Title: Electron Bonding (CSI/Buffy)

Series: Better Living Through Science

Authors: Amireal and Beccat

Pairing: Greg/Grissom

Rating: NC - 17

Summary: Electrovalent bonding occurs when one atom releases an electron and another accepts an electron.

Feedback: YES! YES YES YES! Please send to either amireal@gmail.com or blueraccoon@gmail.com

Archive: Ask first.

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Anthony Zuiker and Jerry Bruckheimmer are gods. We merely play in their worlds.

**************************************

It was halfway through shift when his cell phone rang. The low buzzing sound could only be heard because it jostled some half flung papers that partially obscured where it sat on the back table. Cell phones, as a rule, were to be set on vibrate in the lab, so they didn’t accidentally blow stuff up. Because, really, they apparently did a pretty good job of that themselves anyway.

It was possible that no one would have noticed Greg stumble quietly before blindly searching for a chair to sit in if he hadn’t been in the middle of one of Grissom’s pet projects. It was even plausible that the sharp, staccato sounds of a cell phone clattering on the floor would have been ignored if it hadn’t been accompanied by Greg frantically diving after it and resuming his hushed conversation on the floor.

Of course, it didn’t work that way.

A pair of dark pant clad legs came into view as he was finishing the conversation, hastily scribbling a phone number on the palm of his hand. The person on the other end said a terse good bye and Greg snapped the phone closed. Despite the urgency, he found himself just staring at the phone, blinking repeatedly.

“Greg?” The legs spoke.

Finally paying attention, he looked up. Oh hey, Grissom got to see the freak out. Yay. Greg must have looked like crap if Grissom of all people asked if he needed leave time for a family emergency.

Greg, despite the hazy fog of panic, knew an out when he saw one. “Yeah, that’d be good.”

Grissom squatted next to him. Oh right, he was still on the floor. “Do you need someone to drive you somewhere?”

“No!” Okay, so he’d overreacted. Then again, being Mister Cool was never something he’d ever managed around Grissom anyway. He took a deep breath. “No. I’m cool. Just gotta get some feeling back in my legs.”

Grissom offered him a hand up and he took it, getting a head rush as he approached upright. “Whoa.” He stabilized himself on a nearby table. He got a look from Grissom that almost read concern, and a little bit of clinical curiosity.

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride?” Grissom asked.

Greg began haphazardly gathering his things. “I told you, I’m cool.” He hit the lab door hard enough to feel it all the way to the locker room.

He was mostly packed to go when he realized that Grissom had followed him. Of course, that realization happened *after* he’d salted his pocket and shoes. Nick and Warrick’s presence blinked in sometime around the third piece of jewelry he slipped on.

“Got a date?” Nick drawled.

“No,” he answered distractedly as he counted the pieces of jewelry one last time. Which he really shouldn’t have done, because when nothing else was forth coming it was like he could feel six mini pinpricks of laser beams on his back, all attached to six prying little eyes.

Greg silently shouldered the knowledge that with Grissom being the only one who had any idea as to what was going on, there’d be little or no dissemination of information while he was gone. When he came back, there’d be at least twelve rumors and eight thousand questions. As if his week wasn’t going to be bad enough.

His phone vibrated against his side and he jumped before he realized what it was. He answered it quietly “Yeah? Yeah. I’ll be out in five.” Click.

Bag in hand, he ran.

“Greg?” Grissom called from behind.

He stopped. Grissom wanted answers and it was safer to give him some.

“When will you be back?” Grissom was slightly winded from having run after him.

Good question. “Uh..” He checked his watch. “Day after tomorrow.” Maybe. He turned to go, but stopped. “Hey Grissom?”

Grissom, who had been satisfied enough with the answer to return to his office, halted his progression and faced him again. “Yes Greg?”

“If I…” He stopped, not sure what to say that wouldn’t launch a full scale investigation. “If I’m not back by then, someone will call.” There was a finality in his own voice that made him wince.

Grissom eyed him carefully before he nodded slowly. “Right.”

Greg nodded back, and left the building.

The car was sitting outside, plain blue with Vegas plates and layered with so many shields Greg could nearly taste them. They cracked open long enough for him to slide in and then slammed shut around him again.

Andrew gave him a small smile. "Hi, cuz," he said.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

"Giles is gone. Willow--" Andrew swallowed. "She's gone. I don't know where. I mean, I know where her body is but I don't know where *she* is. We gotta find her, Greg."

"What happened?"

Andrew worried at a thin gold chain around his neck. "Here. You drive. I--I'm not sure how I got here, to be honest. Willow's at the hotel, and we've kind of got to get back there first. The room...well, it blew up."

"You *blew up* a hotel room?!" Getting into the driver's seat wasn't easy, but they managed to trade places with only a minimum of jostling and banging into each other.

"No! Well, not really. The bad guys did. Giles and I--we were getting this book--and they just showed up. Took Giles, and the book..." Andrew swallowed again. "He was screaming, Greg," he said in a small voice. "He looked--there was all this light, and then there was this *hole* in the air and then no one was there and the room looked like a bomb went off and Willow did *something* and her hair went white and she fell over. She's at the Desert Paradise.”

"In the same room that blew up?" Greg demanded, taking a corner on two tires.

"N-no. There was an empty one next door. I picked the lock and put her in there."

"Okay." One less worry, at least, although the cops finding an unconscious white-haired woman on the bed in a hotel room next to a crime scene wasn't high on his list of things he wanted to deal with tonight. "What book were you and Giles getting?"

Andrew bit his lip. "I don't know for sure. I mean, I don't know that much Latin, and he never really said, but--"

"Andrew, what was it?" Greg snapped.

"I think--I think it was Pandora's Box."

Oh. Shit.

When they arrived at the hotel, Greg was assaulted by the blinding flashes of police lights. Doing mental math, he figured they probably had another half hour or so before they needed to start ducking from faces he knew. “Is there a way to get to the room without passing by the one you guys blew up?”

“We didn’t blow it up, the bad guys did. And yes… I think.” Andrew was looking very shaky and Greg laid odds that something ooky had happened to him in that room as well.

Greg didn’t like sneaking around cops; he hated it in fact. Worse, Andrew had a habit of sticking out like a sore thumb.

Of course, Greg had to admit, it took balls to pick a hotel room lock right next a crime scene and two bored looking cops. Just in case, he positioned himself to block Andrew’s hands.

Slipping into the room was a welcome relief. Until he saw the pale semi-redhead languishing on the bed. “Oh yeah, today is gonna suck.”

“What do we do?” Andrew sounded scared.

Greg didn’t really blame him. “Close and lock the door first.” He searched the room for anything helpful. “How much of your stuff did you get out of the other room?”

Andrew looked at him from the door as he clicked the deadbolt. “I got what survived of Willow’s bag, but there wasn’t much left.” He ducked his head shyly. “I think I’m gonna have to borrow some of your clothes.”

Looking at him, Greg saw what he meant. Andrew's clothes looked like he'd been caught in the middle of some sort of explosion (And don't we know what *those* are like, his brain piped up) and Andrew himself wasn't looking much better. "If we make it out of this, you can borrow anything of mine you want, except my old Circle Jerk shirt," he said absently, digging in Willow's bag for anything that might be useful.

"I don't like that anyway." Andrew sat down on the bed, looking more than a bit unsteady. "What are you looking for?"

"Anything that will help us clean and seal the room before the cops get here. We *don't* want them to find us." Aha--salt. And an athame, although it was clearly Willow's and he didn't really want to use it. He could get by without one. "Get me some water, okay?"

Just walking the circle around the room was more difficult than he'd thought. Either he was seriously out of practice or the bad juju next door was making it really hard to focus.

Or both.

He'd just finished casting the basic circle when he heard voices next door. Andrew started, looking worried, and Greg motioned him to be quiet. Who--

"Looks like a bomb went off in here." That was Catherine. Shit.

"But why is the damage so contained? No external problems, no evidence of anything outside this room. A bomb wouldn't do that."

