Chapter 8: The Fifth Picture

"So, I hear you're finally flying the coop." A nurse said as she came into Greg's soon-to-be-former hospital room unannounced, pushing an empty wheelchair. "Can I give you a lift?" She motioned to the chair.

"Hey Flora." Greg greeted the nurse with a casual smile. He looked awkwardly at the wheelchair and thought of how much it would cramp his style to be wheeled in that thing. "Uh, thanks but I think I got it from here."

"You have raised a very head-strong boy." Nurse Flora said to Ingrid, who had been helping Greg put his belongings into a blue duffle bag.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it, dear." Ingrid laughed.

"I'm sorry Greg, but its hospital policy. We have to wheel you out." The nurse said firmly. There was a certain authoritative tone to her voice that reminded Greg of Grissom.

"You better listen to what the good nurse says." Ingrid insisted while folding Greg's sweatpants, stuffing it into the bag and zippered it up.

"But I can walk just fine, see?" Greg, who had his right arm securely fastened into a grey canvas sling, walked carefully across the room. He had to admit that he was a little wobbly at times, but for the most part, he could get from point A to point B without too much trouble.

"Um-hm." Nurse Flora said, not impressed. "I see. But that doesn't change the rules."

"Greg sweetie, will you stop being difficult and just listen to the nurse?" Ingrid said in a huff.

"I'm not being difficult." Greg said defensively.

"Alright, stop fooling around and get your butt in the wheelchair." Nurse Flora's voice was as loud and threatening as a drill sergeant. Her firmness startled Greg and he was suddenly afraid of the otherwise friendly dark-haired nurse.

Greg obeyed and cowardly took a seat in the wheelchair.

"See, that's not so bad, now is it?" Nurse Flora said. Her drill sergeant tone was gone and replaced by the amicable nature that Greg was used to. "You just gotta know how to talk to patients sometimes. Show 'em who's boss." She said to Ingrid and they laughed.

Just then, another nurse appeared at the doorframe. It was Nurse Agatha. She was a much older nurse, not nearly as attractive as Nurse Flora, but still one of the nice ones who took care of Greg.

"We'll miss you, you know." Nurse Agatha said to Greg.

"I'll miss all of you too. You guys have been great. I appreciate it a lot." Greg said while alternating glances between the two nurses.

"You're welcome. It's part of our job." Nurse Agatha said and smiled.

Greg was thrilled he was finally deemed well enough by the doctors to be released from the hospital. He'd been in the hospital for three weeks, two days, and six hours – he counted off the days like as if he was in prison. He was definitely going to miss the nurses, who have grown quite attached to Greg from the start.

"Maybe I'll come by and say hi, if I'm in the area sometime." Greg said.

"Yes, you do that, babe." Nurse Agatha said.

"Ok, I think we're all set." Ingrid said as she swung the duffle bag over her shoulder.

"Have you got your pills?" Nurse Flora reminded.

"Right here." Greg patted his pocket.

"Good, are ya ready?" Nurse Flora said. "This is a big moment."

Greg let out a deep breath and said, "Yep. Let's go."

He was glad to never have to set his eyes on the beige-colored room again. He'd spent enough days lying in bed staring up at the ceiling, counting and analyzing the square tiles. He would definitely not miss the hospital food and being poked and prodded with medical equipment at all hours of the night. Those days were gone and he was finally allowed to go home.

Ingrid chatted with Nurse Agatha and Nurse Flora pushed Greg in the wheelchair as they walked to the outpatient area – a rather spacious carpeted vestibule with a few neat rows of chairs. Surprisingly, the outpatient area was not as crowded as it should be during this time of the day. Aside from the few that were also being released, there were only a handful of people wandering around – and half of them appeared to be hospital staff and personnel.

Ingrid stopped at the front desk to fill out some release papers. Nurse Flora wheeled into the end of the room and parked Greg right in front of the automatic double doors.

"Okay, this is where you get off." Nurse Flora said.

Greg stifled a grunt as he got up. His legs felt a little rubbery but he shook it off. The soreness and dull pain were natural and the pills would easily take care of that. He stood facing the two nurses, who looked back at him most admirably.

"Alright now, you take care." Nurse Agatha said and gave Greg a gentle hug followed by a kiss on the cheek. "You come back for the follow-up in two weeks and stay away from stress."

"Thanks Agatha. I will. Bye!" Greg said. He towered over Nurse Agatha by a head. Her hug was comforting. There was certainly something very grandmotherly about her that Greg liked. He turned to Nurse Flora, who was already misty-eyed.

