And your mind is moving low…
--
Nick thought it was funny when found the umbrella in his truck, unable to prevent the sound that was a mangled cross between a laugh and a choked sob. When Greg would usually hide it under the passenger seat of his car for reasons Nick still had yet to understand, it only was fitting Greg left his umbrella in Vegas the one time he actually needed it.
It was the kind of irony Nick was finding it difficult to accept, difficult to understand, and one that would have been a hell of a lot funnier if he could have shared it with Greg.
And Nick was only thinking about it now because he left his own umbrella at home. The hospital parking lot wasn't anywhere near full and it didn't take long for Nick to get to the main building. But it was coming down hard in Mesquite, and Nick was stuck with the blue and yellow atrocity he would tease Greg for, the same atrocity that was doing more than protecting Nick from the rain.
His steps were sharp against the pavement, water continuing to seep into his shoes as he moved through yet another puddle. Nick's pace quickened, strides becoming longer until he caught sight of the automatic doors that were the last barrier between him and the hospital. He found himself stopping, motionless beneath the overhead roof that extended well beyond the entrance. He was teetering on the edge, enough where he could still feel the rain on his back, pelting against his jacket despite the canopy being so expansive.
But for some reason his legs wouldn't move, wouldn't let Nick take those final steps when an hour ago he couldn't leave Vegas fast enough.
"You weren't kidding about the mess," Sara said, sliding a stack of boxes against the wall and straightened the top one. She looked warily at the other boxes scattered across the floor as she carefully made her way to the table in the middle of the room. "I seriously don't remember collecting this much evidence from the warehouse."
Nick grunted as he placed a box on the table. "Fortunately or unfortunately, no. I thought it was all ours, too, but most of them aren't."
Sara looked at the box Nick placed, finger trailing across one of the labels. "Wait a minute, isn't this from–"
"Oh, this is one of the boxes Catherine had brought it," he said, gesturing to the pile behind him. "I already separated our stuff. That's what I was doing all morning. Everything else is from the locker down the hall."
"Then why are they in here?"
"Maintenance had to move them because county wants to renovate, expand the station."
"You've got to be kidding me," Sara said dully. "It's not like we're running out of storage space any time soon."
"Actually, it is. I just don't think it's the right time for this sort of thing since we've got too many things going on in the lab."
"Really?" Sara looked at Nick thoughtfully. "I didn't know."
"And that's why you sound so surprised?"
Sara rolled her eyes, playfully brushing against his shoulder. "Yeah, whatever, Nick."
Nick laughed, reaching for his phone when it began to vibrate in his pocket. He smiled at Sara as he put the phone to his ear, feeling the most relaxed he had in days, but the brief respite was taken away as soon as he heard Warrick's voice.
It only took a moment for the world to go wrong, less than a second to make nothing seem right, and all before Nick even had the chance to say his name.
But an hour ago finding out Greg was taken to the hospital wasn't something set in stone. It wasn't yet finite. Not when Nick heard it from Warrick, not when he told Sara, not when he was on the road, and now that he was here…
Now that he was here he couldn't say this was just some kind of bad joke. He couldn't expect Greg to suddenly appear behind him, laughing and wearing that stupid grin on his face he always wore whenever he managed to get the upper hand on Nick. It was rare, though, the number of the times he'd seen Greg smile so wide it even made Nick's mouth hurt.
But Nick preferred that kind of trivial pain to this and would exchange it in a heartbeat with the pain that made him feel completely helpless.
One of the reasons he took this job was so he wouldn't have to be the victim, wouldn't have to be the one standing outside in the rain – unable to move forward and not willing to go back. But the last few years were especially trying. Experience served to remind Nick of his limitations and never missed the opportunity to make him question his convictions.
A car passed behind him. The headlights were bright and glared at Nick through the reflection on the glass doors. He squinted when the light hit his eyes, moving further beneath the canopy when he saw a tall man walking inside the hospital, coming closer and eventually stepping through the automatic doors.
Nick almost wanted to believe it was Greg, but quickly dismissed the idea, curiosity getting the best of him as watched the man make his way outside. He frowned when the man stopped beside a broad column and leaned against it, lighting the cigarette he took out of his pocket. By all accounts, he seemed harmless enough, but Nick couldn't shake the sudden need to be on his guard.