Grissom. The one person he *didn't* want to hear.

"Maybe it was a small bomb. Self-contained."

"Find the point of origin."

Crap. Craptastick.

Now all he needed was for someone to comment on adjacent unoccupied rooms in the vicinity of someone who saw them walk in.

Double crap.

“Water, quick!” He whispered.

Andrew hurried to the bathroom, the sounds of rushing water filled the room.

Greg was searching his pockets for a lighter when Andrew came barreling back into the room. Greg shifted left, which obviously Andrew didn’t see because he ran smack into Greg, splashing water all over Greg’s shirt and over half of the circle.

“Damnit!” He swore loudly and tore off his shirt. “Towels Andrew and wring this out.” He tossed his shirt in the direction of his cousin.

Large fluffy towels were hovering inches above his hand when- *KNOCK KNOCK*

Quadruple crap.

"No one's in here." Unfamiliar voice, had to be the manager. "Here--"

Click of a key, door handle turning...Greg saw it all as if in slow motion. He had time to spare one glance at Willow, looking a bit odd with dual-colored hair, before the door opened.

"Greg?!"

He wasn't sure who'd spoken first, Grissom or Catherine. "Uh...it's not what it looks like," he said, suddenly aware what it *could* look like.

"Really." Cat arched an eyebrow. "Then why don't you tell us what it *is*?"

"Well...I would, but you wouldn't believe me." Greg ran a hand through his hair, sparing one moment to look down at the now-destroyed circle. Great. He was going to have to walk it again, assuming he got the chance.

"Try us." That was Grissom, who was prowling around the room, examining it for evidence. "No damage," he said absently. "None at all."

"Well, the room didn't exactly blow up," Greg started.

"Greg? What--" Andrew emerged from the bathroom, saw Gil and Catherine, and froze. "This isn't good, is it," he said uneasily.

"What happened next door, Greg?" Grissom ignored Andrew for the moment.

"See, I'm not sure exactly, because I wasn't there. But it didn't blow up." Greg shrugged and wished he had a shirt. "Sometimes portals to other dimensions can do that."

Catherine just stared at him. "Greg, I think you've been drinking too much coffee," she said after a moment.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t believe me?” Greg shivered as his damp skin protested its exposure to the open air. He watched as Grissom carefully took note the items he’d scattered on the other bed when he’d been searching through Willow’s belongings.

Grissom’s glove clad fingers skimmed the items, stopping abruptly over the athame and giving Greg a long look.

Greg shifted nervously as something pushed at his back, like a large clawed hand pushing at him, dead center. He pushed back, struggling to focus on Grissom.

It was probably why he didn’t notice when Catherine came up behind him; her latex covered hand was warm and a stark contrast. He jumped and stifled a small girly scream. “Don’t *do* that.”

Catherine quickly lifted her hand and made a big show of not touching him “Sorry.” She didn’t look sorry, but she did seem a little put out, “Excuse me for worrying when you turned whiter than your lab coat.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Greg…” Andrew’s shaking voice called to him from the other side of the room.

"What?" He ran over.

Andrew pointed at Willow with one trembling finger.

Oh. No.

Her body was starting to twitch, hands and feet jerking spasmodically. Behind her eyelids Greg could see movement. This was not good. This was so not good, even though it meant that Willow was probably finding her way back to her body, and okay, yeah, *that* was good, but having her do it now was just...

"I don't feel so good," Andrew said in a small voice, right before he passed out.

"Shit!" Greg caught him and managed to wrestle him onto the bed, next to Willow.

"Greg?" Grissom asked. "What's going on here?" He came over to stand next to Greg.

"Andrew passed out," Greg said hastily. "I guess--he was in the room and I guess he's just kind of shocky. He'll be fine."

"We should call the paramedics," Grissom said, looking worried.

"No! No--I mean--it's fine. Really. He's just kind of--he'll be all right." Greg shifted, hoping Grissom wouldn't notice that Willow was shuddering all over now.

Fat chance of that. "And her?" Grissom asked.

"Uh--nightmare?" Greg offered weakly. At least Willow didn't look like she was...

Her whole body tensed and her back arched off the mattress and her eyes snapped open, only they were glowing and completely white. There was a low rumbling sound, the room shook, and a second later it was all over.

Willow sat up slowly; her hair had turned back to pure white again and she looked like moving hurt. "Ow," she said, blinking. And then she looked around.

"This is not good," Greg muttered.

“Uh… hi?” Willow stared at them, eyes wide.

“Willow?” He asked, suspiciously. Because really, with the luck he’d been having, her body could have been possessed by some evil, oily, black sludge creature from the black lagoon, with really bad fashion sense.

She frowned, thoughtfully at him. “That’s not fair, you with the name knowing and me… clueless and--” she turned her head--“next to an unconscious Andrew.” She poked him. “Which I’m sure is against some sort of Scooby by-law somewhere. Xander will throw me out without even a ‘nya nya nay-nya-nya.”

Greg took a deep breath, mildly annoyed at the insult to his family member. But if that babble didn’t match the descriptions Andrew had given him occasionally, then it was a pretty clever evil thing and it deserved some credit. “Hi. I’m Greg.” He offered a hand.

“Hi,” Catherine practically butted in, bypassing Greg entirely, “I’m Catherine Willows and this is Gil Grissom.” She pointed to Grissom who was still across the room looking at them all warily. “We’re with the Las Vegas Crime Lab and we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

"About what?"

"Do you know anything about the room next door?"

"It's there?" Willow offered with a bright smile. "At least, it was last I looked."

"It looks like it blew up," Gil said. "Would you happen to know anything about that?"

Willow blinked. "The last thing I remember blowing up was my friend's car, but it wasn't really his fault cause the mechanic rewired something wrong on purpose--well, we think it was on purpose but there was no real way to find out because he kind of blew up with the car. Rooms blowing up? Not my area of expertise."

Greg hid a smile. She was good.

"But why were you in here?" Catherine pressed. "The manager said this room was unoccupied."

Willow shook her head. "No, it wasn't. Andrew and I checked in earlier. We were searching for an old book for a friend and went out. I wasn't feeling well, so he brought me back to the hotel. I guess I passed out or something, cause next thing I knew..." She shrugged

"And you're sure you checked into *this* room," Catherine said, clearly not quite buying it.

"The key worked," Willow offered. "See?" She held out the key (and Greg really wanted to know how she'd done *that*). Catherine took it and went over to the door, testing the lock.

"It works, all right," she said. "Still...I find it hard to believe that you were here this whole time and didn't notice anything."

“Despite my grades, I can be surprisingly oblivious.” Willow shrugged.

“You’re in college?” Grissom asked.

Willow’s head tilted to the left, “Well… I was. But I’m not anymore.”

Greg watched as Catherine and Grissom had a wordless conversation that clearly stated they didn’t believe a word of what had been said, but there was nothing they could do about it.

“Is your friend going to be ok?” Grissom asked, curiosity lacing his words.

“I’ll be fine.” Willow said, swinging her legs off the bed. “Just needed a nap.”

“I think he meant your other friend.” Catherine pointed out.

“Oh, Andrew?” Willow scrunched her face up with mild annoyance. “He’s just a big baby. He’ll be fine.”

Greg was very happy to let Willow blindside his colleagues with babble and innocence; the less he spoke the better.

"You have some interesting items over here," Grissom commented.

"You went through my bags?" Willow asked, horrified. "I told you, I was just asleep."

"There's a crime scene next door, miss, and--"

"See, those are the key words. Next. Door. Not here." Willow stood up, looking perfectly fine. "I don't mean to tell you how to do your job, but maybe you should look at *it*, instead of me. I should probably throw some cold water in Andrew's face or something, and he whines a lot, and you don't want to be here for that, trust me."

"Will you be leaving town anytime soon?" Grissom asked

"Andrew and I are headed back to California tomorrow."

Grissom nodded. "Thanks for your time." He and Catherine left.

