WHERE HAPPINESS IS KEPT
Post Fannysmackin'
Rated for language. Non-slash; that's for future stories (wink).
Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own CSI. I have absolutely no rights to call it my own, no matter what tricks I pull. Damn.
"Dead as dead can be," my doctor tells me
But I just can't believe him, never the optimistic one
I'm sure of your ability to become my perfect enemy
Wake up, and face me
Don't play dead, 'cause maybe
Someday I will walk away and say,
"You disappoint me."
Maybe you're better off this way
Leaning over you here, cold and catatonic
I catch a brief reflection of what you could and might have been
It's your right, and your ability
To become…my perfect enemy
Wake up (we'll catch you) and face me (come on now)
"You disappoint me"
Maybe you're better off this way
"Passive" — A Perfect Circle
I.
"He's going to need somebody with him at all times, to take care of him," the doctor explained. "The bruising is still there, so he'll find it difficult and painful to move around and lift things, and he'll have to take his pain medication on a strict schedule."
"I'll do it."
Nick didn't know what brought him to say it, but he did anyway, and now Grissom and Warrick were staring at him. At first he couldn't figure out what he did wrong, to make them look so confused, but then he remembered the fight he'd had with Greg the day before…something he was neither proud of nor wanted to do again.
The doctor nodded and handed two bottles of pills and a sheet to Nick. "Here's his medication. The intervals between each are on the sheet; make sure he always takes them on time. If he misses a dosage, don't double the next one — just keep going as usual. If he misses it once it won't be a big deal, but try not to, anyway."
Nick nodded, reading the sheet. The two types of pills were on different schedules, so Greg would end up taking one pill every three hours. Glancing at the bottles in his right hand, Nick's eyes widened.
"Why are you giving him antidepressants?"
Warrick's head snapped around to stare at the doctor again, an alarmed look on his face. Grissom's expression didn't change.
The doctor smiled grimly. Nick didn't like it.
"He's showing signs of depression — withdrawing into himself, irritation. It'll help with the aftermath of the attack."
Sighing, Grissom said, "Do you have any news on Demetrius James?"
"Yes. Unfortunately, he died this morning."
Dread sank to the pit of Nick's stomach, and he tasted bile in his throat. "Does Greg know?"
"I'm not sure; he's been quiet all day."
Nick nodded. Greg knew, then. Otherwise he would have been bouncing off the walls at the prospect of going home. He'd been bugging everyone for days, saying he was sick of the boring walls, and even once he had joked with Nick.
"None of the nurses are returning my attention," he'd said with a small grin. Nick had laughed.
And now here he was, holding a bottle of antidepressants. He never thought Greg would ever need them…he was such an energetic guy, basically a kid, eager to please and constantly listening to that catastrophic noise he liked to call music. But now, apparently, he was showing signs of depression. Nick didn't know how to feel about that.
"All right, then," Grissom said quietly. "Let's go get him."
II.
The car ride home was silent and tense. After saying how happy they were to see Greg out of the hospital, Grissom and Warrick had taken off in Grissom's car, leaving Nick to bring Greg home. Nick glanced at his friend several times during the ride; there were traces of bruising still on his face and neck, but they were nothing compared to the dead, empty look in his eyes. Greg didn't say one word, had only stared at Nick blankly for a moment when Nick said he was going to stay with him for a couple of weeks, and had then climbed into the passenger seat.
Nick contemplated explaining Greg's medication to him, but then that would mean saying that he was on antidepressants, and he didn't think that would end well.
They were now sitting in Greg's living room watching daytime television, which really isn't all it's cracked up to be. Nothing was on except the news and stupid talk shows.
After a quick lunch of pasta, Nick stood up from his seat at the table and placed his plate in the sink. "Well, I'd better get going," he said.
Greg turned to look at him, an expression in his eyes that Nick couldn't quite figure out. "I thought you were staying?"
Nick almost told him how happy he was to finally hear him speak again.
"Yeah, I am," he explained. "I just need to go home and get my stuff."
"Oh."
