Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. But I wish I owned Greg!!
My first published fic, please play nicely and please let me know what you think. :)
Nick stretched his arms above his head with a loud, long sigh of relief; glad that tonight's shift was over at last. Though no high profile or even difficult cases had come through, there had been a few pieces of evidence misplaced and some details were misinterpreted, making the team work double time to fix their mistakes. But the shift was winding down, ten minutes to go, and Nick could not wait to get home to his couch and fall asleep watching basketball reruns. He smiled to himself as he made his way over to the labs. Mia and Hodges were in the break room but there was Greg, where he always was, sitting with his white lab coat poring over some case evidence. Even on the slowest days Greg was busy with something, never fail. Nick couldn't see what kept him so busy but that was why he wasn't in the lab. That and it was likely he'd blow something up.
"Greg," Nick called his friend's attention as he walked around the glass walls in to the younger man's 'office'. He absently noticed the lack of loud rock music and shrugged. Maybe the guy had finally taken the hints from Catherine. Greg turned away from his microscope.
"Hey." He answered. Nick gave him a smile.
"Meeting in the break room, Catherine wants to talk about the birthday party she's throwing for Lindsey that we're all invited to," Nick said. Greg nodded and turned back to his microscope, looking in to the little eyepiece, scribbled a few notes, then packed up the file he was working on.
"Alright, let's rock and roll," he stated. Instead of jumping up and sauntering away like he usually did, though, he carefully eased himself off his high stool and slowly stood, a look of concentration on his face. When he walked out in to the hall his gait was noticeably off.
"Hey man, you're limping!" Nick worried. Greg flashed him an unconcerned grin and bravely hobbled on.
"Just a leg cramp," he brushed his friend's concern aside. "I need to get off that seat more often or I might become permanently attached." Nick eyed him but stayed silent. They reached the break room together, where Greg gave the same excuse to the others for his limp, and they all settled down to listen to Catherine threaten them with dire consequences if any one of them bought Lindsey a present related to science. But she went on to say 'open bar', and that perked them all up. Lindsey and her friends were all preteens, and alcohol was always needed for the adults to survive a whole night of their giggling and gossip. When she was done the members of the night shift drifted off to drive home one by one. Finally it was just Nick and Greg left, sipping coffee and chatting. Nick was reluctant to leave such good conversation, but his couch called and he was getting more tired by the minute. So he eventually stood and put his cup in the sink.
"I ought to be getting home to bed," he announced. Greg also stood, albeit slower, and nodded, a smile on his face like always. Nick could swear that he slept with a coat hanger in his mouth.
"Me too," he agreed. He began limping towards the doorway and Nick frowned at his leg before something caught his eye, a growing spot of red on the California man's beige pants, on the thigh.
"Greg, you're bleeding!" Nick felt a bit of panic rise in him, coupled with confusion. Greg tried to laugh in off as an evidence stain, but Greg Sanders did not spill evidence. He was just too experienced, too careful. Nick hurried over to him, helped by the fact that a man with a limp can't run very far very fast, and made him sit down. Ignoring Greg's protests he shoved up the bottom of the pant leg and found dried blood covering the calf as far as he could push the garment up. He stood up and gave Greg his most business-like stare, hands on hips.
"Take off your pants," he demanded. The Californian stared up at him like he was crazy and clutched his lab coat tighter around himself. "I mean it G," Nick warned. Greg glared at him and undid his belt, carefully lifting himself to slide the material out from under him, and kicked his slacks to the side, leaving him in blue boxers. Nick stared wide-eyed for a moment at the huge wound revealed to him. A gun shot! Dried blood ran all down the leg, telling Nick that it hadn't been cleaned since it had been inflicted, and the wound had started gushing anew, explaining the growing red stain.
"Greg what the hell happened?" Nick gasped as he rushed for the first aid kit under the sink. He got no answer, but when he looked over his friend's head was sunk to his chest. So instead of prying right now, he focused on filling a bowl with water and grabbing an old dishcloth. They were both silent as he cleaned the area, although Greg did scream once when Nick removed the bullet with a pair of tweezers. But neither said a word until after a protective double layer of gauze had been taped in place, and a plastic cover taped over that to keep it dry in the shower. When he was done and the first aid kit had been packed away Nick leaned against the break table and crossed his arms, staring at his friend with a thousand questions going through his head. Greg slowly got to his feet and smiled when he noticed that the pain was a bit better. He smiled again for Nick and made to leave.
"Uh-uh, no way cowboy, get back here," Nick called after him. "I want to know exactly what happened!" Greg slowed and looked back over his shoulder.
