Title: Erotomania

Summary: Greg has a secret admirer and it just gets worse from there.

Pairings: Nick/Greg, OC/Greg, Catherine/Warrick, Grissom/Sara

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or its characters.

Warnings: slash, sexual situations, attempted rape, violence, language

AN: And I wanted to say thank you to all those that reviewed including Lily G, Libranfate, AZNsexinezz, Blatantly Jennifer, , fictitiousshore, and happyharper13.

And to happyharper13: Thank you so much! That was one long review. I hope this and future chapters can live up to your expectations.

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Chapter #1: The Start of Something Weird

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Greg's next shift turned out to be a good one. Nick, Sara, and he discovered who had killed the woman—it had been the plumber of all people—and Greg had then been rushed off to the next crime scene without even having the time to finish the appropriate paperwork. This new crime scene had been a standard B&E and he and Catherine had it figured out in literally no time at all. The idiot would be robber had left behind his hat, which just happened to have some of his hair caught in the fibers. They'd run the DNA through the database and had a match within an hour. After that, he'd done some paperwork and then it was time to go home. Greg said good-bye to his friends in the lab and headed for the locker room to get his jacket out of his locker. He was in a good mood and he would've started to whistle as he walked down the hallway just to annoy Hodges—who looked up at him from the Trace lab with a glare when he waved as he passed by—but, sadly, though he was a genius, whistling would never be one of his skills. It was indeed a sad, sad thing as knowing how to whistle would have been totally awesome.

Finally, he got to the locker room and he nodded at Warrick as he came through the door and headed for his own locker, tucked somewhere way in the back. At first he'd been insulted by the placement of his locker. Because, really, wasn't he good enough to have a locker close to the front or at least in the middle with the rest of the team? But then he'd realized it had nothing to do with status in the lab and all to do with the fact that the locker way in the back was one of the few lockers that was both available and not broken. The male CSI's had a bad habit of venting their frustrations with a case by punching the lockers as hard as they could and this had resulted in more than a few lockers that just wouldn't close anymore. There had been a request for somebody to fix these lockers but that request had been kindly refuted by a request for the CSI's to just stop damaging government property.

Either way, Greg got to his locker and happily spun the lock in his combination, opening the door only to have an envelope fall out and end up on the ground. This not being something that he had expected, Greg frowned and crouched down to pick the envelope up. Turning it this way and that, he tried to find a return address or something that would tell him who it was from, but the envelope was blank except for his name printed in dark, bold letters on the front. Somewhat unsure about if he should open the envelope or not—who knew what it could contain!—Greg sat down on the bench and continued to stare at it with a frown.

"Hey, Greggo," A hand suddenly came down on Greg's shoulder and Greg tried not to jump. "Me and Warrick are gonna head out now, okay?" Nick continued.

Greg, continuing to stare at his envelope, mumbled a distracted, "Yeah, yeah, sure."

But Nick didn't go away. "What'cha got there?" he asked curiously, hand reaching out to snatch the envelope from Greg's grip. "Looks like a letter," Nick observed casually as he examined the envelope himself, turning it this way and that.

"No, really?" Greg said sarcastically, snatching the envelope back and holding it to his chest protectively. "Quit stealing my mail."

Nick smirked at that. "Alright I'll leave you and your letter alone together. I know when I'm not wanted."

Greg scowled at Nick playfully. "Then hurry it up already. Me and my letter need some privacy."

Nick laughed at that, but he obligingly left the room and dragged Warrick along with him, leaving Greg and the envelope alone.

"Alright," Greg said to the letter, "Let's see what you're about." And then he quickly ripped the envelope open and took out the letter within, which he turned around to read.

It read:

Dearest Greg,

For so long we have been apart and it is killing me inside slowly. I literally ache to be with you again like we once were, but this cruel world is keeping us apart. Is there not any way that we can be together? I anxiously await your reply.

Love with all my heart,

You know who

Reading this and then rereading it, Greg frowned, more than confused. What the hell? Who the hell was 'You know who'? And what the hell kind of drugs was this person taking to write something like this? Greg had never been the recipient of psychotic fan mail before.

Though, now that he thought about it, this was more likely to be somebody's warped idea of a joke. Probably Archie's. He had a bizarre enough sense of humor that he would find something like this funny.

Well Greg would show him. He'd just not react at all. Archie was probably just waiting for him to start questioning the whole lab for who had written the letter. It would serve him right for Greg to just forget about the whole thing.

That decided, Greg grabbed his jacket, shut the locker door, and headed out of the locker room. And if he happened to drop the letter in the trash can by the door then that was just as well.

