Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

He was there because he loved them.

It didn't have much to do with himself if he thought about it, and he was doing a lot of thinking as he put one foot in front of the other, feeling a satisfying, expanding burn in his chest, his lungs. He was doing good, better than he'd thought he'd do, but he was being kept on pace with the occasional tug on his shirt.

His doctor had told him that he needed to make the changes in his lifestyle for himself. That no-one could do it for him, no-one but him could make those decisions. He wasn't sure what his doctor had been thinking or what he'd been thinking when he'd agreed. He hadn't had to make the decisions for himself, he hadn't been changing his lifestyle for himself.

After the heart attack, even though it was officially ëmild', the lab had stepped in and forced him to make those changes before anything else had happened. He hadn't expected it, but he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting after he'd been released from the hospital with some pills and a diet and exercise regimen, blood pressure medication and a general admonition to take better care of himself or he was going to drop dead on a scene.

The doctor hadn't exactly said that but that was the implication, and Gil took it at face value. It had been subtle at first, but they'd closed in on him, his friends-come-family.

A year later, he was taking part of the annual Desert Relay. Not because he was interested in it himself, but because they wanted him to, and they'd feel better when he had. It wasn't as if anything was going to happen to him -- Greg was running along side him, keeping pace with him. Just in case.

Everything was just in case, from skimmed milk to low fat everything to soy products and turkey bacon in his freezer. Giving Catherine a set of his house keys all those years ago had been a bad thing for his fridge, but after the first two times he'd been 'broken into' he'd started to shop for himself that way to save himself trouble. And Warrick and Nick had dragged him out to their respective gyms, and Greg had joined them and it was sort of a bonding exercise, though Gil suspected that there were three of them involved so that if any one of them were otherwise engaged there was at least two others to make sure he didn't skip out to go home and read.

It was tempting some days, when he was tired and sore and angry about how humans could treat each other. But it was also a stress release, a valve he could hit by getting on a treadmill or using the weight machines. Warrick swore by free weights, but Gil swore by not dropping heavy weights on himself.

It was all worth it to know that he was staving off the possibility that he might drop on a scene again, clutching at his chest, breathing hard, dizzy and pale. Gil didn't even remember most of it, except that he'd been worried that he'd compromised the scene.

It just wasn't going to happen again. He'd lost weight, he was healthier, and a year ago, running at even a slow steady pace was unthinkable. The last time he'd gotten near the race, he'd been hanging out of the driver's side window of his SUV. Warrick was up ahead to pass the baton to, and he picked up his pace just a little, pulling past Greg to grab Warrick's hand for a moment. There was a brief flurry and the half gasped order of "Go, go!" and then he slowed to a jog, because full stopping was bad for him and he needed to wind down, slow down, let Greg catch up to him.

Greg, after all, was the one carrying a backpack of water and granola that he'd made. Hand made, in an oven, from Quaker oats and dried fruit. Gil had wanted to laugh, but he'd had a little before the race and it was honestly good even if it was stuffed in zip lock snack bags with purple zip seals to show they were closed, and made Gil feel like he was ten again.

But that, and water and knowing that he'd run the full leg he'd volunteered for in a decent time. That was amazing, and so much better than being dead.

Greg caught up, a little flushed and winded. "Didn't think you had that last burst in you," he said with a faint smile. "You could've warned me."

He was already slipping the back pack off and unzipping it. "Feeling hungry?"

Gil had to suck in a few shaky breaths to find the air to answer, and it made him want to laugh. "Thirsty." He probably didn't have it in him, and that was why he was barely managing a shaky jog with bad footing. But if he stopped dead in his run instead of winding down, he'd probably regret it.

"Hey, it was a fair run. Nearly your best and you ran that on a day when you hadn't worked way too long the night before," Greg answered, looking more comfortable as he steadied along beside him. "Fluids are good. You know, we might place this year."

"I'll... I'll just be impressed if we finish this year." Gil winked at him and made an expansive gesture to the desert they were jogging through. "Look, no dead bodies this year!"

After all, one murdered cop on a race course was one thing. One and two in a hotel room was another. But the one who'd dropped of exhaustion and natural causes the year before? That was, as Greg had told him once, x-files weird.

Greg as always looked a little uncomfortable with the humor that made reference to his brush with mortality. But Gil guessed that was understandable as Greg had been the one with him when he had shown evidence that he was indeed a human being. "Yeah, that's always a good thing. Because I think we maxed out on overtime this month and Ecklie said he won't sign off any more hours."

He smiled and awkwardly got out a drink canister offering it to him. "I picked these up at the last stop. You do know we can stop jogging now you know?"

Gil took a few more steps and stopped. His chest was burning, but it was good, and he needed to remind himself of the difference between out of breath burn and dying burn. "After that last burst, it was keep going or fall over. You're doing all right?"

"Well considering I've already run my leg, and I've run yours carrying this pack, I think I need a drink more than you do," Greg replied taking out the other canister and then drinking a slurp from it. "Gah, these things always taste plasticy."

"They're luke warm at best," Gil reminded him while he reached to take the offered drink from Greg. "I still wonder why they're so popular when they always taste like bottled plastic."

"It's free," Greg pointed out and looked at him askance. "You are feeling okay right? No dizziness or...anything?" Gil could tell that he was searching his face for signs of problems.

"No dizziness," Gil confirmed patiently before he took a deep swig of the water. He and Greg could stand there for a while. When they made the walk to the next stop, they could catch a shuttle to the finish line.

They watched a few of the runners go past and Greg was smiling to himself. "You think we're the only ones bothering to walk on? Every one else stopped back at the hand over?"

"Maybe. We're either that far ahead of the pack or we're that far behind the pack." Gil took a smaller swig of water, and stretched. He was going to hurt all over the next day. "Catherine has the last leg, right?"

"Yeah. And I wouldn't want to be up against her this year," Greg replied sounding serious. "And I think our times were good, and you know Nick and Warrick are fast."

Very fast. "Warrick was joking that he's going to pretend his mother in law was behind him." And Gil had just imagined, remembered, that they were waiting for him, pulling for him to finish the race. "We did well. Congratulations, Greg. You did twice the work of everyone else."

"Well, once you get going, you keep going right?" He drank more water and grimaced. "Granola thing?" He offered him one helpfully.

"Thanks." Gil took one offered zip lock bag, and when they started to walk, leaned back to zip the backpack closed for Greg.

Greg was chewing on another as he walked. "So. Rumor has it you've been approached. Lab director? Or is that just a rumor from the gossip farm in Hodges office?"

"I've heard better rumors." Gil let silence hover a little, and he finished his bottle of water before he spoke and answered Greg. "Assistant director. I'm contemplating it. The Lab Director wants to retire, and Conrad has been tapped for it."

Greg stopped a moment. "Wow, you're kidding right? I thought that Hodges was the master of circumstantial evidence." He seemed to pause a moment and consider it. "That doesn't mean... does that mean you'd not be doing night shift?"

"It means that I'd be dealing with a lot of paperwork and the lab in general. Day, night, swing. You'd have a new supervisor if I did." Gil ate a little more of the granola, and stopped along with Greg to face him. "I don't know if I want that."

Greg swigged down the last of his water and wiped his mouth. He looked distinctly unsettled and as if he was struggling with something in his own head. "I, uh... You should do what is best for you Griss," he said finally but he didn't sound happy at all.

"Moving up the career ladder isn't at the top of my list. If it was about the money, I would have never left L.A. County's Coroner's office." It was a strange conversation to be having, or it would have been stranger before the heart attack. Gil thought of his life in terms of that, and he could understand why Nick spoke of before the box and after.

Nick had changed in a lot of ways, and so had Greg, though the changes were less obvious. He'd regained some of his bounce, but there was a necessary growing depth to personality that was more apparent that came from his daily exposure to death in all its infinite myriad ways, and all the terrible things human being could do to one another.

Still, he had that look of innocence sometimes that Gil was sort of afraid he might have lost completely.

"Yeah, but then maybe you could stop Ecklie passing all these damn stupid 'latest initiatives'," Greg said and rubbed at his eyes a moment, blinking rapidly. "But... I dunno, it wouldn't be the same without you."

"I'd miss working cases. I'd miss working with all of you." Gil closed his eyes for a moment rather than watching Greg rub at his own eyes. "So I'm thinking about it. Ecklie is taking the lab in a good direction, even if it took him a while to find his feet." And to get years of pent up backstabbing out of his system.

Greg looked like he was trying to be happy for him. He wasn't exactly sure why because he knew he spent most of his time pulling the younger man up, pushing him because he could see potential there. Behind the exterior that usually put people off and lead them to assume he was a slacker or was slipshod, he had discovered that Greg really did have something rare. That strange indefinable ability to find a direction when there was barely anything to justify looking. It was rudimentary but growing and warranted a little extra attention.

"Yeah, you can say that again." His words sounded a bit slurred suddenly, and he was still blinking and rubbing at his eyes.

Gil smiled at him, and jerked with his head down the route. "C'mon. Let's go on to the next spot and meet everyone else at the end of the line. You look like you could use a pick-me-up."

Greg yawned. "Yeah. You know, I'm feeling pretty tired. I..." He actually stumbled then and reached to steady himself on Gil's shoulder "Oops... hey... whoa...."

Greg making a sloppy swipe for his shoulder made Gil laugh a little, and he slipped his hand to rest at Greg's side, against the backpack. "Easy. Here, why don't we sit down for a second?" He was feeling a little dizzy himself, and they had done a lot of running.

"See, this is why I need you as a boss," Greg replied. "I feel really thirsty...but I've just drunk my water. Can't have dehydrated that much."

"Maybe you have. You did..." Gil guided him to sit on the side of the trail, and exhaled as he sat close beside Greg. "You did run two parts. I'm a little shaky myself. We probably needed more water."

"I think we drank all I had," Greg replied leaning over his knees. "Wow, I'm not as fit as I thought if doing that gave me spots in front of my eyes."

Gil shifted his hands to manipulate Greg's arms, to get the backpack off of his back. He didn't have to say anything, because Greg kept leaning forwards. By the time the bag slipped to the ground, Gil was seeing spots in front of his own eyes, and his movements were feeling sluggish. "Greg?"

Greg rather alarmingly toppled sideways, his body showing barely any signs of life as he curled in the dust at the side of the road.

"Son of a bitch. Greg?!" His words sounded slurred to his own ears, even as he leaned forwards to shake Greg. Everything was spinning and slipping, and it was just like before only it wasn't a heart attack. He couldn't concentrate, andÖ

It was never a good thing waking up when you couldn't even remembering going to sleep. Greg was conscious most of all of the foul taste in his very dry mouth which under other circumstances might signal that he had been out on some sort of bender. But he didn't do that too much anymore. In fact he went through cycles of almost reclusivity followed by almost desperate socialization. Not terribly healthy but he guessed they all did it. But first off, he was cold. He reached around looking for covers and couldn't find any so he risked opening an eye.

Then two as he realized he wasn't waking up any where familiar and what he was seeing and experiencing were very alarming.

There were bars. They were matte black, and they were pretty sturdy looking. He didn't have much space to move in, and when he whacked an elbow on another bar, he realized how very little space he had. There was something soft beneath him, and it smelled slightly like... cedar? He rubbed at his eyes, and shifted onto his knees to look around better.

Grissom was slumped down in the other half of the cage, bars separating them from each other. And he was naked, curled up on what looked like a big pillow or some kind of pet bed. Which kind of suggested that that was what was in his half of the cage.

Okay. There were times when he had imagined being naked with Grissom, but none of them had involved being abducted and locked in a cage. He was starting to feel a complete surge of fear now. Not a joke, because no one in the force would risk anything like that on Grissom. Yeah, okay they might on him, but not Gil because it might affect him and...

He pushed himself groggily up to look at the other man just to check he was breathing before he looked around at the rest of the room they were in.

Bare. Jail cell bare. It was all cement floors and drywall walls with a coat of primer over them. The only saving grace was that they weren't covered in blood, but hey, who knew -- maybe it was a fresh coat of paint.

In the center of the room there was what looked like a big eye-bolt that had been cemented in, the color a little lighter than the rest of the floor. On the other side of the room there were three cement steps that went to a pretty plain looking white door with a brass-looking knob. That was an interior house knob, and maybe it locked, but it wasn't a very strong lock. Couldn't be. So they were in something that led into a house.

There was an instinct to call out, but he had known enough kidnapping scenarios to know that quite often would be abductees got away at the point where the kidnapper thought they were still unconscious and hadn't finished putting everything in place. Maybe he had woken earlier than expected and the bars weren't secure.

He crawled to push at the opening, to try and find a lock or something before he started making a noise.

There was a door on his side and what looked like a door on Gil's side of the cage. But it was pad-locked closed at the hinge, and there were two master-locks at the top, locking the door more firmly into the frame. The rest of the cage looked professionally riveted together, and Greg sat back in frustration for a moment.

And that was when he realized that the doors weren't the only things locked. There was a weight around his neck, but he hadn't paid it much attention and the way Grissom was slumped away from him, it was hard to see what he'd thought was a shadow. It was leather, and nylon, and the two padlocks clicked against each other while he searched around their edges and found two box-like shapes pressed against his throat. They were a little loose, but twisting them just dragged sharp edges against the inside of his neck.

So. He was naked in a cage, with his only attire some sort of freak collar thing. Fucking great. He sat back and started trying to find a latch or some weakness in the padlock. Maybe they were cheap ones that you could snap if you yanked and twisted it enough. He didn't want Gil to wake like this. He wanted to have affected some sort of rescue, and then the humiliation of mutual nakedness in front of his boss would be nothing.

He yanked hard at the padlock, hopeful.

Gil groaned. Groaning meant waking up, and waking up meant that Gil was going to realize what was going on. Not that it was Greg's fault, but there really had to be a way out of there. He jerked at the padlock again.

The door handle was turning.

Shit, shit, shit... He yanked hard again and tried kicking with bare feet against the side of the metal bars in case something was loose or might have some amazing metal fatigue or something.

Hurryhurryhurry....

He thumped hard again the metal, his feet stinging with the impact.

It didn't work, and all he got from it was a jammed heel and Gil groaning more before he stopped. "Greg?" He sounded shaky, but shit; he was awake and had to be taking it all in when the door opened.

Greg hadn't been expecting a pretty plain looking man. Brown hair, done up a little spiky and slick-looking, jeans and a button down shirt, about Nick's age, if Greg had to guess, and the only way he was keeping calm was by guessing. About Nick's build.

Nothing like Nick's voice, though.

"Boys, you're awake. Good. Stop kicking that, you'll hurt yourself." He paused on the steps to close the door behind himself, and lock it with a key that he pulled out of and slipped back into his pocket.

Greg glanced at Grissom and then up at their captor. This wasn't sounding too good. "Who the hell are you?" he asked. "Where are we and why the fuck are we in cages?"

He was annoyed that his voice wasn't stronger, and on general principle he kicked at the bars again.

"Because you're my puppies now." The man said it as if it was such a plain fact. "Or you will be by the time I'm finished with you. If you cooperate with me, you'll be rewarded. And if you fight, you'll be corrected until you cooperate. You can live the rest of your lives out in comfort, puppy, or you can suffer." Out of his other pocket he pulled two remotes, and he smiled.

"This is the remote for Grizzly Guy's collar. That's your name now." He smiled at Grissom, and pressed a button that made Grissom gasp and jerk back against the bars of the cage, fingers clawing up at his throat.

"And this is your collar, Baby Boy."

An electric charge to the throat was enough to make Greg knock his head on the bars of the cage as he instinctively recoiled and tried to get the thing away from his skin and his throat muscles knotting up with shock induced cramps. Fuck!

The relief when it passed was intense. "Fuck!" he gasped. "You're sick you know that? Stop... stop doing that. We're not...puppies."

"You are. You just don't know it yet, but in a couple of weeks, you'll be very good boys. You can think of me as your master." He walked towards Grissom, Gil's remote in hand, and crouched down near Gil. "I need to fix something. Either of you make a move, and I will shock him. You boys have loose collars, and that won't do."

Greg looked at him, trying to work out what to do. Right now he was possibly at his fittest because they hadn't been here long and he remembered the research about missing the key points in an abduction because of the initial fear. There was a chance now that he could take the guy with surprise when his side was opened. But there was Grissom's heart and electric shocks would not be good for it. He made a silent vow that if there was a slip, a gap anything he would try now because usually the next step in abductions was a progressive ordeal leading to death.

And maybe he could take the guy. If he could... tackle him and maybe knock the thing out of his hand. Gil wouldn't get too bad of a shock, and they needed to try to get out, because it was all downhill from there.

Gil held still while the man reached in to tighten both collars, unlocking one and then sliding it forwards another notch before he unlocked the next. The keys were in his pocket.

"You could let us go now," Gil murmured, still sounding groggy like he hadn't shaken off all of the drug. "We won't report you..." Which Greg knew was a lie, but Gil's voice was reaching towards compelling.

Gil could be really persuasive sometime. Okay, so maybe when the guy reached in to him, he would be a bit off balance and he could dive forward. He had to put the controller down to tighten it with both hands. That would be a good time to try.

"Yeah, look if you let us go...we can say we didn't know what happened, we woke up and managed to get out of the place. Didn't see anyone."

"Oh no. My last puppy made the same promise, and I knew he was lying." He jerked at the second collar once he'd unlocked it, and Greg could see the nodes digging into Gil's skin.

"We aren't. We--"

"Be quiet. Or I'll give you another shock. You aren't going to talk. You're going to speak when I want you to, and that's going to be in barks. One bark for yes, two barks for no."

Fuck that. Greg wasn't barking for anyone, no matter all the jokes he's heard from the other guys about being Gil's puppy shadow. Now all of a sudden the teasing seemed less in fun than humiliating. And he didn't miss that crack about having done this before. He wondered how many times... and the implication was clearly there that he had gotten away with it.

He didn't speak then because he wanted to be ready and if Gil was hurt he wouldn't be. He new that.

"Baby boy. Are you two friends? Colleagues?" He was finishing tightening Gil's collar, snapping the heavy lock back in place.

Baby boy. Jesus that was going to piss him off and it was seriously creeping him out the way the guy called him that. He was pretty sure he wasn't imagining a certain tone in his voice that made the back of his neck prickle.

He wasn't sure if they were exactly friends. Yeah, he thought Gil was a friend, a close one but he wasn't sure if Gil thought that. Not in a specific way. Besides he didn't want to give the guy too much power over them. "Colleagues." he replied, trying to get around the edict to bark responses. It made it seem like the guy hadn't given him a yes or no answer.

"I said bark. One bark for yes. That's one bark." He moved fast, switching controllers and gave Greg's button a short hit that put a shock right over his throat again, pain that made him jerk and made his throat spasm. "Bark, baby boy. When I want you to talk I'll very specifically ask for it."

Greg was pretty sure he couldn't produce any sort of sensible sound there and then. The gasping cough was about all he could manage. Fuck.

"You will learn to behave," the man went on calmly. He shifted over a little, and hooked fingers into the back of Greg's collar through the cage. Fuck, Greg wasn't even going to get a chance to get the door unlocked. "But at least you're being honest. You were CSI's. I saw your IDs. And Grizzly Guy was your supervisor. But as puppies, who knows who the alpha dog is?"

Shit. Shit, how was he going to make a break for it if the man didn't open the damn cage? He wanted to say, what the hell are you talking about but his throat felt as tight and soar as if he'd had laryngitis and he couldn't move even as the collar was tugged back, pulling him against the bars.

Besides it would be Gil. It would always be Gil.

"I'm going to take you out and have a look at you both. You're missing your tails, and that needs to be rectified." The emphasis on his words was hard to miss, while he steadily tugged at Greg's collars until both sets of nodes pressed against his throat, unlocked and re-locked in quick succession. "You're going to cooperate. For now it's just two of you. But if you don't cooperate, I will take more of you. You had some pretty bitches waiting for you at the finish line. I liked the blond."

That made it even worse. Greg knew he was staring in horror at him and tried to think of the likelihood of that threat being carried out. As the guy had abducted them from in the middle of the biggest mass of police ever in Vegas, then they had problems.

And the thing about tails didn't bode well but he might get that chance if he was ready for it. He tried to unobtrusively flex his stiff leg muscles just in case.

The man moved to crouch down in front of the cage, one remote in hand while he unlocked the master locks. "You first, baby boy. You have such smooth skin, except your back here -- did someone burn you? You're not a show-quality puppy."

Yeah, a nice big lab explosion that had kept him in hospital and then gradually falling to pieces at the lab until he turned it around and worked out that he needed to be out of the lab, doing things. Like he cared if he were 'show quality'. He already knew he didn't like to show anyone his back. Not even the guys when they had trained and worked out and there was Nick and Warrick, unmarred, even after everything. And there he was with a back that looked like he had strips taken out of him. He waited and made no noise at all.

A hand reached into the cage, and touched over the spots where Greg couldn't feel it, thick scar tissue and grafted on skin. "Can you feel this?" He asked it in a certain tone, having paused with just one lock left to come off of the door.

He was waiting for an answer

"Yes, some of it," he answered without even thinking. That's what he did, he just talked, and it was how he kept the world at bay.

The man kept his hand in place, stroking over Greg's skin still, and hit the button on the remote.

Behind him, Gil made a choking noise. "I told you to bark. One bark for yes, two for no."

Greg nearly panicked. "OkayÖ O... "He cut himself off and managed to make a strange sort of ëgrrruff ësound that was as close to a bark as he could manage. He just wanted Gil to stop hurting.

He just wanted the man to stop shocking Gil, because Gil, Grissom, didn't need that kind of shit going on that close to his heart. No-one did, but Greg was allowed to worry. "Good boy." The man pulled his hand back, and started to unlock the last lock.

Okay, he could wait or be ready. The door had to be open, the guy had to be distracted before he could launch at him. Preferably he had to have his hands full with something else except the controllers. He watched looking for his time, for a moment. The guy was built like Nick though, he wasn't sure if he could take someone like Nick, not pound for pound but if he had the element of surprise... maybe...maybe... worth trying. Griss wouldn't be able to try so he'd have to do it himself.

He crouched, shifted in the cage, and the man seemed particularly wary of him while he slipped the lock off. "One stray move, and Grizzly Guy gets shocked. And you don't like that, do you? No."

No. No, he didn't but he'd seen it too many times where the threat of what might happen stopped a possible escape. He didn't want to seem too co-operative because that would be suspicious so he held back, waiting. He had a fair idea of what the guy wanted to do and that was going to involve both hands at some point. He felt sick as it was from the over familiar touching to his back and skin, but he could endure humiliation. He'd lived with it most of his life, he could trade it off for safety.

He could live through humiliation.

"Good boy. C'mon out, I want to take a look at you." He backed away, moving to the corner of the room where he retrieved what looked like a thin rod. Bamboo?

He crawled out, his knees stiff and pushed himself up, trying to stand. Damn, the guy was too far away to lunge at and he still had the controller. And if he lunged right now he'd fall over. He was willing to risk that though.

"Come forward. Straight en out your back." Maybe the guy was really into the dog thing too much. But Greg and Grissom weren't fucking animals to be trained, so the guy was nuts, and that, Greg reminded himself as he tried to stretch out cramped muscles, was why they had to get away.

He pushed himself to stand upright. Tall, straight and ready at any given moment. He stepped forward carefully and again constantly watching for the moment when he could just try something.

"No, no. You don't walk upright!" He waved the bamboo rod slightly, and pressed the button again.

Grissom gave another choked noise, and jerked against the bars, fingers reaching up to the collars.

He dropped immediately to his hands and knees terrified that the guy was going to kill Grissom. He could do it even accidentally if he carried on being trigger happy like that. He didn't dare say anything unless that was seen as something wrong too.

"Good boy." He was tapped gently on the side of his ribs with the rod once he was down on his hands and knees, once the man had started to walk back closer to him. "Straighten your back." He tried to comply, partly because he was trying to get his toes curled under so he could be up and on the guy in a split second. When he came around in front of him that would be it. He would do it then.

"Good. Very good." The man paced around behind him, swatting gently at his hip, tracing the edge of the bamboo over his ass, giving it a good firm smack that wasn't bad. There wasn't much threat in the gesture. "Relax a little. But keep your back straight. You're going to be a fun one to teach to heel."

Fun, yeah. He'd see how fun he could be when he went for him and they got the hell out of here. He managed not to flinch through sheer determination and shut his mind to the thoughts that Grissom was watching him.

Round the front, round the front of him then he could do something....

He kept his head down, listening to the man's boots on the floor, trying to think, trying to listen for clues and opportunities. His pace was a little uneven. Maybe he had a trace of a limp. "Spend a lot of money on your fur, huh? Pretty colors, highlights, dyes? We'll make sure you're au natural," the man declared, as he stopped in front of Greg.

He looked up at him a moment and then faked a look away over to Grissom because he knew the man's eyes would follow his. Then without checking or pausing, he launched directly at him throwing all his body weight into an effort to get him down and maybe unconscious.

He caught the man right at the hips, knocking his center of gravity out from under him. Greg was faintly aware of Gil making a panicked noise in the cage, something hitting the bars, but he was kneeling on top of the man trying to beat the life out of him so there was a chance in hell that they'd get out.

Until he landed a right hook on Greg's jaw.

The man had a punch that would have gone through walls. He was down on the ground before he knew it struggling to get back up and at him. He couldn't lose the advantage even with his head swimming and his jaw close to dislocation.

He'd already lost the advantage, because the man fell on him, beating him across the head with the bamboo rod. "You little fucking bitch! You'll pay for that! You're going to be a good god-damned puppy or I'll kill you both and start over!"

He tried. He tried so damn hard because he was scared of what the man would do if he didn't succeed. So he tried to ignore the stinging sharp pains of the stick and kept trying to grapple, trying to get up properly and to it again.
But the man didn't stop, didn't let up enough for him to get back his footing and he could taste blood and... Things weren't looking too good.

The kick to his crotch was it for Greg. Sharp, painful, unexpected, and the man stepped back for a moment, breathing hard. "You little bitch. Now I'm going to have to change my plans."

Greg was curled instinctively then. Kick in the crotch, you folded up. No macho recourse for him just the normal blinding pain that made the world fade away a little as his body concentrated on the messages of agony.

The man bent down, and slipped his hands under Greg's arms. He was going to drag Greg back to his cell or, or god knew what he was going to do with him. "You almost made me break the controller."

He wished he had. He wished he had made him break the controller. He tried to struggle because he was scared of what he would do if he got him back in the cage. What he might do to Gil. The movements were weak, and he could already feel parts of him burning with pain.

He got a hard slap against the side of his head, and he was unceremoniously shoved back into the cage. The man slammed the door before he could even kick at the door, and he was sliding the locks back on, moving too fast. "If you're good puppies, life can be so much easier for you."

Yeah well, he was pretty sure they would be dead before that was an issue. He'd basically told them he'd done this before and whoever it was, was dead. There was no reason to think this was going anywhere but down that route and he was lying and there was blood on his face and everything hurt and he just hoped the guy was happy with the anger he'd dealt out already.

He finished locking the padlocks and then locked the top of the door to the cage itself again. "You can stay in there for a while. The next time you do that, I'm going to take it out on Grizzly Guy."

That he heard. That he registered. He tried to imagine Gil being hit like that or shocked and he recoiled from it immediately. The doctor had said it was important his system was robust, wasn't stressed and....fuck.

He was sprawled over the bedding in the cage, unable to move.

He could turn his head, look around a little, away from the man. Grissom was backed up against the door of his cage. He'd probably been watching Greg's ordeal, but his hands were still knotted up against the shock collar, trying to get it off.

While the man picked the control up off of the floor. Where he and Greg had landed on it and scuffled. It was no wonder that Gil was breathing hard. Oh God. Oh God... Greg closed his eyes. What had he done? Exactly what he had been trying to stop, to prevent and he had fucked up. Fucked up big time.

"Looks like the button was stuck. That couldn't have been pleasant." The man did something, and Greg couldn't see what, but Gil gasped and went slack against the bars. "Let's see if you'll be a little more obedient, Grizzly Guy. Get away from the door and I'll unlock it."

The man waited until Grissom moved back and then very carefully undid the locks.

"Out. Now, and lets see if you have more common sense than our foolish young pup over there hmm?"

Gil was staying still, too, but he didn't move to crouch into a spring like Greg had. He lowered his hands from the collar, and leaned forwards, apparently having taken the hands and knees cue Greg hadn't.

Greg curled around a little so he could lie on his side and see what was happening once his vision stopped blurring. The man had the cane again and tapped it peremptorily under his ribs once Gil was outside. "Don't slouch. Hmmm...Not a mark on you." A hand smoothed over skin. "A little extra mass but some training will see to that. Nice lines, conformation. I am pleasantly surprised. You must have had good breeding.

Greg could see Gil flex his jaw, the muscles tightening and relaxing and tightening again. Grissom just knelt there, hands and knees, shifting when he was told to not slouch. But he clearly didn't have attack in his eyes. Unless he was going to surprise Greg.

On the other hand, he'd just been subjected to an over long exposure of electric shock. "Good boy Grizzly Guy," the man said approvingly and fished something that appeared to be a treat out of his pocket. A small biscuit. "Good dogs get rewarded. Bad ones get punished. Here boy," he said offering the treat to Grissom all the while watching them both closely.

Gil hesitated, half lifted one hand before he put it down, and knelt up to take it from the man with his teeth. Apparently Gil's plan was to play good cop to Greg's bad cop

That was fine by Greg. Anything that meant he stayed safe, the better.

"Good boy Grizz!" The man patted him with apparent genuine enthusiasm and ruffled his hair just as a dog-owner would to a well behaved pet. "You're going to be the quick learner aren't you? Some have a talent for it... some..." and he glanced at Greg, "are more of a challenge. You know it was his fault that you were hurt for so long. I'm sorry about that pup. Do you think he deserves more punishment?"

There was another hesitation, short, and then Gil gave two choked, raspy-sounding bark-noises. One bark for yes, two barks for no, so no, Gil didn't think he deserved more punishment. Gil wasn't looking at him, wasn't looking at anything but the floor.

"No? So you want to look out for your puppy friend huh? That's what good dogs do, isn't it boy?" The man was still patting at his hair. "Sit. Sometimes they need a firm hand. Sometimes they need help. Sometimes they don't learn as quickly as you do so they need the lessons." He reached into his pocket and showed Grissom the controller. "I believe he does need the discipline now and you and I will have just a few words."

Abruptly he turned the controller on, and anything and everything he was saying to Grissom there and then was lost to Greg as the electroshock filled his awareness, tying himself up in knots, clawing at his throat knowing now what he had put Gil through for no good reason.

It was hard to breathe, and the pain was dull and oscillating, twisting around his neck while he thrashed and tried to get the collar off somehow. But it didn't come off and the nodes felt like they were digging deeper into his throat.

And then it stopped.

He heaved some choked inhalations for breath, coughing painfully and tasting blood in his mouth from where he had bitten his tongue and cheek. He could hear the man locking Grissom back in the cage again.

Just like that. Just like it was that easy. Like if Greg had obeyed he would've been given something to eat, even if it was a dog biscuit, and trotted back into his cage.

"There. I think that's enough for right now. I have another treat for you both. You need to learn to express your needs to me." He reached into his pocket, and came up with a gel cap. "Baby boy, open your mouth."

He didn't want to, but a flick of the shock collar made him gasp in pain long enough for the man to get it in his mouth and then clamp a hand over his mouth and nose until he swallowed convulsively as part of the reflex of trying to get air.

"Good boy," the man said before moving on to Grissom. "And you Grizzly Guy....that's it."

Gil took it, paused, and swallowed, and then he leaned back against the cage bars. "Good boy. In a few hours, you'll both need to go out. I want you to tell me when that is -- and don't make me come in here too soon."

Fucking great. It must've been some sort of laxative. Greg was immediately wondering if he could throw it up, but something else was pressing. He swallowed a few times to get his voice to work and then asked, "How?" in a rasping whisper.

"Bark." The man turned on his heel, and he should've expected the short shock he was given. He should've expected it, but there wasn't any way to prepare for that.

By the time he recovered, the man had left the room and he was lying there panting on the floor of the cage with every single hurt suddenly clamoring for attention. Fuck.

He'd blown the chance, he knew it. Totally fucked it up.

The door locked behind him, and Gil was silent even after the door had locked. Then he shifted, moved to lean against the bars that separated them. "Greg..."

"Yeah?" His voice was barely audible and he coughed and turned towards Grissom. "Hey. I'm sorry. I... fucked up."

"You didn't. We're not in a situation to argue." Gil's voice was barely a whisper, but he was leaning close to Greg, and the room was quiet except for them.

"I meant, about the shock thing," Greg replied. "Thought I could... could get him down and..."

And there was a puffy area on his jaw that was going to bruise up spectacularly. "You okay?"

"Hard to breathe," Gil shrugged, and made a faint gesture to his throat. "You tried. We need to... calm down. And follow his directions. And stall for time."

Yeah, he knew what Grissom was saying there. His throat lining felt raw inside and swollen so swallowing was painful. "You think...you think they're coming after us?"

"Unless we get..." Gil swallowed. "A very lucky break? I think it's the best that we can hope for."

"I, I read the reports on abductions," Greg managed feeling he had to desperately justify what now seemed like a foolish action. "That chances should be taken immediately..." His voice nearly gave out completely.

Gil nodded, looking strained around the eyes. "You tried. I think he's... very skilled at what he does. And he only needs one of us."

That sobered Greg up immediately as he tried to push himself up. "Only, only one?" What would he actually need them for aside from his own sick pleasure?

"Just... one of us," Gil agreed in a quiet whisper as he shifted to lie down in his half of their shared prison. "So we need to... try to cooperate. If I step out of line, you'll..."

"Co-operate?" Greg could hear the horror in his own voice. "Play act like dogs? Griss. How's that going to help? Doesn't success escalate the behavior?" It was Grissom's own damn books and articles he had made him read he was quoting back at him.

Gil closed his eyes for a moment, and leaned his forehead against the bars. "He's going to keep doing it. Until he gets caught. We have a good department, Greg, they'll... They'll find us. Do you think failure will stop escalation?"

"I, I don't know," Greg answered. The feel of the way the man's hand had smoothed down his back and that tone in his voice made him shudder. "I... he took us in the middle of the biggest congregation of law enforcement personnel in Vegas. We could be anywhere."

"I'm hoping we're still in Vegas." Gil swallowed again, like he was having trouble. "He's going to try to break us down. It's going to be easier on us if we pretend to go along with it than if we fight him and actually are broken down."

"You think?" Greg asked, still unsure as to whether he could do that. He just freaked sometimes with some things. That was how he was. He tried to imagine what Nick had gone through and had decided, like Warrick he would never have survived it. He just...would have cracked up. He had a horrible doubt he would break for real if he gave in to it and didn't remind himself all the time. "I'm...I'm scared Griss...I don't know if I can do that."

"Greg..." Gil's voice cracked a little, but he was reaching a hand through the cage to touch Greg, to make some kind of contact. "If we get him to trust us, he might let down his guard. We'll have another chance."

Greg nodded looking down and over at him, things like embarrassment at nudity a bit trivial in comparison to their situation. He hurt all over. He shifted a little and tried to wipe away blood. "Okay. I'll... I'll try Griss." His voice faded again and he grimaced. "Griss, you need to teach me sign or lip reading before he shocks my damn voice away. You know I can't shut up."

Gil shifted a little, trying to sit up something near straight. When he started to talk again, he moved his hands in loose gestures. "Sign? We can assume we have a couple of hours before the drugs hit. I might as well start now..."

Greg propped himself up to pay attention, because he had a feeling that in the next couple of hours things were going to get very unpleasant indeed.

The frustrating thing was that the paper and the media were right. How could two CSI's disappear quite so thoroughly in the middle of what had to be one of the highest concentrations of cops in the entire country? The news stations were having a field day with it and Catherine couldn't blame them. She was filled with the same incredulity. Greg and Gil had vanished into the proverbial thin air. Warrick had taken the baton from Gil, and they'd been expecting them to join them at the finish line when they brought home their first ever top ten place.

And they just hadn't turned up.

They'd waited, and then Catherine had thought it was Gil's heart attack all over again, so they'd searched for them. Once she'd given Ecklie a heads up that Grissom and Sanders were missing, they'd gotten helicopters out to search along the route for any sign of them.

There hadn't been. There'd been nothing, and with all of the dirt and grass, they couldn't even pick out any place where it looked like there was sign of a scuffle more than any other spot along the trail. They'd interviewed police who were attending -- one had seen a white or silver SUV, that he'd thought was a drive along car. Another three had seen Gil and Greg walking and talking halfway to the next checkpoint.

They'd checked the hospitals just in case, after Nick pointed out Greg might have called someone direct -- he had a cell on him after all, and never went anywhere without one, especially when he was with Grissom. They checked at their homes and...nothing. Gone.

So now, she and Nick were working their way along in daylight with a couple of scent dogs trying to at least pinpoint where their trail had faded out.

"Hey Nick? You got those samples?" she called out as the other CSI stepped up holding a bag she hoped was from their lockers at work.

"Two sealed, bagged samples. Greg's sneakers, and one of Grissom's shirts," Nick declared as he opened up the bag. He wasn't smiling and he didn't seem particularly upbeat, but none of them did. Their friends were missing, and it just... didn't make sense. And it had been longer than 24 hours, which they all knew was the crucial time period.

Catherine was standing as they brought the two dogs over and the handler took the samples introducing them to the dogs.

"It has to be along this stretch," Catherine murmured as the dogs wagged their tails enthusiastically. "Warrick saw them. He made a joke about Gil leading to Greg. We know they were at that checkpoint and they didn't stop there, but no one remembers them making the next one. I mean they would've seen him right? Made a big deal because it's Grissom."

"Grissom running in a race." Nick's tone was an agreeing one, but solemn, too. "Man, I can't even start to figure out what happened. We've got an SUV and then... nothing. If someone dragged them into an SUV, then the scent's going to disappear."

"Well at least we'll know that they were dragged to an SUV and we might get some track or trace out of it. Enough that we can concentrate on that," Catherine replied shielding her eyes against the early morning sun. "I don't like this Nick."

Nick watched the dogs sniff at their designated pieces, and then the smaller dog wuffed at the air for a moment before taking off down the trail.

"I don't know how we'll find them."

They followed on behind, Catherine just hoping they got something out of this. "We'll find them by going over every grain of sand."

"Let's hope they're not buried in it," Nick muttered. It was a morose joke and it fell flat, but Nick was too busy hanging back because the dogs stopped, circling an unobtrusive spot on the ground. The dirt looked scuffed up, but no more so than the rest of the path, and that was starting to make Catherine's head hurt. Then one of them took off again, off of the path, into the high grasses, and the other followed after it, starting to bark.

Oh, god, no.

Catherine felt that indescribable tension that came with knowing you were going to discover something that wasn't good news but you didn't know how bad it was. Could be bodies. Could be a rabbit, hell could be nothing at all....

But when they caught up with them it was a bag. The bag she'd seen Greg shoulder as he finished his leg and then set off to catch up with Gil.

Just the bag, abandoned, and it gave Catherine the oddest urge to look up at the sky for a UFO. Nick arced past the bag, though, skimming his flashlight over the ground. "Hey, we've got tire tracks."

"Well that's more than we did have." Catherine waved for them to back the dogs away to keep the scene as clear as possible before reaching for her camera and snapping off the stills of the evidence in situ before she put on her gloves and opened the bag. "It's Greg's all right. Half eaten Granola. Two of the empty water bottles and what looks like his... 'just in case' pack."

It had been a running joke. Greg had taken to adding emergency medical supplies to his kit 'just in case'. Not that they hadn't been useful on occasion like when Warrick had fallen down the slope looking at a body dump and there had been that time when a bystander had been watching them work and started having a reaction to peanuts and he whipped out an epipen with an emergency adrenalin shot in it which had undoubtedly saved the girl's life.

He'd avoided looking at Grissom for the next couple of days as if some sordid secret had been revealed.

It made sense, and they all knew why Greg did it. They were all a little on edge about Gil's health, but he'd been doing so much better. He was probably healthier now than he'd been ten years before hand, but Catherine hadn't ever told Greg and Nick and Warrick that. It was something she and Jim had agreed on, and Jim had joked that he needed to get in on the Worried CSI Health Care plan, because it seemed to have great benefits.

If Gil and Greg were both still alive, and Catherine kept thinking about underground boxes while Nick knelt and photographed the tire-prints in the dirt. "Does it look like anything's missing from Greg's stuff? He had his wallet in that bag."

"Now that I can't see. Or his phone," Catherine replied thoughtfully. "It could be around here somewhere. We can go over the area with a fine tooth comb but I'm thinking it's pretty obvious they were taken. Without a fight, so what does that suggest?"

"That suggests..." Nick was twisting around from his crouch to look back at Catherine. "Chloroform? Drugs? I didn't see any blood spatter, so gunshots seem to not be the cause..."

Thank god. Catherine looked carefully at the bottles. "Well we know what happened last time, don't we? I think I'll be taking these to Hodges, see if the obvious suspect is the real thing. And I think I want this pack completely fumed for any residual prints. Who's the best at getting them in the lab? We only get one shot at this."

"Warrick, or Jacqui. 'Rick can still get prints off of air," Nick grinned, reaching into his vest to pull out a trash bag. "Whole thing?"

"Whole thing," she agreed, looking at it thoughtfully. "Warrick it is then. You reckon that tire tread is good enough to get a cast off of?"

"Yeah. I can get that started." Nick shifted back onto his haunches, and eyed the road. "I just have to run and get the plaster pack and some wood. I'll be back in a second."

" We've got something Nick," Catherine said not entirely convinced she wasn't trying to reassure herself as much as anything. "And the evidence leads to the truth. I'll start combing over the area. You never know, there might be a boot print or something." Cotton thread, different dirt, random traces of someone else. That's what they had to hope for, and keep hoping those small things would add up to a big picture.

A big picture that led them to their friends, alive and mostly well, and not corpses. Catherine had to hold out hope, because in then end, that was all there was.

Hope and evidence.

He was used to being a ghost. He enjoyed the quiet moments, the silence, time for him to think and be alone or to just simply be. There wasn't any time for that, not when his moments felt stretched thin between sleeping when he and Greg lost the light from the narrow windows that lined the space they were in, trying to teach Greg sign language or a mangled form of it when there was light, and their... 'training'.

He wasn't sure how to think of it, except that his knees hurt and his shoulders hurt and his palms felt callused and dirty no matter what he did. It had been a week, give or take a few days, and Gil wanted a bath so very badly. He wanted to shave. He wanted to sleep in a bed instead of a pet bed and he wanted... comfort. He wanted to know that his life, their lives, didn't hinge on how fast he could bark an answer and his not-gagging on dog food.

The food was bad, but the 'potty-training' had been worse. Greg had managed to hold it together until the man had come back, but Gil hadn't. He'd been dragged outside into the back yard, hosed off with cold water, and chained up out there while the man had railed and ranted and raved and then he'd been made to sleep on bare cage bars all night because his pet bed had to dry.

It soon became obvious that it was something that he wanted to have happen because he did it again, the next time to Greg and Gil was sure it was just so he could exert that power over him and break him down in the same way. He remembered it was a common thing for anyone attempting brainwashing or interrogation to do. Making him lose control of his body was an effective way to chisel at the mind.

Greg had looked miserable, but he guessed there was one small mercy that the reddish swollen marks from their first escape attempt seemed to now be healing rather than looking ominously infected.

He was worried about the younger man. He hadn't so much refused the dog food as been unable to stomach it for the first few days. Of course that was seen as willful disobedience as well, and got him more shocks which he was sure was half the problem. His throat had to be so irritated by now throwing up was way too easy to do.

Sometimes it felt like even water was a bad idea. But they were... hanging in there, Gil guessed. He reached a hand through to Greg's half of the cage, and touched his cheek to get his attention. Greg was dozing for the moment, but Gil had heard a car pull up into the driveway.

Greg startled a moment and his eyes opened and looked directly at Gil.

~What is it?~ he signed with only a little hesitation. He was getting better at the sign and he really did have a good memory. Gil had been impressed, though he felt like he was having to slow down a lot to communicate but that was all right. Some communication at a slower speed was better than nothing. It was better than the whisper of his voice, and he needed to unfortunately save that for barking. ~The man is back. Just wanted to see if you were awake.~

~Bastard.~

Gil had found it amusing that Greg had memorized all swear words in sign as a high priority to his vocabulary.

~You think it'll be training again?~

~If it isn't, then I don't want to think about what it is. How are your knees?~ Gil shifted to lean his shoulder against the cage, sitting up as much as he could without having to use a hand to brace himself and interrupt the flow of his words.

~Not pretty any more, ~ Greg replied glancing down at them. He'd been dragged into position the day before and it had scraped the skin off of them. ~You feeling okay? If you want any more of the... food then have some. I can't stop feeling sick on it.~

~You need to eat.~ He shifted to squeeze Greg's arm for a moment.

~I know. I just can't seem to take it. Never was that good on all meat stuff,~ Greg admitted. He stopped and listened a moment, being the one with the better hearing. ~He's inside. Walking around and going up the stairs~

Then they had a few more minutes. Gil suspected that he was up there changing out of some kind of work clothing, and into his 'play' clothes. ~Good. You still need to try eating. I'd kill for a salad right now.~

Greg managed a faint smile ~Yeah.~ His hair looked genuinely messy as he leaned nearer to him. ~Gil, remember what I said. I don't want him using the shock thing on you. It's bad for your heart. I can take more of that than you can.~

~When I slip up, he shocks you usually, not me, Greg.~ And when Greg slipped up, the man took delight in shocking Grissom. He didn't know about Gil's health, Gil guessed, and that had to go to his favor. Somehow.

~He's equal opportunity that way,~ Greg replied, tilting his head. ~He's coming~

Gil shifted away from Greg in the cage, so as not to look incriminating, and leaned to take a pre-emptive
Greg curled up like he usually did right in the far corner of his section of the cage just as the door opened.

"How are my puppies today? Been good boys? No messes? Hmm?" the man asked in a jovial sounding mood.

That was good news in a way. The last time he'd shown up pissed off had been rough for Greg. And Gil by proxy. Gil twisted a little, abandoned the water for the moment, and turned so he could see the man coming towards them.

"Do you want to come out Grizz huh? I see Baby Boy is giving me those puppy eyes of his," the man said looking in. "Hmm you haven't eaten much today have you? That's no good. No good at all. You need your strength you see..."

That didn't sound good at all.

Gil leaned to try to get the man's attention, and barked once for yes. Yes he wanted to come out because Greg didn't seem like he was up to it and he didn't want Greg to put up with it. Didn't want Greg hit or posed or the guilt of shocks resting on him.

"Good boy." The doors were unlocked and Gil was allowed to come outside where he had a little more room to stretch even if he were almost immediately put on to the chain collar.

"You know, I think it is about time the pair of you earned your keep." The man mused. "Grizz, you are much more active than Baby Boy aren't you? Surprising, but that's okay. What I had in mind he won't have to do much. It's interesting. I did wonder if the younger pup would be dominant but it doesn't seem that way with you two. Maybe in a couple of years he might challenge you hey?" He ruffled Grissom's hair. "Until then you're...top-dog." He smirked a little at that.

It made Gil pause for a moment, but he couldn't do anything. He shifted his position, trying to settle himself so he could be comfortable but ready to move right away if he had to. Greg was depressed, not any less active, and maybe Gil was over-achieving because of the threat to Greg's life.

The man busied himself, going off and fetching a few things that definitely didn't look promising. Ropes, several items that he had only previously seen at Lady Heathers. Perhaps volunteering had not been a bright idea after all.

Not that Gil could un-volunteer, so he knelt there, watching, waiting, and shooting Greg a sad glance because the chain was hooked to the heavy eye bolt that was set in the floor. It wasn't as easy as knocking the man's grasp loose and being free. This was not going to be an escaping situation.

The man seemed to be considering as he moved around humming lightly to himself. Greg was sitting up looking over at him concerned and missed the moment where the man reached in through the bars and grabbed his hair. He gave a totally involuntary yelp and that made the man beam. "Out Baby boy... and not a foot out of place otherwise Grizzly Guy gets shock treatment."

Rather reluctantly, Greg exited having a leash immediately clipped to his collar so he could be led around to the side of the cage.

"Hup...hip, boy, two legs... there we go..."

Greg stood and almost immediately his head was forced down so he was bent over the top of the cage and the leash used as a temporary hold as the man reached for other ropes. He was whistling happily and Greg was immediately looking on the verge of panic.

"Ah-ah puppy, do that and you know what happens to your pack leader hmm?"

Gil shifted his footing a little, and gave a concerned noise, watching as Greg was tied to the top of the cage with delicate care, bent in half over it. Now, now he was worried. Was the man going to beat Greg? How was that 'earning keep'?

He didn't stop there. He even tied Greg's legs apart, as he smoothed his hand over the scars on Greg's back before stepping over to admire the view standing and petting Gil's hair. "He may not be a show dog, but he has his moments. He looks particularly fine like that don't you think?"

God alone knew what a no would get him. Gil ducked his head down, and gave a quiet, rough wuff noise, before he swallowed. Greg looked good, and they were human beings, not god-damned show dogs.

