Author's Note: I wanted to say that I do not own Mr. Lies. He belongs to Tony Kushner.
Brass flashed his badge at the officer as he stepped out of the car and headed towards the crime scene. He took in the jeep that was halfway through the wall of the house. His brow furrowed in fascination.
"Jesus..." he muttered to himself. "So what exactly happened here?"
The officer, a young, eager-looking man with a notepad in hand, was happy to fill Brass in. His nametag read 'Miller.' "Well, sir, um, according to the witness, this man here just, um, drove his car into the side of the house, striking a woman and killing himself."
"IDs?"
Officer Miller looked at his notes. "Er... Lyle Peréz and Ana O'Toole—No, wait, reverse that. Lyle O'Toole and Ana Peréz."
Brass cocked an eyebrow. He patted the rookie on the shoulder. "Take clearer notes, kid," he said, heading into the house.
The officer followed him like a puppy dog and was standing a little behind him as Brass took in the scene. "Where's the other vic? Ana Peréz?"
"She wasn't killed by the impact. Paramedics rushed her to the hospital. Status pending." The officer smiled, proud of his swift response.
"Uh huh..." muttered Brass, walking back out of the house again. He tipped his hat to David, who was just entering. "This should be pretty straightforward."
"Straightforward is good," said David. "Earlier, I was examining a body of a woman who died in her home weeks ago. I still don't know why."
Brass smiled as the assistant coroner passed him and entered the house. He glanced back at the officer, who was still tailing him. "So where's this witness?"
The officer blinked at him. "Witness, sir?"
"You said a witness told you what happened," Brass explained.
Officer Miller suddenly remembered. "Oh! Yeah, that guy. He fled the scene, sir."
"What?" Brass blinked. "Did anyone tell him to stay?"
"The operator tried to, but he said he had to go. She did get a name, though, so I'm sure you could contact him if you want."
A car pulled up just behind his own and Grissom and Catherine both stepped out. Brass beckoned them over. "I thought you said you were going to send Nick."
"He had an emergency," said Grissom, vaguely. "So what have we got?"
"Dead Caucasian male, mid thirties, in the jeep," said Brass. "ID says Lyle O'Toole. And there was also an injured female victim by the name of Ana Peréz, who was hit when the car went through the wall."
"Witness said it was suicide on O'Toole's part," Officer Miller chimed. "Looks like he had a vendetta against Peréz. This is her house, and the message on the jeep is less than charming."
"So what's this witness's name?" Brass asked.
Officer Miller's brow furrowed in thought. He flipped through his notepad. "Um..."
"Today would be good, Miller," Brass muttered, impatiently.
"Grey Sanderson." He squinted at the hand writing. "Or maybe Grow Sunflowers. I can't tell."
"Give me that," Brass demanded, snatching the notepad from Officer Miller's hands. "Can you even read your own handwriting?"
"This is my partner's handwriting," Officer Miller explained. "He's training me."
"Wait, this is Olsen's handwriting," said Brass. He chuckled, and softened on the rookie. "It took me a year to figure out that his Y's were really just U's with really curly tails. Don't feel too bad. Let's see..." He squinted at the writing, then frowned. He looked up towards the house. "Olsen! Could you come here a moment?"
A blond officer standing by the door nodded and approached. He smiled and patted Officer Miller on the back in a brotherly fashion. "What's up, Captain?"
Brass pointed at the writing in the notebook. "Tell me that doesn't say what I think it says."
"Depends on what you think it says," muttered Olsen, taking the notebook. "Ah. The witness? His name was Greg Sanders."
Brass's head shot of quickly to gauge the reactions of Grissom and Catherine. Grissom was as stoic as ever, but Catherine's concern was so apparent that even if there was a neon sign, it wouldn't make it more obvious.
"Hey, Captain," Olsen began. "Didn't you have us bring in a Greg Sanders a few months ago?"
"That'll be all, Olsen," said Brass, his eyes never leaving the two CSIs. "Why don't you take Officer Miller here and show him how to interview the neighbors?"
The police on their way, it left the three of them alone.
"What was Greg doing at this house?" Catherine breathed.
"More importantly, why didn't he stick around?" Grissom added.
"Well why don't we ask him?" Brass suggested.
Catherine was already fishing out her cell phone when Grissom stopped her. "No. He's had a rough day."