As soon as the door closed, Greg's legs folded and he sat down hard on the bed. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. Or, I will be. You tried to do a circle in here?" Willow asked.

He nodded. "Didn't finish it."

"Let's get it done, then. There is some *serious* bad stuff next door and before we do anything, we kind of need to talk about it, and I don't want to do that until we can shield the room." Willow looked down at the salt, sighed, and muttered something in Latin. The salt disappeared. "You're Andrew's cousin, aren't you?" she asked, picking up her athame and the container of salt.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"He mentioned you. Once I had your name it was pretty obvious." Willow gave him a small smile, nothing like the bright grin she'd given Grissom and Catherine. "He said we should look you up while we were here, although I don't think this is what he had in mind."

Greg started laughing and managed to stop when he realized he was approaching hysteria. "Is he going to be okay?"

"I think so." Willow sprinkled salt carefully. "He got caught in the backlash. If we can cleanse him of the residual taint, he should be fine."

“Cool.” Greg sighed and let her take control. He was all for not being in charge. “Though, I think I should warn you, those people who were just here? I work with them.”

Willow stopped her preparations and made a face, “Oh well. We’ll think of something before we leave.”

Greg watched as she effortlessly walked the circle and raised it. As it locked, he felt something unintelligible and heavy lift itself from his shoulders. “Wow. I hadn’t realized…” He let himself trail off, not really sure what to say.

Willow winked at him and waved him over and together they got to work.

******

Greg sat on the bed, more tired than he expected. Whatever had sunk its claws into Andrew had been rooted in tightly. He grabbed a free pillow and hugged it to himself. “So, someone wanna tell me what’s going on, or do I get to go into work tomorrow with nothing?” Not that he’d actually tell anyone what had really happened.

Andrew looked at him, dazed. “It was like the season finale of Enterprise.”

“Excuse me?”

“A train wreck.” Andrew mumbled, eyes on the ground.

"Right." Greg turned to Willow. "Can you explain that in a language other than geek metaphor?"

She rubbed her eyes. "I can try, at least. Andrew and Giles--" her voice caught and she swallowed. "and I came here to get a book from one of Giles' contacts. We thought it had clues in it to dealing with something that came up back home."

"Something as in apocalypse something or as in every day demon something?" Greg asked, fairly sure he didn’t want to hear the answer.

"We weren't sure. So Giles and I decided to come get the book, and Andrew wanted to come along, so..." Willow wrinkled her nose. "Car trip with him, not really my idea of fun, but he and Giles geeked out a bit and I had a chance to do some research, so..."

Willow trailed off when she noticed him tapping his foot and projecting a mildly annoyed look.

She shook her head. "Anyway. We picked up the book and came back here and thought we'd look at it and spend the night, cause driving back to Sunnydale in one day? Not really with the happening. And..." She sighed. "One moment we were looking at the book, the next there was this *hole* and these demons came out and before you ask? Not so much with the familiar here. Giles had the book, and they just...grabbed him. He screamed, Greg. I'd never heard him--" Willow swallowed again. "Everything kind of went white, and I think I tried to get him back, but the hole closed too fast and the backlash knocked me out. And then I had to find my way back to my body. Well, once I realized I wasn't *in* my body. That took longer than I thought. And here we are."

Greg was impressed; he didn’t think she’d actually taken a breath. "What was the book?" he asked.

Willow shook her head. "We didn’t know for sure. The little problem we have going on back home has all the earmarks of a fairly famous myth or two. And, you know one of the demons was muttering Pandora in a Latin dialect," she finished with a nervous laugh.

Was there such a thing as quintuple crap?

They sat in silence for several minutes, going through the possibilities of what to do next.

“I need to get into that room,” Willow said suddenly.

Uh oh. “That’s gonna be more than impossible, you know that?” Greg could see it now, Grissom letting the biggest puzzle to hit him months go like it was nothing. Odds were higher monkeys would fly out of his butt.

Willow smiled grimly, “I do impossible things all the time.”

And Greg really had a bad feeling about where this was going. “Look, Willow, I wanna help, really. I’m here, aren’t I?” He began pacing. “But you have no idea what you’re talking about here, the people I work with? They *love* mysteries and more importantly, they love *solving* mysteries. They’re really good at it too. The fact that they’ve seen *me* here is going to cause no end of problems and now you want to get into a crime scene?” Hyperventilating was a new thing for him, really.

“It’s better than that.” Willow stepped in front of Greg’s path. “I need to get my hands on whatever they take out of the room too.”

“What?!”

*****

"This just doesn't make any *sense*," Catherine complained, pushing hair off her face with the back of her wrist. "The point of origin either doesn't exist or was in the middle of the air. The damage *looks* electrical, including the fried clock, and yet there are no signs of an electrical fire. And we've got the manager telling us there were people in this room and that girl next door saying there weren't."

"No, she just said she wasn't in here. She didn't say anything about who was." Grissom shone his flashlight over the walls. "Although I have to agree with you. The evidence is rather confusing on this one."

She sighed. "So what do you want to do about it?"

"Collect what we can. We'll sort it out when we get back to the lab." Grissom picked up his camera and began snapping pictures.

"Well, *someone* was in here," Catherine said, kneeling by the bed. She held up a pair of cracked and dirty horn-rimmed glasses. "Question is, where is he now?"

“Hmmm.” Something in the corner of the frame caught Grissom’s eye, he kneeled, getting a closer look.

“Got something?” Catherine asked.

“Think so, liquid, thick, greenish, yellow.” He carefully took a sample.

“Biological?”

“I don’t know.”

"Great." Catherine sighed. "I've got fingerprints on the nightstand," she said, carefully lifting them. "Looks like at least two different people. I'll run 'em when we get back."

Grissom nodded. "Catherine, does it seem odd to you that Greg had a family emergency and then we found him here?" he asked casually.

"I don't believe in coincidence." She straightened up and stretched. "So my guess is that he's involved, along with his cousin the fainter, and that white-haired girl."

"Red," Grissom corrected. "She was a redhead."

Catherine looked at him. "Gris, her hair was white. Probably a bleach job gone wrong."

Grissom frowned. "Her hair was red, Catherine."

"Why don't we see her again and find out?" Catherine finished packing up her equipment and slung her kit over her shoulder. "She's probably still next door."

*****

“They’re going to come back.” Greg warned.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

“See?”

Willow cast him a scowling look before opening the door. “Oh look, it’s Busybody and his best friend Snoopy.”

Greg cringed.

“It’s good to see you too, may we come in?” Grissom said at his most awkwardly polite.

“If I said no?” Willow asked.

“We’d probably find cause to come back with a search warrant.” Catherine said.

Willow pouted. “You take all the fun out of being negative,” she said as she let them pass.

Greg was glad he’d gotten his shirt back on, though he wasn’t sure why that particular thought crossed his mind

“I see… Andrew is it?” Andrew nodded. “Is up and around, feeling better, young man?”

Greg internalized a groan. Great, go for the weak one.

Catherine looked at the carpet oddly, “What’s that?” She bent to look at it more carefully, taking out a sample collector as she did. She looked closely at what she pulled up. “Salt?”

“Messy eater,” Willow offered.

“Ah,” Catherine said as she continued to prowl.

Grissom just stood in the center of the room and stared.

Not good. A mental siren in his brain screamed ‘distract!’ “So uh, Grissom, what’s going on?”

“You mean other than the three of you standing here looking guiltier than the time you accidentally spilled the salt in the sugar?” Grissom had this weird beguiled look down pat.

“Um yeah, that.” Greg’s ‘oh crap-o-meter’ was pretty much deafening.

Grissom stared intently at Andrew, “Oh, this and that.” He plucked something small and thread-like off his shoulder. “Normal stuff.”

Greg had always wondered what the inside of a sinkhole felt like.

"Greg, could I talk to you for a second?" Grissom asked politely.

"Uh. Sure." Greg let out a deep breath and followed Grissom over to a corner of the room.

"Care to explain what's really going on here?" Grissom asked quietly.

"Uh. I don't know?" Greg offered weakly.

