Fanfic

[loki]

I don't write fanfic, but I LOVE reading them, and I know a lot of you do, so here's a place to share tham with us :)

[twins1729]

Well, I do have two at WMTDB nickandgreg.com.

twins1729 is my name, it's my name everywhere. Seriously, google it.

I wish I could write more. I just....need more mojo. Maybe when I'm done with my video.

Oh, I only ship slash for fanfiction and only nick/greg for csi.

I also write Power Ranger slash and Queer as Folk Brian and Justin.

[loki]

yessss I've read yours (and you really are everywhere, lol) I reccomend anyone who ships The Love to read 'em, lol.

[loki]

ok, I didnt write this one, but its one of my favorites... (N/G slash)
http://www.nickandgreg.com/desert_archive/viewstory.php?sid=996

[Samwise Baggins]

Guys? I want to know if this is okay... I can always link to the main story when it's written, instead of producing each chapter in this forum, but I wanted to check if this was any good. It's my first attempt at CSI fanfic. And, yeah, it's all about Greg!

Sam

[Samwise Baggins]

Here's the first chapter...

Sam

[loki]

Its looking good so far :) you might want to post stories in the forum though instead of linking to them just to make it easier for people to read.

[Samwise Baggins]

I tried to post it here, but half of the first chapter cut off. Perhaps because I am so new, I'm not sure how to post correctly? Help?

I'd love to just post it instead of link it, because it would be easier.

Sam

[Samwise Baggins]

Okay, I've got chapter two. So, I'll try to post on the forum, but just in case, here's Chapters One and Two in link.

Sam

[Samwise Baggins]

Title: Early Warnings

Author: Sam

Series: Ten Little Indians: 1/ ?

Pairing: none (yet)

Story Rating: T : Violence, Language, Criminal behavior

Story Summary: When Greg’s failure to show for work coincides with an unusual delivery, the entire CSI team may be in danger.

Spoiler: Anything from Season Six and before, especially concerning the episodes with certain CSI members in mortal or perceived mortal danger.

Category: Drama; Science

Disclaimer: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation is produced by Alliance Atlantis Communications and CBS Productions, in association with Jerry Bruckheimer Films; the series is distributed worldwide by Alliance Atlantis, and by CBS in the USA. I am in no way connected with these people, and I do not claim ownership to these characters, lands, or names. I have borrowed them to share a story... and most likely not a story any of them would have written, had they had the time or no. I am making no money from this, and it is just for my entertainment, and that of free entertainment to a select group of friends. Thank You.

Distribution: Please ask first?

Setting: Las Vegas, Nevada: at times in the CSI Crime Lab, at others out and about

Note: For clarification purposes, the story has settings in the following two seasons: Main Story is set in very early Season Six, Case and Trial referred to are set in mid Season Three. Neither the case nor trial mentioned are actual episodes, and are made up as a part of this fiction… though they could have happened in the given time frame.

Feedback: Please? I love comments.

----------

Sirens pierced the early morning air. The officer triggered the record command of his built-in surveillance system. He pulled his radio car to the side of the tree-lined road, behind the Volkswagen Passat. There was little traffic as yet, just the occasional early tourist on his way to the various Lake Mead campgrounds and marinas a few miles ahead.

With a slow, sure stride, confident this was his last pull over for the night, the officer strode purposefully ahead, well within sight of his forward-facing camera. He glanced seemingly casually over the VW, noting road dust and the occasional ding along the car’s body. The trunk had a small bit of white and teal cloth caught in the latch, but nothing truly notable caught the officer’s eye.

He walked over to the driver’s side window, tapping on the glass with his Mag-lite. The sound of an electric whirring cut through the early morning stillness as the window electronically opened, revealing the driver to the police officer, but not the waiting camera.

“You’re weaving, son,” the officer’s voice was clearly caught by the surveillance recording, followed by a muttered reply, almost undistinguishable. With a visible nod, the officer shone his light into the car then glanced back at the driver. “Well, I suggest you pull over and get some sleep before you continue on, son. Late night shifts can have that effect. Drifting off behind the wheel is a dangerous hazard.”

The officer straightened then slid the light of the Mag-lite over the empty backseat. “I’ll let you off with a warning, but I’ll ticket you if I see you again. Get to bed now.”

