Author's Note: Thanks to happyharper13 for the update on Bryce's name change in the series. I guess that makes her an even more original character here. And of course what's a story of mine without someone going through a traumatic experience? Enjoy.


Chapter 7

Greg looked at no one and tolerated nothing as he cleared a pathway down the hall like a tornado. Anyone who got in his way felt the heat of his wrath.

"Greg, I need you to—"

"I'll do it later, Catherine," Greg snapped.

"Hey Sanders, I heard you and Nick—"

"Shove it, Hodges."

"Greg, could I have a—"

"Not now, Grissom."

Finally, he found the entrance to the lab and pushed the doors open, angrily making his way out into the dark night. He needed to cool off. Just a few hours ago, his world had been perfect. He and Bryce were friends, and he and Nick were secret lovers. Everything was exactly as it should have been. He had lived in paradise for five weeks and now, one event had set into motion the downfall of his perfect world.

And it wasn't over yet.

Desperate for someone to complain to, Greg pulled out his phone. He wasn't really sure where he was going, he just wanted to walk around the city. He hit four on his speed dial and waited for Sara to answer.

"Hello?" She was groggy and lethargic, and Greg knew he had woken her up again.

He wanted to yell at her, to tell her how much of a bitch Bryce had been, and how big of a selfish asshole Nick was, but instead, he only whimpered, "Sara, I really screwed up."

She seemed to detect the desperation in her voice because she woke up immediately. "What happened, Greg?"

"It was all going so well!" he cried. "Nick and I, we were great, and no one knew, and it was amazing. Even things with me and Bryce were perfect. We were friends, we even hung out, the three of us together, and it was just... Everything just needed to stay that way. And then it didn't. It all changed because Bryce found us making out in the AV lab. She flipped! I chased her down the street and she yelled at me, called me a f-f-faggot..."

"Oh Greg..." Sara breathed. "I told you that secrets are always found out."

"I don't need an I-told-you-so, I need some sympathy!" Greg sobbed as the tears began to streak down his cheek. "I loved how things were. Even the fact that our relationship was secret seemed to just make things sexier. And then, Nick comes barging into Wendy's lab yelling about how I should have told him I slept with Bryce, and demanding that I out myself right there, in front of everyone. Can you believe that? In front of everyone! He told me to do it, or it was over. So... So of course I said it was over. But I don't want it to be over, Sara! Oh God, I miss him already..."

"OK, OK, just... hush," she cooed. "You can work this out. You built this beautiful house of cards and it's all just come crashing down on top of you, but you can fix it. Just give it time. Let Nick cool off, go home, go to sleep, and talk to him about it in the morning. You'll both have clearer heads then, and you can explain to him why you weren't ready to come out yet. As for Bryce, just... just..." Sara seemed at a loss. "Fuck her."

This did make Greg emit a small laugh. "Been there, done that."

He heard the smile in Sara's voice. "You know what I mean. If she has a problem with you because of who you have feelings for, then that's her problem, not yours. Your real friends won't give a lick who you date."

"Like you?" Greg asked, smiling through his tears.

"Like me," she agreed. "It all seems really bad now, but in the morning it'll be better. Problems are always smaller when they're seen in the sunlight."

"Yeah..." Greg sniffed. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

"You come out on your own terms Greg," Sara told him. "Don't let anyone do it for you."

"OK," Greg said, feeling a little better already. "Oh God, Sara, I really miss you."

"I miss you too, hon, but—"

"Hey, give me your phone!" a gruff voice demanded from behind him, shoving a knife into his back.

"What?!" Greg cried, hanging up on Sara without warning. "Come on, man, I've already gotten mugged once tonight!"

"Hey, wait a minute..." said the man behind him. "You sound familiar..." He forced Greg to turn around. "Hey! You're that faggot with that girl from earlier!"

"What are the odds," Greg mumbled, his eyes narrowing. "How're the family jewels?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," the mugger snickered, and then decked Greg in the jaw.

Greg blinked as he stumbled backwards, trying to chase the stars from his vision as he stretched out his throbbing jaw. He had bit his lip and he could taste his own blood. He looked up at the mugger.

"Fine! Take my phone! Like I give a shit!" Greg spat, throwing the phone at the mugger's feet, where it shattered into three pieces.

"Oh," said the mugger, amused. "I think I'm gonna be taking a lot more than your phone." He tilted his head up. "Yo, Mario! Check out what I found."

Greg knew it was time to get out of there so he slowly walked backwards. A few steps later, he hit something hard, but breathing.

"What's this?" a man behind him inquired. Greg looked up to see a massive man towering over him.