The man laughed. "Thought you might think that. A few more things just to ensure things are going to plan." It was not hard to tell that the man was aroused from what he was doing. He moved back over and carefully looped a finer cord around Greg's balls and tied that to on of the bars as well, before putting a couple of what look like tens-machine pads in sensitive spots.

The action seemed to give the man as much of a buzz as doing a line of cocaine. "Better. Discipline. He needs to know his place at the bottom of the hierarchy. And you are going to assert your dominance to him, and obedience to me. First, I have a present for you first. I've been saving these."

Now the reality of what he was planning was starting to sink in for Gil, and he closed his eyes for a moment, only to see the man holding what looked like a fur tail that was attached to a thick, pointed rubber flare that tapered back down before the circle that the tail itself was attached to. Gil swallowed. That was a butt plug the man was holding in his hand. Obedience to him and dominance over Greg, so the man was going to make him fuck Greg.

Gil tried hard to keep his eyes from darting.

"Lick it." He commanded holding it out for Gil. "Unless you want it going in dry."

The prospect was not too appealing, but neither was any of this.

Gil closed his eyes again, and bit his tongue a little so there was saliva welling in his mouth. Lick it, like a dog, and it was going to end up in his ass whether he did it or not. He just wished, while he leaned forwards to try to get as much spit on it as possible, that Greg wasn't watching.

Of course it would be hard for him not to, as his head was tied that way, facing towards him. He didn't doubt that it was intentional as the object was removed from his mouth and he received a tap on his back to get up onto all fours which of course presented with easy access.

"The one good thing about... these... is if you find the right spot, it's very hard not to respond physically," the man whispered in his ear as he leaned over him. And there was pressure there, strange and intrusive.

Gil at least had the small comfort of having done it before. Not that, because he'd meant it when he said he didn't like to go to the theatre with his sex life, but he'd been fucked -- not recently, but at least the feelings weren't entirely unfamiliar. The man hoped to hit his prostate with it, to make him hard, to make him a participant, where he wasn't just then. His knees were sore, and his dick was soft, and he could feel his asshole giving way under steady pressure that ached.

He didn't know about Greg though. He'd heard the story about Greg's virginity and it made him wonder if the younger man was not the most forward for all his apparently wild ways.

"Good boy... you'll get used to it in a minute," the man promised. "Now heel, we're going to play with Baby boy for a bit. Make sure he's ready." He led Gil over to where Greg was splayed out over the cage.

It hurt. Gil was trying to pretend it didn't hurt while he crawled over to where the man wanted him to, where he was supposed to heel, and the tail sticking out of his ass made it hard to 'sit' properly like he'd been shown to do. Pressure on the plug twisted it, ground it up inside of him and made him ache worse. Spit wasn't going to last very long, and soon he'd be hurting worse.

The man lifted up the controller to the electric pad and turned them on. Almost immediately Greg jerked and twitched and the man amused himself by using it as a means of tying him really securely even there was no real reason for it. It wasn't like Greg was able to move at all. Even so, the made was getting a lot of satisfaction from the process, even as he caressed over Greg's ass and gestured to Gil. "Inside the cage and make sure he is... stimulated. It's not like his equipment is going anywhere." He smirked again even as he bent to pick up another one of the false tails.

Inside the cage. Gil paused, but just for a moment, and crawled in through the open door, twisting around and grimacing as the tail hit the edges of the bar. Greg's dick was soft and just reachable if he leaned up between the bars. Stimulated. He didn't try to look at Greg's face before he leaned up to slide his mouth around Greg's cockhead.

He thought he felt Greg tense up and he definitely heard him said "no!" in a hoarse protest but to what he was doing or what the man was doing wasn't obvious. That earned him the dubious reminder of a sharp shock on his collar.

There was the slap of a hand on flesh and the man announced. "There. Proper tails. Now if only I could get them to wag..."

He could probably do it by making them twitch, but Gil didn't want to suggest a damn thing. He kept his eyes shut tight and leaned up, trying to suck harder, better, trying to make it bearable for Greg even if he was tempted to choke and gag and cough from the shock that had made him almost bite down.

It took a while but Greg's tethered cock was responding even if the sounds coming from Greg were not exactly noises of pleasure. The man was obviously enjoying himself too much and it was becoming increasingly obvious how his previous captive might've accidentally died for all the care he seemed to take the rest of the time. The worrying thing was a sort of look in his eye, a sound in his voice that was almost intoxicated, and Gil could well imagine him losing what little grip on his sanity in one of these scenarios.

"You'd like to wriggle Baby Boy wouldn't you?" he was crooning to Greg. "You'll wriggle soon enough when the Grizz comes to play huh?"

He couldn't let himself think. He couldn't, and he didn't know how he was expected to do what he was being told to do because he wasn't hard and his heart was hammering away in his chest. Gil couldn't open his eyes, because he didn't want to see Greg's hips twist or the tens pads, or the man behind him. He shifted closer to the bars, working his head back and forth, a little ashamed that he was making Greg hard.

"That should be enough," the man murmured. "Mmm, it's hard not to want you Baby Boy but I promised Grizz his turn tonight. There's plenty of time to play together hmm? Grizzly guy... out here boy."

Gil sucked along Greg's dick one last time, and leaned back before he navigated the discomfort of turning to come out of the cage, tail hitting and bumping bars and the water bottle until he crawled out, swallowing again. The man was going to make him fuck Greg. He couldn't even think to do it, wasn't hard, didn't want to do that under those circumstances. For all that he'd played along well with everything else, this was an impossibility.

"Now let's look at you Grizz. Not ready hmm? That's not being a good dog," the man chastised him. "Stroke yourself. Make yourself hard or you will use this..." And he picked up a rather fearsome looking dildo "...instead. Understand?"

It wasn't an option, it was a threat, and not cooperating would just make it harder for Greg. Gil shifted his position, and closed his eyes tightly before he took a hold of himself, trying to fondle and work a little hardness into his dick. He couldn't think about the reality, couldn't think about the sad state they were in. No, he needed to think about other things, warmth and comfort and other times, other encounters that had been good.

He did have some memories along that way, he had something to draw from, finding it hard to capture a full memory in this place under these circumstances. He could...try and make this better for Greg, gentler than it would've been. Small comfort for the younger man but he could try enough with the recollections of soft curves and hard lines. It wasn't that Greg in himself was unattractive. If he thought about him back at the lab, the way he smiled when he remembered how to smile and to look at him with dark eyes...

It wasn't that much of a challenge at all to grow hard and firm enough to make his dick usable. Gil stroked a little more than he needed to, fingers lingering, testing that it wasn't going to fail him, and then he shifted back to all fours for the man, a signal that he was 'done'.

"Good boy." The man reached for the tail plug and wiggled it out to another gasp from Greg. "It'll be slick enough. Now do him until he comes."

That was a short window of opportunity as if he didn't do it reasonably fast the lingering effects of his cock-sucking and masturbation would fade before they managed anything.

And he didn't think Greg was going to be very slick, so that meant a... very short window. Gil hesitated for a moment, and then stood up, blood almost rushing to his head when he stretched up tall after he hadn't done so for so damned long. His back ached, but there wasn't time to catalogue aches and pains. He had to move behind Greg and fuck him.

Gil stroked at himself again, and came up behind Greg, sliding his free hand up over Greg's back.

It was strange but his shaking actually stilled then even if the sigh sounded a little choked. There was a hint that his muscles were relaxing, just a little which was better than nothing. He could just about see Greg's fingers make a slow and barely obvious 'muffled' sign of 'okay'

Okay. If Greg was anything near to okay, or feigning it, or... or Gil couldn't think, needed to stop thinking. He leaned in, pressed himself against Greg's back, and with his free hand, guided his dick up against Greg's entrance. If he tested or stretched him at all, Gil had a feeling that they'd be shocked. Dogs didn't do foreplay.

Dogs fucked, and with that in mind, Gil pushed forwards as carefully as he could.

It didn't stop what sounded like pain noises from Greg as seemed to tense and then gasp out as he got deeper. He was tight. Inexperienced and probably not ever tried anything like this. "That's it...that it. Fuck him. Hump him..." The man was watching them, one hand on the controllers, one stroking himself as he watched.

Gil slid his hands against Greg's skin, one against his side, one reaching up to his shoulder, holding him still so Greg didn't jar, so the cage didn't rattle much while he did just as he'd been told as best as he could. Steady motion of hip against ass, the slapping of skin against skin because he was supposed to make Greg come and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to do that when Greg was so uncomfortable and tied down so well.

It seemed strange to see Greg turn his head the best he could towards that hand, seeing the glimmer of wetness on his face even as he grimaced. This wasn't enjoyable particularly for either of them but there were the sheer physical sensations that had some sort of reaction.

It was even more amazing then that Greg seemed to be having some sort of reaction to him there.

And that was... that was neither of their fault. It just was, because they were men and Greg was younger than him, still prone to getting hard at anything, and Gil had already sucked him off a little. Gil closed his eyes again, tight, bending close over Greg while he kept moving, kept fucking him because that was all there was to do. He pressed his cheek against Greg's for a moment.

It seemed the extra contact was what Greg needed. Enough of a trigger that it wasn't completely impersonal maybe -- whatever the reason he gave a hoarse cry as he came, clenching around him.

Gil hadn't been expecting that, but he lasted past Greg, giving a few more of those stilted humping thrusts, grinding against Greg still pressed as close as he could be against him. When he came, it was stilted, weak, and he was too-aware of the buttplug that his ass was squeezing around when he stopped fucking Greg and just rested against him for a moment.

He could hear the mans harsh breathing behind him. "Good boy Grizz. Down boy, over here..." he called him, not giving him much respite.

He knew what was coming next. He could guess, and that was what made Gil reluctant as he took a step backwards and slowly settled back to his hands and knees. The man was going to fuck Greg and he was going to make it hurt, and Gil was going to think very hard, concentrate very hard to not think about disease and STDs.

After all the odds were it was going to happen to him at some point or another so they might be in the same boat. Or if they did this again.

He hated being right. He hated hearing Greg not just gasp but come as near to a rasping scream as he could manage even as the man used him to please himself, without any sort of care, but with a supremely satisfied look when he was done.

"God, yes. Worth the training," he heard the man murmur. "Bath time for you both. Looks like Baby Boy's made a mess on his bed. I think I'll hose you both here." He wandered over to connect the hose and Gil could see Greg sag as if he might actually have passed out. He hoped so.

He hoped that he could pass out, too, but he couldn't. He just stayed there, knowing that it was better that way, to be compliant and complicit and to just bear through it. Because it could be his turn next and he'd have to get through that, too. He needed to survive so Greg could keep surviving and the other way around.

Strangely, a wash didn't sound so bad just then. Even if he did still have the 'tail' in.

The water was freezing but at least it felt like it was scouring off sweat and dirt and the man was more relaxed around him with Greg incapacitated. For once he was glad of the thoroughness of the washing he gave them both, because the odds of infection were high.

Greg's bed was washed out and dragged out to hang to dry and the man whistled as he unhooked some latches. "You'll have to share a bed tonight," he informed Gil even as he started to work on releasing Greg who just slid to the ground in a tangle of loose limbs. "But you've been a very good boy, so maybe we'll see about a special treat for you both hmm? Maybe I have some scraps upstairs.... Take him inside with you."

Gil was still damp, but he barked as agreeably as he could manage, and crawled over to Greg to try to get his dead weight moving towards one of the open cage doors. He wasn't even unsecured from the chain yet, so the man knew he was safe to give Gil that kind of leeway.

Even so, as he went up and out of the room it was the most lax the man had been. If Greg had been able to, he could have maybe made it to the open door. Even out into the house and away. Maybe. It was a sign at least that the guard could come down. Greg groaned a little midway through moving him, and came around enough to try and help.

"Almost," Gil encouraged in a rasp. "C'mon..." He could guess that they needed to be both back in the cage on Gil's side before the man came back, and never mind if that was going to be damned cramped all night.

It was enough to get Greg at least attempting to move as if he realized that the outside was a more dangerous place than the inside for a change. He half crawled half fell into the cage, still wet and dripping and gasping with effort even as he heard the man coming back.

Gil got his feet inside, and even though the small space was cramped with just the two of them on Gil's side of the cage, he moved into as protective a position as he could. Hopefully there wouldn't be any more nasty surprises coming.

The man was whistling as he came back in with a bowl in his hand. He smiled a little when he saw Gil's protective posture. "Yes, I know Grizz, he's yours now isn't he? And you're both mine." He put the bowl in and locked them both in. "Behave yourself and I might just see about taking down the partition."

With that, he turned and left them both, turning off the lights and leaving them in a familiar gloom. Evidentially that was it for the day.

Gil shifted to press himself back against the door of the cage so Greg could have space, and he picked up the bowl to inspect it as he did so. It didn't look bad, actually. Bread crusts and dry-looking deli meat. Gil shifted again, and reached to pick up the water bottle, and contemplated how to take the tail out and whether he could get it back in time if the man came back suddenly.

He reasoned that he could if he was apparently sitting with his back to everything. Greg was lucky that the man hadn't gone as far as forcing it back in after everything, but that would have been a big problem and increased the chance of infection a great deal.

Next to him he could see Greg shaking -- with cold, with shock he wasn't sure. There was so little room to move, and Gil had to fidget and the damned tail was... fuck, it was coming out because he couldn't move with it in. Gil shifted, and reached behind him, trying to not make any noises when he pulled it out, when the flared insert came out and left him hurting. He couldn't feel half as bad as Greg did.

Then he set the bowl and the water aside, and moved to run his hands over Greg's shoulders, giving a quiet whisper. "Greg?"

"Y-yeah?" It was an equally quite response but the shaking under his hands quieted a little as it had done before. He felt cold. Colder than he should feel at least.

Shock. He'd just... been raped and shocked and of course the body had reactions to that. Gil touched over his arms and shoulders in broader strokes, moving to try to warm him up. "C'mere. He brought us food."

"I..I can't eat that ... dogfood stuff," Greg whispered back in a low voice that seemed natural to them both. It was a little surprising that he shifted back in towards Gil, rather than away considering what had happened.

Not that it mattered when the space was barely big enough for one grown man, and tiny for two. "It's real food. Looks like wheat bread crusts and deli meat." Gil picked up the bowl, and tried to pretend that his leg wasn't cramping up underneath of him while he offered the bowl to Greg.

Greg tried to push himself up and take the bowl in a shaking hand. "Bread crusts?" he seemed to notice that Gil was squashed up. "I need to move...you're all cramped."

"I'm fine." Fine being a relative term, and in that case, fine meant 'better than Greg'. At least they hadn't been amusing him for too long, and even if he was probably upstairs masturbating.

"You...should lie down." Greg replied taking a bit out of the bowl and holding it with shaking fingers before trying to eat it. "If I move over..."

"No, it's..." Gil shifted, and since Greg was moving a little, he managed to stretch out his sore leg. "I'm fine. If he comes back, I need to be able to put the tail back in."

"I... I don't need much space," Greg said, his voice soft. He reached for another bit of the bread and deliberately curled himself up.

Gil didn't know what to do. He was trying hard to keep it together and to trust his instincts, but it would have been easier if it had just been him. With Greg there he had to be hyper aware and try to shield him where he could, make it easier for Greg. It was who he was to do that, to help where he could. Gil looked at him, and then shifted closer. "You're cold. And you need the food more than I do," he whispered, because Greg wasn't look at him.

"We don't want to waste it and I won't keep it all down," Greg said in a calm sensible voice. It was too calm in comparison to his shivering and general physical appearance. They weren't talking about what happened. They were not exactly pretending it didn't happen as just not discussing it.

"You need to try." Gil picked up the bowl, and leaned against Greg, offering it to him again. "At least the bread."

Greg nodded and tried again to eat some, but shifting to lean against Gil again. He ate in silence a bit and it was a little surprising to not hear him say something but to see his hands shape the words as if it were easier to talk this way, than verbally.

~Every thing hurts Gil. I'm sorry he made you do that.~

~I'm sorry I hurt you.~ And every urge he had to try to encourage Greg to do... more, better, something, never reached his hands. Greg was dying inside, or he seemed like he was, and Gil was the only one trying to do as best as he could to make the man agreeable to them. And maybe he was wrong to do that, and Greg was right. Compliance led to an increase in activity.

Greg gave a faint smile. ~It wasn't you. Under different circumstances... That might have been something interesting.~

The flush was barely visible against the white of shock, but two spots of color on his cheeks were all the more visible due to contrast.

Gil suppressed a quiet 'oh' noise, and shifted slightly, not enough that Greg could mistake it for any meaning. ~Different circumstances. We are going to get out of here, Greg. I promise.~

~I should be saying that to you,~ Greg replied. His hands started shaking again as he stared at them. ~I should be stopping this. I should be finding a way and... and... I can't even move.~

For a moment, Gil reached out to hold Greg's hands, trying to quell the shaking. Hands more than voices. He could do that, but he needed Greg to calm down more, and only once some of the violence slipped out of the motion did Gil let go. ~Greg, I'm 19 years older than you. You are not solely responsible for me. I'm still your supervisor, and I'm going to get you out of this.~

~I picked up the water~ Greg responded in sharp jerky motions. ~I picked up the water. It's why we're here. Why... that... happened.~ He looked terrible then. Pale and distraught.

~It could've been anyone else out there, Greg. That's not your fault that the water was drugged. You didn't drug it. The man did. You didn't know what was in the bottles.~ Gil signed his words, and then reached forwards to still Greg's hands again before he signed, ~Understand? This isn't your fault.~

~I feel like it is~ Greg replied. ~I feel... likeÖ nothing.~ He shuddered and it looked like he was on the verge of tears.

~You aren't nothing. That's what he wants to do. You're not. You're a good person and a great DNA tech and a friend, Greg.~

Greg shook his head and then clutched at himself , bending his head over as if trying to hold in emotion. "No," he said aloud. "No... Gil..." He was getting incoherent then and sounding like he was choking on something.

It was such a small space that Gil barely had to move to put a hand on Greg's back, trying to feel if he was choking. "Greg..."

That was it. That was the thing that broke him. With a near sob he turned to cling to him, in a blind desperate motion just seeking comfort. "Oh god, oh god."

"Shh." Shhh, and quiet gentle noises, sliding his other arm around Greg and holding him as close as he dared. Comfort. He could do that for Greg, comfort and human touch after a week? A week or more without it.

"He's... he's going to... do it again." Greg gasped out in between convulsive sobs. "Or to you... and... can't, can't stop him." Greg was crying, he could hear that. He could feel that in the complete desperation in the younger mans embrace.

He could curl against Greg, moving closer to him for warmth, but it didn't solve the problem. "No," Gil agreed in a quiet whisper, stroking a hand over Greg's neck, "No, I can't. Shhh. You need to rest..."

"I'm...I'm sorry," Greg was apologizing again and carried on falling apart in his arms. It wasn't surprising considering what had been happening. It was only a matter of time and he was just afraid that in all their waiting and hope, they had already reached the point where it was 'too late'.

Gil just... just had to keep trying. And he had to hold Greg together more than he needed to hold himself together. They'd manage, and it wouldn't, just couldn't be too late.

Jim wasn't going to accept the case was dead in the water. He wasn't going to accept there could be that much trace, that much effort, that much dedication, hope and hard work and there be nothing to show for it. He was aware of the facts. He was aware of the fact that the odds of finding them alive were now down into the 'fucking miracle' categories, but he also knew he was a hard-nosed sentimentalist at heart.

"Hasn't Ecklie considered the PR nightmare of dropping this?" he asked sipping at his drink, looking at Catherine who was keeping Gil's seat warm in his temporary absence.

"Yes." Catherine was showing her stress, right in the middle of her forehead and the edges of her mouth. She took a sip of her beer, and managed to slouch in a way that didn't seem un-womanly. "He's not dropping it. He's shelving it in lieu of further evidence."

"Jesus. I thought Warrick was still working on that partial?" Jim protested. "Cath, you can't tell me you're going to let it drop? This is Gil and Greg here. Both of ours." Technically ëtheirs' but he was still unofficially one of them at least.

"It didn't bring anything up." Catherine shot him a look. "We aren't going to give up. Just... officially, we're run dry. And we have. We had a print and there wasn't a hit anywhere, Jim. Nothing. God, I don't want to abandon Gil, but..."

"But other people get murdered in Vegas." Jim looked at his glass unhappily. "I keep trying to think of a motive or...something. We tied up all the loose ends with grudge matches against CSI so I can't think there is anyone definitely after them. Unless it's someone new."

"Which would explain why we've got nothing but dead ends right now. A print that doesn't match anything, we're looking for a... for a god-damned ford explorer. A white one. That's so many cars in Vegas that we don't know where to start and it's just..." She was peering down into her beer. "I don't think we're going to get our miracle, Jim. It's been two weeks."

"There's no time limits on a miracle Cath," he said trying to make it sound like he believed it. "There have been cases where abducted victims were found alive after longer periods of time."

"Rarities." Catherine twisted a little, peering at him for a moment, expression contemplative. "You... really think we still might find them. Somehow, I didn't expect that."

"I know Gil. I've known Gil a pretty long time now. I think you'd be surprised at how pragmatic he can be when it comes to survival," Jim replied, wondering himself why he was so sure they were alive. Why they had to be alive in his own mind. "This is a guy who eats insects by choice."

It wasn't as if there was any reason for him to hold out hope. Whoever had taken them had done it in the middle of the biggest cop gathering in the country. That was ballsy. And it was made worse somehow because Gil had been quietly excited about doing it, even if he feigned disinterest to most people who asked. Jim knew he was excited, had to be, because he was doing it at all. It meant a lot to Gil, that whole turning his life around thing.

And if Catherine was right, then it had gotten him killed. Irony was a bitch.

"I know. But they took both of them."

"You think Gil will let Greg give up?" Jim said sure of that at least if he was still alive. Gil would see himself dead before he let one of his team die. Jim understood that, most of the others didn't. But then he'd known Gil a long time, and maybe not as well as he should've done.

It didn't matter much then, dwelling on what ifs. What if was a game that everyone lost, and it wouldn't help find them. "No. But if he's been shot, or..." Catherine swallowed and shrugged her shoulders. "We were so close to losing Nicky, Jim. And it was twenty four hours."

"I know Cath. You know Gil wouldn't want us to give up - not because it was then but because it is an unsolved case." Jim shrugged a little. "So, I'm going to keep looking, best I can."

"If we come up with anything, you're going to be the first cop to know. Just..." Catherine shook her head again, looking down into her beer. "I wish there were more we could do."

"I know. I keep expecting to see him come in, Sanders trailing behind him," Jim sighed a little. "He was pushing Greg pretty hard."

"When?" Catherine snorted. "Since he turned CSI. You think he hasn't pushed me hard, Jim? He spent so long working as your field officer that that's all he knows how to do with us."

Jim shrugged a little. "Yeah, you're right." Maybe they didn't see it they way he did, but then he was on the outside looking in. A little more distance, a lot more perspective. "Gil pushes everyone to their limits."

"He wanted them to be better." Catherine frowned tightly at herself. "Wants. Wanted. I don't know what to say anymore."

"Stick with the present tense. Because I'm not willing to write them off." Jim sat back a little. "You can't miss Greg, he has a talent for mayhem and Gil has an answer for everything. If there is something... any way they can get to us, they will."

"And they haven't. It's been two weeks. They..." Jim hated watching her do that, working herself in circles. "God. I don't know how I'm going to be able to investigate other crimes."

"You work, you keep sharp and you remember every time you're out there that maybe there is a connection in something you work to what happened to them. Some trail. Something." Jim said. "Look, I'm not really a very optimistic guy Cath, you know that. I don't exactly believe in the future, but I do believe in Gil. That gives me better than Vegas odds on hope."

Catherine didn't have anything to say to that. She just reached over and very gently patted the top of his hand, before knotting her fingers over his. Well, if she was going to hang on and keep hoping, just a little, than it wasn't so hard to let his own hope run rampant.

Jim didn't know why it was so hard to let go of it; he'd let go of hope and people plenty of times before and he'd accepted that. But not this.

He was starting to wonder if there was a reason for that that maybe he didn't recognize.

Everything had gone to hell after that first night.

Greg was pretty sure that he wasn't exaggerating. There'd been more training and more fucking and more tails, and he'd gotten sick. He was still sick, and he had a knot in his hip from where the man had given him a shot. But things had gotten better even as they'd gotten worse. The partition in the cage had come down, and so it was a little more comfortable for both of them. He'd started to get real food and dog-food, even if Gil was still insisting he eat the real food because Gil could stomach the dog food.

It made Greg feel weak, weak and useless, and to top it all off, he had a dog sitting on his back. That was all right, in a lot of ways. His cage door was open, and he was chained to that eye bolt in the floor, but he could lay in there and stretch out on his stomach and doze.

The rangy German shepherd puppy had been introduced to him as a substitute when the man had taken Gil away, and he had to admit he might have fallen apart completely if not for him. He'd been too sick to do much. He'd tried clinging on to Gil's ankle as the man took him away, right up to the point where he was shocked. That had made him unconscious and he had woken up even more feverish but with an enthusiastic puppy licking his face.

That had helped a little. Lot. It was a distraction, and when the man had come back -- worryingly sans Gil -- he'd learned that the dog's name was Waffle. Waffle ate the rest of the dog food that had been in Gil's bowl, and that had been a little encouragement for Greg to actually eat all of his own food when it was brought to him. What he could keep down, at least.

Waffle was a pretty good dog, as far as puppies went. His ears weren't straight and perfect, the kind of dog that Greg guessed real officers or breeders would've had taped or glued. One eat bent a little.

At least he didn't seem prone to trying to savage Greg, or fuck him, even if he had nosed around the 'tail' for a moment before losing interest.

He had to keep it in most of the time now, which was making everything worse. He had been a little delirious a couple of days before and he remembered asking him over and over for Gil until the man literally shocked the voice from him. He hadn't had much opportunity to try and see if it were back since. The training, the whatever the man did was now secondary to his worry. Had he killed Gil? Had he hurt him more, done worse? Sometimes he would just lie and listen, or play with Waffle and then lie down to sleep. Waffle liked the long expanse of his back because it allowed him to chew thoughtfully at his hair. Greg didn't stop him because it was getting colder at night.

Time was passing, though Greg had lost track of how much time had passed. He had a living blanket, and that was kind of nice. He was starting to cling to little things, little comforts, and it was pretty easy to understand how dogs lived, now. Moment to moment, hoping that the next one was a happy one.

The doorknob handle turned, twisting slowly before it opened.

He didn't even have the energy to flinch back from what might be coming and he felt Waffle perk up from where he was lying watching the door.

Maybe it was Gil coming back. Maybe... maybe... Maybe he wouldn't be so useless. He'd had to find his strength when he was alone. It was like there was a wall he had built in his mind and there was one bit that was there, safe, no matter what else happened. Those things weren't important because it was just body stuff. It hurt, he felt bad but that was it.

It couldn't touch who he was. As long as he kept a little part of himself... himself. As long as he thought like a CSI, then he was fine. The door opened a little slower than usual, and he could hear a footfall stumbling down the steps followed by the man's calmer footsteps. "Baby boy? Have you been good?"

He pushed himself up a little, barking the expected response of once for yes. "Yes" he thought in his own head. Yes, I haven't gone batshit crazy and that is a good thing. And that could be Gil. Could be, could be had to be...
Waffle whined a little at him moving.

Waffle wanted his bed to stay still, but Greg needed to see the door and see the amazing thing that was Gil stumbling down the steps and falling to his hands and knees almost automatically. He looked rough, and he'd been given a shave at some point. There were bruises on his face, marks around his wrists and bruises around his neck. A few cuts here and a few cuts there, all very purposeful seeming. At least, that was what Greg could see from where Gil heeled at the man's feet. He looked shaky, maybe sleep deprived.

Before he knew it he was pulling at the very limits of the chain to get to Gil, with Waffle bouncing off and running up enthusiastically in the hope that this was some new fun thing they were doing.

"Well you're looking a bit better," the man said looking at Greg critically. "Don't pull, the chains not letting you go anywhere."

Gil wasn't chained but the man had a controller in his hand, and Gil leaned a little, still in place, and gave a whine of noise. "Why don't you move back, Baby Boy? Grizzly guy's going to keep you company again, and if you're good, Waffle can stay. Would you like that, Waffle?" The man bent down a little, watching Waffle sniff and nose at Gil.

Waffle barked and Greg backed off. He wanted Gil back. He wanted him badly. Being alone was worse, even with Waffle being there.

Gil just stayed still, not moving or probably not daring to move as long as the man was there or until he was told to. He didn't look up, didn't look at Greg, didn't try to give Greg any of the little signs that Greg was used to finding for reassurance.

That worried him. That worried him a lot. Fuck. What had he done to him?

"Okay Grizzly Guy, you can go in with them both." He patted him on the head and ruffled his hair even as Waffle bounced around them both over-enthusiastically, barking and whining. "Quiet!"

The snapped order had the young German shepherd cowering down, but silent, showing very obviously the signs of his shock collar training. "Inside, all of you."

By 'inside' Greg could guess that he wanted all three of them in the cage. That wasn't so bad, except that Waffle got excited sometimes and kept sitting up and sitting down and then sitting up and circling around again, and he generally liked to lie on Greg.

Gil started to crawl forwards towards Greg and towards the cage door. He had a tail in, but Greg was pretty used to that sick concept by then. Greg wanted him there, want Gil so much it shocked him. If dogs felt like this when members of their pack came back he could understand them going so wild with enthusiasm.

The man unclipped the chain and waited for all three of them to be inside.

"Now you all be good, no fighting, because I've got some things to be doing, don't I Grizzly Guy?" He didn't wait for an answer but went off whistling, closing the door behind him.

~Gil? Gil, are you okay? I've missed you so much. ~ Greg signed rapidly.

Gil had been shifting to lie down, and he seemed to have barely caught Greg's gestures. He was still moving slowly, and Waffle was making noises at them both, happy noises, nudging at them instead of being good and calm in their relatively small space. ~Hey. You're okay?~ The gestures were slow, and Gil's hands were unsteady.

~Better than you by the looks of it~ Greg replied and turned to give Waffle the hand signal he'd been working on with him that was the equivalent of 'lie down'. ~I was pretty out of it, so I don't remember too much~

He smoothed his hands gently over the other man, before lifting them again. ~How bad is it?~

Waffle laid down, his tail thwapping happily at Greg's hip, his nose nudging against Gil's bruised knees. ~I'll be okay. Met the... last puppy he had. Desiccated.~ Gil had to fingerspell that one. ~He was a cop. His badge is hanging on the bedroom wall. There's two others, and our IDs.~

That didn't bode well for them getting out. Or it meant they were going to have to think of some stupid risks to be able to try. ~So not just lies.~ Greg replied. ~He's been hurting you~

It was a safe bet. He'd been hurting them too. Gil had been the strong one and up until now Greg knew he had taken that support. Now Gil needed him. ~You'll need to rest with me. It's been getting cold~

Gil shifted a little closer, but they could only be so close before signing wasn't an option any more. ~He's killing people. He uses his... puppies to tell him crimes to mimic, and he leaves pieces of us at the scenes. They, our team will at least know we're still alive.~ It seemed so much like hope.

~He took stuff from you?~ He didn't know how to say trace or forensic evidence in sign. He looked at Gil studying him a moment. ~It's okay Gil, you don't have to be the strong one now. I had to learn when I was on my own. But I've missed you. So much. I thought...~

Well it was obvious what he thought.

Gil made a rough noise that wasn't a laugh, but might've been trying to be one. ~Dead? Not yet. We're... good puppies. His motive. They seem to have all died by accident. We need to... try to get away. I couldn't overpower him, can't get the collar off, can't...~

Greg stilled him with the same movement Gil had used on him, just for a moment. ~We will. We will do this. The things he does will make us sick, so you were right we have to keep up our strength. We will find a way out of this somehow. He may have done this before, but we're smart...we spend our time out thinking people like him, we can do it again. We just need to be smarter.~

Gil shook his head, or started to, and then he moved closer to Greg, exhaling raggedly. Waffle made an unhappy noise at losing his chin pillow, but Gil was trying to sign and seek comfort at the same time, and Greg really had no idea what he was saying. He was cold to the touch, Greg knew that, and he was still shaking.

He knew what that felt like so he moved in closer, unselfconsciously wrapping himself around him. He was still a twitch warm and he knew that more than anything Gil being there had helped him when he had been falling to pieces. This was the least he could do.

"I'm here..." he whispered. "Not letting go."

Not letting go, and he was going to pretend that he didn't hear Gil stifling quiet choked noises against his chest, or sobs that sounded like whimpers. Gil was okay. Gil was back and alive and whatever the man had done, he'd make sure that Gil pulled himself together again. They both needed to get it together if they were going to make an escape.

And he was sure about that. They would. He'd been too focused inwards before but there was only so much time he could stand with himself alone, being like that so he had learned. Learned to wall that part of himself away and cooperate while watching all the time for the way out. And they'd find it, or they would be found.

Maybe the guy had gotten away with it wherever he was from or wherever else he'd been but they were the best in Vegas. They'd find them or he and Gil would get themselves out. That was more chances than the rest of the man's 'puppies' had probably had. As long as they just got through it...

He found himself kissing at the side of Gil's neck, his hair, not in a sexual way but more in the manner of trying to comfort someone distraught. Waffle had shifted to curl in behind him and even as he let Gil fall apart, he murmured with a voice practically a whisper. "We'll find a way Gil, I won't leave you in here. We'll both get out, both go and they'll find us... they'll be looking. We could think of something only they'd find? Or understand. We can do that."

Never mind that Greg himself couldn't think of anything they could use as a sign. Signs were all good and well, but they'd already be able to tell they were still alive or had been recently. They needed to do something to lead them to where they were, and that... that was harder since they didn't know themselves. He didn't tell Gil that, not with Gil nodding his head shakily against Greg's throat in faint agreement.

He knew possibly that the detachment he was feeling about what happened to his body was possibly unhealthy and the sign of serious problems but he needed it. He needed to be able to live through what the man did with just the physical reactions rather than the agony of emotion because he could function. He could take care of Gil like he was meant to. He could...hold him and for once be the one making things better. "They won't give up on us. Because we wouldn't give up on them. And I don't want you to give up on me."

"Not..." Gil's voice was raw, a bare mumble as he stayed shakily close to Greg. "Not giving up on you."

"Good. Cos I need you," Greg said softly. "Get comfortable on me. You need rest." So did he. His stamina wasn't really there, even despite the shot of penicillin.

It was easy to shift, stretched out in their cage, Gil close against him, face to face. It was almost comfortable, and in much better circumstance, in much better ones, it might've been something more. Something interesting. But just then it was the two of them staying alive, and he wasn't adverse to Waffle sleeping on their feet.

It kept them warm while he watched Gil close his eyes, even as he stroked through his hair, trying to think of means to draw Gil out of himself as Gil had done to him. Teaching maybe, talking. Finding out what had happened, bouncing around silent theories through sign. It might work as a distraction until the next torment landed on them both. That wouldn't hurt Gil, he half swore that aloud though it was more a whimper than anything coherent.

Sometimes life seemed like hell. It wasn't just one thing, it was a hundred -- it was insubordinate CSIs, attitudes, stress clashing, missing friends, worrying, her daughter trying to stretch her rebellious little wings again, and now there was this.

Catherine could see Jim crouching down near the black hefty bag, twisting when he heard her high heels. "Cath. This..."

"Sounds like a copycat and I've only heard the basics," Catherine said briskly. "Which will be why I'm here myself. Everyone else is out. So fill me in?"

"Dead male, younger. Naked, body dump in a plastic bag. Blond..." Jim shifted, and was using a pen to poke gently around the hole. "He's got something on his palms, but it's not blue paint. We've got a copycat."

"Great. All we need," Catherine replied as she slipped on her gloves and reached for her kit. "David been over yet?" She asked as she lifted her camera and the flash and click started recording the vital details.

"Took liver temp, all of that. They were just waiting for you to clear the scene." Jim backed up, and got standing again. Catherine knew he was scoping out the area, trying to see if he spotted anything else. "Kind of strange that someone copycats this case out of the blue. I bet Al can get his hands on it and find the same cause of death as the others."

"You know I don't believe in complete coincidences," Catherine replied. It was too lucky, too suspicious to her mind. There had been no publicity connected to this save the face\t it might have appeared on the bio bites the media did running alongside Gil and Greg's disappearance. But that had been sketchy at best.

Catherine remembered something about 'and put away' some stupid name for the killer, a quick rattle off of some of his victim's names. There was a lot of that, but mostly the newer Serial cases they'd covered. There was a blurb about Nick, and Catherine knew that had spurred up Nick's recent insubordinations. It was a little sensationalism about the media's slant to things, with them going on about the ill-fated Vegas Crime Scene Investigations unit.

"Neither do I. Something brought this guy out. Here, take your samples and I'll go have a few words with the homeless guy who found him."

"Thanks Jim," Catherine said and started collecting even as she chewed things over in her head. Nick was imagining what happened him and worse for them both and it was driving him crazy. Stirring up a lot of shit for him and...

She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. Shit. Definitely on the hands. Smelt a bit...strange. Rich. So maybe it was animal fecal matter.

Anyway, it was a problem because she knew why, and she knew suspending him would be a disaster, but he was blustering and blowing up at her with the sorts of displays of temper she had never expected. Well, aside from that case with the kid they had found in time. Thinking about it, that helped. He was behaving like that.... like time was constantly running out.

And it was, except at least then there'd been a lead. Catherine reached for a jar to scrape the shit into. Trace could have a field day with it. and the rest, the bag, could be printed back at the lab. She'd need to get a ten-card off of the homeless man, of course, but it was a start.

Sara had gone isolationist on her. It was strange but she'd expected her to be the volatile one, blowing up, storming around but instead she had folded in on herself like some cold neat origami flower. She didn't talk about it. She worked on it. She just... kept working on it.

Warrick was being the most normal of them all. Angry, determined, upset but normal. And herself? She didn't like to think how she was doing.

She had work to do and that was all she needed to know. She was the defacto supervisor, and Ecklie was being very sympathetic to her problems, but...

But there she was scraping shit off of someone's hands in a copycat case that was already raising her hackles. She spotted a white or silver hair, and reached for tweezers and a bindle.

She picked it up carefully and smiled. Jackpot. Skintag.... "Not such a good copy cat after all..." she murmured to herself. She couldn't help but wonder, like Jim had said whether there was a connection to Grissom. She would have to check and see what details went public, what could have been found with the use of Google and an obsessive nature.

Better mention that to Sara then.

Sara was good with computers, the tracking down and the relentless researching. It was a good just in case, even if she didn't think that Grissom could, well, hurt a flea. And they'd print it and god willing they'd get a work card hit off of some crazy bastard and that would be the end of that.

She just wanted him back. Them back. It was funny but Gil loomed large in her mind. She'd been surprised, but the lack of response from Greg's family had been a little worrying. She was realizing why he never took holidays, not after his Poppa Olaf died. It seemed now in retrospect that they were his family. No wonder he had been so paranoid about Gil.

And she really had to kick the ass of that past tense that kept trying to creep in despite everything.

Catherine sighed and stood. Another day, another murder and still no answers to her own questions. But that didn't mean she could stop asking them.

She just had to make room for the new questions. No-one's death was undeserving of less than her full attention, so she had to keep trying. had to keep solving cases, because she knew in her heart, that that was what Gil would want her to do. Keep working every murder, rape, molestation and gang bang drive by that landed in her lap.

Catherine just wished there weren't so damn many.

It was an assumption but no matter what Grissom had said sometimes you had to take your conclusions and start pushing them to get an answer. She walked swiftly down the corridor, smoothing back her rogue hair and entered the lab, immediately noticing Wendy's expression. It was the sort of expression someone got when they weren't sure they were delivering good or bad news.

"I got your page. I take it there are results?"

"There are... results," she told him. "Did I tell you last week that Brass brought me a DNA sample from Grissom's house?"

"Yeah, I know that. And Nick got one in from Greg's place...?" Catherine straightened a little. "What've you come up with?"

"A little of column a, no column b. The hair? Didn't come up in Codis, but I've been using Grissom's sample as an exclusionary, you know? Instead of saline, uh, just in case." Wendy smiled. "Well, it didn't exclude. It matched."

Catherine stared. "It... matched? That hair was... Grissom's?" Oh my god. Evidence at a murder scene maybe, but evidence that he was alive! Or at least that he had been alive not that long ago.

"It matched," Wendy confirmed. "Was that from your scene? Because trace finished with your feces sample and then kicked it to me. It's running now. There was blood, but it wasn't animal."

"From the copycat," Catherine agreed staring at the print out. Gil. It was Gil. Main suspect in a copy cat murder, now or present at least. "I want every thing run against this exemplar."

"That's what I'm doing." Wendy peered at her, watched her read the sheet, and Catherine wished the woman didn't know who that hair had come back as. That she hadn't known and Catherine had just understood it without a middleman. "Do you want to wait for the feces results? Hodges said that it contained some pretty expensive dog food."

Which should mean that it was dog shit. But she could hear Gil's voice in her head saying, no it doesn't prove it was a dog, just whatever produced it was eating dogfood. "Yeah I'll wait." She said still cling to the hope. "Try any unknowns against Sanders DNA as well."

"Right, I'll do that if we have any left after this processes." Wendy peered over at her again. "Do you really think it's him?"

"Do I think it's him doing the crime? No," Catherine replied. "Do I think he's alive... I'd say yes."

The evidence put him at the scene, but Gil wouldn't be so stupid, even if he had gone off the rails.

If Gil had gone right off of the edge and had decided to start killing, they would have had another Millander on their hands. A detail oriented, psychotic ghost, not someone sloppy enough to leave their fingerprints all over the place, their hair. "Then... that's good, right?"

"It's good in that he's alive...or was..." Catherine replied. But she was thinking that it meant Gil at least had been taken by a killer. A psychopath and that couldn't be good for anyone. And Greg...would he want more than one captive? Was Greg disposable? Or...a hostage. Would Gil kill if Greg was hostage?

She wasn't sure. She wasn't sure if Gil would, because she couldn't be sure if she'd ever do something that drastic. Taking a life to protect a life -- very philosophical, and while Gil had said before that he wouldn't be able to kill someone... You just couldn't be sure.

The printer started to life, and Wendy turned towards it. "And your last results on that blood..."

It was going to match the exemplar, she knew it. It was going to match and it had to be planted evidence because she could see where this was going. Frame up, something, trying to imply he'd gone mad, or something. Incite media frenzy all over again.

And it would. God, it would and they were going to have to keep it from the press. There was no way that Gil would be eating dog food and smearing shit on things so that people would have to follow the killer's mo, wash their hands, and then be caught. There was just no way.

"Catherine... Match."

She nodded. "Well that's just turned this into the biggest hot potato we've seen for a while. Wendy? Try and sit on this a while... I need to speak to Ecklie and I rather I got to him first before things hit the fan."

"Okay. I can sit on it," she promised, holding the piece of paper out for Catherine. "Good luck?"

Yeah, she was going to need it and she was going to need to hunt down Ecklie now, yesterday, fast. The only saving grace was that he'd been working during the nightshift hours since Greg and Grissom had disappeared to help take some of the paperwork off of her shoulders.

She was good, but not good enough to be able to absorb the loss of two committed members of their team and not struggle. She took it and said thanks even as she out of the door and heading towards Ecklie's office. She really really hope he hadn't bumped into Nick. She did her best to keep Nick out of harms way in the lab and congratulated herself on saving his career every night. She could deal with being Nick's bad guy for the moment.

She knocked on his office door, trying to think of what to say. 'Hey, I've found Grissom -- he left parts of himself all over a crime scene,' seemed a bit shocking, but she didn't know where to start. Knocking, sure, but even that didn't explain the problem

"Come in."

Conrad surprised her by being a good lab supervisor. Once he realized that Gil really didn't want to take his job and had been very reluctant to even look at the Assistant directors job, he had mellowed out even more. The rivalry was more to do with insecurity because he knew damn well Gil was the better CSI. But talent wasn't always the thing that meant ambition.

"Conrad...I need to talk to you," she said as she entered and deliberately closed the door. "It's serious."

"I can tell." He still had a tone in his voice that reminded her a lot of Hodges that had made her occasionally wonder if they were related. Or something. "Sit down, tell me what's going on."

She sat, holding out the paper for him to look at. "My copycat? The trace coming back from that matches an exemplar. Gil's DNA."

Once in a while, Ecklie's face actually registered a look of surprise, and that did it. His eyes went wide and his eyebrows crawled up towards his receded hairline, and his mouth opened a little before he stopped himself from saying his words for a second. "He's, wait. Grissom's... Grissom is the person who left trace on our copycat body bump?"

"And not just a bit but hair, blood, fecal matter. I'm willing to bet the bag will be littered with prints...and that telling me its a frame."

"Was there anything on that bag or the other trace that might be locational? Because if this is a frame and you're right... then whoever has Grissom killed that man. What did trace have on the feces?" Ecklie leaned forwards, looking and seeming eager about the idea of finding Grissom. "We can keep this under wrap from the media for at least a few days."

"Dog food. Rich dog food and...also Grissom's." She had to force herself to be clinical. "I'm still waiting on the more detailed analysis of the bag, but I going in the same direction. I think we have a killer, I think they are using Grissom as a blind, and I think he wants it to hit the media hard and fast otherwise they wouldn't have made this so public. But... we'll get some tests but this trace has to be pretty fresh. Gil was alive in the last few days at least."

"That's good." Ecklie tented his fingers a little, looking thoughtful. "This is ringing a bell for me, Catherine. This seems very very familiar, and I can't seem to touch why."

"Aside from the fact that it's a copy cat?" Catherine sounded interested. It had to be something of the sparse details she had given. "The only other unusual thing is the dog food. Is it that?"

"No." Ecklie sat back in his desk chair, the way he did that made Catherine think that one day he was going to fall backwards, balancing on two legs. "No. About a year ago, there was a police detective in California who went missing. There was some media thing about him being looked for as a suspect in a crime scene, like a month after the fact. It just..."

Catherine frowned. "It fits the profile... because you and I know that even crazy Gil wouldn't be careless with evidence," she said definitely. "I can get Sara to pull it up. She's one of our best researchers."

At the moment she was, with all that obsession focusing inwards. " But how do you want to handle this? Quiet or...controlled? Whoever this guy is, he...or she I guess, is going to expect to see something in the media."

"Controlled. Control what the media gets a hold of. Maybe he'll get sloppy if he does it again." Ecklie sat straight up in his chair again, all legs on the floor. "Actually, if Grissom were going to snap, I think my body would have been the first one you'd find. With no prints, no trace, and possibly a poisoning."

Catherine smiled a little. "I don't think he hates you Conrad, not as much anymore..."

"Then maybe a garroting. But what I'm saying is that... look, the lab's official stance is going to be that Gil's needed for questioning about this. If that is what they are being kept alive for lets play into that and give whoever a reason to keep them alive. The unofficial stance is that we're looking for the guy who potentially has him and Sanders." Ecklie fixed his eyes on hers. "All right? I'll handle the media."

"You want me to pull in the others on this or... go it alone?" Who was she kidding, they'd all want to be in on it. One way or another.

"Get them all in on it. The more people..." Ecklie shrugged his shoulders. "The more likely we are to luck out. Go on -- I need to talk to the under-sheriff about this."

"Right," Catherine nodded and stood up. "We'll get to it. We'll cover everywhere. I don't think we're dealing with a Millander here, but someone who's smarter than the normal crazies."

"Aren't they all?" Ecklie drawled, reaching for his phone. It was as good as a dismissal -- after all, normal crazies were pretty easy to catch. They didn't elaborately kidnap people. They didn't try to create frame jobs.

They didn't keep their victims alive on dog-food.

But there was one key concept in that thought even as she headed out with a new purpose and some news to break, and that was whoever it was was keeping him alive. And that was a more solid hope than she had dared to hope for, even with all of Jim's solid optimism spurring her on. No, it was more than possible now they might find at least one of them alive.

And that was better than nothing.

He'd caught what Greg had had.

That was one way to think of it, Gil guessed. He wasn't so sure anymore if the other pets had died because of the man going crazy during one of his sessions, or because of the infections from the 'tails'. He had chills, either from the cold that seeped into the garage once the sun set, or because he was sick. In safe, normal sex play, butt plugs were for well lubricated short term use, not shoving in, clean, unclear, constantly, dry skin rubbing raw against it.

Gil was tired and sick. He and Greg had heard the man come home over an hour ago -- or it seemed like -- but he hadn't come down yet. That meant he was up to something, something Gil wasn't too keen to find out about.

Greg had been looking after him much as he had for the younger man when he had been ill. He got most of the water, the best of the food because Greg told him it was important to fight the infection off. He had also taken the plug out and had it handy for whenever the man came back. He'd practiced enough to be able to just get it in in time.

He'd only had Greg back for a few days. They'd had some time together until the younger man had been taken upstairs and he'd found himself along with Waffle protesting wildly. If only because he knew what was going to happen.