A muttered reply once more issued from the driver and the officer stepped away from the VW, returning to his own vehicle. As he slipped into his own driver’s side seat, he left the camera recording. It captured the civilian vehicle signaling then slowly pulling back onto the road. A few electronic beeps and plastic clicks issued forth as the officer typed in the vehicle’s license plate. No red flags lit the screen and the officer nodded to himself as he said aloud, for the recording, “Oh-seven-sixteen. Silver Volkswagen Passat spotted weaving on Lakeshore Road. Driver Gregory Sanders stated he was “coming home from the late shift and must have drifted off.” No apparent signs of intoxication. Issued friendly warning and let Mr. Sanders go. No charges or citations being filed.”

Finally, the officer clicked off the recording device. He shook his head and turned his radio car for the city, not giving much more thought to the apparently sleepy driver he’d just pulled over and let go. It was the end of a long night shift and time to go home, and that was just what he intended to do. The officer drove off into the ever growing light of the dawn.

----------

Continued in Chapter Two: A Meeting of Minds

[Samwise Baggins]

Title: A Meeting of Minds

Author: Sam

Series: Ten Little Indians: 2/ ?

Pairing: none

----------

The medium-sized box seemed rather innocuous. It was a plain, brown box, in fairly good condition. The only identifying features, in fact, were a small discolored mark in one lower corner and the neatly typed address label stuck directly in the middle of the top surface. It did not bear any stamps or post office identifiers; it merely read, in block style fonts:

CSI OFFICE
URGENT

There was no indication who it was from or for. Thus, the box, heavy and awkward upon lifting, but not too heavy to carry easily, had taken practically all morning and well into the afternoon to arrive at its intended destination. And there, it was being taken through the proper channels before being handed over to the shift supervisor.

Said supervisor had pooled select members of his team into one great meeting of the minds. From the core investigation group, having come in early for the meeting, were Sara Sidle, Catherine Willows, Warrick Brown, and Nick Stokes, led by Gil Grissom, the swing shift supervisor. Intending to stay late to attend the meeting were members of the lab staff: Archie Johnson, Jacqui Franco, Bobbie Dawson, and David Hodges. Mia, the DNA technician, had the day off, and thus had not been included. Of those invited, one was missing: Greg Sanders, but as it was yet five minutes before the scheduled meeting time, no one was too upset.

Impatiently checking the clock, yet again, Sara frowned and moved restlessly in her seat. She had a clear view of the doorway, having positioned herself deliberately to be able to keep an eye on the happenings beyond their overflowing room. It was she who noticed the unlikely presence of Captain Jim Brass, Homicide detective and former CSI Supervisor, approaching with a plain looking box. Sara's frown deepened; plain boxes rarely held simple treasures. Glancing at her supervisor, she cleared her throat and said "Brass."

Grissom looked at her for a second or two, a puzzled look on his face. It was unclear just what thoughts had gone through the man's mind, however, as his face suddenly cleared and he turned to watch the entrance of his long standing, yet uninvited, friend. The others, as if on cue, also turned to watch the detective's progress.

Carefully, as if afraid to jar his plain but precious cargo, Brass moved to the central table and stopped, not relieving himself of his burden. He looked grim as he clearly stated, “This was dropped off at the post office about noon. The woman said she found it on her porch while walking her dog. It hasn't been opened yet, but it was x-rayed and they think it has a knife and some other metal object inside. We're detaining the lady for questioning at the department.”

Everyone turned expectant eyes on Grissom, waiting for the cue that they would begin an investigation instead of the dreaded meeting. He looked from Brass to the box and back to Brass. “And it’s not even my birthday.” Getting up, Grissom led the officer from the room and down to the Trace Lab. In curiosity, the others followed to wait outside of the Plexiglas-surrounded lab.

Except Dave Hodges, that is. As his duty lay mainly in Trace, he felt justified in following the two men into the room, quickly drawing on vinyl gloves in eager anticipation of helping out. Oh, what a feather in his cap to personally assist Supervisor Grissom as everyone else watched in envy from beyond the transparent barricade. At least, that was how Hodges saw it.

However, Grissom and Brass merely ignored the eager lab tech.

Carefully, once at the exam desk, Brass placed the box down. He took only one step back. Curiosity had warred with caution, and caution had not come out the winner. After all, the package had already been examined by the post office, and no explosions had been detected.

Grissom, for his part, moved methodically. Rushing destroyed evidence and sometimes risked even more. The supervisor was too well trained, too experienced, to rush the procedures for this particular package. There were no indicators that it might aid in the almost certain coming investigation.