He closed Greg's umbrella and brought it to his side, glad he was on the opposite end when the man lifted his head to look at him. But with the lighting outside it was too dark to make out much of his face, and Nick was too far away to see anything above the man's nose.
"You planning on standing there all day?" he asked Nick, something in his voice putting Nick further on edge.
He didn't answer when the man pushed himself off the column, languid in steps as he made his way towards Nick and stopping when there was an arm's length between them.
"Not much of a talker then, huh?" the man said, still facing away from Nick as a puff of smoke came out of his mouth.
"I guess not," Nick replied evenly, his hold around Greg's umbrella tightening.
The man only shrugged as he flicked his cigarette on the ground, ironically passing the no smoking sign as it landed in the wet grass. Pulling his coat tighter around him, he gave Nick a lazy smile. He took a small white umbrella out of his pocket, the corners of his mouth still crooked when he turned around and walked away.
It was one of the most bizarre feelings, lingering somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, and Greg wasn't sure if it was that, the soreness in his throat, or the intermittent throbbing in his head that made him think twice about the urge to open his eyes.
Torn between a dream too vague to and a familiar voice somewhere in the distance, fading into the back of his mind, Greg vouched to keep his eyes closed for the time being. He was comfortable enough, lying on what he wanted to assume was a bed if the pillow beneath his head and the blanket over his body was anything to go by. Though, he couldn't remember getting in the bed, much less making the conscious decision to go to sleep.
Or maybe he was just that tired.
However, it still didn't explain why his throat was aching to the effect of something like BCP gone wrong even though he wasn't exactly into breath control. He played around with it once or twice when he was younger, and while it was fun then, he eventually grew out of it. So, it was no question it wasn't something that came up in his sex life now, definitely nothing like that when it came to sex or any kind of foreplay with Nick.
Exciting sex life aside, though, unless his subconscious was manifesting itself physically, Greg couldn't come up with a reason for the pain in his head, either. It was probably why he felt so tired and even somewhat nauseous as if he'd been spinning around too fast and stopped suddenly. He hadn't intentionally moved for at least a good five minutes, but it was like he was still going through some kind of vertigo that was putting him on the edge of equilibrium to the point where he was internally debating the right way to count to five.
He shifted in the sheets, bringing his knees closer to his stomach as he reached for Nick on the other side of the bed, where the other man usually slept. He stilled when his arm extended over the bed, the half that was usually there now gone and apparently replaced by empty space.
Surprisingly composed, Greg decided he wasn't going to panic, wasn't going to lose his relative sense of calm when he felt thin fingers wrap around his arm and a bright light assault his eyes. There was something hauntingly familiar about this situation, reminiscent of only a few other times in his life that gave Greg more than just an idea that he was in a hospital.
"Greg?" He heard someone ask, the voice leading him to believe it was a woman. He blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light before he could see the person moving in front of him. She was older than he expected, probably somewhere in her late forties, and was wearing a pair of scrubs that reminded Greg of some of the old shirts he still had hidden somewhere in his closet.
He closed his eyes at the thought.
"Don't go back to sleep on me, yet. I need you to stay up for a few more minutes while I take your blood pressure, all right?"
"Blood pressure?" Greg repeated, wishing he said nothing when he heard his voice. He didn't trust that his attempt to speak produced some kind of believable coherent sound.
"We're checking it every hour since yours was so low coming in," she clarified as she wrapped the cuff around his arm. "I'm your nurse for the night by the way, Sophie."
Greg opened his eyes as he felt a gradually increasing pressure around his right forearm. He wiggled his left index finger, surprised to see it covered with a sensor attached to the pulse oximeter that was next to Sophie. He knew it measured the oxygen levels in his blood, but he was trying to figure what happened that made it necessary to have in the first place.
There was a short beep, and the pressure on Greg's forearm began to deflate.
Sophie smiled at him as she removed the cuff. Her blue eyes were bright against her pale face and dark red hair. "You're getting back to normal, that's good. It was kind of touch and go for a while, and we weren't sure if you were going to wake up."
"What?" Greg began to sit up but Sophie's hand on his shoulder kept him on the bed.
"Be careful not to tear out your IV," she said, gesturing to the drip connected to the small plastic tube currently lodged in Greg's arm. "It's only temporary, but it's not going to help you feel better if we can't even get you hydrated."