Clearing his throat at the abrupt and awkward end to the conversation, Nick grabbed his car keys and left the apartment.
His apartment was a mess, which really wasn't much of a surprise. Just as he was about to fold a t-shirt, he realized what a stupid mistake he had made. Greg was depressed, for God's sake, and he'd left him alone with two bottles of pills ten feet away from him on the counter! What if, when Nick returned, he would find his friend keeled over on the floor, not breathing? It would be all his fault that Greg committed suicide, his fault because he had been stupid enough to leave him alone when obviously he didn't want to be. Throwing random clothes into his suitcase with new vigour and rushing to the bathroom to gather shampoo, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and all his other supplies, Nick practically flew out of his apartment and would have jumped down the stairs if he hadn't remembered that there was an elevator in the building.
It was, of course, the afternoon, which meant that the roads were busy, and he couldn't speed like he desperately wanted to. After nearly twenty minutes stuck in traffic he was throwing open Greg's door again and running inside the apartment.
Nick's heart stopped. He couldn't see Greg.
"Greg!"
A crash from the laundry room and a yelp caught his attention and he was instantly rushing to the sound. Visions assaulted his mind, of Greg falling to the floor, shaking in an overdose, of blood spilling onto the floor from wounds on Greg's wrists…
But he was instead met with the image of Greg standing in a mountain of clothes, the laundry basket cast off to the side, and a bottle of detergent on its side beside his foot.
"What…" Nick began, confused.
"What the hell, Nick!" Greg exclaimed. "What's the matter with you?"
"I… What are you doing?"
"Doing laundry, what does it look like?" Greg snapped. "Mind telling me what happened to make you burst into my apartment and yell like a madman?"
Greg had obviously been carrying his clothes in the laundry basket to the washing machine with the detergent in his other hand, planning on doing the simple, innocent act of staying hygienic, and when Nick had shouted his name he'd been surprised and dropped everything.
Flushing, Nick mumbled, "Thought something else was happening…"
He could have sworn amusement shone in his friend's eyes.
III.
The florescent lights cast shadows off the hospital's gleaming walls, making Nick's headache worsen. He passed a nurse on his way down the hall and she grinned politely at him, but he couldn't muster the strength to return it. She kept walking, and a part of him hoped she wasn't bothered by his lack of cheeriness.
He just couldn't help it. These last few days had been nerve wracking and tiring, and he'd barely slept the whole time. He remembered how pale Grissom's face was when he told everyone that Greg had been attacked, and he remembered the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach at the news.
"How bad?" someone had asked; Nick didn't know who.
"I don't know, Sofia wouldn't say." Which, in translation, meant pretty-fucking-bad.
After that it was a blur; something about driving to the scene, seeing Greg's still body, thinking he was dead until he saw Sara talking to him, punching a guy in the stomach, and then the next day finding out that it was the same guy who had organized the attack in the first place. And then all he could remember thinking was, I wish I could have punched in the face instead.
And now he was making his way slowly to his friend's room, preparing himself for the sight he would meet. Grissom had said it wasn't pretty, but Greg would be fine in a couple of days.
Pushing open the door, Nick had to do a double take to make sure it was indeed his friend lying on the bed.
Greg opened his eyes and stared at Nick for a moment, then grinned. "Hey," he said quietly, and Nick smiled back at him and pulled up a chair.
"How're you feeling?" he asked.
Greg hmm'ed and shifted so he was facing Nick more. "All right, I guess, considering. The meds are doing their job nicely most of the time."
"Most of the time?"
"Yeah, sometimes it still hurts a bit." A mischievous gleam entered Greg's eyes. "But the nurses are very nice to talk to."
Laughing, Nick said, "I'm sure they are."
"One's name is Lola. Can you believe it?"
"Don't get too excited, Greggo. I don't want to come in here and hear that you proposed to one of them." Nick lightly punched him in a shoulder.
Greg glanced down at the shoulder Nick had hit. "You know," he said lightly, "if I wasn't drowning in morphine like I am, that would have actually hurt."