After photographing the box from varying angles, he used a sterile swab to try to retain a sample from the stained corner, quickly determining that it was human blood. With a frown, he retained a second sample for DNA testing. Carefully, he removed the tape and the label, trying to handle the evidence as little as possible, Grissom wanted fingerprints from the package if they were available.

His movements remained methodical throughout the long, agonizing process of opening the box. A crumpled plastic trash bag with a scent reminiscent of two day old garbage was inside. The smell of blood was strong, as well. As carefully as he had gone thus far, Grissom opened the bag, not yet lifting it from the box.

“Well, there’s the metal.”

Gil Grissom’s voice actually made everyone jump, coming so unexpectedly in the long silence. Brass gingerly peeked over the rim, keeping his hands well away from the smelly package. Hodges slid closer, as well, trying to get a glimpse, but was thwarted when Grissom continued his processing.

Slipping his gloved hand cautiously inside, Grissom lifted out a bloodied tire-iron, bloodied knife, bloody and torn white and teal cloth, and a bloodied wallet. Each piece of evidence lent an air of greater doom to the air. This kind of unexpected delivery couldn’t mean anything good. Grissom lay each item down and started carefully untangling the cloth, revealing a white T-Shirt with a teal dragon and lettering on the front. The lettering read “Interfere not in the affaires of dragons, for ye are crunchy and good with catsup.”

A gasp from Catherine Willows let them know she recognized something. Stepping into the room, reaching for gloves to quickly pull on, she ignored the curious glances from Grissom, Brass, and Hodges, as well as the interested eyes following her from the rest of the group in the hall. With a shaking hand, Catherine picked up the wallet and opened it, revealing a blood stained driver’s license, too damaged to read. The rest of the contents were bloody as well, and no identifying credit cards or information was present.

Catherine carefully slid the driver’s license out of the wallet, letting her eyes meet Grissom’s. “Someone should call Greg… make sure he’s all right.” Her voice was faint, her eyes worried.

Hodges frowned and finally butted in. “Why wouldn’t Sanders be okay? It’s not like people don’t run late.” He was miffed that Catherine would be hinting that she wanted Greg to handle the DNA and trace from this case, instead of Hodges himself. He was fully capable. To emphasize, he added, “I can run that blood.” He reached for the swab Grissom had made.

Catherine turned suddenly steely eyes on Hodges. “No, you’ll need to run trace.” With that, she slid the swab away from Dave’s questing hand. Dismissively, she turned back away from Hodges and met Grissom’s eyes. “Someone needs to check on Greg, Gil. He has a T-Shirt just like this, and he’s late… Greg’s never late.”

Grissom nodded. “Let me know what you find out, Catherine.” With that, he took the wallet from her hands and carefully swabbed the blood on it, as well as the other objects. While working, he called out, “Nick, you’re with Brass. Check missing persons, hospitals, anything to try to locate someone that may have been hurt recently. This blood is pretty fresh. Warrick, Sara, there’s a couple of assignment sheets on the meeting table. They’re your’s. Catherine, you’ll work this case with Nick and me.”

And with those words, everyone had to be content to disburse upon their assigned duties, the lab technicians gathering their samples as Grissom provided them, properly logged by Hodges who still waited for the final word from Grissom on that blood sample, but was instantly overruled when someone superseded his claim, leaving Hodges to hang around the Trace lab, watching Grissom work. Not to be left out, Dave grabbed the Trace samples as they were logged, moving towards the microscopes and computer banks against one wall.

For his part, Grissom continued to process the contents of the box and the box itself. He had ignored the movement of people around him, leaving to go about their business. Grissom was vaguely aware that someone had taken the blood swabs and someone else the trace evidence, but he was too intent on what he was doing to pay much attention. The next step was fingerprints, and that was what he intended to work.

-----

Avoiding the general exodus, Catherine took her right glove off and reached for her cell phone, dialing with one hand as she reached for the swabs with her still-gloved left hand. She dropped off the swabs with Jacqui, who’d stepped into the lab in Mia’s place, as she listened to the sound of a busy signal. Greg’s home phone was off the hook. She tried his cell phone.

The cell phone rang several times, but Catherine kept on the line, not hanging up. She would leave it ringing as long as it took to get Greg’s attention. If he was talking on his home phone, he’d be forced to answer the cell just to get rid of her. Her persistence paid off. She heard the phone click on and she sighed in relief. “Greg? It’s Cath. Where are you?”