Greg moaned into the side of his pillow. "But I don't–"
There was a knock on the door, and Greg pressed the side of his face into his pillow, barely able to suppress a moan until he heard Grissom's voice.
"Am I too early?" Grissom asked. "Dr. Sobule said you paged him and that I could come in, but is Greg still–"
"Grissom." Greg moved to get up once more only to fall against the headboard, immediately regretting trying to sit up too fast as Sophie laid a hand on his shoulder.
Something inside his stomach curled. Seeing Grissom provoked his memory of why he was in a hospital, what happened at that house. He felt better knowing at least Grissom was okay considering the last time he saw the other man seemed more like one of those dubious goodbyes. But it still left what happened to Warrick. He didn't come in the room, didn't follow behind Grissom, and Greg was finding it hard not to give into the need to panic.
Sophie said his name again, but Greg had too many thoughts running around in his mind, too many questions that propelled a sense of urgency to get them answered. "I told you to–"
"Where's Warrick? Is he okay?" he asked frantically, his chest beginning to heave up and down as it became harder to take in air. His vision was turning blurry, everything a surge of colour and misplaced lines he couldn't separate. There was a beeping in the background, getting louder and louder, increasingly more annoying and tossed alongside the voices adding to the noise.
His breath hitched when he felt a hand was on his forehead, warm and soothing against his skin. It was something tangible, something he could hold on to. He reached for the hand, fingers wrapping around and pulling it on the bed as he mulled over the breathing exercises he used to practice with Nick.
When the beeping finally stopped, he heard could hear his name. It was Grissom calling him this time, the other man standing beside Sophie and peering over Greg.
"Is Warrick okay?" Greg asked again, looking down to see it was Grissom who touched his forehead. He exhaled slowly, allowing himself to relax as he let go of Grissom's hand.
"Warrick's fine, Greg," Grissom said evenly. "Nothing happened to him."
"Are you sure?"
"He's waiting outside with Nick."
"Nick's here?"
Sophie loosened her hold on Greg's shoulder, light but still firm enough to garner his attention. "Greg, listen honey," she said slowly. "You just woke up, and you're still recovering from severe hypoxia. You're lucky enough as it is, so please, please, take it easy. If only for my sake."
"I didn't mean to–"
"Have a panic attack?" she asked incredulously. "Nobody plans for those, Greg."
"But they're not bad."
"I know your records say you have a history with them, but nothing else other than what's listed from a couple of years ago."
"It was only for a few months, and I don't need to take meds anymore."
"Have you had any recent attacks before this one, after you were given medication?"
"I haven't needed to take them since then," he answered, intentionally dodging the question.
"Forgive me if I don't take your word for it, but we'll see what after I talk to Dr. Sobule about it." She looked at Greg pointedly, removing her hand from his shoulder. "But I'll leave you alone in the meantime," she said, hand hovering flat red button on control panel built into the handrail of Greg's bed. "Use the call button if you need me, though. I'm right around the corner, okay?"
Her gaze didn't leave Greg, and she continued to stare at him until he finally spoke.
"I will."
She sighed, still appearing somewhat doubtful as she placed her hand on the stand carrying the blood pressure meter. "Okay."
Grissom nodded at Sophie as she made her way out of the room. "Thank you."
She flashed another smile before she closed the door behind her.
Grissom took a seat in the chair next to Greg's bed, placing his kit beside the small table between them. "How are you doing, Greg?"
"Do you really have to ask?"
"No, but is it wrong if I want to?"
Greg turned to the side, straightening his back against the headboard as he faced Grissom. "I just want to get this part over with."
"We don't have to do it now."
"Like you said last time, better sooner than later, right?"
"I shouldn't be surprised you remember that."
"It takes a lot for me to forget."
"Are you sure?" Grissom frowned, adjusting his glasses as he looked at Greg with concern. "I don't minded waiting if you want to do this with–"
"I know it was a guy. Somewhere around my height," Greg said abruptly, concentrating on the clock behind Grissom and not the voice of the man who tried to kill him. "I didn't see him since he came at me from behind. He uh, he had his arm around my neck and his hand over my mouth. I know I'm not that heavy, but damn it, I couldn't even keep my feet on the floor."
"If he was stronger than you, it's not that hard to believe. Not hard to believe at all, Greg."
