Author's Note: Oneshot. Slash. Angst/Comfort. Nick/Greg. Greg's POV.
My longest oneshot, so far. I decided to join the many who have written fanfics for after Play With Fire. While writing this story, I listened to Stand in the Rain by Superchick, so some parts are related to the song, in some way . . . well they are in my mind! xD
Disclaimer: I don't own any characters mentioned.
Acknowledgements: Thanks goes out to Amanda for proofreading.
Warning: Spoilers for Play With Fire.
Summary: Greg is trying to deal with the aftermath of the lab explosion, but the memories won't leave him. It's his first night home and he tries to escape, but where is he going?
Dousing the Flames
The rain came down. Pouring from the heavens. A roaring, rushing, pounding of water just being ejected from the overly large black clouds from above. It was cold. Cold, freezing, frigid . . . yet Greg didn't care. He wanted the cold, he wanted the chill. Anything except the heat.
He just kept walking. He didn't know where, he just kept his feet moving, his heart racing in time with his thoughts.
He took a step.
A flash of light.
He took another step.
The smell of burning . . . was that his own flesh?
Another step.
The yelling, the screaming, the complete hysteria.
He stopped. He couldn't handle it. He just wanted to forget it, to never remember the incident, but God—he couldn't get it out of his head.
The rain continued to flood from the sky and it grew colder still, Greg's breath exploding from his mouth, his hair dripping into his eyes. He wasn't even wearing a jacket.
He had just gotten out of the hospital that evening. That night the doctors had told him to take it easy, to go home and get some rest.
"We have some sleeping pills for you, but you probably won't need them, right Greg?"
"No . . . I probably won't."
They didn't know. They didn't know that he didn't sleep . . . that he didn't want to eat . . . that he just wanted to get the light, the smell and the sounds out of his head. He wanted it all gone, but it wouldn't leave. It wouldn't go.
He kept walking.
It had been his first night home. He had been driven to his front door by Catherine. She was feeling guilty, of course. He could understand, and he had forgiven her. It was an accident. She had walked him to his door, holding it open for him as he fumbled with the keys.
"You'll be okay, right Greg?"
"Yeah."
"You heard the doctor, he said . . ."
"He told me to take it easy."
"And you will?"
"Of course."
Ten minutes of the complete and utter silence in his house and he had been gone, running out the front door into the dark, into the cold, into the wetness. He had even left the front door open, he thought, but he couldn't remember. All he could recall was the heat, the horrible shrieks of people in pain, the paramedics rushing him to the hospital.
Left, right, left, right. One foot in front of the other, just moving, just walking. Running away from the silence, the loneliness. Running away from the memories, but like a shadow, they were right behind him. If he glanced over his shoulder, he could feel the flames licking at his back, the smell in his nostrils, the blinding fire in front of his eyes. He could see the lab, destroyed, and the glass shattering around him.
God, why wasn't the rain extinguishing the flames inside his mind? The thoughts that were burning holes into his soul . . . the thoughts that wouldn't stop racing, bouncing around in his mind. The memories that wouldn't lie down and sleep until later.
He wished he could sleep. One night of pure, dreamless rest. No more nightmares. No more waking up, trembling all over because he thought he was in the lab, in the explosion.
The rain drizzled down onto his black sweater, and Greg realized that he was completely soaked, right down to his socks. Absolutely soaked. The thought of being cold and wet made him laugh aloud, the sound drowned out by the roaring of water pouring down into the storm drains.
Greg glanced up, his face turned towards a street sign. Where the hell had he walked? How long had he been walking?
He squinted at the sign, the name sparking a memory, but from where? He turned, his feet going without his mind's permission. Greg was going to check it out anyways.
His mind was completely focused on getting to the bottom of the mystery. Possibly an old suspect lived on this street? An old friend, maybe? Anyone . . . just something to keep his mind off of . . .
A car jumped out at him, parked in a driveway. That color, that model . . . Nick's car. Nick lived on this street.
Without stopping, without pausing, Greg was sprinting. Sprinting towards Nick's front door. Towards someone, anyone. He needed to get this out of his head, out of his mind. Nick . . . Nick could help. God, please let him be able to help.
Greg frantically knocked on the door and rang the bell. His heart wouldn't slow, his breathing wouldn't relax. He could feel the heat again, through his drenched clothing, just on his back. The flames caressing his body, the heat encasing him, trapping him. The smoke choking, the sounds deafening. Was that Greg's heart seizing up? His body locking in fear, in fright. Oh God, someone please be home.