From the other side came only the sound of someone listening, breathing controlled and light. Finally, the call disconnected. “He hung up!” But Catherine had a niggling of doubt. Greg wouldn’t have acted that way… he’d have at least talked to her. Something was very off. The memory of that ripped bloody T-Shirt sent a chill down her spine. The strawberry-blonde woman shook off the sensation of dread and turned back to the DNA lab. Jacqui should have something by then, if she’d put it in front like Catherine hoped she did.

Jacqui looked up at Catherine, reaching for the print out at the same time as the investigator. With a raised eyebrow, she pulled her hand back and let the older woman dominate. It wouldn’t tell her much, after all, without something to compare it to, but Catherine seemed too anxious to wait for the proper procedures to finish.

Catherine sighed as she glanced over the sheet. “Jacqui, compare it to Greg’s. He’d be in the system after all the testing Grissom ran on him when he first came to us.” She realized her tone was snappish, and she sighed, shooting a rueful look at the younger woman. “I’m sorry, Jacqui. I… I just have a feeling about this one. Greg’s not answering his phone, he’s hanging up on his cell… it doesn’t feel right.”

“I hope we can laugh about this afterwards…” Jacqui privately felt Catherine might be on to something, but she presented a rather bored air for the anxious woman. Her implication was that Catherine was getting bent out of shape over nothing and after they were able to prove the odd delivery had nothing to do with Greg, they could all relax. Her attitude didn’t seem to ease any of Catherine’s tension; however, and Jacqui merely ran the numbers through the database, programming the computer to check Greg Sanders first, just to please Catherine.

-----

Brass and Nick were more conversational, at least. They left the Trace Lab and headed down the hall behind Catherine. When she hung up her phone and turned back towards the lab, Nick merely nodded towards her and called out, “I’ll check his house, Cath.” There was gratitude in the woman’s blue eyes and he passed by, then the pair were in the parking lot and headed towards separate vehicles.

“Look, we’ll check Greg’s first, then we’ll do the rounds, right Brass?” It was a rhetorical question, and Brass knew it for such. He called out his agreement and slid into his Ford, turning over the engine without waiting for Nick to reach his Tahoe. It was only a matter of minutes before the detective and the criminalist were on the road.

The DNA results came back just after the pair left, giving a definite name for the supposed victim, if they had only known.

Jim slowed the car as he approached Greg’s place. The house was lit up, indicating someone was home. From the street, nothing seemed amiss. The front door was closed, the car was… Jim parked and slid from his car with a frown. The car wasn’t in the driveway. No car, but the lights on? Those were inconsistent factors, and Jim Brass disliked inconsistencies. He turned at the sound of Nick’s approach, slowly drawing his gun. “Car’s gone, Nick.”

Nick took in the lit house with a frown. Until that particular moment, he’d dismissed Catherine’s fears. After all, Greg wasn’t the only one to wear T-shirts with weird sayings. It’s not like that dragon shirt was a made-to-order item, after all. He’d offered to check Greg’s merely to be able to ease Catherine’s fears, but now, he wasn’t so sure those fears were as unfounded as he’d assumed. Nick pulled out his gun, too.

Quickly, yet quietly, the pair made their way towards the house, keeping their eyes out for anything else suspicious, or dangerous. Brass signaled Nick to stay back and cover him, while the detective called out, “Greg, it’s Brass. You there?”

There was no answer, so Brass checked the door. It was locked. There were no signs of breaking and entering or even struggle out front, but Brass wasn’t going to take any chances. He signaled Nick to follow him around the back. Without word, Nick followed.

The door was wide open.

-----

Continued in Chapter Three: (when written)

[Samwise Baggins]

THIRD CHAPTER FINISHED:

Title: An Eerie House-call

Author: Sam

Series: Ten Little Indians: 3/ ?

Pairing: none

Nevada Police Codes: 425: Suspicious situation, 422: Officer down, 444: Officer needs emergency assistance, 428: Missing person, and 418: Kidnap.

----------

“This is Brass. I need back up at…”

Tuning out the detective’s words, the camera he’d grabbed as he’d left his Tahoe clenched securely in his hand, Nick studied the streaks on the stoop. It looked as if someone had dragged something through food and other debris; and the deep blackish-red coloring indicated that blood might be liberally mixed into the mess. There was no sign of activity in the one-story home. The trail of debris and drag marks, however, ended in a pooling effect on the top step, with faint prints leading down the three steps to the gravel walkway. It was unclear from a cursory glance just where the trail lead or ended, but with the car missing, a fair assumption could be made that someone had taken Greg’s Volkswagen Passat from the crime scene.