Greg couldn't argue against logic, and he would have readily agreed if they were talking about anyone else.
"I tried to make some kind of noise, thought I did, but apparently I didn't." Greg scoffed. "Next thing I knew, I was outside in the rain, flat on my back and he was on top of me. I remember that because he was heavy, or at least heavier than me, anyway. Then his hands were grabbing my neck and…"
Greg turned his gaze to the other side of the room, not interested in seeing the expression on Grissom's face. Regardless of what it was, if it was even anything at all, he just didn't want to see it.
"Can you think of anything else?"
"Other than this whole thing being my fault?"
"It's not your fault, Greg," Grissom said softly, but Greg wasn't really paying the other man that much attention.
"This is what you were talking about earlier, right? When I told you about seeing Davis in the warehouse, I guess…"
Grissom shook his head. "That doesn't have anything to do with it."
"Warrick was right there, right there, and I still didn't say anything when I saw the back door open. I mean, you would have. Warrick would have. Even Sara would–"
"Something like this could have happened to any one of us."
"But it didn't."
"Things like this already have," Grissom reminded him sternly. "And they still could."
Nick stood in front of reception desk, shivering and dripping water on the floor as he looked at the laminated badge clipped to the side pocket of the nurse's white top. It read Mark Spencer, CNS, the letters thin and bold beneath the small picture of the man behind the desk.
"Tell Pam to send him to level three," Mark said into the phone, holding the receiver between his head and his shoulder as he scribbled something across a large and yellow legal pad. He raised his head when Nick approached the desk, acknowledging the other man with a nod as he adjusted the light blue stethoscope around his neck before it fell to the floor.
Nick looked behind Mark, trying to peer into the room to see if there was anyone else who could help him. But it seemed like Mark was the only one who could help him. "Excuse me, can–"
"Or tell Julie to do it. I'm even not supposed to be here, and I need to get back to…"
"Excuse me," Nick tried again, clenching his teeth when Mark continued his conversation on the phone. He knew he was being, rude and it wouldn't hurt him to wait, but Nick hadn't heard any more from Warrick or Grissom since he lost reception on his phone twenty minutes ago.
"Well, I don't know where she is. We're short enough on staff already, so work with me, all right." Mark placed his pen on the pad, raising a finger and silently telling Nick to hold as he turned to glance at the empty room behind him. "Great, do that. And did Michael leave already drop off the new load? We're running out and I can't – Yeah, thanks. You, too."
Mark sighed in exasperation as he removed the phone resting on his shoulders, putting it back with an audible click. "Sir," he said as he looked at Nick sharply, expression somewhat more forgiving when he took in Nick's appearance. He reached beneath the desk, hand reappearing with a large white towel he placed on the counter. "May I help you?"
Nick looked apologetic for a moment as he took the towel and put it around his neck. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he wiped the water from his face, all but forgetting the words that were supposed to come out of his mouth. "Yeah, um, I'm looking for Greg Sanders," he said hurriedly, the word please following as an afterthought. "He should have been brought in a couple of hours ago."
Mark turned in his chair, grabbing a short and colourful stack of files next to the computer. "What's your relation to Mr. Sanders?" he asked, fingers travelling through the pile and settling on a thin, dark green folder. "And I'll need to see some kind of identification."
"Um…" Nick reached in his side pocket, fumbling for his wallet and pulling out his driver's license. He'd gone through this before and knew he should have had this stuff ready, but just because he knew didn't make the process any easier.
"I'm Nick Stokes," he finally said. "And Greg's my…" Nick pressed his lips together, suddenly at a loss for words. My partner, my best friend, my…everything is what Nick wanted to say, needed to say, but he knew it was neither the time nor the place for it.
Mark peered at Nick from above the folder in his hands, his eyes urging Nick to continue. "Your…"
"Co-worker, he's my friend and my co-worker" Nick said resolutely, putting his licence back in his wallet after Mark nodded his head in approval. "He's doesn't have any relatives in Nevada, but–"
"And this isn't exactly home for him, either." Mark flipped through another sheet of paper. "Yeah, we already pulled up his file. Warrick Brown came in with him and had the necessary paperwork taken care of already. And it says here you're listed as one of his next of kin, alongside Mr. Brown."
"Okay, good, that's good." Nick nodded in relief. "And visiting hours aren't over, yet?"