"Mario, I presume?" he said, cocking his eyebrow. He looked at the first mugger. "And who are you? Luigi?"

Mario grabbed Greg's arms and forced them behind his back.

"It's that little faggot I told you about," the first mugger said, ignoring Greg. "You know, with the girl."

"Oh!" Greg could feel the vibrations from the man's voice in his chest. "This should be fun."

For the first time in the exchange, Greg was really afraid. Nick had admitted that Greg was deceptively strong, and while he could have easily subdued the first mugger on his own, he was no match for the giant behind him. Mario pushed Greg forward and he stumbled before he fell to his knees in front of the first mugger, eyelevel with the man's waist.

"You like sucking cock, little man?" the mugger growled. He thrust his pelvis into Greg's face. "Suck mine!"

"Don't tempt him, Gary," Mario warned. He planted his foot into Greg's back and kicked him forward, and Greg's already sore jaw smashed against the pavement. "There are other things we can do to see the queer get excited." There was something dark and sinister beneath his words and a chill trickled through Greg's body like ice water.

"Consider this payback," the mugger named Gary snarled. "For what your ex-girlfriend pulled earlier."

Greg pushed himself up on all fours and Gary's foot connected with his stomach. He doubled over in pain but lashed out at Mario with his leg. After his last attack, he had done defense training for months, just to make sure that something like this would never happen again. And yet, all of that knowledge fled from his mind as cold fear overwhelmed him. He had promised himself that he would never be the victim again.

He felt someone pick him up by the neck of his shirt and lift him clear off the ground. Greg struggled to escape from his grip, even swinging his body in the hopes of kicking back at something, but then Gary came at him from the front and began to deliver devastating blows to Greg's chest and stomach. The bastard kneed him in the groin and Greg cried out as a sharp, shooting agony radiated in shockwaves throughout his entire body.

"That was for your ex!" he barely heard Gary spit.

Mario threw him to the ground and Greg tried to crawl away when Gary grabbed him by the hair. "Where do you think you're going, you homo whore!" he cackled. "Hey Mario, how about we take him somewhere more private. Have a little party. Homos like that sort of thing, don't they? Parties?"

This time, Mario's gigantic hand closed around Greg's neck and he couldn't breathe. They shoved him against a brick wall and Greg heard a bottle cork. "Let's fucking party!" he heard Gary roar and then he felt the bottle pushed against his lips. He clenched his teeth but Mario pulled at his hair, tipping it back and Greg spluttered as a foul, licorice-tasting alcohol poured into his mouth. He choked as it spilled back into his hair and down into his clothes. The bottle clanged painfully against his teeth and his jaw was forced open and the next thing he knew, the neck of it was being shoved fully into his mouth and he couldn't breathe.

"Yeah, that's it fag! Deep throat that glass cock!"

Though he couldn't feel it, the tears were streaming down Greg's cheeks as he choked, trying to beg them to stop, but all he could get out were anxious whimpers. He turned his head left and right then finally bit down as hard as he could on the bottle, the neck snapping off and spilling the rest of the alcohol over his shirt and jeans. He choked as he swallowed a bit of glass and spit the rest out in to Gary's face, catching his assailant in the eye. His mouth felt raw, filled with tiny cuts from the broken glass.

"Fuck!" he heard Gary hiss, and then he held up the other end of the broken bottle. "You're gonna pay for that, you fucking queer!"

But now, Greg had another issue to deal with: the alcohol was messing with his head. Everything was spinning as the broken bottle tore into his shoulder. Greg screamed at the top of his lungs, but the cry quickly diminished to a helpless sob.

"Light him up, Mario."

And then, his tattered mind heard something like wailing in the distance, banshees on the horizon, or maybe angels in some sweet chariot, come to carry him home. There were flashing lights and he heard Gary say something in anxious tones, but he couldn't make out what. Mario released him and he slowly slid down the wall, his head whirling, his vision going in and out of focus, blood oozing from his shoulder and his mouth feeling as if he had swallowed an entire beehive.

Somewhere, someone was yelling, and Greg's head lolled on his shoulders. Above him, he saw the sky, but it wasn't night like he had expected. It was blue, with clouds, which parted and he heard an angelic, feminine voice booming in his head.

You're a Sodomite.

If he could, he would have started to cry. I'm not, he argued against the voice. I'm not, I'm just me, I'm just Greg, that's all.

Faggot, the voice spat. Homo. Cock-sucker. Queer.

Internally, he begged the voice to stop.

