Disclaimer: Don't own, just writing for fun. Not making any money
Summary: Greg is superstitious and is having another bad day. Just when he thinks it can't possible get worse…it does. Big Middle Au. Grissom & Sara leave the dummy weight on Greg for too long. And this new ambulance driving is pretty reclus.
Warning: Description of chest damage. Might be some bad language. Poor, poor Greggo.
To those of you reading 'Home Again' & 'Connor's Secrets' I have not given up, but my brother smashed my laptop screen when he 'borrowed' it. I was in the middle of a few chaps for both, so now I have lost all my progress on it. I'm a bit pissed at him. My laptop is being fixed & I should have it by the end of the week, until then I'm using my desktop. I'm working on a chap for 'CS' because I know where I am, but for 'HA' you will have to wait a bit. Very sorry.
A/N: so this will be a two-shot I think. Enjoy our poor hurt Greg
Big Middle – Friday 13th
Chapter 1 – Luck is a Fickle thing
It was Friday 13th October. This was the most unlucky day ever for a psychic and even worse for a Hojem. So, Greg was having a bad (night) day. A very, very bad (night) day. First his alarm didn't go off, so he couldn't have breakfast before work, then his coffee machine broke so he didn't have his morning caffeine. Next his car ran out of gas on the way to work, so, he had to get it towed and grab a cab to the lab. After this he finally got a case and he was called to a hotel room, he naturally thought it was a hooker case, but no just some dead guy. And then there were all the little things, like, tripping up, missing evidence and having Grissom patronisingly point it out, dropping things. His day couldn't possible get worse.
[breakline]
Later that day
It was an interesting case. It wasn't a dead hooker, but...it was interesting. The running theory was that the vic, Mr. Hutson, was in bed with a woman from the...large people conversation and the woman fell asleep on top of him, suffocating him. She was of course trashed when this happened, but still, sleeping with (then on) a dead guy...that's just wrong.
Grissom wanted Greg to lay on a bed, while he and Sara lowered a dummy onto the young CSI.
"How much does this thing way?" Greg asked cautiously.
"240 pounds at the moment," Grissom replied, "we'll increase the weight incrementally until you can't move," he walked away from the dummy until he was standing by the pully.
"Oh, I can't lift that. And if I can't, you can't," Greg told Sara, "this is a safety issue."
"Well, that's what the pully is for, Greg, so relax and lay down on your back," Sara replied.
Greg looked to the ceiling, following the rope with his eyes. He sighed, then moved to the bed, "you know this is exactly like a dream I had once," he said, climbing on and turning onto his back, "except it wasn't in a garage, and Grissom wasn't watching. That was a different dream."
Grissom slowly lifted the dummy and lowered it onto Greg. The spiky-haired man grunted as the dummy's weight landed on him.
"How's it feel, Dreamer?" Sara asked.
"Like 240 pounds of pure woman," he joked.
"How's your breathing?" Grissom asked.
"Ugh," he said as he shoved the dummy off his chest and sat up slightly, "limited."
"Okay, add another 40 pounds," the boss told the female CSI.
Sara nodded and pulled the dummy off Greg. She strapped another weight to the mechanism, "ready," she said and Grissom pulled the rope again. The dummy lifted and lowered onto the youngest while he grimaced about what he was being subjected to. Greg grunted again as the weight lay on his chest.
"Well, the position is consistent with the victim," Grissom noted, "face up right arm is pinned."
"If we could leave the dummy on long enough, we could actually match the blanching," Sara said.
Meanwhile, Greg grunted again as he felt his ribs ache in protest to the weight. He could feel the little air he had in his lungs leaving him. This was not good. He tried to speak up and get the other two's attention, but to no avail, he couldn't make a sound and they were too busy flirting to notice how he was suffering. He suddenly had a flashback to 4th Grade, when he got beat up and was left winded and with a fractured rib on the school playground. This was so much worse. His vision started to blur and spots danced in front of his eyes. He felt lightheaded and dizzy. His ears were ringing and he knew he was about to pass out. But before he could multiple sickening cracks echoed in his ears. He was first confused about what they were, but then white flashed through his vision and he felt pain rocket through his chest.
He screamed out, expelling whatever air he had left in his body. He felt a great weight lift off his chest and his pain faded. He gasped in air. A big mistake. He coughed it violently out again. His pain returned full force and he threw his head back and bit his lip to keep from crying out again. He couldn't breathe. It hurt too much. Greg started to hyperventilate as the only means of taking in oxygen. He opened his eyes (when had he closed them) and his vision was relatively normal. Sara and Grissom swum in his view.
"-eg!" Sara's voice called, but her mouth wasn't moving.