"Mmm. Well, let's follow the evidence, shall we? There's salt on the floor and a water glass with a few droplets left in it, indicating that someone in here raised a circle of protection. You're wearing at least three amulets of protection and I saw you put salt in your shoes and back pocket before you left, which would seem to mean that you're afraid of something. Judging by the speed with which you left, and the state your friends are in, I'd guess it has something to do with what happened next door."

"You wouldn't believe me. Honest." Greg scrubbed a hand over his face. "I mean, I barely believe it. And what do you know about this stuff, anyway?"

Grissom shrugged. "One of the coroners in LA was a Wiccan. I learned a few things."

Greg closed his eyes, his head pounding. "Would you believe me if I said it was a portal to another dimension that caused the damage?" He asked.

"Do you have corroborating evidence?" Grissom asked.

Greg’s eyes snapped open and he felt his jaw drop and he just stared at Grissom.

"Willow, wasn't it?" Catherine asked. "Do you have a last name?"

"Most people do," Willow said cheerfully.

"Can I *have* your last name?"

"You've already got one of your own. Why would you need mine?"

Catherine sighed. "For our records, Willow. I need your full name."

"Why? I've already *told* you, I don't know anything."

"And you?" Catherine asked Andrew.

"He doesn't know anything either," Willow said impatiently.

"Would either of you happen to know anything about these?" Catherine held up the bagged glasses.

Greg wasn't sure whether it was good or bad that Andrew chose that moment to fall over again.

“Andrew!” Willow’s annoyed voice yelled. “Oh, for Goddess’ sake now is not the time.” She knelt on the floor next to him and poked at his face.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Catherine said smugly as she put the glasses back into her pack.

Willow stood up, still nudging Andrew with the toe of her boot. “Okay, I think we’ve been pretty good about this, but now I’m gonna have to get serious.” Willow started making shooing motions.

“Catherine, meet me outside.” Grissom said, still looking at Greg intently.

She eyed him suspiciously, but nodded and left.

Grissom turned back to Greg. “Corroborating evidence?”

Greg stared at him dumbly. “Uh…”

“I want to help Greg, but I can only help you if you tell me everything you can.” Grissom put a hand on Greg’s shoulder.

Greg stared at it like it was some large foreign insect waiting to eat him. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it had, either. Greg looked at Willow and she shook her head fractionally. ‘The words ‘Not yet’ echoed in his head. “Look, I would if I could but I can’t. Mostly because I *really* don’t know what happened.”

"But you do." Grissom turned to Willow.

"None of us do," Greg protested frantically.

"Then why did Andrew call you at the crime lab? Why did you run out of there like your pants were on fire? And how did all three of you end up here, next to a crime scene that frankly, makes no logical sense? I don't believe in coincidence." Grissom's hand left Greg's shoulder. "And this stretches even the bounds of possible chance."

Greg buried his face in his hands. This wasn't happening, this wasn't happening...

“I’ll make you a deal,” he heard Willow say.

His head shot up to watch.

“A deal?” Grissom seemed intrigued.

“A deal.” Willow crossed the room to them. “I need to get into that crime scene.”

Grissom’s eyes went wide and his head tilted as if to say, ‘Haven’t you done enough?’

“I’ll tell you what I can, maybe it’ll be enough to file your paperwork, or whatever it is you do and you let me in there.” Willow’s face looked deadly serious.

“That’s not exactly a compelling offer.” Grissom countered.

“It’s the only one I can make.” Willow shrugged, offering her hand.

Grissom stared at it, gnawing his bottom lip. With a deep breath he took it and they shook hands.

Was that a crack of thunder Greg heard in the background?

"Give me a moment." Grissom stepped out of the room; Greg heard the murmur of voices and then heels as Catherine left. "Let's go," he said, poking his head back into the room.

Willow visibly flinched as they crossed the doorway. "Oh, Goddess," she murmured. "This is not good."

"What isn't?" Grissom asked.

"You can't--" Willow sighed. "No, I guess not. Bad stuff happened here. And the energy's still here. We're going to have to cleanse it when we're done." She shook her head slowly, walking around the room. "It had to be tied to the book," she said, almost to herself. "Triggered so that when he opened it..."

Greg followed her into the room and the throbbing in his head came back with a vengeance.

"What book?" Grissom asked. "And who is Giles?"

"The book we came here to get. It had to have some kind of trap spell linked to it, something to prevent it from being read or even acquired." Willow's eyes narrowed. "I bet it was that creepy dealer. I *told* Giles I didn't like him. I mean, okay, demon, but they're not all bad. Like Anya, only she wasn’t a demon anymore. But I didn't like this one."

Grissom glanced at Greg, who just shrugged, still too preoccupied on the feeling the room was screaming like a siren to say much. Willow had also lost him back around the trap spell.

"But if the demons were here for the book, why take Giles? I mean, they didn't look that bright, but..." Willow shook her head. "It doesn't make *sense*!"

“Is there anything here that will help?” Grissom asked.

Greg just stared at the damage as Willow shook her head sadly.

“Well, walk me through it.” Grissom ordered.

“What?” Willow asked distractedly.

“Tell me what happened,” he clarified.

“Okay… okay. You let me in here. So you get a present.” Willow walked the room. “But first, the bad mojo has to go or we’re all gonna get fried.”

"What do you need?" Greg asked.

"Salt water. And you." Willow gave him a sad smile. "I can't do this on my own."

Greg nearly fell over. "But--you--"

"It's not the power," she said dismissively. "It's what's involved. There's just so much here, I need someone as a focus."

"Great. You *do* know I haven't done this in a while, right?" Greg asked warily.

Willow patted him on the head, “It’s like riding a bicycle. Scraped knees and all.”

Oh yeah, that was really a calming statement. “If I come out of this with a heart condition I’m so blaming you,” he muttered. “How many of these,” he pointed to his charms, “d’ya need me to take off?”

Willow studied them closely. “That one and that one.” She pointed to two of the stronger ones. “Give them to him.” She pointed to Grissom.

Greg did as he was told, handing the slightly warm necklaces over to a very curious looking Grissom. “Ah. You might actually want to put them on. God knows what this is gonna do.”

Greg shivered as he felt whatever was in the room settle over him more firmly. “Let’s get this over with.” He offered his hands, palm up.

Willow took the salt water from Andrew, who had managed to get some without being noticed or spilling it.

Greg cast a wary eye, expecting Grissom to speak up at any moment, but he didn’t.

“Okay.” Willow took a deep breath. “Let’s get groovy.”

At Willow's instructions, he settled himself in the circle, cross-legged. "I just need a focus," Willow said, sitting opposite him. "You remember how to do that, right?"

"Yeah. I think so." Greg sighed. "Andrew can't do this?" Willow gave him a Look and he sighed again. "Right. Let's get this show on the road."

It was like...falling into light. He lost track of time, lost track of everything but the light he felt spreading through him and the room, burning away the sticky darkness.

It was easy enough to know when it was over; they both fell over, breathing hard. Greg opened his eyes blearily. "Did we do it?" he asked wearily.

Willow groaned. "Yeah. Thanks." She pushed herself into a sitting position. "Okay. You wanted an explanation?"

Grissom nodded, eyes wide. “Greg…” He pointed dazedly. “Your hair…”

“Hmm?” He wiped some sweat off his brow and tried to look up. He only succeeded in crossing his eyes.

Willow gave him a guilty look. “You went white early.”

His hair did the white thing? Damn. “Really? That’s uh... impressive… and a little creepy.”

“I’d have to agree.” Grissom threw in. “But it does give me corroborating evidence.” He smiled.

Greg just blinked at him. Maybe he was still a little out of it.

“Ok, explanation time. But I’m gonna do that from right here.” Willow patted the floor lovingly. “Because that was like, the second out of body experience in as many hours and I’m pooped.” She blew a stray hair out of her face. “Giles, Andrew and I cam from Cleveland-“

“I thought you said California.”