"Not until midnight."
Nick looked at his watch. That gave him at least half an hour. "So, can you tell me where Greg is or is he still in ICU?" That was the last he heard about Greg's condition, and Nick was hoping Greg would no longer be there by the time he reached the hospital.
"Unfortunately, I don't have that information with me now."
"What do you mean you don't have the information?" Nick looked at Mark in disbelief. "Never mind, can you just tell me where he is?"
"Sir, you'll have to wait to speak with Dr. Sobule because I don't know anything other than where Mr. Sanders was when he was first brought in. I just came in ten minutes ago, and the nurse who handled the paperwork isn't here."
Nick groaned in annoyance. This wasn't what he needed. "Okay, then can you tell me which room Greg was assigned when he got here?"
"I can't let you go past me until I get the green light, not until Dr. Sobule gets back. Again, I'm sorry, but it's hospital policy."
"Well, can't you page him or something?"
"He's still working rounds in the ICU, but I can let him know you're here as soon as he's available." Mark looked at Nick sympathetically. "I'm assuming you're going stay, so the waiting room's right over there," he added, pointing over Nick's shoulder to sectioned-off area near the entrance of the emergency room, the words waiting room printed on a sign with a large arrow pointing towards a narrow entryway.
"Mr. Stokes?"
"Where do you want me to put this?" Nick asked, taking the now wet towel from around his neck.
"You can just give it to me," Mark said as he reached for the towel. He put in a large blue bag hanging from the wall and reached beneath the desk again for another towel. "And take this one with you before you get sick."
Nick nodded in appreciation, draping the towel on his shoulder as he made his way into the waiting area. It wasn't as if he had much of a choice to do otherwise because he wasn't leaving until he could see Greg for himself.
When he walked past the already opened door, it seemed vacant inside, like the rest of the hospital, like the rest of this small town. However, Nick could see a man and a woman inside sitting on opposite ends of the room, one of them clearly being Warrick.
The woman immediately turned to Nick when he walked in, staring at him with a hopeful expression that fell as soon as it came. She lowered her head, returning her attention to the magazine she was holding. But Nick didn't miss the stark disappointment on her face.
He looked away, letting his body fall into the seat across from Warrick as he dropped the towel and Greg's umbrella in the chair to him. He took his jacket off, grateful his shirt underneath was still somewhat dry.
Warrick remained silent, face in his hands as he leaned over in the chair. Nick doubted the other man didn't notice him, not when he made so much noise coming in. Warrick was probably sleeping. Nick didn't fault him for it, but he did wish he could do the same when he closed his eyes. So, maybe, just maybe when he woke up it would be in bed next to Greg and then he claim the last few hours were nothing more than a bad dream.
He still tried, though, fruitless as it was. Although this time he opened his eyes to see Warrick examining him, almost as if he was expecting something. It startled Nick, both the unfamiliar look on Warrick's face and seeing the other man watching him so intently.
"Nick," Warrick began tentatively, "listen, I'm–"
"Thank you."
"For what?" Warrick looked at Nick in confusion. "If anything, I–"
"For coming here with Greg, for telling me what happened."
"Nick, I…"
"Just being there when I couldn't, that means a lot to me."
Warrick sighed heavily. "You know I'm the reason he's even in here, right?"
"You're not," Nick said firmly. He was already beating himself up over the situation and could do without Warrick's guilt adding to the mix. "And I'm not going to drop it all on you when we both know it's not your fault."
"You can't tell me you're not upset, Nick," Warrick said sceptically. "I know you, and I know this is eating at you more than you're letting on."
"Then you know pointing fingers isn't going to do a lick of good to help Greg." Nick groaned, rubbing the bottom of his palm against his forehead. "What do you want me to say, Warrick? I can't blame you for something that's not even your fault."
"At least admit that you're upset. Don't close yourself off like last time because that wasn't comfortable for me, either."
"The last time I thought Greg was going to die?" Nick asked tersely. "I am upset, Warrick, believe me. I just want to see him and make sure he's okay. That's all I want right now.
"I didn't think he was going to make then…" Nick paused, looking to the ceiling as he folded his hands in his lap. "I thought I was going to lose Greg, lose everything, and that's was before I even knew what I had.
