Chapter Six: Flying High

Resting against the pillows Greg paused to take a long drink of the cold beer. Letting out a satisfying breath he set it on the nightstand, grasping the remote in his other hand. He had been surfing the channels for nearly an hour now, and still hadn't found anything very interesting. Greg never was a big fan of television, not only did he not have the time to really watch anything, but he saw enough twisted things in life that there was no need to watch it on the TV.

He paused, coming to a stop on an old western movie. His grandfather was a big fan of these types of movies, and had tried to get Greg hooked on them as well, with little success. They were all the same…cowboys, Indians, bows and arrows, guns…

Greg took another sip of his beer, glancing sideways at the nightstand next to his bed. Placing the remote on his lap he reached over with his now free hand, pulling the drawer open. It was clear in back, hidden underneath several papers, a pile of Kleenex, and a handful of old batteries.

In the background a series of gunshots could be heard, yelling and screaming, horses stampeding. Greg shook his head, watching the screen in amusement as he held his own gun, resting his head against it. It was cold against his skin, making him wonder vaguely if he was running a slight fever…or if it had anything to do with the fact he was on his third bottle. And still, he felt incredibly thirsty. He swallowed another mouthful.

Laughing Greg brought the gun forward, pulling the trigger in mock performance, letting out a sigh when the only response was a silent click. Of course, it would help if the gun was actually loaded…but then again it would ruin his television. Not that it mattered; he barely used the thing anyways.

Let the gun rest on his lap, as he finished the rest of the bottle. He wasn't as afraid of it now as he was in the beginning. Greg still wasn't sure what he was going to do with it…keep it hidden, keep it quiet. If someone found out about it, someone as in Grissom or Catherine, they would freak. Greg laughed at the thought, tossing the empty bottle in the small trash can near the end of his bed. There was still another one on the nightstand, but he left it alone for the moment.

His parents had called again, earlier that morning. There were more tears, more pleadings for him to return home. Greg refused them all, apologizing at the same time. Then it became heated, his father taking over the conversation. Greg listened quietly as the man outlined his thoughts, in the calmest words possible. He was being ungrateful, selfish, and just plain ignorant. It was the same conversation he had given the boy when Greg first announced that he moving to California.

Even as much as he wanted to, Greg did not hang up. After all, it was the first time his father had spoken to him since going off to college. It only lasted a handful of minutes, then his mother was back on the phone, begging him to come home, for at least a visit. Greg bitterly told her the truth; he didn't want too. The call lasted nearly an hour before they came to a decision. He would call the often, as long they let him keep to himself.

Greg enjoyed his independence, enough that he wasn't willing to let it go. He could hear the knocking from his bedroom, but was in no big hurry to answer it. There were very few people that would be stopping by to see him, and since he hadn't ordered any takeout, his choices were even less. Greg shook his head, smiling softly as he slid the gun back in its hiding spot.

Grasping the unopened beer bottle, Greg swung his feet over the side of the bed, working his way out to front door. Sara waited just outside, raising an eyebrow at his apparel. Greg had never bothered to change from his pajamas, which consisted of a white t-shirt, and a pair of gray sweats.

He smiled, taking a sip of his beer as he leaned against the frame. "Didn't expect to see you here," he joked lightly, grinning at the irritation on her face.

"I called you three times," she reminded him firmly, making a face as she caught a whiff of his breath. "You're drunk…."

"Not yet," Greg nodded towards her, pulling back.

Sara followed in cautiously, closing the door behind her. There were no lights on, though it really wasn't necessary, the light that came in from outside was plenty enough. Greg sat down on one of the couch, motioning to the empty space.

"You said you wanted to see me," Sara told him, pushing aside some stray magazines. It wasn't her first time in Greg's place, and she had to admit that it seemed cleaner than usual.

Greg nodded, taking another sip. Sara was quiet, watching him as he began to zone out. "About…?"

Greg snapped back to attention, watching her with a full expression. "Oh…nothing really…I just thought it'd be fun to hang out…I mean, if you don't want to stay I understand, but…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "Never mind…I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called you."

"It's okay," Sara laughed, smiling at him. He was cute when he did that, she had to admit. Setting her purse on the floor she leaned back against the cushions, watching him. "You do anything exciting today?"

"Sleep?" Greg suggested, tapping the side of the bottle with his finger. It was his day off, and Grissom had given him a stern warning about staying home. Sara had finished her shift fifteen minutes ago, heading straight over to his place. Greg had called her earlier that morning, insisting they needed to talk. What about she wasn't sure, obviously he wasn't going to let up now, but maybe with a little prodding…

She let him steer the conversation, helping him along whenever he began to grow quiet. Most of it was small talk, but it ventured onto other categories. Soon they were both laughing, taunting one another. Sara had settled in comfortably, both shoes up, still facing him. They had ordered something to eat, and it would here any moment.

Greg was enjoying himself, and to him it seemed as Sara was as well. Maybe he had the intention of telling her, when he first called her, he wasn't sure anymore. More than anything he wanted to hear her voice, wanted to spend some time to really get to know her…after all, it wasn't like he had all the time in the world left. He didn't…he let out a heavy sigh, thinking everything over.

"You okay?"