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Of course the next day, or night as it was, Nick just had to bring the letter back up.

"So what was with that letter yesterday?" Nick asked as he plopped himself down in the seat across from Greg in the break room. "It didn't look like your regular mail."

Greg blew softly on his coffee then took a sip before answering. "It was just some bizarre joke of Archie's. Nothing big."

"Oh yeah?" Nick said, raising a brow and pinning Greg with an interested look. "What'd he say?"

"It was actually some kind of love letter," Greg said, smiling now in amusement. "I mean, you should have read this thing. It was like something out of a trashy romance novel."

"You mean one of those with the perfectly muscular guys, the gorgeous heroines, and all the sweaty sex?"

Greg grinned and looked over at the Texan with a mischievous look. "Sounds like you know from experience. Read one of those have you?"

"No!" Nick said, looking faintly disgusted at the thought. "It's just one of my sisters is obsessed with those kinds of books. You pick up on the themes after awhile."

"Uh-huh," Greg didn't look convinced, though he still had an edge of mischievousness about him. "You just don't want to admit your deep love for them. Don't worry." Putting on a mock-serious look, Greg reached out to pat Nick on the hand soothingly. "I won't think less of you if you like chick books."

Nick snatched his hand back quickly and went on trying to protest his innocence. "No, seriously! I don't like those kinds of books!"

"What kind of books doesn't Nick like?" Catherine asked, walking into the break room and heading straight for the coffee machine.

"Trashy romance novels where there's more sex and description of sexual organs then actual plot," Greg answered.

Catherine laughed and took a cautious sip of her coffee. "And what got you on to this discussion?"

"We were talking about a letter Greg got," Nick said, obviously grateful for the change of subject.

Catherine instantly looked interested. "A trashy romantic letter?"

"It was just a joke, guys. Seriously," Greg said, going back to his own coffee and taking a sip. "It was nothing," he finished.

"And how do you know it was just a joke?" Catherine asked. "Maybe some poor girl out there was baring her soul to you in the only way she could. And then you laugh at it!"

Greg shook his head. "No. It was a joke. You guys didn't read it. The person was talking like I knew them and we'd secretly been in love for forever. And, I don't know about you guys, but I think I would remember if I was in love with somebody." Here he couldn't help it. He glanced quickly at Nick, but then just as quickly glanced away. Yeah, he would remember all right. How couldn't do anything but remember.

"Still . . ." Catherine said, "You shouldn't be so quick to be so positive that somebody isn't in love with you."

For some reason, Nick's eyes got very wide at this and he turned to Catherine in what looked suspiciously like a panic.

Ignoring that, Greg grinned. "Oh, I'm sure tons of people are in love with me. I mean, who couldn't love this?" Here, he pointed to himself arrogantly and continued to grin, letting the others revel in the glory that was him.

Catherine rolled her eyes tolerantly and took another sip of her coffee as she walked around the break room table to sit by Nick. Here, she patted him on the arm and Nick said something under his breath that Greg couldn't hear.

Somewhat curious, Greg was about to ask a question when his phone rang. Immediately fishing it out of his pocket, he answered, "Sanders."

On the other end of the line there was a silence.

Greg frowned. "Hello?"

More silence and, if he listened closely, the sound of somebody's soft breathing.

"Hello?" Greg said again, starting to grow concerned. Putting a hand over his other ear in order to hear better, he continued, "Hello? Who is this?"

Only the dial tone answered him. Whoever it had been had hung up. Greg frowned at his phone. Well that was weird.

"Who was it?" Nick asked with his own frown.

Greg shrugged. "Dunno. They didn't say anything."

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He would answer his phone three more times that day only to have nothing but the sound of somebody breathing answer him. It was strange, but he wouldn't let it bother him. No, what really bothered him was his newest case.

Somebody had killed a little girl, only eleven years old. Her name was Cassandra "Cassie" Roberts and she'd been stabbed three times—twice in the gut, once in the chest. He and Warrick had been all over the alleyway she had been found in and discovered only a multitude of trash, some dog droppings, a spider, faint car tracks heading away from the scene, and a whole lot of blood. Nothing really seemed to connect anybody to her death and looking over the photos only gave them so much.

From the girl herself they hadn't been able to gather any DNA other than a strand of her mother's hair and some cat hair from the family pet. It looked like this case would involve a lot of asking questions and digging through trash so they had gotten started, Warrick leaving Greg to go through the trash while he himself headed off with Brass to question the uncle the victim was supposed to have been spending the day with.