The front door flew open, Nick's annoyed face abruptly changing to shock.
"Greg, are you all right? Greg?"
Greg fainted dead away, his legs giving way underneath him. He started to fall away from Nick, but the Texan grabbed him by the arms, supporting him, pulling him into the house.
Greg was drowsy and warm . . . he was warm, but he didn't freak out this time. There was a sense of safety here . . . not like at the hospital, but where was he? He opened his eyes slowly, taking in the scent of the blanket covering him. That scent was familiar.
"Greg? Are you awake?"
That voice, low as if far away. Quiet. Soft. Caring. Not a doctor.
"Nick?" Greg croaked, his voice hoarse, his lips cracking.
"I'm right here, G. God, you scared the shit out of me."
Nick's voice was closer now, and Greg could see the older man's face, white with worry, just a few feet away. Nick's hair looked slightly damp, as if he too had been out in the rain.
"I'm sorry," Greg choked out, trying to pull himself into a sitting position. Strong hands pushed on his back, helping him up.
Greg took in Nick's living room. The big screen TV across from him, the glass coffee table, the leather chair and the leather couch. He could see a kitchen to his right, the front door right there. How had he gotten in here?
Nick came and sat on the coffee table right in front of him, his hands trembling.
"Greg, what the hell were you doing? Didn't you just get out of the hospital? What were you thinking?"
"Wasn't . . . thinking," Greg mumbled incoherently, shaking his head slightly. "I just wanted it out."
Nick inclined his head slightly, as if he hadn't heard properly.
"Wanted what out?"
"The fire . . . the heat . . . the smell . . . the hurt."
Greg glanced at Nick and realized that the older man's eyes were wide, the deep chocolate brown warm and caring, but also frightened and troubled.
Greg swallowed and continued. "I . . . haven't had anyone to talk to . . . and I just came here, without realizing. I just wanted to escape them."
Nick didn't respond, he just watched Greg, then finally he spoke: "You didn't even have a jacket on, Greg. It was raining and cold out."
"I was too hot," Greg whispered, his eyes trailing along the walls, flames leapt at him from the pictures nailed to the wall, almost in reach of him. He could smell the acrid, burning smoke again, it was choking him, leaving him breathless. God, he couldn't breathe, he was going to die.
"Greg! Take a deep breath, just hold it in, then let it out slowly," Nick instructed, his voice firm but quavering at the end. Greg did as he was instructed, his body being forced to relax.
"Greg, you were hypothermic when you got here. I had to get you out of your clothes and into warm ones, then cover you with a blanket. How could you have been too hot?"
Nick didn't understand. He wouldn't understand. He hadn't experienced it. He could recall everything that had happened in his mind so vividly it was as if it was happening again. Over and over. Never ceasing, not stopping.
"Greg? Please talk to me," Nick's voice lost it's harsh tone as he leaned towards Greg, drawing the younger man's eyes to his own. Greg couldn't resist looking into the older man's face. It was parchment white, his eyes still fearful. Nick was afraid of him, of what he might do.
"You won't . . . understand," Greg said jerkily, trying to look at something else except Nick, but he couldn't.
"Please Greg, try me. I don't want to find you out on the street dead one day because you were trying to run away from the things that had happened to you," Nick replied, his voice catching in his throat.
"The heat . . . the heat was unbearable. The smell of burning, my body burning, the lab burning, the smoke in my nose, the glass in my arms, in my skin. The fire on my lab coat . . ." Greg stopped, trying to continue but he couldn't. Along with the words came images. Jumbled and mixed up images in his mind that he couldn't stop.
Nick waited, his hands clasped together in his lap.
"I thought I was going to die. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't even hold my head up. I could hear people in pain, then I sort of blacked out . . . I can remember it now; I wasn't asleep. I could hear Grissom asking about me, I could hear the paramedics talking to each other on the way to the hospital . . . each one saying how bad I looked, wondering what else they could do for me. I could feel my skin burning, peeling, then flaking off. The smell of smoke on my clothes, in the vehicle. I was choking, but inside my mind . . . Some of my clothing had actually melted to my body, and when they took it off . . ." Greg shuddered, remembering the excruciating pain that had flared when they cut his clothing away from his body. He opened his mouth to continue, but couldn't.
"Have you talked to anyone else?" Nick asked gently. Greg shook his head.
"No one. I just . . . couldn't. No one else seemed to listen, they all thought I was in shock, or that it was just me having a dream, but I'm awake."
Greg's hand had started to shake and he held the blanket closer to him, he didn't want to start crying again. He had only cried once and that was in the hospital. The first night he had been there.
