Chapter 2: Greg's Journey through Hell

A distant symphony of sirens blared somewhere in the knotty depths of consciousness. Sharp turns and sudden braking of the vehicle tossed his body around on the stretcher. He felt like a flimsy rag being laundered in a washing machine. Pain shot through his entire body as he suffered the consequence of every bump in the road. Even the mere beating of his heart seemed to ache in his chest.

Suddenly, like as if on cue, a warm mellow sensation filled his veins and began to numb the pain. It must've been the morphine that was infiltrating his body limb by limb, muscle by muscle. He wanted to let out a sigh of relief but he was robbed of his strength as well as his vocal ability. He felt the oxygen mask cupped to his face. Each time he tried to open his mouth to create a moan, a blast of oxygen forced its way into his nose and mouth prohibiting him from even making the tiniest sound.

In his dizzy stupor, he heard a soft mechanical buzzing in his ears in addition to all the other miscellaneous sounds that filled the ambulance. The garbled mixture of sounds irritated him. It made his brain tired of trying to sort it out. He wished they would stop. Drifting off into the darkness in order to be free of the wicked noise was so inviting that he almost succumbed to that temptation. But a particular sound grabbed his attention and he couldn't help but hang onto it. Someone was calling his name.

"Greg?"

He knew that voice. It was so familiar yet he couldn't figure out who it belonged to. There was certain tenseness and apprehensiveness in the voice.

"You're gonna be ok, bro."

Nick. It was Nick. Nick was the only one in the whole world who called him "bro." Greg didn't know why he didn't recognize Nick's voice in the first place. Perhaps it was the drugs that made his memory fuzzy.

I can hear you. Greg answered in his thoughts. He wanted so much to say it out loud.

He was unable to open his eyes. They felt glued shut. His whole body was useless. It seemed like the only part of him that worked was his hearing. He heard sniffling.

Was Nick crying? No friggin' way! Greg thought. He could only recall one time that he ever saw Nick shed a tear. Greg remembered watching the webcam showing a live feed of Nick buried alive. It was the saddest thing Greg ever had to endure. Till this day, he still had nightmares of watching Nick struggling desperately for oxygen in that coffin.

It took a lot to make Nick cry. Aside from Grissom, Nick was the strongest person Greg knew. There was no situation that could ever make Nick cry – unless it was really that horrible. As far as Greg was concerned, Nick was known to be quick tempered but the man never cried. Nick often flew into a rage when those close to him were victimized.

Nick's fury flared when Greg was brought to the hospital after being beaten. Greg had no idea his well-being meant so much to Nick. In fact, he never expected anyone to really care. He was truly surprised and touched by how his friends pulled together to help him. Not many would do what they had. They considered him family and the affection moved him to tears.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Greg wondered why Nick kept apologizing. Nick's voice came in a whisper. Added with the occasional sniffles, he sounded broken. There was so much pain in his tone.

"This is all my fault."

What?! How could this be your fault? Greg answered Nick in his was frustrating being able to hear things but not being able to respond to them.

"I shoulda looked out for you, bro."

But you have! Nick, why are you blaming yourself?! Foolishness has gotten me here. It's got nothing to do with you. Greg thought. He wanted so badly to wake up and set the record straight.

"Oh God, please be alright. I'll never forgive myself if you die."

I'll be ok. It can't be that bad. Look, it doesn't even hurt – anymore anyway. That's a good sign, isn't it? Greg thought. He was oblivious to what was really happening in his body.

"Hang on, Greg. Hang on. We're almost at the hospital."

Greg was trying to focus on solid thoughts but the clarity of his mind was starting to dissolve into a fog. He caught bits and pieces of Nick's words, but couldn't piece it together to make sense of what he was saying. Something strange was happening. He was drifting. His mind was getting farther and farther away from reality.

"Greg? GREG!!"

Greg couldn't understand why Nick was calling at him so sternly with such anguish in his tone. He almost felt his heartbeat slowing down thump by thump. Was he dying?

"Don't you dare do this to me. GREG!!!!"

Those were the last recognizable words he could grasp before fading into deep unconsciousness. Complete Darkness.

Some Hours Later:

Noise. He couldn't understand if they were made by human or machine. Beeping and slow incoherent grumbles came from all directions and attacked his ears. It frightened him terribly and wanted it to stop. His eyes opened to a slit but he couldn't see anything. There was a blinding light and figures moved and hovered over him. His vision was misty like someone had thrown a web over his sight obscuring everything into a mixture of nothingness.

