|All The Same
Author: Animegirl1129 PM
Nick POV during Fannysmackin' and Post Mortem. NickGreg established Relationship. Enjoy!Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Angst - Nick S. & Greg S. - Chapters: 2 - Words: 9,088 - Reviews: 9 - Favs: 41 - Follows: 3 - Published: 02-18-07 - Status: Complete - id: 3402127
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
All The Same
Nick POV through Fannysmackin' and Post Mortem. I know, you're all sick of fics relating to those episodes but I had to finish writing it... Enjoy! Nick/Greg established relationship.
Greg was late. Not, fashionably late, or 'sorry, I stopped for coffee' late, or even 'I just got laid' late - that one usually left both of us late, but over an hour and a half late. The lack of phone calls or any other form of contact worried me, waiting impatiently for him to come home to the townhouse we had shared for over a year.
"Where are you…?" I asked, increasingly concerned with every passing moment. I paced the living room, the television muted in the background.
When another thirty minutes passed and I still hadn't heard anything from my lover, my paranoia really set in and allowed me to pick up the phone, dialing a number I could call in my sleep and prepared to chew out the younger man for making me worry.
'I'm sorry, the number you have reached is out of service. Please try back later or leave a message…' the voicemail option clicked into effect and only managed to scare me further. Our cell phones were always on. Always. We had to be in contact at all times.
Having called back three more times and reaching voicemail each time, I finally reverted to calling Grissom, he would know what was going on.
"Hey, Gris. Do you know where Greggo is? He won't answer his phone." I explained, relieved to have gotten through.
Their was a brief pause before the older man spoke again. "Nicky, Greg's in the hospital."
"He was attacked at a crime scene."
I hadn't heard anything at all after that, making my way to the door In nothing but pajama bottoms, I hopped in my Denali, en route to Desert Palms.
Warrick sighed. "He's still being checked out. You and me need to head out to his crime scene."
I glared. "You're kidding? I can't… I can't process his scene."
"And why not?" Grissom appeared in the doorway, an inquisitive eyebrow raised.
"Ugh… we're all emotionally involved, shouldn't day shift be handling this?" I covered. No one knew about us.
"They're swamped, it falls back to us." Catherine replied. "You two, get out there."
Warrick grabbed my arm, dragging me back down the hallway. "Come on, the sooner we get there, the sooner we catch the bastards."
"And put a shirt on, Nicky!" Catherine called to us.
Warrick was trying to talk to me, 'trying' the operative word. "Nicky!" he yelled, waving his hand in front of my face. "Where's your head?"
I'd almost replied. 'With Greg, where the rest of me should be,' but I simply shook my head, returning my attention to the pool of blood my young lover had left behind.
"I think I just found a piece of Sanders' hair." Warrick sighed, picking up the small patch of sandy brown hair that was left on the pavement.
No. No, this can't be real. I shook my head again, closing my eyes. Greg's hair, the same hair that I ran my fingers through when we made love, the same hair that I'd tangle my fingers in while we slept, the younger man's head against my shoulder. I cringed at the thought of the pain my lover must be in right now and wished it had been me instead.
"So what, did somebody else get a beat down? You bitches haven't caught them cats yet?" A guy standing on the other side of the crime tape mocked us.
'I'm not in the mood for this…' I thought to myself, turning to face the man. "Excuse me?"
Warrick seemed to be more calm with the situation, then again, it wasn't his lover lying in a hospital bed, was it? "You fella's wanna keep it movin'? We're trying to work here."
The man shifted on his feet, smirking. "You call that working? There's an ass-whupping on every block."
"…Alright, that's it…" I mumbled, moving to stand in front of the idiot provoking me. "There's about to be an ass-whupping on this block."
"Oh yeah, is that right?"
"Yeah," I glared daggers into the mans skull, wishing that they would actually appear there. I'd rather process this jerks scene than my Greg's. "That's right."
Warrick, noting that the walls around us were bleeding my frustration, must have decided it was best to intervene. "Hey, man…"
Another, taller, guy approached the crime tape, obviously with some mental defect impairing his judgment, I decided. "Man, you're weak, weak, weak, weak." Both of us ignored the first idiots complaints as he was cuffed by one of the other officers. "I'm sorry, you're not weak."
"Nick…" Warrick warned me. "Nick."
