Author's Note: CSI Down post-ep that was begging to be written! Lots of Greg/Nick angst in this. It was originally supposed to be a oneshot (the second and final chapter is already written and will be posted in a couple of days), but I posted this half separately for the sake of suspense and drama. Have fun!

PS: This scene is set right after Greg's totally uncalled for, worrying, but madly sexy outburst in the interrogation room.


"What was that about?" Nick exclaimed, following Greg into the locker room, and closing the door behind him.

Greg pressed his forehead against his locker, curling his hands into fists and glaring at Nick sideways. "That bitch is going to get them killed!"

"No, she's not!" Nick ground out from between clenched teeth. "Have a little faith man! We're going to get her back. Morgan'll be fine."

"How can you of all people say that?" Greg seethed, turning to Nick and breathing hard. "You know just how screwed up—"

"Oh, shut the fuck up, Greg!" Nick burst out, getting irritated. "We didn't turn out so bad, did we?"

"Nice to know you'd want to inflict that pain on someone else," Greg spat. He realized how hurtful and untrue his words were, but he was too proud to take them back.

Nick's jaw tightened. "Just take a break, man," he said spitefully. "You're stressed out, and you're losing it. Bite my head off, will you?"

"'Cause I'm the only one who's ever lost it at work, huh?" Greg's voice was strained, and Nick was beginning to worry. "What about you? When was the last time you settled anything calmly?"

"And when was the last time you didn't?" Nick lowered his voice significantly, concern shrouding irritation. "What had gotten into you?"

"Nothing," Greg spat out. "I'm perfectly fine, and I don't need your fucking disapproval. Just leave me alone," he tried to shoulder his way past Nick, but the older man grabbed his wrist tightly.

"Stop acting so defensive," Nick spoke as if to an armed suspect, his voice purposely low and calming. "I'm not fighting you, Greg. I'm worried about you. I've never seen you like this before. What's going on?"

"Look, man," Greg said coldly. "I think it's natural to be emotionally invested in this case! She's my friend."

"So was Sara. And I've never seen anyone more composed that you when she was kidnapped."

"Look, that was different—"

"How?"

"I... She," Greg stumbled over his words, angry and embarrassed. "Stop interrogating me, Stokes!"

"Well, Sanders, what about me?" Nick was getting riled up again. "If Warrick's word is anything to go by, you were perfectly composed when I was buried under the fucking ground!"

"Don't bring that into this!"

"Why the hell not? I'm your fucking boyfriend! You'd think that'd warrant some kind of reaction!"

"What the fuck do you know?" Greg shouted his voice cracking. "You weren't even there!"

"Well, nothing like this ever happened! Or you'd think I'd have heard about it!"

"Well, you never asked me, did you?" Greg said desperately upset. "You never asked me what went down while you were underground!"

"Well, I'm asking now."

Greg shook his head. "I can't do this right now." He took a deep breath, trying to push past Nick again. "I've got work to do. We have to find her."

"Tell me one thing: why does she matter more? After seven years together, how can this tear you up more than what happened to me?"

"You don't know what you're talking about, Nick," Greg said with his back turned. "You've got it all wrong."

"Sure doesn't look that way. Just answer the question."

"Drop it, Nick."

"No. Answer the fucking question."

"Because it wasn't my fault!" Greg finally burst out, turning to face Nick. "When you went missing, it wasn't my fault. But if something happens to Morgan... I-I couldn't live with that."

For a moment they were both silent, the weight of Greg's words hitting them both hard. Then Nick spoke almost inaudibly.

"But if something happened to me, you could live with that?"

"N-Nick, that's not what I said," Greg was shaking from nerves and exhaustion.

"Yes, you did."

Greg closed his eyes. "I'm tired, Nicky. And you wouldn't fucking leave it be. I don't know what I was saying."

Without warning, Greg felt pain crash through his cheek. Before he even knew what had happened, he brought his own fist up in retaliation, striking Nick's cheek hard and staining his knuckles with blood. He raised his hand to strike again, but Nick grabbed his fist, twisting his arm behind his back and pushing him across the locker room. He tripped over the bench, landing on the floor and hitting his head on the locker hard.

Nick climbed over the bench, furious and upset. He grabbed the collar of Greg's shirt, about to hit him again. The look on Greg's face made him lower his fist, though: Greg's eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw tense.

Greg's hand came up to the back of his head immediately. His hand felt hot and sticky, and he knew it was blood before he even saw it. The sight of it made him sick with fury, and he curled his hand into a fist, ready to punch Nick again.

But Nick had had enough; he realized they had let their exhaustion and stress get to them. He grabbed Greg's wrist, deflecting the blow and dropping Greg's hand like it was poisoned.

He stood, not meeting Greg's gazed. He was ashamed, but still too angry to apologize.

"That's enough, Greg," he said gruffly, turning around and walking out of the room.