Title: Good Enough

Chapter 22

Author's Notes: This is a short chapter because it's heavy, and I didn't want it to drag.

Spoilers: "Overload"

Warnings: Discussion of past sexual abuse.

-

"Wakey, wakey."

My eyes flutter open at the sound of Greg's voice, but slam closed again when they make contact with the too-bright light emanating from the ceiling.

"Leave me alone, man," I grouse. "I was dreaming here." With a groan, I snatch a pillow from Greg's side of the bed and smash it against my face.

"Okay," Greg says. "If you insist."

When I hear him start to pad across the room, I toss the pillow to the ground and reach out to grab Greg's arm. "Get back here, Sanders," I say. "I'm awake, now."

Sitting down on the side of the bed, Greg grins. "So this dream," he says. "Was I in it?"

Swallowing, I say, "You might have made a guest appearance."

"I've always thought of myself as the star," Greg pouts.

I gaze at Greg for a moment, and then close my eyes, trying to ward off the dull pain in my temple.

Squeezing my shoulder, Greg asks, "How ya feeling?"

I run my fingers over my bandaged ribs. "I ache all over, man. My head's killing me."

Greg kneads the muscles in my shoulder and neck. "I'm making us some food," he says. "So I can give you a pain pill in a while. Will you be all right 'til then?"

"Yeah, no rush." I glance at the clock. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Greg shrugs. "I told Grissom I wasn't coming in. He said that was okay."

Grissom. Oh, crap.

I try to sit up in bed, but when my ribs start to protest, I think better of it. "So Grissom knows?" I croak.

Greg flashes a rueful smile. "Yeah, Nicky. He knows."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing." Greg runs his fingers through his hair. "Well, he asked how long we'd been together, so I told him. You know, I figured we were busted, so…"

I grab his hand. "So, you told him we're together? I thought we were taking a break."

Greg grins. "All right, smart ass." Gazing up at the ceiling, he says, "I don't think Grissom's going to make a big deal out of it. I think he was just ticked off he didn't figure it out on his own."

"That's Grissom," I say. I shift my body to one side, trying to take some of the pressure off my battered ribs. "Man," I say. "I haven't been this banged up since Nigel Crane got done with me."

Greg cocks his head. "Wow. You haven't mentioned that name in a while."

Adjusting the pillow under my broken wrist, I say, "Yeah, I guess I haven't."

"Want to talk about it?" Greg asks.

I tighten my lips. "What's to talk about? He was a psycho."

Greg nods. "All right," he says, shrugging. "I'm going to go get your food and pill, okay?""

"Okay, Greggo."

After Greg leaves, I shift my body around some more, trying and failing to get comfortable. I hope Warrick and Hodges don't give me a hard time when I get back to work. I wouldn't blame them, though. I always seem to be the guy who winds up in this kind of situation.

That's me—Nick the victim. Nick the emotional one. Nick the dependable one. I get so sick of being that guy.

The sudden sound of my cell phone pulls me out of my reverie. Reaching over with my good hand, I snatch the cell off Greg's night stand and flip it open. "Stokes," I say.

"Hey, Nick. Heard you got into a little trouble."

Bobby.

"Hey, Bobby," I say, grinning slightly. "What's up?"

"Oh, robbery and homicide," he sing-songs. "The usual. Are you at home?"

I roll my eyes. "I'm at Greg's."

"You are?" I can practically hear Bobby smirking. "That's good."

"Yeah, it is," I chuckle. "He's playing nursemaid."

Bobby bursts out laughing. "I'm gonna leave that one alone," he says.

"Okay, funny guy," I say, grinning.

About then, Greg pushes his way into the room, balancing two trays filled with food. "Dinner is served," he says with a flourish.

"Well, Bobby," I say. "Greg's back with dinner."

"Hi, Bobby," Greg calls, as he plunks the trays down on the bed.

"You hear him?" I ask.

"Yeah," Bobby chuckles. "Tell him I said 'hi.' Well, I'll let you eat, Nick. You take care now."

"I'll try," I say.

"Well, good luck, big guy," Bobby says. "And Nick? Ditch the pride."

-

Greg and I make small talk while we eat. For the most part, the conversation is calm and pleasant. But if I'm being honest, it's pretty obvious that things are still problematic between us. I mean, let's say I'd shown up a few hours ago without the bandages and prescriptions. Would Greg have let me in the door? Or would he have given me his "we're moving too fast" song and dance? I'm guessing the latter.

On the other hand, he's been pretty affectionate, and that would be a pretty rotten thing to do if he plans to show me the door as soon as I'm back on my feet.

My mind's been replaying my breakfast conversation with Bobby—and not just since he called, but earlier today, while I was lying here, trying to fall asleep. He has a point about my pride. I mean, I've never thought of myself that way—as a proud man, that is. But maybe that's what it all boils down to. If I tell Greg the truth about what happened to me, I'll be exposed…naked. Any control I have right now—which isn't a whole lot—will be gone. And Greg will know how damaged I really am.

"Earth to Nick."

I glance at Greg. "Huh?"

Greg narrows his eyes. "Are you okay?"

I nod. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."

Stacking our empty dishes onto the plastic trays, Greg says, "Okey-dokey. I'll go slave away at dishes, while you,"he points, "Can get some rest."

I watch in a daze as Greg heads toward the door. I guess it's now or never.

"Greg," I spit, letting out a staggered breath.

He stops in the doorway. "Yeah?"

Licking my lips, I say, "I think…I think I'm ready to talk to you now."

Greg stares at me for a few moments. Then he places the trays on top of his dresser and walks over to me, dropping himself onto the side of the bed. "Okay."

Exhaling, I say, "Okay. Okay, man. It's like this. Nigel Crane wasn't the first person to, uh, victimize me."

Victimize. I hate that word. I hate it.

Greg cocks his head until he makes eye contact with me—which isn't very easy, considering how hard I'm trying to avoid his gaze. "What do you mean?" Greg asks. "You mean you were stalked before?"

Part of me wants to bolt out of the room, but my body hurts so much that Greg would have to wheel me out himself. I close my eyes, as if the mere act will somehow summon extra courage. "Not stalked," I say. "Victimized another way." Glancing out the window at the darkening sky, I say, "I had a babysitter." I pause when I feel Greg flinch slightly. He doesn't take his arm away, though, so I continue. "I was nine years old," I say, swallowing. "She'd never sat for me before. I thought she was so nice at first."

"It's okay," Greg says.

"No, it's not Greg. Why do people say that?" With my uninjured hand, I wipe away a tear that's managed to escape my eye. "I thought she was nice," I stammer. "But she did things to me, Greg. She did things." Losing the battle to control my tears, I start to sob. "She said it was our secret."

"Oh, God. Nick."

Burying my face in my hands, I choke, "I'm sorry, Greg."

Greg takes my face in his hands. "You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. You didn't do anything wrong."

"You know," I choke. "Part of me knows that. But dammit…why am I always the victim?" I grasp my pillow and toss it across the room. "Why?"

Kissing me on the forehead, Greg says, "Nicky, that…she messed with your mind. You were a little kid. You didn't do a thing wrong."

"I didn't want to do those things," I hiccup.

"I know, baby." He takes my face in his hands again. "Not. Your. Fault."

Gazing at the bedroom ceiling, I say, "After it happened, I tried so hard to be good. I thought if I was good, if I didn't cause trouble, I'd feel better. But I never did."

Squeezing my hand, Greg says, "You tried to be perfect."

"Yeah, I guess." I lick my lips. "But I could never be good enough."

Leaning forward, Greg kisses me on the cheek. "You're more than good enough, Nicky."