"It was an accident, let it go Nick," was all he said before hobbling off as fast as he could manage and disappearing down the hall that led to the parking lot. Nick shook his head, perplexed and sat down with his head in his hands. His couch no longer held so great of an appeal. Instead he looked at the blood all over the floor and the bullet he had carefully placed on the table with an idea slowly forming in his head. He was sure that the day's people wouldn't mind an extra hand hanging around. So he slipped some gloves out of his pocket – he was a CSI after all – and carried his meager evidence to Greg's station, cracking his knuckles and settling in to the stool.
He had been right that the day's people didn't mind him at all. In fact he discovered that they left Greg's station alone when he wasn't there, none dared to enter it. It wasn't so much that they respected his personal work area, but that they never knew when he would appear. Apparently Greg put in more off the clock overtime than Nick had ever heard of. What in hell could keep him that busy? Shaking his head, the brunette came back to earth as the printer/scanner to his right spewed out the results he had been waiting for. DNA found on the bullet was Greg's of course, having been in his leg, but after rinsing it of blood, a fingerprint had been dusted off it and run through the system. The bullet itself had also been run through the system and a positive had been found: the patterns matched those used in a self-defense case about fifteen years back. The gun belonged to a Victor Rhodes, who had a fingerprint on file that matched the one Nick had found. Satisfied, Nick packed up and left, waving to the people that had let him use Greg's station. He noticed one of them come up behind him and slide the door to the lab room shut as if Greg liked it that way.
The last known address on Rhodes' file brought Nick to a simple house about twenty minutes from the lab with a small yard and a fence with peeling paint. Although he wasn't on shift, Nick had worn his CSI jacket and clipped his identity badge on to his shirt pocket. A gun was hidden in the back of his jeans, just in case. No cars were in the dusty driveway but the double garage doors were closed. Nick locked his car and knocked on the white front door. There was an angry roar of 'answer the door!' and he heard at least six chains and bolts slide out before it opened and a blonde young man with his head down appeared.
"Yes?" the man asked in a quiet voice. Nick gaped at him.
"Greg?!" he exclaimed. Greg's head shot up and he looked at Nick with something akin to deadpan horror in his face. "What are you doing here?" Nick asked.
"I live here!" Greg shot back quietly with a touch of urgency in his voice.
"You live with the man who shot you?" Nick was shocked, to say the least. Greg's eyes went even wider and panic crept in to them.
"How did you know that?" his voice was strangled. Nick told him he had run it through the system and wanted to ask the man some questions, but Greg refused to let him in. "It was an accident Nicky, an accident. Go home." Greg was about to slam the door in Nick's face when a huge hand grabbed it and swung it open. Nick saw Greg begin to shake before he looked in to the most brutish faced he'd ever seen. His features weren't so much brutish; in fact he was quite beautiful with thick black hair and clear blue eyes. It was the malice behind his expression and the pointless anger in his eyes that made him look Neanderthal. He gave Nick an obvious once over.
"Who's this, Gregory?" he asked the young man he stood behind. Greg immediately lowered his head as if in deference.
"This is Nick. We work together," he answered in that quiet voice that Nick had never heard from him. Victor Rhodes grinned a beautiful yet feral grin.
"Well let's invite him in shall we?" he cooed, his words dripping honey. Nick had a very bad feeling about this man, even without considering the fact that he had shot his good friend in the thigh.
"Yes Victor," Nick was blown away by the meekness and subservience in Greg's voice. Nick stepped in to the house and found himself in a dark living room. The couch had an open bag of chips on it, the side table sported many empty beer cans, and the TV was playing football loudly. There didn't seem to be much light in the house, and Nick could see in to the kitchen, which was spotless. Everything was spotless except the place where it was obvious that that black haired man had been sitting on the couch.
Victor was smiling an oily smile at Nick when he suddenly turned and snarled at Greg, "Clean this mess up." Greg jumped a bit.
"Yes Victor," he agreed quietly and started picking up the cans, rolling up what was left of the chips, and turning down the TV. Nick was led to the couch, and Rhodes sat much too close to him for his comfort. Before he had a chance to ask about the bullet wound, the blonde came back in the room and sat on the edge of a large blue armchair. Victor's reaction was immediate. He flowed up off his seat with fury in his eyes.
"Who said you could sit down you faggot?" he demanded. Greg looked terrified as he scrambled up as fast as his leg would allow. Nick gaped at him while he stammered apologies. Victor strode over and, without a warning, struck Greg in the face, making him whirl to the floor in the middle of the room. The apologies kept coming, turning in to pleas for mercy when Victor stood over him menacingly. Nick was rooted to his seat by shock and horror.
"Victor please, not in front Nick!" Greg cried out. Victor grabbed the front of Greg's shirt at the throat and bodily dragged them face-to-face, shaking him violently.
