Genre: CSI
Rating: R
Author: Catrin and Teddy Santiago
Disclaimers: Changed the pen name, so ha, you can't find us. No affiliations and all that crap. Really.
Notes: Yes yes for more greg-bashing. This is a little out of character for him, or is it? Mwah. He has a potty mouth, just like us.
Flint is fictional, nod and smile people, this is make believe. Fingers crossed we'll slash it up later 'til our little fingers bleed.
Songs and albums used for reference:
Snot – Snot
Deftones – 7words
Beastie Boys – Ill Communication
'You just do it to me on purpose, I don't know why the fuck Grissom puts up with you!'
Slanting a cocky eyebrow at the frustrated CSI in front of him, Greg smirked and twirled the biro easily between his fingers.
'You wanna know why?' He paused, dragging it out and wiggled his eyebrows at Sara's cold glare. 'He likes my ass!'
Slamming the desk with her fist, he watched as the set of petri-dishes she had submitted to him for analysis balanced precariously on each other, moving closer to the edge with the vibration. With any luck, she'd destroy them and have only herself to blame. Finishing her tirade, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her and leaving Greg to crank up his stereo.
*
Two hours later, he was done, or so he thought, on his way out of the office, Grissom caught him, leading him into his office for 'a word'. With a sigh he sat down and took in the room. He hated it with a passion - it's smell, it's Grissomness…
'Sara's been to see me about you...'
Oh well that is surprising, that little bitch always does have to go running to the boss. 'Well I tried to explain to her that the centrifuge is booked for the next 24hours with Warrick's shit -'
'It's not just that, she wants you out of the department.' He paused a moment, reminding Greg of his stature within the department, reminding him not to step out of line before the boss, before continuing. 'For good.'
That he wasn't expecting. 'On what grounds?'
Picking up a file from his desk, he tossed it to the lab tech; Sara had been keeping a file on him. The bitch has been planning this for ages. Fuck this, he thought. It wasn't like anyone actually liked him in this department; he had no chance arguing this one out. Rising from the seat, he tossed the file back to Grissom and felt his patience sliding.
'Well, its pointless me even having this conversation with you, you've already made up your mind!'
'Greg, sit down.'
'No! I've fucking had it with you lot. What's wrong Grissom? Surprised to see your lab rat actually has a voice? Yeah well, fuck you.'
Ignoring Grissom's surprised expression at his outburst he stormed through the door, ignoring the shouts from Nick as he roughly swept past him in the corridor.
*
Slamming the apartment door behind him and opening his newly acquired bottle of tequila with his teeth, Greg tried to balance stripping off his work clothes with drinking and staggering into the living room. Now shirtless and on his sofa, he reached for his sound system remote and cranked it up, closing his eyes and enjoying the burn of the tequila as it slithered down his throat. He'd fucked up at work, out of a job and pissed off. Greatness, he thought. What am I going to do? That's right, he was going to do what Greg Sanders always did when he fucked up… get wasted and go to a club, forget about it all. Opening his eyes, he looked down at his most recent acquirement, that beautiful bottle of mexican badness resting on his naked torso and decided it was going down before he was going anywhere.
Eyes drawn to redness on his chest, he carefully fingered the silver ring at his nipple, he'd only just got it last week and it was still a bit tender. He looked at his watch and noticing it getting late, stepped up his efforts at making the tequila disappear. Pulling his ass from the sofa, completing the strip job and jumping in the shower, taking the half-finished bottle of tequila with him. My friend, he thought absently as he scrubbed himself clean, cursing as his efforts with a sponge brought one of the balls from one of his navel piercings out. Plonking the bottle of liquor down, he rushed to save it from the drain with one hand, holding the rest of the bar in with the other. Fuck! It must have been his unlucky day; the little ball of silver disappeared as fast as his career. Half-slipping out of the shower, he went to dry off and find more body-jewellery, his tequila bottle momentarily forgotten on the soap rack in the shower.
Now dry, he pulled on a pair of baggy jeans and slung them low over his hips, making sure to keep his CK elastic line peeking out of the waistband and looped a red canvas belt in place, letting the excess hang over his crotch; finding the little box where he kept all his spare barbells he fiddled until he'd replaced the one he'd lost in the shower. Compass piercing complete again he rummaged around the counter for eyeliner, knocking stray CD's around. Blackening his eyes, he pulled on a white wife beater and attached his chain and keys, before putting on his Duffs and spiking his hair. Finishing the look with his favourite scent he stopped before the mirror to admire his work. Looking gooood, now where the fuck is that tequila? Running back into the bathroom, he retrieved it before finding his cell and hitting the speed dial to see who was going out.