“Yeah well, you were all questiony and I was tired from being on another plane of existence. Sue me.” Willow glared. “As I was saying. We came from Cleveland hoping to buy a book that was going to help us with a big, doomy type problem. It was a really important book, really old. And the only way we could get it was to come down here and pay for it in person. Only we did the deal and Giles opened the book to check the merchandise and… and… boom.” Willow finished lamely.

“Boom?” Grissom questioned.

“This is where it gets cloudy, the book was booby trapped. Big time boob trapped. Bad mojo, suck your soul out, wish you were *dead* booby trapped. I’m not clear on all the details, what with me trying to make sure all of Las Vegas didn’t get sucked into hell.”

She frowned, looking very sad. “But it wasn’t enough, and Giles got sucked into some portal… and I don’t think it was a good place because before it closed…” Her voiced faded to a whisper. “He screamed.”

“Which is a big deal.” Andrew piped in. “Mr. Giles might look old but he’s a tough guy, I mean, he’s been tortured before and everything.”

“Andrew!” Willow warned.

But it was too late, Grissom’s head had snapped to attention the moment the word had been uttered.

"It's a long story," Willow said, rubbing her eyes. "Involving vampires with souls and vampires without souls and demons and people getting sent to Hell--which is not where Giles is, I'd know. Don't ask, you don't want to know and it's not relevant to what's going on, at least I think it isn't." She frowned. "Last I heard, Angel was still in LA, so I doubt he has anything to do with this. Anyway." She shook her head. "The problem now is that we have to find out where Giles went and get him back, along with the book. But I have no way to track the demons who took him."

"Would this help?" Grissom held out the vial of liquid.

"Actually, yes." Willow frowned at it. "I wish I could call Anya," she said, tilting the vial this way and that. "She'd know."

"Anya the ex-demon?" Greg asked

"Yeah. She used to be a vengeance demon but then Giles smashed her focus and then she was human. But she still knew a lot." Willow leaned her head back against the bed. "But she died when Sunnydale was destroyed, so now we have to find the dealer. Fortunately, he's an ozkris demon, and they're pretty easy to find."

“Does he have a name?” Grissom asked.

Willow blinked at him. “Guy Flannigan.”

“Does he own a business?” Grissom pressed.

Willow’s eyes narrowed, but a glimmering of comprehension showed through. “Old Stuff, LTD.”

Grissom snorted. “Greg, if this was a regular case, what would we do now?”

Startled out of his near daze, he shook his head a few times before answering. “Yellow pages?”

“Yellow pages,” Grissom confirmed. “I just think maybe we should try there first, before you go for anything more complex, you’re both starting to look a little worn around the edges.”

Greg was okay with that, because his legs were doing a damned good impression of wet noodles.

*****

"Whoa. What's with her?" Nick muttered to Warrick, watching Catherine storm through the lab.

"Dunno, man. She went out with Gris on that suspected arson."

"So...where's Gris?"

Warrick shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"You two going to stand there all night talking or can I get some help here?" Catherine snapped.

Nick winced. "What's up, Cath?"

"Right now, we've got a busted pair of glasses, some fingerprints, and a lot of electrical damage that doesn't seem to be caused by an electrical fire. You tell me." Catherine handed over the glasses. "There's some residue on those, too. I don't know what it is."

"I'm on it." Nick took the glasses and headed off.

"You want me to run the prints?" Warrick offered.

"Yeah. I've got first names on two people who might be involved--Willow and Andrew. See if you can come up with anything close to that."

Warrick watched Catherine storm out and got to work.

A few minutes later he blinked in surprise at the ease of the hit off the print. “Andrew Wells.” He said to himself as he read the file. His eyes widened in surprise as he read the file. “Destruction of public property, felony burglary, accessory-felony homicide…” He printed the picture and file out and went to find Catherine.

*****

Catherine’s eyes scanned the file quickly. “That’s him alright. Though I wouldn’t have suspected the fainter to have anything this hardcore in his jacket.”

“Fainter?” Warrick asked.

“He wasn’t really the hardcore criminal type.” Catherine shrugged. “Why isn’t there any follow up investigation in these files?”

“You got me.”

"Can we contact Sunnydale and find out?"

Warrick snorted. "Cath, you have got to get out of the lab more often. Don't you remember? Sunnydale fell into the ground last year? Big explosion type thing?"

"The whole town?" Catherine blinked.

"Yeah. Big mystery; no one's ever been able to figure out what happened."

"What do you want to bet that our Miss Willow came from Sunnydale too?" Catherine asked thoughtfully.

Warrick shrugged. "Her prints aren't on file."

*****

"Old Stuff, LTD..." Greg hit enter on the search engine and waited. "Nope. Nothing."

"It's not in the actual phone book, either," Grissom said, flipping it shut. "A few Flannigans listed, a few Flannigan, Gs listed, but no Guy Flannigan."

"Not surprising," Greg said thoughtfully. "He probably set up shop to lure in Giles and then shut down. Which makes me wonder..." He frowned, scrubbing a hand under the baseball cap Gris had given him. "What if the book wasn't the target? What if Giles was?"

Grissom nodded thoughtfully. “Why don’t you do a search on him too, see if we hit something that sparks our interests.”

Greg was already furiously tapping away on the keyboard. “Hrmm. The most likely thing is an out of date webpage for a place called ‘The Magic Box’. It says it was in Sunnydale, which makes sense because that’s where Andrew used to live.”

Grissom peered over Greg’s shoulder, “Does it give a first name?”

Greg nodded, slightly thrown by the heat of another body. He shook his head, trying to clear the aftereffects once more and began typing again. “Rupert Giles… No hits in AFIS… I don’t think trying anything more worldly is a good idea…” He faded off as he got absorbed in the task.

Grissom didn’t move as he watched the screen intently.

“Well, if it isn’t Laurel and Hardy.” Catherine’s cool voice startled them both.

"Catherine," Grissom said, straightening up. "How's the processing going?"

"Interesting." She handed him a printout. "Did you know your cousin has a record, Greg?"

He winced. Now was not the time to even try and explain. "He fell in with a bad crowd," he said weakly. "He's straightened out now."

"Mm-hmm. What's with the baseball cap?" Catherine tapped the bill lightly. "Everything okay with you?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Andrew just spilled some soda in my hair and I'd rather not have to explain..." Greg's voice trailed off as Catherine pulled the cap off his head.

"Greg, your hair is white," she said in disbelief.

Greg stuttered momentarily before grasping onto the first thing that came into his mind. “I needed a change.”

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “Between the hotel room and here?”

Putting on his best confused look wasn’t terribly hard at that moment in time. “What?”

“Your hair was not white at the hotel.” Catherine’s voice was firm.

“Um, was too.” Greg jumped back as the baseball cap was thrown at him.

“Catherine,” Grissom stepped up, trying to distract her, “did you find anything else?”

"I don't think we should be talking about this in front of him." Catherine crossed her arms over her chest. "He's personally involved in the case."

Greg tugged the cap back on over his hair and wished he could just sink under the desk, out of sight.

"All right," Grissom said, surprising both of them. "Greg, why don't you go back to the hotel and check on your cousin and Willow?"

"Ah--yeah. Okay. Sure." Greg scrambled to his feet and fled.

*****

He stopped in the hallway. "Damn," he whispered, realizing he had to go find the evidence before he could leave...which meant that he was probably going to run into Nick and/or Warrick.

"I could really strangle you, Andrew," he muttered, heading for Nick's space.

"Hey G, what's up? I thought you took off for the night." Nick greeted him cheerfully.

He shrugged, trying to look casual. “Took care of what I needed to do more quickly than I thought I would.” Greg sauntered to the table. “Heard you caught an interesting one," he said as off-handedly as he could manage. "Mind if I take a look?"

"Sure, go ahead. All we've got so far is a pair of glasses, some prints, and a lot of swabs that look like electrical damage. Warrick's got the prints." Nick passed over the glasses and Greg snapped on a pair of gloves before picking them up.

