Title: Saved People

Summary: It's been four years since Greg's beating and the trial. The CSI team thought he was over it, but when Nick finds a check addressed to Marla James at Greg house, he realizes that what happened that night is far from over. Now, it's up to Nick to make sure Greg gets past the fear and the guilt. And maybe, when it's all over, there'll be something good waiting for both of them. Maybe, there is a light at the end of the tunnel after all.

Genre: Romance/Hurt-Comfort

Pairing: Nick/Greg. Slash. Don't like, don't read.

Spoilers: Major spoilers for "Fannysmackin'" and "Post Mortem". Minor spoilers for 'For Gedda', 'Meat Jekyll', 'Grave Danger'. This is set in season 11, so everything up till then is fair game.

Rating: T for language.

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI =(

Author's Note: This was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but I was dying to post it, so there will be two chapters instead. I hope you like it! Read and review!

Don't matter how much money you got, there's only two kinds of people: there's saved people and there's lost people.

Bob Dylan

Nick laughed at Greg's entirely inappropriate, and yet, hilariously funny joke. It felt like everything Greg said was funny. The two CSIs were enjoying a round of Call of Duty, some beer, and each other's company. Just as Greg was about to shoot Nick right in the ass, his phone rang, distracting him from the game. He was about to ignore his phone, when he noticed the caller ID and decided to take the call instead.

'It's mum,' he explained, putting the game on pause and disappearing into his bedroom to take the call. Nick stretched out on the couch and laughed to himself. Greg was the only thirty-five year old man he knew, who would put a video game on pause, just to talk to his obsessive and over-protective mother who called almost every day.

Nick stood, and decided to look around. Greg's apartment had changed a lot since he had last visited. The decor, which had previously been a bold jumble of red and black, was now a more toned down mix of quiet blues. Pictures lines the walls: one of Greg's parents, one of the team; of Greg kissing Sara on the cheek; another of him looking like a stud next to Catherine and Riley, though it was obvious that Greg was leaning closer to the latter. There was another picture of Grissom and Greg, the older man hitting Greg upside the head while perusing over his results, and another one of Greg and Warrick, battling it out on the Play Station.

The picture that really caught Nick's eye, however, was one of him and Greg. It had been taken the day Warrick had died. Nick and Greg were engaged in a crushing embrace. From where the picture was taken, only Greg's face was visible. His eyes were closed, and a look of obvious relief surrounded the grief that lined his face. And, although Nick's face was not visible, he already knew what his expression had been: blood-shot, teary eyes; pale face; his mouth turned downwards in a look of obvious distress, and underneath all of that, a look of hope. Hope and comfort and the thought that, maybe, his best friend hadn't just died; that maybe, his best friend was the young man locked in his embrace. And buried deep below that, so deep that even Nick didn't dare venture there, was the hope that the man in his arms wasn't just his best friend; the hope that maybe he was more than that.

Greg and Nick had both been angry at Catherine for taking the picture, and capturing a rare moment of vulnerability for both men. But it had been Catherine's first half-smile of the day, and in hindsight, Nick was glad she had taken the picture. It was a beautiful photograph, and it really captured his close friendship with Greg.

Finally tearing his eyes away from the photographs, Nick moved onto the bookshelf. He frowned as a small piece of paper on the shelf caught his attention. Looking closer, he realized it was a check. He didn't mean to pry, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he picked it up to take a closer look. Horror and disappointment coursed through him as he read the check.

The check was addressed to Marla James and Nick recognized Greg's familiar scrawl. Ten thousand dollars! What was Greg thinking? That he could pay off his guilt like it was a debt? Why was he feeling guilty anyway? What happened that night, four years ago, was over! Greg wasn't supposed to still feel bad about that. He was supposed to be over it. He was supposed to have realized that he was the hero, not the villain. He was supposed to have realized it was not his fault that Demetrius James was dead. He was not supposed to be writing a check to the James family, after a two point five million dollar payout.

He peered down the hall, into Greg's room, where he was still talking to his mother animatedly. Nick was suddenly reminded of another such conversation between the two Norwegians that had occurred the day after the beating.

Nick sat on a chair next to Greg's hospital bed. Anger was boiling in Nick's stomach, and guilt was burning through Greg's. They had just found out about Demetrius James' death, and had fallen into a not-quite-comfortable, not-quite-awkward silence. Just then Greg's phone rang, and the two men jumped, and stared into each other's eyes for a heartbeat. They were both rolling with emotion, and the pain behind their eyes was too much to bear; they had to look away.

Greg picked up his phone from his bedside table, lifting it to his ear.