There was the faint sound of voices coming from inside the house next door, some sit-com playing out its canned laugh track in an eerie, surreal splash of white noise. That vague sense of dread he’d been feeling since spotting the discrepancies out front had settled deep in the pit of Nick’s stomach, causing the acid to churn. Without really thinking about it, the investigator popped a stick of gum in his mouth, storing the wrapper in his jeans pocket. He pulled his revolver from its holster, tuning back into Brass’ radio call.

“I repeat, ‘we have a 425 with possible 422, requesting backup’. We are entering the premises to provide possible emergency relief.” With that, the homicide detective ended the communiqué with dispatch and turned towards the open doorway.

Brass didn’t even glance over his shoulder at the following criminalist. Rather, he cautiously, avoiding as much of the trail as possible, slipped up the three steps to the back door stoop. He could see through the open door into the lit room beyond, and what he saw was enough to solidify the sense that Greg was the injured person they were looking for.

“Police!” Brass was following procedure instinctively despite the urge to sneak up on whoever might be left in the residence. Law dictated fair warning.

Hearing the sure footsteps of Nick behind him, Brass took a steadying breath then proceeded through the door, eyes sweeping quickly over the room. To the right was an island counter someone could be hiding behind, on the right was a table pushed up against a window seat as if shoved willy-nilly. There was apparent blood and food debris, as well as what seemed to be pieces of thick china on the floor and counter; the refrigerator stood open.

For his part, Nick wanted to panic, but forced the sensation down. “Greg?” He listened carefully for any reply, any indication that his friend… or even the perpetrator… was there and had heard him. The only sounds were the slamming of his heart in his rib cage, Brass walking towards the kitchen island, carefully trying to avoid the debris, and that stupid sit-com next door; were the neighbors deaf to need it so loud?

“Clear,” rang Brass’ voice, startling Nick into almost swallowing his gum. He coughed into his hand, dislodging the sticky mass, and bit down on it hard, fighting the instinct to spit it out. This was an official crime scene, and there was no way Nick would compromise it.

Following the detective, Nick walked carefully toward the hallway, letting his eyes pick out the obvious drag marks and bloodied prints leading towards the next room. As they made their way through the carpeted hall, Brass suddenly signaled Nick to stop and gingerly peeked around an open door in the wall. He pulled back and shook his head calling softly, “Bathroom is clear.”

Nick nodded and resumed slowly following his friend and current partner, staying far enough behind to be out of the way, but close enough to help if needed.

After only a few steps, the hallway opened up into an equally carpeted living area. To the right were a couch, low slung coffee table, and vast entertainment system, all positioned comfortably near the front door, which remained closed, indicating that if anyone was still in the house, it was in another room he or she was hiding. To the left was a small niche with a comfortable office chair and a computer desk with all of the latest geek toys. Straight ahead was a closed door, on the opposite side of the room.

The pair paused briefly to take in the complete chaos of the room, centered near the coffee table and couch. The wall phone was off the hook, hanging down until it nearly brushed the floor with its receiver, a steady dial tone buzzing faintly like the drone of a lazy insect on the autumn night air. A laptop computer, damaged pretty heavily, lay on the floor in a pool of blood and bits of debris. The drag marks began there, but the faint footprints, which liberally crossed and re-crossed through the blood, led beyond the pooling towards the table and back. There was blood spatter marking the furniture, ceiling, and walls. The signs of struggle also included a single apple, bitten and trampled… a piece of evidence that was extremely noticeable for its oddity.

Jim brass signaled that he was going to cross towards that closed door. Nick nodded his agreement, fighting down the nausea that kept rising as he pictured the scene in his mind…

-----

Greg opened the door from his bedroom, the sun beginning to set outside the windows of his comfortable home. He was moving as if listening to music, but there was no radio or television playing and he didn’t wear his oft present mp3 player. Greg was listing to some song in his head, moving to an energetic beat that only he could hear.

With a grin, he headed into the living room and put his laptop down on the coffee table followed quickly by his cell phone, then turned to head to the kitchen for a quick meal before leaving for work on the night shift. He moved quickly, hunger roiling in his guts; it would be a busy night and many of the shift would skip their breaks to get the evidence processed in a timely fashion.

Once in the kitchen, the young investigator opened the fridge and pulled out one object after another, looking for just that right snack to slake his hunger. Settling temporarily for a white, thick china bowl filled with leftover stew, the man turned, only to come face to face with the intruder. Startled, Greg dropped the stew bowl and it shattered on the hard tile floor of the kitchenette.

