Disclaimer: I own nothing but my imagination :D
Never Okay.
He was almost there. He could see the front door, and the Vegas sky beyond it. He just had to walk a little further and he was free to act the way he felt.
His converse squeaked on the lab's floor as he quickened his pace, eager to get into his car and speed off to his bar of choice, and forget everything.
He took deep breath after deep breath, his eyes scanning faces, wondering if he needed to plaster a smile on his face. But as far as he could see, no other CSIs were flowing through the hallway.
A few more steps and he'd be free of his false charisma. He could feel the refreshing night air whooshing in the sliding door and it calmed him slightly.
Finally his feet found the metal floor of the doorway, and then the cold, hard pavement. Cool air washed over him and he sighed. He let his face drop, and his shoulders sag. He felt the pain in his stomach spread, until his whole body was stinging. With what exactly, he wasn't sure.
He felt like the gravity on earth had tripled, and the thickness of the air had done the same. Just walking and breathing were things he had to think about, and even thinking took substantial of effort.
He trudged towards his Denali, stray bits of gravel skittering on the dark ground. He glanced at them, but regretted it as his eyes began to water, and the familiar stinging of his nose began once again.
So like he had a million times these past few months, he sucked it all back, and looked upwards, trying to dry his now shining eyes. He could see a few stars in the sky, and wished he could see more.
His foot caught on a small pothole, and he stumbled a miniscule amount, but it was enough. His body reacted as he caught his balance, that stinging doubling, and more tears rushing up to his eyes.
He felt weak, and he hated it, so he found himself rushing faster towards the safety of his car. The Vegas sounds in the distance reached him; traffic, shouting drunken voices, club music and casino ads. Even though he felt numb, all his senses still worked.
The outside air was chilling him to the bone, and his ears burned red, his cheeks stung harshly. But none of that mattered to him, because all he wanted was to be alone, solitary, and safe. But his idea of safe wasn't the usual perception. No, he wanted to be safe to cry, and break down, the other CSIs none the wiser.
Finally he reached his car, and clicked the small plastic button on his keys. The beep echoed in the night, and he pulled the door handle, swinging it open widely.
He climbed into the slightly stuffy car, feeling the padded seat give under his weight. Then he slammed the door shut, and tilted his head back on the head-rest.
The pain rushed up from his chest as he let go of control, and he began to shake. Tears soaked his cheeks, obscuring his vision. Everything blurred and faded, as he shivered in the closed space of his car.
He sniffed in the thick air between the sobs that wracked his body, but he was still suffocating. His head felt like it was being compressed, and electrified. But inside was another story,
Yes, on the inside, he was collapsing and crumbling. His thoughts and flash-backs were jumbled, and his feelings...they were strings knotted to the point of hopelessness.
Everything he had held back during the double he had pulled was now pouring out, like he had turned on a faucet.
He gripped the steering wheel to the point where his knuckles were white as he finally calmed from his breakdown. The familiar cooled feeling filled his throat, and his head felt like he had a bad hangover.
The tears didn't stop though, they continued to stain his pink cheeks, the very ones that were always blotchy but nobody seemed to notice. His eyes were puffy, and he knew he needed to get out of the parking lot.
He reached for the ignition, keys still in hand, but jumped as someone knocked on the window. His heart raced with shock as he looked at the figure, who was still knocking on the glass.
"Greg? Greg, are you okay?" Sara's voice penetrated the thick glass, and he could see the look of concern on her face.
The shock was uncontrollable, and a small gasp escaped him. Nobody had seen him without the mask on. He kept it there for a reason, because everyone needed to think he was okay. But it was quite the opposite.
But his inner turmoil was too much, and the tears continued to slide down his face. So he turned the keys in the ignition, his Denali coming to a sudden life. The air conditioning blasted, and he stumbled to find the control, turning it down.
"Greg, come on, open the window!" Sara shouted from outside, and he turned his blotchy, pained face, his eyes meeting with hers fiercely. She looked like she had seen a ghost, and he knew why.
But he couldn't bring himself to follow her instructions, so choosing flight over fight, he shoved his foot on the gas. The car pushed forwards, Sara stepping back in shock. He drove through the empty spot in front of him, and rolled around the corner towards the exit.
So he drove out, looking back to see a hurt Sara Sidle, standing in the night air alone and looking more confused than he had ever seen her.
So, this is set after 'Fannysmackin' Because it seems that Greg is just okay, but really- when are any of our CSIs just 'okay'? Look at how long it took Nick to be around bugs again? Season 10! Ugh, they make Greg look sooo happy, but I'm sure he has his issues too :) Next chapter will be here soon, if I get reviews that is :) I think he's always been too happy, I mean look at all the shit he's been through. So yeah, review!