Outside of himself, he heard another voice, deep and gruff, and as far from angelic as one could get. "Jesus Christ! Go around back! Suspects heading north on Heller Drive!" Someone was kneeling down in front of him, but by that time the alcohol had flown Greg far away from his own crime scene. "Greg? Greg, can you hear me?"

His voice grew more sluggish and deeper, as if someone was digitally slowing it down. He couldn't speak. His mouth was too cut up to speak. He felt the blood trickling out of the corners of his lips. He hard someone mention Sara. He heard someone mention Nick. He heard a lot of swearing. But it was impossible for him to put any of it into context.

Slowly, he was enveloped in white, and a warm angel with crystal wings and the perfect golden features appeared in front of Greg.

"Am I dead?" he asked.

"No," she said simply. Her voice was smooth and divine, and perfectly in tune, like a symphony.

"Am I going to hell?"

"No."

"Then what are you doing here?" Greg asked.

She smiled at him warmly and approached him, her eyes the deepest blues, and staring into them was like staring up into the night sky. All Greg could see was darkness, but he knew that somewhere beyond it lay so much more than that. She reached out and ran a loving hand through his hair. She said nothing, did nothing, but stroke his hair for a long time, and Greg felt obscenely tired. Slowly, he reclined onto his side and the angel began to hum a melody he recognized but could not place, a tune from his infancy that his mother used to sing as he drifted off to sleep. He hadn't heard it since then.

Slowly, he closed his eyes, feeling her warm, gentle hands, and then everything else fell away.


"Nick!"

Grissom's barking voice made Nick cringe, as if he had done something wrong. He turned to meet his supervisor, who looked bemused.

"What's going on between you and Greg?"

"Nothing," Nick muttered, truthfully. Not anymore.

"The lab techs are saying you two had a huge fight in the lab," Grissom elaborated. "They mentioned something about Bryce, but she refuses to say anything about it either. What is going on?"

"Yeah, Greg and I had a fight, and yeah, Bryce's name may have come up, but beyond that, you don't need to know anything else."

"If it affects your work, I do," Grissom said. "And considering I just tried to ask Greg about his case and he completely ignored me, I'd say it's affecting your work."

"Well give us a day, then, and it won't," Nick snapped, a little hostile.

Grissom began to protest when he was interrupted by his phone. He looked down at it, then up at Nick again, as if deciding whether or not to answer it. Finally, he sighed, and did, a little tersely.

"Grissom."

Nick saw his face dissolve into warmth, and wondered who on the phone could cause that.

"Sara..."

Of course, Nick thought. But then, Grissom was tense again.

"What do you mean?... Do you know where he was?... What did he say? What did they say?... OK. He couldn't have gotten far, he was just here ten minutes ago. I'll let Brass know... Calm down, I'm sure he's fine. I'll call you later tonight. Bye."

"What was that about?" Nick inquired innocently.

Grissom shrugged and dialed another number on his phone. "Sara said that she was talking to Greg on the phone when someone tried to mug him. She said that's all she heard before she hung up, but now she can't get through to his phone."

"A mugging?" Nick inquired. "Hell, Greg's gonna walk in here and report that himself in five minutes, I bet. Why'd Sara bother calling you?"

"I guess it scared her," Grissom said with a shrug, holding the phone to his ear. "Brass—" But apparently, the detective cut him off. Grissom blinked. "What?"

Nick wondered what Brass was telling his supervisor.

"Sure, I'll send Bryce on out to handle it," Grissom said. "Where is it?... That close?" And then, realization dawned on Grissom's face. "Brass, did they describe the victim at all?... No, forget about Bryce, I'll come out. See you soon. Bye."

"What'd he say?" Nick asked.

"Brass said a civilian called in an assault on the corner of Heller and Thompson," Grissom said slowly. "He needed a CSI to process the scene."

The pieces seemed to fit together in Nick's head and it was like he had just leapt into a frozen lake. "No..." he muttered skeptically. "Greg's not stupid. If someone tried to mug him and he couldn't handle it, he would just cooperate and report it. They'd have no reason to..." Panic began to set in. "I'm going with you."

"Not a chance," Grissom said, as he made his way swiftly past Nick.

"Your scene is five blocks from here!" Nick called after Grissom. "You know I can just follow you on foot!"

Grissom waved at him dismissively before heading into the locker room to get his vest and kit.


By the time Grissom arrived on the scene, the victim was already on a gurney and getting wheeled into an ambulance. Grissom couldn't see him clearly, but a lump formed in his throat. He found Brass, whose eyes were also on the victim as he made his way to the ambulance, barking at the paramedics furiously, telling them to be careful, to go faster, to watch him.