"Greg!" Grissom yelled.
Suddenly his senses slammed back into him. His vision was normal and he could hear people calling his name and shouting in the hallway outside.
"Greg, can you hear me?" Grissom asked.
He was in too much pain to answer. He nodded slowly.
"Good. I've called an ambulance. Where does it hurt?" the older man said.
Greg looked at him like he was thick, even though he was in pain, frowned and growled out, "my chest...you idiot."
"Right," Grissom nodded.
Greg closed his eyes, dropped his head back and focused on his breathing. Inoutinoutinoutinout. 'Slow it down, Sanders! Push through the pain!' he mentally screamed at himself. In,out,in,out,in,out,in,out. 'Slower!' In, out. In, out. In, out. In, out. 'Better,' he thought. He clenched his teeth through the pain and opened his eyes.
"How long until the ambulance gets here?" Griss asked Sara.
"ETA 5-10 minutes," she replied.
Greg knew he was going to have to check himself out if he didn't want to wait. He thought back to his first aid training and the medical courses he took to prepare for working at a crime lab. Physical examination; Push on the patient's chest to find out where they are hurt. Watch their breathing and listen to their lungs to make sure air is moving in and out normally. Listen to their heart. Check their head, neck, spine, and belly to make sure there are no other injuries. He unbuttoned the blue overall and slowly peeled it down his arms. He propped himself up on his elbows and breathed through a stab of pain again.
"Griss, I'm gonna...need your help," he gasped out.
"What is it? What do you need?" his boss asked.
"Scissors," he replied simply.
"Scissors?" Griss asked.
"Scissors," he nodded.
"Greg-" the elder was cut off by-
"Scissors, Grissom!" Greg snapped.
"Okay, just stay calm," Grissom turned to Sara and got her to pass him a pair of scissors.
Greg lay down, "okay, now cut my shirt open. A straight line from bottom to top."
Grissom looked at him funny, but did as he was told. Greg pulled either half of his shirt down to expose his chest. He looked down and sighed out a swear word. His torso was covered in the same blanches as the victim. On either side of his chest, near the end of his rib cage, were big red patches and black bruises. The red patch on the left was a deeper colour and indicated possible internal damage. He swallowed and prepared himself for the pain to come. Greg moved his hands to either side of his chest. He started to feel along each of his ribs, until he reached the last few. Underneath the miscoloured sections, he felt sharp, stabbing pain and heard a grinding sound. He hissed and he could tell that he had broken at least one rib on either side of his chest. 'How do you treat a broken rib? Broken rib?... Ice, rest and pain meds.'
"I need ice," Greg gritted out once he caught his breath again.
"Okay," Grissom said and sent Sara to get some ice.
By the time Sara was back with the ice pack, the ambulance was arriving. Greg placed the ice gingerly on the sore patches. The cold soothed the stabbing into an aching throb. Soon after, two paramedics ran into the room and over to Greg. They pushed a stretcher towards the man and rapidly asked what happened & what was wrong.
The injured man replied, "long story. As to what's wrong; both floating ribs are broken, at least one false rib broken, bruised intercostal muscles, possible splenic rupture and other internal damage and blanches from lack of oxygen for...I have no clue how long," he briefed them, "Gris, how long were those stupid dummy weights crushing me for?" he asked his boss.
"2-3 minutes," the man replied.
"Why were we called if you have all this covered?" the male medic asked.
"Well, if I move the wrong way, it could cause pneumothorax," Greg explained.
"Yes, it could," the female agreed, "I apologise for Even, he's new."
Greg gave her one of his flirty smiles. She grinned back. The pair of medics lifted the injured CSI onto the gurney and began to wheel him to the bus. On the way to the hospital, the female sat in the back with Greg while the male jumped in the front.
"I'm Greg Sanders, 30 years old, by the way," the blonde informed the medic.
"I'm Jane, and I have no intention of telling you how old I am," the brunette girl replied and laughed, "although I'm younger than you."
Greg chuckled too, then stopped and grimaced as he felt stabbing pain in his chest again.
"So, Greg, how did this," she pointed to his chest, "happen?"
"Well, I'm a CSI..." he proceeded to explain the circumstances of his injuries.
"Wow...your boss is strange...and don't even get me started on the safety issue," Jane replied.
"I know, it's ridiculous. And when he first hires someone, he takes a pint of their blood," Greg complained.
"Why?" she asked.
"I have no idea, all he says is-"
Suddenly there was a loud smashing sound. Greg saw the world spin and felt pain all over his body. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was a piece of sharp metal coming for him. It pierced his stomach at the same time he hit his head. He slipped into the world of darkness and fell through the void of oblivion.