Thinking quickly as the man lunged for him, the thinner, quicker former lab tech turned and darted for the hallway, only to find his self slammed against the table. Somehow he found the strength to push back, despite getting the wind knocked from him, but it wasn’t enough. Greg’s strength was in his wiry speed, not in the muscled brawn boasted by his attacker. The investigator made another dash for the doorway, this time dripping blood from a gash received from his brief struggle.

Once in the living room, Greg reached for the phone but was tackled before he could do more than knock against it. Slamming into the floor, feeling his legs grabbed and yanked backwards, he kicked out, unsure if he made a connection of any worth or not. He crawled towards the coffee table, reaching for his cell phone.

The intruder, however, was too quick for the pain-dulled movements of the slighter man. Greg found himself slammed once more against the floor, as the larger man grabbed for the laptop and used it as a handy weapon of attack. Blood spattered as the investigator was struck repeatedly with his own laptop, finally falling unconscious. He was never aware that the intruder left him there to bleed as he headed into the kitchen once more to slake his own hunger with a stolen apple from the fridge.

After only a few bites, however, the intruder nervously determined he had to leave with his prize. The burly man grabbed Greg by the legs and dragged him back down the hall towards the kitchen and outside, the half eaten apple falling forgotten to the living room floor and trampled negligently in the invader’s haste. He hefted the investigator off the porch and towards the innocently waiting Volkswagen in the driveway. Fumbling the door open, the man dumped his precious cargo into the back seat then raided his pockets to retrieve the keys, which he used to start the car before driving away, uncaring that he left the lights on and the back door wide open in his haste to escape.

-----

The blur of Brass moving forward once more drew Nick out of his dark imaginings. He shook off the worry and dread, determined to help his younger friend to the best of his ability. At the moment, that meant backing up Brass as the detective checked that last room.

Knowing Nick’s gun was trained on both him and the door, Brass reached out and turned the knob. It opened easily, the door swinging silently outward. The older detective drew in a deep breath, holding it in anticipation as he suddenly stepped forward and steadied his own revolver. He blinked once, the air whooshing from his lungs in anticlimactic near-disappointment.

It was a bedroom, with a single bed, bureau, and desk neatly lining the walls. In here, too, were numerous bookshelves as well as a floor to ceiling shelving unit containing DVD’s. Two rotating CD racks we fully loaded, sitting next to the desk innocently. The closet door stood wide open, clothes hung without any discernable pattern. The floor of the closet contained a laundry basket with bunched, tangled laundry in it, presumably clean and awaiting proper distribution to drawers and hangers. There was no sign of either victim or perpetrator, and one quick glance led the pair to the pre-assumption that the crime had never crossed into the sanctity of the bedroom.

They turned and headed back into the living room, sirens piercing the night air outside and rising as the requested backup came closer and closer.

The click and whir of a camera broke the otherwise almost deathly stillness in the room as Nick began to process the crime scene… his friend’s home.


TBC in Chapter Four, when written

-----

Author’s Note: Not having seen what Greg’s home looks like, I gave him one. I’ve made it a one bed/ one bath/ one floor small home, with a living room, bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen/dining room combo.

[Samwise Baggins]

It Just Gets Better and Better

Author: Sam

Series: Ten Little Indians: 4 of ?

Setting: Speed-Burn: Las Vegas, Nevada: at times in the CSI Crime Lab, at others out and about: Thursday, July 21, 2005, evening.

Note: Nevada Police Codes: 425: Suspicious situation, 422: Officer down, 444: Officer needs emergency assistance, 428: Missing person, and 418: Kidnap.

Note: Dramatic license was taking with the time of procedures so that it matched the show, rather than the reality. For this I apologize, but I thought I should keep with the procedures and time frames set forth in the show, as it is a fan fiction. Be alerted that in real life, the procedures (such as DNA analysis, etc.) take hours and sometimes even days to run. Thank you.

----------

“Gil!” Catherine and Jacqui presented themselves at the trace lab, both extremely agitated. Grissom looked up, his face grim. In his hand was the driver’s license, now clear of blood; there had been no usable prints or fibers. As the shift supervisor opened his mouth to speak, his cell phone rang. With a frown, not bothering to remove his stained gloves, he answered the phone, momentarily ignoring the presence of the two women.

“Grissom.”

“It’s Nick. Greg’s gone, his car’s gone, his house is a mess… blood everywhere. Griss, I’m gonna need help processing. Brass called in back up. I… I think Cath was right.”