"Then what happened in May…" Nick gave a short and bitter laugh. "It wasn't fair then, either, and now…"
Nick turned away, blinking and wiping away tears he couldn't stop. He was almost expecting Warrick to say the proverbial sorry, some part of him almost wanting it, but he was more than appreciative when the other man didn't.
He sniffed, trying not to think of why everything in the room appeared so glassy. "Where's Grissom, anyway?"
But Warrick didn't get a chance to answer, interrupted when a man wearing a long white coat approached them.
"I was told a Mr. Stokes is for looking for me," he said, voice neutral as his gaze moved between the two men. "I'm Dr. Sobule."
Greg watched the door open slowly, releasing a sigh that was a cross between amusement and relief as he saw Nick tentatively walk inside the room. Using the headboard for leverage, he pushed himself off the bed, ignoring the dull pain in the back of his head as he crossed his legs.
He cleared his throat as Nick closed the door, hoping he didn't sound as bad as he did when he first woke up. It was hard not to see the concern on Nick's face, the way the other man was forcing himself to walk the short distance from the door to the bed, and Greg didn't want to add to Nick's ever growing sense of guilt by appearing as horrible as he felt.
Grabbing a chair from the corner of the room, Nick pulled it right next to the bed, practically dragging it and scraping the floor with its legs.
The sound was harsh and grating on his ears, but Greg didn't complain, couldn't say anything about it when he saw the redness in Nick's eyes. It wasn't that he'd never seen it before. Yet, he wouldn't exactly call it a common occurrence since it took a lot to make Nick cry. Not that being of the few people that could bring Nick to tears was something Greg was particularly proud of, but it was reassuring in the most awkward way possible, reinstating a strong and silent fidelity that was lacking in the beginning of their relationship.
And even years later, it was still something Greg had trouble getting used to. Still strange that he could evoke that much and that kind of emotion from another person, the kind of dedication he would have chalked up to his tendency to exaggerate if he didn't have proof.
But maybe even stranger was that Nick could do the same to him.
"You're not asleep," Nick said softly but loud enough to break Greg out of his musings. The lines around his eyes were more prominent than usual. It made him look older, much older than he was.
"I would have missed seeing you," Greg rasped, disappointed his voice star wasn't up to par even if Sophie told him it would take a while before it was back to normal.
"You sound awful."
"Should have heard me when I first woke up."
"I didn't – You know I didn't mean it like that." Nick's voice faded into silence. He leaned over in the chair, holding Greg's face in his hands as his gaze moved to the small bandage doing nothing to hide the flush of darkened blues and purples marring Greg's neck. He tilted Greg's head slightly, careful not to touch the discoloured skin. "But Jesus, Greg, what am I supposed to say to this?"
"My nurse says it looks worse than it actually is," Greg said, knowing it wasn't going to be enough to placate Nick. He actually had no clue what his neck looked like and thought it was probably better to keep that to himself. It was bad enough Grissom took pictures, had it documented so it never had the chance of going away.
But maybe if he didn't dwell on it too much, denied it for a little while longer, Greg could overlook the sheer humiliation he felt by being a victim, something he'd thought he wouldn't have to go through again.
"It's one thing to be told something, what to expect, but seeing it…" Nick paused, gently running a finger along the back of Greg's neck but pulling away when Greg flinched. "I'll never get used to that. Not when it comes to you."
"I stopped breathing by the time ambulance got out there. There was too much swelling around my airway because my pharynx was compressed. They took the tube out before I woke up." Greg pointed to his throat. "I survived a cricothyrotomy, and they only gave me a hole to show for it."
"And no t-shirt," Nick added softly, though neither he nor Greg was laughing. "Are you really okay?"
It was one of those laden questions Nick would ask, wouldn't stop asking even if he knew Greg wasn't. Physically, Greg was fine; they both knew that. But emotionally Greg didn't know where he stood even before he started this case. Nick was just waiting for him to admit it. "Yeah, I'm just stuck with that tired, tingly feeling that comes with waking up having an IV stuck in your arm."
"I don't think you being dehydrated is the worst of our problems."
"The extra coffee was worth it," Greg said jokingly, a poor semblance of a smile on his face. "You didn't switch out the decaf again, did you?"
Nick shook his head. "You can't keep doing this to yourself, Greg," he said calmly, lips pursing in veiled frustration. "Or not doing, I don't know. But you scared me. God, Greg, you scared me."