"You're a joke."
I laughed, an exasperated expression crossing my face as I turned to look at my friend, the older man shaking his head, signaling me not to do whatever I was planning. Of course, I was too ticked off right now to care, wheeling around to sucker punch the guy in the stomach.
The next thing I knew, Warrick had pulled me back, and had deleted the pictures from the mans phone before shooing the crowd away. Then I was in trouble.
"What are you doing? We beatin' people up now?"
I shook my head. "I'm sick of these punks. Man, I'm serious. I'm sick of it!" Thoughts of my Greg filled my mind once again and I flinched.
Warrick released his grip on my shoulders, turning away. "Then maybe you're in the wrong town."
I shrugged as I walked back toward the car. "Maybe."
We were all in the locker room now, getting ready to head out for the day.
"I am going to pick up some Roberto's, take it over to Greg. I'm sure he's sick of that hospital food. Anybody wanna come?" Sara asked a few feet away from Warrick and myself.
Warrick responded first. "I'll take a ride with you. But, ugh… I'm gonna pass on the Mexican food at ten in the morning."
I managed a laugh. "No, I'd like to see Greg. I'm definitely in. Yeah." I decided against mentioning that I wanted nothing more than to hold the younger man in my arms for the rest of our lives and never let anything bad happen to him ever again.
"Pig and the piglets are in the pigpen." Catherine announced, stepping into the room a second later.
Warrick shrugged. "'Bout time. Finally some good news."
"Did you know Pig, a.k.a Cole Tritt was the only adult? The rest were all under 18. One was 14." Catherine informed us, a statement which made my blood run cold - Kids had done this...
"You're kidding. Who raises these kids?" Warrick shook his head in disgust.
"I mean, they weren't all delinquents. Demetrius James was a college student."
"Hangin' out with the wrong crowd in the wrong town. I'm tellin' ya, havin' a fake I.D in Las Vegas is like having a--a free ticket on the hell train. Sex, drugs, gambling, no adult supervision, 24/7, by the time they're 21 they've done and seen it all." I tugged on my shoes, following Warrick's point of view rather than admit how much I wanted those kids to be in trouble for hurting someone as beautifully innocent as my Greg.
Not overly thrilled with that idea, Catherine rolled her eyes. "Make me slit my wrists, why don't ya? I'm raising a teenager here."
"Ah, you're doin' a great job, Linds is gonna turn out to be a beautiful young woman. Besides, I grew up in Vegas I didn't turn out so bad, did I?" Warrick replied.
"Yeah. That was pre-Mirage. Back when you were goin' to the casino, playin' the arcade games. Nah, Vegas is a different animal now." I sighed, not liking that idea myself either.
Warrick laughed. "Yeah, these kids need to beat people up in the street to be entertained. They need some good discipline, they need their grandmother whuppin' their ass like I had."
"Yeah, a good slap." Oh, and how much I wanted to give them just that.
"You know, it kinda sounds like you guys are blaming everyone but these kids. I mean, you don't get a bye just because you grew up here or your parents are on drugs or---those kids were perfectly capable of telling the difference between a wild night out and beating somebody to death." Sara spoke up for the first time since mentioning Greg, and I found myself agreeing more with her than I had Warrick.
Grissom's voice caused all of us to jump, none of us even aware he'd been in the room.
"The truth is, a moral compass can only point you in the right direction, it can't make you go there. Our culture preaches that you shouldn't be ashamed of anything you do anymore. And unfortunately this city is built on the principle that there's no such thing as guilt. 'Do whatever you want, we won't tell.' So without a conscience, there's nothing to stop you form killing someone. And evidently you don't even have to feel bad about it."
The philosophical rant had ended the debate, the five of us leaving the locker room in favor of heading toward our own cars to drive to the hospital.
"He's asking for you, Nicky." Warrick nodded to me, as he and Catherine exited room 221.
I was at the door in seconds, poking just my head into the door. I had yet to see what they those bastards had done to my lover. "Greggo?"
I saw him reach out and wordlessly I complied, crossing the room in three steps and carefully folding him into my arms, with no intention of letting go anytime in the near future.
He was crying, his fingers weakly clutching at my shirt, his face buried against the curve of my neck. "I… I was so scared…" he whimpered.