"Jim!" Grissom called, and the detective turned and Grissom noticed that his face was set, his lips were tight, and his eyes were dark.

"Gil," he saw Brass mouth, and the detective made his way over to him, gesturing at an alleyway where Grissom could already see some signs of a fight. "The scene's over there," Brass called over the sirens as he came closer to Grissom.

"Did you ID the vic?" Grissom asked, hoping against hope that it wasn't a name he recognized.

But Brass nodded, grimly. "If I'd had any idea, I would have never called you down here," he said.

Grissom remained impassive, but he had already come to that conclusion. "How bad is it?"

Brass sighed and shook his head. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat and shrugged. "I don't know, they can't say yet," he told Grissom. "He was barely conscious when I showed up. His face was a bloody mess, Grissom, and his shoulder was stabbed by something, maybe a broken bottle, it was hard to tell with the EMTs trying to stabilize him. Some pedestrians overheard yelling and whooping, and called 911 when they saw what was going on. The sirens scared off the perps, but I have a few uniforms chasing them down now. There were two of them by the looks of it, one large, dark hair and skin, the other a little scrawny and pale. We're not too sure what went down here... or why."

"Well..." Grissom began, taking a deep breath. "The what is where I come in. The why I'll leave to you."

He moved to go over to the scene when Brass gripped his shoulder. "Gil, I could call in days if you'd prefer."

But Grissom shook his head. "Thanks, but I think I'll be OK..." He trailed off as he saw Nick in his vest, flashing his badge at the officers and ducking under the crime scene tape. The Texan seemed to feel Grissom's eyes because he focused his attention on his supervisor and made a beeline towards Brass and Grissom.

"What is it?" Nick asked anxiously, looking from one to the other. "Is it Greg?"

Brass and Grissom exchanged looks. It was all Nick needed.

"Where is he?" Nick demanded, fervently. "I have to see him!" Brass's eyes drifted over to the ambulance, which was pulling away from the scene as they spoke and Nick followed his gaze. Nick turned back to Grissom. He was visibly distressed as his face contorted and his voice shook, but he desperately tried to control himself, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists. "OK. What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to follow that ambulance to the hospital," Grissom stated frankly, "so someone can be there for Greg when he wakes up."

"You don't need me to process?" Nick sounded surprised and almost offended.

"I think I have that covered," Grissom told him. "All I need from you is your cooperation."

Nick looked lost. "Grissom, if someone hurt Greg—"

"Then we'll get them," Grissom interrupted. "But you're of no use to him here."

Nick looked torn as his eyes watched the ambulance turn the corner and vanish from his sight. He was breathing heavily through his nose before he nodded. "Sure. OK. You're right."

"I know I am, now go," Grissom ordered, and Nick took off.

"Smart move," Brass commented.

Grissom nodded. "I couldn't have him collecting evidence. He was obviously too distraught."

"And you're not?" Brass inquired with a curious raise of the eyebrow.

Grissom looked back at the scene, his face as stony as ever. "I'll let you know what I find," he said simply to Brass. "You deal with the suspects."

Brass nodded, recognizing a dismissal when he saw one, and moved back toward the crime scene tape, pulling out his phone. Grissom moved closer to the bloody scene, where he saw spatter patterns against the brick wall and the floor, as well as blood drops from something he had yet to determine.

There was a broken bottle rolling around on the ground, the neck of which Grissom couldn't find, but its jagged edges were dripping blood onto the pavement, so Grissom didn't need to think hard about what it had been used for. He knelt down next to the green bottle and took a look at the label. Assenzio. An Italian brand, illegal in the US. But Grissom wondered why Greg had been stabbed by that end of the bottle. Generally in bar fights when drunks decide to use their beer bottles as weapons, they grip the neck and shatter the body. The neck serves as a hilt, like a knife. It would be difficult to handle the body in the same way.

Grissom glanced around and saw broken bits of the green glass, some chunks that he was able to identify as a part of the bottle's neck. All of them were covered in blood and absinthe. He collected all of the glass that he could find and by the time he picked up the last piece, he realized his hands were shaking. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and forced himself to relax. When he opened his eyes again, his hand was steady.

He noticed a frothy substance on the glass that was neither blood nor absinthe. He swabbed it, and added it to his other swabs of the liquids at the scene.

He sat back on his haunches and surveyed the alley again. Why does it always have to be alleys? he asked himself. Why does it always have to be my guys?

He couldn't take it. He reached for his phone.

"Gil?"

"Sara," he breathed. "Why do these things always happen to us?"