"Yeah, no kidding!" Catherine exclaimed. "My God, Grissom, what's been going on with him? Nick and I have both tried to talk to him about it, but he won't—"
"We don't even know if the person on the scene was our Greg Sanders or not," Grissom reminded her.
Catherine raked her hands through her hair. "So then let me call him and we'll find out if he was here or not."
"Catherine, Greg was fired a few hours ago for, among other things, using the lab for personal reasons," Grissom explained.
"What personal reasons?" Catherine asked. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"
"Because I knew I couldn't tell you everything," Grissom explained. "This is Greg's private problems, it's not my place to—"
"Goddammit, Grissom, he's our friend. If you know what's wrong with him and you're keeping it from me, I swear—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, let's all calm down!" said Brass. "Listen, I'm going to head over to the hospital to check on Ana Peréz. I'll see if she's conscious and if she can give me an account of what happened. I'll leave Greg out of this for now, until tomorrow."
"I'm calling him," Catherine insisted.
"How about you just join Brass at the hospital?" Grissom suggested. "I can handle this scene on my own."
Reluctantly, Catherine agreed.
Nick did stay. He helped Greg out of the tub and they both discovered that the younger man was still too weak to walk on is own, so Nick led him back to his room and laid him down on the bed again where Greg closed his eyes.
"I'm so tired... But my body refuses to fall asleep."
"Valium is an anti-anxiety drug, right?" Nick said quietly, almost coldly. "It would make sense that everything it made easier would now be harder."
Greg's eyes snapped open to see Nick standing by the door with his arms folded, looking uncomfortable. "You think I'm stupid, don't you?" he breathed.
Nick took a deep breath before sighing it out again. "I don't think you're stupid, Greg. I think you've been making some stupid choices, but you're not stupid."
"Only stupid people make stupid choices," Greg pointed out, "which is why I always thought that the distinction between stupid people and stupid choices is moot." He watched Nick for a moment, the shivering beginning to return. "You just going to stand there all day?"
"Probably," Nick replied flatly, but he pursed his lips.
"Sorry..." Greg muttered, rubbing his arms and trying to still his rapidly beating heart. "Damn, this is... worse than any hangover."
"Mm," Nick intoned, coolly.
Greg's eyes fell closed once more as he inhaled, trying to focus on his breathing. "Seriously, though... sorry. About... the drugs, and... putting you in that... I mean, this awkward position..." And then, timidly, he added, "You don't have to stay. I don't..." He paused. "I'm not worth staying for."
He turned away, rolling onto his side, his bloodshot eyes staring at the black out curtains as his body continued to shake and his stomach began to churn. "Would you, um... do me a favor and turn out the lights on your way out? It's... too bright in here."
He heard movement and a mixture of relief and disappointment flooded his strung-out system. Nick was leaving him there, to deal with this on his own, just like he deserved. Though Greg had told him to leave, he thought the Texan might have been a little more stubborn than that. The lights clicked off and the door closed, and Greg let out a sigh as he was, once again, left alone.
"Mr. Lies?" he breathed, his throat dry. "Take me back... Just take me to Antarctica, or... wherever, I don't even care. Buy me a one-way ticket anywhere. But I can't stay here. Not without him."
His lids fell closed once more and he took three breaths, before he heard the floorboards creak and his eyes were immediately open again. He tensed but did not move as the bed sank behind him, the sheets ruffling. A soft, tentative hand rested on his forearm.
A warm, quiet Southern drawl curled around his words. "You will never be without me, Greg."
Greg's breathing immediately became shallower. "I... I thought you..."
"Do you really think I could leave you like this?" Nick whispered.
Greg turned around completely so he was facing Nick. It was dark, but he could make out the Texan's outline kneeling in front of him. "Why wouldn't you? I've put you through hell. I've pushed you away. I've made you take care of me. I've... said some things that might have... scared you..."
"You did scare me," Nick confessed, slowly lying down parallel to Greg on the bed. His hand moved up and down Greg's arm. "But not in the way you might think."
"The drugs."
"Yeah, Greg, the drugs," Nick said, loudly. "What were you thinking?"
"I guess I... I thought it would be my great escape. I was so sick of my life. Everything was going wrong, and there was nothing I could do to stop it."
"You mean Warrick?" Nick whispered.
