Title: Inside My Coffin

Disclaimer: Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

POV: Nick

Chapter Thirteen: Formalities

Two nights later I'm walking down the halls of the lab with Grissom by my side. I'm not supposed to be in the lab. I should be at home resting. Who the hell am I kidding? I don't even want to be at home. I don't want to be anywhere. And the last place I'd choose to be is here, at the lab. They all know about my relationship with Greg. Poor Greg, I wonder how he's dealing with things. He wouldn't talk about it when he visited the hospital. The one and only time he paid me a visit.

I try to ignore the aching pit growing inside. My life has changed so much. First I have to get passed being buried. While attempting to do just that things start up with Greg. Now he doesn't seem to want to talk to me. I hurt him. I stop walking. Grissom turns to look at me.

"Nicky, something wrong?"

I hold myself in an effort to seek some comfort. "I don't want to see them."

He pats my shoulder in an odd friendly gesture. "It'll be okay, Nick. Trust me on this one."

"No," I shake my head.

Grissom looks at me the way he used to. "You have to do it eventually, Nick. There are things that need to be done and you are needed to do them. Come on."

With a heavy heart I follow after him. I know what Grissom is up to and I'm not too pleased. The idea of his experiment is chilling. I should have done a better job when I slit my wrists. Perhaps had I been quicker and not taken the time to write that stupid note I would be gone. Instead I agree to go along with my boss on his crazy ideas. I know that he has a reason for doing this. He cares. Plus, he's a scientist who happens to need an answer for everything.

"Stop walking so slow. The longer it takes to get there the longer it takes to get this done. I don't know what you're worried about. Greg isn't here tonight. He called in to take the night off," Grissom states.

Greg took the night off? Maybe he's not okay. Maybe he is going to follow my lead. Greg loves his job. He had never been late. Hearing that he has taken the night off worries me. I shiver with the touch of fear. I must make some sort of noise because Grissom raises an eyebrow at me. The fire has returned to his eyes. The normal Grissom is back in full swing. My suicide attempt made him vulnerable but not enough so that he went running to Sara. Grissom isn't going to change. How can he ignore the urges? How can he ignore Sara's pain?

"Nick, you look like you're going to collapse," Grissom's concerned voice breaks through my barrier of thoughts.

"I hurt him," I choke. "I hurt him bad and I don't know how to make things better. I screwed up."

Grissom gives me a smile. Not a mocking smile or a smile of amusement. It's a smile full of sympathy, friendship, and understanding. "Everyone makes mistakes. Give him a day or two more and I'm sure things will be better. Look at it from his point of view, Nick. He nearly lost you. You can't expect him to act normal within hours of the event."

We continue are trek to the garage. I pray that Grissom is right. Falling in love with Greg is something I never planned for. It happens though. Greg is supposed to be my calm in the raging storm. But it all went wrong. I felt ashamed to love him. Now all I want is to feel his touch. To hear his voice as he tells me about every little thing in the world. I want to see that smile that always puts sparkles in his eyes. Right now I want to be lying next to him listening to him breathe and feeling the warmth of his body.

"Earth to Nick. We have work to do."

My eyes glance around the garage. The pick-up truck is long gone. But the metal box is still here. The blood I left on the inside of the lid is still there. Pieces of yellow crime scene tape have been strung around it. Most likely by Grissom. Leave it up to him to want to find out who pushed me. He wants to recreate the fucking joke. I've already told him that I won't even set foot into that box, never mind lying inside. When I said that he told me that he would never ask me to do such a thing. In fact, whether or not the recreation happens is all up to me. He makes that perfectly clear.

After going over it five times I feel the panic beginning to creep. Grissom must read something in my body language because he calls it quits. He takes me to the break room where he forces me to sit.

He places a bottle of cold water on the table in front of me. "Drink this; you look like you need it."

I unscrew the cap and sip the cold water within. "Thank you."

He sits across from me. "I think I can take things from here. If you want to go home I can have Catherine give you a ride."

"She won't be happy to hear you volunteering for her," I say.

"She'll get over it. I don't want you driving by yourself." He doesn't say everything that he wants but I know what the missing words are. He doesn't want me driving off like last time.

"I'll grab a cab. There's no need to bother Catherine."

"I can take you," Sara says. We both turn to look at her. Neither one of us knew she was there. "If that's okay with you, Griss."

"It's up to Nick," he replies.

I close the door to my place as Sara backs out of the driveway. The entire way home she carried on a one-sided conversation. The silence had been too uncomfortable for her. I hadn't wanted to talk at all. She went on and on about everyone at the lab. Catherine still isn't spending time with her daughter. Grissom refuses to let love rule his world. My note did nothing. Would their views of life be changed if I were actually dead?

The house is quiet. I think back to the family of a little girl. The house had once been full of laughter. So had mine. I should have moved after the incident with the stalker. But moving meant that my stalker had won. My stalker didn't win. The kidnapper did. I look at the white bandages that still cover my wrists. Underneath them stitches are helping to heal the wounds of my defeat. I lock the door before heading toward my bedroom.

I flip the light on in the bathroom. The sight of my shower stabs me with pain. I want the light on for comfort. Not to remember Greg. I don't need help to remember him. I need help to forget him. I flick the light off and close the door. The silent hiss of wood against wood locks out the shower memories. I walk numbly to my bed. My empty bed.

The mattress welcomes me with its familiarity. It's better than the damn hospital bed. What I wouldn't give to be back in that bed though. At least that bed has no loving memories. Mine smells like Greg. The pillows, the sheets, everything. In anger I throw one of the pillows across the room. From one haunting experience to the next. I grab an extra blanket and head out to the couch. Before curling up on the waiting sofa I push the coffee table a few feet away.

Even away from the bedroom and his smell he's still on my mind. I swear I can feel him beside me. I reach out in the dark. There's no comfort there. There never is.