*
At the sound of voices being raised Nick looked up where from he'd been trying to walk and read at the same time; never the one to co-ordinate multiple tasks well he closed the file just in time to see Grissom's office door swing open and Greg barge his way past with a scowl on his normally grinning face.
What in the-? 'Greg?'
The younger man stomped on as though he hadn't heard, 'Hey Sanders, what's wrong?'
Ducking his head around Grissom's door he found the older man sat behind his desk with eyes wide and questioning. This has to be good, Nick thought. 'Boss?'
'Did you just see that?' Grissom asked, staring out the open door after Greg before turning to Nick.
'See what? Greg? Is everything okay?'
Grissom looked somewhere between shocked and amused, a wry smile playing about his lips. 'You know what, I like him. He's got more guts than we thought.'
'What?'
He gestured toward the file on the desk. 'Sara's been keeping tabs on him; she's not good at playing with the other children. Do me a favour Nick, keep an eye on him when she's around, I want to see how much of this stuff is bogus.'
Nick nodded, thinking of times when she'd ruffled the feathers of others on the team but didn't see how that fit into what had just happened. Knowing not to push it further he put it down to another of Grissom's incoherent quirks and held up the file in his hands. 'I have the results back on that hair sample…'
*
'…Yeah I understand… yeah… no worries.' So much for mates, the few who he'd managed to keep after university had either moved away or got married. Married! He rolled his eyes at the thought, As if you fucking would!?
Slamming the phone on the counter he sighed and glugged another mouthful of tequila, pondering his options as he grabbed the remote and upped Ill Communication.
She wants you out of the department… for good.
Yeah well, fuck the lot of you. In a way he had to smile, Grissom's face had been a picture, but on the other hand he wanted to throw a punch at the wall and smash all the plates in his house. Who needs friends? I'll go out anyway. Fuck 'em.
Ignoring the looks from the bouncers as he entered the club, he made straight for the bar, ordering a bottle of the finest crap and flashed a grin at the blonde trying to pick up one to many glasses. She smiled back.
The music was loud enough to make it difficult to hear anyone but that didn't mean it was impossible. Sidling up to her, he leant in close enough for her to hear him; 'Heeeey, you need any help?' Smooth Sanders, real fucking smooth. She giggled and nodded, bouncing her shoulders.
'Sure, me and my girlfriends are over by the floor, do you mind?' When she spoke, Greg couldn't help but notice her tongue piercing. Images of what her neat little tongue and it's little addition could do to him playing naughtily in his mind as he scooted closer in.
'Not at all, here, let me take them. My name's Greg, by the way.'
She giggled again, something that grated slightly on his nerves but was sure he could learn to ignore. 'Thanks Greg, I'm Sara.'
Oh. Well it wasn't as if she had any say in what her parents called her.
Forcing a smile in spite of the sour taste her name had left in his mouth, he amiably helped her and the glasses back to a table of equally annoying and giggling girls.
'Hey you guys, this is Greg, he was kind enough to help me carry all these glasses back from the bar.'
Each of the girls greeted him, but something was wrong, something in the tone of her voice. Fucking bitch, she was patronising him like he was some kind of 'tard. Carefully putting all the drinks on the table to be claimed by their respective owners, he grabbed the unclaimed one, obviously Sara's. Turning, he faced her as if he was going to gently dribble the liquid into her mouth in a mimic of some kind of erotic gesture. Keeping his voice soft, he delighted as she arched her neck up to him expectantly.
Voice low and seductive he crooned, 'Here Princess!'
But then, the dream broke for 'Princess Sara' as he unceremoniously tipped the Tia Maria and coke all over her face before throwing the glass to the floor and marching off towards the pit.
Downing his beer, he watched the pit as it swirled and sprawled across the floor like a vicious hurricane of bodies. Flesh on flesh, unconsciously fighting for dominance, in the same way as he was unconsciously measuring up everyone in there. The music changed.
Say something for the record, tell the people what you you feel!
Fuck the record and fuck the people!
Yes, fuck the people, fuck them all.
SNO-OTTTTTT!