"Get lots of sleep, don't forget to take your pills, and for Heaven's sake, stay away from those bad guys." Nurse Flora's voice shook but she covered it up with a laugh. "You take care of yourself, you hear?" She, too, gave Greg a farewell hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"I will. Thank you." Greg felt the tips of his ears reddened. But somehow, he couldn't stop grinning. It wasn't everyday that he had a pretty nurse fawning over him.

When Ingrid was finally done with the paperwork, she cordially said her good-byes to the nurses and headed out the door with her son. Nurses Flora and Agatha did not move from their spots until Ingrid and Greg disappeared into a taxi cab. It was sort of like seeing their fledgling leave home for the first time.

"Well Greg, we're finally home." Ingrid said as they started up the steps to the apartment complex. "I did a little cleaning over that last few weeks. I'm sure you wouldn't mind that. You have a really nice place but you need to do more cleaning and organizing."

Ingrid fished for the keys in her leather handbag. Without turning around, she continued talking. "Seriously honey, you have a sense of a billy goat. Sometimes, I wonder where you get that from. I know you didn't inherit that trait from me. And another thing, there is a colony of something breeding in your fridge. This is why expiry dates were invented – so you know when to throw out spoiled food. I had to disinfect your whole fridge." She rambled on. She often did this when she was excited about something.

She reached the door and inserted the key into the lock. "I think you will find your apartment in better condition now. It also smells nicer than it did before, especially your bathroom. I did a scrub down. I even got a couple of those scented candles."

Ingrid turned around to see what was taking her son so long. To her surprise, Greg was far behind, still climbing the stairs.

"There are way too many steps here. I need to take a break." Greg complained wearily from the middle of the stairs. His left hand held the banister with a firm grip. The poor kid looked pale and exhausted from the mere trek from the cab to the stairs.

"Come on, Greg. There are only eighteen steps. You're more than half way up. You're getting way too big to be carried." Ingrid joked.

Just as Greg was about to respond to that comment, a door opened right across from Greg's apartment and a wrinkled old woman's face poked out of the door frame. She smiled deeply, showing fake teeth.

"Aha, I thought I heard familiar voices out here." The old woman said cheerfully with a head full of plastic hair curlers bobbing as she spoke. She smiled at Ingrid and quickly turned her attention to a moving figure midway up the stairs.

"Oh, hi Mrs. Silverman." Greg greeted his neighbor.

Mrs. Silverman inspected Greg carefully and her eyes settled onto the gray sling that held Greg's right arm. There was a look of dismay then followed by a sympathetic frown. "Are you alright? I heard what happened. It's terrible."

"I'm much better, thanks." Greg said sheepishly as he climbed another step slowly.

"You ought to be more careful." Mrs. Silverman said in a raspy old lady tone.

Ingrid smiled, "I've been telling him that for years." The women shared a laugh.

"I'm glad to see you're back on your feet, young man." Mrs. Silverman stated. "Ingrid did say you were being released today, so I made you a pecan pie. If you'll just wait there for a second, I'll go get it."

"Mrs. Silverman, that's very kind of you but you didn't have to go through all the trouble." Ingrid said.

"Nonsense, it's a recipe that's been in my family for years. I only make it on special occasions…and when the grandkids come over." The old woman chuckled lightly. "Just a sec." She insisted and disappeared from the doorframe.

Ingrid stepped into Greg's apartment and set the duffle bag down. Greg finally made it to the top of the stairs in a tired huff. His weakened lung made it difficult to be as agile as he was before the incident. By the time he made it to the door – room 2B – Mrs. Silverman was back holding a circular pan with a sheet of aluminum foil covering the top.

"Here it is. Enjoy." Mrs. Silverman said merrily as she handed the covered pie to Ingrid, who thanked her profusely and promised to return the pie dish soon. Greg gave Mrs. Silverman a hug and thanked her for the pie.

Stepping into his old apartment was like stepping into another world. Greg never realized how much potential his small pad had for looking like an inhabitable dwelling. It was a big extreme going from the clutter of books, gadgets, articles of clothing lying around aimlessly to an extremely organized, sweet-smelling livable residence. The transformation was breath-taking and refreshing at the same time – thanks to his mother.

Everything had a place – whether it was in the cabinet, on the bookshelf, in a drawer or contained in a bin, all was neatly filed away. Being a bachelor, Greg had gotten used to his sloppy ways and never thought about cleaning or tidying up. In addition, his job left him very little time to worry about housework.