It had been all about control. Breath control, motion control, eating, sleep, when he could use the bathroom, more intense types of control than they faced down in the garage. There was company in the garage, while upstairs there had been nooses and ropes and chains and maddening boredom that was only punctuated by interrogation and a madman kneeling up behind him trying to fuck him senseless, mauling a hand over his cock and balls.

And then he'd be allowed to sleep tied up, in the closet with the body.

It was so good to have gotten Greg back after just two days instead of the four Gil had spent. Not that the younger man looked any less rattled, but there was a certain hardness developing in him now, that meant Gil no longer despaired that Greg was giving up. And the attention Greg gave him was strangely intoxicating and comforting even if he was sure it was a coping mechanism.

Greg had come back with more evidence of physicality on him, and he suspected he hadn't been as worried about making him talk about things. Greg had said as much.

Signed as much. They were both close to voiceless now, and Gil just hoped the damage wasn't going to be permanent. But they could both sign, when they were awake and aware and wanted to. Greg was learning better, but Gil guessed that intensive learning mixed with boredom added to that quick learning.

He shifted a little, letting Greg know he was awake. Greg was sitting up cross-legged in their cage, and Gil was resting his head and shoulders on Greg's lap, leaned back against his stomach. Waffle was sitting on Greg's knees, so there was fur tickling against Gil's face.

He signed a general sort of question of ~You okay?~ in front of his eyes and then stroked Gil's hair with one hand and Waffle's head with the other.

Finger spelling was useful with the grander gestures were hard to manage, or they were positioned like that. Gil nodded, and un-tangled one hand from where he'd been clutching at Waffle's fur. ~I'm still here. You?~

~Just thinking~ Greg replied. He'd been doing a lot of that recently, and Gil wasn't sure if that worried him more than anything because he was used to the Greg that wore his emotions right out there on his face rather than the one who sat staring into space. ~He's up there. Means he's planning something.~

Gil shifted to lie on his back so he could see Greg's face. The closeness was something he didn't give much thought to. That they were naked and he was lying on top of Greg didn't matter because they were cold and the cage was small no matter how they positioned themselves. Almost comfortable for two, small for two humans and a dog. ~He is. I'm waiting for it.~

He was also aware that Greg was developing a very unhealthy attachment to him. He showed his need, obsession with a hundred small movements and gestures every time they were together. The thing was, Gil was almost certain he was doing the same. Was that how dogs became a pack?

~You're ill~ Greg signed. ~I hope it's me not you~

~I hope he just comes down to feed us.~ Gil shrugged a little after he signed, and he kept looking up at Greg. Unhealthy attachment or not, they were still alive. Still doing okay, still managing. They needed to be ready to put their tails back in, and that hurt. They'd found out near the start what happened if he caught them without them in when he came down. Gil didn't want to be shocked until he passed out.

~He's left us alone for a few days~ Greg signed. Well, relatively alone -- it was funny how certain torments became mundane and ordinary and not worthy of thought. But all that preparation upstairs probably meant that they were in for a rough time.

Waffle turned and pricked up his ears at the exact same moment that Greg turned to listen. ~He's coming~

Gil twisted, reaching for his tail. He'd gotten into the habit of rinsing it off quick with water, but they didn't have enough, so it was just... just going to hurt. Gil shifted up onto his hands and knees and clenched his jaw before he just stuck it in. Everything was raw back there, and he'd seen what Greg's backside looked like. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't healthy.

Greg was doing the same and had returned to holding him and pressing one of his more frequent kisses against his temple even as the door opened and the man entered.

It was strange how both of them referred to him as 'the man' rather than 'master' which he sometimes insisted on when he wanted speech. It was a small act of defiance, but it meant something to them both.

"And how are my puppies today?" he said with the brightness in his tone that both of them recognized as dangerous even as he was opening the cage door.

Gil leaned back from the cage door, muscles sore and feeling a little shaky as he peered over at the man. He had ideas in mind, then -- torture and head games, and maybe another killing. But maybe this time they could escape. Gil didn't know. He couldn't stop looking for an out, though.

Waffle started to bark.

"Quiet!" The man ordered and Waffle yelped with a shock from his collar.

Greg shifted from holding him forward to get in front of him, obviously trying to draw attention.

"What wrong Baby Boy? Hmm. You want out?" Greg barked once.

"You're both coming out..." He was interrupted by Greg's sharp two barks. "No?" The man sounded dangerously amused. "Why? Oh... I see, he does look a little off-color doesn't he?"

One bark.

"Are you worried Baby Boy? Not to worry then... I'll make he doesn't have to much in the way of activity tonight. But someone has to."

One bark. Yes. Greg was volunteering for whatever it was and the man seemed too amused by that.

Gil wished he hadn't. Gil leaned up and tried to nudge Greg with his shoulder, because the last time he'd volunteered... Well, Gil didn't want to remember that much. No matter what they did, it was damned if they did and damned if they didn't. The man reached in through the open door to put a chain on Greg's collar, right away, 'walking' him out.

"But I think he will be lonely on his own don't you? Grizz...out." The man gestured. "I think you can still help with tonight, even if you can't move. I don't think you have to move tonight to do what I need. Heel!"

They were used to it, and Gil hated that the order of heel brought him right to the man's side, crouched in an almost sitting position, waiting for the next order. He didn't even have a collar on, just the shock collar. If he lunged at the man, would he be making his move too soon? Greg had taken forever to heal from the brutality of that first beating.

The man led all of them out of that room, Greg on his chain, Gil following as well as Waffle. Sure enough they were headed upstairs, and that was never a good thing. He could lunge. He could, he could lunge at the man, get him behind the knees and they could...

Gil didn't, though. He just followed up after them on the stairs, walking hands and knees in a way that was too easy even with the sore spots and bruises.

He wasn't strong enough to carry it off. He knew he wasn't. Greg had been right to try early on in captivity even though it had been a risk, a terrible risk because now they had both lost a lot of body mass -- even if Greg had joked they could write and tell people about the dog-food version of the Atkins diet -- and he was feverish and...

They were in the room next to the bedroom, the one the man called the playroom, and he'd been busy setting up bits of equipment. None of which looked good.

The first things Gil recognized were the standing restraints. He'd gotten used to them, and he was probably going to have scars from where they'd cuffed tight around his wrists, from where they'd held him upright when his knees or his state of consciousness had failed. Gil stopped just inside of the door, waiting for instructions. Waffle wandered past him, but not much further, sniffing the air.

"Grizz...up..." He ordered after the man tethered Greg's chain to a ring in the wall. Gil caught sight of Greg's expression as he obeyed. Greg looked scared, but it was for him, not himself any more.

Gil stood up, taking a second to stretch and crack his back before the man grabbed one of his wrists to start securing him. The last time hadn't been good. Under good circumstances, Gil was willing to admit that he liked sex. Interesting sex, rough sex, slow sex. He didn't have much of it, but the man was working to slowly kill his libido with painful twists of normally enjoyable things. Greg and he tended just to be physically familiar rather than intimate when they had a choice.

The man was sticking shock pads all over him. Maybe he wouldn't be moving much, but then he didn't have to, to participate. He winced when the man jerked the tail plug out and stuff some other unfamiliar shape inside of him.

"Hmm, you are a sick puppy aren't you? Well that might just make things a little more interesting." The man half smirked as he put a large electrode right over his chest. That was not a good area at all.

Not at all. Gil looked down, and tried to not -- oh, fuck, there was a wire hanging down between his legs. The man wouldn't... would he? It could kill him, a circuit of electricity. Gil looked up, trying to keep calm, trying to, and trying to be detached.

Greg seemed to be realizing the same thing as he had sat back on his haunches looking at Gil with a complete look of horror.

"There now. Well Baby boy, Grizz is all ready...now we're going to do some training. And if you are a good boy, then you might earn Grizz a penicillin shot. And if you are disappointing, then he'll have a few shocks." He made it all sound so reasonable.

As if it was that easy, and he laid all the weight of the consequences on Greg's shoulders. As if whatever he did was Greg's fault and not his own, as if it was something in their control when it wasn't. Gil closed his eyes. He didn't want to watch.

It was as well he didn't. The beginning part of things was nothing new. The normal training they had both experienced, resulting in a few token shocks on his calves when Greg wasn't quite perfect. In reality the man would have found a way to punish him. But after the warm up, thing got a little more exotic. Greg having to pleasure the man or the stim in his ass made his vision fade all on it's own

He'd gotten one good shock there so far, enough to make consciousness hard to maintain. His insides weren't supposed to clench up like that, and he was fairly sure he'd peed himself a little, his feet slipping for a moment and making the tight restraints dig into his wrists. After that, Gil had started to try to keep his eyes open, silently urging the man to consider Greg's actions, hands and lips, acceptable.

Greg was going at it like he was in a porn movie. He was showing that he had learned a lot about blowjobs in the past few weeks if nothing else. He could hear the man murmuring, warning him that if he didn't do this, or that...Gil would get a shock here or there. He did it. He did everything and made it hard for the man to punish Gil, he could tell that. But that wasn't what it was about. The man wanted control. He wanted to break Greg and him, and to do that he had to give him standards where he would fail.

Had to make punishment impossible to avoid, had to make Greg fail. Gil knew it was going to hurt. It wasn't Greg's fault. It was just... just part of the process, and he'd been pulling himself back together again here and there, where he could, since his last session with the man.

Gil needed his slow mental efforts to not have been wasted. He needed to keep thinking and keep thinking coherently.

That was hard when the man seemed to enjoy critiquing Greg's performance with the punctuation of shocks. He had Greg on hands and knees now, fucking him hard but this was just the prelude, even as he finished and withdrew he then arranged Greg into a position where he had to hold a weight outstretched or a mercury switch sent Gil a shock. Greg was looking directly at him and he'd been holding his arm outstretched for five minutes and sweat was pouring down his face and his arms were dipping low.

Gil tried to reach for a smile, something reassuring, but he couldn't manage much of one. He was shaky and breathing hard because everything, absolutely everything hurt or was in spasms. The human body wasn't meant to take shocks like that, and Gil was willing to bet that the weight would set off the shock to his heart.

Hopefully it didn't kill him. Because if he did die there, he didn't want Greg to have that guilt.

He was lucky and unlucky, because when Greg did let it drop after a surprisingly long period of time, the flaring pain of shock was in his ass, his throat and legs and he could hear Greg's incoherent cry as he realized what he had done, worried that it was the one over his heart.

It wasn't so bad, compared to the threat of a shock right there over his chest. Gil probably made a noise, but the flair of pain only made him slip, hanging by his wrists because he couldn't get to his feet even after the man slid the weight off of the shock, because his muscles were still spasming with pain.

"Baby boy, you're going to have to do better than that. I don't think you are fit enough.... Lets try something shall we?" He approached Gil and took his time putting in an IV into one arm and then took a hypodermic and injected it into the saline mix. "You see this? You are going to keep running at a certain pace. If you run long enough he'll get enough medicine. If you don't run fast enough he'll get a shock. You only get one chance to do this... understand? Hup."

Gil barely got his feet under him, trying to take some of his own body weight off of his wrists before he pulled a shoulder out of joint. It was hard to not whimper. Much.

Greg was put on the treadmill and Gil could see the stiffness in his body as he straightened and it started putting him into a jog, shock hitting Gil until Greg reached the grueling pace require. Drip, drip, drip... it was so slow but the sting of liquid in his arm was proof enough.

The man had miscalculated a little. Admittedly they hadn't been well treated before but they had been training for the race before hand and Greg knew how to run on a treadmill, which was just as well, because a few drops wouldn't be enough. He needed to run a long time.

Gil just hoped that Greg didn't give himself a heart attack trying to stall for enough time for the medicine to seep into Gil's body. He shifted his footing, standing up as straight as he could manage with his left leg tremoring, and his throat still spasming from the shocks. Greg would be all right for a while. And it would help, until the man decided to intervene.

For a long time the sounds in the room were of the treadmill running, and Greg thumping along, even if his breathing was harsh and less easy. A long time of drip by drip, little by little penicillin getting in. Maybe 4 cc before the man altered the gradient on the treadmill and Greg was running up hill fast, with it getting harder and harder. He could see Greg running and running, sweat pouring off of him, gasping.

He needed to stop. He needed to stop before the man had him killing him himself, and Gil strained forwards in his restraints, managing two raw barks. No, stop, anything. Greg couldn't handle any more even if muscle memory was driving him on.

Then the first of the shocks hit him in the thighs and he knew Greg was losing it even if he rallying and sped up. Ever few seconds was another precious drop of antibiotic and he wanted to say it would be enough, it was okay but he was too busy being crippled.

He tried to bark, but he couldn't because everything was spasming, and he lost his footing again, his shoulder jerking because his feet went right out from under him. At least rape, Gil could almost understand. But what kind of gratification could the man be getting from that?

The gratification seeing someone willingly put himself through hell and know that sooner or later it wouldn't be enough.

It happened again. And again. The times in between the shocks were going less and Greg was trying to sprint at speed up the equivalent of a hill over a long period of time and he was weaving a little and he was not seeing anyone or hearing anything and he didn't look good at all as he somewhere in the middle of it lost his footing as legs folded up, cracking him hard against the machine and throwing him off.

Immediately a jolt went through most of him, but not over his heart -- not that he could notice that at the time

It just hurt, but it didn't matter because he needed to concentrate to see Greg, to see that Greg was okay. Greg needed to be okay because surviving the shocks wasn't worth anything if Greg didn't survive.

Greg was laying there, his chest heaving and his legs and body shaking. He moved and threw up, retched up everything uncontrollably which earned him a swift kick and he looked a strange mixture of pale and clammy under the spots of color from exertion.

Gil wanted to help. Wanted to help, wanted to make it easier for him, wanted to, and wished that their positions were switched. That he was the one getting kicked in the ribs, because sick or not, he'd been brutalized less. In a way. Less physical, and Greg looked so pale when Gil could get his eyes to focus, when he could get his lungs working.

"You didn't try hard enough, Baby Boy."

Greg couldn't have made an answer if he had wanted to. It would have been difficult to have heard what the man was saying if he had his heart pounding in his ears, and was feeling faint.

Maybe that would be it. Maybe....that was his amusement for the night.

Gil tried to stay conscious, but it slipped, and he hoped that when he came to, Greg was still alive and okay and breathing and everything else that was important.

Everything hurt, like someone had lit a fire in his chest and made everything spasm around it, and he was coughing, choking, and someone was punching him? There was wild barking in the background and Greg was right there. Right there, because Greg's hair was brown and wild and familiar, and even when his face was looming in front of Gil, he could tell who it was. Wasn't the man, because the man never got that close face to face with his puppies. They might bite his chest off, no, not his chest, his nose, and everything was blurring together with Greg crying and his arms hurt as much as his chest.

Why was Greg crying?

"...sorry...." he was whispering in his ear over and over, holding him to him and rocking him slightly. There was a dampness on his face, his lips as if someone had been kissing him and he was lying on the floor and he could hear the lazy sound of amused applause behind Greg.

"Well done Baby boy. Guess you pulled it off after all despite being too weak. I think it's time for you both to go to bed before you get him killed again tonight."

Get him killed again? Gil reached his hands slowly for Greg, and they were shaking, and his chest muscles hurt to move. But he did, because Greg was still crying even as he clutched back at him, unable to ask what had happened. His arms moved, and he was free, but it was so far from time to ask questions or to try to make for an escape. The man kicked gently at Gil's leg.

There hadn't even been an interrogation. Maybe he wasn't going to kill again so soon.

He was surprised to see Greg's head whip round and hear the equivalent of a growl come from him. Not a pretend one, but as if he really meant it and was just a hairsbreadth from doing something rash. "Don't even think about it Baby Boy. You try and lift him, then," he was told clear expecting him to fail, but Gil felt himself lifted unsteadily with complete determination.

He wanted to move, but it only would have knocked them both off balance. And he wasn't sure he could, because his limbs seemed to not be speaking the same language as his brain was just then. Everything was sluggish and slow, and he wasn't sure he was really conscious yet. Wasn't sure he could have moved if he'd wanted to.

Greg stumbled, somewhere, at some point, jammed Gil's knee against the wall of the stairwell, but he didn't trip and Gil barely registered it with all of the other twinges and pains because if he had have, they probably would have both ended up dead in the stairwell.

Somehow they made it downstairs into the basement, into the cage where Greg laid him down gently, reverently, ignoring the man who pushed in Waffle and locked the door on them both.

"Remember Baby Boy, you did this too him."

Gil tried to shake his head, but he was on his back and his tail was blessedly missing for the moment even if his ass felt like it was on fire along with his chest. No, it wasn't Greg's fault, but his fingers weren't smooth and the most he could do was reach for Greg, petting as his arms and trying to get his vision to clear because no, it wasn't Greg's fault. Whatever had happened.

The man was gone then and Greg was still crying over him, even if he could feel sticky patches of blood on the younger man. He was lying down, holding him again, and still whispering in the merest hint of sound his soft apologies.

"...sorry...sorry..."

Blood. He wasn't even sure what the man had done to make Greg bleed because he hadn't been bleeding when he'd last seen him. Something had happened, but Gil couldn't find his voice. He just stroked his fingers over Greg's back, and started to fingerspell against his skin. O, K, over and over again, shaky but he could use Greg to steady his hands because it was that and breathing and trying to get his eyes to focus more. Moving wasn't much of an option.

It calmed Greg down some, enough to lie there still holding him with less panic in him or desperation. He was shaking as well as he lay next to Gil, his hand lying protectively over his chest.

He managed to say something, after choking for a second, struggling still to form the word. "'m okay. Not... your fault." Not that Gil even knew what happened, but he knew deep down that it wasn't Greg's fault and held him as tight as he could. Waffle was stretching out on their legs, and that was okay. That was good. They could just rest, and maybe the pain would fade a little.

It was a fair time before he realized that he was smelling a lot of blood on Greg and that he was settling down enough to actually find out what was going on. It had been a shorter session but much worse than previous visits upstairs.

Gil shifted, pressing his face against Greg's cheek for a moment in familiarity, before he moved his fingers around, shakily, searching for wounds. "Greg?" His voice was so quiet, that if the garage hadn't been dead silent Greg wouldn't have heard him.

~Yes?~ There were too many of them to find. His back was... feeling strange. Sticky and he flinched a little but didn't say anything which was strange.

Gil pulled his hands back, and tried to get his legs to move so they'd have the space between them to sign. But his fingers were covered in blood, smeared. ~What did he do to you?~ Shaky, but he signed slow so Greg would understand.

~He waited a little then told me that I needed to learn obedience. He hooked the barker breaker to....the thing over your heart. And said I had to stay quiet. Learn to be quiet, no matter what. Then he started hurting me~ That bit was said very matter of factly. ~I stayed quiet. For some time~

Gil slid his fingers momentarily over Greg's skin, trying to pet an apology into being. He couldn't fix it, even though he wanted to. He couldn't undo what had been done, or how the man had hurt him. He wasn't even coherent enough yet to find out. He stopped the petting to sign, ~You did good.~

~Not good enough~ Greg signed back and his hands were shaking ~I broke. I made a noise and it shocked you over the heart and you shook and then.....then I knew, I knew it had stopped your heart and I fought him to get to you and he let me and he was laughing and you were dead and I got you down but is taking too long and your lips were going blue and I did CPR and breathed and, hit you and.... you were dead....you were dead....~ He was crying again then, as if the moment was happening all over again, fingers uneven and words falling apart.

"You saved my life." Gil could barely manage the whisper, and they both probably needed water. He couldn't sign back to Greg a better explanation, just slid one hand down to rest on Greg's hip, a bare spot of skin that wasn't bloody, and he curled the fingers of his other hand in Greg's hair, cradling his head. They had to get out of there, soon. They had to get out.

"I killed you," Greg replied and his expression twisted. "I should've killed him."

"Wasn't your fault." And all Gil could do was hold him and hope he calmed down, hope that he calmed down himself, and that after enough time passed he could look at Greg's wounds and maybe rinse them.

They didn't have much water, but water would do neither of them good if either of them got a fever or an infection. Greg leaned down a little, resting his head on Gil's chest, seemingly listening to his heartbeat. It seemed to settle him. "We need to take any chance...no matter how stupid. Next time...next time he'll kill one of us." It was a very faint whisper but in the quiet of the basement Gil could hear it.

Next time he'd kill one of them. "First chance we get," Gil agreed softly. He swallowed, and it didn't help his throat much, but Greg laying there with him was probably the most comforting thing in his world just then. No-one was coming for them. The other CSI's weren't going to find them, Maybe they thought he and Greg were dead or criminals or Gil didn't know. He didn't know what to think, except that no-one was coming for them.

Because he knew that if they had enough evidence to find them, they would be here by now. Maybe they wouldn't be taken in, maybe they were looking, but he knew as well as anyone that if they had the evidence they would have found them within the week of picking it up. No, they would be waiting for an elusive lucky break and that meant he and Greg were on their own. He'd cautioned compliance to allow them to survive, but in the moment when he could think clearly, he could see the escalations notching up more and more rapidly now. The man's treatment went round a cycle of moderate to severe much. Much swifter each time. Greg was right. Greg had probably worked that out for himself.

In a couple of weeks they would both be dead.

Charlie Bower was dead.

Shouldn't have surprised Jim. He'd kind of been expecting that news for the past year, what with Charlie up and disappearing one day, but he and Annie had always put it down to Charlie's flighty side. In a fight or flight situation, Charlie was the guy who was running before most people made a decision.

Corpses didn't run.

He hated autopsies. Poking around in dead bodies, that was a Grissom thing. A Warrick thing, but he wanted to be there. His friend's body had been found with his badge tied around his neck like it was a bow on a fucking ribbon, probably the fastest ID-ing of a body Al had done in a long time.

Even desiccated, Jim was pretty sure that was Charlie, and that the badge wasn't a fluke. And if someone had to be there investigating his death, he was glad it was the Vegas CSI and not the LA group. Glad it was Warrick with Al at the table while Jim lingered back, just playing the curious homicide detective.

It would come out of course that he'd known Charlie, it would give them a lot of short cuts. He'd already known the basis of it from talking with Annie. She'd told him about how he had just disappeared one day and he was wondering, just wondering if something similar had cropped up there.

"Looking at the state of the body, I would say the victim had been dead at least a month if not more," Al was saying. "Possibly treated to dehydrate rather than decompose... it's quite hard to get a corpse to desiccate."

"But you can do it with the right conditions, even accidentally." Warrick had his hands at the edge of the table. He'd never seemed as comfortable with death as Grissom or Greg, but he was reverent about it in a way that a lot of the day-shifters never were. "So if the victim's body was... treated post mortem instead of just dumped and covered in lye, we're talking a ritualization."

"Well I'm pretty certain the body didn't desiccate in situ," Al said wryly. "Besides there is a lot of additional evidence. Firstly, these marks around the throat, scarring and lesions at a regular intervals. Looking at it, they look most like electrical burns... and I looked at the throat area and though it is difficult with the tissue dehydration, there is extensive tissue damage in the throat."

"So some kind of restraint. Electric..." Warrick turned his head and gave Jim a glance, as if to ask if he had anything to add. "This is the guy who went missing from LA. Catherine was told by Ecklie that he was being looked for in conjunction with a murder that happened after he went MIA."

"I knew him," Jim announced quietly. Jesus, Charlie... Charlie had never been one of the toughest guys Jim knew, but he'd been a good guy. He had been a good cop although things had been shaky for him after Susan had left him and he'd been a bit flakey. Which was why people assumed that had been the reason for him just up and vanishing. "Charlie wasn't a killer. He fainted at the sight of blood."

That had been a long time ago, he remembered that.

And people changed, but they didn't change that fundamentally. "Yeah, I'm not thinking murderer here. I'm thinking there's something very ritualistic here. And there was probably more tissue damage, but the desiccation took care of it better than plain old decay would have. Was there anything else conclusive, Doc?"

"There were remnants of what appeared to be dog-food in his stomach and intestinal tract, I sent a sample to trace. He definitely had some rough treatment before he died... there were signs of barely healing broken bones and though we've lost a lot of detail, enough damage to his rectum and colon to indicate sexual abuse," Al reported gravely.

"Dog food," Warrick repeated. "Like... kibble? Didn't get time to digest?" And if there was enough colo-rectal abuse to show up in a desiccated month old corpse, then there had been a lot to start with. "You're sure it was dog-food?"

"My expert opinion leads me to believe that, but that's why we employ Hodges," Al replied. "But if you are asking me if we have a connection here, I would be tempted to say yes."

A connection to Gil and Greg. And if they were going through that... Jim didn't like to think about that. But it meant they could definitely still be alive.

"I think I need to call a friend of mine, see what else was going on in that time Charlie was missing." And of course, break the bad news.

"Yeah. I'll head back to the scene again after trace gets back. It... sounds like the guy who had him might have Griss and Greg." Dog food. Ritual body desiccation, sexual abuse, torture. All while framing them up for murder. It was kind of brilliant, in a fucked up way.

"Did I hear Wendy say something about this batch of hair being more likely to be Greg's?" Jim said as he turned to the door. Charlie... god-dammit, Charlie, he'd been good at getting out of trouble. Better than Greg was, or Gil. They were good at getting into trouble.

"Yeah. Texture is brown, and it looked like it was color treated at the tips. But so was Grissom's. Go figure, huh?" Warrick shrugged, looking over Al's data, leaving Jim to wander out into the hallway and think. Nah, it wasn't that surprising, Gil's hair went through shades of grey, darker sometimes, lighter other times, kind of brown, occasionally kind of blondish. Trying to hide grey hair, and then forgetting to re-dye it, was probably Gil's one vain little habit that the other CSIs either didn't notice or didn't comment on. Jim remembered one rough month about nine years back when Gil had had silver-white hair.

Jim headed into the nearest empty office and picked up a phone. He needed to be sitting down for this one. Annie would be awake. She always used to be at that time of night. God, he wished it was better news but if they could find a connection, then maybe they could track suspects. Maybe they had gotten close enough to spook the guy and that's why he'd surfaced in Vegas.

He dialed her number, staring out into the lab.

It took a few rings to answer, but she did. "Annie Kramer speaking."

"Annie, it's Jim. Jim Brass." He knew he had the sort of tone they all recognized as the one they used to be breaking bad news and he couldn't help that.

He was trained to do it, and it came easily, rose to the tip of his tongue without him thinking about it. "Jim?" She was quiet for a second, and the background noise, probably TV, turned off. "What's wrong?"

"We, uh, got a case. I've just been in autopsy with our coroner. It's Charlie, Annie. I'm sorry," Jim replied.

"It's...? Oh, god." Annie exhaled loudly into the phone. "Oh, god. Out in Vegas? Oh, god. Who's going to tell Susan?" Yeah, ex-wife or not, she'd probably want to know. Whether she deserved to know or not was another story, but Charlie's kids... Jesus. Jason was just finishing college up, or he'd been finishing it up when Charlie had gone missing.

"I'd do it but..." Jim exhaled. "Look, Annie it wasn't a good one, and we've reason to believe that our abducted two might be connected. I need to know information about murders, especially copy cats in the time after Charlie went missing -- especially with the one with his DNA all over the scene."

She was quiet, but if he'd been there in person, he was pretty sure she would have been looking thoughtful. "Huh. Well, I can give you what I remember? But you're going to have to officially have your department request and yadda yadda. You know that."

"Yeah, I know that and it'll be on your desk when you get in but when you see the report on Charlie you'll know why I'm in a hurry. Serials escalate. If it's the same one, they won't have the same amount of time that he had." Jim doodled on a memo pad. "You have any copycats after Charlie? Particularly ones based on cases he might have had contact with?"

"There were a couple. Both were copy-cats of cases Charlie worked. We had a guy who was slitting women's throats, and one was a mock of a gang-banger killing. Both had trace that pointed to Charlie -- hair, skin under the woman's nails." There was another stretch of silence, and she sighed. "And there was a parking pass from a Tech company. Tracked it down to a Jack Green, but the guy had quit his job the week before? And left state. He's still wanted for questioning, but..."

"Jack Green...Tech company..." Jim was scribbling that down. "Anything unusual about the victims?"

That was the frustrating thing, they couldn't seem to find the link between victims, what made the killer chose them to do his reenactments. They didn't always fit the copy profile of the crimes.

"When we went to their homes, which never seemed to be the scene of the crime, there was evidence of each one owning a dog, but no trace of rover. The last one killed, a Tara Myers, had bought a German Shepherd puppy about a week before hand."

"Okay, that's something," Jim replied. "I'll ask for the files to be faxed over or emailed, whatever you have. Annie, I'm really sorry about Charlie. But if we can get this guy, then...we might save our guys and clear his name."

"I'm sorry about Charlie, too. It's Dr. Grissom who's missing, right, with one of your CSIs? It's made our local channel. Doesn't seem like the killing type, any more than Charlie." And Charlie hadn't been, but the damage that had been done to him...

He couldn't quite tell Annie about it.

"Gil, yeah. And Greg Sanders, one of the newer CSIs," Jim replied. They all skipped over Greg. He wasn't as big a name, he was 'just' a CSI, not the supervisor, not the guy with the reputation and hey, he thought Gil was great too, but he also thought they were going to be lucky to get even one of them back. "Gil wouldn't kill. He couldn't murder."

Jim knew he could though. But that was one of the reason things had never gone anywhere. Gil was too good for him.

And too easily distracted, which was sort of a blessing, because it was easy to gloss over some of their funny moments where both of them seemed to get aware of the tension. It was like it built up and built up and just when it seemed like Gil was going to say something, or Jim was going to say something, Gil conveniently said something that un-built it.

Friendship saving, really. "Good luck, okay? I'll check to see if Vegas has put in a request and if it hasn't been answered by the time I get in tomorrow, I'll dig the files out myself and fax them over personally. Okay? Good luck. The guy we were looking for was Jack Green."

"Thanks Annie. I'll start looking, seeing if that name crops up." And his pager was beeping in his pocket. DNA calling, and he had to run. "Speak to you soon Annie."

"You, too, Jimmy. Good luck." He didn't figure out if she hung up first or if he did, because he was beating a quick retreat towards the main part of the lab and DNA. He was just a homicide detective, and he didn't have any fancy scientific papers to his name -- and the shit he'd written in undergrad history probably didn't count as writing -- but it seemed like the Vegas CSIs were taking him back as defacto father figure with Grissom missing, keeping him up on the case.

And the fact remained he encouraged them. If something happened, he didn't want to see Cath find the body, or Nick just lose it because they were too late.

He rounded the corner into the lab finding practically everyone converging there at once.

"What've you got Wendy?" Catherine asked for them all.

"Evidence from the last murder that Nick brought in? The clump of hair?" She half-suggested, holding two printouts for Catherine, but she looked at the rest of them. Jim had missed that and picked up on the case with Warrick -- another body. It seemed like things were coming to a head, finally, and maybe they could run with it without official documentation. It would be worth the slap on the wrist citation he'd get in his jacket.

"This hair was a match to Greg's. But there was dog hair mixed in with it -- like it got mixed in accidentally. I kicked it over to trace, but it's wiry like dog hair."

That couldn't be a coincidence. Jim looked at them all. "I just spoke to Annie, who heads up Homicide in LA. She's told me they had a similar problem there and they were closing on some leads. A guy name Jack Green who worked for some technical company. And that they had copy cats and all their victims had dogs, but they never found them. Last victim there had a German shepherd, young that disappeared. I'm just wondering if...." He shrugged.

"Hodges'll be able to tell you if it was German shepherd hair or not," Wendy declared.

Catherine twisted towards him. "Can you look this guy up? See if we have a Jack Green in the area? He could be the guy!"

"He might not be under the same name but I can hop over protocol, and start poking around," Jim said. People nearly expected it of him now. "But if I find him, we've got to have a reason to get into his place otherwise we can only get him for questioning."

They were assuming they could find him in Vegas. They were hoping. "If the pattern holds...maybe this last victim had a dog too. Might be worth getting sample because that's the one likely to be on our guy and give us a warrant."

"I'll hit the morgue again and check. Don't think he was hardly processed except for my prelim," Nick volunteered.

"I'll check the victim's home for signs of a dog, maybe a breed type," Sara offered.

"Take an officer with you," Catherine warned, glancing over at Jim. "Warrick paged me about the body dump you two went on..."

"Take Vega," Jim suggested. "I'll start hunting this lead down. If their out there, we can find them."

But, as he consider as the other split up and left on their various tasks, the problem was always going to be whether they would find them in time.

Two killings -- two kidnapees. He wasn't sure of the timeline of Charlie's death, but he knew that if he'd been dead a month, and missing for the past year, then the last ten or eleven months of his life had been miserable. And who knew how many other there had been, or how far along the road to escalation the man was?

Time was against them.

He was half lying on Grissom and Waffle was half lying on him. Right up to the point where he thought about moving this was almost comfortable and even small pleasures were treasured. The sound of Gil's heart, strong and constant made him smile just a little, even if neither of them were completely a hundred percent. The penicillin he had run for had helped. Enough to allow Gil to fight the infection and then there was him with cuts, bruises scars and burns. It had been the burns that had broken his silence. There was too much history there, and now the damn things were ugly livid scabbed areas, just ready for infection to set in. He didn't care, he had Gil here and that was a good thing.

Unselfconsciously, he nuzzled in much as Waffle did to him, comfortable and warm.

It had been a week, maybe. A week, and things hadn't been too bad. A couple of days ago the man had gotten Gil out of the cage for a little fun, made him suck him off, had fucked him, but Greg wasn't entirely convinced that it hadn't just been to get him riled up.

Because it had.

But other than that, it hadn't been too bad. Throat shocks, going for walks outside, being allowed to stretch and move in and out of the cage. They still slept there even when the cage doors were open, mostly for the pillows. They'd had a lot of food the day before, and there had even been an apple. It was a small apple, but Gil and he had passed it back and forth, taking tiny bites.

Tasting an apple had seemed like heaven, sweet and just right and it had been enough to take their minds off the next time. They both knew it. They both that he'd target one, he'd target the other and usually he was in control then. It was when he had them both together that he seemed to get swept away with things. They had speculated that usually the man crossed over with 'pets'. He had equipment for two already, and it'd been used before them.

And Gil had his turn a couple of days before, he'd had some pretty mild stuff the day before, mild enough that he wasn't sure it counted as a turn to be taken out and washed and then a pretty brief blow job. Not even a fucking. So he wasn't sure. That might mean soon, he got taken away again, or their time was shorter than they thought.

It was times like these he considered telling Gil that he loved him if he thought the other man would believe him. He couldn't be sure. He was pretty sure that Gil would call it situational, but even that was kind of doubtful. Grissom was shaky, and even when he was calming Greg he didn't seem quite as clear-minded as he'd been before. Greg was feeling desperate, and Gil... He couldn't guess.

Gil was okay with Greg sleeping on top of him.

He wondered if it was the sort of okay that he felt about Waffle sleeping on him. Sort of glad to be in contact with someone warm and real and not trying to kill him. Or if...if there was anything there. But how could there be? There was too much pain connected with him maybe for him to ever feel anything. He couldn't imagine anything normal ever again.

The man had been busy upstairs for the past couple of days. That made him wonder as well. He probably had another marathon in mind. And if he did, then... then he and Grissom were going to die. Or escape, or die trying to escape, because it was going to be worse than the last time. It sort of had to be worse than the last time, because that was the nature of escalation.

When Greg had encouraged Gil to do the marathon race with them, he hadn't expected that to happen.

In an obscure way he felt responsible. Always responsible. He'd made him do the race, he'd helped him train, and he'd picked up the drinks...

Gil told him not to take on the guilt, but he kept it hoarded away at the back of his mind. If there was a risk to be taken, he'd do it. Gil was the thinker, he, he wasn't much use except as a distraction and last time he'd tried that it had been Gil who had been worse off.

It had been Gil who'd been shocked, over and over. Gil couldn't even manage a whisper any more, or he'd given up trying. He just signed, and petted Greg's shoulders, and closed his eyes, like he couldn't bear to look at the drywall and sheetrock that caged them in more than the cage itself.

Greg could hear the man coming close to them, and Waffle heard it better, giving an unhappy snort. Waffle seemed like a dog who wanted to run and jump and play, but he knew that being excitable, being a big puppy, got him shocked.

They played when they were alone. Sometimes they were put on chains outside for the day and they played with him then. He petted the puppy and then Grissom, alerting him to the fact they needed to be alert, and awake. The man went to work so the mornings were usually more pleasant than the evenings.

They could sleep and laze and rest through the day, more than they could in the evenings, and the man's morning visits with them were short, and tended to involve food and being allowed to go to the bathroom. Gil opened his eyes, and shifted to sit up, glancing around for their tails.

With a sigh, Greg reached for them, even as he then started to hurry, hearing the man come down the stairs. He shifted up to block Gil from view as the door opened a little sooner than expected and Waffle was up, at the bars, peering through. "Morning, boys! Everyone sleep well? I hope so. Waffle you want to go out and do your business? One at a time then... and if you don't do it, I'm not going to be back until later and I will be very unhappy if I find any messes later." The cage was unlocked and Waffle slunk out, and Greg waited expectantly for an order or permission.

He'd managed to stall long enough for Gil to stick his tail in place, and even if it hurt, was hurting Greg, at least they couldn't be punished for not having them in. Gil was on his hands and knees, shoulder bumping Greg's soon enough, both of them waiting for a sign either way.

"Grizz, you next huh?" the man beckoned. "You need a quick wash. Baby boy had his yesterday." He got the leash out for Greg, clipping it on his collar. He always had one or other of them under direct control, which was the problem. Sometimes Greg wished Grissom would take the chance when it was him. "Outside... come on... that's it..."

Waffle bounced on ahead, some of his puppyish exuberance still there, despite everything and was the first out in the "outside."

It wasn't really a proper outside at all. It was a fenced in space with no grass and just cement. It was a lot more like a kennel, and soon all three of them were outside in it, with Waffle running in short circles, exploring the area in case anything interesting had cropped up since they were last out there. The odds were very remote, but it didn't stop them mimicking the behavior just in case a weapon was there, a way out, something.

Greg found himself leashed to one corner, which made his options for 'doing his business' limited, but there was little else he could do, and they'd learned not to even bother trying to hold it in because that ended up as bad for all of them. Taking a crap in semi public had long since lost its sting.

Gil was getting a wash, and Waffle was trying to play with the water, biting at it happily and half getting in the way. The man was finding this amusing this morning, which was just as well because Waffle when he was hurt was a pitiful sight.

Maybe it would be a quiet morning. The sun hadn't even come up all the way outside, which meant it was chilly for a washing, and chilly to be out naked, but better to get a chance to go than none at all. Gil was sitting still while the man washed plain soap through his hair, and he looked close to ecstasy.

It was good to feel clean. It was good to watch Gil like that. To remember what he looked like when he smiled and was happy. Waffle was barking for more play more fun and the man squirted the hose at him, laughed as he sidled away and then barked again. He reached for one of the toys -- the raggy rope and tossed it to the young pup who tried to get him to play, and not getting anywhere trotted over to Greg and lay down chewing on one end with a 'go on... I dare you' look in his eyes.

Greg saw the man watching and pounced on the free end obligingly. If the man was getting his kicks watching them do harmless things, he wasn't hurting any of them.

And he seemed to be getting his kicks. Delighting in Greg and Waffle growling at each other, the way Gil whined a little when he rinsed off his head and face. It meant that maybe, maybe, the next eight hours could be spent well fed and signing and maybe planning for a way to get out. Greg caught sight of the man glancing at his watch, and then he leaned forwards to turn off the hose.

"Okay, puppies. Back into the house with you all."

Greg of course couldn't go anywhere, still leashed up so he saw Gil and Waffle go inside and was not surprised to find when he got back in, that Gil was on one of the long chains outside their cage, Waffle was milling around and the cage was locked. He was released from the leash and rather surprisingly not tethered to anything. Confused, he made his way over to Gil, looking worried.

"I thought you might need some space today. You're going to have a visitor. I know it can be difficult when dogs meet up, but I expect the pack hierarchy will be sorted out by the time I get back." The man said that cheerfully. "Nature takes its course. Have a good day puppies, and play nicely with Genghis."

Even as Greg sat there in complete shock, he disappeared out of the door for a moment, before dragging in a massive looking dog, with a muzzle that he unhooked, who bore the signs of having been tormented beyond belief. The dog snapped at the man, and yelped at the shock it received before barking wildly at him as he closed and locked the door behind him.

'Genghis' stumbled down the steps, looking disoriented and half-starved. Gil shifted, pulling at the chain that was keeping him in place, while Waffle started to growl. Genghis growled back, a deep sound low in his throat.

Genghis looked like a mastiff, if Greg thought about it. A huge, huge dog that probably weighed more than Greg did just then. He was free, but free didn't mean jack shit when there was a huge dog between him and the door.

This wasn't good. He shifted over closer to Gil hoping that it was just insecurity, that the dog would calm down or... would he challenge the leader of their little pack, Gil, who was unable to defend himself?

He stood there, tense and ready, unaware of how much he resembled the other dogs at that moment.

The mastiff kept growling, and Waffle backed up, behind Gil and Greg, and Gil shifted to his knees, reaching behind him to take the tail out so he could move faster if that was what it was going to come to. But Genghis looked like he was calming down, at first, until he started to snap madly again after a jerk of motion that looked like a parting shock.

The mastiff lunged at them all, aiming for Gil. Greg just reacted and hurled himself to intercept the dog with as much force as he could manage, tumbling off to one side with him, trying to protect his throat and face and get the creature away and down. Teeth were there and the snap of jaws was terrifying as it bit at him and he was snarling back and biting what he could as they rolled around the basement floor, claws scratching over unprotected skin. His arms tried to protect his throat, his stomach instinctively and it was like a sudden vice snapping at them, letting go as he bit the dog's ear making it yelp and oh fucking god, it was lunging at his throat and he twistedÖ.

There were teeth in his shoulder, deep and hard and then there was a snap of teeth that didn't hit him, and suddenly they both hit the cage and the dog was being pulled off him, whining and barking madly. But Greg could breathe and twist around to see what was happening and get out from under it.

Gil was pressed against its back, the chain wrapped once around the dog's neck, slowly tightening it. His hand was bleeding thick dark blood, but Gil didn't seem to notice, even though Waffle was whimpering as Genghis flailed and started to twist.

Greg pushed himself up, adrenalin numbing the bites and scratches all over him, dazed and trying to focus as he went to help Gil. A part of him knew what they had to do -- a normal dog wouldn't tackle three unless it was out of its mind. If it was unbalanced it was a case of it or them. He pounced on its back end, stopping it from moving, knowing the dog reflex to turn to snap at a threat to the back legs would tighten the stranglehold.

They were killing it, and in the haze of his mind, Greg knew they had to. He hated it, but they had to.

It did, and Greg could hear the chain rattle when Gil took the motion to tighten it. He had to be choking himself a little to have that much lee-way, bent over the dog's back and putting his face and hands at risk, but the wild barking was getting more breathless, and Greg had distracted it.

In the end, Greg leaned forward, his arms slippery with blood from bites and helped Gil pull the chain tighter and tighter. He was half hoping that maybe they would make it unconscious, but somewhere as they both tugged, Greg felt and heard it, as shocking as a jolt of electricity as they somehow twisted and snapped the dogs neck.

There was a gush of strong smelling urine and Greg let go, horrified.

Gil let go more slowly, unwinding the chain from the dog's neck as it went loose. Waffle was still barking in the background, and while Greg wanted to give way to shock, Gil reached into the dead dog's mouth with the hand that wasn't bleeding, and started to pull at one of the big canine teeth.

It was perhaps more disturbing because Gil couldn't or wouldn't explain why.

He couldn't help because he didn't know what he was doing, so Greg just stared, tried to get his arms working properly and not notice the alarming amount of blood. He had nothing to staunch it with, so he just ignored it. Greg just had to assume Gil had some sort of a plan, so he watched Gil hopefully.

Okay, so then they had the problem of getting out of the locked door but Greg knew he'd break his fucking arms to get that door down. Patiently Greg waited as Gil sawed at the leather of Greg's collar, ignoring the scratches and pokes. It took time, and he was starting to feel dizzy, but it was weakened enough that he tugged and tugged and then ... Snap! It was off. Just like that.

Gil's turn now. There was the chain to deal with as well. Could he pull it out....No, he was an idiot, if he cut off the collar, the chain would be loose.

The chain would go with it. Gil held still for him, the corpse of Genghis piled in his lap, and one hand gently stroking over the deep bruises of Greg's one collar while he let Greg saw and dig away at Gil's collar. Shocks would be gone now, and they could make a good escape.

Maybe they could take Waffle with them, because he was closer to them now, whining.

There... there, it was off. It was free and he was shaking. He glanced at himself and he was a mess, though he couldn't feel it yet. Endorphins and shock he guessed.

~We need to get out.~ he signed. ~The door or the outside?~

Gil leaned forwards, and simply un-buckled Waffle's collar. Before they would have gotten in trouble for doing it, and it wasn't as if the dog needed it locked on. Then he tried to sign back, with his one mangled hand was failing a little, ~You talk? 911. Door.~

~Will find a way,~ Greg replied standing up. ~Get the door down.~ He'd seen Brass do it before. Shoulder or a kick or two in the right spots. He helped Gil up and winced himself as he approached the door, lining up and battering it with his unbitten shoulder. With nothing as a result but a bruised shoulder. He tried again. And again.

And it was after the forth time that he remembered that Jim was usually doing that to doors that swung in the direction he was headed. Not out, not with the hinge resisting him.

Gil made a noise that got Greg's attention, and picked up one of their decorative cinder blocks. They could bash the handle right off and probably bust the lock mechanism that way.

And there was Gil's brain working and he was flailing around. Between the two of them they managed to get the handle snapped off and slowly and anticlimactically, the door swung open. Experience made him cautious going up the stairs, but there truly was no one in the house. Greg staggered a little, dizzier than he thought from blood loss and leaving generous smears of gore over the neat and tidy interior and he hunted for a phone.

There... There. He practically lunged for it, his fingers slipping as he dialed 911.

"911. What is the nature of your emergency?" Abuse, blood loss, a psychotic dog mauling -- where did he start? Gil was standing there, though, not just standing there. He put an arm around Greg's waist, and he needed Greg to be his voice because Greg was pretty sure that Gil just couldn't talk. His neck looked swollen from the outside, and who knew the damage?

He could barely manage anything but it was something. "Trace call..."The whisper was the loudest he could manage. "This is CSI Greg Sanders and Gil Grissom... please, help us. We don't know where we are... we need, need medical help."

"CSI Greg Sanders? Are you alone? Where you are? Can you stay on the line with me, please. We're tracing your call now."

"Gil is here..." He felt like he wanted to cry. "Gil...is with me. He's...gone. We got out, he doesn't know."

God, what if there were alarms or something rigged up?

"Okay. We're getting people to you as soon as we can. Policemen and an ambulance, and you're going to be okay. How are you injured?" She had a soothing voice, and he could hear typing in the background like she was really taking it all down.

Where to start?. Maybe with the most obvious as the blood was dripping everywhere, from him and Gil. "From just now? Attack by large dog. Gil's bitten on the hands. I'm... bitten..." Well everywhere, looking at it. It had been such a short time. "Hard to speak...throat hurt."

"Okay. Are you in any immediate danger? Are you going to be all right staying where you are?" Gil was still holding onto him, and Greg couldn't tell if he was holding Gil upright or if Gil was holding him upright. Waffle whined, and snuffled against the blood they were dripping.

"Dog is dead. One of them. We're... we're okay as long as he doesn't come back...Don't even know his name," Greg said. He frowned. They should be trying to stop the bleeding a little. Or something. Maybe. He was feeling a bit dizzy now. Maybe they would call Jim or Catherine. No... no, Jim was Homicide..

Jim was homicide and they were still alive, they were still very much alive, and he could feel Gil pressing against his shoulder with his chest, clutching him closer. Gil's hands were slick and weren't moving right, hadn't been since the dog had snapped and snarled, but they were free, they were alive, and...

"Sir? Stay with me, now. They're on their way. We've got a paramedic first responder who should be getting there now..." And he could hear a siren noise, not quite as powerful as police ones, jerry-rigged like a first responder would, Greg knew. Pounding on the front door.

God, they needed to unlock the front door.

"I need to... get the door. I dunno... might be locked." He started to try and move but his left leg just suddenly stopped working. It was weird because it was just his left, but it was as about as supportive as a limp noodle. He was losing his grip on the phone and forced himself to concentrate. "Need to let them in."

He'd forgotten he was naked.

Gil took the phone from his hand, and slide Greg down to the floor. It was cool, and Waffle started to lick at his face, whining. Maybe Gil could get the door. He could hear Gil's bare feet on the tile, could hear fumbling at the lock, and then there was too much light in the front part of the house.

And a man exclaiming, "Oh, Jesus Christ!"

He wanted to stay awake, he wanted to know it was okay, but he was breathing wrong and his arms were like lead and he... he closed his eyes and didn't even feel himself slide to the floor, in an ungainly sprawl. After all that, he managed to miss the moment when they were finally found.

There were a surprising number of Jack Greens in Vegas, and Jim had been impatient while they whittled it down. First of all they had taken out those who had been in the area for some time, and then those who didn't work in anything technical. Jim was amazed that there were still three Jack Green's left in the area, new and with some sort of computer skills.