Pain, red hot and jagged, black fire--he dropped the glasses on the table and stumbled back, hitting the wall. "Oh, Gods," he whispered, not daring to even go *near* them again.

"Hey, you okay?" Nick asked, looking worried. "What was that all about?"

"Sorry--headache--" Greg swallowed. There was bad stuff on those glasses, but it wasn't a residual taint. It was what Giles had felt as he'd gotten dragged through the portal.

He had to find a way to get them to Willow. Maybe the two of them could get past the initial reaction and use the glasses to track Giles...

His back was still pressed against the wall as he tried to get his knees unlocked when Nick came around the table with a worried look on his face. “I dunno G, you went pretty pasty there, sure you’re not coming down with something?” He reached out to offer him a hand.

Instinctively Greg shied away from the touch, moving sideways and then around. “No—its fine—just a headache really.” He moved back to the table, but at the farthest point away from the glasses. He braced himself on the solid surface, because he still wasn’t sure if his legs were going to hold him. “Found anything interesting?”

Nick eyed him warily before moving back to the table. He picked up a specimen collector. “Was about to collect some of this gooey substance.”

Greg nodded absently; the realization that there were probably numerous small bits and pieces of that hotel room being analyzed had his mind reeling. He watched Nick seal the container. “I’ll take that to trace if you want,” he volunteered, seeing an opportunity.

Nick blinked at him. “Sure.” He stretched the word out, eyeing Greg.

Ok, so maybe his eager puppy bit was a little much. He took off his gloves and offered an open hand, just wanting to get as far away from those glasses as possible.

But Nick was staring at him funny. “Where’d you get that hat, Greg?”

"Oh. Um. Gris lent it to me. Bad hair day." Greg ducked his head sheepishly and reached for the container.

"Uh huh. Can't be that bad. Your *normal* hair days are bad enough." Nick grinned. "C'mon, let me see."

"You really don't want to. Trust me." Greg winced.

He reached for the container again and Nick playfully knocked the cap off his head. "What happened to you, man?" Nick asked, holding the cap. "Your hair--"

"Bad day," Greg muttered. "Really. Bad. Day."

"I've heard of premature gray, but this is ridiculous." Nick shook his head slowly. "Here, go take this to trace, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay." He shoved the cap back on his head and headed out the door. Maybe he had a spare bandana in his locker or something, because this was just getting ridiculous.

*****

Greg peered through the window to Trace and mentally winced as he saw Hodges hunched over a microscope.

He thanked whatever deity that was watching over him that the sludge he was carrying only had a residual slimly feel which was quickly dispelled.

He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall briefly, God he was tired. He took a deep breath, pushed himself off the wall and went to face the beast.

“What do you want?” Hodges asked without even looking up.

Greg carefully placed the specimen on the counter and pushed, causing it slide several inches. “Gift from Nick.”

“Suck up.” Still not looking at him.

Maybe this would be easier than he thought.

"Got anything else here?" he asked.

"Does it look like I do?" Hodges said irritably. "Aside from this?" He shoved his chair back, gesturing at the fabric in front of him. "Some weird substance on here. Damn if I can figure out what."

Greg wasn't entirely surprised. Demon blood wasn't something most lab techs came across. "Can I take a look?"

Hodges snorted. "Sucking up to everyone tonight, aren't you? Yeah, sure."

Greg pulled on a glove and touched the fabric gently. Same residual flash, same black fire and agony, but it was fainter now, muted. He was able to step back without falling on his ass. "I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "

"Yeah. Whatever." Hodges turned back to his microscope, clearly dismissing him.

Greg escaped out into the hall. He was exhausted from the glasses, the fabric (probably Giles's shirt, he thought), and everything else and wanted nothing more than to go *home* and sleep for a day.

"What are you still doing here, Greg?" Catherine asked.

So much for that idea. Before he could open his mouth to answer, the world tilted and his balance fled.

Grissom appeared out of nowhere, catching him under the arms before he could hit the floor.

“Whoa.” His vision prickled with reds and greens and then faded in and out. “Not feeling so hot.” His head tilted back, hitting another body, stopping the motion and the stomach threatening swirls the world did when he moved it.

He dimly heard Grissom call for help and then the clomping of heavy feet. His legs were hoisted off the ground and his vision grayed again. “God, don’t move me.” But whoever had him didn’t listen and he clung to the arms around him until finally being settled onto something long and cushy and best of all, not moving.

They didn’t leave him alone for long; someone soon pried his clenched eyes open and his eyes flinched back at the incredibly bright light and then, thankfully, it was gone again. He curled onto his side and held onto the nearest surface for dear life.

“Greg?” Grissom’s voice floated somewhere over his face. “Greg, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

"Too much," he mumbled, moving one incredibly heavy arm over his eyes. "Overload."

"Do you need a doctor?"

"Of course he needs a doctor!" Catherine said incredulously. "Look at him, Gris!"

Greg shook his head and immediately wished he hadn't. He clenched his jaw, trying not to throw up. "Willow," he managed. "Get Willow."

"Okay. We will. Just lie there, okay, Greg?" Grissom sounded concerned and Greg would have been touched if he hadn't felt so sick.

Apparently, the slimy residue hadn't completely gone away after all. He curled himself into a little ball on the couch (at least, he thought it was the couch), trying to breathe without puking.

He'd never felt anything like this before. It was like slime and mud and all sorts of disgusting things, covering him, smothering him until each breath he took was tainted by it. Added to it was the sheer energy and emotional overload he'd been through already, leaving him trembling and sweating on the couch, caught in a rapidly spiraling vortex he couldn't find a way out of.

He had to find a way to control this before it--he--exploded. Blowing up the DNA lab was one thing, but this...this would be Bad. Very Bad.

“Willow!” Catherine shouted. “Let me get this straight, Greg nearly passes out in the hallway, is lying there, obviously sick and we decide what? That all he needs is a good hand holding from a friend?”

Greg winced as the anger hit him like an almost physical blow. God, why did Catherine have to be a projector? This was why he’d stopped, because once he started, opened up, it all crashed in. This one afternoon he’d learned more about the people he worked with than he’d learned in his previous years. Of course, knowing your colleagues’ psychic makeup wasn’t always a good thing.

Just as he was getting his head on straight, another swirl of darkness swiped by him like broken glass. He took a shallow breath and the smell of rotting corpses and sewage filled his nose and mouth and this time his stomach cramped and his back muscles bunched as he tried to hold back a heave.

Large, gentle hands titled him and he heard the hollow echo of a receptacle in front of his face and he stopped fighting.

He didn’t breathe for a long time, his body shaking and twitching and spasming in a brave effort to expel what it could not. Finally, he stopped and collapsed in a heap, his head landing on something firm but yielding.

A hand stroked through his hair and with it came a calm wave of something that cut through some of the turmoil; white warmth bathed his bleeding wounds, stemming the tide of bitter black sludge that threatened to drown him.

He heard quiet murmurings above his head before something cool and wet touched his lips. "It's just water," Gris said, holding the glass to his mouth. "Can you drink some?"

Water was good. He managed to swallow some, fighting back the heaves that wanted to wrack his body. "Thanks," he whispered, his voice cracked and hoarse.

"Warrick and Nick went to go get Willow. She'll be here soon." Grissom's hand--it had to be Grissom--was still stroking through his hair, giving him an anchor. Something that didn't feel like raw sewage and death. "Just take it easy, Greg."

He was so solid. So calm and solid and *there*--Greg couldn't remember the last time he'd met someone as centered as Grissom. He clung to that feeling, wrapping it around him like a blanket. It wasn't enough to get rid of the darkness, but it was enough to keep him from throwing up again. At least, for the moment.

The stabbing pain behind his eyes receded a bit. He wasn't about to try opening his eyes, but at least he didn't feel like his head was going to fall off if he moved it. Unfortunately, with the lessening of pain came the realization that he was lying on the couch with his head in his boss’s *lap*, and said boss was petting his hair like...

Greg groaned.