Lynn Strait's caustic voice was calling him to the pit, and he answered, just like he always had done. Throwing himself into the violence, he felt the adrenaline rush as he fought to stay on his feet and fought to push others from theirs. He knew this wasn't what it really was about… but today it was.
I'm fixing to take you dooown,
The hurricane suddenly quelled, numb faces staring behind him, then came a heavy hand on his shoulder. The music raging away in the background regardless of whatever was going to happen on the floor.
Damn you slow down…
That voice, deep, heavy. Angry.
'Hey asshole, I want a word with you!'
Greg turned, and saw four large guys and Sara; Sara who had tear stains still showing on her face, even in the darkness of the club.
This can't be…
Oh shit. Putting on his best act of bravado, he countered. 'Yeah? What about?'
The bigger man seemed to swell and move even closer. 'About you fucking with my girlfriend!'
Feeling the dread sink in, he knew he was going to take a beating.
Is your soul found?
Might as well do it properly then.
Can't you see?
Winding himself back and hoping that the element of surprise would buy him time, respect, anything, he took his best punch.
God-daaamnn!
*
Taking a five-minute break while he waited for Brass to magic up a warrant to get evidence from a house, he sipped his coffee and found himself wondering what Greg was doing. He couldn't understand what had got Greg so pissed when he'd crashed into him earlier in the corridor. He'd never seen Greg anything other than witty but polite, ever the one to help. Thinking about it more, he realised that he didn't know much about him, he'd never thought to ask. Greg was there when they needed him and didn't complain much when the workload piled up. In fact, he realised, aside from the joking around, the questionable hair and colourful shirts, he damn well knew nothing about the guy.
Maybe I should go call round and see if he's ok? Where the hell does he live anyway-
He was cut off by Brass rounding the corner and waving a paper slip in his face. 'You know what who I had to wake up for this? Flint better be your guy Nick or we're gonna have words.'
*
Anger and adrenaline made him soar, flying with fire in his veins as he threw himself at his attackers with a renewed force; the music changed and the bass line made him smile. A familiar friend. With a bounce he sprung forward again and his fist met cheekbone, rewarding him with a spray of red. 'Yeah, fuck you!' He hit him again, rage burning in his chest as the man stayed down. Is that it? It wasn't a conscious thought but on some level he was out to banish his demons. No fucking way, cap the day off to a fucking tee. 'FUCKING COME ON THEN YOU BITCH!'
Groping hands grabbed his shoulders, pushed him down and tried to hold him but he was too wired, too lithe to stay in their grasp. Spinning round to face them, turning his back on his new friend with a swelling black eye he look up, and up, beneath dark hooded eyes, baiting the three taller, bigger, heavier guys that towered over him. With a snarl he flashed his teeth, a dangerous smile that lit up his eyes and spat at the middle one, loving the surprised looks on their face and how their fingers clenched that split second before they charged him. He didn't see the bottle gripped tight in one guy's hand until it smashed against the side of his head.
Stars exploded behind his eyes and he felt his legs go, the world blurring red and tilting as he dropped. He was vaguely aware of words directed at him, a harsh alcohol laced breath in his ear as a dark shape leaned over his foetal form on the dance floor. 'Who's the bitch now?'
Grimly pushing the words from bloodied lips, tasting metallic in his mouth, his voice was strained and his death wish manifest. 'You are poodle.'
'Grrrr…'
Moaning in pain as the booted blow cracked into his ribs, he coughed up more blood and tried to look up at his attackers through his bloodstained and puffy eyes. In the background, the music still pounded over the PA. 'Now you're wrong! Suck, suck, suck, suck…' Greg vaguely thought, Fuck, I'm being beaten to death by Chino fucking Moreno! He couldn't see a thing. Blows began reigning down on him and he tried to protect his head as he felt the world darken and go black.
*
'Hey! Quit it!'
With a shove Nick grabbed the cuffed wrists and planted a secure arm on Flint's shoulder when he made a move to run, marching him up toward the Emergency Room Treatment Area. With a pained cry Flint flinched under the CSI's contact when it jarred his injured shoulder. This isn't my job; I'm not s'posed to be here. 'Get in there.'
Nodding his acknowledgement to the security guard at the door he attached the handcuffs to the gurney rail and turned back to the corridor to sort things out with Brass before calling it a night… or morning. He'd lost track of the time hours earlier when the nightmare had begun.