By the time they had eliminated two of them, one through virtue of the fact the guy had been hit by a car and had been in hospital for three weeks, and the other because he was an obvious work-a-holic whose work colleagues could account for practically every second of his time, Jim was well into a double and anticipating a triple.

If this guy wasn't THE guy, then they were lost.

Then Annie's lead was useless to him and they were probably never going to find Gil and Greg, Greg and Gil, except as corpses, months down the line. Hell, maybe cops in some other city would find their bodies and go 'huh' the way most of Vegas CSI had done about Charlie's death. But they had a warrant based loosely on the information Annie had faxed over, and on Jim's goodwill from the judges.

They liked him, remembered him, and one of them even got up early to write him a warrant for questioning about Charlie's murder. And that would lead to Gil and Greg, of course. If the guy in the Server room of the WLVU campus was actually the Jack Green.

He and Vega made their way to the server room, asking a few people where "Jack" was hiding. Turned out he was tucked away and that made it all the easier for him.

His first impression was that Jack Green looked like a Joe Anybody. Average hair, average clean-cut look, no convenient 'poke me, I'm a crazy guy!' signs anywhere. And that in itself made the hair prickle on the back of his neck. Millander had been very normal. So had the blue paint guy. That was how they got away with it.

A second look and he was wondering how many geeks went in for the gym in such a big way. There was a lot of muscle under the t-shirt.

"Jack Green? I'm Captain Brass, Vegas P.D. I need to ask you some questions."

The man's head twitched a little in response, but he was typing something. "Hold on. Need to finish this -- just a second..." He typed a couple more strokes, and Vega gave Jim a look, asking with his eyes if Jim wanted to physically move the guy. Then he hit ctrl-s, and closed the file. "Okay, what can I do for you?"

"I was just wondering if you could confirm what car you drive?" Jim said in a tone that transmitted hints of 'I've got bad news, but it's about your car'. It seemed an innocuous sort of question.

"Uh, it's a white ford explorer." The man's eyes did go a little wide, and he glanced over to Vega. "What happened?"

"We have reason to believe your car was involved in... an incident," Jim said smoothly. "Do you know where it is right now?" He was reeling him in gently, carefully, certain he had a bite.

"It's out in the employee parking lot." Jack started to stand up, but he kept a hand on the desk. "Why?"

"Do you know where it is at all times?" Jim asked with a slight hint of sympathy. One man to another, I'm going to tell you bad news about your car, I'm sorry...

It would work, too. He'd make it work, he'd make it set in and make sense to the man. Jim smiled to himself and Jack shifted his weight nervously. "I thought I did?" And then he laughed, "You know, unless one of my puppy dogs have learned how to drive? I'm pretty sure I'm the only person who gets behind the wheel.

"Oh, you have dogs?" Jim made it sound like he was an enthusiast. "You know, I've been thinking about getting one myself. One of my friends is one of the dog-handler. Has a German Shepherd called Petey who can do things you wouldn't believe."

"Yeah? I have a German Shepherd at home, and a couple of other dogs." The man stuck his hands into his pockets, and seemed to relax a little. "But they're just mutts. So, what's this about my car?"

Jim faked a chuckle. "Dogs driving a car -- good one. Sometimes it seems like they're nearly human doesn't it?" His voice became more dangerous then, harder and unforgiving. "A car matching the description of yours is connected to an abduction case. You see, it seems that back in LA that a cop disappeared and then there were murders... terrible thing when cops go bad isn't it?"

"I guess so." The man twitched him a look, and then smiled. "So, am I under arrest? We're talking circles around each other, and I kind of wanted to get back to work, but I can tell that's not going to happen. So how about I speed things up for all of us. They're dead."

Jim looked at him, the words hitting him like ice in the stomach. "Who're dead?" he said sharply, feeling a sharp stab of fear. He didn't look like he was bluffing.

"They are. Grizzly Guy and Baby boy. They were great. They were probably the best puppies I ever had. Even better than the one in LA. You could just see them thinking and plotting, but they were losing their edge. So I left a Mastiff to take care of them. I suppose I could have underestimated one of them. I think Baby Boy might still be okay. Maybe. Grizzly guy wasn't doing so well when I gave him his bath this morning."

Jim really wanted to hit him, and the rage was just boiling up in him so much the urge to punch this sonovabitch made him twitch. But what was important right now was that he get to the guy's house immediately. "Vega, take him in. I'm going to his house." He paused for just a moment. "If they're dead....you'll get the needle. Hell, I'll personally pick one out for them to use on you."

Cop killers got no mercy here. He turned even as he heard Vega reading the man his rights and walked briskly away, then started jogging and then running towards his car. The thought of Gil and Greg against a mastiff. They were big dogs, nice enough, but like all big dogs if they lost it, they could do a hell of a lot of damage. That last victim had had a mastiff. For protection, that was the irony of it all. Her parents had told him that, and the fact that she doted on that dog.

She doted on that dog and he was pretty sure that the dog didn't have a mean streak in its body -- before Jack Green got to it. Jack Green seemed like the kind of guy who could turn a dog into a killer overnight, let alone the few days he'd had the pet.

Jim just hoped he hadn't. Grizzly Guy and Baby Boy -- it meant they were alive, at least, or had been recently. The man called them puppies, and that kind of went with the damage that had been around Charlie's neck.

Collars and shocks and...god-dammit, he'd need back up there, he'd need paramedics if they weren't dead and where the hell had he put the home address?

Jim had stormed to his car and was driving. Did he phone Catherine now? Did he wait until he knew what was there? He hated Vegas traffic with a passion as he tried to get across town.

Might be better to not get her worked up -- on the other side, he wasn't going anywhere in near enough of a hurry, even using his GPS. Why the fuck was there traffic at noon? Was that the lunchtime rush, or fate just fucking with him? And if he didn't call her, and they were dead and there was no softening of the blow, she'd kill him.

Jim wanted someone to soften the blow for him, for once.

He looked at his cell, then at the distance. Five, ten minutes at the speed he was doing. He'd said they were dead. They'd been alive that morning, and now he was just late by what? Under two hours after the last month of looking.

He pressed the button on speed dial, calling. Fuck, if they were deadÖ If they were dead when he got there... "Willows." She sounded breathless.

"Cath? It's Jim." He abruptly didn't know what to say. Gil and Greg are probably dead? "I..."

"Oh, god, Jim -- I was trying to call you, but your phone didn't seem to be getting a signal. I got a call from the hospital. Grissom and Greg are -- god, Jim. They managed to call 911 and they're here. At Desert Palms."

"Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ." Jim nearly drove off the road, and swerved back into his lane. "Oh god... Fuck. The guy just told me they were dead. I'm on my way over to his house...he told me they were dead. Left a mastiff to kill them."

"Yeah, well. They're in surgery right now -- dog bites, and some... other injuries. There are some street cops on the scene, Jim, but you should -- might want to see it. Since you're working your friend Charlie's case... God. I had to sign off on so many forms. Gil is Greg's medical contact, but it was passed over to me since I'm acting supervisor. You found the guy?"

"Vega's got him. I pushed at him softly, softly and the moment I hit something that told him I knew what he'd done, he just smiled and told me not to waste my time. That his 'puppies' were dead." He was still trying to get his head around it. They were alive. They'd rescued themselves. It was hard to concentrate on the road.

He really needed to get to the scene, but maybe pulling off the road was better for a couple of seconds. "Puppies? Greg mentioned a... 'Waffle' in the Ambulance. It was Hank, so he mentioned it to me." Even if Hank had cheated on, with Sara years ago, he did his job well.

So maybe the German Shepherd was real. "Cath he was talking about them, Greg and Gil. I think he had something going on about dogs."

They saw weird shit in Vegas but it wasn't usually this weird. "There might have been real dogs too...but Charlie's body, the bruising and electric marks on the throat. Electric training collars, barker-breakers."

"We'll be better able to tell what was going on with a crime scene and if-- when they wake up they can tell us. I'm just so glad, so glad that they're alive."

"I'll be there in five. Who're you sending out to the scene?" Jim asked. "Because I'm going there and then to Desert Palms."

"Sara. Warrick's home sleeping, and I think Nick just ran out of steam. When I call him I want to be able to tell him that we know they're going to survive." Jim could understand that. He just wanted to get to the scene, to let what had happened sink into his mind. He knew how to do a once-over of the place without unsettling evidence.

"I'll get enough to give you the basics," Jim replied as he pulled off to the right on the instructions of the GPS. "If they wake up, tell them I'll be there okay?"

"Will do, Jim. God, I can't believe they got out -- okay, I'll let you go, and I'll keep you updated. You might want to empty your voicemail, I left you a few trying to get a hold of you."

"Yeah, I got it. Thanks Cath," Jim replied and he'd never been so truly grateful for a call as he had been then. "Speak to you later."

Because he was coming round a corner and there were police cars clustered outside a property and some police officers looking a little wary. He pulled up and got out of the car, moving up to the house, flashing his badge to the cops who didn't know him. "What's the problem?"

"You see the scene in there? And you'll know the problem," a sergeant told him. "We were waiting for crime-scene guys, Detective Brass. And Animal Control. I did a walk through, walked in, made sure the place was clear, walked out. There's a damn dog running around in there and a dead one in the garage."

"German shepherd or mastiff?" Jim said. "I've just spoken to the CSI supervisor. She's got CSI Sidle on route. Asked me to take a look as she knew I had experience."

Well she would have done if she'd thought about it.

Jim could take that liberty. The Sergeant glanced towards the door, and Jim noted that his name was Winters. "The dead one's a huge black mastiff. Ugly bastard. There's a police dog wandering around inside, blood on its muzzle. We called for animal control, but... I think they're on their own schedule."

"I think the German Shepherd is fine," Jim replied. Catherine had said something about Greg talking about 'Waffle' which wasn't really a killer-dog name. He'd take the chance. "I'll go inside."

"Right. We cleared it except for the dog... Watch your step." The door was cracked open and sealed over with crime scene tape, and Jim could duck under it and into the place.

He almost stepped in a little puddle of blood, right off the bat. There was a light pattern heading in that direction. The interior itself was kind of stark, but it looked like a bachelor pad to Jim. The cloying scent of blood was rich in the air and he moved carefully.

"Fuck." There was blood everywhere. He'd seen places like this but nor normally without it coming with some extremely dead exsanguinated corpses. Hand prints. Reaching for support, making for the phone. Small blood puddle by the phone in the kitchen and the marks of a flung out body. One of them had collapsed making the call? After the call. He turned and looked at the door. Blood on the handle. One of them had opened the door. Greg?

He started to backtrack.

Follow the trail, and everything behind him started to make sense. Someone had made the call and presumably the other someone had opened the front door for the paramedics. It was hard to tell by hand-prints who was who, because they were more like smears that were in a general hand-shape. More blood in the narrow hallway that led back towards another door that was hanging open. He could smell more blood, and piss. There was blood on the steps that led down into a little garage-like space, so Jim stepped down the edges, careful, careful, not putting his hands out to brace himself even though he wanted to. There was a dead dog sprawled on wet cement, a chain and the remnants of two thick leather collars lying beside it. The chain was eye-bolted into the floor, and the collars...

Barker breakers, or something like that. If the guy was an IT type, maybe he knew electronics. Maybe he'd fucked with them. Some people used things like that to give the dog a little shock. Maybe he'd just liked to give a lot of shocks. There was a big cage, too, but the doors to it were closed and locked. Two bigger gerbil-type water bottles, and a little dish of dog food were resting on the dog-bed type pillows that lined it.

It was hard to even imagine but there it was. And he kept trying to picture it. Trying to picture Gil like this. Living like this. And Greg. Tried to mentally get his head around a Gil and Greg who could kill a pissed mastiff.

He leaned in. Choked with a chain... Jesus. He glanced at the discarded collar. One of them had been chained when this happened as it was still attached to the chain. He didn't touch anything, but this room was going to have a hell of a going over.

Turning to go back up, he saw the marks on the door handle from the inside, the cinder block and nodded to himself. That had to be Gil.

Smart thinking to just whack the door knob off. He needed to take a look upstairs, but he had an idea of where Gil and Greg had been living for the past month. And how they'd been living, which was pretty badly. And what if they'd been -- no, that stray fear about brain damage was pretty unfounded to have. After all, they'd escaped.

They'd escaped, they'd called 911, and they'd got them there and saved themselves. Still, they weren't going to be good. No one was good after just being kept locked up all that time. He knew there was more than that.

He headed back up the stairs, heading upstairs. The dog was probably up there, somewhere.

Hiding, probably, and it might just attack him because it was scared. Jim was really hoping it was a pussy, though, because he'd hate to have to shoot it. Particularly since Greg was asking after it. Waffle. That sounded like a soft kind of dog, German shepherd or not.

There was no trail of blood up the stairs up, no immediate visible evidence. The top floor had three doors, all of them open. One of them was different, though -- it had a whining sound coming from it.

"Waffle? Waffle?" Well, he felt like an idiot. One bathroom, one bedroom... He exhaled as he looked in the last room. And a 'playroom'. Fucking great. "Waffle? Here boy. Or girl...uh."

The whimpering stopped, and he saw a nose peek out from behind the playroom door. There were chains, a treadmill, a sort of standing rack looking thing, and a little pile of electronics over to the side. He didn't know what they were for, and couldn't really inspect them because there was a German shepherd wuffling at his knees, barking now and again. Didn't seem too excited or freaked out, which was good.

"Hey boy," He was just going to pet him gently as there was blood on his muzzle. "You're not a killer are you? I think I've met another dog like you on a case, tried to wake someone up. Shush, shush... It's okay, it's gonna be okay pup."

Pup. Puppies, he'd called them puppies.

Puppies. His puppies. Grizzly Guy, which had to be Grissom, and Baby Boy. Stupid dog nicknames that had a lecherous ring to them. Charlie showed signs of rape or something even as a corpse. Abuse, and electro shock, and Jim didn't want to think about it, didn't want to think of his friends in that state, demeaned, dehumanized.

The dog whined, and licked at Jim's hand, huddling closer to his leg. He ended up sitting partially on the toe of Jim's shoe. The dog was scared, but affectionate, but it was probably helped by Jim's quiet voice and him not making any sudden gestures.

"See, it's okay Waffle. Scary being all alone right? Yeah I know." He petted him gently, still talking in a low voice. "I was pretty scared being all alone too."

Poor dog. Somehow it was easier to do something for him. "Tell you what Waffle, how about you and I do the investigation thing because otherwise you'll end up in animal control, we'll lose evidence and it'll be messy all round."

The dog licked at his fingers again, and it left Jim wondering why even if Waffle couldn't answer. He'd stopped for a sub for breakfast/lunch whatever the hell it had been while he was out looking up guys named Jack Green, and -- and his hand probably still smelled like Deli meat.

Smart, but hungry dog. He bet he could walk Waffle right out to his car if he coaxed him right, and hopefully he could get the dog to not walk in blood on the way out the door.

"C'mon boy," he said coaxingly. "Come with me huh, That's it. I can probably find you something after we've taken a swab sample around your mouth there and a bite impression. That'll be nice. Then I'll let you eat something nice and..."

What would he do with him then?

Take him to the lab as evidence? Let Animal control take him was pretty obvious, but maybe he could drag him home or... something. Jim didn't know, just started back down the hallway. Waffle followed after him, butting against his legs like he thought Jim was another dog.

All he knew was that if Greg had woken up enough to talk about Waffle after losing all that blood, the dog was important. Important to them.

He wasn't going to have problems getting Waffle to follow him.

The dog seemed pretty keen on having a new person, and wandered down the steps with him, stopping for a moment and looking around like he was looking for... well, probably Gil and Greg. Probably. Jim just had to figure out how to get Waffle outside and away from the blood evidence. Maybe he could try picking him up, if the dog would let him.

He looked pretty skinny. He crouched down and beckoned the dog over. "Here Waffle., that's it, come to Uncle Jim huh?"

He got another wuff noise, and trotted right over. Yeah, he was a good dog all right, even if he did look like his fur was shedding at an unhealthy rate. He could call the under-sheriff about the dog after he'd gotten a bite impression and swabbed his mouth, and accomplish two things at once -- pissing the man off, and probably getting a free pass to take the dog home, get a leash or something and then... then go see Grissom and Greg. Or maybe animal control would take him but he could bail the dog out. Whatever.

He gathered him up into his arms and straightened up. Waffle wriggled until he sat up and had his paws up on his shoulder, occasionally licking his ear. Scarcely the monster dog that had all the uniforms wary outside.

So he picked his way through the living room, and carefully ducked under the tape, carrying Waffle still -- even if he was going to end up with scratches on his neck from paws that were trying to steady themselves. He wasn't sure what had made his day more, whether it was knowing that Greg and Gil were alive, or the faint twinge of amusement at the looks on everyone's face, Sara Sidle included, as he came out the front door carrying the big scary monster dog.

"Brass, is that, uh...."

"Well I didn't want him contaminating your blood evidence," Jim replied and smiled a little. "And there's a lot of it Sara. You won't be doing this one on your own. Starts downstairs in the basement -- that's where the dead killer dog is and the... cages that I think they were in. Blood all over inside. Rooms upstairs that need processing as well. But they're clear, because Waffle here..." And he paused as the dog licked him at the sound of his name. "...is coming with me. I'll process him because animal control aren't doing anything."

"Okay..." Sara sidestepped for a moment, and then stepped closer. "Hold on, let me get a swab and the foam. Do you want to hold him while I help you with that? I called and woke Nick up, so he's on the way. You and Vega caught the guy, huh?" Her voice was generally soft pitched, the tones she used when she was smothering worry and trying to seem perfectly normal.

"Yeah. Yeah, he told me they were dead." He smiled a little mirthlessly. "He was wrong. Look, watch Nick okay? It's not a good scene."

He never thought he'd be telling Sara to watch Nick on a scene. And there wasn't much in the way of good crime scenes, but he hadn't missed Nick's sometimes claustrophobia.

"I'll watch him," Sara murmured, coming back towards Jim with her kit, fishing for a bag and a piece of foam, and then a swab. "Here, let me just run this over one of his teeth..."

"Open wide Waffle... that's it. Be a good dog and uncle Jim will feed you a nice hotdog," he said steering the dog towards her. "Try not to lick the poor CSI to death huh?"

He did lick the swab, but she managed to run it against one of his teeth quickly before capping it. "Okay. Got that. Let's see if we can get him to bite. Why are you taking the dog with you, Brass?"

"Because animal control isn't, and..." He hesitated. "You take a look inside and you tell me that if that he's one of the things Greg can wake up and worry about, that he's not important to them both. I might be wrong, but he's a sweet little guy and he's had a rough time... I think he's had enough of cages."

"It's against procedure," she pointed out, but it wasn't bad, it wasn't case killing. It was someone taking a dog home with them, kind of like stealing staples at the office. "Here." She offered the foam, and Waffle licked it before Jim gently coaxed him to bite down on it. A quick bite, that was all that was needed and that was all Waffle gave.

It probably tasted nasty as hell.

"I'll clear it." And he would. He just wouldn't give anyone a chance to say no. He had good instincts for some things and he knew looking after this dog was something he could do for Gil and Greg while really he couldn't do anything. "Good boy..."

They were probably going to be in the hospital for a while, and while a guy could drop by to say hi and spend time there, it didn't accomplish much. It didn't give them anything to look forwards to when they got out. Jim could consider it a little surprise.

Waffle wuffed right in his ear, and squirmed a little. Yeah, he could give the dog some of his sandwich. And then he could take it home and go see how Gil and Greg were.

He could stop by the pet store, get some stuff that was good for him and get him healthy and happy. Visit a vet or something. Because if this little pup had helped Gil or Greg in anyway at all, even by just being there, then it was the least they owed him. After all, Greg had asked about him.

Teeth mould done, he was on his way out of there , with an armful of malnourished dog, who still looked at the new sights and smells with enough wonder that he could feel his tail trying to wag. He just hoped his friends could be so resilient and bounce back.

Something had changed.

He knew that before he'd even woken up fully, before he'd shaken off the edges of sleep enough to do more than shift his feet and stretch his toes, pushing them against tightly woven fabric. Oh, that was interesting, and he felt groggy enough to lay there for a moment, just enjoying it.

One, there was cloth there, and two, he could actually stretch out and three....

There was no one lying half on top of him. He didn't remember, had Greg been taken or had he? No wait...

He tried to concentrate a little more. What had happened? It was hard to remember, hard to push back through the sleepiness to get his brain to understand what was going on. He remembered a dog, a big dog, and a telephone, and door handles, and...

Gil cracked his eyes open, and was relieved to find that the room was dark, just barely lit.

This wasn't the house. It wasn't his place, or anywhere else. There was no cage, and no 'playroom' . His hand hurt and throbbed a little and there was a definite aura of hospital about the place. Which was good because he remembered thinking they needed to get to hospital because there had been so much blood. Greg. Greg had tried to protect him, diving at the dog and... There was no way Greg was going to survive, Gil remembered thinking that.

He remembered thinking that they had to get out and get out now and that they had to get Greg to a hospital, and he couldn't talk, couldn't get anything out of his throat but a rasp of noise anymore that wasn't even words. But Greg could talk, did talk, and the second door...

Gil tried to move in the bed, and wondered if he could get up and look for Greg at all. The texture of fabric against his skin was interesting, long missed.

He was in some sort of hospital gown, and he looked around as he located a second set of monitors beeping just a little out of rhythm with his own. Looked like he had company. From the long messy hair it could only be one person. Greg.

And he was looking a little like someone had gone to town on him with bandages.

Probably needed to, Gil decided. He leaned back, stretching out again on his back, contemplating how best to move with an IV stuck in his arm and when he shifted his leg, he distinctly felt a catheter. They probably hadn't expected he and Greg to wake up so soon, or... or they hadn't woken up for a while and so soon wasn't soon at all.

Gil could move though. And that was almost all that mattered.

He contemplated it and even as he did so, Greg moved he head a little, almost instinctively searching for something, the presumably the shock of not finding it enough to rouse him.

Here in clean sheets and normal surrounding, it was more noticeable how much weight he'd lost. They'd lost -- how pale he guessed they both were. It was hard to tell, since it was dark and they were both there together with no basis of comparison. Greg had a lean body to begin with and that had been before they'd all started to work out.

Ironically, apparently all he'd needed to do was be kidnapped by a psychopath. Gil tried to say something, make a sound to get Greg's attention while he watched him, but it came out as a whine.

Greg head immediately snapped around towards the source of the sound and the expression of sheer relief on his face at seeing him there was blinding. And then his hands started to move. ~Gil. Thank God.... I thought I was alone.~

Gil shifted to push himself up a little towards sitting, and lifted his hands to answer. Except his left hand was bandaged -- he seemed to remember trying to grab the dog's jowls in a desperate move to get it to hold still -- and that was why it was throbbing. So Gil shrugged his shoulders enough that Greg could see it, and finger spelled with his right hand. It was slow, but Greg could see it and understand it probably better than Gil's normal, proper gestures. ~Thought you were asleep.~

Greg smiled. ~I was. But something felt weird and I didn't know what it was.~ He made an effort to try and turn and from his inability to move well, looked a little shocked. ~Ow.~

~What's wrong?~

~Something wrong with my shoulder. I don't remember doing anything to it...~ Greg frowned. He looked up at Gil, his expression haunted a little ~Gil, are we safe?~

~I think so. Hospital. Beds look familiar. Palms? Think.~ He turned a little more. His leg hurt, but it always felt on the boarder between cramps and pain, so he was used to that.

~Yeah, it could be Palms ~ Greg replied sort of filling in the conversation for him. ~I remember phoning and not getting to the door. Waffle was licking me...~ He shifted as if preparing for action. ~Waffle! You think he's okay?~

~Don't know. Might be.~ Gil watched Greg's nervous shift of motion, and pressed his mouth tightly closed for a moment. ~Ask the first person who comes.~

~Voice still bad?~ Greg asked. ~Stupid question. I know, it still is.~ He hesitated a moment. ~I don't know whether to laugh or cry~

~We're free.~ Gil pulled together a shaky smile, and he tried to talk again but there was just that soft whine noise that made his throat ache. He couldn't even say Greg's name. ~You can do both.~

~I want...~ And Greg hesitated. ~I want to be with you but I can't move. I want to know if you are real. If I am. That I'm not back in that cage dreaming.~

~Would not be a bad dream.~ Gil wanted to elaborate, to tell Greg to just lay there for a moment and feel it, but he had to think in his finger spelling when he wanted to automatically gesture the words and concepts and couldn't, so he shifted, trying to figure out how to get the side of the bed down and where his catheter was attached and how to move the IV rack.

It was at that point that a nurse came in and looked a little startled to see them both awake. "Mr. Grissom, Mr. Sanders... I don't think anyone was expecting you to be out of sedation quite this soon," she said pleasantly enough. "We sent your work colleagues home and told them to come back shortly. Mr. Grissom? The doctor says try not to speak, even in a low voice okay? Mr. Sanders, you're to keep as quiet as possible too."

"You... don't know me too well then," Greg managed in a barely audible whisper, making her smile.

Gil gave another whine, and then swallowed to soothe the ache of it before he spelled, ~Not talking won't be a problem,~ to Greg. Hospital, and not a faked hospital, but one where they had real names again and there were nurses and there was a brighter hallway out past their room's door.

"Gil says not talking won't be a problem," Greg interpreted. "But that's because he's got more will power than I do."

"Mr. Sanders- "

"Greg."

"Greg, then," the nurse amended. "I want you both to stay where you are and I will get the doctor in to discuss your condition okay?"

Greg nodded.

~Are we supposed to be going somewhere?~ Gil asked Greg, managing another smile. It felt good to just lay on his back for the first time in the longest time, and not feel a sharp ache in his ass from that god-damned tail.

They must be drugged up to the eyeballs. He watched as the nurse went out again and Greg laid back.~ I don't like hospitals much. Not after before. Fire at the lab. But now I'm liking it.~

~Means we're alive. We can recover from this.~ Gil wasn't sure how. Wasn't sure how he could think past it, move past it, exist past it when it was all he could seem to remember, but for now he could wallow in the sensation of being alive and safe finally, the delight of knowing that Greg was alive, too.

The doctor came in smiling at them both. "Well, then. Mr. Sanders, Mr. Grissom, I'm glad we've got you both here and awake. We kept the both of you under sedation after your admission as we had a substantial amount of examination and transfusions to do. You both lost a lot of blood. Mr. Grissom, I know you can't talk at the moment. We can wait and have a private discussion when I can organize someone who can sign as I understand you can do that, if you want things to be private?"

Gil shook his head. ~Greg was there. Do not need it private.~ It wasn't as if he could hold a fluent sign conversation just then, not with one hand wrapped up like a mummy. The doctor, smiling or not, twinged at Gil a little. He'd gotten used to Greg and Waffle and the man, and he hated to say it but he suspected he might feel that way for a while about strangers.

"He says it's okay, I was there," Greg whispered. "It doesn't have to be private."

The doctor nodded. "Well a lot of what I am going to say applies to you both, anyway. You both are suffering from malnutrition so I expect you have cramps and strange pains all over at the moment. You were also dehydrated as well and both of you lost lot of blood before we got you here. Mr. Sanders particularly with regard to that. Both of you have tissue damage to the throat, though Mr. Grissom is worse off on that, and you must try and not make any noises if at all possible. We will be treating it with steroids to reduce the swelling but there is a possibility, Mr. Grissom, that the damage is too extensive to be corrected by drug therapy. In that scenario we will have to do a small operation to remove any lesions or nodules on the vocal chords as a result of damage. Much like famous singers undergo."

Not that Gil was a famous singer, but if it let him talk without so much pain, then that was okay. Gil nodded, and gave the doctor a thumbs up that he hoped would goad the man on to explaining more. Hell, maybe he'd never remember some of it the next day. It sounded like they were going to be all right, though, and that was what mattered. As long as the doctor didn't expect them to die or, or, or lose some important function.

"You both had substantial internal damage," the man said with a softening to his tone. "Fortunately while you both have low grade infections, the damage has proved reparable and there has been no need to perform any radical surgery. Ms Willows was keen that your cardiac state be monitored Mr. Grissom -- we ran an ECG and there are markers in the blood to indicate a cardiac episode at some point in your ordea-"

"He died." Greg interrupted. "His heart stopped from an electric shock. I had to give him CPR."

The doctor paused and nodded. "Which would explain the fracture in his rib cage. Otherwise your heart is remarkably sound."

Gil gave another thumbs up, even as he gave Greg a faintly worried look. He'd thought that he'd died, because Greg had been going on and on and blaming himself, and it hadn't quite made sense. Not quite. But now that he knew, knew it intellectually and understood, Gil could only guess what had been going through Greg's head. He shifted a little, and signed to Greg, ~The bites?~

"Gil wants to know about the bites," Greg asked in his faint voice.

"Ah yes. Well, you Mr. Grissom sustained a serious bite to your hand. We're letting it settle at the moment but we believe we can restore nearly full functionality after some surgery. We have a world class surgeon here who believes he can re-work the muscles, but he wants to wait for all traces of infection to clear up. Mr. Sanders sustained rather more bites and injuries. He has a severe bite to the shoulder and several on his arms. This was the source of most of the blood loss. Again, we think there will be some reduction in usage of the shoulder, but we can minimize that."

It sounded like they were all going to be okay. Not right away, maybe not for a while, but it was enough to satisfy Gil for the moment as he laid his head back down against the pillows, finger spelling to Greg. ~Does this seem real now?~

Greg smiled a little. ~A little. But that's pretty scary too. There's everyone to... face I guess~

The doctor cleared his throat. "You two will be here for a little while what with one thing and another -- I've already explained that to your mutual emergency contact, Ms. Willows."

They were lucky that they had that option. Gil spelled loosely to Greg, ~Your family knows?~ It wasn't as if there was much family of Gil's to tell, an uncle, some cousins. None of them particularly close, and all of them with their own worries that didn't involve their strange, quiet nephew or cousin.

~They wouldn't do anything,~ Greg said and just looked at the doctor. "We can see them? The others."

Gil laid his head back for a moment, wondering what Greg meant by 'they wouldn't do anything'. It made him twinge, and curious, but there wasn't anything he could do as he laid there, waiting for the doctor to give them a yay or a nay. Gil was already feeling tired, and Greg's raspy whisper was probably hurting him.

"Yes, but I want you both to rest first," the doctor replied. "Your bodies have been very stressed. And...if you should want to talk to someone about... anything, we have a counselor and psychiatrist available. Just give me some warning."

That was all very logical and very solicitous, Gil decided as he gave a half-shrug. They'd probably have to have psychiatric workups before they were allowed to get anywhere near their jobs again, but the department would take care of that after he and Greg had been given what the department deemed 'sufficient' time.

It was all right, too, because Gil wasn't sure he was ready to face them all yet.

Greg was looking at him as if the very idea was a foreign one. "Thank you," he said finally.

The doctors nodded. "You have a buzzer for the nurse if the medications wear off. When they do you will feel a lot more uncomfortable than you do now I'm afraid, but we can't keep up these doses forever."

Not logically, no. Gil glanced over to Greg, and signed slowly, ~We'll be okay. When he leaves, I'm going to see if I can stand at all.~ Just because he could, just because he was a little unbelieving that everything had worked out, too.

~Okay~ Greg signed back. "Thank you," he said again and the man nodded and left the room, and Greg sank back, looking tired out.

~Gil, maybe we are too drugged to stand.~

~Maybe. Everything's too fuzzy.~ He had fun spelling the Zs, and that should have been a sign to him, because he wanted to add a third, and closed his eyes briefly, stretching his legs.

Greg seemed to be trying to follow suit and gave up. ~My arms aren't working right.~ he complained. ~Don't do it, I won't be able to catch you.~

Gil wiggled his toes against the fabric of the sheet, and then shook his head. ~Then I won't.~ Everything was a little off, and it was easier to turn a little to lie on his side, curling so he could face Greg. ~Hi.~

Greg turned painfully slowly. ~Hi. Miss you. That's the only bit of everything I miss. I think...probably my place gone. Renting, and I wasn't the most on-time renter anyway.~

Oh. Oh, Gil hadn't thought about that. He'd probably missed a mortgage payment or two, actually, if he didn't have it set to automatically withdraw from his bank account. ~Nick would have gotten your things for you. Stored it somewhere. Wouldn't let them throw it out. We'll be here for a while.~ Gil paused, and had to crack the knuckles of that hand, the sound a little loud in the room.

Greg brightened a little at that. ~Yeah. Cool.~ He lay there a moment silently before his hands started moving. ~You saved my life Gil. I guess, I want to say thank you now before things get awkward ~

~You saved mine. More than once. Things won't get awkward.~ Except for with their coworkers. They'd be working their little case as a scene. They'd be looking at them and knowing.

The same thought seemed to be occurring to Greg as his expression shifted a little. ~What are we going to tell them?. I don't know....I don't know if I can deal with them knowing everything but they will because that's what they do.~

~We'll... tell what we can.~ What they could manage to, and Gil didn't know where to start, how to start. He wasn't even sure how long they'd been gone, and he wasn't sure how to explain anything. Didn't want to think of it. ~We should rest. I'm glad you're alive.~

It seemed like pretty feeble words to describe what had happened and how he felt but it was all he had. Greg smiled. ~Yeah. And I guess that you already know how glad I am that you're still around. I couldn't've made it without you Gil.~

Which was true. If Gil hadn't cooperated so much, if he hadn't kept trying hard and it hadn't amused the man so much... Greg had been expendable. More than Gil.

But he wasn't sure if he would have survived without Greg. Or maybe not in the same way. It was difficult to tell how much of himself he had kept together because of the days talking, and talking, or holding. In fact the only thing he didn't really know about Greg was about his family. Greg was good at giving information, but not secrets.

~Me, either.~

Greg just nodded and then closed his eyes wearily, effectively ending the conversation. That was all right. Gil should probably sleep some, too. As long as he was lying on his side like that he could rest and when he woke up he'd be able to see Greg, make sure he was still there and that they weren't waking back up in the cage.

Gil closed his eyes, too, and hoped he didn't dream.

He hadn't had Waffle that long and already Jim had discovered that he had taken over his life. They'd stopped at the Petsmart, and Jim had gone in, come out with plenty of advice, supplies and a lighter wallet.

Back at his place, he had given Waffle a proper bath with proper shampoo that would help the poor condition of his coat. He had seen how terrified and miserable the young pup had looked and a part of him felt a real pang that maybe Greg or Gil might have that expression.

He'd been very gentle with him, and toweled him off carefully, playing with him a little and the next thing he knew, the pup was running around his house investigating every nook and cranny. He soon came back when Jim got out the dog food and the mix.

It was kind of funny, actually, what he'd done with his free time since he'd gotten care of Waffle. A quick call to Ecklie and then the Under-sheriff had confirmed that the dog was secure with his possession, and that when Gil or Greg got out of the hospital they could sign some papers with animal control and formalize it. Or if they didn't want it, Jim could keep it as long as none of the bite marks on Grissom or Gil matched his teeth pattern. At his own risk.

Waffle was a baby of a dog, though, so Jim didn't think it was going to be a problem.

Waffle hid from spiders. He ran behind the sofa when he saw one scuttling across the carpet. Jim tried not to laugh as the spider seemed to deliberately head behind there after him, and then the next thing he knew he had a sofa full of timid German Shepherd who had obviously decided Jim was the man to protect him from the arachnid danger.

"Gil is not gunna be impressed that you don't like spiders."

Waffle didn't seem to care, though. He was a bright looking dog, too. Probably only 12 or 13 months old, so still just a puppy. A puppy that'd had a crappy life so far, which Jim could relate to. As soon as he sat down on the sofa, Waffle was right there trying to prove that he worked as a very large lapdog.

It made him smile and considering how worried he was about Gil and Greg that was no mean feat. So he indulged Waffle a little, petting him gently, letting him lie half sprawled over him.

How badly injured were they? He hadn't heard much from anyone yet, though Catherine said she was dropping in on her way to the hospital as they were still on 'next of kin' only. He was a bit confused as to why there was no sign of Greg's parents, but Nick had muttered something about it being typical and they wouldn't be seeing them short of a funeral which meant never.

It was strange, because Sanders had always seemed like such a boisterous kid in the lab. People like that didn't have weird distant parents, although technically, he'd met Gil's mother and she was the polar opposite of him in the other direction. So it seemed possible, and he didn't remember seeing them after Sanders had gotten blown up.

It was the kind of injury that called for family to be notified, though, and Jim was thinking of calling Greg's parents just to be contrary and to let them know that he was alive. He knew a fair bit about the others because he had been their boss, but technically he'd never been Greg's boss. The younger man had been a lab rat in his sojourn as supervisor.

Waffle was licking him every now and then as if he thought Jim might forget that he appreciated him. He looked a far cry from the blood muzzled dog of the crime scene.

As soon as he could, he was going to go see them. Make sure with his own eyes that they were okay. Well, they weren't okay. But that they were physically there and safe and after that everything could be taken care of. After all, Nick had taken three months off of work after what had happened to him. Sulked around in Texas, and come back mostly whole, enough that they could all handle him again and he could handle them.

He was probably chomping at the bit to see them again, too.

Nick over-empathized with this one. That was the irony -- it was a perfect example of how strength could become a weakness when taken to extremes. He'd needed them and tried to do without them and there were still part of him that if someone poked at him he'd snap. And that... imagining, wondering constantly, and had brought back Nick's own feelings and difficulties. Catherine had been a saint with him because it was her that had taken the brunt of his unusual and uncharacteristic anger.

Jim was pretty sure he might've tried to stuff Nick in a locker-room locker for a couple of hours if he'd been the supervisor. And maybe that was why he wasn't the supervisor, and did so much better with touchy CSIs in short bursts.

The doorbell rang and Waffle looked at him in alarm. "That'll be Catherine. You have to be nice to Catherine, because she's a tough cookie. And not the type you can chew on."

Waffle's ears twitched back and forth like they were picking up radar, and he slipped down off of Jim's lap. That was good, because Jim hadn't wanted to have to push him. He'd been right, though and a quick peek through the peephole proved that it was Catherine. A tired looking Catherine, and Jim was pretty sure she was coming back from having been home getting some sleep.

He opened the door. "Hey Cath, come in." Jim glanced at Waffle, who was peeking out around the arm of the sofa and added dryly, "Beware the vicious guard dog."

"Is that...?" Catherine tilted her head a little, and Waffle made a discontented sound. "That's Waffle? Jim, how did you get the dog here? Not that I'm saying you shouldn't have, because Greg's going to be delighted when I tell him that Waffle is okay and with you, but..."

And here Jim had thought a simple 'hi' would have sufficed.

"Animal control were tied up... Maybe a whole zoo escaped, I don't know and nobody could get on scene while he was running around and messing up evidence, so I went in and got him." Jim looked at her as he automatically headed towards the kitchen to put on coffee. "So Sara and I did the evidence, I cleared it with the sheriff and I thought the little guy had enough of cages already. So I brought him home."

"And he's been okay?" Catherine asked, a lot of curiosity weighting her voice. Waffle was resting his head on his paws, but his eyes were on her, suspicious.

"Yeah. He's had a bath -- not one of his favorite things -- and battled a spider." Jim smiled a little. "He made a strategic withdrawal to the sofa until I could rescue him. He'll probably come over in a little while when he's sure you are not too scary." He paused a moment and added in a teasing tone. "On the other hand...."

She laughed a little, and trailed after Jim towards his little cramped, kind of dingy kitchen. "Yeah, maybe he's right. I got a call from the hospital earlier -- they woke up for a little while. And Greg has apparently learned sign language somewhere."

"They've woken up?" Jim was all attention now. "How are they? I'm guessing Gil taught him, if there were barker breakers on they couldn't make noise."

"The doctor who's handling said that they seemed groggy, a little secretive, but they were coherent. And Greg said..." She paused, eyeing Jim. "Greg told the doctors that the cardiac event that their monitors picked up was from the man doing something to stop Gil's heart. Greg performed CPR, which let to Gil's his fractured rib. You think we have a real solid case to heap attempted murder on top of murder and murder, kidnapping, the, the sodomy and rape charges, the..."

"Cath, I promised the guy the needle and he'll get it," Jim said firmly. "He's tortured and killed several members of law enforcement. He was escalating all the time, and I saw the blood in that place. By rights he should've been right. They should be dead. But they're not. So tell me how bad things are?"

"Honestly?" She laughed a little, and ran a hand back through her hair. Frustration was pouring off of her, and it made Jim want to comfort her when he knew that all she'd take from him was a cup of coffee. Catherine leaned back against the counter a little. "The doctors aren't sure. They think that they both had concussions at some point, and they're still showing signs of maybe some brain bruising that happened when the guy first got a hold of them. Gil's throat's a wreck, and so's his hand. Greg's shoulder is mangled, and the doctors think that it's going to be complicated because of the burn scarring he already had." Which had been her fault, Jim could tell she was thinking that. "And they were apparently very lucky to not have to be shitting into bags for the rest of their lives."

Jim nearly winced, but instead he just nodded. "And Gil had some sort of cardiac event. And they managed to take down a mastiff between the two of them and not die."

Gil would survive. Everyone knew that about him. What made Jim different was that he knew Gil wouldn't be able to do it alone. "There's going to be a lot of fall out from this."

"Yeah." Catherine shook her head a little. "I know Gil's going to try to get back to work as soon as possible. Sneaking out of the hospital soon, and that just... I don't know. If that's healthy or, or what. They were gone for over a month."

"Look, with injuries like that, neither of them can be alone all the time right?" Jim said. "Didn't Nick say Greg doesn't have any where to go? I can have him here. And if I get Greg here, the odds are Gil will follow. We might just stand a chance of keeping them under control for a bit. Nicky... Nick's too close to this one, though he'd offer for Greg I reckon."

"A vacation to chez Brass, huh?" Catherine twisted a little, peering around Jim's kitchen, then looking back at him with a twist of his mouth. "It doesn't sound like a bad idea. That doesn't mean either of them will listen to reason, but I get the feeling that Greg won't be going back to California to recuperate with his family."

"And Gil doesn't exactly have family to go back to." Jim passed over the coffee. He had no idea why he was suggesting it, if only for the same basic reason as he had taken in Waffle. He was doing something and that was easier to stand than doing nothing. "What's the deal with Greg's folks? You couldn't get hold of them?"

"I wish. His mother is a Very Busy Doctor who was convinced that it was a ploy for attention and that Greg had actually run away. His father was at work, I think. Maybe he has a sleeping bag under his desk." Catherine took the coffee with a murmur of thanks, and sipped at it while it was still scalding.

Jim felt himself blinking a little. "So the media reports were a ploy for attention? What did they say when you called them and said they had been found and were in hospital?"

"I haven't done that yet." Catherine should have, too, but... But Jim could understand why she hadn't. "I just got caught up, and between the scene and them and trying to sleep..."

"Sorry Cath. I get it, you've been pulling everything together over the last month," Jim said in a softer tone. "If anyone deserves to sleep it's you. We may yet get a visit. Great. I know you'd offer to help, but you're pulling too many hours keeping things going at the lab. I've got a bit more leeway."

"I doubt they'll come down." Catherine rubbed at her face. "I don't even see the sense of calling."

"You know, I might do it, just so I can...discuss things with them," Jim offered with a half smirk. "I really want to see how they try and explain it away."

"It could be a Houdini-like feat. You'll be amused and frustrated. It's no wonder that he had Grissom as his medical contact. After talking with Greg's mom, I'm surprised he didn't put down just anyone from the lab. At least we visit." Even Hodges, but Jim knew that the lab techs came out of the woodwork when things got down to it and they were really needed.

Jim could hear the click of paws on his floor when Waffle slunk into the kitchen to stick his head in the food bowl.

"I wasn't that close to my parents but if I was hurt they'd turn up," Jim shook his head. "So, this is the first time you've spoken to them, right? They don't have to have to give the statement already do they?"

"When I get to the hospital after this will be. The doctor wanted them to be kept mostly sedated even after they woke up. So they could rest. I think we can get around to getting statements when Greg can talk better. Gil is... apparently finger-spelling words to Greg. It's not reliable enough to count as a statement even if he was coherent enough yet."

"It's not like we need it immediately, considering Green seems to be proud of what he has done," Jim commented with a hint of disgust. "I really hope they don't pull insanity on this one. I think he knows perfectly well what he is doing."

"I don't think there's a medication for sadism," Catherine muttered. She was looking down, watching Waffle sniff at her shoes "He kept trophies. He's a serial killer, not mentally ill. He killed two policemen, a paramedic, and kidnapped two CSI's. They're looking for the bodies of his first two out in Seattle."

Jim sipped his coffee. "We're lucky they managed to tackle the mastiff and survive," he commented. "I thought it had choked but Nick said its neck was broken.

"I don't think anyone will be charging them with animal abuse." Jim didn't think so, either, even if Waffle seemed to be intent on licking Catherine's ankle. Her leg twitched a little, and she lifted her foot away from Waffle. "Must be my lotion. My sister had a cat who always tries to lick my arms. Uh... anyway. Is there anything you want me to pass on to them?"

"Only that I hope their doing okay, and I'll be in as soon as they allow visitors," Jim replied. "Waffle, c'mere. Leave Catherine's tasty leg alone."

Waffle wuffed at Catherine's other leg, and then meandered over to Jim to sit on his shoes. "And I'll tell Greg that Waffle is doing great. I was trying to think of what I could take them. Hospitals are pretty boring places."

"I bet they haven't been able to read in a month or so. Or maybe some music. Nick can pull out some of Greg's favorites. Gil likes crosswords," Jim suggested immediately. "Only, tell me what you take in, so I don't do the same."

"Right. I'll call Nick, hit the bookstore, and then stop by to see them. I'll get one of those... New York Times ones. Or a puzzle book or something." Something that could keep Gil's mind busy, busy on something that wasn't their situation, current past or future, because Jim knew that Gil would be sitting there wondering.

"That's a good idea," he agreed. "Anything you want me to do in the meantime?"

"Keep taking care of Waffle?" Catherine shrugged a little, and she drank down a huge sip of the coffee. "I don't know. Call Greg's parents."

"You have the number?" Jim asked hopefully. Nick might have it around, he wasn't sure. He wasn't exactly sure what he could say to them. "Should I try and get them to come up or just... tell them."

"Just make sure they understand. I don't know if... if having them around would make it better or worse for Greg." Catherine dug into her purse for a second, setting the coffee down on the countertop. "Hold on, I'll get it."

"Well if they've been told it's up to them, not down to usÖ"

"Exactly. And if they don't come to see him, I'd... I'd probably guess it'd be more stress than its worth," she shrugged and took out a piece of paper that already had it written down. "If you can't get a hold of them, I'm passing the buck to Ecklie."

And god help them then. "Last ditch effort then. Thanks. I'll give it a try." It was something that ought to be done. It was one thing to not have family, it was another to have family that just didn't care. No wonder Greg only ever talked about Poppa Olaf.

"Thanks." Catherine rubbed just under her eye for a moment, probably so she wouldn't smear her makeup. "Okay. I'm going to go, but... thanks for the coffee and... thanks, Jim."

Jim was surprised. It wasn't as if he had done much. "Hey, no problem. Any time you need me to do something I'd do anyway, let me know so I can get credit for it."

It got Catherine to smile, finally, a real smile. "Only happy to, Jim. I'll see you tonight at work, probably." Yeah, probably. People never stopped being killed. It was a good thing he was homicide -- it wasn't as if that was a field that would ever become obsolete.

"Sure. Let's hope Vegas doesn't get too weird on us," he said as he moved with her towards the door. "I might take Waffle out for a walk. See how he likes the outdoors."

"That sounds pretty adventurous of you, and I don't want to know where he's been doing his business until now if you haven't been walking him." Catherine left the number on the counter, and started to head back towards the living room.

"I've been taking him just out back," Jim said. "He gets scared easily at the moment, so I'm letting him get used to here as much as possible." So this was why people had pets. You could talk about them really easily and not get embarrassed by small talk. If only he'd know that before.

Jim just wasn't going to think about human pets. He wasn't going to think about it, wasn't, even though it was right there at the edge of his brain. "Sounds good. Good luck with Greg's parents, all right?" Catherine wished him as she started to pen the door to let herself out.

"I'll let you know how it goes," Jim promised as he watched Catherine step outside. "Thanks for stopping by."

"See you, Jim." Catherine gave a faint wave while she headed back to her car, and Jim kept an eye on her until she'd gotten it unlocked. Not that Catherine needed to be protected or watched over. She could de-nut a man in thirty seconds with her car keys.

Still, if there was one thing this had taught them all, it was that you couldn't be too cautious.

Waffle was peeking outside, leaning against his leg and then looked up at him looking faintly worried. "Yeah, I know. But she's really nice. I'll give you a clue, though. She doesn't like her leg licked on the first date." Jim shut the door. "Second or third, that's a different matter."

Not that he'd had first hand experience. He was alone, albeit with Waffle, again, and while he'd been thinking of catching a pre-work nap on the sofa before, now he had a daunting phone call and walking Waffle to take care of before he went to work.