"Greg?" Grissom sounded concerned. Not upset, not like he was wondering why he was caught in this ungodly mess, just...concerned. "What's wrong now?"

Wrong? Was something wrong? No. Of course not. Everything was peachy. “Um… nothing new.” But even as he said it, the breaker in the waves was being slowly worn away and it could easily be another 20 minutes before Willow showed and the black claw was already pressing into his sternum.

With a great effort he lifted his head off of Grissom’s lap, momentarily losing his balance as Grissom’s hand slipped away from his hair and moved behind his shoulders to help him up.

“You should probably stay laying down.” Gris commented blandly, shifting his grip as Greg leaned into his shoulder.

“Probably.” Greg agreed eyes still clenched shut. “But I need to ask a favor.”

“Okay.”

“I need you to help me.” Greg explained. “And I need you to trust me.”

Grissom was silent for what felt like forever and Greg contemplated just sliding back down and leaving it to chance.

When Grissom finally spoke, his voice sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet space. “What do I have to do?” He asked.

The whirring in his ears, still nearly drowned out the response. Greg nodded slowly. “You’re a righty?”

”Excuse me?”

“You’re right handed?” Greg pressed, getting desperate, too many more wasted minutes and he wouldn’t be able to concentrate enough to do what he was planning.

“Yes.”

“Give me your hand. The right one.” The arm on his shoulder shifted again, settling at his waist, Greg twisted so his back was to Grissom’s side, his legs stretched out on the couch. He took the hand, his fingers felt like blocks of ice on the heated skin. “Now your left, anywhere on my torso.” He felt a tentative touch on his side, and thinking about it, he realized that their new position was probably a bit worse than when he’d been using Gris’s lap as a pillow.

He positioned the right hand, palm up, and placed his own palm down, barely in an inch away. The recognition of Grissom’s presence behind his eyes was almost instantaneous. Breaking through the barrier at his hand was like poking through tissue paper and as the edges of their energy’s touched he felt/heard/saw Grissom take a sharp breath.

“Now you just have to push….” Greg’s whisper was harsh and raw. “Just… soothe.” He amended.

The tentative feel of Gris sending to him nearly made him sob in relief. He'd been so afraid this wouldn't work...and although it was awkward and hesitant, there was enough there for him to cling to until it got steadier and stronger. Clean, white, completely untainted, it flowed into him and gave him the strength he needed to push away the darkness.

He felt the hint of concern, the curiosity, and tried to back away from that before he saw more than he meant to. The intimacy involved in this was unavoidable, but he didn't want to read his boss's mind if he could help it. Fortunately, Grissom's formidable self-control kept too much from leaking over and Greg was able to focus on the energy instead. He took a deep breath, and another, letting it wash through him.

Grissom's hand was warm on his side, fingers spread; Greg felt every point of contact, the solid strength of Grissom's body behind his, the man's pulse, beating in rhythm with his own. It had been so long since he'd done this he'd forgotten how hyper-aware it made him, how attuned he was to Grissom now, and it was that more than anything else that made him need to end the flow.

It wouldn't get rid of the taint, but at least now he wasn't going to collapse or explode before Willow showed up. Reluctantly, he pulled away, gently severing the connection. "Thank you," he managed, throat dry. "That...helped. A lot."

Grissom just nodded, looking at him with that same hint of curiosity in his eyes. "I--" Greg swallowed. "I'll explain later." Assuming they all survived this.

Grissom nodded, though he didn’t need to. Greg could feel the gentle acceptance of his answer and the curiosity being stored away for later. He moved, as if to sit on his own, but his right hand felt a fractional increase in pressure and he looked down to see that their fingers had curled around one another, lacing together. He squeezed back and stopped trying to move.

They breathed together.

Greg could still feel/see/taste Grissom at the outer edges; without trying he could skim the surface and see little ripples form and fall in on themselves. He shouldn’t touch, he knew that. But it was right there, warm and surrounding him, fighting down the worst of the spikes that still existed. That was when he realized that Grissom was doing it on purpose.

"You--" It took him two tries to speak. "You don't have to do that," he said at last.

"I know."

But Grissom didn't pull away. "Lie down," he said gently. "You're still white as a sheet."

"I shouldn't. I'm okay now. Well, better. I mean--" Greg sighed.

"Lie down," Grissom repeated, and Greg didn't have the energy to refuse. He curled up on the couch, head in Grissom's lap again, feeling Grissom stroke his hair, warmth and safety surrounding him.

Their right hands were still tangled together and Greg realized it might have something to do with the fact that he was clenching it like a life line. He tried to pry his fingers away, but only succeeded in pulling the hand closer and tucking it into his chest.

“Is it always like that? Whatever it is you did?” Grissom’s quiet voice flowed into him.

He’d felt the question before the words had even started to form. “It’s always different.”

Greg mumbled. “Every person is different.” He held back a small moan as Grissom figured out how to harmonize with him, tweaking their energies into song. “Every combination is different.” He finished with a gasp.

Resonance built and grew for a time, until Greg abruptly cut them off. Grissom reflexively shuddered and pulled Greg up, his free hand migrating from Greg’s hair to his face, brushing against it with the back of his knuckles.

“…sorry…” Greg murmured, leaning into the touch, his lips ghosting over the back of Grissom’s hand.

Grissom’s understanding wafted around him. “…my fault…” he whispered.

Greg made a sound of agreement. It came from the back of his throat, a deep hum that vibrated through him. “…definitely…” Their foreheads touched, temple to temple. “Gris…” He started, ready to warn, but a swirl of Grissom swelled into him stopping the thought in its tracks. “…oh…” he gasped, his head tilting further into Grissom.

He felt Grissom’s lips scant millimeters from him and he leaned in, ghosting their noses, an almost nuzzle. A crackle of connection sparked and they were drawn together, lips brushing softly.

They pressed their lips together, moving slowly. The kiss was tender for a few seconds before turning open mouthed and greedy, their tongues stroking, sending a shudder through them both. Greg finally released Gris’s hand and brought both of them up fisting them into Grissom’s shirt, needing to hold onto something.

Grissom’s arm wrapped around him while his other hand buried in his hair, tilting his head and the new angle allowed Grissom to lean into him and kiss him long and hard and messy. The slick pull of Gris’s lips warmed him inside and out, nibbling at his edges. They pushed and pulled into each other, his tongue thrusting into Greg’s mouth rhythmically matched the pulsing of the energy around him.

Have to stop, have to stop, have to stop. Greg threw the thought at Grissom even as matched the kiss movement for movement, his body arching into him and pulling him down on the couch.

Grissom pulled his mouth away and Greg gasped in both relief and loss, but it was only so Grissom could work his way down Greg's throat, mouth hot against his skin. "We--oh, God--we have to stop--Gris--" Greg gave up on speaking and let his head fall back. "Oh..."

Teeth grazed his skin and then Grissom let him go, looking a little flushed himself. "Not now," he said huskily, sitting up. "You're right. We--we have to stop."

Greg blinked and pushed himself upright. His lips felt swollen and his body thrummed with energy, both his and Grissom's. But--"Not now?" he repeated. "Is that--I mean--"

Before Grissom could answer, the door swung open and three people walked in. Nick, looking confused, Warrick, also looking like he was short a few answers, and Willow, who made a beeline straight for Greg. "What happened?" she asked immediately.

"Overload," he said. "And--" he glanced around, but neither Nick nor Warrick looked inclined to move. "I touched something I shouldn't have."

She crouched next to the couch, chewing her lower lip. "What was it?"

"I'm not sure. Either the glasses, or..." Greg rubbed his forehead. "It might have been the part of the shirt."

"His?"

Greg nodded. "All I got were flashes, though. Nothing more than bad stuff."

Willow looked worried. "How bad?"

"Um. Black fire agony screaming bad?"

Willow swallowed. "Did it get you?"

"I'm okay for now."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Greg glanced at Grissom and tried not to blush. "I'll be okay until later."

"Okay." Willow glanced between him and Grissom and grinned. "Oh, that's so sweet!"