Mindful of the sensor on his finger, Greg reached for one of Nick's hands, content to hold it between his own. His hands and feet were always cold, even when they were covered. But it was bearable most of the time when he was around Nick because Nick was always warm, something that never ceased to amaze Greg. "Grissom already processed me."
Nick sighed. "Yeah, I figured that before he caught up with me and Warrick in the waiting room."
"It wasn't as bad as it was last time, when I was pretty much out of it."
"Greg," Nick said flatly, "you still look pretty much out of it."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Oh."
"But if it means you're not hurting–"
"I'm not," Greg said quickly. "I'm okay."
"You will be okay," Nick said steadily. His eyes were determined and held a confidence Greg tried to emulate as his grip tightened around Nick's hand. "We'll still be okay."
"Because you have this uncanny ability to make me feel better?"
"No, because I know you," Nick said softly, the smile on his face hesitant and fleeting. "I would have been here sooner, but...doesn't matter." He shook his head. "Grissom and Warrick told me what happened while I was driving up here. Dr. Sobule filled me in on everything else."
"Not one of my prouder moments."
"Greg…"
"But I fought him, you know." There were still things hazy in his memory, pieces he couldn't grasp faint and remote while he tried not to delve too much into the images that were vivid in his mind. "Even when he was pulling me outside, I didn't stop. I'm just hoping I scraped off enough skin so it won't be a complete waste."
Nick looked disturbed for a moment. "Please tell me that's not all you're worried about."
Greg bit his bottom lip, letting go of Nick's hand. He lifted his head, facing the other man with a sense of bravado that he was trying to convince himself wasn't forced.
"When can I go home?"
"Not today."
"I don't like hospitals."
"I know."
"You can always sneak me out on your back," Greg said, maybe even a little more seriously than he intended. The entire situation was starting to catch up to him. So many of the things that could have gone wrong, that did go wrong, how he was able to ignore how much it scared him until now.
Nick snorted. "And break my back while you just about moon everybody?"
Self-consciously, Greg reached for the back of his gown, the tips of his ears colouring slightly when he realised his underwear was being exposed. It wasn't as if Nick hadn't seen him in less, but there was something about wearing little to nothing that could still embarrass him. "I forgot I had one of these on."
"For someone who doesn't like hospitals, you're getting kind of comfortable being in one."
"Says the one who was in here a few months ago."
"Yeah, well…" Nick scratched the back of his head, Greg more than a little pleased to find the other man appeared at least somewhat sheepish. "I had an excuse that time."
But not a good one, Greg thought silently. "Can I call double standard?"
"Well, I wasn't really in here, per se."
"Fine. Use technicalities against me during my time of need."
"Don't dish it out if you can't take it."
"Yeah, yeah, I deserved that," Greg agreed reluctantly, back hunched over as he rested his elbows on his legs. "So, joking aside, I guess that means I'm not leaving anytime soon," he said sullenly, not oblivious to the slight wince Nick failed to hide.
"They only want you to stay here until tomorrow."
"That's too long, Nick," Greg said, aware of the desperation seeping in his voice.
"You can't just brush this off. It's not going to go away like that."
"I know, and I'm not trying to brush it off. They'll let me go when I sign the release. I just need you to take–"
"You realise you could have had brain damage, right? That you could have been a damn vegetable in a coma for the rest of your life. Hell, you could have been dead, Greg. And what would I–"
"I almost died, Nick. I almost died again, and you – you of all people – think I'm not taking this seriously," Greg whispered harshly, voice still hoarse but noticeably starting to break. "Tell me I have the choice to pretend everything's okay even though I have the marks that damn well prove me wrong."
Greg felt a shudder run through him, the calm he was clinging to earlier fading into a torrent of emotions he couldn't keep up with, couldn't control. He closed his eyes, wiping his cheek with the back of his sleeve as his body began to shake. "I know it's real, so you can't tell me I don't, okay? You can't push me right now, Nick." His words were softer this time, almost too soft.
But Nick heard them, was more than close enough to when he pulled Greg into his arms, quiet as he ran his hand through Greg's hair.
He didn't say anything when Greg buried his face in Nick's shoulder, didn't say anything when Greg clutched the back of his shirt. But it was better that way because Greg found it hard to acknowledge that he was making the wet spots on Nick's shirt, that he still couldn't do anything to stop the shaking, and found it even harder to recognise the strained and muffled sound that was his voice.
