A/N: Hey all! It's been a bloody long time since I've put anything up on I missed it. This is my first posted CSI fic, second attempted. I don't know how many of you would agree with my view of Greg and how he deals with stress or anger or any combination of the two, but this was just a thought based on the clowns in my life. Nick/Greg slash, implied more than anything, they don't do anything specific. Involves cutting, don't like, don't read. If you flame me about it, I won't forget about it and haunt you after I die. Enjoy. Or whatever.
Hurt and Healing
Nobody questioned why Greg always wore long sleeves to the lab. Not only was it the preferred work attire, the shirts themselves were interesting enough to forestall any conversation about the length of the sleeves. His lab coat was long sleeved as well, which hid the length of his shirtsleeves for most of the shift, anyway. And it was damn cold in Vegas at night.
No, nobody thought that the long sleeves might serve another purpose. Nobody in the lab would have thought for a second of putting down money on the idea. Only a few knew better, and they weren't telling. Catherine saw just after the explosion, in the hospital, with the damn short sleeve gowns. Warrick may have seen as well, but he never put the two together.
No, nobody suspected that the long sleeves hid Greg's secret vice.
Greg sat in the bathroom of his apartment and listened to Nick sleep in the bedroom. He sighed and looked down at his arms, which were covered in thin scars, some white, some darker than his natural skin tone, some not yet scars. After comparing the two, he settled on the right arm and rooted around in his drawer for the razor blades he'd stashed there some days before. He dragged the edge of the blade across his skin and watched the blood bead at regular intervals. The cuts were too thin for the fluid to do anything else. He counted the beads and smashed them with a fingertip, smearing the blood. He heard Nick begin to stir and grabbed a pre moistened towelette and swiped at the cut, hissing as the alcohol found its' way into the open wound.
Hiding the bloody cloth at the bottom of the trashcan, and slapping a band-aid onto the cut, Greg rejoined Nick in bed. Both CSIs slept peacefully for the rest of the night.
"Greg?" Nick's voice dragged Greg out of sleep. "Greg, what's this? It wasn't out when I went to bed last night. It has to be yours." Nick held the slightly bloody razor in fingertips.
"Wha-?" Greg mumbled as he rolled over to look at Nick properly. Oh shit. "Nothing. Just something that I must have left out from an experiment.." He tried to brush it off, hoping that if he acted flippant about it, Nick would let it go. No luck.
"Greg, it was in the bathroom, so there was no experiment involved. Razor like this usually means two things. Drugs, or…"
"Or what Nicky?" Greg whispered.
"Self mutilation." Nick whispered, not meeting Greg's eyes. "Did you use this to cut yourself?"
Greg closed his eyes for an instant. "Yes." He whispered, tears falling.
"Why?"
Honestly don't know. "Because it's a better bad habit than smoking or drinking. Keeps me sane." To feel maybe… Something other than apathy. He grinned wryly. "You've got to admit that."
"Damnit Greg!" Nick exploded. "Why do you feel the need to slice your skin open? What's the point in it? Do you get some sort of perverted pleasure out of it? What? Why… Damnit Greg." He slumped, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"I… The first time I did it, I was a freshman is high school. Even in San Francisco, it was hard being the gay kid. Even if I wasn't completely gay. After a while, I started to just shut down my feelings. It was easier that way, you know?" He laughed, a short, self deprecating ugly sound. "I needed to feel something, and this was how I managed that. It's never been anything serious, never on the wrists, never deep enough to hit anything. Did you know that the crook of the elbow and the area just below it are almost as sensitive, if not more to the lips?"
"Greg…" Nick had tears running down his face. "How could you do something like that to yourself? How could you stand to sit there and carve yourself up into a million pieces?"
The other man shook his head. "It's not like that." He sighed again, and pulled up the sleeves of his nightshirt. Nick watched in morbid fascination as perfect, whole flesh gave way to flesh obscured by countless lines, criss-crossing in a complicated dance. A six inch slice of his arm was home to the dance, covering the area just above and below the crook of Greg's elbow.
Nick dropped the razor blade onto the nightstand and tentatively reached out for his lovers' arms. He took hold of Greg's right arm, still partially hidden by the bandage and brought it up to his lips. He kissed the scars one by one as Greg watched in silence.
"I still don't know how you can do this, and I'm not sure I'll ever understand, but I can try, and I promise to try as long as you promise to try not to do it. I'm not asking you to quit cold turkey, but just try to stop. Just try. And I promise I'll do the same."
Greg nodded, eyes on his arm where Nick held him. "Catherine knows. She saw me after the explosion." His voice hitched on the last word, but he kept talking. "She wasn't disgusted like I thought she would be. I think it's because of the scientist analyst part of her. She was really great about it too, all things considering. She waited until Warrick left and asked me about them. So I told her. She hasn't said anything about them since, which may or may not be a good thing."
"Greg. Look at me." Nick said softly. "Catherine won't say anything. She loves you like a son, meaning she knows a lot more than she lets on, but keeps the knowledge for her own edification."
Greg laughed beside himself. "Only you could use that word in a serious conversation."
Nick frowned. "It was serious until now. Look, we have to get to work. Go get a shower, I'll make something for breakfast, and we'll talk more when we get home." He waited for Greg to nod acceptance and left the room.
After stopping in the break room to brew what he considered his life blood, Greg went to his locker to grab a jacket and found a note and a bottle of chocolate syrup on the shelf.
There are other things that I can think of to help you feel. Remember I love you.
-Nick
Greg sat down on the bench and cried, vowing to throw away the blades the moment he walked through the door.
Fin
Not beta-ed. So any mistakes are mine.