Nick suppressed a wince. "I time my punches nicely."
Greg laughed. "Yeah, I heard about the guy you got at the scene. Did you find out who it was?"
Hesitating, Nick glanced down at his hands. He didn't know how to tell Greg that yes, he knew who it was, but no, he hadn't done a good enough job of protecting his friend.
Greg's voice eventually pulled him out of his thoughts. "Hey, Nick, you okay?" Greg asked, looking concerned.
Nick snorted. "I think I'm supposed to be asking you that."
"But you already did, and now I'm returning the favour."
"Yes."
"Huh?"
"Yes, I know who I punched."
"Ah, that's great, what was his face li—"
"He was part of the gang. He organized everything."
Greg fell silent and turned onto his back again, staring at the ceiling. Nick sighed; he knew he shouldn't have said anything.
"That's… Did you get him?"
"Yeah, we got him."
Greg nodded. "Did you know that the kid, Demetrius, the one I hit…he went into surgery this morning?"
"Yeah? How is he?" Nick didn't want the guy to be okay, he wanted him to die, but he wasn't going to say that out loud.
Swallowing, Greg answered, "They don't know. There isn't a good chance for him, I…the way I hit him was bad."
"You did what you had to, G, he was going to kill you, you know that."
"So instead I should kill him?" A dark gleam glazed over Greg's eyes and his voice was filled with anger. "That's not the way it's supposed to work, Nick. I'm a CSI, I'm not supposed to kill the people I'm going after. Hell, I'm not even supposed to see the people except when I'm interrogating them. Face it, Nick, if this kid dies, I'm a murderer."
"Don't be stupid," Nick said sharply, irritation bubbling inside of him. "You aren't a murderer, even if he does die. He was coming at you with a fucking rock, you know as well as I do that he wouldn't have hesitated before bashing your skull in. So why should you hesitate returning the favour?"
A warning bell should have gone off in Nick's head then. He should have just shut up, climbed out of the hole he'd dug himself.
"Oh, that's right," Greg said in a strained voice. "I had every right to run him down with my car. Of course. It's no big deal, I just, you know, pressed on the gas, heard a bang, and now I can get on with my life. I'm not guilty at all of violence."
"You saved that guy's life," Nick said. "They would have beaten him to death if you hadn't intervened."
Greg shook his head. "Maybe, whatever, who cares. That still didn't give me the right to run Demetrius over."
Nick sighed and rubbed his temples. "Greg, I'm going to say this once. If Demetrius James dies, you are not a murderer. He was coming at you with a weapon, he was going to kill you, and you saved a man's life that night. You were beaten and left for dead, and even when we got there, you were more concerned about the evidence than yourself. You're a hero, G, not some damn criminal!"
Greg laughed bitterly and turned his head to the opposite wall.
"What's your problem, Greg?" Nick snapped. "You've never been this stupid about the mistakes you've made in the past, so why now?"
Greg was silent for a moment. "I'm fine," he said in a toneless voice. "It was just a mistake, right?"
Nick cursed under his breath. "You know what? Think whatever you want. Maybe you are a murderer."
And he got up and left.
IV.
"Greg, where's your meds?"
"Under the bed," came Greg's muffled voice from the living room.
Nick paused in his search. Why would they be under the bed? Kneeling down and tilting his head under the bed frame, sure enough, two bottles of pills peered back at him innocently. He reached out and grabbed them, standing up again. Making his way into the kitchen to get a glass of water, he glanced over at Greg, who was lying on the couch, watching television. Sighing, Nick turned on the tap and filled a glass. Opening the pain relievers bottle, he jiggled the bottle until two pills fell onto his palm. He looked inside the orange container; there were less pills in it than in the antidepressants bottle. Baffled, Nick frowned. He was sure there was supposed to be the same amount of both.
And then it hit him, and he felt like someone had slammed a brick into his gut.
"Greg?" he asked in a strained voice. A noise from the couch told him he was listening. "Are you…have you been taking the pain medication more often than you're supposed to?"
