Author Notes: Uhm , not sure why I wrote this. Once again, the plot bunny came and bit me while I was sleeping. Or something. heh.

Warning: This is basically slash, mainly Nick/Greg, however, there is notphysical slash but.. yeah.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. CBS, Mr. Jerry B, and Mr. Anthony Z. own all characters and the shows writers own the scripts. No money is being made of this. Only my ideas are mine and are not used with the idea of harming/offending anyone.

Summary: Greg tries to handle the Nick situation.

Rating: T

Spoilers: Season five, mainly Grave Danger.

He tried to tell himself he didn't care, that he had no reason to care. He had to remind himself not to break down and cry or scream. And what killed him was that nobody else seemed to notice how cold and distant he handled himself the entire time. No one wondered why he merely stood and watched, no emotion flickering in his eyes or across his face. They just continued on, all in their own world of misery, slowly crumbling before everyone.

He had to stay professional. He wasn't allowed to let on how much it was affecting him, or how much he wanted to rush up and hug Him. Every time he passed that room, with Him on display on the screen, he forced himself to take a deep breath, dig his nails into his palms, and just keep on walking. There was nothing to work himself over. The two hadn't been more than close acquaintances; they never spent more than five minutes together at a time, and never discussed anything but work. And that was something else that slowly killed him.

He could carry himself in a different manner, he could talk with a cold tone, and he could manage every outward appearance to show the results he wanted. The results he needed in order to get through the day. But he couldn't force that person hidden away to stop clawing the inside of skin in order to find a way out. He couldn't stop the little voice from constantly screaming, although he did manage to push it out of the foreground for minutes at a time.

And nobody would know that he was slowly turning off all his emotions and feelings on the inside. Soon, that screaming would stop, and soon, that raw skin would heal. Nobody would be the wiser as to why he had changed so dramatically, although, he was sure that by then, some of them would have theories. Most of them probably correct, too.

So when he saw His parents standing in the lab, awkwardly holding each other and waiting anxiously for their son to show up on the screen, he realised it was a test. If he could walk into that room, continue on as if the two had barely said more than a couple words to each other in their lifetime, he could possibly make it through to the end. He would be able to live his life as much as the constant worry and fitful sleep would allow. He would be able to carry on, and that was what seemed to matter to him.

He didn't last two minutes. He managed to walk in and shake hands with His parents before he was forced to rush out of the room and into the nearest washroom. Sitting on the dirty, tiled floor, the back of his head leaning against the stall wall, he wondered what he did wrong. He wondered why he couldn't block everything out when his only love was lying in a box six feet underground.

And then the sobbing started as he gripped his hair with his hands. He couldn't take it; he couldn't live with the fear, like he had first thought. And he knew he was being selfish, concentrating on himself, but he thought it had been the best for Him. There would be no emotions to get caught up in the evidence collection. He would be able to rescue Him by focusing on the idea that it was just another case. He banged his head against the metal wall for good measure, thinking of how fucking stupid he was for believing such a lie.

He quickly ceased his noisy cries as he heard the washroom entrance creek. He tried not to breath, tried to shrink into the back corner, his eyes watching the stall door fearfully. Someone was carefully walking past, most likely listening for sounds of another human. He watched as two high heel clad feet stopped in front of his stall, and flinched as there was a sharp knock against the door. He knew who it was, knew the comforting arms that waited for him. A choked sob escaped his lips, letting his hiding spot, although already blown, confirmed.

He didn't know how she managed to get into the stall, but as tears pooled into his eyes, making his vision blurry, he felt her kneel down in front of him. He felt her hand rubbing his leg through his jeans, and he felt the urge to collapse in her arms, but felt the need to curl up in a ball causing him to stay the way he was. Instead, he heard himself start to mumble all his fears, concerns, and thoughts, that person inside finally reaching an opening. He just allowed everything to pour out as he cried, and as he started to reach an end, he felt his eyelids growing heavier with each word.

She was stronger than she looked, and if it weren't for that fact, he would have felt bad as she managed to get him to the break room, most of his weight on hers. He just couldn't find the strength to walk, move, or even think. All of it hurt to the point that he just wanted to make it all go away, wanted to end everything there. He must have voiced this to her, causing her to immediately scold him, adding in a smack to reinforce her statements. He thanked her as she lowered him onto the couch, mind already starting to slow down, grateful for the period of rest.

He wasn't sure how he was going to act when he awoke a few hours later, wasn't sure if he would go back to the system, wondering if he would make it out alive if he did. But that voice managed to tell him to stop thinking about that, and start thinking about Nick, so Greg did.