"Did I miss something?" Nick said to Warrick.

"Man, I think we both did. Someone want to explain what's going on here?" Warrick asked.

"I need to see the glasses. And the shirt. And anything else you've got," Willow said to Grissom.

He nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

"Whoa! You're going to let a civilian look at crime scene evidence? Gris, that's illegal!" Nick protested.

"It's an unusual case. Consider her an expert consultant."

"In what?" Warrick asked.

"Ritualized killings," Willow supplied.

"We don't even have a body," Nick protested.

"So either I'm here to help you find one or prevent there from *being* one." Willow smiled brightly. "Either way, it's a win-win situation for you."

"What kind of credentials do you have?" Warrick asked skeptically.

She wrinkled her nose. "Years of field experience."

“Yeah, but from which side of the law?” Nick asked.

“Now you’re just being a big downer.” Willow frowned at Nick before turning back to Grissom. “So, think I can get a look at those things?”

Grissom nodded. “Warrick, Nick, can you gather the pieces into one of the work spaces? We’ll come and find you in a minute.”

Warrick and Nick both looked confused, but left, holding in their questions for now.

When they were gone Willow turned back to both of them. “You really okay?”

"As long as I don't try to do anything really insane, like stand up, I'm fine," Greg said ruefully. His legs were still doing their liquid jello impression and he felt decidedly wobbly.

"The energy transfer didn't help?"

"It did. Before that I couldn't even *sit* up. Kept heaving." Greg rubbed his forehead. "Look, you and Gris go look at the evidence. I'll be here."

"I don't want to leave you alone," Grissom said.

"I'll be okay, really."

Willow shook her head. "He's right. I can feel it on you and if we leave you alone it might come back."

"It's sentient?" Greg's voice nearly squeaked.

She shook her head again. “No more than a really smart animal trying to survive.”

Greg made a face. “Oh good. Because that’s really comforting.”

Willow patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, anything I can do to help is too involved to really do here.” She looked at Grissom. “If you can control that thing you’re doing, he should be okay for now.” She winked at them.

This time Greg did blush even as he realized that while Grissom had stopped actively ‘pinging’ him, there was still a soothing trickle keeping him sane.

Grissom nodded solemnly, a telltale flush on his face as well.

Greg blinked at the pinked skin stupidly as Grissom wrapped an arm around him and asked, “Are you ready?”

For what? Oh. Right. Standing. He was lifted with surprising ease and held against Grissom until he found his own legs were solid. He felt a surge of warmth before he was slowly let go.

“Can you make it to the evidence?” Grissom asked quietly.

Greg took a tentative step and was impressed when he didn’t fall flat on his face. “Maybe.” He took another step, the world feeling a little wobbly but stable enough for now. “Just don’t go too far away.”

"I won't." Grissom slipped one arm around his waist and didn't seem inclined to remove it.

He supposed they had to make an odd picture, walking through the halls--himself, half-supported by Grissom, and Willow, torn between wanting to rush ahead and wanting to make sure he was all right. But they made it without garnering too many strange looks, finding Nick and Warrick in one of the spare labs.

"Whoa, Greg--what happened to you?" Warrick asked.

Greg realized he'd forgotten to put the baseball cap back on and winced. "Bottle of peroxide...bad day...don't ask."

Warrick gave him a strange look but didn't push it.

"Here's everything we got," Nick said, clearly thinking his boss had gone insane. "I've got no idea how you're going to find a killer from this."

"Same way we do, Nick. Follow the evidence." Grissom eased Greg down in a spare seat, hand rubbing over his back before he stepped away--but not too far.

Willow pulled on a pair of gloves with the ease of long experience and walked over to the table, frowning at whatever she saw. She picked up the glasses carefully; Greg saw her pale, but no one else seemed to notice.

“I heard something about a scrap of fabric?” She asked.

Nick picked up a small brown envelope. “Here you go.” He said and tossed it in her direction.

Willow carefully spilled the contents into her hand, closed her eyes and took a few shaky breaths. “Yeah, this was Giles’s.”

"How--" Nick sputtered. "What, you were *there*?" Nick looked confused. “And who’s Giles?”

She ignored him and turned to Grissom and Greg. "Well, at least now we have a place to start."

“The body we’re hoping we don’t find.” Grissom answered Nick.

Willow looked grave. “Let me just take a quick look through the rest of this stuff.”

Greg watched Willow slowly separate the evidence into two uneven piles. Most of the electrical damage was pushed away. Only three other samples were added to the pile with the glasses and the fabric swatch.

"What's so special about these?" Warrick asked, reaching for the glasses.

And Greg panicked "Don't--" He reached for them, not wanting Warrick to touch them. Only it didn't work quite the way he'd hoped. His hand brushed Warrick's, which was bad enough, but then they both hit the glasses and he had that searing flash of fire and pain and the echoes of someone screaming again and fell back into darkness.

When he blinked his eyes open, he was lying on the floor, head in Grissom's lap, with Nick and Willow staring at him. Warrick looked more than a bit freaked, and Greg thought vaguely that he'd never seen a black man with skin quite that color before.

Grissom’s fingers combed through his hair and Greg had a vague notion that he should probably check a mirror sometime soon. But that thought floated away as he felt the small trickle from Grissom wrap around him.

Greg closed his eyes and reflexively leaned into the touch before looking at Willow. “He’s… sensitive…” He whispered.

Willow’s eyes widened in comprehension. “Oh!” She turned to Warrick, “Are you okay?”

He nodded. "Don't ask me, ask him," he said, nodding at Greg.

"I'll be fine." Greg struggled to sit up, but only succeeded in slumping back down against Grissom. It was really unfair, he thought, that the man felt so good.

"We should get him out of here," Willow said, kneeling next to Greg. "Too much...stuff, and he's been wide open since, well, everything." She wrinkled her nose. "Poor thing."

Grissom nodded. "I take it the hotel room is not a good idea?"

“Bad idea.” Willow confirmed. “The spawn of two bad ideas… if you know… ideas could get married and procreate…” She got this mad, far away look. “Which, all things considered, I wouldn’t be surprised if THAT happened before…” She trailed off.

Everyone in the room shifted uncomfortably.

Greg felt Grissom shift beneath his head.

“Arms around my neck, Greg.” Grissom said before he sent another soft burst.

Greg lifted his arms and clung as he was shifted into a sitting position.

“Bend the legs.” His arms wound around his way around Greg’s waist. “Now push up.”

The world spun sickeningly as he stood, only Grissom's support keeping him from falling on his nose. "Take it easy," Grissom said, carefully sending him strength through the link. "Can you stand on your own yet?"

"I--don't know." Greg swallowed, hating to admit it and knowing it was the truth.

"Okay. We're not in a hurry here."

And he knew that was a lie, but for the moment he was willing to just stand there and soak in the strength and support Grissom was giving him.

"What the hell?!"

Greg jumped at the sound of Catherine's voice, tried to pull away, and nearly fell flat on his face. Grissom caught him again, one arm firmly around his waist and the other holding his upper arm, keeping him upright by sheer physical presence.

“Hi, Catherine was it?” Willow butted in, stepping between them and giving Greg a buffer for Cath’s overflow of emotion.

“You gonna be all right?” Nick had sidled up next to them.

“Um… yeah. I just need some time.” Greg began to carefully separate himself from Grissom just enough so they didn’t resemble Siamese twins.

Catherine was seething, and Greg didn’t really blame her.

“I came in here to ask why our suspect is sleeping in the lobby chairs.” Cath’s hands were firmly planted on her hips and she was blocking the door.

Greg firmly believed she’d do a fair linebacker imitation if they decided to just run.

"Suspect?" Willow looked dumbfounded. "You mean Andrew?" She started giggling, hiding her hand behind her mouth. "Oh, Goddess," she said, wiping tears from her eyes. "Please. You can't be serious. He's sleeping out there because I dragged him along when I came to check on Greg."

"Uh huh." Catherine wasn't buying it.

"And since no one's actually been *arr