A/N: Hello, loyal minions. So, this weekend I decided to clean out my inbox, just to amuse myself, and I found an old email from someone at YouTube calling me a cunt for defending the gays against social ridicule. I commented that homosexuality is a beautiful thing, that it’s legal and he replied, saying something to the effect of, “Yeah, but so was killing the Jews in the Holocaust and owning black slaves durring the civil war.” And I don’t know where he gets off making that comparison…but then he gets the nerve to comment on my channel and says, “Thirteen and already a stupid cunt.” Now, even though this was a few months ago, it still got me upset. And I’m just asking; would it upset you?

It’s sometimes hard for me to imagine the hate that this world is build upon…the world we love so much had it’s foundations based off a book that says that everything from wearing clothes with two different types of materials in it to homosexuality is an abomination… Really, people, it got me thinking.

Here’s the next chapter. Hope you like!

Disclaimer: CSI isn’t mine, and neither are Nick and Greg, or even the concept of Nick/Greg… All the OC’s, however, are very much mine. Hard to keep track of ‘em all, eh? Lol. Enjoy.

Chapter Eleven: A Church Goer's Revenge

A terrified scream rang throughout the ranch house. Heads sprang up, and eyes widened.

"What on Earth…?" Jillian asked.

All the adults were gathered in the living room, in their Sunday best and waiting to leave. The little kids had gone into the family room and were watching a PBS station, and the older kids had all chosen their own little spots to go.

"Someone wanna go see what's going on?" Bill asked. He had been stationed in front of the mirror for the last ten minutes, trying to get his tie to lay straight.

Georgia squeezed herself out from between Nichole and Doug and treaded suspiciously through the living room and to the stairs, calling up, "What's going on up there?!"

"MOOOOOOOOMAAAAAAA!"

Heather's speeding body found her mother's waist and buried her head in her hip. Georgia looked down, shocked, and smoothed back her daughter's hair. "Heather, baby…what is it?"

"Sissy?" Stephan whined from the archway that lead to the family room, where some of the kids had congregated to see what was going on.

"'Hever?" Austin questioned from his position on his father's lap.

"The game…and the scary thing…and Sarah and Nikki…and waaaaah!" Heather cried, burying her head further into Georgia's thigh.

"Saraphina Rose and Nichole Caroline!" John bellowed up the stairs. "What the hell did you do to Heather?"

Nikki poked her head around the corner at the top of the stairs. She was shaking with mirth and was biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing. "Nothing."

"Nikki, if you do not tell me right now…" John said.

"Okay, okay!" Sarah said, appearing from around the corner as well. "Okay, well, there's this thing on the internet called, "The scary maze game." Nikki found it the other day and decided it would be fun to trick someone into playing it."

"Uh huh," said a displeased Doug, whom had come to stand next to his brother-in-law at the bottom of the stairs.

"So, Heather came in and asked what we were doing, and we told her to play the game," Sarah said. "And she got to level three…we didn't think it'd scare her that much…"

"I told you; you should have just come and watched Mr. Rodgers with me," Zach told her.

"I don't want to watch Mr. Rodgers!" Heather cried. "He's for babies!"

"Fine," Zach replied, scowling. "You'd rather be scared shirtless, fine by me."

"I didn't know they'd do that!" Heather insisted. "Jeez! And Mr. Rodgers is for babies! I wanna watch CSU!"

Her eyes lit up and glazed over and Zach rolled his eyes. "That's all you ever wanna watch! You're totally in love with that Edmund Schneider guy!"

"No I'm not…" Heather said. "I like his character."

"Oh, yeah," Zach rolled his eyes once more. "You sure do love Gabe Sandoval alright. And you also like Nathan Smith, and you like to read about -"

"SHUT UP!" Heather screeched, covering her brother's mouth.

"About them two together… slash fiction!" Zach yelled, in order to be heard past his sister's hand. "What do they call it?! The Romance?!"

"The Love," Heather growled at him. "I hate you."’

