Label for a Hero
Summary : Oneshot. Greg Sanders has never mentioned any real friends outside of work and none are ever seen. When Nick Stokes goes out for a drink, he may realize why. Nonslash.
Nick Stokes was beyond tired. His eyes stung no matter how hard he rubbed at them and his head felt like it was full of stuffing.
But as exhausted as he was, he didn't want to go home. As appealing as an empty house with nothing on TV sounded, he made the heart wrenching decision to go out for a drink instead. He wasn't a heavy drinker. A few shots to relax his tired body and he'd be ready for another dreamless night and unbearably bright morning.
He didn't normally frequent clubs or bars, so he was somewhat ignorant as to which one he would grace with his hard earned money and less than sociable mood.
Upon discovering that he didn't really care, he pulled into the first one he saw. As he stepped out of his car, the muffled thump-thump-thump of music came from inside and assaulted his ears. He rolled his eyes.
Way to pick 'em, Stokes.
But he was just there for the alchohol - not the environment.
He pulled open the double doors and was nearly sent sprawling back out onto the pavement as the volume of the music and people exploded around him. He hesitated at the entrance. Maybe his lonely little house wouldn't be so bad after all.
But seeing as he was already there…
He pushed his way through the mingling crowds of people, doing his best to ignore the smoky atmosphere that caused a burning tickle in the back of his throat.
He reached the bar with minimal damage and let his weary body fall heavily onto a vacant stool. He ran his palms over his face and signaled for a beer.
Once his hand was safely curled around the cool glass of the bottle, he turned his attention to the constantly moving sea of patrons. Groups were scattered around the floor, some holding conversations, but most dancing to the ever present frenzy of music.
If you can call this crap music…
After several minutes of silent observation, a familiar figure made it's way into his peripheral vision.
A particularly spiky haired man dressed in a Radiohead t-shirt and dark blue jeans stood amongst a group of people the Texan could only assume were his friends.
Greg held a glass of what Nick thought was either vodka or….vodka. He raised one eyebrow in mild surprise.
Never knew Greggo had it in him.
The former lab tech laughed explosively at something one of his pals had said and then swayed slightly, stumbling against a table before righting himself once more.
Nick looked on in disapproval as Greg's friends made use of the young CSI's intoxication. They ordered another round, which was generously 'on Greg' , who had found the wall to be a good companion and leaned against it heavily.
Nick frowned as he watched one of the group press a fresh glass into his friend's hand and pat him on the back. Greg's smile had long since disappeared but was immediately replaced as he caught sight of the lean form sitting at the bar.
The young man pushed himself off the wall and weaved across the floor, occasionally bumping into people to whom he would grin at and excuse himself with a wave.
"Nick, man! Good to see you!" Greg's words slurred together slightly as he patted the Texan's shoulder several more times than necessary.
How many has he had? The older man thought, slightly amused.
"Hey Greg. How're you doing?"
The younger CSI plopped into a chair with all the grace of a beached whale, nodding his head at the question. "Good! Good…Catching a few Z's before next shift, you know?"
Nick blinked. "You're not sleeping, G."
Greg smiled slowly as he glanced sideways at Nick. "Don't ruin it for me, Stokes. I've got a good thing going here." He waved at one of his friends across the bar, smile dropping from his face as soon as they turned away. Nick studied him for a moment and noticed that the somewhat buzzed man beside him looked infinitely more tired than he felt.
"Greggo…Are you ok?"
The man in question turned his head toward Nick and gave him a crooked grin. "Don't I look ok?"
"To be honest, dude, not really. You look…tired."
Understatement of the century.
"Maybe I just need another drink."
Mayday…
"Greg, I don't think --" Before he could finish his sentence, one of the men Greg had been with threw his arm around the young CSI's shoulders.
"Hey, Sanders! Who's this? Are you trying to steal my buddy, mister?"
Is everybody here drunk off their --
"Nick, this is Jake. Jake, meet Nick. He works with me down at you-know-where."
" 'You know where?'" Nick echoed curiously.
Greg chuckled, "Now I know you know what I'm talking about, Nick. Don't play naïve with me. I invented that game." A shadow fell over Greg's face as he spoke the last part before his hundred-watt smile was back on, albeit forced.
"Riiight," Jake nodded in understanding, as if he had been let in on some dark secret. "That crime lab place. You catch bad guys!"
Nick shook his head, "Not really. We just --"
"That's right!" Greg interrupted excitedly. "Nick's a hero! Aren't you, Nick?"
Both Jake and Greg stared at Nick expectantly as he tried to find something to say in response to such a statement.
"I'm not a hero, Greggo. I'm just --"
"Nonsense!" The younger man was clearly intent on making his point as he lifted his drink toward the bewildered Texan. "Real live hero, this guy. Remember that time I screwed up and you covered for me?"
Jake laughed boisterously, "Which time, Sanders? You always screw up!"
Greg nodded solemnly, "True, Jake. Very true."
Nick nudged the former lab rat's shoulder. "Not true at all, G. You do good work."
Greg smiled, his eyes slightly distant.
"What'd I tell you? Real live hero." He winked at them and then promptly doubled over and threw up.
Jake's face scrunched up, "Eew, man! Couldn't you have waited or something?"
Nick glared at him before turning to his friend, who's breath had become short, sweat beading on his forehead as he wrapped his arms around his stomach and leaned back against the bar.
"Greg? Hey, you all right, G?"
"I don't feel so good, man…"
Nick nodded and placed a comforting hand on his back.
"C'mon, Greg. We're taking you home."
Jake took a step back, one hand in the air. "Not me, man. The night is young. See ya!" And he disappeared into the crowd of people.
What a dirt bag.
Nick placed a few bills on the counter, took Greg gently by the elbow, and lead them out into the parking lot. He unlocked the car.
"Hop on in, buddy."
Greg did anything but 'hop'. He slid into the passenger seat with a muffled groan, fumbling with his seat belt as Nick went around the other side. He started the car and pulled out, every once in a while glancing at his green tinted companion.
"Man, G. You hang with some interesting people. He sure didn't seem like a friend to me."
Greg turned his head lazily, half lidded gaze focusing on Nick.
" 'Friend' is just a label, Nick. It can be taken off whenever it's convenient."
The car was filled with a slightly stunned silence.
He's drunk. But then again - 'in vino veritas'.
The rest of the drive was quiet aside from the occasional random remarks made by Greg.
"I like sushi. I used to like peas, but then I saw a special on them on CNN and it totally threw off my image of them…"
Nick shook his head good humouredly as he pulled into the apartment complex. Unfortunately, Greg lived on the third floor. He did his best to help the young man stumble up the stairs and finally into and through his apartment door.
"All right, G. I better get going. I want you to sober up, though, ok?"
He turned around when a dull thump was his only answer. Greg lay sprawled across his couch, only successful in getting one shoe off before falling asleep. Nick smiled and shook his head in amusement.
Only you, Greggo.
He pulled a blanket from the closet and draped it over the lightly snoring CSI, but before he got to the door, he heard a sleepy mumble come from the sofa's pillow.
"I don't think I'll ever have to worry about your label coming off… right?"
Nick smiled softly, "Nah, man. Mine's staying on."
A quiet sigh and then, "What'd I tell you…real live hero…"
End
In vino veritas -- There's truth in wine