So. Maybe the call first. He wasn't sure what to say. 'Not that you care but your son has been found'. That would do it.

He went into the living room and then sat down reaching for the phone, deciding to just roll with it. He dialed and let it ring. One thousand one, one thousand two... "Hello?"

"Hello, is that Mrs. Sanders?" Jim put on his best official voice. "This is Captain Jim Brass, Vegas PD. I have some good news for you."

There was a pause, and Jim could almost see the woman trying to think it through. "What's this about?"

"About your son, Greg Sanders?" Jim supplied resisting the urge to ask if she had any other good news she was waiting for. "He and Gil Grissom managed to escape from their abductor and are currently recuperating in hospital."

He could hear her go quiet again. "I see. Uh..."

Uh? Jim wanted to ask what the hell was wrong with her, but he didn't think it would do him any good. He settled for pretending she was hard of hearing. "Obviously, I was involved, as the man in question was a serial killer and I work homicide, and as you can imagine after a month they are not in the best of condition."

"A, a serial killer?" She went quiet again. "Oh my god, I thought it was another one of his hoaxes..."

"Hoaxes ,Mrs. Sanders? I understood that you had been informed of his and Dr Grissom's abduction?" Yeah. He knew damn well she had.

"Well, yes, but he never mentioned a CSI Willows to me so I thought it was one of his friends calling as part of a prank..."

"You really think that someone would do that on his behalf?" Jim asked, a little aghast at her attitude. "Is there a long history to suggest he might do this?"

"Yes. So this is, this is real? I'd heard something on the news but..." But now she was sounding shaky because who'd want to hear something like that on the news after thinking it was a hoax and her son was safe?

"Yes, it's real Mrs. Sanders. Your son really was abducted by a serial killer, and I have to say he's in pretty poor shape and lucky to be alive. You weren't down as a medical contact, so it's taken time to filter it through," Jim half lied.

As a doctor, that probably got her attention. No hospital phone calls probably made everything harder for her to believe. "Who's his medical contact? I... I thought I was still it. I've been his medical contact for years..."

"CSI Willows. I'm not sure when that happened, whether it was before or after the lab explosion he was in. " Jim paused a moment. "You did know about that right?"

There was another long and unhappy sounding pause. "That wasn't a joke? I didn't think labs could blow up, and when Greg told us, I just..."

Jim exhaled. Yeah, that was his nightmare right there. Being that parent. "No, it wasn't a joke, Greg had substantial burns and injuries as a result. He was in hospital over a week. Ma'am, I don't understand. Is there some reason that you assume everything about your son is a joke or a hoax?" Aside from being a complete idiot. Aside from it being too much bother, that it was easier to believe it was a joke than do anything.

"Well, yes, but I don't think you want to hear about his teenage years. What hospital is he at? We're going to try to get there as soon as we can..."

"They're in Desert Palms in Vegas," Jim replied. "I feel I should tell you that he is not in a great state. He's going to need a lot of recovery time and to be frank, I don't know how he will react to visitors."

Especially ones who brushed off their son's near death experiences as a joke. On the other hand, if the parents had been shocked enough to respond, maybe that was something he had waited for years to see. Maybe it might work out for the better -- Jim couldn't be sure, and he wasn't really willing to buy that Greg had done a lot of hoaxing as a kid. Or maybe he had. Who knew?

"Doesn't matter. If you see him, officer, tell him we'll be there soon."

"I will. When they allow me in to see him," Jim replied, clearing his throat. Obviously his serious voice had a lot more power in it than he believed. Ellie had done a hell of a lot of things in her time and that hadn't stopped him going running when she needed him. And she did lie to him. Hoax him. But he still went. He still tried because.... because he loved her. Simple as that.

Love shouldn't stop when your kids, or anyone you cared about, fucked up. "Thank you. We'll get there soon." Probably take the most convenient flight in, rent a car, and he hoped they got a hotel room, because they couldn't stay at Greg's place. Greg didn't have a place anymore. Greg had a storage space that Nick had rented out to keep his stuff in.

"Thank you Mrs. Sanders," Jim said and murmured goodbye before hanging up.

That was just... surreal. How could they assume the worst of Greg all the time? Greg was a great kid. Not so much a kid now. He'd had to put up with a lot of problems and he'd essentially had it ignored. It sounded like they didn't know their son that well. Did they know he was a CSI? A good CSI?

No, probably not. They probably didn't even know he's switched over, let alone that he'd made CSI 2 and was serving pretty much as Gil's right hand. And sometimes his left when Gil wasn't looking. He was learning from the best, and now... Now he was really seriously hurt and his mother thought he was a fuckup.

Jim'd never understand people.

He petted Waffle absently, smoothing his soft ears and then stood. "C'mon boy, lets try and go a little further than the back yard today. I need to think. Time for that walk."

The first time Greg noticed the drugs get low, the full impact of how damaged he actually was hit him like the thump of that lab explosion all over again. Everything had hurt. Burned, throbbed, ached, screamed for attention so much so that he had been perspiring and making small sounds of pain despite his resolution to just endure it. It had been Gil, in the end, who had fetched in the nurses and doctors and the magic of drugs was currently dampening everything to a low level. It was amazing, and he was pathetically grateful for the help.

He wasn't sure how he and Gil had managed for so long, with that kind of pain. Everything hurt -- his ass and shoulder in particular, which was kind of ironic. It was like he had a linebacker standing behind him fucking him raw when he didn't have the drugs running through his system. And Greg was pretty sure that the painkillers were the only thing that kept Gil coherent.

He was not looking forward to the time when they would come off them. He remembered that from his burns. The moments when it was nearly too painful to bear, but not quite. He hoped Gil had never had the problem before.

There was one main problem with hospitals. There was nothing to do but think and he could feel the memories crowding up to get at him. They still seemed surreal, but there were increasing moments of flashback. He'd never understood it before, how you could remember with the immediacy and potency of the moment just right there.

Taking each cut, scared to death Gil was going to die. Not being strong enough when the man lit matches and watched them burn out on his skin. He'd cracked and had known when the light flickered on the transformer that the current had gone through. Over and over he saw Gil's color drain magically away as he just leapt to him. Out of everything, he couldn't handle that. Being raped was nothing in comparison, but being responsible for Gil dying, yeah, that had him.

Killing Gil, having him dead there, had just... And Gil didn't seem to get how much it bothered Greg, or if he did there was no way to articulate it. No way that Gil could make it known. No voice and one hand -- their conversations had been pretty short. And if they'd had visitors, Greg didn't know. He was kind of glad for that, because what was he supposed to say? 'Boy, am I ever glad to see you and not be being tortured by a psycho with a dog fetish.'

Greg found he missed sleeping with Gil. Not that they had done anything else except comfort each other but that had been intense and though he liked having clothes and covers, there were times that he would have done without to be sleeping with Gil. Which was probably not appropriate.

And he missed Waffle. Waffle had been someone to look after. You kept together when you could do that. He felt really alone even with Gil in the next bed. Because that was how it was going to be. Like everything else he had dealt with, it would be a case of going it alone and he didn't want that either. Greg was scared, he could admit it. This wasn't going to be easy to shrug off, if it could even be attempted.

It was weird, because when the doctors and nurses asked him yes and no questions, he had to catch himself to not bark in answer. His best moment so far had probably been when he's caught himself half humming, half-growling when he'd been eating apple sauce.

Fruit had never tasted so damn good.

Electric shocks would do that to someone. Pavlov was on the right track after all. It wasn't an instinct he could shake off that easily and who knew how much being able to talk in sign had done to preserve their way of thinking. He wondered if Gil felt like this -- that sometimes it would be easier to bark, or wander without regard to nakedness, or shit wherever, and constantly expect there to be pain somewhere, somewhen.

Because Greg did. Greg wondered when someone was going to hurt him again, even though it was absolutely irrational. The nurses were so good with them, so careful. Like they thought he and Gil were going to break apart, and hey, maybe they were right. Greg just didn't know, and it was so strange. Maybe they were just being normal nice and after everything that had happened, it seemed weird.

Greg peered over at Gil, who was sleeping curled on his side, hugging a pillow up under his head.

The doctors were talking about operating on Gil's hand by the end of the week. He would be alone then maybe. Last time he's been in hospital he couldn't wait to get out. And it had been hard, trying to do his own thing at home, moving too carefully, looking warily for the next big surprise to leap on him. It had been too empty.

That had been partly his own fault, because the guys had asked if he was okay and he was trying to deal with an obscure guilt about being injured. Even after what Catherine had said, he just kept saying he was fine. Saying he was fine to the counselor, to his friends. He'd tried telling his parents and he might as well have told them that he was an alien lovechild son of Elvis Presley, which in Vegas was a very real possibility.

But just like before, since the thing in college -- where frankly they might as well have disowned him even if it hadn't been his fault and they just thought it was -- they assumed the worse and in that moment, sitting in pain with dressings all over him, listening to his mother berate him for trying another hoax for their attention, he realized it was over. Maybe it was his fault. Maybe not, but in the end there were the facts. Even told he was badly injured, they didn't come. The odds were no matter what happened they never would. He'd gotten used to being alone in hospital then, even if it hurt. He'd decided to stop even trying to pay penance for things that had happened before.

But, he'd gotten past it, kind of, and it had seemed okay. Kind of. Life had rolled along, gotten better. And then Nick had been stuck in a box, and Gil had had a heart attack and... And this. Life just never stopped being shitty.

He was contemplating trying to see if Gil was really asleep when the door opened.

He was half expecting the nurses or the doctor again. But no, he recognized Catherine immediately and smiled at her, forgetting himself and gesturing ~Hi Cath~ in sign. Somewhere along the line it had almost become second nature.

The kind of second nature that made Greg think about taking classes to fill in his knowledge.

Catherine eyeballed him, and then smiled and gave a little wave as she made her way over to his bed. "Hey, Greg. I have no idea what you just said. Griss teach you that?"

"Yeah. I said Hi Cath," he said in the whisper that was getting a little louder each day. They weren't letting Griss even try talking. Instead he had steroid sprays and injections and the indignity of a epigastric tube up through his nose to look at his larynx and throat for damage.

"I figured." She was smiling at him, but it wasn't reaching her eyes, really. "How're you doing?"

"Fine," he said automatically. "Well, relatively fine. Relatively being to how we were last week." He reached stiffly and painfully for the water cup he had. His arms felt huge with all the dressings and bandages.

But it was kind of nice to be able to have all the water that he wanted instead of trying to mentally workup how best to spend their rations. He still found himself doing that. Wondering if Gil had had enough, if he needed more for an infection

"Yeah. We could tell that from the scene." Catherine pulled up a chair, and reached to help him if it seemed like he needed it with the water. "You don't have to be fine, Greg."

"There's nothing else I can be," he said, wanting to shrug and being unable to do so. "You know what he did then?"

It amazed him that he could just talk. As if those terrible things had made him so inured to the pain that he really didn't care. He wondered if it were normal, if Gil felt like this. He was pretty sure Gil did, because whenever the doctor wanted to talk about how Gil was doing, he just gave the man a thumbs up. Like anything and everything was okay by his standards.

"Some. I don't... I'm not here to get a statement from you, Greg. I just wanted to see how you two were doing, if there was anything I could do. Jim found Waffle at the scene, and he's taking care of him. Nick had a stand off with your landlord that I'm pretty sure bordered on harassment. But, your things are in storage. Jim wants to put you up when you get out, so finding a new apartment won't be something you have to rush into."

Greg just froze up and stared at her. Too much information all at once. "Wait. Did you say Jim wants to put me up?"

Why? He liked Brass well enough, but usually the guy made comments about how he was Gil's shadow. He had a private little fantasy-theory about that, way back before he'd had his sense of humor beaten out of him. He used to imagine Jim was jealous because he wanted Gil and that meant he could deal because it meant every snarky comment Jim made fuelled the other side of the fantasy that he and Gil were together.

This was just weird, though. Weird, way out past reality weird. Nick letting him stay, okay. Sara, even, or Warrick, but...

"Yeah. I know what you're thinking, but... I don't know why, either. One of his friends was Mr. Green's previous, uh. Victim. We actually arrested the man at his office just... I think it had to have been 15 minutes after you called 911." Catherine leaned forwards a little, caught the water glass when it almost slipped from his fingers.

"So you would've found us if we hadn't..." Greg said and cleared his throat. Maybe not in time though. Time enough to save Gil maybe. "Well its...cool, to have somewhere I guess. Won't be for a while."

He was tired. He couldn't even stay awake for too long yet. "We saw the previous...victims. He had them in the room upstairs."

"He... had them? Still?" It looked like, from Catherine's face, they'd been thinking otherwise. "Oh, god, Greg..."

"Some. Three. He locked us in the cupboard with them if we were taken upstairs." His voice, even as a whisper went flat and emotionless as he said it. "He might have done something with them after. We were alone up there at the end."

"He dumped one body that we know of. We had them looking for the others up in Seattle..." Catherine sighed. "God. We looked at the scene, but I have no idea what you and Grissom went through, Greg."

Greg tried shrugging again. "It's not feeling real yet. I keep thinking it's like it happened to someone else but somewhere I'm being weird about it. I could probably tell you most now easier than I would later. I don't want Gil to go through it." He glanced over at the other man.

Gil was watching him. Gil's eyes were open, sleepy, and it was hard to remember sometimes that just because Gil couldn't talk and was signing that he could hear. He didn't seem to react to what Greg had just said, though. He just was watching him. Greg had caught him doing that a lot lately. "Do you think it might be easier to do it sooner instead of later?" Catherine asked, voice soft and serious.

"Yeah. For me maybe." Greg wasn't sure why but he still had that walled up place in his mind that being alone had done for him. That... yes, he wanted it done. Something he knew had to be done because it was better than them wondering. "Everyone is going to know aren't they?"

"No. Just... what they knew from the case. The cage, the collars, but... The details are going right to the DA. Do you want anyone in particular to take your statement?" It was Catherine trying to be helpful. She couldn't see Gil laying behind her, blinking at Greg for a moment before he closed his eyes and brought up his good hand to fingerspell.

B.R.A.S.S. V.E.G.A.

Yeah, because either of them were good cops, and Greg knew that they wouldn't take the blame the victim stance. Male rape, weakness, why didn't they get out, why didn't they fight harder. Like Greg hadn't asked himself that a hundred times -- he didn't need Vartaan asking it as well

"Jim Brass or Vega," he said. "I guess in a way, it will be Gil's statement too."

And that would be hard. There were other signers in the hospital but they couldn't understand Gil like he could. Familiarity he guessed, since all he knew were the short-cut half-signs that Gil was making.

"Why?" Catherine twisted a little, to catch sight of -- absolutely nothing. Gil had lowered his hand and closed his eyes, and he looked like he was asleep again. Sneaky.

"Because I'm his translator." Greg looked at her again. "He's not allowed to talk at all."

He wondered why Gil didn't want to talk to Catherine. "Besides, I guess it's better that we only go through it once."

Not exactly kosher, no, but Greg was pretty sure that Jim taking Waffle home wasn't normal, either. "I'll see if that's okay. It... shouldn't be a problem. If we have to have an official translator in, or... Maybe have him write it out." She sighed, and glanced over at Gil again, caught him midway through the act of peeking at Greg again. "Hey, there. I thought you were going to sleep the whole time."

Gil paused, rubbed at his eyes a little, and glanced to Greg. ~So much for eavesdropping. Hi.~

"He says hi," Greg translated diplomatically. "Sorry if we woke you Griss." ~Eavesdropping? Why did you want to do that. You know I'd tell you anything~ he added as he spoke and signed at the same time.

Catherine watched him sign, and shifted back so she wasn't sitting in the way. ~I don't know what to do. What comes next. Can't think about it. I was awake anyway.~

~It's okay, I'll do what I can. Apparently I'm staying with Brass. I... feel weird about that. I don't think I can deal without being near you. Maybe I'll say no~ Greg looked at him, wanting to stroke through his hair like they had in the cage when that was all they could do to say things like they cared what was happening. "I'm just telling him about what you said about me staying with Brass."

"Okay." Catherine seemed intrigued. "It's going to be a while before either of you gets to leave, but when you do, you need to rest. Maybe Gil could stay there, too." It seemed like she was hinting at something that had already been decided. Maybe that was the plan all along. Keep them both together with someone to watch them.

~What's wrong with my townhouse?~

Greg smiled a little. ~Steps Gil. You think we're going to take half a day to get up each flight.~ He looked at Catherine. "I'm thinking there's a conspiracy going on."

"There might be," she admitted, eyeing them. "But it might be the one between the two of you. Jim just... volunteered. And after I tried to talk to your parents when you went missing, Greg..."

Oh God. He closed his eyes and winced at that where the physical pain hadn't touched him. "I bet that went well." He could feel Gil watching him, feel the questions there without having to look.

"That's an understatement. But just because your parents are... standoffish... Doesn't mean that we aren't going to be here for you, Greg. For both of you. I just... don't know where to start. Other than getting someone in later to take your statement. Do you want anything to read? I have some books in my purse." Ah, which explained why Catherine had her big hide things in purse with her. "They're limiting visits to 20 minutes at a time until I can talk them out of it, but they're letting us show up around the clock."

"Reading stuff would be great," Greg said. "Don't worry, you won't get my parents up here. Which is fine by me." He cleared his throat feeling that old familiar pain inside where he was mainly numb.

He needed to stay numb. He needed to keep that walled up part, walled up still because it was still going on, it still wasn't over, and Gil was looking at him, peering at him with a sad look on his face. ~Their loss.~

Yeah, he'd lost them a long time ago. ~They wouldn't think so,~ He said and looked up at Catherine. "Thanks for nearly finding us though. We knew you wouldn't give up."

"We tried so hard, Greg. There was just... nothing. Nothing for us to go on." Catherine glanced between him and Gil and reached to take his hand, moving careful like she was willing to let him decide whether he wanted his hand held or not.

He almost missed Gil signing ~We're here with you. When we get out.~

He would have done if it hadn't have restricted his other means of speech. He let her take it and then drew it back so he could sign ~I know Gil. Thank you~ before he spoke. "We know Catherine, we worked that out because if you'd had anything it would have been days. I think we were surprised it wasn't cold-cased on us."

"No. Never." Except he thought she was thinking otherwise. Maybe it had come close to them being cold-cased. Who knew, and even if it had happened, would anyone tell them that they'd given up? "We tried, Greg. I know it... doesn't undo anything."

"No, it doesn't but that doesn't mean it is anyone's fault. I know what it was like with Nicky. I know what that felt like to be on the other side trying and trying and not getting anywhere," Greg said very quietly. "Gil and I talked about it. We knew."

Catherine didn't look like she'd been expecting that, and she shot Gil a glance. He gave her the ubiquitous thumbs up, and a faint smile. "Okay, that's... that's good to know. Really. But if there's anything we can do, that I can do for you..."

"You are bringing us things to occupy ourselves," Greg said softly. "We'll make a list. A long one. It's...just good to see you."

There, he was starting to lose his calm a little. Greg honestly wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that he felt like he was starting to crack a little at the edges. "You have no idea how good it is to see you. Both of you, to just... know you're alive." She didn't say okay.

That would have been pointless. Greg hadn't seen himself in the mirror and didn't particularly want to. "I'd hug you but my shoulder and arms don't like me doing stuff like that," he said joking just a little with her, trying to head off the emotion.

Trying to maybe wrap things up before he broke down. Catherine leaned in, and if he'd been in a perkier mood, he would have taken the chance to peek down at her breasts through the v of her shirt. But he wasn't, because her hand was coming towards his hair, finger-combing through it. He was probably still a mess. "That's okay."

"I could use some gel," he said, just saying anything since he was feeling the burning sting of tears just there, lurking. Pushing at whatever control he had and he didn't want to crack yet.

He didn't. He wanted to at least give his statement before he started to crack, and he needed to get her away for a second. Her fingers slowed a little, but she was still looking at him. "Gel? For your hair?"

"After I persuade them to give me a proper shower," Greg replied, his voice giving out half way. "It looks like a dogs chewed on it. Which is kind of ironic because it has."

"I think I've seen it look worse," she teased, still combing his hair which felt weird. "Hair gel. And books. I think they're going to kick me out soon, but to you want to get your list together so you can give it to either Brass or Vega?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we will," Greg swallowed with difficulty. "Thanks for coming in Cath. Really."

The door was cracking open, slowly, and Catherine nodded, leaned in to kiss his forehead. "Don't give the nurses too much trouble. I'll be back later after work." She stood up quickly, and Greg thought he caught a wet gleam in her eye when she bent over Gil to kiss his cheek. "Get some rest."

"We will," Greg said trying a smile and finding that it hurt a little, possibly from not enough practice. He just wanted Catherine to leave now because it was too much, and too close where people that close had meant pain and justÖeverything bad.

The nurse smiled and gestured Catherine towards her, and quick enough, Greg got his wish. Just him and Gil in the room, Gil's face hard to read but looking a little screwed up, like he'd been having as much trouble as Greg had.

He found himself breathing hard, blinking back the burning in his eyes. What was he thinking? He wasn't ready for anything, let alone giving a statement. He was going to embarrass himself horribly, he knew it and hated it. Hated, hated everything and it was like the normal life had come and smacked him over the head and run off never to return after seeing Catherine.

Gil gave a quiet whine of noise, a huff, and it wasn't as hard to hear as it had been before. He had his hand held out towards Greg, over the gap between their beds. ~It's okay.~

~Everything's different,~ Greg exhaled. ~Sometimes I feel nothing and then everything. Nothing in between. We're not okay are we?~

~No. Known Cath for years. Couldn't say a word to her. Don't know what to do anymore.~ Gil shifted a little, sitting up slowly, cautiously.

~Wondered why you were so quiet. In a manner of speaking.~ He wondered if he could stand up. He wondered if he could touch Gil because he hadn't for days and that was one more abnormal thing but he'd become dependent on him. It was like a craving and now with the unsettling experience wreaking havoc, he needed to be with him. He started to try and sit up as well, as a prelude for getting up.

~Not knowing what to say is not normally a problem.~ Gil pulled at his sheets, and it seemed like he had the same idea Greg did. Gil was still hooked up to an IV and catheter, but... so was Greg. 50/50 on the inconvenience scale for either of them to move.

~Stay there Gil. I'm... gonna try it,~ he told Gil, finding them being unable to touch unbearable. As unbearable as all the thoughts in his head, that his sanity rested on him getting there. It was stupid, irrational and... that didn't matter. He needed it.

He very carefully sat up, feeling a little dizzy.

Gil shifted to swing his legs over the side of the bed, shaking his head at Greg. ~You stay. My blood pressure is not up-down like yours.~

~But... your heart~

Okay, he felt dizzy enough that Gil was already on his way before his head had cleared. He looked anxiously at Gil.

~Healthy. Just three feet.~ He added the last sentence almost as an afterthought, but he steadied himself on the chair Catherine had sat in, using his good hand to pull it along with him, sitting down right beside Greg's bed. He'd looped his catheter bag and his IV bag over his bad arm like they were a towel.

Greg shifted immediately, as far as he could, reaching out with his bandaged arms to touch and hold, and the moment he did, it crumbled something inside of him and though he didn't sob, he could feel the tears start rolling from his eyes without any sort of emotional control whatsoever. "Gil..."

Gil shifted a little, and even though the positioning was awkward and they were leaning over the railing, Greg didn't care. Gil was holding him, and making some quiet noise, the fingers of his good hand clutched at tight as he'd dare against Greg's back, at a spot that only Gil would know wasn't hurt or bandaged.

He missed touching him, so much it was like there was a physical relief when he could. He used trembling fingers to stroke through Gil's hair. "I've missed being...touched by you. Touching you" He whispered softly. "I didn't know how much I needed you."

Gil didn't answer, couldn't offer him words -- partly because he wasn't supposed to be, but partially because he couldn't seem to manage anything other than a rasping whisper, a whine, when he did. It sounded like someone was sharpening a knife on Gil's vocal cords. But the soft puff of breath against his neck when Gil tilted his head down said more than words could. The way that Gil's hand flattened to stroke Greg's back, still twitching towards a desperate clutch.

He was as missed and needed as Greg had missed him.

With other people this sort of openness would be impossible, but what sort of secrets could he possibly think would be worth keeping from Gil? Nothing. They had seen the other in their worst moments. Been a party to them, involved in them. There was nothing left except truth.

Greg wasn't sure how it had happened, when it hadn't happened when they had been locked together in a confined space. But somehow he was turning in, turning towards his face and lips trying to find lips before he even realized it.

Maybe because they were free of it, even when they weren't. Gil lifted his head, his good hand sliding up to cup Greg's face, kissing him back hard and desperately, his bandaged hand pressed against Greg's side trying to hold onto him.

Gil tasted like apple juice and banana pudding, and Greg just couldn't bring himself to care, because Gil was kissing him, lip against lip, tilting his head and sliding his tongue into Greg's mouth.

And Greg was devouring his mouth with the same sort of desperation and intensity and he tasted him, wanted him to carry on kissing forever, but he had to breathe sometime even if he pushed himself to the limit, until there spots in front of his eyes. He was crying and kissing all at once. He didn't have to think when the sensation drowned out everything else.

It just, it just was, and Greg knew he should have just breathed, but it was easier to break the kiss and gasp in air because he was crying on Gil, or Gil was crying on him, and he wasn't sure any more. It felt good and it hurt all at once.

"Mr. Grissom!"

Greg turned his head suddenly, making himself gasp. The doctor was standing there and he'd missed him coming in. He drew back hastily, wiping at his face with his hand. "It's not, not what you think." Gil dropped his head down against Greg's shoulder, sucking in a shaky breath, his chest heaving for a moment. His fingers went slack against Greg's cheek, slid down to his neck.

The doctor closed the door quietly behind him, watching them. "It's not what it looked like? That's what everyone tells me. And what I have to tell them is that we expect appropriate behavior in the hospital."

Suddenly there was anger there, violent hot and livid when normally he would have just have taken the rebuke. It was as wild and uncontrollable as the other emotions, slipping past everything he had used to push it down in the past.

"Don't you dare judge us!" he snapped back, voice hoarse and strained. "Don't you fucking tell me what the hell is appropriate behavior when I don't even know what is going on in my own head and I need the only person that kept me together. You want to try what happened to us and then lecture me about appropriate behavior?" He sat up then, struggling to get up and get in front of Gil again as if the doctor was a threat of some kind and Gil needed protection. He didn't even need to think about it, he was just there and doing it. "Do you know how hard it is to even try and be 'appropriate'? When you've been conditioned to bark instead of speak, to behave like a dog all the time, and a torture victim the rest of the time?" His voice was cracking all over the place even as he struggled to stand in front of Gil, which meant getting out of bed. "Cut us some slack. I needed him close. My fault you understand? My fault and it just happened because that's what we needed at this moment to carry on, to remember we're people!"

The doctor wasn't a threat, though, and he knew that. He knew that but he wanted to get between him and Gil and keep him safe. It was a godsend that Gil had gotten and was keeping him in bed by virtue of him holding onto him.

"I, uh... If you can just be calm, I..."

He felt anything but calm. The worst thing was the urge to growl. It was there, a very real and terrible instinct, to actually snarl at the man, to let go and let those simple conditioned reflexes rule him. It was so close. Too close. His hands were shaking too much to sign and he couldn't find anyway to stop that rising instinct, as if they were about to be attacked. The mastiff large and like a block of stone hitting him down and...

He was growling. He was actually growling and the realization made him fill with a burning shame as he tried to distract himself by clenching his fingers hard into the palms of his hand.

Gil was still leaned in against his chest, and it was his actions that pulled Greg back to his senses a little. He tilted his head up, pressed a kiss against Greg's jaw, and kept half-holding onto Greg, still sitting in the visitor's chair, iv bag and catheter bag looped over the railing. Gil wasn't growling, but he was holding Greg close, and he barely peered over his shoulder at the man, giving him an 'ok' symbol.

"Mr. Sanders. Please, take a deep breath. I don't want to have to get someone from psychiatric down here."

Greg nodded, gulping air and holding on to Grissom. Fuck. Fuck. "S, Sorry," he managed eventually. "Sorry."

It seemed to relax the doctor a little, and he stood there just looking at them for a moment. "Now, I'll make a note in your files that the two of you are allowed to get out of your beds sometimes, as long as you're still getting enough sleep. You're here to rest and recover."

Greg nodded, ashamed and chastened by his own behavior. He'd never been like this before. Never. "Th-thank you."

What else could he say? He'd been totally out of control. Maybe he should be in psychiatric. Maybe he would end up there. Forever. It was a small blessing knowing that Grissom would probably be right up there with him. After all, once Gil had given the doctor the OK, he'd started to pet Greg's hair.

"Okay. So don't hurt yourselves. A nurse will be in later to see if you need anything."

He just nodded as an answer and shuddered a little until he heard the door close. "I'veÖ made an idiot of myself," he murmured.

Gil hummed deep in his chest, a negative kind of note, and didn't sit back yet. He took Greg's hand, though, and spelled 'no' into his palm. No, Gil didn't think he'd made an idiot of himself.

"Okay then, I've convinced them I am a candidate for the rooms with padded interior," he said shakily. "Guess... guess I understand why Nicky flared up sometimes. I couldn't control myself. That scares me."

There was a shrug, and Gil sat back a little, sliding his hand to Greg's sides. Even if Gil knew what to say, finger spelling it out would probably take forever. So he just looked at Greg, kind of the way Waffle did sometimes.

"Yeah, I know. I know I'm expecting too much of myself, of us, but that's how I've always been," Greg filled in the blanks. "I know you can't go through this some sort of stuff without effects. I know what you said to Nicky, that it would take a long time and there would be times even a long time after that it might come back. That it was okay to do it, it was natural and healthy for it to come out. He told me. We talked and I thought I understood, but what I didn't understand was that I didn't even have the option of holding back. Of fighting it. It's just there, all these reactions and conditioned responses and how do you stop those when you don't even know when you are going to do them?"

Gil moved his good hand up between them, so Greg could see the letters and gestures he made, and it took time. ~You can't. You try to function through it. If I could make noise, I'd probably sound like you do.~

"You'd never be like me," Greg denied that. "You were the one who kept it together. Remember? I was the one that went to pieces after the first couple of nights."

And he had. If Gil hadn't been there, if after the man had, if he hadn't let them share their cage space together... ~I went to pieces. I'm not sure I put them all back in the right place.~

"I feel a little like that," Greg replied softly. "Maybe... maybe we do need someone else around when we get out of here. I know I need you around. I know it's not professional but... god, Gil it's hard enough being in the same room all day and not touching. I don't regret kissing you at all. I just don't like to be told it's wrong."

~Think he didn't mean it that way.~ And if Greg thought about it, it probably had looked bad. Him crying and Gil kissing him that hard. It had probably looked like two mental patients, one of whom seemed steps away from raping the other. Gil wouldn't, though. Could barely do it when he had the threat of death hanging over their heads.

And Gil just sitting there, that close, an arm around Greg's waist, was nice. It was comforting, having him close after so many days. ~It's too soon to worry about seeming professional.~

"I always have a problem seeming professional. I seem to remember you saying that a few times," Greg said mustering a faint smile. "I just think that I wasn't as ready as I thought with Catherine."

~Why do you think I was pretending to be asleep?~ Gil at least knew he couldn't cope. ~We're going to give a statement today?~

"Maybe." Greg kept finding himself trying to shrug. "I'll do it. Don't worry, I'll do mine, you don't have to do yours. If it's Jim or Vega then I guess they'll be okay if I go weird on them."

~It will be fine,~ Gil assured, before he stopped signing, slid his hand back over Greg's good, unwounded shoulder again.

Greg sighed a little and settled in, feeling more comfortable now. "You think it would be pushing our luck to ask for a double bed, then?" he asked after a long pause and with a slight smile.

Gil nodded, and that was all Greg needed to know. Yeah, it would be. They probably didn't even make double beds in hospitals. What he and Gil were doing was as close as it got.

"You shouldn't stay here too long. You should be lying down," Greg whispered to Gil regretfully, leaning in a little more. His arms were aching a bit, and his shoulder was throbbing so he could only imagine that Gil was uncomfortable as well.

Sitting up like that, all of his body weight on his ass. Gil had taken to lying on his side, and Greg was sure it was for his own comfort. He started to spell something against Greg's neck, and Greg couldn't quite make it out.

He drew back a little. "Sorry I didn't quite hear you," he said automatically. "Say that again?"

Gil's eyes looked a little hazy, or tired. Something, and he smiled a little before he said ~Hearing is overrated.~ And didn't repeat whatever he'd been absently signing before.

Greg wondered if it had been something he should've known but he didn't push it. "Back to bed, Gil. Seriously you look about ready to crash and I don't want that."

~I'll sleep before our statement.~ Which implied that Gil was going to do it even though Greg had been the one to volunteer for it. He pulled back, but his good hand shifted to cup Greg's head again, lingered, and he leaned in to take a much softer kiss.

It was enough and more than enough. It wasn't something done out of instinct and distress, it was somehow more real than the crushing clinch they had been in before. Greg responded, tender and trying to show everything in that touch of lip to lip.

He was a little more aware of it this time. They both still needed to shave more, and haircuts. He felt shaggy, and he couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd actually had beard growth rubbing against another man's beard growth while kissing. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't Greg.

Maybe he could sweet-talk someone into bringing him an electric razor so he felt like less of a Wildman. That crossed his mind when Gil pulled back, and signed ~Sleep.~

"I will," he promised. "I will..." He drew away, allowing Gil a clear area to stand even though he wanted him to stay.

And he did want him to stay, but it probably wasn't a good idea. They both needed to rest, and Greg felt drained, exhausted. He didn't want to still be a shaky mess before the statement giving even started.
Gil shifted, stood, and walked carefully back towards his bed.

No-one else had come that day.

Not that he minded. After the burst of 'excitement' Gil had slept straight through to breakfast. Which was good, because he'd been hungry in the way he often caught himself being hungry now -- not noticing until he was almost nauseous with it, because there was a set Schedule so his own needs didn't matter if they were different from the schedule. He was used to hunger and discomfort. The drugs had worn off by lunchtime, and so had the amusement of fiddling with crosswords.

Greg had slept deeply, as well. Maybe it had been the 'incident' the day before but they had been a little heavy handed with his sedation and as a result he had been drifting hazily, even after they woke up. He had also been a little withdrawn and Gil wondered if maybe he was thinking about what they had done. The kiss.

Gil was. Did. They hadn't kissed while they'd been locked up, and he caught himself waffling over whether it was all right to do it again or not or if they were just so fucked up that he shouldn't even be trying to make heads or tails of it. He'd had to rape Greg a few times while they were there. And just because he and Greg were cordial afterwards didn't make that all right. Then again, Greg had had to do the same to him a few times. More the other way around, and Gil wasn't sure how that changed the dynamic. He wasn't holding it against Greg, and under better circumstances, he would have said yes.

Well, if he'd been drunk and not worried about fraternizing with his co-workers, the people he was directly responsible for. But he wasn't responsible for anyone now. Not even himself.

It was hard to distance himself because he kept seeing things in Greg that made him wonder. Greg's instinct to protect him that was almost out of control with its intensity. How much of it was a product of what had happened and was anything real?

The man had been obsessed with the pseudo pack hierarchy, reinforcing it, picking it apart, screwing with it and making it what he wanted. Gil got the distinct impression that he forced him to rape Greg and then put him in the position of "returning the favor" in the hope that Greg might challenge him like a dog would. That he might actually see them responding on a primitive level.

That had only happened during the fight with the mastiff. Then everything had been instinct. Because it was kill the other dog or die, and they almost had. They'd come so close, and that fucking door, and his hand, and Greg's blood just weeping out of his shoulder, faster than a gunshot wound there. It was all there and vivid, because Gil had had to protect Greg and Greg had tried to protect him. It was do or die, and they had... done.

The protectiveness from Greg, though... Gil was telling himself that it was there before. Greg had run with him 'just in case' and Greg carried a medical kit in his car 'just in case' and carried an epi-pen 'just in case'.

Just in case Gil dropped at a crime scene again.

There was no mistaking how upset Greg had been when he had 'died'. He hadn't believed it, not really. He just thought that maybe the man had made him think that but the medical evidence pointed that way as well. Greg hadn't just been upset, he'd been devastated. He'd carried him then, when Gil knew he had to be hurting badly. He'd done things he shouldn't have been able to do. If he was looking at the scene he would have thought it to be suspicious to conclude the second person could have carried the first. But there Greg was, defying evidence by living and breathing.

Something was there. He just wasn't sure what it was -- whether it was situational or from something before. Greg had said something at the start. Trying to make him feel better about being force to rape him. That under other circumstances....

Under other circumstances.

Gil shifted slightly in the bed, and stretched his toes against the fabric. He really did like the texture of fabric and clothes again, even if it was just a hospital gown. He liked to be free, free to just lay there and sleep, free to stretch his legs if he wanted, free to... to not have to be afraid that at any moment a collar around his neck was going to paralyze his throat worse, if that was possible, and that he was going to have to hurt a friend. Or be hurt by a friend.

A friend who was probably still struggling out from under his heavily drugged haze. Greg had been trying to read earlier, and it hadn't seemed to be progressing very fast.

Greg had put the book down and was staring up at the ceiling as if it contained the mysteries of the universe. He seemed to sense when Gil was watching him though and turned his head to look at him. ~Finished the puzzle?~ he signed as he looked across.

~No. 19 across is 5 letter word for hair of the dog.~ A faint noise escaped his throat, and he hoped that it was trying to be a laugh or a snort. He tapped the page of the book that he'd half filled in. ~Book boring?~

~Can't get in to it. Jim will be coming soon. Or Vega. Distracted I guess~

Which was logical enough, although Greg seemed calm when he said that.

~Nervous?~ Gil was, too. Nervous because he'd seen so many people break down giving their statement to police and so many bear through it with strength. Not that breaking down wasn't strength, but, but... Gil felt like it wasn't. He wasn't sure why he had to hold himself to that standard.

~Yeah, I guess. I know they know but this will be like bringing it out in the open. For both of us.~ Greg replied and exhaled. ~I don't want to let you down.~

~You think you would?~ All Greg had to do was... explain what he could. It was going to be hard to condense a month of pain into... a statement. Gil supposed that they should explain their experience in ways that would help the other parts of the case. The other pets, the tags and badges, the other victims.

~I don't know. I just...think maybe I'll lose it. Again. Or something.~ They wouldn't have much time to get his confidence up. They were expecting visitors any time now.

~If you slip, I'm here. Remember that. We're safe here and no-one is threatening you.~ And Gil would keep it to the fore of his mind, too. He'd have to, even if Greg didn't know that he had to.

Greg was nodding even as the door opened and Jim put his head around, looking to see if they were awake or not. He immediately met Gil's eyes and that was disconcerting because he had the distinct impression Jim had weighed him up in a split second and knew how he was really doing. "Hey Gil, Greg... glad to see you both awake."

He walked over quickly towards Gil and then did a pretty uncharacteristic thing in leaning forward to carefully hug him.

Gil wasn't sure Jim had ever hugged him like that. He wasn't sure, couldn't quite remember. He was sure he'd hugged him, but not that tightly. They were friends, good friends, but not very tactile. Gil wasn't very tactile. Hadn't been very tactile, while everything now seemed to be about touch and taste and smell. Jim smelled like aftershave freshly applied. He was probably awake and ready to work a nightshift set of hours, and his suit jacket had dog hair on them. The cold press of his badge was something Gil could feel through his hospital gown, and he found himself hugging Jim back as tightly as he could. Feeling him made him real, like it made everything real for him and for Greg.

"It's gonna be okay Gil," Gil heard Jim murmur as he reluctantly drew away. And then even more surprisingly he went to do a very careful equivalent to Greg who had flinched from even Catherine's gesture of comfort. Somehow, it was okay from Jim.

Eventually Jim stood back. "Had to do that, before we did the business stuff. You guys might think I didn't miss you."

Gil was just glad Jim had done it at all, before or after talking shop or whatever. He glanced over to Greg, who looked a little shaky but didn't seem to be falling apart. ~Hi. You have Waffle hair.~

"Gil says you have Waffle hair on you," Greg translated in his whispery rough voice, and Jim gave a chuckle.

"Yeah. He's kind of taken over my life, though he keeps hunting around as if he's lost something. I'm thinking that's you guys. And Gil, I hate to break it to you, but we have a dog that is terrified of spiders. He runs and hides behind me until I get rid of it. Or he jumps on the sofa and then tries to sit on me in case things are getting too scary."

It was making Greg smile at least. Gil liked the way that Greg smiled, liked the tip of his lips, and had missed it. There hadn't been much smiling for the past month and change. ~I can look beyond the spider fear. He's a good dog. Thanks.~

"Gil says he can live with that. Waffle is a good dog and thanks from both of us for looking after him. I was really worried about him," Greg said pushing himself up a little. "He's hardly more than a puppy."

Jim smiled "Yeah, I know. He keeps trying to sneak up on my bed. And he runs off with my towel back to his bed. I'm not quite following why, but after the fourth time I let him keep it."

~He's used to sleeping with people,~ Gil spelled, and then cracked his knuckles, letting a sheepish expression slip free.

"He's used to sleeping with us," Greg translated and commented. "I guess he likes the company."

"Well, he's in the room at the moment and not always on the bed," Jim said as he moved the chair so he could sit facing them both.

That meant he was back a little from them, but that they could all three... 'talk', Gil supposed. He shifted to sit up as much as he could, and reached for his water glass. A nurse had been by about half an hour ago, so it was still pretty full and mostly cold. He took a sip, watching Greg, watching Jim, and then set it back down where he could reach it. ~Greg, would it bother you if during your statement I interject things? Unless Jim says otherwise.~

~Doesn't bother me. I'll ask Jim,~ Greg replied. "Gil asked if it's okay if he interrupts every now and then in my statement?"

Jim looked at them. "You have to do separate ones but, yeah, that's okay. We'll just make sure it is clear on the recording. Are you ready Greg?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Because maybe he wasn't. Gil shifted a little, ready to move if he had to, but comforted by the fact that Jim wouldn't mind having to physically calm Greg down. That was the way Jim worked, a lot more hands on, like Nick was. So even if Gil couldn't move fast, it was going to be okay.

"Okay. Lets go back to the beginning huh?" He clicked on a recorder stating his name, the time and date just to set everything up rapidly. "Now Greg, lets start at the beginning. What do you remember from the race and how you were abducted?"

Greg paused and then started. "I did my leg of the race and then grabbed the pack and ran alongside Gil for moral support I guess. He put on some speed as I was picking up two bottles of water from the table -- I just grabbed the ones on the end and tried to catch up. I got there just as Warrick was taking off and Gil was jogging down to a slow walk."

And everything had seemed amazing. Gil had run his part and he'd done it well, he hadn't dragged the team down as much as he'd feared he would. Gil closed his eyes for a moment, and he could still see it all -- the handoff, the look on Warrick's face, Greg catching up to him and their comradely walking. He'd decided to go on, and they should have just stopped there, turned back around and taken a bus. Then nothing would have happened and when they passed out they would have passed out on the bus, safe, surrounded by other members of police forces.

"What happened then?"

"We were talking and walking on. We were going to walk the stage and get the bus down to the finish line," Greg said. "I made Gil drink the water and drank my own as well. I remember giving him one of the granola things. And eating some myself and then I started feeling a little woozy. I thought it was all the running. Got a bit dehydrated or something. So I ...stumbled a bit and then I ended up on the ground."

And Gil had gone down with him, to shake him awake, to see if he was okay. He didn't want to think about it, about how he'd thought that Greg had passed out from exhaustion and then he'd... And then it had been the cage, and shocking and pain. A quick shift from that to humiliation beyond his imagination.

"Do you remember anything else from then?"

"Not really. Gil was shaking me and then, it was when we woke up. In the cage." Greg looked at Gil a moment. "I had no idea where I was and how I got there."

~I passed out not long after Greg did. I think I passed out on top of him,~ Gil interjected, nodding. He wanted to say more, but Greg had covered that side of things and he still had to give his statement. He didn't want to relive it twice, even if he was listening raptly to Greg's words.

"Gil says he passed out not long after I did. He thinks he passed out on top of me," Greg translated.

Jim nodded. "Okay. So, you woke up in unfamiliar surroundings?"

Greg nodded. "I noticed I was naked pretty quickly, and that I had this strange sort of double collar on. I started pulling at it, trying to work it loose. Gil and I were in this split cage. You couldn't stand in it, you just... had to lie or sit. There was a bed of sorts on the floor of it. I remember looking for ways out. Looking at the basement... and thinking of all the statistics Gil had made me learn. About making an attempt to get out as soon as possible because they probably still want you alive then, and they don't expect it."

Jim was nodding, even though it was obvious that any attempts they'd made had been lost causes. "So you were thinking about escapes. Did you try to escape?"

Greg looked down a moment. "Yeah, yeah I tried. The man came down, explained how he was basically going to make us into his 'puppies' and gave us different names. Gil was ...Grizzly Guy, and I was Baby Boy."

He looked like he hated saying the words.

"And when I said no way, he showed us what the collars were about. They were shock collars. And basically it set up a pattern. If I misbehaved, Gil got shocked. If he did... I did. But at the start, when he took me out of the cage the first time I picked a moment and went for it. And blew it."

"You blew it? You tried to escape and didn't manage to?" Jim suggested, halfway asking. Gil was struggling to not interject more than he needed to. He remembered that, hated the name, hated that he and Greg probably did look grizzly.

"Yeah. I knew he out massed me, I just thought I might take him by surprise, but he had a punch like a steel bar to the head," Greg replied still in his hoarse whisper. "He caught me in the head and then...completely beat the crap out of me. The worst thing was Gil had been under the shock since half way through. I thought I'd killed him... when I could move again."

Gil remembered that, before he'd started to build up a sort of tolerance to the sharp sharp pain. "When you could move again, what did he do with you?"

Greg began a detailed description of what he remembered. His voice, for all its faintness was surprisingly steady and purposeful. He didn't skip over any of the details about the first rape, making it clear he knew Gil had no choice and that he had tried to signal him to tell him he understood.

Jim coaxed him expertly through each hurdle and it was at the points where Gil had been taken away or hurt that Greg nearly lost it. Even though he had been nearly delirious when Gil had ëleft', he'd obviously found that time difficult. And the incident in the 'playroom' had him wavering on the verge of a breakdown.

Gil started to sign at Greg. Not interjections that needed to be translated, but 'doing good' and 'you're okay, we're both here.' Because it was all he could do, all he could add in when he couldn't get out of bed and Jim was in his chair.

Greg pulled himself through it, describing in a cracking and breaking voice exactly what he had gone through before he 'failed'. It defied belief. Gil had seen some of it, the aftermath and blood but that didn't take into account some of the non-visible forms of torture. That it was an unfair 'test' was more than evident. The moment when Greg said he would've killed the man there and then if he'd had the chance was all the more chilling because he was so quietly serious about the pronouncement.

He spoke then that he knew they wouldn't survive the next session. They nearly hadn't made it that time and he'd been thinking over and over of how maybe he could stop the man, risk an escape because Gil was ill, and maybe do anything to get away. But then the mastiff had come along, and yeah, he knew he was outmuscled but he just put himself in the way and they had been fighting and it hadn't been long but there had been teeth and...

Then blood. Everywhere and he hadn't been thinking straight but he had helped Gil to kill the dog because the man had tormented it to insanity. They were choking it, and the neck snapped. Sort of an accident. And then they escaped.

Broke the door with the cinder block after Greg had tried to batter it down, and Greg had called 911 and passed out.

And now they were here. And Gil wasn't really feeling it, wasn't feeling like they were entirely there because Greg looked exhausted and ragged and his voice was back to a bare rasp.

And he knew that it wasn't the end of it for them both. Jim had to ask him questions, and he knew exactly where he was going to target. The area's that were blank in Greg's story.

"That's good Greg. Have a drink a moment," Jim encouraged even as he changed the tape. "Lots of detail there, we can skip most of the shared experience Gil, if you just confirm his version. But there are some area's I need to fill in. In a moment."

Greg was drinking thirstily a moment, massaging at his throat.

God, and Gil was going to have to talk through him. Gil sat back, watching Jim watch Greg. He could fill in the spaces, just like Jim wanted. He could tell Jim about his time with the man, alone, and he could fill in holes about when the man had taken them to meet the other pets. Gil sat up a little more, shifting forwards as much as he could so Greg could see him.

"You ready Greg?" Jim asked as he flicked on the recorder and the younger man nodded. "Good. Okay, Greg Sanders translating for Dr Gil Grissom, who will sign and approve a transcript of this statement before it is admitted into evidence."

He cleared his throat. "Gil, most of the events Greg has described involved you. Are you happy with his depiction of events?"

Gil signed 'yes' while nodding. Greg had kept most of the issues of responsibility and self guilt out of it, so he agreed.

And Greg translated the sign aloud. "Good. Greg, I want you to speak work for word what Gil is signing okay?"

Greg nodded and settled into position as Jim shifted forward a little. "Gil, the main area of difference is the period of four days in the first instance when you and Greg were separated. Greg has already said he was partially delirious so he is guessing at four days. Can you tell me what occurred in that time period?

