A/N: Well, after a brief glimpse of happiness in the beginning, this chapter returns to the plunge of angst. I just can't seem to find ways to stop torturing poor Greggo. Actually, it's not really towards the end that it gets back to angst. In any case, usual disclaimer. Oh, and a shout out to all the wonderful people that have reviewed. I love you all! And on with the show…

Chapter 13- Somewhere I Belong

"When this began

I had nothing to say

And I'd get lost in the nothingness inside of me

I was confused

And I let it all out to find

That I'm not the only person with these things in mind

Inside of me

But although they can see the words revealed

It's the only real thing that I've got left to feel

Nothing to lose

Just stuck, hollow and alone

And the fault is my own

And the fault is my own

I want to heal

I want to feel

What I thought was never real

I want to let go of the pain I felt so long

Erase all the pain til it's gone

I want to heal

I want to feel

Like I'm close to something real

I want to find something I've wanted all along

Somewhere I belong"

Somewhere I Belong by Linkin Park

Greg took a deep breath of fresh air as he was wheeled out of the hospital. Finally, FINALLY, he was leaving. Not going home, though. Not yet. Grissom had asked him yesterday if he wanted to go home or stay with him. Greg knew that it was irrational of him to be afraid of being alone, but... In any case, he had accepted Grissom's offer and would be staying at his place. Grissom was taking the week off, since Greg couldn't go back to work for another week, and they would be spending some "quality time" together. The thought of quality time with Grissom would've made Greg laugh only a few weeks ago, but now, the thought terrified him. What would they talk about? What would they do? Sit there and stare at each other? Greg could imagine Grissom looking at him the way he looked at a bug he was about to stick with a pin, and had to suppress a shudder.

Then Grissom was next to him, talking to him, and Greg shook his head quickly to clear it of his thoughts. "Sorry, Griss, what?"

Grissom looked down at him and repeated, "I wanted to know if you wanted pizza or Chinese for dinner tonight. I figured I wouldn't subject you to the horrors of my cooking just yet."

Greg grinned and said, "Pizza, definitely." Right on cue, his stomach growled loudly.

"Pizza it is!" said Grissom, watching as two orderlies helped Greg into the car. With some struggling and a lot of muttered swearing on Greg's part ("Damn the hospital and their goddamn regulations."), he was finally situated in the front seat of Grissom's Tahoe. Grissom climbed in on the driver's side, and they pulled away from the hospital, Greg breathing a mental sigh of relief.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, Greg shooting small glances at Grissom every so often. The silence was getting to him. Unable to take it, he automatically reached for the radio, pushing the power button. The delicate strains of Chopin filled the SUV and Greg winced. While he could appreciate classical music, though he was really more of a Sammartini fan, all he wanted to listen to was something loud. And preferably angry. He fiddled with the dial, relaxing as he heard the beginning bass of Ozzy Osbourne's Crazy Train.

Now it was Grissom's turn to wince, and he quickly turned it down, throwing Greg a look while he did so.

Greg didn't meet his eyes, abashed, and when he looked up, he was surprised to see Grissom smiling at him. "What?" asked Greg, vaguely wondering if Grissom had finally lost it. He hoped not; he had twenty bucks riding on Grissom not losing his sanity for another couple of years.

Grissom grinned even wider. "You're back," he said simply.

Greg ducked his head and blushed slightly. "I never really left, you know," he said mildly. "I just went away for awhile."

"I know, Greg, I know."

That evening, Greg and Grissom sat on Grissom's couch, empty beer bottles and pizza crusts being the only remnants of dinner. Greg yawned as the movie ended, stretching. "I can't believe you've never seen Fight Club before," he commented, battling another yawn.

Grissom raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Well, now I have you to introduce me to the finer things in life."

Greg glared at him and whacked him with a pillow. "It was a good movie! You have to admit that."

Grissom shrugged noncommittally. "It was a good exposé about the inner workings of a schizophrenic, yes, but movie-wise…" This earned him another whack from Greg's pillow. "Ow! Is that really necessary?"

Greg paused in mid-swing. "Necessary? No. Hilarious? Yes." He brought the pillow down with a resounding THUMP on Grissom's head, laughing as Grissom's face turned redder and redder. "Hey, Boss," he said conversationally, casually distancing himself from Grissom. "Have I ever told you that your face turns the most remarkable shade of puce when you're angry?"

This was the final straw. With a barbaric yell somewhere between a sports fan's cheering and a war cry, Grissom grabbed a pillow and began to chase Greg around the room, whacking at him every chance he could.

"Ow! Boss—ow—this—yowch—really—ow—isn't—ouch—going—ow!—to improve—ouch, watch it!—our—yow—employer-employee—ow!—relationship!" yelled Greg as he attempted to dodge Grissom's attacks. Grissom's only response was to increase the ferocity of the attacks.

