Author's Note: Wow. I am actually back in the FanFiction world and writing again. I never thought I would be doing this again!! Well what better way to make a come back than to write a sequel to my favorite personal story, Afflicition. To understand this new story I would suggest reading that story first, since this is the much-deserved sequel. And don't worry...none of that crazy text stuff. I apparently had too much time on my hands when I wrote that story.
Spoilers: Sadly I am not the CSI-addicted fan I once used to be, but I still catch the show when I can. Obviously in my story, the story started right after season four ended which means Sara left shortly before the fifth season so because this is my story I'm gonna pick and choose what events actually occurred in the next couple years ok? It's called a writer's license of creativity or something like that I guess. Umm ok...so let's say Nick's premature burial happened not long after Sara left. So far that's gonna be my jumping off point. I'll forewarn you about any other spoilers that may occur in future chapters.
Disclaimer: Never have and never will own anything affiliated with CSI or CBS.
- - - -
Greg Sanders never hated having nights off after stressful nights at the lab.
Or he thinks he never hated them. He couldn't exactly remember ever having had that precise thought, but the gnawing feeling in his deep subconscious told him that's what he thought. The same gnawing feeling that told him to buy Blue Hawaiian versus Maxwell house at the grocery store, or that for some reason the scars on his back were tied to the reason why he got that eerie feeling whenever he was in the DNA lab.
But the bottom line was this: until tonight, Greg never dreaded his nights off. Especially after the trying week him and the newly rejoined team had just had. Seeing Nick...just thinking about it sent shivers down Greg's spine and he pushed the thoughts from his head. It was his night off to detox from the past 72 hours and he wasn't going to spend it reliving the hellish nights over and over...at least he wouldn't if he had any say in it.
He peeled off his shirt and tugged at his belt as he headed deeper into his house towards the haven of his warm bed. Instinctively reaching for each light switch to flip them off, the young CSI stifled a yawn, kicking off his Doc Martins on the inside of his bedroom door. From his back pockets he pulled out his wallet and company-issued phone and dropped them on his bedside table. Pulling his blackout curtains shut just as the sky started to turn a deep purple color, he heard it. A buzzing noise from somewhere behind him. It only buzzed for a second, catching Greg off guard. He turned around as it buzzed again, his eyes flying to the screen on his phone, flashing a white color as the buzzing noise went off for a third time. Cocking his head to the side, he reached for the night stand, picking up the offending item. The screen read "Private Number" as he flipped open the phone, confusion written on his face.
"Hello?"
No one replied. He could faintly, maybe, hear a voice on the other end but he couldn't be sure.
"Sanders."
Again no reply. He pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at the screen before shutting it, dropping it back down next to his wallet again before crawling into the bed. His thoughts strayed to the plexiglas hell Nick had just been in before falling into a deep, much needed slumber.
- - - -
Days, weeks, and months went by. Nick, after investigations and dead-ends and trials and visits to the Clark County jail, finally received justice for his horrendous near-death experience and Kelly Gordon soon becomes a taboo phrase among the nightshift. Not long after all the hell had died down, Greg would find Nick standing on his doorstep on their nights off, or would come home after shifts only to find the Texan's car parked out front of his cozy little house.
On this night though, the first night in close to six months that Nick had bothered to call ahead and ask if it was ok if he came by, Greg could sense something was different. Both men climbed from their cars, walking to meet each other at the front of Greg's driveway. Nick shoved his hands in his back pockets, his CSI vest reading 'Stokes' still on. He could not, would not, make eye-contact with Greg, instead choosing to kick his foot at a weed growing up between the cracks in his colleague's driveway.
"Hey Greg."
"Hey."
And it fell silent again. Nick's eyes dropped down to his feet again. Greg studied Nick's body language, trying to figure out what was going on. He could tell something was on his friend's mind and it was eating away at him. "Want to come in?" Greg pointed over his shoulder at his house, trying to ease the tension slowly building between the two men in the driveway. "We can have a couple beers and talk...if you want."
Nick still wouldn't look at Greg and Greg can feel his eyebrows furrowing in confusion, as Nick mumbled something under his breath before looking up at Greg with his good ol' Boy Scout grin. "Or I could come in and teach you how a real man plays Madden."
And just like that, everything was back to normal. Nick walked past Greg, slapping him on the back as the two men walk inside. Nick dropped into his favorite Laz-y-Boy as Greg walked into the kitchen, grabbing two beers from the fridge. As he crossed the threshold from his little kitchen to the living room, an odd sense of déjà vu hit him. It actually threw his world to a tilt so bad he felt himself stumble backwards, knocking into the breakfast bar, as one of his Corona's slipped from his hand and shattered on his wood floor.
"Greggo, are you ok?"
But it wasn't déjà vu really. It was like someone took a textbook and hit him upside the head, rattling a memory loose from somewhere in his brain. Somewhere so deep it felt like it was the same place that the gnawing feeling had been coming from...