Greg glanced over his shoulder, nodding. Sara had gotten up from the couch, moving up behind him. He leaned his head back as she began to rub his shoulders, her own head coming to a rest above his. "What would you do if you only had one day left to live?"

Sara shrugged, watching him through narrowed eyes. "I don't know…why do you ask?"

"Just curious…" he murmured quietly, downing the last of his current beer. It was a thought that had been with him for quite a while now. Sure, he had more than a day, but his time was slowly running out. And that remained the fatal question…what would he do?

Greg hung his head over the white bowl, keeping himself steady even as his stomach heaved once again. He closed his eyes in a moan, praying that was the last of it. Even through his heavy breathing he could hear her come in, and he was already shaking his head as he threw up again.

"Feel better?" she asked, a grin crossing her face as she watched him.

Greg pulled back into a sitting position, banging his head lightly against the counter behind him for good measure. "Not really," he rasped, wetting his lips with his tongue. Sara had moved closer to him, working over the sink, the water running. He made no attempt to move, closing his eyes as he tried to calm his shaking body. He had thrown up so many times he was quite surprised that he hadn't lost anything important.

He grimaced as the cold cloth touched his face, pulling away. Sara's firm hand on his shoulder kept him from going too far as she wiped his face clean. "Stay still," she muttered, shaking her head.

Sitting back on her haunches she laughed, watching him. "You are totally smashed," she giggled, holding the spoiled cloth in her hands. It didn't bother her much; she handled worse things while at work. "Have you ever been drunk before?"

Greg glanced up at her, blinking several different times. "Is that a trick question?"

She let out a breath, shaking her head, "I'll take that as a no…so why the sudden change?"

"What…we all have to try it once in our lives…right?" he joked lightly, his laughter turning into a series of coughs.

"You need to find a hobby," Sara warned him, moving back over to the sink. She knew well enough herself how dangerous this could be. It was easy enough to tell by Greg's reaction this wasn't a common habit. It had taken her a long time to get over her habit, and even longer to admit that there was a problem.

"What about chicken chasing?" he suggested, this time provoking a laugh out of her.

She dropped the cloth in the sink, smiling down at him. "Well, if you ever find chickens in the middle of the Nevadan Desert, give me a call, I'll chase them with you. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

"I'm thirsty," Greg said suddenly, lifting his arms up as she pulled his shirt off.

"Well, if you can stop throwing up for half a minute, I'll get you some coffee, and something for your head."

"You know what sounds good?" he continued, as if he hadn't even heard her. "A martini…"

"That's the last thing you need," Sara tossed the shirt into the corner, moving over to help Greg to his feet.

He stared up at her, grinning. "We can go to that one place, what's the name…Rayain…something, you know, the place with those cherries…those are the best. I'll drive," he offered, smiling still.

"You're not driving anywhere," she told him firmly, grabbing his forearms to pull him up.

Greg held onto her tightly, still uneasy on his feet. "Fine then, you drive, but we'll take my car, gets better gas mileage."

"I'm not driving anywhere either," she told him sweetly, ruffling a hand through his hair. She had to admit, he was adorable this way.

"You can't expect us to walk," he slurred quietly, coughing to clear his throat. "It's all the way over there," he pointed in one direction, furling his brow as he thought for a moment, then pointed the other way. "That way?"

She ignored him this time, tugging at the waistband of his sweat pants. "Come on; work with me here for a moment."

He grinned, shaking his head. "I've never seen you so eager to get me out of my clothes," he joked, kicking them off once they fell around his ankles. Easing himself back he lifted himself up, sitting on the counter.

She gave him a smile in return, kicking the pants over with his shirt. "Yeah, now let's see if you can stay conscious long enough to actually enjoy it."

Greg frowned, giving her an offended look as she started the shower, testing the water with her hand. "Don't even start," she warned, turning back towards him. "Hurry up; I'll be back in a moment."

Greg watched as she gathered his stray clothes, grinning. He was still oblivious to the entire situation, hanging somewhere in a hazy fog. The water was still running, the bathroom door still ajar. Getting up he leaned over to close it, holding onto the wall for his balance.

The water was cold, stinging his skin, but in a sense it felt wonderful. He was still running warm, unaware of that fact as well. He turned his head as the bathroom door opened, frowning.

"There are fresh clothes on the counter," Sara told him, her voice still upbeat.

"What, no privacy?" he wondered, smoothing his hair back under the water.

She pulled the curtain open, watching him with a frown. "And do what, let you pass out and drown? You're not getting out of this that easy. You're first time being drunk, your first real hangover…I can't wait." She smiled mischievously.

He stuck his tongue out at her, something that was completely childish, but it was enough to get her to laugh. She left him alone, with one last warning to make it quick. There was little he remembered after that, with little knowledge of how he ended up fully dressed, and in bed.

He slept most of the night heavily; it wasn't until the earlier hours that it became hard. He was running a fever by then, his head pounding steadily. With his head raised he glanced around, the dimly lit room only confusing him more. There was something he said, but it was incomprehensible, but it didn't go unheard.

Sara ran a hand through his hair, easing his head back down. She had been with him all night, without his slightest knowledge, curled up next to his heated body. "Go back to sleep…" she told him quietly. Greg blinked wearily, but complied, the only knowledge he had was that it was dream…and a wonderful one at that.

TBC