So Gil started to sign, trying to gesture full gestures where he could, finger-spelling where he couldn't. ~I was taken out of our cage, and instead of the usual 'performance' we went upstairs. He locked the garage behind us. There was a dog, Waffle, in the hallway, chewing on a bone. We went to the top floor. When I tried to make an escape, he shocked me and kicked me down the stairs. After that, I went up to the top floor without fighting. The man chained my collar up to an eyebolt on the wall. He checked my form for a while, ran me through the usual hoops. Then he fucked me and put the tail back in right away. He came back with a nightstick, and held it over my head when he started to ask questions.~

"That was a different tact," Jim said as Greg spoke the words precisely, not looking at Greg but at Gil. "What did he want to know?"

~He asked me about crimes. He needed a crime that had involved a man, so I tried to think of one that would stand out to the department. When I hesitated he hit me with the nightstick, and reached to take the tail out. So I told him what I could remember of the case. The serial killer with the blue paint, from the university.~ Gil's fingers shook a little, and he had to stop to crack his knuckles. ~He used the stick on me anyway. My eventual reward was that I could sleep in the closet where he kept his last pet. The next three days were for his amusement.~

"How specific were the details that you gave him?" Jim asked in a low voice as Greg finished translating.

~Very specific. He wanted to recreate the case. I told him every detail I could think of. I... didn't have much of a choice.~ Gil hesitated there, trying to suppress the urge to stand up for himself.

Jim nodded. "Did you tell him about any other crimes?" he asked carefully and Gil knew then what had happened. He'd suspected before but now he really knew.

Now he knew that people had died. He's suspected. He'd guessed, but he hadn't thought, or he'd hoped, or... ~Yes. Over those four days -- it was the same routine. He threatened me with the stick when he was home and I was locked in the closet or tied to the bed and drugged through the day. I told him about every stand out case I could think of, to varying degrees of detail.~

"Can you remember which cases you told him about?" Jim pressed a little and Gil tried not to hear the wavering in Greg's voice as he spoke his words. "You know where I'm going with this Gil."

~He killed people. He insinuated it, but I wasn't sure. I told him about every big case. Millander, Syd Goggle, the Fairmont case, the Coombs case... Every big killing, not just serials.~

"We believe he was trying to frame the both of you. Planting evidence at the crime scene from one or other of you," Jim looked at him. "In some ways it was the over enthusiasm with which he planted evidence that gave him away. However," Jim cleared his throat. "You categorically deny that you were ever present at any crime scenes with him?"

~I was locked in a cage with Greg. And by then, the dog, Waffle. We never left the house during our captivity.~ Captivity, like they were animals just breezing through a particularly shitty zoo. But it was the only word he could think of because imprisonment was too much like being punished for something they had done.

Jim nodded. "You know I have to ask because any lawyer will pick that up and run with it. A long long way." Jim was probably right, which was crappy. "They'll push all the buttons trying to prove it was you there."

~Jim. I know what lawyers do.~ He just quietly hoped that the man... hung himself in jail or something. Not that it was justice and evidence and the system, but... Gil cracked his knuckles, and stretched his hands out against his thighs for a moment. ~I'm trying to remember what else wasn't said already. It was a long month.~

Jim sat back. "He committed two murders while he had you," he said. "One based on the blue paint murders and the second based on Goggle's with Greg's trace all over the place, and accidentally Waffle's as well. That provided a connection back to a victim in LA who had a German shepherd pup and the one commonality we had missed until then. Dogs. Every single victim had a dog that invariably disappeared."

German shepherd pup -- that was Waffle, their Waffle as Gil inevitably thought of him, and he shifted a little. ~Should you be telling us this?~

Jim shrugged a little. "This is evidence all over the media. As you've been having newspapers in, we can assume that even if you hadn't known, you could've. No point trying to trip you up with it. Vegas has been running wild with it. It's been a political hot potato."

~I don't want to know.~ He had to concentrate to keep his hands steady, and there were sounds trying to leave his throat, as aching and rusty as it felt. Gil pressed his lips together, tightly. ~I don't care, can't see how this has political implications, or whose business it is.~

"Gil, Gil it's okay. I just wanted you to know because you and Greg are likely to get some high profile visitors at sometime."

Greg shook his head, interrupting immediately. "Jim, no...we can't. Gil can't have visitors like that. You guys are hard enough."

~High profile visitors? Who? Why?~ Gil signed sharply

"The Sheriff," Jim said reluctantly. "You guys were abducted in the middle of the biggest concentration of cops in the country at that point in time. It just...blew up. And you Gil, are the one with the big reputation. High profile expert, nabbed under the noses of thousands of cops and law enforcement officials."

~Why does he want to see us?~ Gil reiterated, looking at Greg and listening to his translation even as he kept signing, a little slower while he tried to keep calm. They'd just spent a month being pets -- he wasn't going to pose as someone's lapdog for political purposes.

"To look concerned I guess," Jim replied and shook his head. "I don't know Gil. Not really. Catherine is pushing against it and Ecklie's backing her. A bit of a surprise there."

~Not so much of a surprise. I don't want the sheriff coming here. We don't need that stress. I'd end up telling him to go fuck himself.~ His hands were shaking again, and it was all he could do to stifle the noises that were building in his chest, pressing his fingers down against the blankets. No, he was done. He couldn't do it anymore, couldn't get his fingers to work right.

He was surprised to hear Greg say urgently. "Jim, help me up. Gil needs me closer," as if there was desperate problem.

To his credit, Jim didn't even hesitate, but stood to try and help Greg who hadn't managed to stand on his own get over to his bed.

~It's okay Gil, I'm here like you were for me,~ Greg signed as he pulled himself closer.

He just shook his head, staring down at his lap, swallowing back the noises that he wasn't supposed to be making. He was supposed to not talk even when he could, he was supposed to be quiet, and he wasn't, and while he knew he wasn't going to get in trouble for that, it was there, hanging over his head with thick fear that maybe he would and maybe Greg would get his heart stopped and maybe, and he didn't want to think about lawyers and trials and media and politics and the god-damned sheriff.

It wasn't enough to stop Greg leaning in, holding him, whispering. "It's okay Gil, it's okay, we're okay, it's only Jim. Jim won't let anything happen. I won't let them do it. I could shout again like I did with the doctor...might get me fired but screw that, you're more important."

Maybe. But he just couldn't think, couldn't face all of the pieces of reality that were waiting for them out beyond the safe quiet of the hospital room. Even if it was a boring, uncomfortable quiet, it was safe, and Gil just couldn't stop thinking, couldn't turn his brain off even has he curled against Greg, hearing the noises in his voice more than the words, trying to not whimper. Sound was, he wasn't supposed to make any except barking and no the hospital didn't want that.

Greg was holding him, protecting him and that was strange because he'd tried to do that for him and stayed together for him to start with. And now it was Greg who was being stronger, who had tried to attack the dog, who had phoned and it was strange.

"Gil, it's okay. I mean we're not okay, but we're allowed to not be okay. It only Jim here and Jim's a good guy, yeah?"

Gil nodded against Greg, shaking, trying to calm down but falling short of it every time he tried. Jim was a good guy, a good friend, an old friend, someone he could trust. The problem wasn't with Jim, it was with everything else and Gil and not being able to think of how to handle everything that was going to happen the moment they set foot out of the hospital or someone from the real world set foot in their room.

Greg was still holding him, but it was Jim who spoke. "Gil, you think I'm going to leave you alone out there? After all the times you've been there for me? I've got Greg coming to my place, you come too. You guys need each other and I think you need someone around as well. And that's okay, that's good. We all need that sometimes and we don't always get it. But this time, that's something I can do. For you and Greg. I've got spare rooms, a tiny kitchen and a big living room. It's okay, you come to mine and I won't push psychobabble crap on you... sound good?"

His voice was low and gentle, almost soothing in itself. Gil swallowed a choked noise, and nodded against Greg again. Staying with Jim, not going home alone, it all sounded very logical, very sane. Waffle would be there, too, and Jim wouldn't hurt them. Jim was a good guy.

Greg was kissing at his temple, not because he had to but because it was something that might make him feel better. Jim was hovering close behind him.

"Take your time Gil, it's fine. No rush, no hurry. We'll just keep them away okay?" Jim promised.

Hopefully Greg hadn't translated that part where he'd threatened to tell the sheriff to fuck off. Gil took a deep breath, and exhaled it shakily, still half-clinging to Greg. He wanted to say he was sorry, but he couldn't, he couldn't even sign because Greg was in no position to see it. Jim would keep them away, and both of them would simply be there.

It wasn't until Greg drew back a little that he could say anything. ~You want me to tell Jim to call it quits?~ Greg asked silently, his dark eyes concerned.

~Can't think of anything else for a statement.~ It wasn't a yes or a no, but the first thing that came to Gil's fingers. He didn't know what to say, except that he couldn't remember anything else that Greg hadn't already talked about.

~You don't need to. Jim was just trying to warn us I guess in case they try and turn things around on us. You know they'll try~ Greg replied absently tidying Gil's hair with his fingers as he had liked to do when they were together in the cage.

Another breath, and another, and Gil started to feel like he could breathe again. His face was wet and his eyes hurt and he wanted to lean back in to Greg again and not say anything. ~I know. I'm sorry. I just couldn't, can't.~

~You think I was any better? Come on Gil, you saw me lose it a few time. And I've felt so sick talking about all this,~ Greg shook his head. ~Nothing to be sorry about. It's normal I guess~

"When you guys want to clue me in, just let me know, Greg," Jim murmured from beside him.

~Whole new standards of new, now,~ Gil offered, glancing at Jim. He liked the sound of his voice, easy and quietly coaxing, comfortingly nothing like the man's voice. There was a familiar tip to Jim's accent. Gil turned his head, and tried to muster up a smile at Jim.

Jim smiled back. "When you guys are better and staying with me, I'm going to cook you the world famous Jersey Chicken. Gil's experienced this, Greg -- it's not something you forget. It's like Maryland chicken but with a Jersey attitude."

Gil knew Jim was talking for the sake of talking. It still wasn't hard to muster up a laugh, and Gil closed his eyes, leaning into Greg again. He didn't really need to say anything, just nodded as he tried to get calm again, and tried to pull his thoughts together. Jim leaned a little closer to them both, and Gil was all right with that. He liked Jim, liked Greg. He could handle that.

"It's a kick-ass chicken," Jim was saying and Greg turned to him.

"Didn't know you could cook?" Greg was saying. "I can cook some."

Gil gave a questioning sound. Well, it made sense that he could cook -- chemistry and science and cooking weren't too far apart. Greg cooking was an interesting thought, so... So Gil was happy for any interesting thought to chew over while he turned a little so he could gauge Jim's facial expression.

"I just don't cook anything too fancy for myself. When I have people round," Greg said in his soft whisper.
"I can cook you both stuff. Had to learn. Know some Norwegian stuff too. Poppa Olaf taught me."

Jim went silent for a few moments, and Jim watched his expressions shift between tired and shuttered. "About that, Greg. I managed to get a hold of your parents."

Gil could feel the stiffness just appear in Greg, like he had been petrified by tension. "You did?" he said in a very dubious tone of voice.

"Yeah. Your mother said she was going to try to come out. Now I'm not so sure I should have bothered calling. You going to be okay with this?" Gil could feel that Greg wasn't, even as he shifted his bad hand to curl around Greg instead of clinging. He was exhausted and he was probably going to slip for hours after Jim left.

Greg just stared at Jim. "You must have got the wrong number..." he said a little weakly. "My mother would never come out for me."

"Yeah, from what Catherine told me, I thought I had the wrong number, too. She, uh. She's a piece of work, Greg. If you want someone around as a buffer when she visits..." Jim didn't finish the sentence, but the implication was obvious to Gil as he sat there hugging lightly onto Greg. It was so tempting to just rest his head on Greg's shoulder and go to sleep while they talked. So tempting.

Greg shook his head. "She won't believe me. They won't. She'll come, she'll shout, she'll make me feel less than scum for interrupting her life and then she'll go."

He said it without any rancor, just as if it was a statement of fact. It made Gil want to pet Greg, to try to take away some of the tension that had crawled up his spine at the mention of his parents. "Hey, if she wants to do that, I'll make her leave. She seemed pretty... shocked."

Greg nodded. "She probably was. They think everything I do is a smokescreen or a lie. Trust me, by the time she gets here they'll be angry at me for 'fooling' them again. Even if it was fooling them that I was really in trouble. She didn't believe me about the explosion, she hasn't believed anything about me since I was in my teens."

Which was funny, because while they might have suspected that Greg was a little crazy from time to time in the labs, he wasn't... a liar, or untrustworthy that Gil could tell. "Look, all they need to do is turn on a TV set to know that no-one is 'fooling' anyone."

Greg shrugged. "They don't watch Vegas news. If I sent a tape, they'd think I'd got it faked. Or an article -- same there. The only one in my family who trusted me at all was Poppa Olaf and after he died.... Jim, it doesn't matter, okay? They won't stay. Their lives are more important and they'll resent every second they are away from it."

Jim leaned in, and Gil watched him put a hand on Greg's shoulder, all three of them close again. "Greg. It's okay. If they show up and get indignant, we'll get them out of here. Okay?"

Greg nodded and exhaled. "You think we could call it quits today. Think my voice is going." It was possibly a faint lie. Just a small one, but it was to help Gil and all of them knew it.

"Yeah." Jim smiled, and leaned in for a second to hug them both, one arm behind Greg's back, the other behind Gil's. "It's good to see you guys. If we need anything else for your statements, deal with it as it comes up. Do you two want anything?"

Greg looked at Gil and then shook his head. "I think we'll both probably sleep for a bit now," he said by way of a reply. "We're okay."

"Okay. You need help getting back to your bed?" And Gil knew that Greg would, because he was still shaky on his legs.

Greg nodded a little. "Yeah. Please. I think I've forgotten how to move, you know?" He drew back some more from Gil slowly.

Gil let him. He didn't want to, but he knew he had to just like he knew he had to go to sleep now because he was still shaking a little, too close to the edges of exhaustion. He'd thought he'd be okay with the questioning, but he hadn't been, and most of it was probably on tape.

Well, Greg's voice was. Jim reached to take Greg's arm, ready to support him back to bed.

Greg had seized up a little and was finding it difficult to moved so the few feet back to his bed was slow and painful, even as Jim helped him in. "There," Jim said and turned to Gil. "Sure you're okay?"

Gil shifted slowly to lie back down, but he mustered up a nod and gave Jim a thumbs up even if he wasn't really feeling it.

"Yeah, I get it. Don't worry, I'll make sure everything is nice at my place for you. Might have to redecorate, that sort of thing but it'll be okay. You guys want to sleep in the same room?"

Gil slouched down further into the blankets, and shrugged his shoulders. Probably, but he didn't know, and Jim didn't know sign. And Greg was tired. Gil was tired, and he oddly felt like they were disappointing Jim.

"I'll figure something out for you both, don't worry. You both look really tired -- I'm sorry about that, but we'll go and get this statement sorted out."

Greg nodded. "Thanks Jim. Sorry about...everything."

Jim just smiled. "Hey, it's fine okay? You just rest."

Yeah, Gil could do that. He pulled at the blankets, and watched as Jim headed towards the door, lingering every step of the way. It was probably best for him to just close his eyes, and...

Jim decided that having a dog was forcing him to keep in shape a little more. Certainly, he noticed he was finding the walk up to Greg and Gil's hospital room a lot easier. He'd spent some time he should've been sleeping phoning around for someone who could decorate the spare room quickly. The guy he'd settled on was recommended and did him a good enough deal that he was going to do other parts of the house too. He had a double bed in there already -- he liked a big bed, but he couldn't really put another bed in there so he ordered a sofa bed which could be moved where ever. A luxury one at that, because he wanted it to be really comfortable if any of them ended up using it. He was beginning to wonder about that. Gil and Greg were the current poster boys for co-dependence. He was betting they wouldn't stop that for some time.

It made sense, in a way. A month of depending on another to just survive wasn't going away, and what that bastard had done to them just wasn't going to go away. It would just... go on. Grissom was having surgery done on his hand, and the doctors, according to Catherine, had been in to look at Greg. Things looked good for both of them to get out in another few days. Greg had had some reconstruction of the muscles of his shoulder done the day before, so he was a little hazy, but that was all the more reason for Jim to drop by to keep him company with Grissom out of the room.

He rounded the corner to the ward where Greg and Gil were and was confronted by a bit of an angry scene. A man and a woman were very angrily trying to get through the security arrangements they had organized to make sure the papers and TV didn't get through. God knew they'd been trying hard enough.

"No, you listen to me. We've traveled a long way to get here and now you are saying we can't see him? I'm his mother, you understand that? A blood relative, next of kin. You let us through this instant!"

"You're not on the list," the hospital security guard reiterated. "Now, I don't want to have to throw you out of here, but you need to be on the list to get in to see him. You're the fourth woman today claiming to be one or the other's mother trying to sneak in to get a story for your damned rag or channel or wherever you work. So you two just leave, and if you're on the list, we'll talk."

Jim was on the list, and Catherine, and the rest of the team now that they were able to have visitors. But had Catherine added Greg's parents? That was the million dollar question.

Probably not. Because had he remembered to tell Catherine that he had spoken to them and they were on their way up? No. He'd told Greg but Greg seemed to dismiss the possibility completely so no doubt he hadn't said anything.

There was a distinct possibility they might be Greg's parents but if they weren't then they wouldn't know about him so he'd just play it casual and see if they picked up on things. Then see if Greg was up to seeing them if they were who they were claiming to be.

"Problem?" he asked casually as he came up close to them.

The woman's eyes dropped to his badge, noted that he wasn't a rent-a-cop like the man with the list, and nodded. "Yes, there's a problem officer. We're here to see our son -- a detective Brass from the Las Vegas Police Department called me to tell me what had happened to my son, and now that I'm here I can't even get in to see him!"

She looked a little like Greg around the eyes, but her face was more severe, sharper, while the silent unhappy man with the frustrated expression had Greg's jaw line and his nose.

"Well you're in luck because I'm Detective Brass and it's probably my fault you can't get in, because I should have passed on to CSI Willows that you should be added. I'm sure we can straighten this out." It sounded like her at least, from what he remembered.

"You're detective Brass? Audun Sanders, and this is my husband Steven." She moved out of the way a little, and Steven gave Brass a tight smile. He looked familiar in a way that made Jim's brain tick a little. He'd definitely seen the guy somewhere before.

"My wife said you got a hold of her about what happened with Greg. We didn't think it was true at first, but..."

He shook the man's hand when he offered it. "I'm sure I'm right in saying no one wanted it to be true," he said, as if the statement wasn't completely ludicrous. How could they not believe it with it being in the media, splashing all over news, the papers? Where had he seen the man before? "I'll just see if Greg is even awake, because he had some surgery yesterday so all of this might be a little premature anyway."

"Thanks." Steven seemed reserved, but comfortable enough -- Audun was the one that made Jim want to punch her, and he was generally against the concept of punching women. If she got unbearable, Catherine would do it for him, and he didn't have anything against women punching women. He'd hold Catherine's handbag if he didn't think Catherine would club him to death with it for being even remotely sexist.

He was just starting to head towards the room when he heard Audun murmur, "How did he get on the list?"

He pretended he didn't hear her and carried on, making it obvious he had been a frequent visitor. He knocked on the door a little and went inside. Greg looked like he was just staring at the ceiling, which wasn't a good sign. He was probably missing Gil and at the moment that was not a mere inconvenience, but more like putting the younger man through some sort of torture.

"Hey Greg, how you doing today?"

He startled a little, jerked for a moment before his eyes fixed on Jim. Then he relaxed. "Okay. Kind of nervous."

"Because Gil's having his hand done? He was just the same about you yesterday, " Jim said as he came in.

"Yeah, I know." Greg quirked a smile at it, but it fell flat. It took an act of God to get him to really smile. "He said he was happy to see me when I finally came out of it this morning. And I know he'll be back as soon as they're done, just..."

"It's hard waiting." Jim finished the sentence for him. "Which is all the more reason for you to say no. I think your parents are outside. Well, I'm pretty sure they are, but I forgot to get them put on the visitors list so security is stamping all over them at the moment. If you don't want to see them, just say."

"They're here?" Jim wished that he hadn't called them, that he hadn't brought them in on it because Greg sat up a little and cleared his throat, stress visible around his eyes. "Oh, god."

"Well, she's called Audun... is that her?" Jim had to check.

Greg nodded, face twitching with agitation as he looked around the room for a moment, like he was going to find a place to escape.. "And Steve, yeah. She's a doctor and my dad's a lawyer."

Jim grimaced a little. "He looks familiar, I'm not sure why. Look, Greg if you want me to tell them to go away, I will. It's okay, and it's my fault they're here. But I do need to give them an answer if only to stop them harassing the hospital staff."

The silence he got for a moment wasn't a comfort. "They're going to be angry no matter what I do. Might as well get it over with..."

"You want me in here?" Jim asked. Arguing with your parents could be something that was very embarrassing if done in front of other people.

"Yeah." Greg was nodding to him, even as he shifted pillows so he could sit up better. Jim had figured out how things worked for Greg and Gil, how they really were attention and company driven where at least Gil hadn't been before. As long as they had someone they could trust with them, they were okay and there was a lot less of that staring into space stuff.

"We'll see how it goes Greg. I'll be back with them in a moment," Jim said as he turned to head back to the corridor. "If they aren't okay, I'll make them leave okay?"

"Okay." There was almost a smile, because Greg was probably imagining Jim muscling his parents out of the room.

Maybe he could get a real smile out of Greg if he did it for real.

That was an incentive. He headed out again approaching the group. "Greg has confirmed that they are his parents. He's up for a short visit," he said to the security guard.

"Fine by me. You folks have a nice day." Like the security guard had no hard feelings and expected them to return the favor. It probably wasn't going to happen.

Audun still looked vaguely offended at something -- either having been questioned as to who she was, or that Jim just had waltzed right in, or something. At least Greg's father hadn't been throwing around the dreaded, annoying 's' word. No threats of suing the hospital.

Yet.

"Finally," Audun sighed. "Thank you, Detective Brass. Are you a friend of our son's?"

"I am, yes. I've worked with him for some years now," Jim replied. "I should warn you, he's still a little groggy and it won't be a long visit."

Greg would have enough sense to fall in with that. "And if you haven't seen him for a while you might be a little shocked."

Even if they'd seen him just when he and Gil had disappeared, they would have been more than a little shocked. He'd dropped weight drastically, and he was still a mess of bandages and wounds. His hair was long, at least a month past a haircut, and it was a blessing that Nick had brought an electric razor and had helped Greg and Gil shave. They'd both looked a little pale faced, but it helped them look a lot more human in Jim's book.

"I'm... still a little shocked that this is real," she admitted, letting Jim open the door first.

"Well, It doesn't get much realer Mrs. Sanders," he said quietly even as he opened the door. "Please, just take it easy with him. He's had a really rough time."

Really rough time was an understatement. Rape and torture, and making his only support there in the situation complicit in both acts, making them sleep with corpses, and the 'dog' training. It made Jim's head ache, comparing all of that against Greg sitting up in bed, peering anxiously back at them.

"Greg...?" Audun slipped into the room, sounding a little unsure. "Oh, my god."

"Hi Mom, Dad." Jim had gotten used to how soft Greg's voice actually was now, but he could see their surprise. He was trying a faint smile. "Wasn't expecting to see you guys here."

"When we got the call you were missing, we..." Audun trailed off, but Jim could mentally fill in with 'didn't believe it'. She was too busy walking over towards Greg to hug him, Steven trailing after her.

"The case is all over the news, son. We didn't believe you were missing at first, but... we're glad to know you're all right now."

Jim made sure he moved in close on one side of Greg. "Well, all right is a bit ambitious but he is safe," Jim amended so Greg wouldn't have to defend himself.

Greg looked down a bit obviously at a loss for what to say. "Yeah, we're safe now."

"We -- oh, that's right." She shot a glance over to the other bed, and then back to Greg as she pulled back slowly. "We're so sorry we didn't believe it had happened, Greg."

Greg gave a grimace that was an attempt at a smile. "Yeah, well. I wasn't expecting you to believe anything, so I guess that's okay." Jim could tell it wasn't okay but Greg was just trying to stop them going in to it all.

"No, it just sounded so--"

"Audun." Steve cut her off, and gave her a little look. "It doesn't matter, Greg. We're here now and we've been told a little of what happened to you. Your mother and I want to help."

Greg looked a little like someone had replaced his parents with pod people. "I... uh... thanks. But, there's nothing you can do Dad," Greg replied carefully. "I've made arrangements."

Jim nodded slightly watching the strange family dynamic. He and Ellie didn't get on, and she lied and lied and lied, but in the end, he never risked the chance that he might need him. This weird division was just that. Greg had made the arrangements himself as if the option of family just wasn't even a possibility that existed.

It struck him as... unnatural, Jim guessed. Audun didn't look put off by it, just compressed her mouth a little. "Where? When do you get out of here? Your father or I can stay and make sure you're doing all right..."

"That's taken care of," Greg said softly, and Jim could hear how said Greg was in the timbre of his tone. "And we're not allowed out for another four days or so. We have to see some...experts."

Psychiatrists, counselors, the whole works. Jim wondered if that might not be worse than the physical pain. Greg seemed to push that to one side.

"Doctors?" Audun guessed, trying to work out for herself what 'experts' Greg meant. "If you need to see better doctors, honey, you know we have them in LA. You could come and stay with us if you need to."

"I have to see psychiatrists," Greg finally admitted. "To see how much... mental damage has been done."

His mother made a soft 'oh' sound, while Steve just cleared his throat. "Son, we're sure you'll be all right. You're talking, you seem to be thinking all right... Now, are you sure you're going to be in good hands when they let you out of here?"

Jim cleared his throat. "I can personally guarantee that," he said trying to fill them with confidence. "Greg will be staying with me. He had offers from most of his team but I won out." It didn't seem to fill them with confidence. Steven just quirked a look at him, and glanced back to Greg, while Audun made a curious noise.

"Well, I suppose that's good...I can't believe what's happened to you, Greg. You've lost so much weight..."

Greg was getting impatient, Jim could see that. He knew that Greg got aggressive when under stress since this happened and he could see signs of that happening right now as his mother's inane repetition pushed at his buttons.

"Just once Mom, I'd like you to really try and believe it."

"I do, I just..." She reached a hand out to cup his face, with all the gentleness that Jim had been expecting from the get go. "I just don't understand why it happened to you."

"B... because I was there. Because sometimes things do happen to me and it's not a hoax, or a joke or some attention seeking ploy," Greg said, still sounding a little wound up from his cracked whisper. "Sometimes it would be nice is... if you guys just believed in me, rather than believed the worst of me. The sad thing is? I should be happy you are doing this. And I can't be, because I know even if it is not today, or tomorrow someday this will be my fault. All of it."

"Greg, how? You... no-one made a crazy man kidnap you, honey." Kidnapping wasn't the half of it, but it probably wasn't something they wanted to talk about. Still with Greg sounding wound up like that he was glad that he was flanking the other side of the bed, waiting for things to go wrong.

"No one made the guys at college play that...joke either. But that was my fault," Greg replied adamantly. "I...I don't know how you think anymore. All I know is that you think of your son as someone who would tell you he was blown up in an explosion and you shouted at him to stop the compulsive attention seeking. That's your instinct when it comes to me, you doubt. So you tell me -- what exactly can you do for me except give me more of that?"

Maybe aggression was a good thing, a great thing, because Audun looked shocked, and Steven looked stunned for a moment, even if he was the first of the two of them to re-gather his wits. "We, uh... Oh, god, the lab explosion was real, wasn't it?"

Jim cleared his throat. "Yes, it was. Greg was practically in the centre of the blast area. He was thrown through a plate glass window and had a fair few severe burns." Greg had clutched at his hand, gripping it tightly.

"I'm sorry, we thought it was just another hoax, just..." Steven shrugged his shoulders a little and glanced to Greg's hand in Jim's. His face was briefly like the sun cresting over the horizon, while he jumped to the absolutely wrong conclusion, and Jim could see it, could see the man going 'detective Brass, friend of our son, letting him stay -- ahah!' inside of his head.

"We can't take back the... the things we said or did, Greg," Audun cut in hesitantly.

Greg just looked at them a moment and said finally, "I guess not." Jim could tell he wanted them to at least try. It was as if that excused everything.

"We want to try to make up for it," Steve added quietly, watching Greg's face again.

Greg was just looking at them blankly as if they were speaking in a foreign language. It couldn't have been more obvious that he treated the whole idea with complete disbelief. "How?" he asked eventually.

"We, uh..." Steven cleared his throat, and Jim was picking up that that was the man's nervous habit right there. Throat clearing, perfectly acceptable in a court-room scenario. "We're not sure."

Greg sat back. "Oh okay," he said finally. "Well, let me know when you work it out." He was still holding on to Jim's hand almost absently and Jim noticed his parents watching that contact.

"Greg will be well looked after," he said unable to resist and then added. "And Gil Grissom as well."

"Oh, is... Mr. Grissom going to be staying with you, too, Detective Brass?" Audun asked, voice sounding a little distracted as she watched Greg's face. She still seemed in shock.

"Yes he will. Greg and Gil have relied heavily on each other for support during their ordeal. Splitting them up would be... cruel," Jim replied wondering how exactly how he had ended up sounding like Ecklie.

But that had been Ecklie's surprisingly reasonable response to the doctor who had suggested that they be moved to separate rooms. He'd added, though, that they had the same visitors and neither of them was complaining about the set up. If Greg was going to do any complaining, Jim figured it was going to be that there was a good three feet between their beds.

"Oh." Audun tried to pull her face towards a smile. "I'm glad you have... good friends, honey."

"I wouldn't have got through any of this without them," he said frankly and looked up at Jim in a way that surprised him. Greg wasn't meant to be grateful to him. He'd been too late, they'd rescued himself.

"Greg doesn't give himself enough credit. He and Gil managed to rescue themselves even though badly injured."

Dog bitten and nearly dead, if Jim were honest about it. "Greg always has had a knack for getting himself out of tight spots. Once, when he was about five, he crawled behind the entertainment center and got stuck."

Jim smiled. "Yeah, my daughter Ellie managed that with a wardrobe. You'd hardly believe it was possible would you?" Jim wasn't going to allow the parent card to be pulled on him.

Even if the only thing he knew about her whereabouts was that she'd taken him up on the rehab clinic offer, completed it, and was... somewhere. Greg's parents knew where their kid was, and it was like they couldn't even interact with him.

Steve was nodding a little, and Audun was just watching Greg, like they didn't know what to do. Maybe he was making them nervous. "Hard to believe, but they do it," Audun murmured, stroking Greg's cheek again. "I want to start over with you, Greg."

Greg looked down. "Don't do this, Mom," he barely whispered. "Don't set me up for a fall again. For the last decade I have been in disgrace and exile for something I was as much a victim of as you were. You don't do starting over. You and dad hold grudges as if your life depended upon it. Don't pretend everything is going to change just like that."

"I'm... not pretending, Greg. I want to start over. Your father and I talked about it and... We've treated you badly. We thought that you needed 'tough love' to get over... some attention issues that you didn't actually have. And if you did, then it was probably our fault in the first place."

"It's just that we've always been so busy, we..." Steve cleared his throat just after he started to talk after Audun had finished. "Lost track of how much time had passed."

"Okay. Okay, fine but your 'tough love' has worked. I don't need you in my life. I was force to deal with everything myself, I couldn't rely on you to be there when I needed you, so I didn't. I realized I was alone and rearranged things to rely on people who wouldn't shout and give me abuse when I phoned saying I was hurt and needed help. I'm not saying this to make you feel guilty, I'm just stating facts, because if you want to start over, try again this time, it's down to you guys because you created a situation where I wasn't allowed to have you as part of my life and it never looked like I would again. You can't wait around waiting for someone to come to their senses. I waited eight years. And when I nearly died in that accident and you didn't respond to the call for next of kin, or when I phoned you, I knew it was time to move on."

"We thought it was a hoax, son." Steve shifted his position a little, and he looked like he wanted to be sitting down, eye to eye with Greg. "And, we're sorry. I'm sorry. We shouldn't have done that to you."

Jim could see that Greg was getting frustrated. He could see they were missing the point, even if they couldn't. It was the thinking it was a hoax that was the problem. But Greg obviously didn't have the energy left to fight about it any more. He just nodded and lay back, looking at all of them, not expecting anything.

Greg didn't let go of Jim's hand, though, and that was heartening. And they kept talking and Jim didn't know whether they got it or not, but they were trying. Maybe they'd get it eventually.

Maybe it didn't matter because Greg didn't need them any more.

Privacy. They were supposed to be doing it for the sake of patient doctor confidentiality, but Gil didn't like it. He didn't like the idea, didn't like to leave Greg alone even if Greg was going to try to finish the crossword puzzle that Gil had been working on. He was on his feet, though, having been walked through the hospital with a robe on over his hospital gown, headed for the office of a psychiatrist.

He still hadn't got to the bottom of what had happened with Greg's parents, and he got the impression from Jim he was none the wiser, too. And it was so much easier to worry about that than it was to think about this session to check his sanity.

So much easier. He'd work out what was wrong with Greg, he'd figure out what he could do or not do to make Greg... less quiet. Less pulled into himself. He could think about that, while he had more trouble working out why he needed a full psychological workup.

He was fine. He was functioning, he was... he was handling things, and he'd only fallen apart a few times.

He thought in the grand scheme of things that was pretty good going. Objectively he wouldn't have been surprised to see either of them institutionalized because the process had been intense brain washing of a sort. He knew that, he didn't need a professional to tell him that. So quite what they were going to accomplish he wasn't sure. But there he was, waiting and Dr. Forsyth was apparently expecting him.

Gil could honestly say that it was going to be a new experience in his life, seeing a psychiatrist. He'd had a lot of new experiences lately, he decided as the nurse nodded at him to go in, and he was fairly sure that for once in his life, he wasn't enjoying them.

Dr. Forsyth, as it turned out, was Amelia Forsyth, a pleasant enough looking woman. She reminded him in a way of Lady Heather, because she had a similar knowing look to her and her hair would have been close if she hadn't had it tied back and she wore glasses.

He just hoped that she wasn't that way inclined. He'd had more than enough of chains and collars and degradation to last him the rest of his life -- that month with the man would have given him a lifetime's worth of it if he'd been caught by him when he was 15.

Gil had to clear his throat a little, swallowing to wet it so he could speak once he'd closed the door behind him. "Hello."

"Hello, Dr Grissom, sorry to keep you waiting," she said with a smile. "Please, sit down, make yourself comfortable."

He wasn't sure how he was supposed to make himself comfortable when he wasn't comfortable any more, hardly ever. His left hand was a constant ache, and all of the other injuries plotted against him to nag at him whenever the painkillers wore off. Still, he moved to sit down across from her desk, and crossed his legs at the ankle.

"May I call you Gil? You can call me Amelia or Amy if it makes you feel more comfortable?" she offered practically exuding calm.

She could call him whatever she wanted as long as it wasn't puppy or Grizzly guy, but Gil didn't say that as he nodded, swallowing again. His voice was still ragged, but he could talk even if he preferred signing at Greg. "That's fine."

"Feel free to help yourself to water at any time Gil," she said gesturing to a jug on the side. "I guess you know I've been asked to do a psychological evaluation on you and your colleague. I'd like to keep this as informal as possibly, without too many of the tests. They are... limited. I also want you to use the session as a means of highlighting any problems you feel you might need help and support with. So. How do you feel you are coping at the moment?"

He was quiet for a moment, trying to mull over her words in his head. How was he in that moment. He was worried about Greg and he wanted to return to his mentally designated safe place and he didn't want to be talking to her, but he also figured that wasn't what she was asking for. "I'm... coping all right."

"Would you like to give me some more detail about what you mean by all right?" Dr Forsyth asked gently enough. "What coping strategies are you using?"

"I've been focusing on Greg. Trying to not think about it all because when I do, I... I can't stop thinking." And then he couldn't function, like what had happened during the statement giving, when he couldn't move past the roadblock in his own mind.

"Hmm." She made a note then and smiled reassuringly. "You find it difficult to think about your own experiences, but you can consider his?"

"We were there together," he reminded her. "They were mostly joint experiences. He kept me together as often as I did the same for him, so..."

"So you supported each other. What effects have you noticed as a result of the abuse and treatment?" She asked, edging into the subject.

"What do you mean by effects?" Gil passed back to her, lifting up his bandaged hand to gesture to the faint scarring that was still there on the outside of his throat. "Some of it's obvious."

"Physical effects are the most obvious. How about other effects? Do you find yourself depressed? Over emotional?" the psychiatrist asked.

A little over emotional, he supposed. Protective, if that counted as an emotion, and prone to just getting lost in thought. He wasn't sure what telling her any of it would accomplish for him. "I'm not sure if I'm depressed." After all, that was her job to figure out. "I sometimes have a little trouble controlling myself."

"In what way?" she asked again. Questions, nothing but questions. It was a little like an interrogation.

He shifted a little in the chair, glad that his ass didn't hurt the way it still had a week before. "I... Greg turns into an attack dog if he can't take a topic or a person or something gets him on edge. I shut down. I can't handle whatever it is and just... stop."

"Have you noticed what it is specifically that makes you stop, Gil?" Dr Forsyth asked, as she made another note.

"I haven't sat down and tried to analyze a pattern, so no." But he could think of a few examples. "My friend Jim mentioned that the Sheriff wanted to visit Greg and I. That was one. I can't handle dealing with Catherine, another good friend of mine, sometimes. It could be a look or a gesture. I... can't really conceptualize what comes after we leave the hospital."

"That is not unusual," the psychiatrist said thoughtfully. "Any changes to the routine are perceived as dangerous. That is a case of re-acclimatization as much as anything else. I'm interested in the fact that you don't appear to have had an adverse reaction to your friend Jim, but you do to other people. Do you have any idea why that is?"

"I've known Jim since he came here to Vegas. I was the field officer for nightshift, and he came in and was made nightshift supervisor. He's... just a good guy." Non confrontational, and while Gil loved Catherine like a sister, or he would if he'd ever had a sister, they clashed sometimes and he still had trust issues. Sam Braun issues. The psychiatrist didn't need to know that.

"Would you say he was someone who you had a positive history with?" Amelia asked. "To be frank Gil, the reaction you are experiencing towards other people is the normal one. Accepting the presence of someone else so easily is the unusual factor."

"He's... a good friend. I'm not sure what you mean by a 'positive history'." Gil shifted, frowning a little as he watched his psychiatrist's face.

"A history of deeper than normal trust, or a close relationship," the psychiatrist suggested. "If we can identify the reason for your comparative stability with him, then we can develop some strategies to enable you to relate that to other people."

"I just... trust him." It was so hard to articulate that, to explain why he trusted Jim. He'd known him for years, worked for him, and they'd been through relative hell together. "I've known him for a long time, and we've been good friends for most of it."

"Do you trust Catherine? Or is it a different type of trust?" Amelia asked.

"It's different," Gil confirmed, rubbing at his jaw for a moment. "And complicated." With Eddie and Lindsey and accusations of cheating and Eddie's drinking, and that period in time where Catherine had stayed at Gil's place with Lindsey because her sister was having problems of her own and she needed to get away from Eddie.

Gil suspected there was still crayon on the walls from that.

"And Jim is less complicated. Or to rephrase it, perhaps you know where you are with him?" Amelia interpreted.

"I understand him better." And he was more unlikely to change suddenly on Gil. He was Jim -- Gil's voice of reason more than once, telling him to calm down, to not pick a fight with the FBI or the Sheriff or Ecklie just because he knew he was right. That would come out in time, and he didn't need to get himself in worse trouble.

Not that he always listened, but Jim always advised.

"Gil? Gil, you've stopped talking to me. Gil, it's time to start talking again..." He could suddenly hear her voice interrupt his thoughts.

He almost snapped to, looking up to see her anxious expression, and the way she seemed about to get out of the chair to make sure he was all right. "Sorry."

"I take it this is what you mean by things "stopping"? Dr Forsyth asked. "Does it happen often?"

"I'm not sure. That 's not what I meant." He shifted his hands a little and finally folded them over his chest. "I think I've always gotten lost in my thoughts. That's nothing new."

"To this extent?"

"I've had colleagues waving their hands in front of my face on occasion?" He suggested it lightly, waiting for her to tell him that a long time personality quirk was some horrible flaw.

She nodded understandingly. "It is easy to become absorbed in that way," she agreed. "It is possible that it has just become a little more acute as you have a lot to think about."

That was true in a way, He did have a lot more to have his mind drift off into, or maybe it was just the stress of everything. Gil wasn't sure, but he nodded a little, waiting and ready for her next questions.

"One of the things I notice that you both skimmed over in your statements was the impact of being forced to rape or abuse each other," she said carefully. "What do you feel with regard to Greg?"

"He's been a friend for the past two years, and before that he was an interesting protÈgÈ, one of the friendlier people in the lab. I suppose we skimmed over it because it could have been worse." It could have been someone who didn't have that eternal 'under better circumstances' clause attached to them.

"My general thrust here, Gil, is to see if you harbor feelings of resentment, anxiety and anger towards him. It is common in male rape victims to have uncontrollable emotional responses either directed at the self, or at the perpetrator," the psychiatrist explained.

Anxiety to do with Greg? Yes, but it was mostly for his well being. Gil caught himself shaking his head a little. "Under better circumstances, Greg and I probably... would have done it anyway. He's attractive."

She paused a moment. "I see. But you didn't?" she offered as a leading question.

"No. I'm his supervisor." Gil tried to stop himself from studying the top of her desk. She had a lot of papers stacked up there, and no photos of her family that he could see. "Or, I was."

"And you feel that you might not be his supervisor in the future?" Amelia asked. "In fact, how do you feel about work in general."

"I'm not sure. I'd like to go back to work as soon as I know that my being there won't compromise a scene." He didn't bother answering the first question. At that point he couldn't push Greg back in the name of professionalism. He couldn't lose that.

"That is important to you? Being able to do your job?" Amelia queried, following that train of thought.

"Yes. I've... worked in the lab for over twenty years now." And the lab was his life. He lived the work of a CSI, his friends were all in the field one way or another. If he had to leave...

"Right now, what do you see that you have to change about yourself to be able to do your job?" She was watching him carefully, but at least she wasn't hostile.

Wasn't confrontational. He wasn't sure he could handle that. "I need to... get a better grasp of myself. I told Greg that we'd both gone to pieces a few times while the man had us, but I don't think I put them back in the right places. I was always good at handling confrontation before."

"You don't mention much about how you went about putting the pieces back together?" Amelia probed gently. "Or why it is you think you can't handle confrontation now."

"I... can't. I cower, panic, when there's no logical reason to." Two questions at once reminded Gil of college and essays in history courses where he could one of the two evils and go for the lesser one.

Dr Forsyth put her pen down a moment. "Would it help you to know there is a very logical reason for it?" she said. "You have been crudely conditioned to realize that confrontation of any kind is directly related to pain and negative situations. Your mind is still functioning at a level where it is actively seeking out anything that might be a precursor to a clash with authority, or leave you in a position of less power and trying to avoid it. Hence the suggestion of people in authority seeing you causing an emotional crisis of sorts."

"Does it help if I told you that I've never liked this sheriff?" It was probably a bad joke, but it was true -- he preferred the under sheriff, a career man who was good at what he did, to the sheriff who made Mobley look like a saint. "We had some trouble... I know Greg has, about not barking, so this isn't really surprising."

"Conditioning is a surprisingly powerful psychological effect. It shouldn't be underestimated. In fact both you and Greg have done exceptionally well. I believe your use of sign language has gone a long way to enabling you to be in a reasonable state. The power of communication is very important. In any behavior modification scenario, when you remove the ability to communicate or limit it, you start altering a fundamental precept of the human mind. You should be proud of what you have managed to do." Amelia said in a very positive tone of voice.

"Greg talks like most people breathe. I've signed since I was a child, and we initially had a lot of free time and our voices were still in tact. It seemed... smart to teach him what I could." And now, it was a fall back pattern for them both. Gil swallowed again, and leaned forwards to pour himself a glass of water.

"And as I understand it, he is finding it hard to communicate now," She replied. "How about you? Is it harder to communicate now?"

"Yes. My throat hurts a lot." Gil swallowed a big swig of water, and sat back, cradling the cup. Paper cup of water, probably so people couldn't hurt themselves. He was sure that she saw more unstable patients than him in a day. "And it's easier to sign."

"Do you feel more secure when you sign Gil?" Amelia queried.

"I suppose so. Greg and I have gotten comfortable with signing what we can." Except now that he could talk a little, he could talk to Jim instead of using Greg as a translator, and that was nice.

"Do you have difficulty talking to Greg about some things?" she asked, pursuing the topic of communication thoroughly

He wasn't sure where she was going with the line of questioning. "No." Some things he simply couldn't communicate, but Greg understood that sometimes words failed Gil.

"So you feel you could tell him anything?" she asked looking at him carefully.

"As much as I'd tell anyone," Gil shrugged, taking another sip of water.

"Is there a reason you don't feel that you can tell someone everything?" Amelia asked probing the question more deeply.

Gil decided he really hated psychiatrists. "I... just don't talk about myself. I never have."

"Can you tell me why?" the woman asked. "What is it about the thought of sharing things about yourself that you find difficult?

What did he find difficult? He found it, he didn't want to... "I've just always been that way. It's easier to watch than be involved."

"I see." She looked at him again. "But this time you had no choice but to be involved. That must have been very difficult for you."

That was an immense understatement.

"I'm a case. Greg and I are... a case. And I know our friends are just doing their jobs, but..." But. But, he and Greg had both lashed out at Jim a little for the statement taking. Greg and Gil had both had to give Warrick fresh DNA samples.

"It's hard for you," she added sympathetically. "Gil, if you were to go back to work now, what would you feel would be the most difficult thing?"

"Concentrating." Not drifting off, he supposed. "Just... functioning. I don't know."

"If you were on your own, do you think you would be able to...function?"

That was the question indeed. A hard question. "On my own?" Gil cleared his throat a little as he glanced briefly around her office. Only fifteen or twenty minutes had passed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you were going home and were not staying with a colleague as I have been informed that you are, what do you think would be the most difficult thing?" Dr Forsyth asked.

"Being alone," Gil admitted. "I usually read or do research if I have free time. I don't want to be alone." He closed his eyes, tried to not smile at the irony of it. He'd never needed people or needed to be needed before now, and now he had to just... not be alone.

"Why do you think you don't want to be alone Gil?" she asked again, more gently this time.

"I'm..." Gil shifted, and tried to think the question through, concentrating on why he didn't want to be alone. Concentrating on when Greg had been taken away, his mind crowded with dark thoughts and worries. "I'd worry about Greg. I'd be afraid."

"Afraid for yourself or just him?" she asked again. "Or both?"

"Both." He didn't even know what he'd do when he was on his own again.

"That is understandable. You've had to depend on someone for your life and stability. The human mind does not like giving that sort of thing up," Amelia replied with a smile. "Now Gil, I know this is difficult for you, but we do need to examine your feelings around what happened to you specifically. You underwent a very traumatic experience. Unfortunately it is not something that will go away if you ignore it and work on other things. I need to go over with you how you felt in detail about events."

"I'm not sure what that's going to accomplish." Or even what he felt in detail about events. Horror, anger, disbelief, and then resignation, Gil supposed. Desperation.

"Mental and emotional pain tends to fester if not exposed and allowed to release," Dr Forsyth said. "Otherwise it can form the equivalent of a mental abscess in years to come when you think that you have moved on. Hopefully it will accomplish a genuine healing process for you. So, could you pick one incident, big or small to describe to me?"

He didn't want to think about it, not without someone there, and the relative isolation made him nervous to begin with. "One incident. Out of a month? I don't know how to pick one. It was one huge incident."

"I understand that, Gil. I'm just trying to get you to break it down into smaller more manageable sections. Perhaps let me ask you some questions. When did you feel the worst during the incident, and when was the best?"

"I felt the worst when the man had me alone for a period of time, up in his... 'playroom'." The best was harder and Gil had to think on it for a moment, looking down into his glass of water. "The best would be some of our better days. The man was at work for a while, left us real food, enough water, and we had times to take the, the tails out."

"What would you do on those days?" Dr Forsyth encouraged, obviously hoping to encourage a more cope-able memory.

"Greg and I would... relax a little. Waffle would lie on our legs, and Greg and I could just... not worry for a little while." Laying there, just holding him sometimes, taking turns napping, and chatting about old cases. "We'd reminisce about cases and plot how to get out."

She nodded at that. "Did you ever try to escape? Or think you had a chance of escape?"

"Greg tried to escape at the start. He was... badly kicked, hurt, and I was shocked, so we started to be more cautious about our plans." Maybe less ambitious. "And by then, one or the other of us was sick."

"And neither of you would leave without the other?" she suggested to him. "Or even try to leave?"

"He was using us against each other. If he did something he wasn't supposed to, he... I was shocked for it. I had a heart attack at a crime scene last year, and Greg's been concerned about my health since, so it put him on edge. The man informed me that he only needed one of us -- me. So if I didn't comply, he was free with his punishments towards Greg. There was no questioning that he would have killed either of us."

