A/N: Thanks again for the reviews – They really do make my day.
[Tiny spoiler for: 'Let the seller beware' …. But you wont see it unless you're looking]
I don't feel great [when do I ever?], so forgive any errors.
+_+_+
Nick sighed. He was in a bar; by himself. He'd been propositioned several times, but he just didn't feel like company. But he didn't feel like being alone.
The bar was a compromise.
Between the sips of room temperature beer and clattering glass, his mind slipped back to thinking about Greg.
Why did he seem so angry? Why had he told Grissom first?
Nick didn't have many friends – he guessed no one really did being a CSI – on night shift. You work at night – sleep in the day – it doesn't leave much time for socialising.
But you keep going back - you do it everyday – for that feeling – that indescribable feeling.
But Greg was a friend. Someone who didn't necessarily flinch at his jokes. However bad they were. Someone who he could talk to.
He was a friend – friends talk to each other. Friends tell each other secrets.
He hated to admit – but he was jealous that Greg had gone to Grissom. It was like Grissom now owned part of Greg.
And it was only Greg's word that Grissom didn't know for long – for all he knew – he could have gone with him to the testing.
'Pa-Parkinson's,' he felt his mind stutter. It was a big thing. Not like the fungus Grissom had infected him with. This wasn't funny either.
Nick didn't know much about Parkinson's either – not beyond what you see in TV – and learn briefly in seminars.
"Vodka – straight," he thoughtlessly said to the bar tender. He wanted his mind to shut up – he wanted to quieten his thoughts of Greg.
Suppressing the synapses was a good option.
That was another problem with being a CSI – whenever you ingest – you know exactly what it's doing.
He'd never really had bad news like this before. Yes, people he'd known had died. But this was different. This wasn't a 'death' as such – more of a death sentence.
It's like knowing something's going to happen, but not being able to stop it. It wasn't something Nick was used to coping with.
Being a CSI you deal with the after effects – you build up a picture of the 'before.'
But this was the 'before'. This was the crime scene – before a crime had been committed.
He downed the vodka. He could feel the room around him merging – the lights, sounds and colours.
He knew he was drunk – but he didn't care. He knew soon enough he would forget what he was drinking for.
+_+_
Short chapter – but I do update daily. Sometimes more.
[Tiny spoiler for: 'Let the seller beware' …. But you wont see it unless you're looking]
I don't feel great [when do I ever?], so forgive any errors.
+_+_+
Nick sighed. He was in a bar; by himself. He'd been propositioned several times, but he just didn't feel like company. But he didn't feel like being alone.
The bar was a compromise.
Between the sips of room temperature beer and clattering glass, his mind slipped back to thinking about Greg.
Why did he seem so angry? Why had he told Grissom first?
Nick didn't have many friends – he guessed no one really did being a CSI – on night shift. You work at night – sleep in the day – it doesn't leave much time for socialising.
But you keep going back - you do it everyday – for that feeling – that indescribable feeling.
But Greg was a friend. Someone who didn't necessarily flinch at his jokes. However bad they were. Someone who he could talk to.
He was a friend – friends talk to each other. Friends tell each other secrets.
He hated to admit – but he was jealous that Greg had gone to Grissom. It was like Grissom now owned part of Greg.
And it was only Greg's word that Grissom didn't know for long – for all he knew – he could have gone with him to the testing.
'Pa-Parkinson's,' he felt his mind stutter. It was a big thing. Not like the fungus Grissom had infected him with. This wasn't funny either.
Nick didn't know much about Parkinson's either – not beyond what you see in TV – and learn briefly in seminars.
"Vodka – straight," he thoughtlessly said to the bar tender. He wanted his mind to shut up – he wanted to quieten his thoughts of Greg.
Suppressing the synapses was a good option.
That was another problem with being a CSI – whenever you ingest – you know exactly what it's doing.
He'd never really had bad news like this before. Yes, people he'd known had died. But this was different. This wasn't a 'death' as such – more of a death sentence.
It's like knowing something's going to happen, but not being able to stop it. It wasn't something Nick was used to coping with.
Being a CSI you deal with the after effects – you build up a picture of the 'before.'
But this was the 'before'. This was the crime scene – before a crime had been committed.
He downed the vodka. He could feel the room around him merging – the lights, sounds and colours.
He knew he was drunk – but he didn't care. He knew soon enough he would forget what he was drinking for.
+_+_
Short chapter – but I do update daily. Sometimes more.