There was a pause, then, "No."
But Greg's voice was quiet, which meant, in other words, 'Yes, and I'm sorry.'
Nick sighed and placed the bottles on the counter, rubbing his temples. "Why? You know that's dangerous."
There was another pause, and Nick walked over to his friend and kneeled in front of him. "Greg?"
Greg stared at Nick — no, that wasn't right; he stared through Nick. Nick placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping to offer some sort of comfort.
"It just…it hurts, you know?" Greg said in a small voice. Nick had never seen him this vulnerable and it scared him; Greg was the invincible one, the guy who could find the positive in everything and laugh at the most inappropriate times, just to make others happier. "I just can't deal with it. Sometimes…" He swallowed. "Sometimes, when I want to stand up or something, I can't, because my ribs hurt too much and my head gets all funny."
"Well, you were beat up pretty bad…" Nick said, and inwardly winced. That was such a stupid thing to say, he was such a moron…
Greg nodded. A tear escaped the corner of his eye, and Nick didn't know what to do.
"He's dead," Greg whispered, clutching the couch cushion beneath him. "I killed him," he sobbed, curling into himself and burying his face in the small pillow lying against the armrest. "I killed him, I killed him, I killed him…"
"Hey." Nick shook Greg's shoulder, but his friend didn't look up. "Greg, it wasn't your fault. You didn't killed Demetrius, he died because his body couldn't handle the surgery…you were just trying to save the guy they were beating up, Greg, this wasn't your fault…"
Laughing bitterly, Greg looked up at him with red rimmed eyes. "That's not how you felt a few days ago."
Nick felt sick to his stomach. "I didn't mean what I said," he said in a tortured voice. "I was mad, Greg…mad at how unfair this was, how you don't deserve to have to go through this. I was mad at Demetrius for making you feel guilty for something you shouldn't, I was mad that you were hurt so badly when you were only trying to help…I was mad at myself for not being there, not protecting you…"
"It wasn't your fault that you weren't there, Nick, I was on a solo case."
Nick smiled grimly. "Bet you were excited for that. I remember I was, the first time I went out alone."
Greg laughed quietly. "Yeah," he said. "I kept thinking, 'I can't mess this up.' I really didn't want to screw up for you guys, I know I've been doing that a lot lately…guess I really blew it this time, huh?"
"What, you think that because some idiots decided to get their asses hauled into jail, Grissom's going to fire you? That we're going to be disappointed in you?"
Greg remained silent and looked down again.
"Greg, look at me." Nick waited until his friend made eye contact again before continuing. "Never, for a second, did any of us feel disappointed in you. G, we were all scared shitless that we would be too late when we got there, that you would already be dead. Even Grissom was scared, and that's saying something. He never even considered firing you. It's not like you asked them to beat you to a pulp." That caused Greg to smile a little, and Nick felt better.
"Listen, Greg, I'm sorry," he said seriously. "Back in the hospital, I really didn't mean it. You know how I act when I'm angry."
"Like a moron?"
"Yeah."
"But you act like that all the time."
They both laughed and Nick tapped him on the arm. "Watch yourself, Greggo, or else I'm not going to let you listen to your CDs for the rest of the day."
Mock-horror filled Greg's features. "No! I can't live without my music!"
"You mean that screeching and drum pounding stuff? That's what you call music?"
"I'm feeling a strange sense of déja vu right now, Nicky. Haven't we had this conversation before? Like, a couple of hours ago?"
"Possibly. But you don't seem to have it stuck in your head yet," Nick said with a smile.
"Ha. My head is too thick for your nonsense thoughts, Nick. I have a filter."
V.
Nick didn't understand how things could so quickly spin out of control. Everything had been going so well, perfectly, even, and then it all went downhill. Greg had been getting better, and not only physically. Sure, his bruises faded into nothing and he wasn't as sore anymore when he moved, but he didn't feel guilty anymore either.