"Please."
The initial plan was to go to house: pack up a few things for Greg to take back to Mesquite later on and try to get some kind of sleep. But somehow the drive home led him straight to lab, and as long as Grissom didn't say anything, Nick was going to make use of the only constructive outlet he could think of at one in the morning.
"I thought you already left," Wendy said, turning around in her chair when Nick walked through the doorway. The surprise in her voice was more than a little obvious, almost making Nick second guess his decision about coming back to work.
He left the hospital when Greg went to sleep, conveniently the same time visiting hours were over. Honestly, Nick would have preferred to stay overnight. And he would have tried to get away with sleeping in the chair if he wasn't more or less kicked out by Sophie after she opened the door and found Greg practically off the bed and asleep in his arms.
Nick wasn't going to deny the relief he felt knowing Greg was going to have a different nurse in the morning.
"Yeah, well, I'm back," he answered uneasily, trying to redirect her attention as he rolled up his sleeves. "Grissom told me you were working on that skin sample he gave you."
Wendy nodded. "And I'm still working on it."
"This is priority, Wendy," Nick said, a little irritated by her apparent lack of urgency. "We've got a ticking clock working against us."
"Like I said, I'm still working on it," she said slowly. "Trust me, Grissom told me to put everything else aside for this one. Right now, I'm just waiting for a match." She pointed to the monitor, and Nick sighed as the computer continued to work through the samples already in the system.
"CODIS, all the other local and state databases I have access to within a 300 mile radius – the works," Wendy continued. "Whatever we can get our hands on."
Nick crossed his arms. It was a given that Greg's attack had something to do with the Harrison case they were working on. Going by what he learned from Warrick – the card Greg was given at the warehouse, leading them to a place owned by a guy named Stephen White – there was no way there wasn't some kind of correlation.
It wasn't a wild goose chase anymore. They were being bombarding by too much information at one time, preventing them from focussing on a prominent lead, and Nick didn't know which was worse.
"Was it enough, the sample Grissom gave you?" Nick asked, mind trailing back to what Greg told him in the hospital.
"Actually, it was more than enough, and I kind of feel sorry for the guy left with the marks."
Nick snorted. Greg was far from having long nails, but Nick had the occasional marks on his back to prove Greg's nails were anything but blunt.
"I know better than to take Hodges seriously," Wendy said drolly. "But he did say Greg would one of those people who–"
"You know?" Nick asked, the fact that she knew the skin sample was from Greg catching him by surprise. Grissom wouldn't have told her, and Warrick made it home before Nick left Mesquite. And he knew better than to think Catherine or Sara would say anything.
"The whole lab might as well know," Wendy said, looking at Nick expectantly. "Or at least it seems like everybody knows at this point."
"What?" Nick asked, not liking where this particular conversation seemed to be going.
"You saw him, right?"
"And you're asking me this because…"
"Well, I remembered Catherine telling me when you were leaving, around the time I found out what happened to Greg. Then I just put two and two together. Other than what I already heard, nobody else is talking."
"Just spit it out, Wendy."
She looked at him hesitantly. "I just want to know if…"
"He's not dead if that's what you're asking," Nick said derisively.
"No." Wendy stared at Nick, eyes wide and the disbelief painfully evidently on her features. "No, no, that's not what I'm asking."
"Oh," Nick said, trying to will away the heat spreading to his face. "Yeah, he's uh, fine…Greg's fine." He looked away, the long silence that followed only broken by the beep coming from the computer.
Wendy murmured something about men Nick was happy not to hear, shaking her head while giving Nick a smile he couldn't exactly return. "And it looks like we finally got our match."
I really fought with this chapter: attempting to proofread, playing with so many reactions/interactions, keeping continuity with a freakishly bothersome timeline/history, and pretending to look like I understand all this medical nonsense without making everything seem like some kind of information dump. I didn't want to make it too melodramatic nor too light-hearted or sappy. I kept changing things around because I was trying to find that happy medium that gave me enough range and made sense at the same time.
But in the end it's finished, and that's how I'm going to get through the day because I only have four more chapters to go. Really, I'm dying on the inside.
So, thank you for reading and thank you to QueenOfTheUniverse for reviewing.