"He was part of it," Greg admitted. "So was Sara. So were you... But the majority of it was me. Just me. Fucked up, naive little me. When I was a kid, my mother never let me do after-school sports, so I spent the majority of my time playing chess and... reading comic books. And in that world, you know, that simple, two dimensional world, everything is so... clear. You know, the bad guys were wrong, and the good guys always saved the day. It's when I knew I wanted to go into law enforcement, only at the time I thought I could actually major in 'superhero' in college. But the world isn't like that. Anyone can see that comics are an idealist's fantasy, but... I guess I was an idealist. Even when everything kept going wrong, I thought that, since we were the good guys, we would still always somehow come out on top. But I just kept losing everything, and I... I was tired of being the hero. I wondered if I would have better luck if I just... broke the rules a little bit. I didn't think it would hurt anyone... least of all you." He looked up, into Nick's eyes. "I'm really... really sorry."
Nick continued to watch him as his hand still roamed up and down Greg's arm. And then, it moved to his forehead, warm against Greg's clammy skin, and pushed back his hair for the third time that night.
"The world needs idealism, Greg," Nick said, softly. "Because without ideals, then there is no hope for something better. Comics are so popular because they paint a picture of a simpler, more exciting world. But gray isn't such an ugly color. And you don't have to save the world. You don't have to be a hero, Greg."
"When I try to do right, it comes out wrong," Greg grumbled. "Logically, I figured if I tried to do wrong, maybe it would come out right."
"I understand that," Nick said, with a tiny smile. He pushed another curl behind Greg's ear, and the younger man took deep comfort from this small touch.
"You're not afraid to touch me," Greg noted.
"I never was," Nick replied, his small smile growing.
"About what I said..." Greg began.
"Don't take it back," said Nick, his palm resting on Greg's cheek. "Please don't take it back."
"Do you..." But Greg's mouth couldn't form the words even if it wanted to because sweet, delicate lips had engaged his own, softly touching, chastely daring to boldly ask that underlying question without any words. Greg momentarily forgot to breathe. And just as suddenly as they had come, the lips were gone, but Nick's forehead was resting against his.
"You just kissed me..."
Nick chuckled. "You really have a talent for observation, you know that?"
"Shut up... but I mean... did you really just... What just happened?" He was dazed.
He heard Nick sigh. "I miss you. I miss this."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but we never had... this," said Greg. He thought a moment. "Did we? I don't know, Valium, it fucks up my memory."
"No," Nick uttered. "I mean I miss you acting like this. Honest, quirky, and somewhat bemused..."
"Hey, I'm not bemused," said Greg, defensively. "I wouldn't call bemusement a character trait, anyhow. Take it back."
Those lips, those welcome, angelic lips, were pressed against his forehead now. "No," Nick whispered defiantly. His hand moved up, fingers entangling themselves in Greg's curls, gripping his head as he guided it beneath his chin. His arms wrapped around Greg who, despite all his other physical discomforts, felt safer in Nick's arms than he had felt all year. All Greg wanted to do was fall asleep there, but insomnia was setting in. He hoped he didn't vomit all over Nick. That would be mortifying. He tried not to dwell on his nausea, or his headache, or his throbbing muscles. He tried instead to focus on Nick, on his touch, his embrace, his smell... that sweet, musky scent that intoxicated him more than the drugs ever did.
Nick's breathing had changed. Greg noticed in his quest to memorize everything about his friend—his lover—in that moment. It was subtle, but it had become shallower, and it had the slightest hint of a tremor. Greg frowned, and nuzzled his face against Nick's chest. Nick's grip on Greg's head tightened. Something cool slithered down the pillow above Greg's head and gently touched his scalp. That's when he realized that Nick was not OK.
"You don't need to be worried about me anymore," Greg assured him quietly, moving his arms around Nick's torso and holding him as tightly as his sore muscles would allow. "I'll be OK so long as you're here."
"How do you feel?" Nick's voice was barely a whisper as he tried to disguise the distress in his voice.
Greg knew he couldn't tell the truth. "All better. Promise."
"Liar." Nick sniffed. "God, Greg... what are you going to do? You need to enter rehab. You know that, right? They can help you."
There was a moment of tense silence.
"Greg?"
"I know," Greg finally replied. "I just... I don't want to. I don't want that... label, you know? Surrounded by Prozac queens and Xanax teens..." There was another piercing pain in his chest and Greg winced, unable to control himself. He held his breath a moment and let out a whimper when the pain didn't pass.
