Greg arrived at the scene and his stomach churned. He fought to keep from vomiting. Thing is, he never throws up. Not even at the worst decomp cases. He’s always able to keep his lunch down. Sure, he looses his cool, but his stomach contents remain where they should. He’d just gotten back from New York, where his family had been rushed for immediate medical care after their accident in Pennsylvania. A truck driver was over on his hours and coked up beyond belief. He was so high he didn’t see the two cars in the right hand lane. He just pushed them off the road. Their cars went tumbling down an embankment. They weren’t dead. But they weren’t alive either.

His first day back he gets paged for an emergency. All hands on deck, big crash on I-19 with suspected foul play. A truck driver, working long overtime, was drinking and driving. Two cars tried to swerve to get out of his way as he weaved back and forth, but neither one could succeed. He pushed one off the side of the road, the other into the median. Both cars overturned, all passengers alive, but unconscious. Greg clutched at the handle of his kit and swallowed hard. His whole body was shaking. For a solid minute he stood there, eyes closed, taking deep breaths. He opened his eyes when a hand was put on his shoulder.

“Tough thing to come back to.” Catherine smiled gently at him. She pointed over to the median, where the rescue squad had successfully removed the passengers. “Paramedics cleared the Civic, Warrick needs help processing.”

Greg nodded, slowly. He could do this. It was his job. He was good at his job. It was just another case. He stood beside the car with Warrick crouching down. More deep breaths. Warrick looked up. “Hey, could you go around, check the passenger side? There’s something weird in the drivers seat and I think I see the same thing over there.” Greg nodded again, very fast, nervously. When he knelt down beside the overturned vehicle, and shone a light up to the passengers seat. In his minds eye, he saw his sister, strapped in, bleeding from her head, arms scrunched, trapped between her torso and her legs. He closed his eyes, took more deep breaths.

“What do we know about the vics?”

“College students, in this car, at least. Guy and a girl, we’re thinking boyfriend and girlfriend. Guy’s wallet identified him as Jason Mathers, student at UCLA. Haven’t found the girls ID yet.” Greg nodded, processing the information. “See, this stuff I’m looking at is sparkling, small particles. Doesn’t look like glass, though. It was on the steering wheel, and I see it over there on the part of the seat belt that’s left. Greg locked on the spot of the seatbelt Warrick was pointing to. He took a swab to it with a shaky hand.

“I know what this is. There’s this lotion popular these days, supposed to make your skin radiate, has these flecks of glitter imbedded in it. Just touch the stuff and it gets everywhere, though.” His voice trembled. He looked at the swab, then back at the belt. “You’re going to want to dust for prints.” Greg swallowed, and in his mind saw the guy in the driver’s seat, driving down the road, smiling and patting the girls bare arm, and the small crystalline flecks transferred to his hand from her arm and got left on the steering wheel. Then, as the truck smashed into them, he pressed his hand against her chest, trying to keep her from flying out, and thus transferring the flecks back to her seatbelt. “They weren’t a couple. He was her brother.” The very statement made him drop the swab, he reached down to pick it up and banged his head against the seat. He pushed himself up and practically stumbled away from the car, staring at it as if it was haunted. It was no longer empty, it was his brother and sister trapped there, unconscious. Brain dead. He almost thought he could do this. He ignored Warrick’s stare and shouts and walked quickly over to Grissom.

“Grissom.” Greg’s arms were folded, his fingers were drumming against his arms. “Grissom I can’t do this.”

The supervisor sighed exasperatedly and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Look, Greg, I know it’s going to be hard, but we need you here. We’ve found alcohol in not only the truck but the Camry. We need you to finish processing that Civic.”

“I can’t do it, Grissom” Greg’s voice was a strained whisper and he took Grissom’s arm and dragged him to a more remote location with fewer people. “Every time I look in that car I see my brother and sister. I can’t do this objectively. I just got back. Please. I can’t do this.”

“It’s an entirely different case, Greg.” Grissom folded his arms and gave the younger man a stern look. “You need to get back there and finish helping Warrick.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Greg’s voice raised just a tiny bit, still in a whisper, though, so it almost sounded like a squeek. His entire body was subtly trembling, and his eyes were welling up with tears that he held back. “I can’t do this. I, I still have some emergency leave, I need to take that. Or another case. Put me on another case.”

“Greg.” Grissom raised his voice. “Tonight there are no other cases. And you just got back from a week of leave. You can’t take any more. Besides, with this job you have to push your own life aside so you can process the evidence. That is what is important. So get back out there. Now.”

“I can’t!” Greg shouted. He jumped at the volume of his own voice, and looked down. “I know what it takes to be a good CSI. And I can’t be that right now, my judgment is too clouded. You’ve got to understand that I couldn’t possibly do my job right now.”

“Yes you can, Greg.” The expression on Grissom’s face softened just the tiniest bit. “I have faith that you can do this. After tonight I’ll get you set up with a counselor, but right now we need you here.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I can’t do this! Grissom, I can’t even take a clean swab without contaminating things.” He held out his hands, which were shaking. He quickly folded his arms again and resumed tapping. “All I’m seeing are my brother and sister in that car. Please, Grissom.” Greg closed his eyes tightly to hold back the tears. “I really can’t do this. Not now.” Behind them there was some type of commotion, someone calling out for Catherine, Sara calling out for Grissom. Both Greg and Grissom looked up to see new evidence which looked perhaps like baggies with drugs, being taken out of both the Camry and the truck.

Grissom looked back at Greg, now clearly frustrated. “Listen, Sanders. We need all hands on deck tonight. So get over whatever issues you’re having with my crime scene so we don’t lose this window of opportunity. We lose this chunk of highway in six hours. I-19 doesn’t stay closed for anything. So get back out there. Now!”

Greg’s eyes filled with rage, and he began shouting. “You insensitive son of a bitch! God, damn man! Do you have any human emotion left in you after all that playing with bugs? Do you remember what grief feels like, you asshole?”

“That’s enough, Sanders.” Grissom’s voice was harsh and biting.

Greg’s voice quieted, tensed up. “I’m about to lose my entire family to a wreck just like this and you’re making me work it. You only see this as your crime scene. You don’t even see past the fact that there are people involved. People that aren’t just vics or suspects. You have people working for you. We aren’t machines, you soulless bastard.” “Sanders, one more word…” He held out a silencing finger. “This is the last time I’m saying it. Get. Back. Out. There.” He pointed over to the throng of people. Greg glared at him and he leaned down to pick up his kit. He shoved it at Grissom’s chest so his supervisor’s arms reflexively curled around it, making him drop the bag he’d been holding in his hands.

“No!” Greg shouted again. “No! You get back out there! It’s your damn case! You work it, you emotionally constipated heartless jackass!” He kicked at some rocks that were near his feet. “It’s more damn important than your people, so do it your damn self!” He stormed off, heading back towards his car.

“Sanders!” Grissom yelled at him. He stopped and turned around to stare down his supervisor. “You leave this scene you can forget about coming back to my shift.”

“Fine! I’d rather work as Ecklie’s gopher than just be another one of your trained racing roaches!”

“A week unpaid suspension, Sanders.” Grissom threw Greg’s kit down on the ground. “When you get back we’ll discuss if you can even have your job.”

“Take my job, you son of a bitch.” Greg was shouting, angry tears streaming down his face. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t care about your damn crime scene!” “As of this moment you’re also under review, Sanders. So get the hell out now before that suspension becomes permanent!”

Greg stormed back to his car, slammed the door shut, and cranked up the loudest, angriest music he could find. He rolled his windows down and squeeled away from the scene, heading back home as fast as he possibly could.

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