A/N: This is a little bit of a bigger fic that I was working on a little while ago. Basically all you need to know is that the love of Greg's last six months is found dead, in an ironic orgy pile, and Nick takes it upon himself to comfort him and play the Superman role.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of CSI, those belong to CBS and the producers, creators, actors, writers and directors. I just play with them for non-profit fun.

Regrouping

It never takes much to wake me up, but for one reason or another I was out like a light as soon as Nick started driving away from my place. Call it emotional stress, call it comfort and security, call it whatever you want because I sure have no clue.

I woke up sometime later, staying curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed I was in with dried tears flowing from my eyes to my ears, nose and neck, from what I could only assume where nightmares since I don't remember it at all. At least I think it was sometime later. Even though the early morning sun was shining through the window, it felt as if I didn't sleep at all.

'So Greg, let's regroup,' I thought to myself, lips moving along with the words. 'Sam is dead. Nick's in full Superhero role right now. He swabbed every opening that you had for DNA…that could have been slightly kinky if it was under different circumstances. Wait. What are you thinking? Your lover - boyfriend - is dead.' I somehow managed to pull myself into a sitting position, my sore back resting against the headboard, during that rambling. 'You're never going to be able to do anything with him again. He's not going to be able to kiss you again, especially that spot on your neck that makes you wild. You're never going to be able to hear him talk again. You're…just never again.'

That seemed like a good idea to me right at that moment. Never again. Don't go to 'parties' ever again, don't go for the bad boys again, and most importantly: don't love again. That way I couldn't get hurt.

I saw a note on the bedside table, and even though I couldn't read it from all the way over here in the centre of the bed, my natural curiosity over took me and I just needed to get distracted at the moment.

And it was addressed to me, by Nick. Why the hell does he call me 'Greggo' anyway? Maybe the man is just a big fan of frozen breakfast foods. Even though it was completely weird in everyway, I sort of liked it. Plus, it reminded me that the world didn't consist of just me and every ache in my body and mind at the moment. I definitely wouldn't have given myself such a…well, that nickname.

As I finished reading it my fingers were running through my hair. Crunchy with a touch of grease. I was filthy, in ever sense of the word.

I took the letter with me, feeling as if I was on some sort of twisted scavenger hunt with a few images of last night flying here and there, as I set out to find the bathroom. Taking no time at all to survey my surroundings or peer behind closed doors, I got the bathroom on the second shot (the first one being used up on a broom closet).

I completely engrossed myself in the cleansing process, brushing my teeth for far too long, but still tasting whisky and cough syrup, and using up all of the hot water just standing underneath it.

While I stood in the shower I eyed every sharp object and chemical in sight, thinking of dramatic ways to end my life right then and there. Razors were too over used. Shampoo? Well, if it didn't kill me that would just seriously fuck up my stomach for life. I don't even know if shampoo will do the trick. I was sure that there was bleach around the place somewhere. Or maybe I could just shove a stick of dynamite down my throat and then…

The sudden burst of cold water made me lose my train of thought.

With a towel wrapped around my waist I made my way back to Nick's room, feeling only a little bad about the path of water that dripped off of me all the way there, and started to rummage through his closet. The note was still in my hand and consulted it. About the same size? Yeah, right. Same height, maybe. But Nick was bigger, and in a very good way.

Okay, I was doing it again. My boyfriend just died. No need to have these thoughts…again. But it's distracting. I need distraction right now.

I settled on a pair of shorts and old University sweatshirt. I don't think I had ever even seen Nick wear shorts before. Only black shirts, occasionally navy blue, and jeans. Sometimes black pants. It was comfortable at any rate.

Soon I found myself on his couch, waiting like a puppy for his Master to return. I didn't feel like coffee and I was pretty sure that any food that I ate would soon be found in the toilet with my head leaning over it.

I had a few weeks off of work and sure, I needed the time to get over Samuel but what was I suppose to do between the bursts of tears and anger?

This quiet time on Nick's couch let me formulate a plan on how to act. I had practically invited myself over here and used all his hot water. The least I can do is not act like a blubbering fool. A false front sounded like a good idea to me. All I had to do was be normal, weird, crazy Greg and shove any bad emotions deep inside while around Nick. That's it.

I even toyed with the idea of just calling a cab and heading somewhere else, maybe a hotel. But my wallet and clothes were now in brown bags with labels, leaving me stranded. Plus, Nick did say to stay at his house for a couple of nights. The least I could do is wait until he got home and see how it went from there.

Thanks to this little experiment of Sam's tonight not only will every blood sample and hair have his face on it, but every strand of DNA will bring back the images of an incredibly awkward Nick swabbing me.

Awkward was the perfect way to describe it because how could it not be awkward? 'Hi, I'm sorry your boyfriend was just brutally murdered. Mind if I run a Q-tip up and down your cock?' It had to be done, though. I was the one caught with their pants down, so to speak, and everyone else at the party were being complete assholes. Fully clothed assholes.