Title: Cross My Mind

Summary: Greg listens to the tape Nick recorded in Grave Danger, with unexpected results causing a lapse of uncertainty.

Spoilers: Grave Danger, Play With Fire, Spark of Life

Pairing: Greg/Nick friendship. I'm a huge fan of The Love but this story doesn't call for a relationship.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Word Count: 1,096

Disclaimer: Own nothing. This idea has probably been written out so many times before, that I'm sure that I don't own that either...

Author's Note: This was supposed to be a one shot, but it got kind of out of hand. At the most it will be three chapters but. This chapter's from Greg's perspective and the next will be from Nick's. I know that this is a post Grave Danger story but it is completely Greggo angst. It might be considered a character study.

I look around urgently before zooming into the evidence room. I want to hear the tape. I know Grissom ordered us not to.

It's not your right to watch the tape.

Shut up.

I open the filing cabinet with shaky hands. It wasn't hard to get in here. We worked a double trying to get you out, and everyone's either gone home or to the hospital. I came here straight after we found you. I hope you're not pissed that I didn't come to visit.

When I reached the lab, dayshift was filing in, and Ecklie conveniently, with a touch of fake sympathy, pulled me into the DNA lab, to run backlog. It lasted about five hours, and now I'm on break.

The recorder feels heavy in my hands, and I'm tempted to put it back. I know that I'm the last person who should be doing this. Warrick your best friend; Catherine will know how to make you feel better; Grissom would know what to say. They should be doing this not me.

I seal the evidence box with shaky hands. The recorder hasn't been processed but I'm wearing gloves so it doesn't really matter. I shove it into my jacket pocket and force myself to leave the room. I know that I can't chicken out of this. I'll never get the opportunity again.

Striding past the ballistics lab, I take a sharp right, and push myself into the supply closet as discreetly as possible. I've been here so many times before, and I take comfort in the familiar, musky scent.

The first time was after the lab explosion. If the lab was suffocating me, or if I saw Catherine and wanted to scream at her, even thought I had done all the screaming into my pillow after she told me that she caused the explosion. I take all of Mum's calls here, because she worries about me and I miss her, and I know that if I tell my mum that I love her in public, Hodges will call me a Mamma's boy, and I get enough of that already.

Now I lock the door and slide down it. There's hardly any room, and I know my legs will cramp. I start the tape.

Mom and Cisco...Grissom...'Rick...Catherine...Sara...I'm sorry...You did your best to find me...

Nothing. Nothing addressed to me.

What did you expect? You're not his best friend. You're not his mentor. You're not his comforter. You're not his friendly competition. What are you?

Nothing

And now I feel like crying because I'm nothing to you, and you're everything to me. And I never cry. The last and first time I cried at work was after Tara Mathew's husband identified her at the hospital, and all I could think of was the lab explosion and I'd close my eyes and it would be three times worse.

I refuse to give way to tears, so I place the recorder back in my pocket and rush down the hall. I put it away, even though I want to smash it against the wall.

I can't stay here. At the lab. I have to go. Somewhere--anywhere.

I end up at the hospital, and I wish my legs would listen to me and not go inside.

Excuse me; I'm here to visit a Nick Stokes.

Now my mouth is conspiring against me. It doesn't seem to realise that I don't want to see you right now.

Fourth floor, room 12A.

The receptionist is petite. She looks over me condescendingly and I realise that I'm still muddied from your rescue. I notice that there are probably tear streaks on my face, and I move to wipe them away. When I look down at my hand there's mud on it and I grimace.

Thanks.

I take the stairs. There's less of a chance that some one on the team will spot me. There's no one in the hall outside your room. Peering inside your room, I see that you're asleep. There's nobody inside either, but I can't seem to work up the courage to go in.

I put my hand on the window and lean in as much as possible. I want to feel angry at you, but I can't. I don't know what I feel or what I should feel, and frankly I don't give a damn.

Go inside Greg.

He's asleep, Catherine.

He'll wake up...He was asking about you.

I bet he was.

What's happened to you, Greg?

Catherine is pulling me away from the window, and making me face her. I know I'm being bitter and mean, and I'm taking it out on Catherine.

I'm sorry.

It's okay.

Suddenly the world's spinning and Catherine's hand is gripping my arm tightly.

You're swaying Greg, and you look like shit. Let me take you home.

I let her lead me out, and I realise how exhausted I am. I just want to sleep, and forget about things for a while.

I don't visit you at the hospital again. I work instead. Exhaustion, caused but both overwork and worry for you and how you're coping, is winning over. I want to forget about the tape and just go visit you at the hospital but I can't. I'm still not angry at you-- though I wish I was. I am angry at myself though. I keep telling myself to let this go. I want to let this go, but something keeps reminding me that I didn't even cross your mind down there in the coffin. I'm mentally and physically drained, and I don't know what to do about it.

I can tell the others have noticed. Grissom puts me on lab duty after every double shift, even though the other tech is free. I think he wants to send me home but doesn't know how. Sara insists to work cases with me, and takes me to the diner every break to stuff me full. Catherine keeps eyeing me and asking me if I'm okay, but I don't think she knows what else to do. I don't think anyone does, and I know for sure that I don't know what to do.

I'm apparently so deep into my own head, that I don't realise that you've been discharged from the hospital because the next thing I know the doorbell is ringing and you're standing outside my apartment. I don't know how you caught me here because it's rare that I'm home these days. I do know that slamming the door in your face won't work.

This really was inevitable wasn't it?