Greg walked over to the sofa and took a seat. Sighing heavily, he leaned back. He watched his mother in the kitchen.

"You look tired, honey." Ingrid said.

"I kinda am." Greg replied. "The apartment looks great, mom. Thanks for fixing it up."

Ingrid smiled. "What do you want for dinner?"

"I'll eat anything." This was true. Although he was not packing on any additional weight, Greg's appetite had returned.

"Ok, then. Pasta it is."

"Sounds great. Do you know what I really, really want right now?" Greg stared dreamily at the gray TV screen in front of him.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Ingrid replied from the kitchen. She was pulling out ingredients and placing them on the counter. It looked like she was armed and ready to cook for an army. Greg found it miraculous that he finally had a refrigerator stocked with food. Most of the time, it was just a few cans of soda, old pizza and some leftover chow mein from Wong's. Having a real home-cooked meal was hard to come by, especially since he was clueless when it came to cooking.

"A nice long hot shower." Greg said.

"Go on, take that shower. Dinner won't be ready for a while." She insisted. "I left you some fresh clothes to change into on your bed. I had a feeling you'd want to shower."

"Thanks mom. You think of everything." Greg chirped. He got up from the sofa with a grunt. The dull pain in his chest still lingered.

"You ok there?" Ingrid asked.

"Yea. Fine." Greg winced and wobbled towards the hall leading to the bathroom.

"Alright. Holler if you need anything. And baby, leave the bathroom door unlocked, ok?" She instructed.

"I'm fine, mom. It's just a little sore."

"I know. Just leave the door unlocked." Ingrid repeated.

"Ok, but you don't need to bust in there if I don't come out in ten minutes. I'll tell you now that bath time is going to be a slow process." Greg warned.

"Honey, you talk too much. It's not like I've never seen you naked before." Ingrid said nonchalantly as she busied herself with taking pans and utensils out of the cabinets.

"Mo-om." Greg whined in exaggerated annoyance.

Ingrid stifled a laugh as she watched her son disappear into the hallway. She then brought her attention back to her cooking project.

It had been a long time since she had the pleasure of "taking care" of her son. Time passed so quickly that before she knew it, Greg was off to college and she rarely had the chance to see him. There was always schoolwork or study groups or chess tournaments or chemistry club meetings. He seemed way too busy to hang out with his dear old mom. But she understood. Ingrid was the type of mother who respected her child's need for space and independent growth. There were plenty of times she worried about her son and his dicey profession, but there was nothing she could do about that. Greg made his own decisions.

Greg, on the other hand, knew what he was getting himself into when he joined the Las Vegas Crime Lab and eventually becoming a field investigator. He enjoyed analyzing trace in the lab and fiddling with the machines, but working in the field was a step up – a bigger challenge – and he found it most rewarding.

Getting shot was not something that he thought could ever happen to him if he was extra careful. The experience of taking a bullet in the chest would scar him physically and mentally forever. Grissom gave Greg additional time off from work to recuperate. It wasn't a suggestion, it was an order and Greg had no choice but to conform to his supervisor's request.

Around midday the next morning, Greg's cell phone sprang to life with the loud eerie acoustics of a Marilyn Manson ring tone. It took him a while to dig out the phone from his pocket. Having his right arm in a sling really put him at a disadvantage.

"Hello?" Greg finally answered.

"Hey Greg," A cheerful male voice said. "Buddy, how are you? It's Nick."

"Oh hey Nick." Greg greeted. "Doin' ok."

"Where are you? Home?" Nick asked. There was a sort of urgency in his tone.

"Actually, I'm having brunch at The Bagel Hole with my mom. The breakfast burritos here are fantastic." Greg gave his mom, who was sitting directly across from him, a wink.

"Listen, I know this is your time off and I really hate to bother you, but need to ask you something." Nick said.

"It's no bother. What's up?" Greg replied.

"It's about your case. We may have a lead on a suspect…but we need you to come in and look at some pictures." Nick said. "See if you recognize the man that shot you."

There was a pause.

"You – you mean like a line up?" Greg's nervous voice cracked.

"Well, no. Just look at pictures." Nick said. "Brass and I went down to Shimmy – that slimy bar on Paradise Road – and asked around about our vic Nadine Sharp. The natives got a little restless and we had to make some arrests. It turns out that half the thugs had priors, so we're racking our brains here." He summed it up.

"What about the blood on the fabric swatch that you found in the sewer line?"