Inching closer to reception, he could see Brass stood going over events with another officer, wearily combing his hand over his thinning hair. '… to get evidence from Flint's house, didn't expect him to get so edgy. Pulled a knife…'
The officer nodded and jotted down more notes as Nick headed towards them. Hearing a commotion from an open doorway lining the corridor he couldn't help but turn toward the sound. What he saw through the glass window stopped him in his tracks.
A red faced and bruised Greg Sanders struggling to shrug off the hospital staff.
*
'He's coming round'
Struggling to open his eyes, he winced as the pain hit him.
'Hello, Gregory? Gregory… you're here at Hope Hospital. You've taken a nasty blow to the head, do you remember what happened?'
Trying to sit up and shake his head, he was stopped as the nurse pushed him back down onto the bed.
'No, Gregory, you have to stay here. You have to let us help you.'
My name isn't Gregory, he had to tell her. Had to tell her to get off him, how dare she! He didn't want anyone near him, touching him. This day had gone from bad to worse, and now an al consuming fury gripped him at the injustice of it all.
'My name is Greg... get off me.'
His throat was painful, voice hoarse and croaky, tasting of the blood that he'd brought up when he'd spoken. He didn't want to stay in the hospital, at all costs, he had to leave. Rising from the bed, he forced his way up, provoking the nurse to tighten her grip on his shoulder. He pulled his shoulder away from her, trying to swing his legs off the bed. 'Fuckin'… I said get off me, get…' He was growing angrier by the second. Hands trying to push him down, he fought his way up, failing miserably as his early encounter had left him weak as a kitten.
'LET ME GO!'
Someone spoke up form the doorway, voice commanding and concerned. 'What the hell is going on in here?'
'Doctor! Doctor, he's trying to leave.'
They came back at him with renewed efforts. That's when he heard that voice, that deep familiar voice that most closely identified as that of a friend. And it enraged him even more.
No, he mentally chided himself. He's one of them. Me against them.
'Greg? Shit! What's he doing here? What happened?'
Nick Stokes had arrived.
*
'What happened?'
Taking one look at the blood coating Greg's face like someone had poured a tin of paint over his head Nick freaked, wondering how things could have spiralled out of control so quickly.
'Greg? Jesus!'
Greg looked up from the bed, trying once again to rise. 'Get out Nick, ALL OF YOU! GET AWAY FROM ME!'
'Greg?'
'Get out Nick, did Grissom send you? You're just like him, and her… just, get out, I don't…'
Choosing to ignore the rants of the smaller man Nick turned to the doctor, 'Sir, I'm CSI Stokes, can you please tell me what's happened?'
'Are you a rela-'
'I work with Greg, is he going to be okay? What's-'
The doctor waved his hands, interrupting him. 'Mr Stokes, he's been attacked, we've not done a full exam yet, he's only just been brought in. Could you please move into the waiting ar-'
'GET THE FUCK OFF ME!'
The bed rattled and shook as Greg did his best to shake off the hands trying to restrain him, legs flying and arms flailing.
This was definitely a side of Greg that Nick had never imagined let alone seen in a hospital bed. Hearing the nurses' shouts for security Nick stepped in, holding his hands out in front of him. 'Look, hey, you don't need to call security! He's not going to hurt anyone, please, just… give me five minutes with him.' At their dubious looks and doubt he added another please.
'Five minutes, but if he gets any worse we'll restrain him.'
Nodding his thanks he stepped closer to the head of the bed, taking in the clothes and bloodstains.
'What's going on Greg?'
'I'm not talking to you, just… I've already told you Nick, get out.'
'You're hardly in a situation to make me.'
One eye cracked open, glaring. 'You're just as bad as the others, why are you even here?' His voice was pinched, talking through gritted teeth.
'What's with all this hostility? What the hell have you got yourself into? I've never seen you like this Greg. What's going on?'
'I'm just sick of everyone taking liberties and walking all over me. Sara got me fired today, the bitch. So I went out, figured I had nothing better to do.'
'Sara's not got you fired. What are you talking about? I spoke to Grissom after you stormed out, he said he wants you out in the field more.'
'He's a prick, he… what?'
Nick had to grin at the sudden change in his friend; like someone had flicked on a switch the anger burning in his eyes vanished to be replaced with open surprise.
'You're not fired.'
*
[more on the way]