By the time the end of shift came, Greg was sick and tired of looking at other people's half-eaten fast food and now knew more about what went into serving food at McDonalds' (the restaurant that actually used the trash bin in the alleyway) than he had ever wanted to know. And he now knew one thing—he was never eating a Big Mac again. He didn't care how tired and hungry he was, he'd go to Burger King if he was that desperate. The day had just been that disgusting.

Thankfully it was the end of shift so he could go home and take a shower. He knew he could always just take a shower in the locker room showers, but not only were those disgusting and probably disease-ridden, he also just didn't use them after the lab explosion had caused permanent scarring to his back. He couldn't risk somebody seeing the scars and then having to see the pity that would most likely come with that. He didn't like, want, or need pity and so he just tended to avoid the situation.

So, saying good-bye to the other CSIs and the guys in the lab, Greg left to go home. Getting to his apartment building, he pulled into the parking lot and turned off the ignition. Then, just like any other night, he walked into the actual apartment building and pressed the button for the elevator, waiting calmly for it to come. Eventually it came and he waited for the three people already on it to get off. One of the guys getting off seemed familiar, but Greg put that down to the fact that the building he lived in was small and he could have seen the man at anytime. Either way, that man gave him a look in passing and then he was gone and Greg put it out of his mind. Getting to his actual apartment, Greg didn't notice the letter that had been stuck under the door until he'd already stepped on it and closed the door behind him. He actually would have continued to ignore it, but he happened to look down and there it was in all its green envelope-y glory.

Frowning, Greg reached down to pick it up and turned it over to look for any indication of who it was from. Maybe it was from his landlord? But, no. It looked just like the letter from earlier, with his name written in dark, bold letters on the front. Frowning again, Greg walked with it into his living room and plopped down on his sofa before ripping into the envelope. Taking out the letter within, he turned it over and read:

Dearest Greg,

You have received my last letter and I can tell it has given you much joy. This method of communication seems to work well though I have to admit that I had to call you just to hear the sound of your voice. I know, I know, you don't want me to make such risks, but I had to hear your voice. You have never seemed to understand what your voice does to me. Just hearing you say, "Hello" sends tremors of ecstasy down my spine. But if you would only send me a letter or a picture, I would be content and take no more risks. Farewell for now, my love, until we meet again.

Love with all of my heart,

You know who

Okay this was getting a little ridiculous. Archie had obviously realized that Greg hadn't reacted to the first letter like he'd hoped and so he'd just made a new one to bug him. And he had obviously been the one that kept calling him and hanging up. Greg got out his phone and dialed a familiar number.

Archie answered on the third ring. "Hello?" He sounded like he had been asleep.

"Archie, what the hell is wrong with you? Stop it with the letters already. And stop calling my cell phone just to breath at me. It's annoying"

"Wait. Wait," Archie said, sounding like he was still trying to wake up. "Greg? Is that you?"

"Yeah. It's me," Greg said, starting to pace his living room. "And I want you to stop it. It's not funny. It's really annoying." Greg stopped suddenly as he realized something, "And when did you ever have the time to come to my apartment anyways?"

"What," Archie said, sounding bleary and confused. "What are you talking about?"

"The letters," Greg replied. "The phone calls. Your stupid joke. Stop it."

"But I haven't even done anything yet," Archie said, starting to protest but still sounding confused.

"Don't pretend you don't know," Greg said sternly.

"But I really don't know. What are you talking about?"

Greg frowned, his certainty that it had been Archie starting to waver. The other man really did sound confused. "You mean you really don't know?"

"I really don't know," Archie repeated and then started to sound worried. "Are you getting letters? Phone calls? Is something happening?"

And now Archie was even sounding like a concerned friend. Maybe Greg had been wrong. But if Greg had been wrong then did that mean . . .

"Sorry, Arch. I think I made a mistake. Nick must be pulling my leg or something. Bye." And then, before Archie could even protest again like it sounded like he was going to, Greg hung up.

Picking the letter up from where Greg had thrown it on the couch, Greg stared at it some more. If it wasn't Archie, maybe it was one of the other guys at the lab making a joke at his expense. But then that wouldn't explain how the letter had gotten to his apartment. Only a certain number of people knew where his apartment was and if it wasn't Archie then Greg couldn't really see any of the others pulling a joke like this even if they had had the time, which they hadn't.

So did that mean somebody really had a crush on him? Rereading the letter, Greg pulled a face. That would be one massively weird crush. It was almost like the person thought they really were in a relationship with him. Weird.

Oh well. If they were calling his cell phone and leaving letters at his door he would have to report it as a stalking since he didn't know who the hell it was who was doing this. But he'd do it only if they kept it up. Tonight he just wanted to sleep.

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TBC?