"DNA takes a week. They're backed up as it is. And as for the motor oil? Well, guess what? Shimmy is a hangout for motorcycle and truck enthusiasts. Kinda hard to narrow down our suspect, don't'cha think?" Nick said. "Grissom was hoping it might jog up your memory if you looked at the mug shots. He thinks you know more than you think you do."

"Well, I - I – I guess I could swing by the Crime Lab after brunch." Greg stammered. He didn't feel quite ready to face up to his nemesis just yet. In fact, it made him uneasy to think that he may be staring into the face of someone who wanted him dead.

"Great. I'll see ya in a while then?" Nick said.

"Yep." Greg replied and hung up after a brief farewell.

"What's going on?" Ingrid asked casually. She cut a piece of French toast with her knife and forked it into her mouth, watching Greg carefully as she chewed.

"That was Nick. A possible breakthrough on the case." Greg changed his tone. "Mom, I have to pop by the Crime Lab. Can you drop me off?"

"Uh, sure." She replied suspiciously. "Confidential stuff?"

"Nah, Grissom wants me to look at some pictures to see if I can somehow ID the man who shot me." He took a long sip of orange juice before setting the glass down.

"Oh." Ingrid grew serious. "Are you sure you're up for it?"

"Of course I would. Why wouldn't I be?" Greg said.

"It's just that whole trauma thing."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine. I want to do this. It might help the case."

"The doctor said you should take it easy and stay away from stress."

"I know what the doctor said." Greg said. "I just feel like I need to do this. At least I gotta try."

"Ok, do you want me to go with you?" Ingrid asked and picked at what remained in her fruit cup. "You know, for moral support, of course."

"No. But thanks." Greg forced a grin. "I think I can manage this on my own."

"Only if you're sure."

"Yes, mom. I am." He sighed.

"Alright then, call me when you're ready to be picked up." Ingrid said. "Now, finish your burrito. It's getting cold."

Ingrid dropped off Greg in front of the Crime Lab building. Employees, simply differentiated by the plastic department-issued ID tags that swung from chains around their necks or clipped onto their clothing, propelled out of the revolving doors as they headed out to lunch. Clustered into groups of threes and fours, they chatted merrily. Greg passed by them on the way into the building. None of them seemed to notice him. But then again, they were the day shift and he was the night shift.

"Greggo!!" Nick called the second he caught a glimpse of the familiar mousey-haired, scrawny fellow lopping down the corridor.

Greg cracked a smile and met Nick halfway.

Nick sized his friend up and down, ignoring the right arm in a sling. "You're looking better." He said unconvincingly.

Apparently, Nick was not very good at lying and Greg knew it but he let it slide. Greg knew he looked different. He lost a great deal of weight during his hospital stay. The looseness in his old clothes told him so. He practically had to belt his pants to keep them from falling off his hips. His complexion was still somewhat pale and sickly. After seeing Greg in such a delicate state, Nick felt a twinge of guilt for having dragged the kid into the office so soon.

"Are you sure you don't have a problem with this?" Nick asked skeptically.

"If I did, I wouldn't be here. I want to do this." Greg replied.

Nick surveyed Greg for a second before saying, "Alright, but you know I had to ask. They're waiting for us in the conference room."

Nick led the way down the hall. He slowed his pace considerably when he realized Greg was staggering stiffly to catch up.

"Y-You said they. Who else is in there?" Greg stammered.

"Relax, it's nothing formal. It's just Grissom, Brass, and Catherine." Nick answered. "I know it's early but they've been here since last night working on the case."

"All because of me, huh?" Greg tried to laugh at his own cleverness but then stopped short because of a stubborn soreness in his chest that seemed to surface whenever he laughed.

"Things are suddenly different when one of the victims is one of us." Nick explained. "It's an extra incentive to catch the bastard who did this to you."

Truly touched by the team's determination, Greg never imagined he was so important though the eyes of his colleagues. At that moment, he felt loved and a sense of belongingness – something he wanted so much but never revealed.

A faint aroma of old coffee wisped through the medium sized conference room as Grissom, Brass, and Catherine sat in plastic chairs around the rectangular table. Blinds were pulled to keep the strong sun's rays from entering the dimly lit room, giving the place a rather bluesy somber ambiance. The crew looked up when Nick entered the room with Greg.

"Hey everybody." Greg greeted sheepishly.

"Greg, it's good to see you." Catherine said as she got up to give Greg a warm tender hug, careful not to squeeze too tightly. "We miss you."

