Greg wasn't used to being a hero. It left one with decidedly less free time, he noticed, but everyone (and their mothers, it seemed) wanted to drop in and congratulate him, so he put up with it as best he could. Besides the fact that he couldn't move anywhere, he quite enjoyed not being vilified. He'd even been featured on the news in a positive light, which was a first, though being bedbound, still, and heavily swathed in bandages put a damper on the visits, and on his mood in general. Meeting his parents had been particularly hard. The sight of his mother bursting into tears on his father's shoulder left him more than a little rattled, yet all they could do was awkwardly tell her that everything would be fine. She merely sobbed harder, muttering repeatedly that her 'beautiful boy' was hurt again.

Greg tried to ignore the thoughts that inevitably plagued him about his appearance. From the way his doctors scurried around assessing the damage, and the numbing medications they continued to administer, he could only guess how bad the damage was. The last time he'd only had shards of glass to contend with, but Greg gathered that something rather large and foreign had been removed from his body; something metal that had ripped open a large chunk of skin. He wondered how he'd look with a piece of his back missing. There were many long and painful hours to while away during healing, and Greg wasn't above self-pity. It gave him something to occupy himself with, at least, since he couldn't use his arms.

After a few weeks he was finally allowed to see the one person he really wanted to meet. He'd been filled in on the story, or at least what the other CSIs had been able to piece together thanks to his timely discovery. Eyck asked the boy to take the trash out. Was it really so simple? Just trash. A red trash can filled with explosives, given to a random boy on a random street. What was Eyck's motive other than a sick love of toying with people? Greg wondered if he could ever get over what happened — this awful joke played on him by a cosmic force he didn't even believe in. He hoped Eyck had gotten a real kick from it, at least.

When the small child sidled nervously into the hospital room, followed by his mother, Greg was struck by the situation's irony. Ten years in the future, this kid could be Demetrius James, but again for Greg's involvement. He said nothing, waiting for the two visitors to make the first move. The woman's eyes widened at the sight of him — like everyone who'd come to visit him so far, she was bad at hiding her reaction. The little boy, though at second glance he wasn't small, merely retiring in nature, stared at him for some time. Suddenly he broke into a wide grin and ran to Greg's bedside, patting his arm enthusiastically. Greg hid his wince as broken bones protested, smiling gratefully at the boy instead. Perhaps he could take solace in saving this boy from a death that wasn't his.

"Emile, stop that. Can't you see he's hurt?" admonished the woman, taking Emile's hands into her own and holding them at her side. She looked down into his face. "What did we come here to say to the nice man?"

"Thank you for saving me," said Emile, smiling shyly.

Soon he squirmed away to stand behind his mother. She smiled apologetically at Greg. "He's a little shy."

Greg smiled back stiffly, still unsure how to act around them.

"Thank you so much for risking your life to save him," she continued, eyes shining and clutching her son tightly.

Greg shook his head slowly. "I'm just glad I could help," he whispered. "He deserves to live a long and happy life."

All too soon he was left alone with his thoughts, which no amount of commendations or heartfelt thanks could diminish. He sighed and carefully switched sides, allowing the painkillers to drag him down to sleep.