"Was Greg aware of what he had holding over him?" Dr Forsyth inquired.

"No. He just knew that we were being played against each other," Gil shrugged, leaning forwards to pour himself another glass of water. "I didn't want to tell him."

"Why was that Gil?" she queried again.

His throat already felt irritated. He wanted to talk in sign, if at all. "He was already depressed and we were being trained to heel like dogs. Do you really think telling him that his life hinged on my cooperation would have helped?" Gil bit out incredulously.

"There are some people who would have used it as justification Gil, for their cooperation," she replied evenly. "After all, you knew why he was co-operating. In that situation all you needed was for one of you to be selfish... and, well most likely that would have been it."

They would have ended up dying or not working together or something. "I care about him. He's a friend, a colleague. I've had to talk people down from shooting one of my CSI's before, and I'd gladly do it again. It's not... something I'd need to think very long about. I didn't need to justify what I did to keep Greg from being killed."

"You say your worst time was when you were alone. Was that because you were alone? Or it was physically a lot worse?" she probed again.

"It was... both. Physically, all of his attention was on me. And while I'm very comfortable with death, and daily work with decaying bodies, I'm not... I don't like being locked in a closet with his previous victims, wondering if he's ever going to open the door."

"I'm sure that no-one would," she said sympathetically. "When you were locked away, what did you think about?"

"What he'd do to Greg after I died." Gil rubbed at his face for a moment, and sighed. "I didn't think about much that wasn't circular. I tried to think of ways to get the man to leave clues or get sloppy. I hoped that my team would eventually find us."

"A justified hope it would seem considering they were very close," she agreed. "You were very invested in Greg's well being weren't you?"

"Yes." And from the turn of her voice, she seemed to be unhappy, or something. Disapproving or maybe it was a normal coping strategy and she was about to tell him.

"Has that urge remained since you have been rescued?" she asked.

"Yes." But it had been them looking out for each other, and Gil didn't know what else there was to do now. "We catch ourselves still protecting each other."

"It's a natural reaction. Although sometimes, it can go to the other extreme and people can reject those they share experiences with because being near them is too painful. Do you think that is likely to happen with you Gil?" She asked.

"No. He's a friend." He had to keep insisting that fact, and Gil didn't know why she kept asking it. He shifted the position of his legs, and sipped a little more water. "I don't have any dignity to protect."

"So you feel that you have lost that irrevocably? Your dignity? Is that what makes it difficult to interact with people?"

"No, I... I don't know." A restless feeling was starting to settle over him. "I don't know."

"Are you feeling uncomfortable Gil?" Amelia asked gently. "Do you find the questions very uncomfortable?"

"Yes." He quirked his eyebrow at her, and took another sip of water. Maybe she'd give up and leave him alone. Maybe he'd get lucky and she'd decide to stop for the day, because he didn't know how to answer those questions.

"Is it because you don't want anyone to know what happened?"

Same question, different angle. Gil was starting to wish that the decorations in the room were more interesting to look at. "They already know. They're going to hear our statement and see the scene."

She nodded again. "Gil, have you had dreams since you were rescued?" she asked seemingly at a tangent.

"Nightmares. I dream about being back there. I dream about old cases and close calls. It's... nothing new." Nothing new. Nothing new, like everything somehow still fit into his routine.

"I see. And as a matter of interest how do you communicate in these dreams?" she asked again.

"I..." Gil paused, trying to think back to the vague nightmare chunks he could remember from the night before. "I don't. I observe."

"As if they are happening to someone else?" she asked, writing a note on her pad again.

"No. I'm there, I just don't... react much. I don't talk to people in dreams." Notes. When he took notes in the field it was because he had something important to remember that he couldn't forget. What was so significant about his dreams?

"Right." She sat back a little. "Well, I think we'll leave it there for today Gil, as this was more of an assessment session than actual counseling. You are actually adopting a healthy coping strategy, if a little disassociative. If you were disassociating from everyone then I would be concerned. As it is, you are doing remarkably well, considering the nature of your ordeal, which appears to be primarily to do with your connection with Greg. You are able to project the concerns and worries about yourself on to him and deal with them in a more... objective manner. There is nothing wrong with that at all. In fact it is a positive trait but you mustn't lock away the feelings. When you leave, I will prescribe you some diazepam to take as and when you need it, because you will feel over whelmed at times. We will schedule proper counseling sessions to enable you somewhere to talk through things."

Not so bad, then. It wasn't inpatient psychiatric, it wasn't being institutionalized as he knew they could have done. Their keeping calm had probably helped that, Gil decided. "That... sounds manageable."

"You will have to complete the counseling course before you can go back to work, okay? " Dr Forsyth said. "And Gil, you will have moments when it feels like it is spinning out of control. It's not pleasant, but knowing that it is to be expected and is part of your mental healing process can help. Everything you have described today has been something that is a perfectly logical response to your ordeal. Healthy in its own way."

"That's heartening," Gil murmured, finishing his second glass of water. Normal. "And I assume Greg is... going to end up having to complete a similar counseling course." Gil had a feeling it would take more than the requisite two weeks to get through it.

"Most definitely yes. There may be a call for some sessions together. It is apparent that your relationship with him is a very significant factor with regard to your recovery," Amelia replied. "Though as individuals, there is no one-size fits all version of psychotherapy."

"I could guess that." But it sounded like good news, and Gil needed that just then. The possibility that some day he could get back to work, maybe some day soon. And they'd be staying at Jim's, and Waffle would be there...

"Good. For the moment, concentrate on your physical recovery. It is hard to bounce back from something like this when you are dealing with physical issues as well." She got up to see him from the room.

That startled Gil a little, but he stood up, leaving the 'glass' by the pitcher, before he wandered after her. "All right. Thank you for your time..."

"Thank you Gil," she replied. "Make sure you get a lot of rest."

"I will." He could find his way down if she wanted to leave him to wander back to their room by himself. It would give Gil time to think, time to stretch his legs. He'd be fine, and headed back to Greg.

Greg wasn't entirely sure what was more disturbing. The fact that Ecklie had come to visit them -- or him as the case was at this precise moment -- or the fact that he was being nice about it.

Greg had had a year or so of being the lowest ranking CSI, with valuable lab tech skills and that had meant that he had been the easy target for when Ecklie wanted someone to do him a favor. When someone was off sick, when there was a rush job and the lab was back-logged. When a shift needed covering and it was a holiday time. That sort of thing. That was the way things went. Some day there might be a newbie join them, but until then, when Ecklie said jump, Greg pretty much had to do it, even if he didn't want to.

It had gotten better since he'd reached CSI 2, but not much better. Still the new guy, still up on his DNA processing qualifications. Greg wondered if when Gil had first come to Vegas they'd asked him to give a hand with autopsies every once in a while when the bodies were starting to stack up.

"Sanders. How're you feeling?"

"I'm doing...okay." He was signing at the same time and had to remind himself to stop. It really had become a habit.

He didn't need to sign if he was talking and the other person could also talk. Greg had to concentrate to still his fingers, and Ecklie moved to pull a chair up to his bed. "And Grissom?"

"We're both... okay. Well, relatively okay." He felt he had to be truthful about it. Although the full truth was that he was feeling a little shaky and anxious having someone in the room.

And Gil not in the room, knowing that Gil was out there being talked to by a psychiatrist. Mental help, which their doctor seemed to really think they needed. Greg wasn't sure if he needed to be worried or pissed off at the implications.

"It would be pretty hard to be 'okay' right away. What I wanted to tell you is that we'd like for you and Grissom to take your time recovering before you come back to work."

Half of him wanted to ask... Why? The other half was surprised. "That's... uh, that's kind of you sir, " he said, clearing his throat a little. "I hope we won't inconvenience you for too long. I mean, you know Grissom. He wants to be back as soon as possible."

"I'm sure he wants to be back as soon as possible. He's going to be coming back when he's better -- physically and mentally. The Sheriff wants you both to have passed a full course of counseling before you come back, and I have to agree. You two had a very hard time, and this is... not something you can just sweep under the carpet."

What did he want Greg to say? 'Yes we can?'. "Of course sir," he said glancing up at Ecklie. "It would be nice if we could." It would be nice if people stopped screwing around with him so he was really confused.

"Sweep it under the carpet?" Ecklie asked, mouth twisting up in a smirk. "No, you'll get better, Sanders. You're a good CSI, and you and Grissom are staying with detective Brass, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Jim offered and I don't have anywhere to go, and I...don't like not knowing how Gil is," he admitted before realizing that maybe he shouldn't admit that sort of thing.

"Mmm. About that, and I did want to talk to you about it -- but when you do go back to the lab, which you will because you're going to get better, how would you feel about your personnel issues being handled by either Catherine or myself?" That was kind of a weird question.

He became aware he had tilted his head on one side after he had done it. "Fine... I guess? Why?" He paused a moment. "Don't tell me you're knocking Gil back. You can't do that to him!"

"No, no. We're just covering our legal asses, so to speak, so any disciplinary measures or timesheet issues are processed by someone you're not..." Ecklie paused, gesturing. He had his arms crossed over his chest, and was making that gesture with one arm out a little. "Intimate with. Or whatever's going on. Just on the basis of what happened according to your statements, this is a wise move."

"Oh. Oh right." Greg looked down. "Yeah, that's fine. No problems with that. It makes sense. I guess there could be problems."

"My job is to step in before there are actually problems. This wouldÖ make things easier for both of you." And Greg wasn't sure why Ecklie was being so weirdly, paper-pusher-ly thoughtful. Yeah, because if Gil were his boss but he didn't report direct to him for disciplinary things then that would leave it open for them to...

To whatever.

"I get it. Thanks. Just as long as you aren't kicking me out of Nights altogether, I'm pretty cool with anything." Greg replied.

"No. We're looking forward to you coming back to work, Sanders. You need to start working towards CSI 3 when you get back. But take your time getting better, and I mean that. Just like I'm sure Covallo meant it after the lab explosion." Yeah, well, Greg had come back to work with skin grafts and bandages on because there hadn't been anything else for him to do at home, and no-one there who seemed concerned for him. It was that or sit at home and brood on the fact his parents had written him off so completely. Wasn't any point to that.

"Sometimes getting back into things can help." It had still taken him weeks to get his hands to stop shaking. Longer to stop waking up in the daytime screaming and yelling. He'd never told Catherine that because it had been hard enough as it was without taking on her guilt.

Her guilt was palpable, and maybe that was why Gil didn't know what to do around her. Didn't know how to handle people who were just steeped in guilt. "It can. But it can also make things worse. Nick... needed time off, and he used it very well."

But Nick had still had issues when he came back. They talked about it a lot. Nick wasn't into guys which Greg had always considered a damn shame because there had been a lot of times when they had been really close to the edge. They were good friends, and in some ways, though Nick had gone home for some of his recovery, he'd done what Jim had done since he got back. Just been there, been the support because being alone sucked and no one knew that better than him. Especially with Warrick seizing the day and getting married.

"Yeah. Well I won't be going home," he said quietly. "So I guess that doesn't help."

"No, but... relax. See the city like a tourist does. Go camping or something. Or get a nice hotel room for a couple of nights. Whatever you think would help." Ecklie sat back a little, and his voice shifted a little towards contemplation when he spoke again. "I had a friend back east who went on a road trip during a recovery period after he had a crime scene gone very badly."

"Maybe...yeah, maybe we'll do something." Greg said a little at a loss of how to cope with a pleasant Ecklie. "It's a bit different to having a scene go bad."

"I know." Ecklie seemed to know, too, and he added, "He took a bullet right to the groin. Look, what I'm trying to say is that there's another side to it."

Greg had to blame the drugs because he wasn't really following Ecklie. "I'm sorry? Another side?"

"After you leave the hospital, there's more than just... the shadow of what happened to you," he tried to explain, sitting up a little.

The shadow was bad enough. The shadow was kicking his ass every moment he closed his eyes and when he opened them too. Greg didn't actually know where he was going with it. "I think it's more than a shadow sir," he said. "I don't think anyone can know what it was like." And he had no idea why he was saying this to Ecklie.

"Except for Grissom. I know. You were made less than human, but you're here. You're talking and coherent and that's a good step on the road to recovery." An Ecklie pep-talk was strange and weird, even if he was getting the gist. Ecklie wanted him to have hope for the future and know that the lab would still be there when he got back.

Greg shook his head a little. "I might be coherent, I guess, but there are things about me that have changed. I... don't know if they'll ever change back. And if they don't..." He couldn't go running into crime scenes yelling and shouting because he felt insecure. Jim had left one of the books he was reading to help him with Waffle and he'd started reading it and been horrified. What he did when he felt threatened, it was exactly the same as the barking and lunging that an insecure dog did if they were not at the top of the hierarchy. Lots of the things he did were dog behavior. The need for touch, the panic and insecurity when other 'pack members' were out of sight or contact. Waiting for food to be brought, waiting his turn... He had hated it, but been glued to reading it.

Because that was him and that was so fucked up. Gil waited and waited and fit into pack structure, too, but it wasn't quite the same. It wasn't as bad, or as.... as something. Greg wasn't sure. "If they don't... You're still certified to work DNA, if you want to."

It was a possibility. Maybe he should...or could. Gil's response was to retreat, which was the more sensible one. He'd be endangering them all if he went off at them. "M... maybe. Thank you. It might be a way of easing in."

"We'll take it as it goes. Switching you around is no problem if that's what you think you need after you've been cleared to go back to work. But don't make decisions now -- just rest, all right? And get Grissom to rest, too." Ecklie twisted his head a little and glanced towards the door. "Speak of the devil." He got out of his chair, moving to open the door for Gil.

He raised his hand. "Hey Gil," he said, his voice cracking a bit. He wanted to sign "help me!" at him.

He probably could have, too. Maybe Greg just should have done it, because Ecklie had his back turned to Greg, attention on Gil and the folder he had tucked under his arm. "Hey. And Conrad. Hi."

"Good to see you Gil," Ecklie said standing aside so he could get to his bed. "Hope your session went well -- I came in to see how you were doing."

Gil looked agitated and tired and worn out all at the same time, but he still looked at Ecklie, still seemed to size him up and decide he wasn't a threat in the time it took Gil to slide into bed. "We'll be out in a few days."

"Don't worry Grissom, I was just telling Greg you don't have to push yourselves to come back. To take some time, that sort of thing," Ecklie replied. Greg felt a lot better when Gil was there. Like a physical relief. He was a little worried that it might be incredibly obvious.

"We'll rest. Maybe see the city a little once we're feeling better." Gil slid the folder onto the bedside table, and swallowed. "I'll be back once I finish the course of therapy that I was just starting."

Greg decided there was some managerial code that allowed Grissom and Ecklie to be talking off of the same page.

"Good. Good. You know we didn't hurry with Nick, so don't feel under pressure okay?" Greg just felt like shutting all of them out. All of their well-wishers, all the curious, everyone.

"I don't," Gil said agreeably, because agreeing seemed like the fastest most reasonable way to be rid of the man.

"Good. That's good Grissom. That session went well?" Ecklie asked a little politely, almost clinically.

"It went fine." Which wasn't well, and Greg wasn't sure whether it had gone 'fine' or badly or what, or if Gil was just stonewalling Ecklie.

"Okay then Gil. I won't disturb you any further. I'm sure Greg will fill in the details of the rest of our discussion." Ecklie nodded to them both. "Get rest, both of you."

Greg nodded again and didn't even say goodbye as Ecklie turned to leave.

"We will." That was all Gil said, and he was quiet after the door closed, pulling up the sheets and trying to get comfortable. It reminded Greg a little of a dog circling around to make their spot nicer.

And then Gil signed 'hello.'

Greg realized after a moment that he had just been staring into space and signed back ~Hey. I missed you. Was worried about you and then he came.~

~I think people wait until one or the other of us leaves to come in,~ Gil signed back, shifting so he turned towards Greg. ~I'm all right.~

~No, you're not. You didn't like it either,~ Greg answered. ~Trying to explain what can't be explained. Trying to make things into neat little packages of words.~

He meant that. All of it. And Gil nodded, and looked a little more tired. ~She asked the same question ten different ways. Apparently what we're going through is normal. And we're... doing better than we should be. But I can't fully explain what happened.~

~I can't either. I think...I think at the moment I need a dog psychologist not a people one~ There, it was said like a joke but it was more than half serious. ~Ecklie scared me. More than he ever did before.~

~He was trying to be nice.~ The trying was over emphasized, and while Greg understood that the boss-man was trying hard and probably meant it well it had fallen short. ~At least it wasn't the sheriff.~

~Fuck, yeah. I might've bitten his ankle off,~ Greg half joked again.

And while other people would have scolded him gently with 'Greg, you're not a dog' as if he needed to be told that, Gil signed, ~Or peed on his shoes.~

~Yeah, or that.~ Making a joke of it worked better in the long run. ~ Half of them treat us like we're completely broken, the others like nothing has happened. I'm sort've in between I think.~

~We are not completely broken. We're...~ Gil hesitated and shrugged his shoulders. ~Fucked up might be a better phrase. It doesn't matter. Jim's letting us stay with him.~

~I don't care where we are as long as you are there~ Greg said and he meant that. Seriously meant it. ~Kind of sad, huh?~

~I don't think it's sad. I can't really think of you not being there.~ And that had to have been some interesting kind of contention point for the psychologist, Greg bet.

~But they don't think that is normal?~ Greg had to ask. ~How long before they tell us we should spend time apart?~ That terrified him more than anything.

~I don't know. They can tell us it all they want. I...~ Gil shrugged his shoulders, a habit that Greg was starting to realize meant frustration more than unsurity. ~Don't have many people in my life. I don't have many people I can trust. 'They', the sheriff, that doctor, whoever, are insane if they think they, if they think that I need to turn my back on you to somehow become a more developed person. I trust you.~

Greg looked at him. ~I've always trusted you,~ he answered. He hesitated a little. ~They say my feelings are confused about you. I...don't think they are.~

~Confused?~ Gil signed it, waiting for some kind of elaboration, Greg could tell. ~How?~

~I.~ He paused and then said it aloud, "I love you." There was no 'think' about it which was what they told him. He just knew what he felt like. He didn't like being told he was wrong in what he felt.

Gil laid his good hand on the mattress for a moment, and the silence was so thick that it made Greg ache. Gil swallowed, and his voice was rough, a little rougher than normal when he talked. "But you loved me before this happened. You were... always there. You had that kit in your car after I had the heart attack..."

He noticed? Gil had noticed? Greg was aware that there was the sting of tears in his eyes for no reason he could fathom and he just nodded.

~Yes.~ Yes he'd nearly lost him once and he'd always known there would never be any chance but when the first heart attack had happened it had been enough to have him trying hard to be as close as he could. ~Yes. Always. But they think I'm confused. I am, but not about that.~

~It didn't start there. It... We almost died back there. No more living, no anything. We know that under better circumstances, if I hadn't been your supervisor.~ Gil's fingers faltered, and he gave a quiet laugh, cracking his knuckles for a moment. "Don't let them talk you out of it. I want to have a chance to love you back."

"You do?" Greg was startled and a bloom of surprise hit him. He smiled genuinely for the first time in a long time and it made his face ache. After everything he had done to Gil, he couldn't understand why Gil would want him. The psychiatrist had told him about probable resentment and negative association.

But it wasn't there. Gil had been by his side the whole time, working to get him through it, trying to keep them both alive when anyone sane would have ditched Greg and gotten themselves out. And that would've been understandable, because things had gotten bad enough that it was justifiable.

"Yeah." Gil's face twisted a little nervously, a sweet unsure expression that reminded Greg of all the times that that anthropologist chick came to the lab years and years ago, the way Gil would hover around her.

"You don't think I'm crazy?" he asked hopefully, shifting to get out of his bed. They wouldn't come in now. Not after they'd just had a visitor. Or ugly. He was scarred all over. There were better people to go for. Sara who practically salivated over Gil.

"No. Do you think I'm crazy? Even before what happened, I ate bugs. I like forensics more than most people seem to." Gil was rough-voiced, but Greg could still hear playful notes, teasing notes, a little bit of an eye roll of self depreciation.

"That's not being crazy. That's...being Grissom." He knew what he was trying to say. "I...I tried to tell her that even in it some things were good. Being with you. Sleeping there with you. When we were holding each other." He swung his legs out carefully, and stood. Things still hurt but that didn't stop him. He had learned to live with it.

"I tried to tell her that, too. The quiet days were... bearable. When it was just you and me and Waffle on our feet." And in that kind of hell, bearable was an amazing thing. Pools of paradise in comparison to the high points of the ordeal. Each gentle touch had been precious, the feeling intense on the edge of life and death. Sometime he had looked at Gil and just been speechless at how amazing he was, every single detail of him. Every striation in his eyes, bright and looking at him in that silence -- god, it was like seeing everything on a high that existed for a month.

"I felt... I felt she was saying that was wrong. I shouldn't have felt it was good." Greg stepped over to him, body aching a little as he moved. "But it was. In those moments I could've stayed like that forever."

It was easy for Greg to pull the chair over behind him, even if he wanted to crawl into bed with Gil. "We can do that when we get out of here," Gil murmured, reaching for his hand. "Without a cage or that kind of threat looming over us."

He took his hand, touched him and another layer of anxiety peeled off immediately. "Even with Jim there?" He'd assumed not. He'd assumed Jim being around would stop things from ever happening.

"Why... not with Jim there?" After all, Jim had taken their statements and Jim had been visiting every day and it made Greg curious. Just a little, even if Jim did have Waffle.

"I... I don't know." Was this more dog-behavior? That he sort of expected them to pair up?. "I guess I just can't believe you might even want to."

"You're... You're attractive and funny, and you..." Gil seemed to be flailing for words, but it wasn't an insincere loss for words. He seemed to be genuinely trying to explain it, and swallowed. "And you're very intense."

Most people thought that was a bad thing. "I...I know. People haven't liked that." He was 'not serious enough', 'too serious', too laid back, too possessive, too much or too little of everything. He'd never had a successful relationship. Hit 30 and have that as a track record, and he'd begun to think that he never would.

Then again, Gil was... Gil had hit 50. And he was alone and who knew what quirks of his turned people off. Or maybe he just liked it that way. "I like it." Gil swallowed, cleared his throat, and peered back over his shoulder before he slipped his hand free of Greg's so he could push down the plastic rails that edged the bed. "There."

That meant he could lean up to him, could reach him and he moved over so he could lean closer. "You could've asked any time," he said eventually.

Gil shifted into him as he leaned closer, made space for Greg and slid his arms around him. That was nice. Gil's upper arms were a little cool from wandering the halls, but the motion was smooth and insistent. "Asked what?"

"Me. For anything. " He leaned in, and loved the scent of him, even more now it was cleaner and healthier. He had become more acutely aware of smell since the ordeal.

And since they were in the hospital, they'd both steadily smelled nicer. They could shave and bathe and while it wasn't quite like being home yet, it was something, it was a start. "I'm not good with relationships."

"Neither am I," Greg had to admit. "But I don't care. They say honesty is the secret and it doesn't get much more honest than we were."

"I... don't think I have any pride left to defend to make me push you away." Gil shifted his arms, clutched Greg a little tighter, and then sighed. "I'd pull you up onto the bed if I didn't think a nurse would come in."

"Just a few days, though, right?" Greg replied, leaning in with his mouth just a little closer. He might not be able to hold on to him properly but he could kiss him. Carefully and maybe not in quite such a desperate fashion as before.

Keeping under control was important somehow. It was human and it was calm and it was the sort of thing that might convince a psychiatrist that he wasn't crazy and Gil wasn't either. "Just a few days, Greg," Gil murmured against his mouth, before kissing him back.

This was softer, sweeter and he felt like he knew what he was doing as much as he ever had before. He knew that taste and it was the safety and protection he had known. It stirred so many feelings inside of him he couldn't believe that it didn't blaze out somehow. That people didn't just look at him and know what he was feeling.

Like he cared if they did.

He didn't. He didn't care and when the kiss tapered off, Gil shifted, curled against Greg a little, just resting there, sitting there with him. It was quiet and they were as close as they could get. They'd be getting out of there soon.

That was really all that mattered.

His house was looking pretty good. Funny how some things provided motivation where he wouldn't do it for himself. It had practically been painted through, Jim had spent some of the cash he'd never got around to spending out and got some more new furniture and done a bit of his own painting -- with Waffle's able assistance -- which consisted of bringing in a toy and chewing it thoughtfully as they examined the paintwork. Catherine and Nick between them had raided Gil's place, and Greg's things and they had that organized. He'd pushed the sofa bed in the spare room even if he sincerely doubted anything except the double would be used. They knew what was going on.

It was... kind of curious. He'd always wondered about Gil's sexual preferences, guessed he'd gone both ways, but he'd never...

Never done anything, and just like everything else in life, wait long enough and a chance passed you by.

Jim was kind of used to it.

Not that he'd ever made a thing about it. He'd done some experimenting in the marines, but things got kind of intense then, and after that he'd gotten married, had a kid -- or not as the case might be -- and done the family thing to the hilt, including the acrimonious divorce. A few one offs in Vegas didn't count. Vegas was that type of city.

So, here he was giving that chance to Gil and Greg under his roof and hoping it would work. They were both his friends, and if they could get happiness out of this, they deserved it.

After everything that had happened to them, they needed that R&R. Maybe they didn't realize how screwed up they seemed, but they were. Even if it made sense to Jim. He was just... going to go to work and come back and know that they had a good environment in a decent neighborhood, they had their dog, and they could use his house as a safe haven base of operations for whatever the hell they wanted to do.

Waffle was likely to go crazy when they got back. Whoever said dogs had short memories hadn't met that pup. Whenever he came back from seeing them, Waffle was unbearably excited, smelling them on his clothes. They wouldn't recognize him either. He had a glossy coat and had been filling out and he no longer looked terrified all the time. And Jim found that having a pet filled some emptiness in his life. He had no idea what he would do when they moved out and they wanted to take Waffle with them if none of his master plans to get them to stay came to fruition. Let him go, he guessed, and maybe, maybe get another dog. Jim didn't know -- he really wasn't going to plan ahead that much, not when he was just walking down the hall to meet Gil and Greg in their room. Catherine had brought their clothes over that morning, but the doctors hadn't given them the all clear then.

He since had gotten the phone call, and was almost a little nervous as he knocked on the door to the room. "Hey. Anyone ready to go home in here?" he said with a smile.

"Come in!" That was Gil's raw-sounding voice. The doctors had said it would get a little better, but that he needed to keep taking the relaxants and spray. And he needed to...

Needed not to wear those jeans again, Jim decided. They were loose on him and it wasn't bad, it just... made Gil look younger. His clothes didn't fit him anymore. Greg looked worse in his old clothes, the bright striped shirt something that clashed with his face.

Seeing them like that, in things he remembered, made the reality of the change worse. Greg looked older, Gil somehow a little younger because of the lost weight and the beard being gone. And Greg was holding Grissom's hand and looking quiet and a bit lost.

"Your taxi awaits. So does home sweet home, or the closest thing we could get," he said, not even making a comment about the hand holding.

Greg was holding onto Gil's bandaged hand, still carefully wrapped over, and that left Gil's good hand free to grab the back pack stuffed with their shared books and gifts from the last couple of weeks. He slung it over his shoulder, and mustered up a grin. "Thanks, Jim. For... taking us in." Never mind that Gil had an apartment while Greg had nothing. No one wanted Gil out on the edge of nowhere like that, unsupervised and alone.

He shrugged. "It's fine. Really. Be good to have someone around." That was definitely the truth. More of the truth than he liked to admit. "So, I thought I'd give you guys a choice of whether you wanted something cooked or we got take out after all this hospital food. I mean, you've got to be wanting a change."

Gil tilted his head a little, glanced at Greg. It was funny how quietly protective his stance was, and how lost they still both looked. They'd seemed all right as long as they knew that they were staying in the hospital. Maybe it was the change that made them nervous like that. "Greg? You have a preference?"

Greg shook his head and made a gesture back that Jim loosely translated as 'Whatever you want'. Either that or something about bananas. He hadn't been that good at watching his tape on sign.

"Well you don't have to decide right now," Jim said easily. "Here, let me take the bags for you both. Aren't you meant to be given the five star ride down to the exit?"

"Wheelchairs? We already turned that down and said we'd just wait." Jim knew it wasn't something that could be just turned down, One or the other of them had probably pitched a fit, and from Greg's silence, it was probably him.

Jim could handle it. After all, Gil was complicitly handing their bags over to him, and moving closer, tugging Greg along. "Maybe... burgers?"

"Burgers are a specialty," Jim said picking up the bags and starting to lead them out. "Waffle is going to be excited to see you both. "

That got a sort of smile from Greg, and him asking, "Has he been good?" as he and Gil followed Jim down the hallway. Like they were ducklings or something.

"Waffle? Yeah. He's looking a lot better too," Jim replied. "Mind you, he's not that good at painting. He got his paws in the paint tin and walked paw marks over the linoleum in the kitchen. Looks like modern art." He smiled a little at that. Waffle had then spent a day nibbling at his paws with a faintly disgusted look on his face to get the paint off.

Jim had washed it off, but there were probably still tiny miniscule bits on Waffle's feet or they felt funny or something. He'd been pretty ticked for the rest of the day, but he was comfortable with Jim so there hadn't been any growling or rumbling when he'd had to wash off Waffle's paws. Well, not much more than a grumbling noise that was more like a whine.

"That's good. That he's doing good. I missed him." Gil probably missed him, too, but Gil was looking sideways at Jim as they walked, like he was checking to see if Jim was pulling his leg or not. Either about the dog in the paint or that he was painting at all.

"He always knows when I've been to see you two. He spends about an hour running around the house threatening my valuables with his tail wagging," Jim said. Problems with communicating? Get a pet. Problem solved. He smiled slightly to himself. "Greg, you okay there? Tell me if I'm going too fast for you."

He tended to forget how badly injured they'd both been.

"I'm okay." It seemed like a stock answer, but Jim still slowed down a little. Yeah, they were okay, and he was the queen of England, complete with crown and scepter and inbred bickering relatives. Sure they were okay.

"I've got some of your stuff over. Clothes and sh-- things," he said. "Nick helped me pick out some for you, and Catherine for you, Gil. Oh, and some of your things, too."

It made the place snug, but even that was good.

It made the place feel lived-in, made his house strangely less lonely. And now he was going to have them in there, and... yeah, he could handle that. "I don't suppose we're supposed to be driving yet?" Gil asked.

"Probably not quite yet. When you feel up to it. When you do, we'll go get your car or something." Jim looked at them both. "You can try mine whenever you want, if you want to risk it. I'm not a psych guy. I'm just gonna believe you when you say you're ready."

And from the look on their faces, they were working hard to swallow that, maybe to just believe it at all. "Okay. We're... I'm probably not up for driving yet," Gil admitted as they stepped into the elevator at the end of the hall. The nurses waved at them. "It'll keep me from going past Greg's old apartment and doing something horrible to the landlord."

"I think ëRick and Nicky have already tried that," Jim said in the end. "Well, Nick with Warrick holding him back. You got a bit of a protector there, Greg." Jim glanced at him, wondering how Greg was taking it. It wasn't like him to be so quiet.

Maybe it was Jim himself that made Greg quiet. Maybe it was a hell of a bad idea and Greg was just failing to express that. Greg shifted his fingers around Gil's hand, and murmured, "Yeah. It's good to have friends like you guys."

It made him really want the old Greg back, the one he used to tease so much like they all did, who could take that and grin and carry on. Who had the sort of enthusiasm that made things good to pass on.

They reached the outside door -- a back door -- after a long walk and trip to elevators and up and down them. He didn't miss the way they closed in as near as possible away from other people. He'd set it up so they could leave and avoid the press. There wouldn't be any announcement that they were being discharged until they were safely home. But he wasn't taking any chances.

"Let's get out of here -- don't want any TV crews spotting you guys."

They probably didn't want any, either. Jim didn't want to take any chances, so the back door was the best way to get out of there. Or so Jim thought, right up until he pushed open the door, because there were two tiny clusters of reporters looking bored and leaning up against their news vans.

"Shit."

"Just look casual..." Jim murmured to them as he led them over towards his car which was close but right in full view. "Get in as quickly as you can."

It wasn't going to be quick enough. He wished he had a car he could unlock with a button press, but as it was he could get Gil and Greg in the back and if they wanted food, uh, there were drive-throughs. Shit would blow over.

"Mr. Grissom! CSI Grissom! CSI Sanders! How are you recovering after your ordeal?"

"Gil Grissom, how is the department handling this in light of--"

"We're not answering questions." Gil's voice broke a little, and he pulled at Greg's hand, walking what Jim guessed was as fast as he could.

"Look, guys give them some room..." Jim said trying to get in ahead of them all and a little wary when he saw Greg push himself forward, in front of Grissom, looking distinctly unsettled. "Don't!" he warned one of the reporters pushing forward. "Just back away slowly, will you?"

"We just want a statement," One reporter insisted, shoving a microphone at Gil's face. "How do you feel now that you're finally out of captivity?"

Gil reached out and shoved the mike back, and in the same motion wrapped his other arm around Greg's waist to keep him from lunging away. "Leave us alone!"

Greg looked like he was one step away from losing it completely, which was just a bizarre thing to see. Jim had to turn in to almost literally grab hold of the younger man. "In the car, Greg. Now."

"They're trying to hurt Gil," Greg replied struggling a little. "They're too close!"

"It's okay, we're going home." Gil's voice was quiet, barely a whisper, and they were still asking questions while Jim unlocked the back door and Gil moved back closer to the car, trying to smother down Greg's struggle.

"Get him inside, Gil," he murmured. "They are not giving statements understand? You want a statement, you speak to the Sheriff or the Lab supervisor. They are going out of town for some much needed recuperation so I suggest you back off." Lies of course but if it got them away, he didn't care.

"Are you with the department, sir?" He didn't have to answer that and Gil was herding Greg into the back seat, getting in behind him. Jim almost forgot that he was carrying their bags for them.

He practically slung them in the back. "No comment," he managed even as he slipped into the front seat and immediately shut the doors, starting up the engines. "Sorry, guys. Gil, you okay back there?"

"Yeah," Gil murmured as he struggled for a seatbelt. He still had an arm around Greg's waist, but Jim figured they could sort themselves out when he started to drive.

"They'll move when I start moving," he reasoned and started the car up and pulled forward slowly but inexorably. He wasn't stopping and they seemed to realize that. "Right. Sorry about that, I thought I got past the worst of it."

Out the front was a lot worse.

"Damned reporters," Gil muttered, pulling at his clothes like them being that close had bothered him, and there was some movement that Jim couldn't see. He didn't know what was going on back there, but they seemed to be okay.

"Fifteen minutes and we'll be at home, okay?" Traffic permitting of course. "I'll go out again for burgers later. When you guys are settled in."

It was great to be home.

It wasn't home home, it wasn't his apartment, but it was someplace safe, and full of things that he recognized and even better, full of people that he recognized. Even if it was just him and Greg and Jim, he knew Jim's house, he was comfortable with it, and he knew the decorations, lack of them, sofa, carpet, and now he was pretty comfortable with that carpet.

Up close and comfortable with the carpet, because Waffle still recognized them. He was stretched out on his back, and Waffle had nearly licked his face off, barking madly, and Gil had wrestled with him and Greg had... God, Greg's face had lit up to see Waffle again.

Waffle had managed to pounce on Greg and was now trying to lie on both of them. Lie on Greg, Lick at Gil. Half sprawl with back legs over Greg, forepaws trying to find him.

Greg was just grinning, and he was sign talking to the dog, like they had done in the Cage, asking him if he had missed them, hoping he was feeling better, that he looked better and he must be having nice food and that was good.

He looked so much better. A couple of weeks, and his fur seemed to be growing back in, and Gil couldn't quite feel his ribs. He looked better, and he barked merrily, growling and giving little noises without worrying about being shocked. He licked Greg's fingers, and then laid his head down, panting a little. Maybe he was finally exhausted.

That would last until Jim got back with food, Gil figured.

Exactly what Jim had made of them all rolling around on the carpet he didn't know. He hadn't said anything, just decided that was a good time to go get the food so they could get reacquainted. Maybe it wasn't normal, but he didn't care. Waffle had nearly peed on the floor with excitement.

That had led to a quick trip out into Jim's backyard, and a lot of excited barking again. The neighbors were probably hours away from killing them, but they were lucky that Gil and Greg hadn't started to bark along with Waffle.

It was so good, though. Just to relax, just to lay back. Just to relax and know that they had a new safe place. That Jim was... Jim was all right with them. "Greg?"

"Yeah?" Greg replied still petting Waffle's eats and head with a studied intensity. "He looks much better."

"He looks great," Gil agreed in a quiet murmur, smiling over at Greg. Waffle, ears and all, didn't need all of the attention of both of them. "You look better, too."

Greg grinned at him a little. "It's the new backdrop. Everyone looks sick in hospital," he said.

Greg looked better, though. Less stressed, even if they were doing just as little there at Jim's place as they'd done in the hospital. Resting and... and playing with the dog. Their dog, yeah. Gil twisted a little, onto his side, and ruffled a hand over Waffle's head. "It's good to be out of there."

"Kind of weird, too. Like now people will be expecting things to go back to normal," Greg replied. "And I'm still not seeing how."

"I haven't even started to think about normal again." Gil slid his fingers over soft, clean fur, but his eyes were more on Greg's rapt face than Waffle's fur patterns. "Just... enjoyment."

"Just doing things like wearing clothes is pretty enjoyable," Greg said quietly. "Y'know, I nearly punched the guy? The reporter. I was pretty close."

"I'm glad you didn't. I don't feel like sitting in the office waiting for them to process your assault charge." Gil slid his fingers back, petting and petting, trying not to reach out to stroke Greg's face.

"See, I knew that. I knew all that and it was like it wasn't important," Greg replied. "I never used to be like this. I was the one who pretty much ran away if there was danger."

"We didn't have the option of running away." And that was the farthest thing from his mind because he liked being there. That quiet intimacy, just lying there on the carpet, reaching a hand past Waffle's head to gently cup Greg's cheek. "Don't worry about it."

"I always used to think of the stuff that Nick and Warrick, Cath and Sara had been through and thought, hey, I'm a big wuss compared to them." Greg replied shuffling over some more towards him. "And you. I mean, stuff on scene. Nicky and the abduction, stalker and having a gun pulled on him all those times, Cath being kidnapped that time, attacked on scene, Sara and that guy in the prison, Warrick nearly being shot. And me? I hid behind a dustbin when we got shot at once."

"Self-preservation," Gil shrugged, fingers lingering over the edge of Greg's jaw. He had a little stubble, but it still felt good. They were clean and well fed and free, and he couldn't quite knock his mind out of that track. "You didn't throw up at your first autopsy. Catherine threw up on my shoes."

Greg grinned. "Yeah. But I had seen plenty around the lab before then, though it was a close thing." His hands were creeping around Gil, in the familiar closeness they had both been craving.

Waffle wuffed in Greg's face, but he seemed okay being caught between the two of them. "Different experiences, different backgrounds. I wasn't always a good CSI, Greg. There's no shame in trying to avoid gunfire. Sophia chasing after the shooter... was brave and against protocol."

"I get that. I don't know how Jim does it. Every day he walks into those situations," Greg replied. He was starting at the ceiling. "Do you think he's really okay with us? I mean... he doesn't even really know me that well."

"With us staying here?" Gil shifted, closer and further away at the same time, stretching out on his back, but shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg with Greg on the carpet. Waffle seemed to delight in the double human mattress. "I'd think he would be, since he asked us to come here."

"I don't know enough about Jim to know really," Greg said. "I know you trust him, so I do."

Gil blinked at the ceiling for a moment. "Jim is... honest. I don't know why he wanted to take you in or why I'm here, too. I'm sure he has some reason. I've known him for a very long time. He's a good friend." And they were gone for a month. A month was a long time -- maybe Jim just wanted them to be somewhere close so he'd know they wouldn't go missing again, trusting himself to keep an eye on them where they might not be trustworthy on their own.

"You I understand. Me I don't, " Greg said again. "I.. I'm not arguing, I'm just wondering."

"After Nick went missing, Greg, didn't you just want to keep an eye on him?" And maybe that was why. Gil wasn't... quite thinking very hard yet, and he was sure if he did, it would come to him. "Catherine mentioned that the, the man's last pet was a friend of Jim's."

"Well, yeah. Yeah, I stayed with him when he got back from Texas." Greg was silent for a bit. "I didn't know that. About the other guy."

"He was one of the bodies, before the man got rid of them." Gil hated to talk about them, but he shifted a hand a little, scratching the underside of Waffle's belly. The dog made a surprised wuff, and twisted around to see where the hand was coming from. "I... I honestly don't know. It's good to have company. I'm glad it isn't just us here."

"That must be rough on him. Knowing what happened to his friend."

Waffle was kicking out a little with his leg in reflex, his tongue lolling out. Greg smiled at him. "We're his friends, too." Gil reminded Greg of that softly, watching Greg's smile more than Waffle's tongue. He knew what that looked like, but the smile was nicer.

"Yeah." Greg looked at him. "You don't think he's told my parents I'm staying here, do you? I mean, the address, more than just the uhÖ"

"They probably wouldn't be surprised to find out that you are, given how he retold it." Jim retelling it had somehow made the tense reunion seem funny, and even Greg had had to laugh a little at the absurdity of his parents when Jim had conveyed the story to Gil. "They probably think you're sleeping together."

Greg chuckled at that. "That'd be great," he said flippantly. "The gay bi-sexual thing, if you hadn't guessed, is another one of my attention seeking ploys."

"Of course. Because you really want to think about how you're sticking it to your parents when you're having sex." Gil gave Waffle's stomach another tickle. "I was lucky. It was... never an issue with my mother."

"How did you break it to her?" Greg asked as Waffle wriggled inelegantly with his legs akimbo.

"I brought..." Gil closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked up at the ceiling. It was a bittersweet memory but Greg asked and it wasn't as if they hadn't talked about quite a bit while they'd been contained. "I brought Jeffery home over Christmas break. He was an exchange student from Australia, and he didn't want to fly back to Australia for just a couple of weeks. I never said a word to her about it, but when we packed up my truck to head back to school after the vacation, she pulled him aside and threatened to have my uncles break his knees if he ever hurt me." And his uncles would have done it, too, which was what made the whole thing retrospectively funny.

After all, it wasn't Gil's sexuality that had made his relationship with his uncles strained. It was his morbid profession, and probably just... him.

"I wish I could've known your mom. Right now I've got all this sort of guilt like I'm not being fair to them and... I half sorta believed them you know? That it was unreasonable of me," Greg sighed a little.

"To... what?" Gil asked, sliding his hand up to scruff Waffle's neck. "You're not being unreasonable by living your life in the way you want to. They should be happy that you've... had the chances to do that."

"They resent any interruption I've ever made in their lives. I mean, they didn't beat me or anything," Greg said, lying looking at the ceiling.

"Emotional abuse happens. Beating you probably would have taken too long for them." Gil moved his right hand, and slipped to under Greg's shoulders. "We're here. You should just... dwell on existing."

Greg laughed a little. "Sure. Sure, because the world needs a Greg Sanders so much." He meant the sarcasm, that much was obvious.

So Gil jostled him a little. "Greg. You're not going to get away with that. The world does need you. I need you. You have friends here, who care."

"Maybe, but there's no one whose life would stop if I were gone." Greg replied. "My parents would take a day off work and then that would be it. Not much to show for a life, really."

"People make their mark on the world in small, wonderful ways. I don't believe that if you were gone... nothing would happen. I'd..." Gil shook his head a little, still watching the ceiling, half expecting it to spin. "I'd miss you. And so would everyone else."

"I know I'd miss you," Greg replied. "I've already felt that." His hand sneaked over to find Gil's.

Gil obliged him, because contact felt good. Jim would be back soon, but he wasn't going to avoid Greg because he really wasn't sure about how Jim felt about Gil's newfound demonstrativeness and the mutual concern that they shared for each other. "So don't question the point of your existence, or I'll have to... find a way to make you really enjoy it," he teased.

"You know, everyone acts like the rape thing is the worst of it. Like they couldn't imagine anything more horrible," Greg said. "I used to think it was but... it's still when I thought I'd killed you. That's the one that wakes me at nights. And in the daytime. I see it all the time."

"I remember you carrying me down the steps." Gil squeezed Greg's hand lightly. "I still think about when he beat you. That first day."

"Yeah, well that was my own fault. Shows that studies don't have a clue," Greg replied. "And I seriously need to bulk up before tackling someone with Nick's build is a good idea."

Like tackling a mastiff was any better. "And large insane dogs," Gil added. "I quoted that study at you, Greg."

"Yeah, and I was trying to do what I thought you would think was a good idea," Greg replied. "I only regret how much it hurt you. But he was too strong. I couldn't take him."

"I don't hold it against you. If our positions had been reversed, I would have fared just as badly." Gil shifted his hands, and turned his head to look at Greg's face. Waffle scooted up over them and licked Gil's cheek.

"But you had the sense not to try," Greg replied. "I can't help it, Gil, I have this thing where I think of all the bad things and it's my fault, you know? This isn't new. It's something I've always done. I pretty much assumed that I'm gonna blow everything."

"You didn't. You saved my life more than once." And Gil could just... keep affirming that, and keep affirming it and maybe he'd even believe they were doing all right eventually.

"Mentally I know that. I know all the things you tell me, but...that's not who I am. I assumed the explosion in the lab was my fault. I can remember lying in hospital on my own thinking, hey, that's me fired. Can't remember what I did but it sure was a spectacular fuck up. I remember knowing I'd failed my proficiency again. I remember every time something screwed up, assuming it was my fault. Because...for most of my life, it has been, you know?"

"And yet all of those things weren't your fault. You somehow graduated top of your class from college, after a full ride. I'm... not seeing the fucking up." Gil turned his head a little, and blinked up at the ceiling. "This has to be one of the stranger conversations I've had on this floor while sober."

Greg actually chuckled. "I guess to get it, you had to have been living with my parents. My parents argue. Argued. Who knows, maybe since I left they don't any more, but the point is when I was a kid they did. A lot. Not just a few words but full out blazing fights with things thrown sometimes. I didn't see them much, and when I did there was pretty much something I'd done, or not done that would trigger it all off. So when the latest world war was about to take place, I'd try and hide somewhere. I was pretty damn good at hiding. As I got older, if it was a bad week, I'd run away to Poppa Olaf's. I can remember very distinctly one time I stayed at Poppa Olaf's for three nights, having told him not to say anything to Mom and Dad and...I crept back in expecting hell to pay, and..."

He paused a moment, and Gil took in a breath when Greg did. "They hadn't even noticed I had been missing. That pretty much nailed things down for me, y'know? I realized I took myself to school, I made my own lunch, or took the money for it, I did my own dinner most of the time, I cleaned my own room and... somehow all of that happened without my parents. The only time they did talk to me or want me was when there was something that was my fault. So I guess, I almost wanted things to be that way."

That was a quiet, understatedly sad kind of existence. Gil had had to be the man of the house, but he hadn't been... the only person raising himself in the house. He'd helped a lot, but running around to get things for dinner or making it when his mother was tired was... different. They'd still had dinner together and she'd still quiz him about what he'd done at school and listened merrily. Watched merrily.

He missed her, and it was a little sadder because Greg would still miss his parents, still seemed to miss them, and they hadn't even treated him well. "If we weren't on drug cocktails, I'd get up and offer you a beer, Greg. I always wondered why we only heard about Poppa Olaf."

"Poppa Olaf cared. Poppa Olaf went to the school plays, the science fairs. Turned up when I won prizes. I remember once, I'd done some pretty advanced stuff for my age. It went to the State level and there was a judge who quizzed him about the possibility my parents had helped me. Poppa Olaf laughed for a good ten minutes in that judge's face and then told the judge to just ask me to explain it all if she didn't believe me." Greg smiled slightly. "I won that one. I won quite a few. Helped with that free ride. The problem was, in my teens I took to 'disappearing' around Poppa Olaf's. Or just sometimes away. I mean, there was no formal way of keeping tabs on me so I'd say fifty percent of the time no one knew where I was. Occasionally that bit me in the ass."

"My mother knew she could find me doing necropsies for the coroner's office." Gil shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Teens do strange things."

"They got hauled up by the school a couple of times which didn't go down well," Greg shrugged. "You could say there was a history of me not being around and yeah, I sometimes reveled in the fact I could do what I wanted. But...the real incident came when I started college. I went in pretty young and I had a group of older friends trying for a frat, and they made me try too. But... they had this idea that my parents were rich and stuff and I kept telling them they wouldn't care if I were dead or alive so they... for the hazing, they kidnapped me and sent a fake ransom to my parents. It was cleverly done, I'll give them that. Too well done. And it was meant to be a joke, only...it went a bit wrong. The guys who actually mock-abducted me were meant to take me up to this cabin, lock me in up there for not even a day, and then let me out in time for me to get an earful from my parents. They spiked my drink, left me in the cabin unconscious and locked in, and then went out on a bender."