"Hey mum," he said, his voice doing nothing to betray his anguish. Penetrating the smouldering silence that had previously encased the room, was Greg's mother's loud voice, echoing through the receiver.

"Hello Hojem," greeted his mother. "How are you? It feels as though we haven't spoken for ages!"

"You just called yesterday, Mama!" exclaimed Greg. To Nick's surprise he was feigning happiness well, considering the circumstances. Didn't Mrs. Sanders know what had happened? "And I'm fine. You should really stop worrying about me!"

Nick's jaw dropped, outrage and confusion tearing through him. Greg hadn't told his parents about what happened? And now he was lying through his teeth when he was obviously in pain, both physically and mentally?

"So how are things in the lab, honey? Are you still at work?"

"Nah, I'm on my way home. Work's the same, really. The CSIs are still expecting results in half the time possible, and backlog is stationed permanently on my desk. But things are good. Nothing particularly draining."

CSIs expecting results? Backlog? Why was Greg speaking as though he wasn't a CSI himself? Why was he speaking as though he still worked in the lab?

Oh no, Greg. Nick thought disbelievingly. Please, tell me she knows you're a CSI and not a lab tech.

"That sounds like a lot of work, Greg. Are you sure you're getting enough sleep? You know I don't like your working hours-"

"Mum, I'm fine. Stop worrying about me."

Fine? Greg was far from fine. Anger stirred in Nick's chest. How could Greg be so stupid?

"No more lab explosions, right, honey?"

"No, ma. Nothing like that."

Nick listened, dumbstruck, as Greg and his mother continued talking. After convincing his mother that he was 'okay', Greg seemed less uneasy. He and mother continued speaking for some time, and Nick couldn't help but notice that Greg seemed to be getting more fatigued by the minute. His breathing was shallow, and his eyes were squeezed shut in obvious discomfort.

Greg laughed at something his mother had said, but it came out as a wheeze. "How's dad?" he breathed.

"Uh... He's just fine, honey," she reassured him. "But are you sure you're okay?" She had obviously picked up on the strain in his voice.

"Yeah, mum. I'm okay. It's just been... a long day," he said with a sigh.

Pity engulfed Nick like a cat, draping itself across his lap. Greg seemed torn painfully between not worrying his mother and unloading his problems onto her. It occurred to Nick that Greg was an exceptional son, and a surge of brotherly affection swept over Nick.

Greg's mother gasped in horror. "Oh, you poor thing! Well, I'd better go then, so you can get some sleep."

As if on cue, Greg's eyes began to droop shut. "Yeah," he said drowsily. "I think that's a good idea."

"Adjø, skatten min. Jeg elsker deg."

"I... I love you too, mama," Greg's voice hitched, and he closed his eyes against an onslaught of tears. "Jeg elsker deg."

"Greg, are you—"

It was too much for Nick. He leaned forward and snatched the phone up from Greg hand.

"Mrs. Sanders? My name is Nick Stokes. I work with your son."

Greg gripped Nick's wrist weakly, his eyes begging Nick to hang up the phone. He shook his head, anxiously. "Please, Nicky. Don't."

"Mrs. Sanders, everything that Greg just told you, it's, well, it's... bullshit, excuse my French." Greg's mother tried to speak, but Nick cut her off. "No, Ma'am. Please, you gotta listen to me. Greg doesn't work in the lab anymore. He's a CSI. And last night, Greg was hurt very badly. He's in the hospital."

Nick waited for Mrs. Sanders to reply, but she was stunned into silence. 'Ma'am, I think it's better if Greg tells you what happened last night."

Nick passed the phone to Greg who was shaking his head vehemently. But Nick pushed it up to his ear, forcing him to talk.

"Mama?" he said, his voice heavy with tears.

"I'm here, Greg." To Nick's surprise, Greg's mother was calm and collected, fully prepared to comfort her son, unlike after the lab explosion, when it was Greg comforting his mother.

"Mama, I-I can't tell you what happened. I..." Greg trailed off, shaking his head. Nick's heart dropped into his stomach. Had something happened in that alley that they didn't know about?

"Greg, you know you can tell me anything," his mother cooed softly.

"No, ma, no I can't. You won't... you won't love me anymore. How could you, after what I've done?"

Realization hit Nick like a rock. It wasn't that Greg didn't want to worry his mother, or that something humiliating had happened that he didn't want to talk about. Greg was afraid; afraid that his mother wouldn't love him anymore, because of what had happened to Demetrius James. Pity ate at Nick. How guilty must Greg feel if he thinks he's not worthy of his own mother's love? thought Nick, sorrowfully.

"Greg, don't you ever say that!" scolded Greg's mother passionately. "Don't you ever even imply that I would ever stop loving you! You know I'll always love you! Even if... even if you killed someone!"