"Star-1 Uniforms. It's the biggest uniform shop in town. From casino dealers to cops. Shirt's wet."
"I found it in a drain."
"Where exactly?"
"Two blocks west of the house."
Greg shook his head and looked up to find himself sitting on a barstool, Nick's hands resting on his shoulders. But Brass's voice echoed in his head, the feel of the thick Vegas heat making him feel flushed. He could sense Grissom in the short scene somewhere but was yanked from him memory by Nick's contact.
Wait, a memory? He didn't have those. Not since...
No. That was one of his earliest memories he still clung to but he couldn't do that to himself. His first year of memories consisted of the hospital and pain and Sara and Alicia Marie. After struggling with not being able to remember hardly anything before that day he woke up in the hospital with tubes down his throat, he spent the year after Sara's departure trying to push the only memories he had out of his head. And all this time later he had nearly succeeded. But not quite...
No.
No. Not now. Not here in front of...
"Greg are you crying?"
Too late. He was. Greg hadn't thought about Sara and Alicia almost all week. Hadn't thought about either of them. Sure, after the accident he could remember certain things, but as time wore on he had a hard time clinging to what he did know. Sure he knew dates, but he couldn't apply many of them and soon his mind tossed them in the trash. Over time, his brain began throwing away more and more of his memories until he started seeing a therapist. By then, Sara had been gone for almost a year and a half and the only thing Greg felt he was capable of was remembering how to do his job and make coffee.
Dr. Peterson called it anterograde amnesia. Apparently his retrograde amnesia had become...this. He couldn't remember memories from before the accident but was unable to form new ones. The trauma of Sara leaving with Alicia had thrown his brain another curve ball, one that Grissom didn't think he could handle. But it wasn't until Greg was in the middle of running a lab test three months ago and he suddenly forgot what he was supposed to do next did Greg seek out professional help, much to the delight of Grissom.
Somewhere Nick was calling out to him and Greg couldn't care. This curve ball, this new one life was throwing him, this was something Greg didn't even know what to think about it. All he was doing was having a beer with Nick, chilling out after work, and BAM! a memory fell out of the sky, a memory that triggered this odd sense of more memories sitting on the tip of his proverbial tongue.
"...Greg? Greg talk to me, please."
"I remembered."
Nick took a step back, studying Greg for a second. His hands were planted on his hips, watching Greg. He wasn't quite sure what to think. The nightshift had come to terms with Greg's memory problems a long time ago and supported him thru everything that had followed the tragic crime scene that had nearly cost him his life. They never asked questions. They never expected anything more than what he gave them every day, because they knew that was all he could. All he had. Even Catherine, who had become their mother figure on shift never insisted on babying him. Insist that he take it easy, take time off. She never pointed out when his eyes had sunken into his face or was deathly pale. They all just let him be.
It was another moment before Nick said anything. Greg could hear the gears turning in his friend's head as he attempted to process those two words. "You remembered?"
"Yeah Nicky...I remembered something."
"Was it..." Nick wasn't trying to step on anybody's toes but he had to ask. Maybe asking questions would trigger something else; set off his lost memories like an avalanche. "Was it something important? Or just a memory?"
He couldn't tell. But as he tried to recall the memory, more came back to him, another swing to the back of his head. Greg swayed in spot once more, balancing himself on his counter. He didn't exactly know how to pull more memories out of thin air like his brain just had; all he could do was replay the memory over and over again, hoping more would come back to him.
It began to work. The more times he played it over and over, the deeper he dug, led to more pieces of the puzzle being put together. "You and Grissom were staring at me. I was in my lab and I looked up and you were standing there across the hall with Grissom. And..." he was digging deeper than he ever had before. Maybe this was something important. Maybe this is why his brain was letting his have it back. Maybe this was...
"I had to climb down a storm drain." And all of a sudden Nick laughed. He burst out laughing at Greg. He remembered that day. Remembered when the two of them had sent their lab rat out into the field to find a soda bottle that had been used as a silencer, and all he had found was a cop uniform. And that's all he could grasp from his jumbled mess of neurons that held his memories hostage. As fast as it had hit him, as fast as that door to his past had opened, it was gone...closed, slammed in his face.
"Of all the first memories to come back to me, it had to be that one."
Nick, who's laughing had died down to a quiet chuckle, shook his head. "I agree, but at least it's a start, right?"
The two men sat there for a minute or two longer, not saying anything. Nick moved to grab another beer while Greg slid from his chair to clean up the mess of sticky alcohol and glass on his floor. He wasn't sure if his sudden recollection was something to wave off or if it was a sign of things to come.
As the two men settled into their respective chairs and began playing Madden, Greg couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in his stomach. A feeling that Greg should have listened to sooner than he would...