Oh Lord, he had been so scared. Alone and in immense amounts of pain without anyone there to comfort him. The tears had been endless and he had muffled his sobs in his quickly dampened pillow.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Greg," Nick told him softly, inclining his head a little closer, barely a foot away from him now. Greg's eyes stung with unshed tears. He wished Nick had been there too. And now . . . now he was here, in Nick's living room, in Nick's clothes, almost breaking down. Almost letting it out.
"I wish I could've been there for you," Nick murmured, his lips trembling. He was reaching out to Greg, throwing him a life raft as the younger man floated in the ocean, drowning. He was fighting the undertow, but he was losing. He didn't want to drown in this, drown in the rain, drown in the memories.
"The worst part," Greg muttered, more to himself than to Nick, "is that I can't even sleep anymore. It's like a bad movie. I can't let it go, and it just keeps playing, whenever I close my eyes I'm there again."
Nick made an unusual movement, almost as if he wanted to clutch Greg to him, but he thought better of it.
"Do you think you need to see a psychiatrist or something?"
"I . . . I don't know, I just want it gone, but I'm not crazy, I'm not insane, I swear I'm not!" Greg exclaimed, his eyes now shining brightly in the living room as the downpour continued to pelt Nick's windows.
"I never said you were, Greg. I just don't know how I can help you. I don't think I can help you," Nick said regretfully, his lips still trembling slightly.
"Be here for me."
"What?"
"Be here for me, please," Greg requested, his voice small and childlike. Nick didn't respond, he just sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.
"I just want to sleep, I just want to forget, I just want to heal," Greg said in an undertone, his voice still hoarse. "I need you here, please."
"Why did you come to my house, Greg? When you left your house, did you have a plan of walking all the way here?" Nick asked abruptly, his eyes flashing open.
"No."
"Then why did you come here?"
"I don't know."
Silence, then-
"Greg, I think I should bring you back to the hospital. You're ill, look, you're shivering again," Nick loudly said, standing up.
"No, please Nick, I'm okay now."
"How can you say that, Greg? I'm sure you were told to stay at home, get some rest, but no! You wandered over here in the cold, in the rain, and fainted on my doorstep. You were almost hypothermic, Greg. You are not okay!" Nick ranted, going to grab his coat. "I'm taking you to the hospital."
Greg hadn't moved, he just watched Nick, listening to the tone of his voice.
"Come on Greg, put on this coat and we're going. You can bring the blanket if you want."
Greg didn't move. Another thought had pushed its way into his already confused mind, and it was shining as if a beacon of hope, of freedom.
"Greg, come on."
"I think you've already helped me a bit, Nick," Greg said, his voice soft but echoing in the still of the house. Nick paused, his hand hovering over a jacket in the closet.
"What?"
"You've already helped me," Greg repeated, his voice stronger, clearer. Nick turned to stare at him, his gaze incredulous, confused.
"I don't understand, Greg."
"All I could think about when I was on my way here was the fire, the explosion. As I was sitting here on your couch, the only thoughts in my mind were of how scared I was, the pain, the fear, but after talking to you, being here with you . . . I almost forgot, Nick. I almost forgot for a second. For one second the thoughts, the memories were gone," Greg said, his voice excited. His own shadowy, almost black eyes locked with Nick's own dim brown ones. Uncertainty clouded over Nick's eyes.
"Greg, the people at the hospital can help you better than I can . . ."
"No, they can't Nick! I was there for two weeks. Two weeks and I had no release from the pain, the terror and the flames. They were there, in my room every time I opened my eyes and they were still waiting for me in my mind."
Nick took two hesitant steps towards Greg, lowering the coat in his hand.
"Nick," Greg lowered his voice to a little louder than a whisper, "you made me forget. Being around you helped me. Please."
"Please what, Greg? I don't understand," Nick told him, shaking his head, the confusion still on his face. "What is it you want me to do?"
Greg's throat was dry. His tongue didn't want to work. All he could see was the Texan's beautiful brown eyes, coming closer to his own.
"Stay here with me," he finally forced out, breathless. Nick was even closer now. Tingles were racing all over his body, his heart thumping quickly in his chest.
The Texan considered him for a moment, close enough to Greg to smell that Greg Sanders scent. He could still see Greg's hands twitching every now and then, but it had slowed, and it would go away. Nick had no doubts about that.
"But how does that help?" Nick muttered, his voice almost as hoarse as Greg's. Greg swallowed, and, without thinking, answered.
"Because I need you."