"What is it, what's wrong?" Nick said quickly, pulling away from Greg and moving his head down so he could look the younger man in the eye. No such luck. Greg's eyes were shut tight.
"Nothing..." Greg tried to say. "Chest pains."
"Again?" Nick sounded nervous. "We need to go—"
"No," Greg insisted. "No, I think it's just all in my head... anxiety and all that... the withdrawal."
"Or you could be having a heart attack," Nick hissed. "Greg, I can't lose you. Not when I just found you again."
"You won't lose me," Greg insisted. "If I have to, I'll stay around by sheer strength of will."
Nick was quiet, but he gripped Greg's shoulders tightly. Finally, he said, "Greg, I know you don't want to go to the hospital, but understand that I am terrified for you right now. I can't do everything. I can't make you better. It would mean a lot to me if you just let me take you to the hospital. Please, Greg."
Greg stared at Nick's eyes, trying to delve as deep into them as he possibly could, trying to make him understand what going to the hospital would mean to him. "Nick, there's something I have to tell you."
Nick's expression did not change, but his eyes seemed to shift. "You aren't just doing Valium and marijuana, are you?"
Greg's mouth went dry. "Well..."
Nick closed his eyes and moved his chin towards his chest. "Jesus, Greg..."
"But that's not what I wanted to tell you," Greg said hastily, then winced at how the phrase sounded.
Nick's eyes snapped open. "How many secrets do you have, Greg?"
His stomach lurched and he felt his skin began to crawl. "OK, look, there was this... tea that Camellia would sell me—"
"She was your dealer?" Nick interjected.
Greg sighed. "Yes, she was my dealer." And then, he reached up, placing a hand on Nick's cheek and added, pointedly, "And nothing more. Now would you let me finish?"
Nick's eyes were glossy as he nodded.
"OK... So there was this tea. I do not know what was in it, other than shrooms—"
"Mushrooms, Greg?" Nick gasped.
"Can I finish?!" Greg cried. "You don't have to worry about that anyway, Grissom confiscated it... It's kind of why I was fired..."
"Oh, Greg..." Nick whispered.
"Don't... talk. I can't stand to hear the... disappointment in your voice. Listen, the thing I wanted to tell you... It's about why I'm scared to go to the hospital."
Nick nodded, encouraging. "I'm listening."
But Greg held his breath. "Will you still want to be here, with me, after I tell you?"
"I told you, Greg. You will never be without me."
But Greg was more nervous about this than anything else. "Two weeks ago, I drank some tea and... had sex with Camellia." Nick's reassuring smile faltered slightly, but Greg pressed on. "It meant absolutely nothing. I was so strung out and I wasn't even sure what was going on. But—" He flinched as the pain invaded his chest again, and he imagined he was inhaling fire. He couldn't help emitting a gasp and the tears leaked from his eyes as he clenched his teeth, trying to ride it out. By the time it has passed, he was gasping for breath, and there were hot tear streaks down his cheeks. He had curled in on himself, and Nick's arms were wrapped securely around him as he shuddered.
He let out a whimpering sob. "Oh God, I am so stupid..." He let the tears fall again as he gasped for air, his lungs aching, and the sobbing only seemed to aggravate his sore chest. Nick was stroking his back and holding on tightly. "I'm sick, I'm so sick, I know I am... Nick..."
"Then let me take you to the hospital. Please, Greg. Do it for me."
With another sob, Greg finally agreed. "Yes... yes, fine, OK, take me there, but don't hate me afterwards."
Nick's hand climbed into Greg's hair again and pressed his face into the corner of his neck and shoulder. "I could never hate you. Not for anything."
"For this you might," Greg whimpered, shivering.
He felt Nick shake his head. "Not for anything," he repeated. He sat up on the bed, taking Greg with him. The younger man's hands slid around Nick's waist, his palms pressed flat on the Texan's back as he shivered. Breathing was suddenly painful and unwelcome. Nick slowly slid his own arm beneath Greg's knees again and stumbled off of the bed and onto his feet. He moved through the bedroom door and Greg's apartment, wavering slightly, until they reached the hall, and then the elevator. Nick waited for a moment until it came, and moved slowly inside. He leaned against the wall of the elevator.
He was breathing heavily, and Greg was clinging to his neck. His knees went weak and he slid to the floor, cradling Greg in his lap as the elevator descended and he stared at it with wide eyes.
And the elevator continued to fall.