"Which left you there for more than a day," Gil guessed quietly, turning his head to look at Greg. He'd gone to college early, too, but he'd always been too old for his age and the trouble he'd gotten into was... stupid things. Nothing really dangerous. Gil Grissom was too boring to be dangerous.

"Three," Greg admitted. "By which time my parents had called the police, had involved the campus staff, had made appearances on TV, and jeopardized their reputations, pulled in favors... I had no clue. I was stuck up there because the others had freaked out at the media attention and just...dropped it. There was nothing to eat or drink in there and I hadÖ just lost it by then. I got out of the place because I somehow hit the door down. I don't remember doing it."

"Were charges pressed? Because kidnapping is... kidnapping, whether friends do it or not." Gil was getting and idea of how everything was Greg's fault in his parent's eyes, even if it was a wrong idea. Even if the whole thing was rigged against him, and the evidence...

Gill caught himself smiling. It was good that he still thought about the evidence.

"No. No because my parents assumed because of some of the statements some of the other students made that I had set up the stunt and humiliated them in front of all their friends, their work colleagues. They asked the university to... discipline me and they refused because I was in the medical centre and that the local police had questioned the others, got to the bottom of it. But my parents wouldn't hear it. They heard, 'prank gone wrong' and the bits of statements saying 'Greg was in on it, he knew what we were doing' and immediately, just like before it was my fault only this time it had resulted in humiliation, and embarrassment and, no, they didn't come and see what happened to me. They didn't believe I had to spend days in the medical centre getting re-hydrated. And that...is something I've lived with for over a decade. I committed a sin, you know? They put themselves out for me and hey, I deliberately humiliated them. In public, on TV, cost my dad a promotion, that sort of thing. I have a letter somewhere. I can't seem to just...throw it away."

Holding onto past pains, worrying at them. Gil had been accused of nursing grudges before, and maybe he did, but... but never like that. When he was wrong, he was wrong, and it was a learning process. "Could I throw it away for you?"

Greg laughed. "You would, too, wouldn't you? I dunno, Gil. I needed it sometimes to keep me going when I was on my own."

"Why? To punish yourself to do better? I don't see the..." Gil shrugged, and words failed him for a moment, but that was all right. Greg was used to that from him. He started to try to go on, but the front door was opening, and Waffle picked up his head, giving a bark.

Jim was home.

And they were lying on the floor in the middle of the living room and undoubtedly an unusual sight, but one that Jim just glanced at as he came in. "Hey guys, got the burgers. Got some extra because I can't seem to say no to Waffle when he looks at me and does that head tilt thing, y'know?" He was making his way over to the kitchen, heading for the microwave. "You hungry now?"

"Yeah. Go on, Waffle. Your uncle Jim has food." And no one could tell Gil that Waffle wasn't a smart dog because the words Jim and food in the same sentence got him to his feet, even if it was on Greg and Gil's chests, and bounding off to follow Jim into the little kitchen.

Gil still wasn't quite ready to get up, and turned his head to look at Greg.

Greg was just watching him, like he had when they'd been caged. He remembered waking up to seeing Greg's dark eyes watching him as if he had been for hours. "I'll... give you a hand up," Greg said eventually and pushed himself up.

Gil didn't need the hand up, but he needed or wanted the contact. The line between need and want was fuzzy when you went so long wanting the things you needed and not getting either. So Gil let Greg help him up, and held tightly onto his hand with his good hand, the one that wasn't wrapped in protective gauze. Later, before they went to bed, they'd have to take care of dressings and medications themselves instead of a nurse doing that, and Jim had confiscated their to-do lists from the doctor.

"Thanks. I meant it. I'd burn that letter for you."

"Maybe when I'm sure I don't need it anymore..." Greg replied. "C'mon, Jim's waiting for us."

"Jim is indeed and Waffle is trying to break into the microwave," Jim replied. "In honor of being free, Gil gets to have an unhealthy option." He looked at Greg and held up a forestalling hand. "Don't worry, I checked that it was okay with the doctors."

Greg smiled a little. "Good. Because it can't have done him any good...w...what happened."

The shock, the dying part. "I promise to go back to healthy food only right after this burger, Greg. Right, Jim?" Gil was just a little behind Greg, so Greg couldn't see the wink he gave Jim.

"Absolutely. Fiber and fruit all day long," Jim replied.

"Yeah, right." Greg replied with a faint tone of disbelief and Gil saw Jim look up and grin. It was the first time Greg had answered back. It was almost a miracle.

"No, really. I bet he has a bushel of apples in the trunk of his car to sneak in when we're not looking," Gil teased, squeezing Greg's hand gently. "I can't believe I'm this excited about microwaved fast food."

"Hospital food seemed pretty good and that was bland stuff," Greg said.

Jim raised his eyebrows at them "Greg, that was wallpaper paste. Trust me. Your innards are all healed -- and to be honest I know way too much about the interior geography of your innards. I could take people on guided tours -- so you can eat this and you'll both be fine. You've both gotta have protein and lots of fresh things so I did up a fruit salad for after."

"A fruit salad?" Greg was staring.

"What? Waffle helped. " Jim replied. "Let him lick the fruit clean, didn't I?"

Waffle gave a 'hruff!" at the sound of his name. He was definitely begging, tail wagging madly, hitting them in the knees as he wandered around trying to get someone to drop food to him. They probably looked silly, crammed into Jim's small kitchen, him standing there holding hands with Greg, but he didn't... Honestly didn't care. The food smelled good. The food smelled good, and Greg was finally starting to respond to Jim.

"No wonder he's hungry after all of the wax and things they coat fruit in. Hey, Jim? Should we... help? Get glasses, plates?"

"Yeah. Plates in that cupboard there, glasses there. Have a look in the fridge I've got beers and juices and milk and other random sodas in there," Jim replied as the microwave beeped at him and he pressed a minute more.

Greg had to let go of his hand for that.

Gil pulled open the fridge, and reached in to grab the gallon of milk for himself. He halfway wanted a beer, but... But, he wasn't sure and he wasn't even really used to normal food yet. It could wait another couple of weeks. "Greg, what do you want? Jim, you want a beer?"

"Yeah, I'll have one. Greg you want one?" Jim asked as Greg found plates and put them out.

"Uh.... no. I'll have a soda," he said as he set the table. That was a novelty in itself, actually eating from a table. They hadn't done that for a long time.

Gil wasn't going to bother not relishing in the novelty. He grabbed Coke for Greg, and the beer, and somehow juggled it all over to the countertop where he could get glasses to pour it into. No, hell, maybe he would have a beer. If he got sick, then he could sleep it off.

Or, alternatively, wander off into Jim's back yard, eat grass and throw it up.

He went back and fetched it, even as Greg stared at the Coke as if it were a prize. Waffle was excitedly chasing everyone's feet even as Jim finished the heating up and put the bags on the middle of the table.

"There, don't say I never cook for you guys," Jim said with a half smile.

"Don't tell Catherine what your idea of cooking is," Gil murmured, cracking open his beer while he pulled out his chair. The Coke was sort of a prize, and so was the beer and so was sitting down at a table to have a normal meal like normal human beings.

"I haven't had a Coke in...." Greg thought back, "...over two months. Or a burger. Or fries."

"Yeah, well if you stand there talking about it, Waffle will have robbed them. He's worked out how to get up on a chair and get at the food. I had some spaghetti that didn't make it to leftovers. He had it draped all over his head."

Gil grinned as he settled in. He ached in places still, but it was manageable. His hand throbbed but it was manageable. Tylenol manageable, as long as he wasn't doing much. "C'mere, boy! C'mere, Waffle. We'll try to protect the food from him," Gil promised as he reached into the bag to start divvying up food.

Waffle was cajoled into coming over and sitting on his feet as Greg sat down and the burgers were passed out. Jim had literally gone to town on the simple take out, and there was something of everything there, enough to make his mouth water. He was dimly aware that Greg was sitting stock still. Like they had to when their food was brought or it would be taken away. Some habits were ingrained.

Like the wrong move would cost him the veritable feast that Jim had brought them. Gil didn't do that quite as much, but it helped that he was helping with the passing out. It felt a little less regimented. Gil stretched his leg out, and nudged Greg's knee with his own. "Go on, grab some onion rings."

Greg looked a bit startled but hesitantly did so and once again Jim developed a convenient blind spot to the odd behavior.

"We have burgers with cheese, and more burgers, and salad -- see that bit's healthy, not sure how that got in -- fries all over the place. Some sort of chicken thing. Oh hey, more burgers. Well, don't tamper with the classics. The guy does them fresh. Says the burgers are homemade. Uh...onion, relish, sauce or something in a pot..." Jim was literally emptying things out. "Don't let them get cold." He grabbed one himself and took a bite. "That's good."

Greg hesitantly took one and bit in, and his expression came near to ecstasy.

Gil wanted to build up to that, even as he sat back and reached for a French fry to sort of ease the way. It was warm and a little soggy and there was a faint taste of salt, and he savored the taste as he sat there, watching Greg and making sure he was all right before he took a bite of his own burger.

Greg ate the simple burger as if he had been starving for years. They had been fed in the hospital but not things like this -- it was definitely an experience for the younger man and he started eating a little quicker, even as Waffle whined up at him hopefully.

"Watch him. He'll do that eye thing on you. Then tilt his head," Jim warned and Gil had to assume he was talking about Waffle and not Greg.

Gil wasn't so sure, though. Maybe he would. He finally picked up his own burger, and took a bite. The taste of meat and pickles and onions and lettuce and god, damn he'd missed real food. Gil closed his eyes, chewing that bite a long time before he swallowed. Someone was making a happy whimper of noise.

Jim just cleared his throat a moment and started talking. "So, I was thinking maybe you guys wanted to be in the same room. I had the guestroom done up and there's a double bed in there...and, uh, a sofa bed that can be pulled out. We put your stuff in there but if you don't want to be in the same room, we'll work something out."

Work something out. No, Gil wanted to stay with Greg close, wanted to stay where he could keep an eye on Greg because the other man seemed to get something out of being near to him, and as long as he was being useful, it was good for Gil. He liked that, liked to be needed, enjoyed Greg's company. "Thanks. I'm... I'm fine with it."

"Yeah, that's great," Greg said and smiled again.

"Good. Other wise, you can do what you want. I don't have house rules that much. No time for them." Jim said as he looked at them both and tipped out some fries onto his plate.

"I think this is Jim's version of reading us the riot act, Greg." Gil said that with a smirk, and took another bite of his burger.

"It's not a particularly good one," Greg agreed still eating.

"Hey, who has time to remember two sets of rules? I find the 'You have the right to remain silent..' one works well in most situations," Jim pointed out.

"You've been doing that for so long you don't even have to use the card anymore," Gil said after he'd swallowed. "We're probably not going to do much for a few days."

"That's great. I've got the TV, cable, computers, Greg's Play Station, a load of movies -- not sure if they came from both of you because they arrived in a box. Plenty of food, that sort of thing and all you have to do is tell me when you want your car back," Jim replied.

Greg paused a moment. "Thanks... thanks Jim. For all this."

"All what?" Jim shrugged his shoulders. "It's no big deal."

Except it was. Jim was opening his home to them, and just letting them stay there until... until whatever. Until they were better or they'd moved on with their lives. Until just thinking about possibly moving on with their lives, on to what, didn't make Gil freeze up inside. They were supposed to be transitioning back to normalcy.

"No, it is a big deal. Thanks, Jim."

"Tell you what? You can look after Waffle while I'm at work," Jim said as if that were a task that would make them even. Waffle whined a little and wagged his tail at the sound of his name from Jim.

"Somehow I think he'd be looking after us," Gil murmured. He finally broke a little piece of burger off of his sandwich, and offered it to Waffle.

Waffle took it with surprising delicacy and then ate it down with every evidence of delight.

Greg smiled at him, slowing down on eating after a while. "He looks good, Jim," he said. "Much better than when he was with us."

"I think everyone looks better when they're not eating dog food," Gil mused, rubbing his fingers over Waffle's head while he reached for a piece of chicken something. It looked good.

Everything looked good, felt good just to be here and now in Jim's place and eating cheap take out. It was a level of contentment that possibly couldn't be reached unless some terrible experience or hardship had been endured.

"Or not eating it," Greg said quietly.

"Well, I just asked at the pet place and practically gave the man custody of the wallet and this is the result." Jim replied. He really liked Waffle. It was pretty obvious that Jim liked Waffle in a way that hadn't just been holding the dog in stasis for him and Greg. As it was, Waffle seemed content to lie down beneath the table and probably hope for more scraps.

Gil reached for the bottle of beer, and took a careful swig. Miller Light -- not bad, not amazing, but definitely drinkable after so long. "You've taken good care of him."

"Yeah, well, he's a sweet little guy," Jim replied. "And it's been nice having him to come home to, y'know?"

Greg nodded. "He's very intelligent," he said with almost proprietary pride.

And a masterful mooch. Gil sat back, taking another slow sip, watching Greg's faint smile, the enjoyment etched onto his face, and ate a couple more french-fries before he stretched his legs out beneath the table, nudging... well, someone. He wasn't sure. "Mmm. I'd forgotten just how good bad beer was."

"Bad beer? That's the finest the supermarket offers," Jim lied cheerfully.

Whoever it was, was nudging back without missing a beat. Maybe it was Waffle.

"They used to just sell Miller 'Genuine Draft' -- I did an experiment with it when I was in college on mealworms," Gil grinned over at Greg.

"Drunken mealworms?" Greg asked looking interested. "What did you do with them all?"

"I had a friend who fed them to his chameleon afterwards." Gil rolled his shoulders, and left his leg where it was because if anything, it was at least interesting. He was pretty sure it wasn't Waffle. "Fred didn't have any ill effects from it."

That wasn't Waffle. That was definitely a foot of some description. "Can you imagine seeing double with telescopic eyes?" Jim said as he put down the remnants of his food and then waved a little under the table, where it presumably was eaten.

Greg grinned again. "Gil'd have us doing an experiment on it."

"Sadly, I wasn't allowed to test Fred's depth perception while he was drunk on mealworms." Gil took another sip, and started to contemplate maybe part of another burger. He wasn't sure. He'd eaten slowly so he wouldn't make himself sick.

"How would you test depth perception on a chameleon?" Greg asked again as he stole some more fries. "These are the best, Jim."

"They're okay, but they ain't the best. If you want the best you've got to go looking for it. Best burger I had was in Jersey. Some guy who had a place on the corner, made it all himself. Everything fresh. Practically moo-ing." Jim replied.

Mmm, if the burgers were mooing Gil would have had to suppress the urge to chase them down or something. He reached for another burger, and held it out towards Greg. "Do you want to split another one of these less than the best?"

"Y... yeah okay. Couldn't manage a whole one," Greg replied.

"Gotta get in training for that one," Jim advised them both.

"The last thing I trained for was that race," Gil mused as he broke the burger roughly in half and gave Greg the bigger side. "Hey, where did the team finish? No one ever told us."

"We came seventh," Jim said "Sorry, Vegas CSI did. They were all really pleased right up to the point we realized you guys were missing."

Seventh. Wow. Gil took a bite of the hamburger, and eyed Greg for a moment. "Maybe we could participate again next year." Assuming that he and Greg were back to work and capable. A year was a long time, but so was a month.

"We do that, and we wear tracers," Greg said taking his half and eating it. "GPS or whatever. And I'm carrying our own water."

He didn't say no. That was good.

"Hey, I'd have to run against you if I did. Homicide has their own team," Jim pointed out.

Gil laughed a little, and shifted his leg. "Yeah? Are you going to let Warrick put you through the paces and try to work out with him this year? Or, you know. Greg and I could." Since they were there. One of the doctors had said something about muscle atrophy from being cramped up, but that it hadn't been as bad as it could have been.

That he and Greg had been lucky. Lucky being a relative term, once again.

"There's a keep fit conspiracy around here," Jim bemoaned. "I've heard about Warrick. And Nick. Let's not even go near what Catherine does to you. You guys are definitely an easy option."

"Wanna bet?" Greg replied eating slowly.

A keep fit conspiracy that had gotten suspiciously worse since he's had his heart attack. As if everyone joined in on the conspiracy of bran fiber then Gil would miraculously get better. And it had worked, barring acts of insane murdering rapists.
No, he really wasn't going to think about it. "Compared to Warrick? I bet he does want to bet."

Greg smiled. "Yeah, I guess we are. I'd never get pumped up like him or Nicky," he admitted. "But I turned in a good time."

Jim nodded. "Yeah, you did, Greg. We were pretty impressed. You covered your leg in the top ten fastest across the race."

Greg looked at him. "You're kidding, right?"

Jim shook his head. "We matched up the times carefully."

"See?" Gil jostled his leg, and when Greg didn't react, well, that narrowed it down not to Greg and not Waffle, so Jim. He tucked that little bit of information away to chew over when he wasn't eating. "I knew you'd done well."

"Never thought I was that fast," Greg replied. "I mean, Nick and Warrick always beat me on the workouts."

"Workouts ain't the same as running," Jim pointed out feeding Waffle some more burger.

And Greg could run, but Gil kept from saying anything about dumpsters and gunfire after the conversation they'd had on the floor. "Well, I'm proud that you outran some swat-team and FBI agents, Greg."

"You were in the top fifty, Gil. No mean time either, though Warrick and Nick and Catherine did well. Obviously otherwise you wouldn't have been in the top ten teams."

"Heh, that's cool." Greg replied and was smiling. "We wiped the floor with them."

"Next year," Gil repeated, making a gesture with his bottle of miller fluff. "Even if we have to do it carrying shotguns."

"Greg can carry that," Jim said leaning back sipping at his beer. "We did pretty good on eating that. Good?"

"Yeah." Yeah, because that extra half of a burger was missing and Gil was pretty sure he'd eaten it when he wasn't thinking too hard about it. "Thanks, Jim. This was... A good welcome back feast."

"I don't think I'm used to eating that much," Greg replied leaning back, and looking almost a little sleepy with it.

"Training," Jim replied. "You have to work at it."

Greg had used to have a hollow leg. But they just hadn't... hadn't really eaten well. Gil was fairly sure that most of the food at the hospital had been some attempt to keep them from getting scurvy or some other malnutrition related disease. Everything had tasted a little funny, like they were slipping them crushed up vitamins in the pudding.

Now that Gil thought about it, they probably had, with the way that his and Greg's throats had been messed up. "I don't think I'll train for that," Gil smirked a little, slouching in the chair. "Mmm." He didn't even know what time it was, and it didn't really matter. He had a cold drink, a full stomach, and friends.

"And not too much in the way of clearing up," Jim said. He had another drink of beer. "So you guys wanna sit on the couch or... is the floor better for you?"

And not too much to -- wait. Gil accidentally clinked the bottle against his teeth, and set it down a little too fast on the table. Had he said that aloud? "Uh..."

Greg looked worried. "It's my fault," he said immediately. "My fault."

Jim looked at them surprised. "Easy, easy. I was just asking. You can do what you want here, I was only thinking about moving the sofa or something. Don't worry about it. I've been known to lie on the floor looking at the ceiling from time to time. Usually without the benefit of company, though."

Just beer. "Uh, we'll, uh. Whatever happens," Gil finally shrugged, a little desperate to figure out what to say. Yes, no, maybe, all of it worked. However they ended up, even if he knew that Jim wouldn't hurt them for just... doing whatever. "It's okay, Greg. It's no one's fault. Should we put in a movie or something?"

"Sounds like a plan. I left the movie box in the living room. We can pick them over," Jim replied getting up slowly and bagging up the rubbish. The plates he rinsed off and then put in the dishwasher.

And there went the leg, answering Gil's half conclusion. He stood up, too, chair squeaking on the floor as he did so, and Smiled at Greg. "C'mon. You promised me bad action movies if we ever got out of there."

"Man, yeah I did, didn't I?" Greg replied and got up a little happier himself. "If you've got any of mine, there'll be loads there."

"Just pick what you want. We can heckle," Jim replied.

"I have tapes of old mystery science theatre episodes, speaking of heckling. There's a great one with fish people who end up defeated through 'Soooooodi-um'." Gil followed Greg into the living room, and it was easy to just sit on the floor to dig through the box, Waffle following after them.

"I think I've seen that," Jim replied as he cleared up behind them. "Surprise me."

Surprise him. Gil reached in, and picked out a DVD that wasn't his, and had a snake-person on the front cover, giving Greg a smiling dubious look. ~Bad horror flicks, too?~

~Dreamscape is a classic~ Greg protested his fingers lapsing easily into his type of speaking. ~Dennis Quaid all the way.~

It was half phrases and finger signs, not completely accurate if they were among real signers, but Gil understood it. The urge to teach Greg more, the right ways, was intense, and he wanted Greg to do it right. Wanted Greg to... keep doing it, too. ~Okay. We'll watch that, then.~

~Cool.~ Greg replied and grinned at him, and it was like seeing him light up again with a semblance of who he used to be. All the more incredible for how unexpected it was and how much they wanted it to happen. He wondered if he were the same, and if Jim had been watching him in the same way and what that touch under the table actually meant.

"We have a choice?" Jim called out as he came across and Waffle finished hunting around in the kitchen for left over and came to help.

"Dreamscape," Gil declared, offering it over to Jim. Jim had a big television and a complicated looking stereo set up, and there was something sacred about another man's home entertainment system. It would at least keep Gil from fiddling with it as long as Jim was actually there to do it himself.

"A classic," Jim said with a grin, and took it and put the tape in before returning to sit on the couch with plenty of room to the side of him just in case they wanted to sit up there.

That was an easy decision that was just... too, too complicated for Gil to make just then, full of meanings and interpretations that he wasn't willing to delve into. He scooted back to lean against the sofa, but stayed on the floor. That was nice and comfortable.

Halfway in between.

Greg moved to sit beside him and Waffle looked at them as if they were both crazy and then clambered up on the sofa as if to say, 'look, see you don't get hurt here for being on the furniture. Ain't it cool?'.

The young dog draped over Jim so he was at the perfect level for random chewing of his and Greg's hair and the occasional lick if things got a little worrying. As far as he was concerned, things were just perfect.

The rest of them had a little way to go.

He wasn't exactly aware of getting cold, but dawn over Vegas was so beautiful that didn't seem to matter. Even if it were the limited view from Jim's back yard it was still open sky blushing with the colors a desert atmosphere could produce. Even Waffle, who had initially come with him, had decided indoors was a better options after a while, especially when he seemed to be just doing nothing except sitting and staring.

Greg couldn't explain it to the dog, because he couldn't explain it to himself. They'd watched another movie after Jim had gone into work and then Gil had checked over his dressings, and he'd done the same back and they'd gone to bed, not even making the token effort to open the sofa bed. And it was nice. He was full, he was warm, comfortable, with Gil, and Waffle was on their feet. They were in a bed and he'd slept anticipating blissful unconsciousness and then...

Not even an hour later he woke up, heart pounding, sweating profusely, in the grip of a panic so severe he wanted to be sick. It felt like everything was holding him in, crushing him with a fear so palpable that it felt like a grip around his throat, and he needed space. More space, right then and there and he'd practically run outside after it was obvious Gil was dead to the world and even a shake couldn't wake him.

And so he'd stayed there where he could see the sky. Where the sky went up forever and there were no walls to hold him in, no claustrophobia.

It was probably stupid of him. But, but he'd needed that air, cold air, and to see sky, as much sky as he wanted. There was a certain relief in knowing that no one was going to get angry at him and he wasn't going to get in trouble for sitting out there when he couldn't sleep. He'd just stay up a little longer, wait for dawn to stop dawning, and then he'd go back inside. He could make breakfast, maybe. Or something. Wake Gil up and then if he had to nap all day to catch up on his sleep again, that was okay.

Whatever he wanted to do was okay.

He could hear a car pulling up somewhere along the street, but it wasn't the first time. It was all just background noise in a quiet suburban neighborhood.

He remembered Nick confessing that he got a little claustrophobic now. That he could understand. Trapped in that box, able to see the earth pressing down, watching it crack around him. Claustrophobia was practically a given. But they had been able to move, to do something. It had been close on space but not like Nicky so he hadn't been expecting that, not for them. Anxiety, yes, depression and all of those other possibilities the therapist had gently warned him about but not a paralyzing claustrophobia and need to just run.

He couldn't even remember what the nightmare was about, only that his heart was pounding and his muscles were shaking just like they had after that treadmill.

Maybe that was what it had been about. And when he'd woken up, Gil had been beside him, curled up in comfortable sleep, head tucked almost up under the pillow, mouth lax, eyes moving underneath of his eyelids, and Greg hadn't been able to wake him up. He'd tried and then just watched him for a minute until he caught his breath and then... then outside before everything came closing in on him.

At least one of them was sleeping despite everything. Maybe Gil was handling it better than he was.

That was pretty much a no brainer. Of course Gil was handling it better. Gil handled everything better. Gil hadn't really gone to pieces while it was all happening, not like he had. And he had. He remembered every searing humiliating detail and it would leap out from his recollection and ambush him when he was trying his hardest to get over it, to move on and be normal. Flashbacks were getting worse, not better.

He had no idea how he was going to cope when he just kept remembering flashes of things, sharp memories that wouldn't go away, that hung in his mind and made time slide by, because the sun was warming his face now, just a little.

"Greg? Hey." The sliding glass back door slide closed behind Jim, and he stepped onto the patio where Greg was sitting.

He was proud of the fact he only flinched a little. "Jim, hey. Just got in?"

Nothing like stating the obvious to cover an awkward moment.

"Yeah. I peeked into the room to make sure you guys were okay." And he wasn't there, so of course Jim had been looking for him, probably all through the house. Jim stopped behind him and to the side a little, looking out towards the sky. "So, are you okay?"

He could lie and say yeah, he was fine, but Jim had probably worked out already that he wasn't really fine. And he didn't like lying unless he was trying to do it to himself as well.

"No." He looked up at Jim and then out again at the sky. "I couldn't stay inside."

"Yeah?" Jim was still dressed for work, still in a good suit, badge on his jacket pocket. He slid his hands into his pockets, casual, like there was nothing weird with what Greg was doing. "Do you think you could handle going back inside now?"

Could he? He didn't know because he hadn't been able to even try on his own. Just sat there looking at the few stars he could see that outshone the light pollution of Vegas.

"I...I guess. Maybe." If Jim helped maybe.

"C'mon, we could make something nice for breakfast." Jim crouched down, offering a hand to Greg. "You know, I used to have the exact opposite problem. When I came back from my tour of duty, I couldn't stand being outside because I always thought someone was going to start shooting at me from a tree."

Greg reached up and took the hand and Jim's grip felt like his hands were boiling hot. Either that or he was colder than he thought. "Really?" He stood very shakily, his legs stiff. "I... I don't even know what happened. I just woke up like it and Gil wouldn't wake and I could feel everything suffocating me. Never had it before."

"First couple of weeks out of a hospital is always hard. Your brain's catching up to what happened to your body, and you're not sleeping under the influence of tranquilizers any more." Jim pulled at him gently, heading for the sliding glass door.
"You...you've been in?" Greg asked because he wasn't sure if he could cope with going in or not. Confinement, suffocation, panic. The whole thing. It was just waiting to get him.

"Yeah. Shot in the line of duty." Jim peered into the house. "Unless you mean the house, and that's a yeah, too. I was thinking of making pancakes, and waking up sleeping beauty."

"WhenÖ When did that happen?" he asked and had to take a deep breath to step inside. Immediately the feelings were there and he clutched wildly to grab at Jim for some sort of support and normality.

And Jim didn't freak out. He just slid his arms around Greg's shoulders, holding onto him. "Easy there. Just take deep breaths, okay? Slow, deep breaths, and you'll be okay." His fingers rubbed between Greg's shoulder blades, and then almost as if to distract Greg from his panic, Jim started to talk.

"It was when I worked vice squad back in New Jersey. There was a shootout and.... well, you know I don't handle myself great in a shootout."

No. No, Jim didn't do well in shootouts. Even when he didn't get hurt, he got hurt. And wow, he was hot. In a literal sense, and... well, okay maybe a figurative sense as well because he'd had a thing for older men since that thing at college and one of professors, but he'd never thought of Jim like that because Jim just kind of tolerated him and yet he was holding on to him even as he tried to remember to breathe and stop shaking...

"W...What happened?" He was interested if only so he could latch on to something else.

"I took a bullet in the hip from a pimp named 'Bucky'," Jim laughed quietly. "The guy was the worst stereotype of a pimp, too, and this was back in the eighties, so imagine the agony of being shot by a guy in bright purple spandex because he didn't want to go to jail."

That couldn't be true. Jim was making that up to make him laugh and it was working. He leaned into him, the breathing spiral to a panic attack short-circuited by that mental image. "YÖ you're making that up," he accused.

"Nope. Swear to god, I was shot by a guy wearing purple spandex, and those knee high boots. Like the guy thought he was Prince or something. I'll show you the bullet hole sometime if you don't believe me." Jim was smiling, though, so it was hard to tell if he was joking or not, because who laughed at being shot?

"I'll hold you to that." While he held himself to him. His breathing was slowing and he'd stopped shaking, but he was shivering now. "I don't think I want to try the getting shot thing. I don't think any of us should."

"Nah, I don't think you should try it," Jim agreed. His hand was still rubbing at Greg's shoulder blades. "Gil got hit once on a scene, you know? And he still forgets to carry a gun to scenes. You two are probably going to make a wreck of me even after you're better and back to work."

"He did?" He hadn't known that. Nick had never said anything about it and he and Nick talked a lot, especially after the burying alive thing. Nick had kept him up days just talking and talking like he needed to say everything just in case he never got the chance to say it again. "He's never said." Greg decided that Jim was comfortable, very comfortable and that moving would be stupid right now.

At least until he was more sure he was breathing all right. "There's a lot Griss never says. Sometimes, I think it's because he doesn't like the one-up-manship 'war stories', and sometimes I think it's because he likes watching you all guess what's going on with him."

"It's just I didn't see..." Greg paused. Actually, they had talked about some of their scars but he was so self-conscious about his that he didn't pull the subject up. He probably had seen the scar and just avoided it. "He needs watching sometimes."

"Yeah. And he probably needs someone to drag his ass out of bed," Jim agreed lightly. "Self-preservation wasn't ever one of his strong suits. Once, back when you were probably in college, he walked right into a drug deal that was going on in what had been a murder scene just ten hours before."

Greg winced at that. He'd been about to say 'like Holly' and decided that would be tactless. He knew Jim was probably thinking it and Jim didn't deserve his luck. "He told you that?"

"No, I figured it out when the swat team called me and asked me what one of my guys was doing there. I was Gil's boss for a long time, you know, and you weren't out of college all that long ago." Jim's fingers gentled a little, drumming gently against his back. "So, are you feeling up to pancakes?"

"I...I can help make them," Greg offered. "I could do with something hot. I think I got a little cold." Freezing, more like, but the claustrophobia had faded off a little and was manageable. At least while he was talking and doing something.

"Okay. So, Coffee or cocoa? I can open the blinds up in the living room -- it gets pretty sunny in there if you want to look outside." Jim wasn't moving yet, wasn't pulling away for all that they were standing in the back hallway planning breakfast.

"Coffee and...that would be good. Thank you, Jim," he said quietly. Jim was being too nice and he just did it as if he was all laid back and... it was weird.

Maybe Jim was always like that and Greg hadn't ever been anything but a little intimidated by him and hadn't realized it. Jim pulled back a little, herding him towards the living room. "Okay. I'll go wake up Griss and get things going."

"Good luck," Greg replied. "He... sleeps deeply at the moment. I'm the other way." It was true, he'd noticed it at the hospital when they eased off the sedatives. He spent a lot of time awake, alone and staring into space while Gil slept. He was just glad the other man was getting rest.

'Yeah, I kind of noticed that. It's a little weird, huh?" Jim followed him down the hall a little, a hand on his back. "If you want to wake him up the next time something happens, I can promise you he won't hold it against you."

"He needs rest," Greg replied grateful for that contact. "I'll.... I'll put the coffee on."

"Nah, I'll get that going. I picked up some good coffee on the way back but I need to get it out of the trunk. Go get Gil up and I'll get the coffee going and dig out the Bisquick." It was funny how solicitous Jim was, and how... how laid back he really was when he wasn't working. He'd laughed through the movie with them, and everything was strangely comfortable.

All of the awkwardness Greg had vaguely anticipated hadn't come to pass and listening to Jim and Gil banter had been great, if a little enlightening. It was then that Greg really realized that Jim and Gil had been good friends for some time. They knew each other, and Jim could see exactly what Grissom needed and was just giving it to him effortlessly. Greg had felt more than a little inadequate next to that. He always tried so hard and never got it with anyone else.

"Okay. I might be a while," Greg said as he turned to head off to their room.

"Good luck," Jim called after him as he walked down the hall to the guest room that had been stuffed full of their things. It made Greg wonder what the room was before it had been very obviously set up for them. Jim's taking them in hadn't been a whim, no way. He'd prepared, and they had clothes and books and things that were familiar. It made it okay, in a way, that he didn't have his apartment anymore.

Gil was still sleeping, curled up, sheets over his head, and he'd moved somewhere towards the middle of the bed in the night.

If he thought about it, Gil had slept a lot. Nearly twelve hours so it was okay to wake him. But he still had that voice inside saying, he needs rest, he needs his strength, who know what might happen today? Still, he knelt on the edge of the bed and reached over to gently shake him awake.

It was okay. There was no 'who knows what might happen today', no threat of pain unless Jim made really bad pancakes. Gil groaned a little, and his arm pulled in closer to his body. Waffle crawled across the bed to nudge Greg in the hip and whined a little.

"You could help," Greg told the dog and tried again. "Gil? Jim's making breakfast. It's like a crime scene in action." He smiled a little. Being near Grissom did that to him.

"Mmm?" The curled up shape under the bedding stretched out, and a foot popped lazily out at the end of the bed.

Greg leaned over him, feeling that the sense of isolation and claustrophobia that was lingering just a little after Jim's intervention vanish. He bent down and kissed at the part of Gil's hair that he could see, smiling. "Breakfast. Coffee, pancakes that sort of thing."

"Mmmmhmmm?" Gil lifted his head, and peered up at Greg. It took him a minute to catch on that it was Greg there, and he gave Greg a sleepy smile once it seemed to set in. "Morning?"

"Yeah. You slept well," Greg commented. "Jim's just got in from work." And after a pit stop in talking him down from a nervous breakdown was now just making pancakes. It was surreal. "He's making coffee and stuff. He sent me to get you up."

"Mmm." Gil scooted back a little, and rubbed sleepily at his face, muffling a yawn. "Been up long?"

All night? Yeah. "A while," he replied evasively hoping he didn't look too haggard or tired because Gil never missed these things. "I don't need twelve hours."

"Think I overslept," Gil mumbled, rubbing at his face again as he sat up. "Mmm. You said pancakes?" And apparently his face tasted good to Waffle, who nudged in between them and licked at Gil's face.

"Yeah. Waffle, give Gil a minute to breathe, huh?" Greg distracted the young dog by petting at his floppy ear even as the other perked up strangely.

"Someone's had kibble," Gil mumbled, leaning in against Waffle, cheek to cheek for a moment. "Is there coffee involved with pancakes? I can get up for coffee."

"Coffee, and not just ordinary, but some good stuff apparently," Greg promised. "At least Jim said so."

Gil stretched, and almost automatically slid arms around Greg's shoulders, stretching casually against him. "Mmm. Help me get up before I go back to sleep. Real beds are so good..."

There had been a time when he'd lifted Gil, despite torture and exhaustion and the difference in size. But there had been adrenalin and more rage than he could ever have expected to feel. Gil being dead was not the only reason that time was in his nightmares, it was knowing that he could without a shadow of a doubt kill a human being because if he'd had a moment, an opportunity, he would've torn the man's throat out with his teeth. He dreamt himself doing it sometimes.

But now there was no adrenalin and Greg pulled him up with a grunt of effort. "I know."

"Thanks." Gil moved his hands a little once they were standing, and rolled his neck. The joints cracked, even as he petted over Greg's back, hands gentle over the fabric of Greg's t-shirt. Gil was only wearing his boxers and they were sliding down his hips, but Gil didn't seem to notice that as he observed Greg like he was checking him over to make sure he was all right. "You're cold."

"Yeah... I... uh... I needed some air," Greg said unaccountably flustered because he didn't want to worry Gil, because Gil had been sleeping peacefully and he hadn't.

"Is it nice outside today?" Gil pulled back a little, but his hands lingered at Greg's sides. Waffle nudged at Greg's hip, and wuffed at them.

"Yeah. The weather is pretty good," Greg replied. All true, everything true. He couldn't lie to Gil but he could leave out information and maybe Gil wouldn't catch him. After all he was meant to be oblivious about people, not evidence. "C'mon. Waffle probably wants to go out."

"Maybe he wants coffee," Gil shrugged, still sounding sleepy and blurred as he pulled at Greg a little. Greg was half tempted to pull Gil's boxers up for him, but sleepy out of it Grissom was something Greg kind of enjoyed. They never saw him like that at work.

"Waffle on caffeine? The house wouldn't survive," Greg said just enjoying watching Gil getting his act together. His claustrophobia was gone completely.

He wasn't sure what his therapist would think of that, of how he was handling things. Then again, he didn't see that woman again for another couple of days, and maybe things would be better or worse by then. "We'd have to play with him until he ran out of energy. C'mon, Waffle. Let's get your leash and we'll go outside for a minute."

Waffle knew what that meant and with a bark he was down and off the bed and running to where his leash was kept, and then back towards them, and back to the leash again.

"Now you've done it. What about breakfast?" Greg asked.

"Uhh..." Gil rubbed a hand back through his hair and eyed Greg blearily. It was fun to watch that, actually, and it made Greg wonder just how many of Gil's pets had died because he'd fed them coffee or human food or something while still asleep. "After I walk Waffle?"

"I think you better wake up first," Greg said. "I can walk him round the block while you get up."

"I'm awake," Gil protested, wandering after Waffle.

"Hey, guys, I've got coffee ready. Greg, how do you take yours?" Jim's voice rose loud enough that they could hear it out in the hallway.

"Cream, no sugar," Greg called back. "Waffle thinks he's going for a walk though -- which is Gil's fault."

"He is going for a walk," Gil insisted stubbornly, wandering to where Waffle's leash was hung up. That was when Greg could see Jim peer out of the kitchen.

"Gil. Gil, you're in your underwear. And while Greg and I don't mind, I'm thinking that my next door neighbor, who is a sweet nosy old lady, doesn't want to see your grasshoppers." Jim didn't just talk, he walked towards Gil and got him by the shoulders, steering him smoothly towards the kitchen. "Okay, Waffle. I'll walk you, you two enjoy the coffee."

Waffle was ecstatic and ran around the kitchen table a few times, his tail thumping against Greg's leg as he passed. He didn't jump up, though, Greg remember his training had been fierce on that point. "I'll get the coffee," he said. "We'll take him out for real later."

"After breakfast. Won't be too long," Jim said, taking the leash almost from Gil's hands. Waffle raced over to Jim then, and held still for his leash. "Yeah, good boy..."

And Gil just blinked, looking a little lost

Good boy. They'd heard that often enough for it to hurt him. Greg went over and literally guided him to sit down. "Coffee, Gil? You used to steal mine, remember?"

"Yeah." It seemed to jostle Gil a little, seemed to get him jumpstarted, even more than the sound of Jim slipping out the front door and leaving them alone. "Please. I think I need it."

"Well, I did just wake you up," Greg said, pouring it out for him and sitting next to him. It was hot and the first gulp of it burned and warmed him in a way that nearly made him shiver again.

"Everything's...." Gil waved a hand in the air a little, a gesture that didn't mean anything, and he curled his good hand around the mug, slouched in his chair as he stared down into the mug. "Fuzzy."

He had the opposite problem. Everything was way too sharp, too much. It pushed at him, forced memories on him all the time. "Yeah. Yeah, everything's weird. It'll be better after coffee."

Maybe. He needed a way to make everything less sharp, maybe a way to share some of the sharpness with Gil, because he seemed to need it. Maybe that was why Gil was sleeping so well, and so calm. If he couldn't get his head together well enough to panic... well, Greg just wasn't sure. Gil was sipping at his coffee, and made a quiet happy whimper of noise.

"Uh, Gil?" They'd made a semi-formal pact, to alert the other if they were being too dog like. Even so he couldn't say it aloud so he signed it. ~Dog noises~

He was lucky that Gil caught sight of the motion, saw his fingers and understood it. It seemed to startle Gil a little, and he put the mug down, straightening up a little and clearing his throat. ~Oh. I... thanks. It's just really good coffee.~

~I know. Tell me if I do the same,~ If Dr Forsyth was right, doing that would break the conditioning instinct faster. He hoped. "Jim bought it on the way home I think. He's being really good to us."

"He is," Gil agreed. He looked like Greg catching him out making that noise made him feel a little ashamed, but he picked up his coffee mug again. "I'm glad we're.. here and not at my apartment." It was a smaller space, and Gil's townhouse or whatever it was had been kind of creepy and cluttered the couple of times Greg had been there. It wasn't so warm feeling, and it was bigger, yeah, but the feeling was different. The texture of the place was a little less welcoming. "We should get the pancakes going before he gets back. He probably had a long day."

"Yeah. I said I'd do them for him. We haven't shifted back to night time yet." Greg replied getting up. He felt much warmer now. "It is good coffee though."

"Yeah." Gil took a couple more sips, and then set his mug down, standing up and adjusting his boxers. "Here, I'll help. We can surprise him with mostly edible pancakes."

Greg decided if they could manage between the two of them, it would be a minor miracle and the least that Jim deserved for doing what he did for them. Maybe later he'd tell Gil about being up all night, and maybe then he'd get Gil to talk about what was fuzzy in his head.

But all that after the pancakes. Everything was better after pancakes.

Jim found himself getting a little more concerned about his two houseguests. Yes, on the surface they were doing well, and really they were considering everything, but in the first part of the week he had just assumed a few things because he was at work.

Now he was in the middle of his down time, he was noticing certain patterns.

Greg wasn't really sleeping at all. He'd assumed that the younger man was catching up in the daytime, but no. That had been an assumption. Now, after nearly a week, Greg looked terrible (and Nick was going to kick his ass if he didn't find a way to get Greg to lose the dark circles under the eyes).

Gil, on the other hand, looked fine... but he never stopped sleeping. If he wasn't asleep, he seemed bleary with weariness. He dropped off for naps on the sofa, he slept in, he closed his eyes and just like that, he was out.

It was like Greg was hyper aware of what was going on and where he was and everything else, and Gil was barely there at all, barely responsive sometimes, as if he'd sunken so far into himself that he didn't know how to get back out again. And Greg...

Well, that was why they were staying at his house and he was watching them. He was supposed to make sure they were okay, but he couldn't just stand idly by and watch them fall apart. Eventually, Greg had to sleep, sure, and eventually Gil had to stop sleeping, but that was logic.

People and logic really didn't have much by way of a relationship.

God help him if either of them ended up in hospital again. And Greg... Greg seemed so embarrassed by the 'weakness' that he reminded him of Waffle cowering down. And Gil.... Gil hated not being able to think right, not to have the sharpness of his mind at his beck and call.

Up until now, he had stayed out of it. Just let them find their own level. But now... he was going to try having a few words with them independently. Waffle was having his legs walked off again by Greg who had decided on it when Gil fell asleep again and Jim decided he would have a talk with Gil. That was their motivating force. What they didn't do for themselves, they would do for each other. "Gil? Hey Gil..?"

Gil was dozing, curled up against the sofa, so Jim had to kneel down to get his attention, It was pretty fucked up, since Gil had never been a sleeper as Jim thought of him. He'd go hours every day without sleeping. He was the king of the double shift, putting in twenty hours with the ease that some people breathed. This was abnormal for him, there was no denying it.

Now it was pretty much a miracle if Gil got up, shaved, and got out of bed, which was why Jim was doing it, he reminded himself. Gil's head lolled for a moment, and he lifted a hand to rub at his eye. "Mm?"

"I have coffee. I wanted to talk to you," Jim said wafting the coffee under his nose. "It's important."

His therapy session wouldn't do him much good if he was sleeping through it.

Gil rubbed at his face for a moment, pulling at the light bandages that covered the scabs from the mess that had been made of his hand. Some of them were starting to shape up into pinkish scars, the lighter bites. Greg's shoulder didn't look much better, and his back had been a mess before the man had even gotten to him. "Okay?"

"Yeah. Here. Have a drink," Jim said passing it over. "It's about the both of you. Greg. You awake there?"

"Yeah." Gil didn't seem awake. He seemed hazy and tired, when Jim knew there damn well wasn't a reason for him to be tired.

"Okay. " Well this might wake him up. "Greg's not sleeping, Gil. Not really at all. Not for nearly a week. He's going to get sick soon, it's only a matter of time with him going on about an hour's sleep in a night."

"I thought he was..." Gil sat up, and started to look around. "Where is he?"

"Walking Waffle. Again." Jim sat back. Yeah, there it was the sharpness that was Gil. Focus. "Look, I didn't realize until I had time off. I knew he wasn't sleeping well. He has these attacks of claustrophobia, nightmares, and when I got in he'd be sitting in the garden. I just thought.... I thought he was sleeping sometime when I was asleep or out. He's not."

"Dammit. You should have told me, I thought he was sleeping..." Gil took a deep sip from the coffee, and started to stand up. "I thought he was doing better. I thought you were..."

"And I thought you were doing better as well," Jim said accepting the implication it was his fault. It was in a way. "But Gil, you're sleeping all the time just like he isn't."

"There isn't anything else to do." Gil rubbed at his face again, and he was standing while Jim was still in a crouch. He didn't really want to stand up just then, because fast motions made both Gil and Greg jumpy. "I turn on the, the damned TV to watch the news, and there's coverage on his, the arraignment. The radio makes me think of it, I can't go online, I can't stop thinking about it once it starts and I don't know what else to do. I didn't think Greg needed me, and you take care of Waffle. I... just get tired."

"Okay, so that's my fault." Jim acknowledged, immediately stepping up to take that burden. "I thought it would be best just to give you guys time to settle for a bit. People react different. Had a buddy who went your way with post-traumatic stress. Just fell asleep. Coping mechanism or something. Meant he didn't have to deal with it. And then there's Greg who looks like he's running on crack or something. Thing is, neither of you is dealing with this. And I mean, you're avoiding talking about it and that was great to start with. Now? Now it's starting to do harm."

"I don't see what there is to talk about. How much it hurt? How horrible it was? Why? I don't see what good that does." At least he was talking, even if he sounded a little pissed off. A little pissed off was better than asleep on the sofa, and Gil was walking away from him, heading to the short entry hallway where their shoes were. "I'm going to go look for Greg."

"Gil, I'm not going to force you and you've got the therapy tomorrow, but I can listen to stuff," Jim said again. "And you're not going anywhere without me."

"Someone needs to stay here in case I head the wrong way looking for him." Gil sat on the floor to pull on a pair of pretty battered sneakers. If Jim let him, he'd go outside without putting a jacket on first.

"Gil. Gil, just stop a minute and think about practicalities," Jim said. Fine, if he didn't go, Gil would take his jacket AND his phone in case he got lost. "Jacket, phone. Which way are you going?"

Gil jerked at his shoelaces, head down as he tied them. "Which way does Greg usually head when he walks Waffle?"

A good question. "Down towards the park." He knew Gil had been there on one of the times that he had insisted on accompanying Greg. Jim wasn't sure how they had managed that; only that Gil had more focus when it came to Greg than anything. And Greg...Greg when he thought Gil was threatened transformed into someone startlingly aggressive.

Now if only there was a way to make Greg startlingly sleepy and willing to doze off. Gil stood up, and opened the coat closet door, pulling his jacket out. It was his forensics one, and he eyed the lettering on the back for a moment before he pulled it on anyway. "I'll go catch up with him."

Jim itched to go with him but Gil had just said part of the problem was that there was nothing to do. He'd done that to them. Made there be too much room to think so, okay, Gil should do this. He wasn't asleep while he was doing it at least.

"I'll be waiting here in case he gets back. If he does, I'll call you. You have got your phone, right?" Jim asked, watching him and then backing away as Gil headed for the door.

Gil backtracked for a second to the table where Jim kept his keys, and picked his folded up phone off of the table. "I have it now. I'll be back soon." And then he was gone, like the Grissom of old would have been, out the door and headed down to the park.

Leaving Jim alone to wait for one or the other to get back. It was sort of strange, but maybe he'd given them too much leeway, too much room.

Hell, he'd never said he was a psychologist or anything, and he'd always dealt with his stuff by looking at the bottom of an empty glass, but he'd been trying. Trying so damn fucking hard, and he was screwing them up even more.

He just hoped that this wasn't going to make things worse after all.

They'd seemed like they were doing great that first night home, but with Greg's sleeping problems, and Gil's lassitude... Hell. At least he had a few days to try to change things. Maybe things would get better if they were on nightshift hours finally.

It was all he could hope for, and he was more than just a little afraid that it wasn't going to be enough. That maybe Gil and Greg really were permanently mentally scarred in ways that couldn't be healed.

He wasn't sure if he could deal with that at all.