“I know she was. The license is his, and I’m guessing Catherine just came in with the DNA proof.” He looked to Catherine, who waved the print-out in front of him.

“It’s Greg’s blood, Gil.”

Grissom nodded, with a look of determination etched on his face. “Nick, I’m sending you Catherine for now. I’ll recall the others and set them on this, too. Find everything.”

“Will do, Griss.” Nick’s voice held as much determination as his supervisor’s features.

“Catherine,” Gil turned his full attention on the woman. “Get to Greg’s house and help Nick.” The redhead nodded and hurried from the lab. “Jacqui, I’m going to need you to help Hodges on this.” Hodges’ head shot up and his mouth worked in protest. No sound emerged however as Grissom continued in his authoritative tone. “I need everything you can get me, no matter how small. We need to find out who sent this. Hodges, contact the Post Office and see what you can find.”

Surprised, Hodges bolted from the room. He very rarely got pulled out of the lab to do something else, even if it was to make a few phones calls and check the databases. There was no way he was going to argue, though; the very fact that he’d been chosen to work Greg’s case meant he was a trusted member of the team. He wasn’t going to let them down… or Greg.

With a flick of his fingers, Grissom contacted Sara’s pager. He typed in the codes 444 and 448 for emergency assistance and missing person then repeated the process for Warrick’s pager. All the while, he made his way down the corridor towards Archie in the AV Lab. Looking up, Grissom’s eyes met those of the Asian-American Audio-Visual Trace expert. “Archie, I need you to contact the police dispatch and have them keep an eye out for Greg’s car. As soon as they have anything, let me know.”
Grissom had to fight a sense of Déjà vu; this had happened to Nick not too long ago, and that had nearly ended in the young investigator’s death in an explosives-lined Plexiglas box buried several feet below the ground. That case had involved a man distraught over his daughter’s conviction in a homicide based on a simple Styrofoam cup. That man was dead, though… so who had Greg, and why?

Frowning in worry, Gil looked at the license in his hand once more.

~~*~~*~~*

At the sound of her pager, Sara frowned and glanced to her hip. She was squatting next to a broken basement window, snapping the obligatory photographic evidence of the break-in. Fortunately no one had been home during the burglary, and no one had apparently been hurt, so she didn’t have to deal with trying to document an attack on top of the theft. But that didn’t mean her job was any easier; without witnesses or even a good security system, they had a slim to zero chance of catching the perpetrator unless he or she had gotten careless during the commission of the crime. The sound of her pager could only mean a more serious or high profile crime had just been called in and she was being pulled off of this one.

Sara hated leaving an investigation unfinished.

Snapping off a final picture then documenting it in her photographic log, the investigator finally pulled her pager from her hip and glanced through the brief message. It was a recall with the additional codes of 444 and 448 listed. Surprise washed over Sara and the scene with the box and Cath’s worry flooded her intuitive mind. “Damn!”

Hurriedly, Sara stood and gathered her gear, alerting the police officer assigned the scene that she had a recall for a missing person. She hurried to her car, ignoring the worried inquiries from the couple who’d been burglarized. Grissom wasn’t easy to panic, and if he was sending out a “missing persons” then something terrible had happened. The Tahoe roared to life as Sara glanced back, gauging her route from the two-story crime scene she’d originally been assigned to the Las Vegas Crime Lab. She flipped the switch to start her lights flashing.

Along the way, the investigator found her self falling in behind another Tahoe with flashing blue lights. That’ll be Warrick. Ruthlessly, much as any of the members of their Graveyard Shift would probably be doing at that moment, Sara pushed back the memory of Nick’s kidnap and burial. She had no proof it was Greg who’d gone missing. Even if the call-back did concern their wayward investigator, chances were that Greg had gotten hurt and went to the hospital. A routine check would locate him, and things would be back to normal.

The only problem was that Sara was far too much the pessimist to even believe her own theory. This recall had come too close on the heels of that unusual delivery with the blood-soaked contents… and Greg hadn’t even called to say he’d be late. A recall of both her and Warrick also seemed to indicate that they had a lab-related crime. Sara didn’t believe the victim was some well-to-do tourist or high-paid celebrity: the coincidence of Greg’s no-show lead to the reasonable assumption that their colleague was the one missing.

