warnings: Slight mention of alcohol; slightly offensive language; angst.
disclaimer: I don't own the characters, but it would make my life if I did.
summary: Greg has some difficulty dealing with the fact that Nick's in trouble.
A/N: Uhm, this is set in like...the middle of Grave Danger. I realize that the time frame and how they had all of the CSIs working the case kind of counteracts with this, but oh well, my imagination sees otherwise. It's a pretty short drabble, but it's decent.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
With a sigh, he stood and got on the clock's level. Hands on his knees and butt in the air, he opened the cabinet holding the aggravation. Eyebrows disappeared into his hairline in mid thought.
"Just please. Shut the fuck up, clock. Okay?" He moved to sit back down, his nerves getting the best of him.
Not daring to turn on the TV in fear of having his worst nightmare thrown in his face, Greg made his way -instead of sitting down- to the apartment's kitchen. The granite counters glared at him, yelling at him for allowing it to come down to this. Grabbing the only alcohol permitted in the house, - vodka- a cup, and the orange juice out of the refrigerator, he stooped to the lowest low he could and fixed himself a drink.
Drink in hand, he walked back into the living room, stopping to look at the clock and daring it to make a sound.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Exhaling sharply and placing his drink on the end table next to the couch, Greg angrily gripped the nuisance and threw it to the ground. When the ticking didn't stop, he picked up the remote control and beat the face of the clock with it once. Seeing the plastic shatter, he scrunched his brows and hit it three more times. With a satisfying thump, he watched as it slipped from his hand and collided with the front door. Crawling over to the door, he grabbed it again, and punched it quickly. He repeated the mannerism twice more before the tears he had hoped would stay locked inside started falling.
Within twenty minutes, Greg had the clock grotesquely disassembled at his feet with his knees to his chest and his eyes wide open, tears spewing out of them. Spiky blond hair had hands raking through it painfully. Nails scratched scalp and hair was pulled out accidentally.
The door slowly began opening revealing Grissom wearing expression foreign to Greg: sympathy. "Greg, are you alright?"
"Yeah. I'm fine. Why?"
"I've been knocking on your door for ten minutes."
"Oh."
Seeing the clock, Grissom pointed to it and asked "What happened?"
"Oh, uh, I was….Killing time."
"I see."
This idea actually came to me while I was in the middle of my gym class.
Hardy har, huh?
That button's my friend...
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