"Good to see you too, Catherine." Greg said, accepting the embrace. Her long blond hair tickled his nose.

"How are you doing?" Brass asked hiding his emotion. He gave Greg a lot of credit for surviving a gunshot wound.

"I've had better days, but at least now I know what it feels like to take a bullet. Definitely not as glamorous as seen in the movies." Greg grinned. He looked at Grissom, whose expression was equivalent to that of a proud father. Greg said, "I know you gave me time off, but it looks like I won't need that many days. I can come back to work next week."

"Greg, there are no negotiations about it." Grissom reprimanded. "You need time to recover."

"Yea, Greg. You're getting free time. You should take it." Nick said.

"But I'm fine." Greg insisted. "Physically – it could be a tiny challenge," he said looking at his sling. "But mentally - I'm all there."

"It's still a NO." Grissom said casually.

He was about to argue his point but the stares from those in the room made him refrain from pursuing the matter further. He will continue his petition with Grissom to return to work later.

"Sit down Greg. We want you to look at some pictures." Brass instructed.

Greg quietly took a seat opposite Brass. As much as he played it cool, it was pretty obvious to the others that Greg was nervy. He had every right to be – considering the circumstances.

"Greg, do you want to proceed?" Brass asked, noticing that Greg's face had gotten whiter.

"Yep. I'm ready." Greg replied. He swallowed the nauseous lump in his throat.

"Look, its ok." Catherine said in a motherly tone. She perched at the edge of her seat to Greg's right. "Just let us know if you see someone you recognize."

Greg nodded and took a deep breath as Brass took out the stack of photos from a folder. The young CSI waited patiently as the glossy 8 X 10's were placed before him. A chrome clock on the wall ticked away each agonizing second. Greg glanced over each picture that Brass revealed.

Perhaps Greg selfishly hoped none of the people would look familiar. That way, he wouldn't have to stare into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer. Somehow, it scared him to think that he may very well be able to identify his shooter. Maybe he wasn't ready for all this after all. But he was in too deep to back out now. Grissom and the others were counting on him.

There was something about the facial features of the man in the fifth picture. Greg stared harder without so much as a blink. He seemed to have ignored all the other pictures altogether. Was it the intimidating way the scruffy bald man gazed at the camera as his mug shot was taken? Were those the same cold, black eyes that drew a bead on him? Or maybe it was the slight curl of the thin lips on the man that looked hauntingly familiar. Greg's heart pounded faster and faster.

"Now, take your time." Brass said while he laid the rest of the pictures out on the table.

A flash of memory exploded in Greg's mind. He was suddenly transported back into the panic room. The cabinet door opened and a figure stepped out. The man wore a dark parka and a baseball cap. It was too dark to describe his outfit further. But the light from the tiffany lamp caught a glimpse of the man's face in the semi-darkness. Just before the gun fired, Greg saw the man's face. Yes, he saw his face! And it shared an eerie likeness to the man in the fifth picture.

Greg could feel his heart thumping against his chest. It was starting to get so painfully loud that perhaps Brass could even hear it from where he sat. Greg's thoughts were so distracted that he failed to hear Catherine call his name. He just couldn't tear his eyes away from that picture. It wasn't long before everyone in the room noticed Greg's sudden obsession with the fifth picture.

"Greg? Do you see someone you recognize?" Catherine said gently, touching Greg's shoulder.

Greg's lips trembled but he didn't say anything. He didn't even look up. There was an uncontrollable sense of panic building in his gut. He felt it starting to fester throughout his body. Trying hard not to lose his sanity, Greg balled his right fist, nails digging deep into his palm.

"Greg?" Catherine called when Greg didn't respond. She exchanged worried glances with the others.

The bald man in the photo seemed to taunt him with a despicable crooked budding smirk upon his rubber band lips. Greg found it extremely threatening. He had everything to fear from this man. Greg's unyielding fixation on the photo caused a stir.

"Do you recognize this man?" Catherine said patiently as she placed a finger on the fifth picture.

It would be so much easier to say he wasn't sure or that he didn't know. But doing that would be wrong. Greg knew better than to lie, especially to the team.

"Is this the man you saw in the panic room?" Catherine continued. She took the picture off the table and held it up. Greg's frightened eyes followed the picture, completely absorbed in the bald man's menacing grin. He even failed to realize that a cold sweat had glazed over his forehead.

"Greg, look at me." Grissom said. "Greg?"