"But I did, ma. I did..." he whispered.

Greg's mother was silent for a moment. Then she spoke quietly and tactfully. "Just tell me what happened, kjaere."

"I was on my way to a crime scene," Greg whimpered. "I was passing by an alley, when I saw this gang beating up a tourist. This was the third beating. They'd been going on all night. We were working the case."

Greg closed his eyes, reliving the incident. It was the first time he told anyone about that night. "I called dispatch, but I knew they wouldn't get there in time. I-I had to stop the beating...so I turned on my police sirens and drove into the alley. I thought I could scare them away. Most of them ran away, but...one guy, Demetrius James, he decided to stay. He picked up a rock, looked like he was gonna finish off the victim. But he turned around, and started running to-towards me instead." Greg inhaled deeply. "And I-I..."

Greg paused, shame and fear overwhelming him. Nick leaned in subconsciously, waiting with bated breath for Greg to continue. He had processed the scene, and read the Doctor's report. He knew about the bruises, and cuts; the broken bones, the concussion. But this was the first time he heard about the incident from Greg's perspective. Greg's mother didn't say a word, waiting patiently till her son was ready to continue.

"I panicked. The only thought that was going through my head was: 'I don't wanna die'. I-I couldn't think. And I did something really bad, Mama. Really, really bad."

Greg's lower lip trembled, and he bit back tears. When he didn't continue, his mother gently urged him. "What is it Greg? What happened?"

"I-I accelerated. I hit him with my car," Greg choked. "Mama..." he moaned."Oh Mama... He died in the hospital. I killed him. And he was just a kid... I'm sorry, Mama. I'm sorry I let you down. How can you ever forgive me?"

"Oh, Greg," his mother said sorrowfully. "How can you ever think that you've done anything but make me proud? You didn't kill anyone last night; you saved a man's life! What happened to Demetrius James, wasn't your fault! It was his fault that he got involved with that terrible mob!" she spat. "And, you! My poor boy! You're lying in a hospital bed because of the terribly rash decision of that hideous gang!" It seemed to occur to Greg's mother that she still didn't know how Greg was hurt. "Did they hurt you Greg? Why are you in the hospital?"

"After I hit him, the mob came back. They-they shattered my window; pulled me out of the car. I don't r-remember much after that. Just the pain. They beat me pr-pretty bad," Greg breathed. "The doc won't let me look in the mirror. Says I won't like what I see."

Greg let out a strangled moan and continued. "It hurts, Mama. It hurts a lot."

Greg could no longer stop the tears. His back rose in staccato bursts, and sobs wracked his body, aggravating his pain. Greg's mother sang sweetly to him in Norwegian, trying to calm him. Nick felt tears prick his own eyes.

"God, I'm such a wuss," said Greg, stealing a look at Nick and rubbing his eyes furiously.

It suddenly occurred to Nick that he was eavesdropping on a very private conversation between Greg and his mother, and that his presence was making Greg obviously uncomfortable. It pained Nick to think that Greg wasn't comfortable around him, but he understood that it was time for him to leave. He stood, and gave Greg's hand one last squeeze. Greg had stopped crying, and looked up at him sheepishly. Mrs. Sanders continued to sing, and leaning close to Greg's ear, Nick whispered: "You're not a wuss, Greg. You're the bravest person I've ever met." Greg gripped Nick's wrist as he pulled away, and looked up at him. Greg didn't trust his voice, and hoped that his eyes conveyed the deep gratitude he felt towards Nick.

"You're gonna be okay, G," said Nick with a smile, and slipped out of the room. Greg's mother arrived in Las Vegas the next day, and didn't leave Greg's bedside until the day he was released from the hospital.

Nick was drawn out of his daydream when he heard Greg saying goodbye to his mother. Nick turned around, check still in his hand, fully prepared to confront Greg about what might be the stupidest mistake of his life. Greg walked into the room, smiling to himself. His smile disappeared when he saw Nick holding the check to Mrs. James.

"What the fuck are you doing?" growled Greg, when he saw what was in Nick's hand.

Nick look a deep breath, but suddenly everything he was going to say flew out the window. He stood for a moment, his mouth open. Staring deep into Greg's angry, and yet, surprisingly beautiful (not that Nick would ever admit to thinking that) eyes, Nick uttered a quiet and emphatic 'Fuck'.

Don't fear, If you hear
A foriegn sound to your ear
It's alright Ma
I'm only sighing

It's Alright Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)

Well, I hope you liked it! I'll try and post the second chapter soon, but I've got lots of school work, so it might take a while. Review please!