~~*~~*~~*

Damn! First Nick, now Greg... when are we gonna catch a break? Warrick slammed a hand on the steering wheel of his Tahoe and glanced over his shoulder. He carefully reversed into the nearest driveway and pulled once more onto the street, heading back the way he’d come. Once he was going in the right direction, he let his mind deal with the problem at hand, green eyes unconsciously roving the streets and by-ways, trying to spot Greg’s familiar Volkswagen Passat.

True, the coded pager message hadn’t actually identified the missing person they were being recalled to deal with, but Warrick wasn’t a stupid man. He knew that Gil only pulled emergency recalls if he’d received a sudden high profile case or law enforcement was involved. With the earlier bloody package and Cath’s fears for the unaccounted-for Greg Sanders, Warrick put one and one and one together and naturally got three. A gambling man by nature, the Las Vegas native would easily have bet his entire month’s paycheck that Greg was their victim. He just wished he didn’t have to be so damned certain that he was right.

It didn’t take long before another Tahoe with whirling lights dropped in behind Warrick. He barely glanced at it, acknowledging that it must be Sara, also on recall, then back at the road. With a deepening frown, Warrick pulled his service vehicle into the crime lab parking lot and slipped kitty-corner into two spots, forcing Sara to park just that much further from him. Without caring, the tall, lean man slipped from his vehicle and headed into the lab, Sara falling into step beside him.

~~*~~*~~*

Cath was on her way out the door as the other two investigators headed inside. She didn’t let them go too far, gesturing and calling out, “You’re with me. Greg’s place.” Now that she’d actually had her fears confirmed, and she had been assigned to work the case, Cath’s voice was steady, rock hard. Warrick and Sara didn’t comment as they followed the redhead from the lab, once more climbing into their assigned vehicles.

Grissom left only a couple of minutes behind his team.

All together, from the moment Nick’s call for help had come in, to the time that help arrived at their colleague’s house, it had been no longer than fifteen minutes… minutes each one of the investigators counted as fifteen too many.

~~*~~*~~*

Turning a weather-wise eye to the dark sky, noting the lack of starlight and the barest of hazes from the moon, Gil Grissom turned his face to the team. A light breeze was blowing, and it threatened to get stronger as time passed. “Process the outside first; it looks like a storm’ll hit soon.” The sooner that storm hit, the more evidence would be lost, and Gil wanted to retain as much evidence as possible.

The older man headed quickly to the back of his Tahoe and flung open the hatch back, reaching quickly for the large floodlights he kept back there. He was joined just as quickly by Warrick, who starting pulling out the sturdy metal stands they would use to hold the lights in place. Cath and Sara were busy pulling out a tarpaulin from the back of one of their Tahoe’s, along with stakes and rope to spread it over the driveway and path to the back porch. No one bothered Nick or Jim inside, too intent on getting their jobs done to inform the pair that they had shown up.

It was as the floodlights were being aimed by Gil, and Warrick was assisting the woman in getting the tarp taunt, that the requested officer backup arrived. With barely a glance for their newest members, Gil called out loudly, “Careful, this entire place is evidence. Hold a perimeter and help us get the tarp up. Roll down the sides so we can block the wind and rain.” He didn’t even check to make sure his orders were being followed; Gil trusted people to do their jobs and do them right. Fortunately, he was working with a good group of professionals, and his trust was well placed.

Once the tarp was secured and the lights shining over every possible angle, Gill gestured towards his people. “Warrick, pictures, then help Cath. Cath check for blood and trace. Sarah, perimeter, especially any signs of where the car might be. I’ll go inside and help Nick.” With that, the supervisor turned towards the porch and froze. “Warrick, I’ll need you before I go inside.”

The other three investigators turned their attention towards the porch, noticing for the first time the blood smears and pooling. Anger crossed Sara’s face as her hands clenched by her sides. Cath gasped, a hand flying to cover her mouth in an age-old gesture, but she quickly gained control and started laying out identification markers for Warrick’s photos. Her movement broke Sara from her stillness and she hurried to get identification flags to use in the yard and driveway. For his part, Warrick swallowed his reaction and moved carefully forward, aiming and firing off several shots as he slowly approached, getting wide angles as well as close ups and narrow shots. Gil merely stood patiently aside, waiting for to be cleared to proceed inside.

If there was any one thing investigators learned at crime scenes: no matter how personally involved you might feel, rushing destroys evidence. There was no way Gil would rush his team through this scene; the weather would do enough to make them hurry. Hurrying meant missing something or destroying something or forgetting something, and they needed every scrap of evidence they could get to help Greg.

TBC in chapter five