Author's Notes: Thanks for the lovely reviews! It actually took a few days to type that up! Thank you! Thank you!! Thank you!!! Squee! (And I'm not putting warnings up anymore. I don't give a damn about them and they take away from the suspense!)
Disclaimer: Jerry Bruckheimer. Prolly mangled the last name, but didn't feel like looking it up. You get the point, ne?"You ever have a day when you wake up thinking you're a magical, mystical wizard?" Harland Williams
"Greg!" Nick ran into the bathroom when he heard a loud, metallic crash. He arrived in time to watch his friend clamp his hands over his ears. His eyes closed tight and he seemed to be struggling against something.
"Greg!" he said again, louder, hoping to snap him out of it.
Nick let out an involuntary gasp when Greg slumped back against the tub behind him.
"Holy sh-! Greg!" Nick rushed over, dropping to his knees next to his friend.
The younger man stirred a little when Nick shook him. His heart was pounding somewhere in his throat when Greg's eyes fluttered open and blind panic was in them. They landed on Nick, who was pale and breathing a little heavily.
Greg scanned the rest of the bathroom, then spun around to look in the tub. When he found nothing, he faced Nick again, looking up at him through glittering, tear-filled eyes.
"W-who was screaming?" he asked, voice trembling.
Greg took hold of Nick's shoulders with as he questioned him. Even though his hands were clenched, Nick could still feel them shaking.
"G, no one was screaming," he replied gently.
"No, there was someone…" continued Greg, helplessly. He looked around the bathroom again, as if to prove his point.
"Greg, we're the only ones here," assured Nick.
"But…" his voice trailed off and the lab tech looked defeated. "I heard it… so clearly…"
He didn't make eye contact when he spoke again. He looked at the tiled bathroom floor, shame in his green eyes.
"D-don't tell anyone about this, okay?" he mumbled. "This is my problem."
"Sure, no problem," Nick said, thoroughly confused.
Greg let go of his friend's shoulders and brought his hands down to look at them properly. He laughed bitterly at the tremors that ran through them. He balled them into fists, then unclenched them, palms up. Greg did it a few more times before sighing in disgust.
"So much for the past staying put," Greg said under his breath, before realizing he said it aloud.
"What?" Nick caught something about a 'past'.
The younger man shook his head.
"It's nothing," he said, reaching for the air freshener again.
This time, with a little more control and a lot less panic, Greg pushed the little button down to emit a spray of sage and jasmine.
Later, they wound up ordering Chinese food; even though Greg claimed that he wasn't hungry. They sat on the couch, watching Stark Raving Mad.
Neither of them said anything about Greg's episode and that was just dandy with the lab tech. Nick didn't say anything, and Greg didn't volunteer any new information.
"So, there's no way that chick is sixteen!" Nick exclaimed, watching the girl's father beat the hell out of one of the main characters.
Greg nodded, grinning when the character yelled, "I swear to god, Ben! She said she was seventeen!"
"More like 21," Nick commented, taking another bite of his sweet-and-sour chicken.
The Texan clicked his chopsticks together, not noticing that Greg was having minor difficulties with his fork. His box was a little more than half full of chicken fried rice. He was losing interest in the movie quickly and he was becoming tired again.
His eyelids began to droop a little and he set his box on his knee to avoid moving. Greg's eyes closed completely and he just listened to the flick.
Nick looked at his friend for a minute. He was still wrapped in the blanket, sitting cross-legged on the couch. His food was precariously perched on his knee, wobbling every once in a while.
"G."
Greg snapped to alert at the voice, spilling some rice.
"I'm awake," he said automatically.
"You ready for bed, man?" Nick asked, smiling at his friend.
The lab rat yawned before he could stop himself and fixed Nick a small grin.
"I guess so," he replied.
Greg fought the urge to stretch his aching shoulders. He tried to ignore it as best he could, not ready to take another painkiller. He glanced at the clock above the TV. It read 11:13pm.
"Well, if you need anything, help yourself. Blankets and extra pillows are in the hall closet next to the bathroom," he told his friend.
The Texan nodded, then watched as Greg took his leftovers to the kitchen. When he came back, he started towards the hallway and stopped just before he reached it. He didn't turn around when he spoke.
"Nick?" there was a note of sadness to Greg's voice.
"Yeah?" he replied, tearing his attention away from the movie.
"Thanks," he began. "For staying to baby-sit me."
"Man, it's not baby-sitting unless you're getting paid," Nick said, smiling when Greg actually chuckled. "It's more like hanging out. A sleepover but without the pillow fight."
"Aw, damn. Here I was gonna go get the pillows, too," sighed Greg, turning so Nick could see his grin.
'That sounds like the old Greg,' the Texan thought, noting that the touch of sadness disappeared.
Little did Nick know, as Greg did his bathroom routine of brushing his teeth and peeing, that part of the 'old Greg' seemed to die in the lab explosion. What was left was a scared young man putting on a brave front. The future CSI walked down the dark hallway, shedding his t-shirt and tossing it down on his bedroom floor.
He changed into his pajamas, turned down the covers on his bed and sat down, looking at his hands, palms up. The light was off, but in a far corner, there was a nightlight in the corner to keep the monsters away. It was enough to let him see all four walls (covered with posters, band t-shirts and other paraphernalia), his dresser next to the door and his bed.