And then the trial date had been set, and Greg's anxiety had wrecked him. When in front of the jury, he kept himself calm and collected, but as soon as they got back home he started to shake and his nerves were scraped raw. Nick did all he could to help him — held him when he couldn't control the shivering, whispered comforting words that he knew didn't do much, and made sure Greg took his pills when he was supposed to.
But then Demetrius' mother had confronted Greg, and when Nick came home from work one evening he found the antidepressant bottle nearly empty and Greg lying on the couch, non-responsive.
Nick had never been so scared in his life. Even when he was buried underground, he'd had a small ray of hope, because he was worried about himself, not someone else. He could control his own outcome in life; he could not, however, control Greg's. And that was what frightened him the most — if Greg really wanted to die, he would die, just like if Nick had really wanted to die he could have simply aimed well and pulled the trigger.
So now here he was, sitting in the hospital waiting room once again, with all his friends and co-workers sitting with him.
Nick felt like he'd failed Greg. He should have seen this coming, he kept telling himself. He should have known that things were getting to be too much and that Greg was dealing with everything too well, too soon. He should have known that the incident with the pain relievers would happen again.
But he hadn't known, and because of his ignorance, Greg was once again in the hospital. And Nick was once again waiting.
VI.
They were sitting on the couch watching a game in silence. They hadn't spoken a word to each other since leaving the hospital, and Nick didn't know how to break the silence because he was sure that the moment he said something he would either start raging and throwing things or break down and beg Greg to never do it again.
"I'm sorry."
Nick looked over at Greg, who was staring at his feet resting on the coffee table.
"I'm…I'm sorry. For doing that."
Nick remained silent.
Licking his lips, Greg continued, "I know it was stupid, and I'm…I'm really, really sorry…" Tears began sliding down his cheeks, but he didn't seem to notice. "God, Nick, I'm so fucking sorry."
His feet hit to the floor and he rested his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, and his shoulders shook with sobs. After a moment Nick reached out and wrapped an arm around Greg's shoulders, pulling him close.
"It's just so hard," Greg managed to choke out eventually. "She…she said that it's all my fault, I'm a murderer, and then I realized that she was right, and then you were gone for a few hours and I saw the bottle…I kept them under the bed because I didn't want to look at them, they reminded me of everything, but I couldn't think of anything else…"
He never should have left. Nick wanted to beat himself for his stupid mistake.
"It's okay," he said quietly. "It's okay, it's over."
"I was so scared," Greg whispered. "When I started to feel numb and funny, I was scared out of my mind. I kept thinking, 'I'm going to die. I'm going to die.' And I didn't want to die, I never did, and I know that sounds messed up since I swallowed all those pills, but I never had the intention to kill myself. I just…I just wanted it to stop, to stop feeling like this. And then everything went black and I remember waking up in the hospital with you sitting there beside me, looking pale, and…"
"You asked me if you were dead," Nick said, and he cursed himself for feeling so emotional. "I don't know why, I mean, generally, if someone can speak and open their eyes, they're alive…"
His attempt at a joke was so bad he wanted to slap himself. He always left joking up to Greg. At least he was good at it.
But Greg chuckled anyway, even though Nick didn't know why.
"Thanks," he suddenly said after long minutes of silence where Nick didn't let go of his friend; he was afraid that if he let go, Greg would disappear, and he had dreamed that Greg survived and instead he would be tucked away in some morgue, and Nick would be cleaning out his apartment…
"For what?"
Greg shrugged against him. "Just…being here for me. I know I've been acting like an idiot the entire time."
"Not the entire time, no. Just most of it."
"Ha, ha. But really, thank you."
"No problem, Greggo. That's what friends are for."
Nick could have sworn he felt Greg smile against his shoulder.
Eh, so here it is. Hopefully it wasn't too bad; my first attempt at CSI. It even has a happy ending! I think I just opened myself to a new obsession of writing. The plot bunnies are must be high or something, they're jumping around so much.
Please review and leave a comment or two. It'll make me smile! Thanks for reading!
Important: Sequel has been posted! It's called That Twisted Path, please go check it out and review!