"Shh… you're fine now, baby. You're safe." I wanted to see what they'd done to him, how much damage they'd done. I tried to pull away, but Greg clung tighter to me.
He shook his head against my chest. "No… just hold me. Don't let go."
I nodded, shifting until I sat beside him on the bed, letting him fall back against me, knowing that this was the first time since it had happened that he'd let himself truly fall apart, not like he had with Grissom, this was different. "How could anyone do this to someone as beautiful as you…?" I pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head, able to see most of him now.
His eyes looked to be swollen shut, I was no longer sure if he could even see me at all. Purple and yellow bruises covered every inch of exposed skin, and undoubtedly what the thin hospital gown hid. He had a busted lip and his left elbow and right wrist were wrapped in bandages. After all of that, I didn't want to know what else those heartless teenagers had done.
"The guy I hit, he died not long before you all showed up. I watched him flat line. His family was devastated." Greg mumbled, his voice distorted with his own tears. "I killed him, Nicky."
I rocked him in my arms, wondering why on earth Greg had been in the next room when that had happened. "It wasn't your fault. You did what had to be done. If I had been in your shoes I would have done the same thing."
My young lover was heartbroken and there was nothing I could do to help him right now except keep him calm. He whimpered, mumbling things I couldn't make out against my t-shirt, as I ran my fingers through his hair, his hands shaking violently. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
"Baby, you're okay now. You saved a mans life. You're here, in my arms, you're safe, Greggo." I assured him, letting him cry himself to sleep in my arms.
We stayed like that for some time, his soft snoring calming me, knowing that he was finally getting some rest.
However, that air of calmness was short lived, one of the nurses on the floor coming in to check on my Greg. Unfortunately, this meant that he would be awakened. "Do you have to?" I asked softly. "He finally fell asleep…"
Sighing apologetically, the woman spoke. "We have him scheduled for an x-ray. We'll get him back here quickly."
I nodded, carefully maneuvering the younger man out of my arms before gently waking him.
"Mmmm… what, Nicky?"
"They wanna get you an x-ray. You have to wake up." I told him.
He groaned, forcing himself back into consciousness as the nurse took him away from me. The twenty minutes he was gone allowed me a chance to process everything that had happened today. I honestly didn't know how Greg was still even mildly sane, I didn't know how he could do it, be that strong after all that he'd been through. He'd asked me that question after I'd been rescued, but I guess I haven't really understood it until now.
Before I knew it, Greg was back in the room, settling back in amongst the blankets, reaching out to me again.
"How'd it go?" I asked, reclaiming my spot beside him.
"Sheer brilliance, that is… Bending an injured arm at awkward angles…" he whimpered softly. "It's not broken, though."
I held him close, nodding. "That's good news. You didn't deserve any of this…"
He pulled away from me, shifting out of my arms. "Maybe… maybe, you shouldn't hold me right now…"
"What? You- don't want me to?" I was taken aback by his request, he'd never asked that of me before.
"No, no. Of course I want you to. I never want you to let go of me… But, I know how you feel about the others knowing about us. And people have been coming in and out of here… someone's bound to figure it out, especially since knocking isn't really a priority." He explained his reasoning and I finally saw the idiocy in my fear of telling the others. I really didn't care who knew about us right now, I wasn't letting go of him.
I shook my head, my arms carefully encircling his torso again. "So let them find out. You're infinitely more important to me."
He actually smiled, not one of those 'I'm fine, leave me alone' smiles or the fake ones that I'd plastered on my face after my kidnapping, but one of his real, thousand watt, 'could light up a room' smiles.
And, I knew then that somehow we'd get through this together because my Greg was still here.
"Nicky?" The familiar voice greeted me as I stepped into the room. "Can we go?"
I nodded, handing him the bag of clothes I'd brought for him. "As soon as you change we can leave."
He looked down, not making eye contact with me. "Can… can you help me?"
Realizing my idiocy, I quickly moved to his side, helping him out of the hospital gown. With some difficulty we got him into a pair of my sweatpants and my old college hoodie that Greg always stole from me, the clothes baggy on his slighter frame.
An hour after filing out the required paper work, we were making our way inside of the townhouse we shared, helping him in the door.
"You glad to be home?" I asked him, as we settled down on the couch, Greg curled up in my arms.
"I'm glad to be here with you."