I replied, not recognising my own voice. The flatness of the tone being so out of character for me.

'And you didn't mention this because…?' Grissom didn't finish the question, clearly irritated by my newfound lack of cognition.

'I forgot,' I stated bluntly, not caring that evidence tampering could kill the case.

Excuse the pun. It seemed I couldn't get death off my mind. Doing this job it hardly seemed strange but I couldn't help think of her body. It would be stored uniformly in a drawer in Dr Robbins office by now. I wondered if she could breathe o.k in there which I then realised was stupid given that dead people don't generally breathe anyway. I was worried about her. It seemed so unfair to just leave her in there, cold and alone. But I didn't want to go and see her. I couldn't face it.

Somehow the automatic pilot I was now operating on managed to summon the motivation to get me up and begin to process the other evidence. I had to start with her clothes. Black evening dress, one pair of black dress sandals, one with a broken strap and co-ordinated lingerie. It made me glad that I was processing alone. If anyone else were responsible for examining her personal effects, it would have seemed wrong. She would have been so embarrassed if the task wasn't given the subtlety it warranted.

I looked through her cell phone. Messages stored from months ago brought a smile to my face. It seemed poignantly reassuring to see the value those messages had to her. My face felt hot and I closed my eyes for a moment hoping the dizziness would pass and the tremors I was now beginning to feel would not result in me completely breaking down. I managed to regain some self-control enough to open my eyes and discovered the hot sensation on my face had been the sting of hot tears, some of which had fallen onto her dress.

Evidence Contamination Number Two. This time I was conscious enough to inform Grissom, made up some lie that my eyes were watering because I had hay fever. Pretty good excuse for someone who barely felt awake.

'Greg what is with you tonight?' Grissom sighed, angrily scribbling the new spanner in the works down onto his field notes.

'I'm sorry. I found her and she was just lying there. She didn't move,' I said weakly as thought the man would even know what I was implying. I didn't really want to talk about it anyway.

'You're a CSI Greg, it's not the first corpse you've ever seen,' Grissom looked to be in a state of agitated disbelief at his youngest investigators idiocy.

That was the conversation that led to the conversation that led to me being sent home with nothing else to do but try and break the nocturnal cycle my body had grown accustomed to.

She smiled at me but her eyes were weeping. I think she was trying to be brave for my sake. Then the tears changed from their shimmering salty transparency to crimson red and she began to scream as the flow of blood covered her face and poured into her mouth. She began to choke and I ran to save her. My feet wouldn't move, cemented to the asphalt by my own fear. I pulled and pulled as she continued to choke and the blood filled her mouth and lungs.

I exhaled heavily as I tried to still my racing heart. The room blurring into focus, I found myself reliving the events of the evening. There was no way I could sit here in the pool of sweat that was dampening my blankets and do nothing. I had to find out how the case was progressing even with my evidential contributions.

Maybe I should have explained myself to Grissom I thought as I walked sombrely down the corridor from the entrance of the Las Vegas Crime Lab towards my boss' office. He probably wouldn't have heard me if I'd tried. In Grissom's eyes there was no excuse for messing up the evidence. My mind fluttered back to the toilet incident of my first failed proficiency test. My urgency to urinate had clouded my common sense. How small I had felt especially when Hodges the resident professional jerk had put his opinion in. Asshole!

Why was I thinking about stuff like this now? There was a dead girl in there that I was neglecting. Not that I imagined Grissom would let me near her after my excellent work this evening. The faint voice of Sara Sidle reached my ears but my mind did not process what this meant.

'Griss, we got an I.D on the dead girl. Take a look at her next of kin.'

I paused as he looked in my direction and slowly made his way towards me. I began to realise the look on his face was no longer the one of irritated disappointment from earlier that night but rather of horror and shock, like he needed to talk to me but wasn't sure how to find the right words. He stopped before me; he looked as though he were almost wincing like it were causing him actual physical pain to address me. It was then I realised he knew everything.

He knew why I had clumsily trampled the victim's body. Why I had contaminated evidence with my DNA. Why I had been acting like a useless tool all night.

The tremors in my legs were back and this time they won the battle for my composure. I felt myself half stumble to the floor as I continued to struggle with my emotions, one knee hitting the cold tiles with a crunch.

To the uninformed eye it would have looked like I was proposing marriage to the portly middle aged man before me but we both knew differently.

'I'm so sorry Greg, I had no idea,' Grissom said, uncomfortably not moving or offering a hand.

In all the fieldwork and all the training I had done to get my promotion, no one had told me how to prepare for this. No one had told me what it would be like to discover a body outside of the job. Out of context.

No one had told me what I should do when the face of the body I found would be familiar. When the face of the girl staring back at me was the face of the girl I loved.

A/N - o.k, there you go. I hope you liked it. Apolgies for the dark depressingness (is that a word?) so close to Christmas but i wrote it anyway. I hope you didn't guess the ending too much before you got to it. I tried really hard to drop in some clues without giving it away. Anyway random moment over. If you liked this story please check out my other two 'Mutual Disaffection Pandoras box' (it has two titles cos i discovered that there was already a fic on here entitiled Pandora's Box) and 'Christmas Shopping' which is an attempt at a lighthearted look at Greg Sanders

Thank you and Merry Christmas.