Pain. He suddenly felt a very uncomfortable pin prick in his chest. There was a strange flavor in his mouth – one that he had never tasted before. As he tried to squish his tongue around, he realized that something in his mouth prohibited him from moving his tongue. He inhaled a deep noisy breath through his mouth and felt the painful scratch of plastic rubbing against his throat. He tried to swallow but that only made things worse. The endotracheal tube rubbed uncomfortably against the insides of his throat. It did not budge when he tried to cough it up or swallow it down. He choked violently. When he tried to move his arms, pain exploded throughout his entire body. The array of life sustaining wires and tubing attached to his body restricted his movement and tied him down. They weighed on his body. He felt like he was caught in some sort of giant spider web. The endotracheal tube was supposed to ensure air is able to reach the lungs but at this moment, it made it harder for him to breathe as overwhelming fear set in.

Panic. Gagging and choking fiercely, Greg clawed at the tube in an attempt to remove it himself. Heart wrenching inhuman sounds came from his mouth. He became more and more irritable as he struggled for breath. The horror of being suffocated by a constricted trachea made him hysterical. He moaned loudly as a few tears squeezed through the corners of his eyes. He felt a tremendous amount of pain each time he tried to move his right arm. Something was pinning down his arm. His left hand, however, was mobile and he reached up to the mouth piece. In the process, he deliberately plucked out a fist of the wires that were attached to his body.

Voices. The more he thrashed, the louder the voices around him grew. There were scuffling of feet and shifting of equipment around his bed. He couldn't tell how many people were in the room. But before he could go for another fist full of wires, a powerful hand came up and seized his wrist.

"Hold him down while I extubate." A female voice instructed firmly. She sounded in control.

Suddenly, she quickly and skillfully yanked the ventilation tube right out. The removal of the tube was rather uncomfortable and made Greg feel nauseous when the stiff tube came up. The sensitivity caused him to cough and retch severely. He wasn't used to the tube being rammed down his throat. The rawness made it seem like his throat was on fire. The coughing fit caused more pain. With all his might, he tried to wrestle his hand free of the grasp. Greg wanted to know who was doing this to him. He couldn't see through the tears that filled the slits of his eyes. He squirmed and whimpered.

"Greg, don't fight me." A male voice demanded. "You don't know what you're doing. You can't remove those wires."

His raw throat did not allow him the pleasure of articulating words. For failure to realize what was happening to him, Greg wailed in opposition. It sounded awfully frightening.

The grasp around his wrist tightened and pain shot through his body. His sour face contorted into an agonizing wince. He cried out expressing pain. Almost immediately, the man softened his hold on Greg's wrist.

"I'm sorry Greg." The same man said. There was a hint of guilt in his voice. "I-I didn't mean to hurt you."

The man still had a firm hold on Greg's wrist. Greg balled up his hand into a fist and tried to break free. Something in his gut told him to fight until every last ounce of energy in him have expired. If he was going to die, he vowed he would not go down without a mean fight.

"Greg, listen to me." The man's voice was sincere and warm. "It's me – Grissom. It's Grissom. No one's going to harm you. You're at the hospital. You're safe."

Grissom? Greg thought. He seemed to relax at the notion that Grissom was by his side.

"Greg, I need you to calm down. I'm going to let go of your wrist. Just don't touch anything on you. Ok?" Grissom sounded close by but everything was in a fuzzy haze. Perhaps it was the drugs or even worse, the injury that caused him to be so disjointed. Greg tried to focus but his pasty eyes were just not cooperating.

Greg felt other hands, he guessed it to be a nurse, poking and prodding him as she reattached the wires to his body. Greg stopped struggling and conformed to Grissom's advice.

"That's a good boy." The nurse said sweetly as if she were talking to a twelve year old. She went about her business. "You'll be up and about in no time."

Grissom let go of Greg's wrist and took a hold of his hand to show his support. Greg tried to speak but only a rough grunt came out of his mouth. Scared out of his wits, he squeezed Grissom's hand until his knuckles turned white. Greg trembled, refusing to let go at any cost. His head throbbed and pain consumed his feverish body. Feeling quite horrible and confused, Greg cried wretchedly. Sobs got caught in his parched throat.

"I know. I know. It's gonna be ok." Grissom comforted softly, not allowing too much of his personal emotions to get in the way.

Greg wanted to tell someone he was in a lot of pain but he couldn't get his message across. The conversation swirling around him weaved in and out. Most of it made sense but the sounds lingered and echoed in his head. He wanted so much to say something.