The light was also enough for Greg to watch his trembling hands, as he pulled his legs up to sit Indian-style on his bed.
'They're horrible,' he laughed to himself, silently and bitterly.
Greg balled his hands in and out of fists before he turned the shaking appendages over.
'They shook last time, too,' Greg realized. 'The day I woke up and for months afterwards.'
He shook his head, as if trying to jar the memories loose and let them tumble out of his ear. Of course, it didn't happen, but it was worth a try.
Greg sighed softly and lay down, burrowing under his blankets. He shoved his hands under his pillow and closed his eyes. Before he knew it, Greg's exhausted body and mind shut down for the night.
"Greggo," someone across the bedroom said.
The voice had a pleasant, southern twang to it that was familiar. He opened his eyes to see a shadowed face above his own.
"Hey, Nick," he said, sitting up and confused. "What's up?"
"Who the hell is Nick?" the person demanded, grabbing Greg by his shoulders. Stitches pulled, making the lab tech groan. "Don't tell me you've forgotten about me so quickly!" the voice was psychotically cheerful when he said this.
"Oh… shit," Greg voice was a terrified whisper, little more than a croak.
"Come on, Greggy, you really forgot your favorite playmate so soon?"
He drew a shaky breath, trying to calm himself down. Greg still couldn't see the face, though the tone and accent of the voice was unmistakable.
"K…Kent Kramer."
One hand that had been on Greg's shoulder came up to grasp his jaw gently, but firm enough to hold the younger man's head in place.
"That's right. Good boy," the man now recognized as Kent Kramer drew the spiky-haired man closer and captured Greg's lips in a bruising, possessive kiss that had him fighting.
"I love it when you struggle," Kramer said huskily, pulling away.
He pushed Greg back down and straddled him, kissing his neck.
"Get off," whispered Greg, closing his eyes against the assault.
He tried to buck the other man off, but he just pressed his hips down on him so he couldn't move. Somewhere between his shoulder and throat, Kent laughed softly. One of his hands began to roam south, while the other pinned the younger man's hands above his head.
He slipped his hand under the waistband of the lab rat's pajama pants, giving way to a new struggle.
"No!" Greg sat bolt upright, yelling when his injuries forced his movements to stop. He was breathing heavily, in an icy sweat. He looked around the room wildly. His eyes landed on a broad-shouldered figure sitting at the end of his bed.
Instinctively, Greg pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them, eyes never leaving the shadow five feet away.
"You okay, G?" asked the person.
Greg visibly flinched. Southern twang, different tone. Not Kent Kramer. Was Nick Stokes. The realization allowed him to breathe easier.
"That musta been one helluva dream, man," Nick said, moving to sit next to him on the bed. He was holding a glass in one hand and something else in one hand, and something else in the other.
Greg nodded once, still concentrating on how to breathe properly instead of hyperventilating.
"Who's Kent Kramer?" the Texan asked, peering into Greg's eyes intently.
Greg's heart nearly stopped when he heard the name from someone else's mouth and it took him a moment to answer. When he did, his voice was that of a scared child's.
"H-he's… No one," Greg spoke haltingly, looking away from Nick and embarrassed to be caught talking in his sleep.
"Okay, but sometimes it helps to talk about your dreams," Nick shrugged, making it look as if he really was unconcerned.
"Some nightmares are better left alone," Greg said, looking off into space with haunted eyes.
The other man wasn't convinced, but appeared to let the matter go.
"Lay on your stomach for me, will you?" asked Nick.
"Stomach… Um, why?"
The bigger man held up what was in his left hand; a bottle of prescription skin lotion. Greg looked at it questionably.
"For the stitches."
Oh. Without further questioning, Greg obliged, rolling tenderly onto his stomach to expose his bare back to Nick. He settled down and shivered slightly when Nick's hands brushed against his sore skin.
"Sorry if this hurts," said Nick, pushing his sleeves up on his black shirt. "But I completely spaced out about it earlier."
"Don't worry about it. It's fine, man," replied Greg into his pillow.
Nick surveyed his friend's bare back, noting the yellowish fading bruises all over. There were eight or nine cuts and gashes, and all were in various stages of healing, depending on the depth of the injuries. There were still a few covered by square, gauze bandages. Others had fallen off.
The taller man squeezed a little lotion into the palm of his hand and targeted a long cut on Greg's right shoulder blade. He dabbed a little onto a finger and traced it over the rough, black stitching.
"Jesus, Nick, your hands are freezing!" mumbled the lab tech, shivering again.
"Heh, sorry. Not much I can do about it right now, though," the CSI laughed softly.
Nick rubbed a bit of lotion onto another cut, when he felt Greg begin to relax.
After a few minutes, Nick was happy to see Greg fall into a comfortable, sleepy state. He felt the bed shift when Nick stood up. Before he went through the bedroom door, Greg spoke, from the bottom of his heart.
"Thank you, Nick."
"No problem," Nick gave him a bright smile and left.
And a couple of minutes later, Greg fell into a dreamless sleep.
Yay! Chapter Two is up!