It took a few seconds for Grissom's voice to register in Greg's brain. He snapped out of his trance and looked nervously at Grissom's direction. Greg's eyes met with the concerned expression on Grissom's face.

"It's ok. He won't hurt you anymore." Grissom said. "I promise."

Greg looked around the room and it seemed all eyes were on him. It made him feel uncomfortable. They were all waiting on an answer.

"Son, this is important." Brass said. "This is hard for you, but we need to know what you know. If this is our guy," he nodded to the picture Catherine was holding. "Then I will personally be the one to throw his ass in jail. He won't hurt you or anyone ever again."

Greg was so fragile and pale that he might faint at any given moment. Worried, Nick was about to suggest they stop.

Greg turned his attention back to the picture, swallowed hard and finally spoke. "Th-that's him." He confirmed. "I'm 99% sure."

"Ok! This is good. I'll get a unit and we'll haul him in." Brass said quickly as he whipped out his cell phone and made the call. He cradled the phone between his ear and his shoulder while he used his hands to collect all the pictures.

There was a lot of movement in the room as chairs were pushed and pulled, papers were collected and filed. Brass left in a hurry after exchanging a few words with Grissom. He had been itching for an arrest on this case since day one and now, he finally had his chance.

"You did good Greg." Nick offered with enthusiasm.

The hard part was over but Greg was still quite shaken by what happened. Slightly hunched over, he stared blankly at the table.

"Greg? You ok?" Catherine asked.

There was a constricting sensation developing in his chest. The tightness made breathing a rather difficult task. He closed his eyes for a second to try and control the discomfort.

"You don't look so good." Catherine said as she took a closer look at the young CSI.

"I – I'm fine. I just can't breathe so well." Greg replied with his breath deepening slightly. Feeling suffocated, he nearly flew into a panic.

"Greg, you need to relax." Catherine coaxed. She stroked Greg's back in an effort to calm him.

"Somehow, I knew this was a bad idea." Nick said with regret. "We shouldn't have called you in."

"You're gonna be alright. Deep inhales and exhales." Grissom said to Greg.

Greg whimpered and looked desperately at his friends for support. He felt lightheaded and sick – he wasn't sure if that was a result from the inability to breathe or was it caused by something else entirely. He wondered if he was going to pass out. But the source was revealed immediately when his stomach lurched.

Greg unexpectedly sprang up from his seat and stumbled to the trash can a few feet away from the table. Nearly tripping his way over, he dropped to his knees and clutched the side of the garbage liner. He vomited the contents of his stomach.

The others exchanged worried glances. Grissom stepped forward and knelt down beside Greg, who was trying to recover from the heaving. It seemed all the energy had expelled from his body and he was just left there, green-faced and weak.

"I'm sorry, Grissom. I'm such a wimp. I – I thought I could do this. But I dunno what happened." Greg blurted.

"No, no Greg – quite on the contrary. It took a lot of courage to do what you did today. You identified your attacker. We're very proud of your bravery." Grissom said.

"I – I don't feel very brave. Puking out my guts in front of you all." Greg said. It was rather embarrassing.

"Nerves were all it was." Catherine excused. "Understandable. I probably would've done the same."

Greg stared at the pulpy vomit in the trash can and wondered if he was going to hurl a second time. He was afraid of removing himself from the garbage too soon.

"Come on Greg." Nick said as he pulled Greg to his feet whether he was ready or not. Greg's knees buckled slightly but he steadied himself.

"You should go home and get some rest." Grissom said. Seeing Greg's appearance worried him and the others. They weren't used to witnessing Greg so frightened and terrified.

"Have you got a ride home? One of us can drop you off." Catherine asked.

"My mom's gonna pick me up." Greg said weakly. It was pretty obvious that Greg was not feeling well.

"Ok, then let's go to the little boy's room and get you cleaned up." Nick said.

Greg nodded obediently and was about to follow Nick out the door when Grissom spoke.

"Greg." Grissom called. Greg turned around. "Thank you for doing this. I'll check on you later?"

Greg gave another silent nod and exited the room. He left Grissom and Catherine looking tense with concern.

"I don't like this Grissom." Catherine said observantly. "He doesn't look good at all. I'm afraid this case might bring him over the edge. We need to protect him."

"I know." Grissom muttered, absorbed in his own thoughts. "I know..."

End of Chapter 8

Author's Note: Thanks for reading!! And thank you for being so patient with me. I know it took a while to post this chapter. Anyway, please sign a review if you get a chance!