The tears were uncontrollable. New tears replaced the old tears quickly. His facial expression twisted into one of unbearable agony as he cried. Grissom murmured something important to the nurse.

The nurse injected Greg's IV with pain killers and almost instantly, Greg felt himself drifting again. The pain reduced to a tingle and exhaustion took over. Greg whimpered. His heavy eyelids forced his eyes to remain closed. However, his grip on Grissom's hand was still somewhat firm.

Grissom gently wiped away a stray tear from Greg's face with a thumb. Greg gradually loosened his hold on Grissom's hand as he fell deeper and deeper into sleep. It wasn't long before Greg's hand went totally limp.

Grissom looked up and shot a troubled glance to the other end of the room where Nick, Catherine, and Warrick stood dumbfounded at what they had just seen. They exchanged expressions of concern. Grissom returned his attention to Greg.

Stone-faced, Nick was the first to mobilize. He exited the room without a single word. Warrick followed him out and found Nick with his back against the wall, facing away from the room.

"You ok?" Warrick asked.

"Actually, no I'm not." Nick answered with arms folded across his chest. He leaned the back of his head onto the beige colored wall and stared blankly at the florescent lights attached to the ceiling. "I can't see Greg like that anymore."

"I know what you mean. Poor kid. He's messed up pretty bad." Warrick said.

"I was there." Nick breathed.

"Nothing you could've done." Warrick shook his head.

"I can't help but think this is my fault." Nick closed his eyes.

"In that case, we are all to blame." Warrick said.

"You and Catherine weren't even there." Nick looked at him squarely.

"That may be true but we are a team. We share the glory, we share the blame. For better or for worse, right?" Warrick tried to make Nick smile in light of the situation.

Nick turned around and looked through the Plexiglas window. Grissom had not moved from his position next to Greg. Stroking Greg's hand lightly, Grissom seemed deep in thought as he stared at the scathed body lying in the bed. Catherine stood by the foot of Greg's bed and watched the nurse do her job.

"He is going to be ok, isn't he?" Nick asked skeptically.

"Heck, yea." Warrick said in the most definite voice he could find. From the looks of things, they both knew their assumptions were premature.

Some More Hours Later:

Grissom's shift had ended hours ago but he was still holding vigil by Greg's bedside. Catherine went home to check on Lindsay. For lack of a home life, Warrick and Nick refused to leave the hospital. They sought refuge in the waiting room. The uncomfortable chairs allowed sleep to come sporadically.

Grissom sat on a sagging sofa chair that he had pulled up next to Greg's bedside. The lack of sleep did not bother Grissom. Willpower had very little to do with his motivation to watch over Greg. It was something the doctor said right after surgery that made him worry. The bullet ricocheted off the third rib bone from the top. It slowed the bullet but not by much. It damaged his right lung. He sustained a second degree concussion. That blow to the head did not help matters. However, the MRI's don't show any major injury to the brain. The kid is lucky to have made it this far. Most people in this situation would have easily died from excessive blood loss. But I see this kid's a fighter. He just hung on. Someone up there must really be looking out for him. But it's too early to make a definite prognosis. Complications could arise…

His hard eyes stared at the stable spikes on the heart monitor recording Greg's heart rate. The soft bleeping sounds from the cardiograph were steady and hypnotizing. When he grew tired of watching the screen, he diverted his attention to the rise and fall of Greg's chest cavity.

Greg's complexion was ghastly. It was the usual white-faced, dark-circle-under-the-eyes, purplish-lips look. He looked like death. There was no doubt that the surgery and blood loss had taken a lot out of him. In addition to that, the drugs on top of drugs left him highly sedated. Grissom wondered how Greg was able to find the strength to fight him so fiercely just a few hours ago.

Grissom saw the fingers on Greg's left hand move slightly. He leaned in closer. In the stillness of the room, he could almost hear Greg's ragged breathing as he took in oxygen from the breathing tube in his nostrils. Greg's sleeping face was tilted towards Grissom.

Greg's fingers moved lethargically again. His breathing increased.

"Jim, I think he's waking up." Grissom said.

"He's been asleep for an awful long time." Brass observed.

"Greg?" Grissom called anxiously.

Greg's eyes opened slowly. He swallowed the bitterness in his mouth. His tongue felt thick and swollen. Barely able to utter a single understandable word, he groaned and sighed wearily.

Groggy and still reeling from the drugs, Greg didn't seem too alert or attentive to his surroundings. In fact, he appeared to be disoriented and confused. He turned his head slightly and sort of darted his eyes around before locking his stare at Grissom.