The fight ended when Grissom tripped over a cord and broke a lamp. "Whoops!" said Greg with a cheeky grin.

Grissom glared at him, but then just shook his head and picked up the shards. "Hey, Greg" he asked. "Are you taking the couch or the bed?"

Greg raised his eyebrows. "I'm not kicking you out of bed, Griss," he said, calmly yet firmly. "It's bad enough that I'm imposing upon you for a week."

Grissom didn't bother trying to argue; he simply went and got an extra blanket for Greg. They said their goodnights and headed to bed.

Grissom slept well, though he hadn't thought he was going to. He was so used to working nights that he had almost become nocturnal. He woke up at six, fairly late considering, and sat up. He was in mid-stretch when he realized that there was someone else in his bed. Grissom jumped. "What the…" he muttered, leaning over to see who the hell was in his bed, breathing a sigh of relief when he realized it was just Greg.

He stood then, about to go make some coffee, when he realized that Greg shouldn't be in his bed. He looked back at the sleeping man, looking for all the world like a child as he slept. He was curled on one side of the bed, hair sticking out at crazy angles. Grissom wondered vaguely why Greg had decided to come in, but decided it didn't really matter, as long as Greg felt safe.

He wondered then why he hadn't felt Greg climb into bed, but then he noticed how thin Greg had become. His brow furrowed slightly, looking at the bit of skin that was exposed due to Greg's shirt being pulled up slightly in his sleep. Greg's hipbone jutted out, impossibly sharp, and Grissom could clearly see his ribs beneath Greg's taut skin. Obviously, despite the gargantuan amount of food consumed the previous night, Greg still wasn't eating well. Or sleeping well, for that matter, added Grissom to himself, shaking his head slightly as he watched Greg sleep. He felt a little voice nagging in the back of his mind that maybe Greg was sick, and maybe the hospital missed something. "He'll be fine," he said aloud to quell those fears. "He just needs time."

With a final look at Greg, he padded out of the room. He'd make some coffee, and then make some breakfast.

Greg awoke slowly, his eyelids fluttering as he yawned widely. Sitting up, he opened his eyes all the way to find himself in a strange room. "Where am I?" he mused aloud.

"In my bedroom, sitting on my bed," answered Grissom, a hint of amusement present in his voice.

Greg sat straight up, eyes wide. "Holy shit, Grissom!" he exclaimed. "You scared the crap out of me!" Grissom almost fell off his chair, he was laughing so hard. Greg glared at him sulkily. "It's not funny," he complained, wrapping his arms around his knees like a five-year-old. "You almost gave me a coronary." Grissom stopped laughing, but nothing could wipe the self-satisfied smirk off of his face. "God, Grissom," reiterated Greg, feeling his heart still beating a frantic tattoo against his chest. "What the hell were you watching me for, anyway?"

Grissom looked insulted. "I wasn't watching you. I came in to wake you up and tell you that breakfast's ready."

"You made breakfast?" asked Greg incredulously, looking excited. "Did you make pancakes?"

"Of course," said Grissom, raising one eyebrow at Greg's enthusiasm.

"Yes!" cried Greg, leaping off the bed and practically running to the kitchen.

Grissom chuckled and followed Greg at a much more sedated pace, then stopped, amused at the sight that met him in the kitchen. Greg sat Indian-style on one of the chairs, the plate in front of him heaped with so much food it looked as if he hadn't eaten in years.

Greg looked up and gave Grissom a grin while chewing. "Grea' foo', Griss," he managed around the masses of food in his mouth.

"I'm glad you like it," answered Grissom, smiling. Greg didn't respond because he had just shoveled another forkful of food into his mouth. "Hey, Greg, slow down a little, ok? I don't want to have to go back to the hospital anytime soon."

Greg swallowed and looked embarrassed. "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"It's ok, I'm glad you're feeling better, just…little bites, m'kay?"

Greg nodded and took a purposely tiny amount of pancake and ate slowly, measuring each chew. "Better?" he asked once he had finished.

Grissom just shook his head. "Greg, you're hopeless."

"I know," said Greg philosophically. "It's part of my charm."

"Charm? I'm not sure I would call it that."

Greg crossed his eyes at Grissom and returned to his food. Grissom grabbed a plate and joined him, tucking in to the spread of breakfast foods.

Greg looked down at his hands, expression serious, his eyebrows drawn in concentration. "Gin…" he said slowly, laying the cards down. "I think."

Grissom groaned loudly. "Good Lord, Greg, I haven't won a hand since I taught you this stupid card game!" he complained, tossing his cards on the table and rubbing his temples.

"That's not my fault!" said Greg defensively as he sipped his beer. "I'm a fast learner."

"Or you're just lucky," muttered Grissom, taking a deep gulp of his beer.

"Well, that too," added Greg.

Grissom glared at him before draining his beer and standing up. "C'mon, Greggo, time for bed."