"Oh, is this the one you've been pining after this whole time?" he growled. Greg whimpered in obvious fear, fighting back not even crossing his mind. Nick couldn't seem to gallivant himself in to action.
"Victor please," Greg pleaded again, earning him another violent shake, one that made his head crash in to his shoulder painfully.
"You're pathetic!" Victor yelled. "If it weren't for the sex, I'd leave you. And then where would you be, huh?" Nick felt his roots sink deeper at this new revelation. Greg was gay? He was…in a severely abusive relationship. "I asked you a question, where would you be!" he roared in to Greg's face.
"Lost without you," came a small whisper, as if he were simply repeating the lines of a play that he knew well. How often did this happen? Victor dragged Greg up in to the air and held him facing Nick, still riveted in place by horror. "He doesn't care about you Gregory. Look at him. You're just a faggot, and he has no use for faggots." Greg's eyes were scared and hopeless as they bored in to Nick's, apologizing, begging him to run. Finally the brunette snapped out of his state of shock. He slowly rose from his seat and pulled the gun out of the back of his jeans. The sound of it being cocked made Victor look up to find it pointed at his head. He was flabbergasted.
"Let the man go Mr. Rhodes," he stated as calmly as he could. Greg looked a little incredulous, as if he couldn't believe Nick was doing this for him. He wanted him to run, Nick knew, but how could he live with himself if he did that? And who knew what Rhodes would do once he was gone. The menace in question recovered quickly and pulled his blonde captive closer, using him as a body shield.
"Oh I don't think you'll shoot your friend," he sneered. Nick sneered back.
"No, but you left one thing open," he said. Rhodes had just enough time to realize he hadn't covered his head, and he had no gun himself before Nick squeezed the trigger, burying a bullet in his forehead. He stood for a few seconds until gravity caught up with him and he dropped Greg, falling sideways in to a heap. Nick leapt forward to catch his friend as he fell, landing on his bad leg and howling. He grabbed on to Greg's waist and held him upright, holding him close to his body to make sure he was truly all right. Greg looked up at him, still incredulous. Suddenly he was clinging to Nick for dear life and Nick clung just as desperately to him, relief flowing through both of them like a tsunami wave. The blonde couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop the tears gathering in his eyes. He looked up at Nick and was surprised to find that there were tears in his eyes too. Greg then found himself swept up in to Nick's arms. He was carried out of the house without a word, put in Nick's car, and driven to the police station. Nick reported Victor, gave a full statement on what happened, and admitted that he had killed him in defense of his friend. So much happened so fast that when Greg was left alone in the waiting room he began hyperventilating so rapidly he passed out.
He woke up on a blue couch, wearing sweat pants that weren't his, and with his head in someone's lap. He was reluctant to move, due to his leg feeling better than it had in days, and someone's hand running through his hair in such a gentle way he didn't want to know if it was real or a dream. It had been so long since he had felt a touch that had been anything but demanding. When he did open his eyes he took in white walls, green trim, the scent of roast beef, and the sound of Just for Laughs, the rumble of laughter bubbling up from the belly his head rested against. Then he took in the sight of Nick Stokes' face, smiling gently at his TV screen, one hand holding a water bottle and the other tenderly weaving in and out of Greg's blonde locks. Greg smiled as he realized that Nick must have taken the younger man home with him. The living room was bright with energy-friendly light bulbs as evening slowly approached, along with their work shift. Nick laughed at the TV again, hand over mouth as he tried not to wake the person lying in his lap. He couldn't resist throwing his head back, shaking with the effort of not guffawing loudly.
"Beautiful…" the word slipped from Greg's lips before he realized he was even thinking it. The sound caught Nick's attention and he looked down. When he met Greg's eyes, his own lit up and his grin grew to rival the light bulb above him.
"You're awake!" he exclaimed, genuinely pleased. Neither man made a move to remove Greg from Nick's lap, in fact, Nick continued to play with his hair as if not realizing he was doing it. Greg nodded a bit, smiling shyly, before closing his eyes to the sensation of Nick Stokes' hand. No longer having to worry about waking him up, Nick's laughter now rang loudly about the room as he watched the stand up comedy. Greg let it fill his ears and buoy his heart, each ripple cascading over him and washing Victor from his memories. When the show ended he lamented the loss of that beautiful sound. It took him a while to realize that the TV had been turned off. When he did, he opened his eyes and saw that Nick was staring down at him with a gentle smile. He ruffled his hair.
"We have to be at work in an hour," he announced. "Want to borrow some clothes after you shower?" Greg grinned sheepishly and nodded, getting up with the greatest reluctance he had ever done anything with in his life.