"Don't be scared. You're at the hospital." Grissom continued in a clear voice.

Grissom did not expect an instant reply. Greg felt a stinging sensation in his chest no matter how deep or shallow a breath he took. Either way, it was bothersome and caused great discomfort. He clenched his teeth to defer the pain.

"I'm sorry for being so rough with you earlier." Grissom began. "I just didn't want you to hurt yourself."

Greg blinked. He saw an IV drip bag above him dispensing sporadically some sort of clear yellowish liquid into the tube that ran all the way down into the crook of his arm. Drugs. Greg never felt so weak and helpless in his life.

"They had you on artificial respiration for a while after the surgery. The endotracheal tube was removed when you were able to breath on your own again. Believe me, it wasn't a pretty sight." Grissom smirked. "I'm glad you're doing much better than before though."

Greg only stared at Grissom's moving lips.

"I know you're in a lot of pain right now, but you're going to be fine." Grissom reassured, even though he had doubts.

Greg felt like he needed to say something. But his throat was dry like he had sand in his mouth.

"Sorry." Greg slurred.

"Nothing to be sorry about." Grissom cut in. "Everyone's very worried about you. Just concentrate on getting well." He forced a smile. "I spoke to your mother. She's flying in from New York. She'll be here soon."

Greg replied with a moan and winced as he tried to change positions. His lips quivered as he willed away the pain.

"How do you feel?" Grissom asked.

"Like crap." Greg muttered. Apparently, amidst the life-threatening ordeal, he still had his sense of humor in tact.

"That's what I figured you'd say." Grissom said. "You gave us a big scare. We thought we'd lost you."

Hearing Greg inhale oxygen in long drags made Grissom cringe with remorse. He felt sorry for the kid and wished there was something he could do to help ease the pain.

Greg realized then that talking made things worse. It hurt to breathe. His blood started feeling warm again. It was the familiar feeling associated with powerful medication ripping through his veins. As much as he wanted to stay awake, his eyelids started to droop. Somehow, he knew why Brass was there. He was not ready to talk and be put through the wringer again. He just wanted to be left alone to sleep.

"Brass is here with us. He needs to ask you a few questions." Grissom said to Greg.

"I'll try to be brief so you can rest." Brass said after clearing his throat.

Greg alternated glances between Grissom and Brass. He grimaced and closed his eyes, hoping they would take the hint.

"Greg? Don't go to sleep yet." Grissom said. "This is important. We want to know who did this to you, but you're the only one who can help us."

Greg murmured something incoherently. He blinked tiredly at the two gentlemen. His eyelids felt like they weighed a ton. His breathing became steadier as he hovered in his semi-drowsy state. He wondered how long it would be before he was down for the count again.

"He's slipping." Grissom said observantly. "This is probably not a good time to question him."

"Greg, please. If there's anything you can tell us. What you saw, what you remember…" Brass said while trying to be sensitive.

Greg looked to Grissom for help.

"The drugs are strong, huh?" Grissom said. "But you're in this business so you know how critical it is to get information out of the victim as soon as he wakes." He reminded.

Victim. Greg thought groggily. That was all he was reduced to now – a victim – a statistic. He wanted to cry but he was so consumed with exhaustion that he didn't even have the energy to cry.

Greg finally mumbled something that made Grissom lean forward to make out the word. Grissom's eyes furrowed as he followed the movement of Greg's lips.

"Scorpion." Greg repeated in a difficult huff.

"Scorpion?" Grissom questioned quizzically in a perplexed tone.

"No more." Greg whimpered. "P-pain." He begged.

"Ok, Greg. We'll let you sleep now." Grissom gave in. He turned to Brass. "You'll have to come back later."

Brass nodded to Grissom solemnly. He was at the hospital for the last hour and a half waiting for Greg to wake so he could have first crack at him. There were no immediate leads and anything Greg could contribute would be a big help. Riding on very little sleep, Brass and his men spent the night tearing down the entire basement in their search for the assailant. The secret tunnel lead into other tunnels and those tunnels turned into other tunnels, which lead to the sewers. It seemed as though the assailant disappeared into thin air.

"Alright kid. Feel better, ok?" Brass said to Greg, relieving him of his interrogation. With that, Greg closed his tired puffy eyes and gave himself into the darkness. Brass looked to Grissom. "Scorpion." He said. "That mean anything to you?"

"Not a clue." Grissom shrugged.

End of Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! And thanks for all the reviews last time! I appreciate it very much. Hope you get a chance to sign a review to this chapter too!