Greg pouted. "One more hand?" he asked, brown eyes pleading. They were met by impermeable blue steel. "Alright, I'm coming," he sighed, picking up the cards slowly before heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed. After he and Grissom had gotten ready, they exchanged goodnights and headed to their respective beds.

Grissom lay in his bed with the light still on, flipping through the most recent issue of one of his many entomology magazines. It was about an hour later that he heard it, a sound akin to a wounded animal's moans. "Greg?" he called, setting his magazine aside. "Is that you?"

The whimpering stopped, then began anew, this time louder. Grissom got up and quickly made his way into the living room, snapping on lights as he went.

Greg lay on his back, rigid, hands held up as if to try and protect himself. Eyes screwed shut, he was whimpering, "No, please, don't hurt me. Don't do it again, please, please!" His frantic whispers grew to panicked screams. "No! Stop! No, please! Don't…no, DON'T!" He flailed wildly, almost hurting himself.

For the first time, Grissom was frightened of him. "Greg!" he yelled over Greg's screams. "Greg, stop, you're having a nightmare! Greg!" With this, he reached out and grabbed Greg's shoulder. Greg's eyes flew open and he gave a blood-curdling scream before viciously attacking Grissom with his feet and fists. "Greg!" cried Grissom in alarm as he fought off the younger man's assault. "Greg, it's me! It's Grissom!"

Greg stopped. "Grissom?" he asked, more of a sob than a question.

"Yeah, I'm here," whispered Grissom. He sat down next to him to try and soothe him and was quite startled when Greg started bawling. He timidly put his arms around Greg, letting him cry on his shoulder, just holding him as he cried it out. "Shh…it's ok," Grissom comforted, his mind reeling. When Greg's sobs had quieted, Grissom patted him gently on the back. "Better?" he asked.

Greg didn't answer, just murmured, "Daddy…" before falling asleep again.

Grissom sighed and looked down at the sleeping boy. "Poor Greg," he whispered aloud. Shaking his head sadly, he carefully lifted the sleeping man and carried him to the bed. Even though he thought it was odd to be sharing a bed with a man, Grissom knew that Greg needed him, and he planned to be there when Greg woke up.

As it turned out, Grissom slept through Greg's awakening. By the time Grissom woke up, Greg had already showered and made breakfast. Grissom got out of bed and joined Greg in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Greg already had one, his slim fingers wrapped around the porcelain mug so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. "So…" began Grissom, unsure what to say.

"Um…sorry about last night," muttered Greg, not meeting Grissom's eyes.

Sighing, Grissom set his mug down and said gently, "You don't have anything to apologize for, Greg. It's ok."

Greg shook his head emphatically. "No, it wasn't, it was…I dunno, out of line or something. I'll understand if you want me to leave or whatever." He still wouldn't look at Grissom.

"Greg, look at me," commanded Grissom softly. Greg did, albeit reluctantly, and Grissom continued. "You're not going anywhere, and neither am I." Greg nodded slowly in relief and some other unidentifiable emotion.

"Greg?" asked Grissom as he sat down at the table. "What's the story with your dad?"

Greg froze, eyes taking on a fearful look. "Oh, it's nothing," he said casually, setting his mug in the sink.

"Greg…" said Grissom warningly. "I'm not a CSI for nothing. I know you're lying. Tell me what happened, please."

Greg swallowed hard and sat down too. He stared at his folded hands for a long time before starting. "My dad…he died when I was twelve."

"I'm sorry," said Grissom automatically, wincing at how pathetic and fake the words sounded.

"No, he…he wasn't a good dad," said Greg lamely, obviously unable to say what he wanted to.

Grissom stomach clenched and he asked slowly, fearing the answer, "Greg, did he…were you abused?" Greg nodded, fighting back tears. "Oh, God," whispered Grissom. "Come here." He wrapped Greg in a hug, holding him for the second time as he cried. When his tears subsided this time, Grissom questioned quietly, "For how long?"

"Years," whispered Greg, the haunted look still in his eyes. "Since I was four."

"My God, Greg," said Grissom sadly. "No one should have to go through that."

"I know," said Greg, smiling crookedly. "It's just…" He broke off, shooting a tentative look at Grissom and only continuing when Grissom indicated that he should. "Well, I never really had any parents. My mom died before my dad started doing what he did, and well…I obviously never really had a father…you know, someone you can count on and trust…someone who…who loves you. It's…it's the one thing I've always wanted."

He looked so broken sitting there that Grissom had to protest. "You have got someone who you can trust and count on! And who loves you." Greg looked up, confused. "Well…you've got me," continued Grissom.

"Yeah," said Greg with a small smile. "Yeah, I guess I do."

A/N(part deux): So the whole abuse thing will be explored in greater depths later on. And Sandle will be playing a greater part coming up in all of the next…um…37 chapters. Anyways…