Georgia stared at her daughter. "These stories don't…don't contain anything…dirty, do they?"

Heather quickly shook her head. "No."

"Then I don't see any problem," Doug said. "Zach, five minute time-out for tattling."

"AW MAN!" Zach groaned, stomping into a corner and crossing his arms.

"You want me to make it fifteen minutes?" Georgia asked.

"No."

"No," Georgia said. "It's, "Please don't do that to me, mother dearest; I'll be a good little boy!"

Zach just shot her a look over his shoulder that said, ‘No way in hell am I saying that.’ and turned back around. Georgia just snorted, amused, and squeezed herself back in between her husband and sister.

Greg had watched all of this quietly without comment. He slowly leaned over and whispered to Nick, "Are they always that cruel to each other?"

"Usually," Nick replied. "But the cruelty is laced with love. Like Sara and Warrick. So much hatred…has to break sometime. They all know they'd throw themselves in front of a moving bus for the other."

"You're talking about me!" Zach whined from the corner. "Mommy, make them stop talking about me!"

"Stop talking about my poor, paranoid son." Georgia said, throwing Nick an amused glance.

"Are we leaving soon?" Gabi asked, sliding down the banister, followed shortly by Lizzie. "Because this skirt is scratchy!"

Lizzie nodded in agreement and pulled at the hem of her skirt.

Carol scowled. "Are you guys starkers under those again?"

Lizzie scowled right back, and Gabi shouted, "One time! ONE TIME! It was the middle of summer, and these things are hot! I mean, seriously, mom! Pure cotton, here! Why can't we have ones made out of silk like Sarah and Nikki have?!"

"Uh…" Greg said, looking at Nick.

"Don't ask me, I've never heard that story," Nick replied, shrugging. "But Gabi and Lizzie are always doing strange things."

"Like throwing younger cousins out of rooms shirtless?" Greg asked, remembering Lizzie pushing Zach out of their bedroom on Christmas, without a shirt on.

"Uh…" Nick furrowed his eye brows.

"Never mind," Greg, amused.

"Sounds like Lizzie and Gabi," Jillian, whom appeared to have heard, informed Greg.

"I think it was actually Lizzie who did it…or was it Gabi…?" Greg wondered.

"Well, we need to get going," Bill said. "Church starts in forty-five minutes, with or without us."

"Would…would anyone really care if I stayed behind?" Greg questioned. "Not to be rude, but…" he rubbed the back of his neck under the contemplating stares and bit his lip. “You know…I don't know anyone over there…and I don't really think they like me very much…hehe…"

Jillian glanced around and nodded. "I don't see any problem with that. Besides, Emily is sick and isn't going, and she doesn't like being in this big house alone. I think she'd like to hang out with you, Greg. You seem like the kind of person who can make someone feel better."

Just with his smile… Nick thought, smiling at Greg.

"Okay then," Greg said, relieved. He really hadn't looked forward to going back to that church, where everyone seemed content to either ignore him or shoot him the dirtiest of looks over their shoulders. And he didn't know why. Was it his hair?

"I'll see you," Nick told him, as his family began filing out the door. "And, don't worry. The church people don't adjust to change well. You've already got the hearts of everyone who matters."

Greg nodded, leaning forward and gently capturing Nick's lips then sitting back, waving as the Stokes family left for Church.

Within five minutes, Greg was ready to drop dead from boredom. Groaning loudly, he looked around, got up, and wandered into the family room, sitting down on the couch in there. He grabbed the remote and scrolled through the channels, looking for something to watch.

Elephants…a close-up of blood…birds…Tony Hawk…Tennis…Mr. Roger's Neighborhood…Blue's Clues…some guy…

Greg froze on the opening credits of some crime/drama. Wallace Parker as Gregory Graham, Margaret Hamburg as Carmen Wilson, George Darren as William Black, Grant Endwell as Nathan Smith, Jennifer Felts as Stephanie Strode, and Edmund Schneider as Gabe Sandoval.

So this was that crime drama Heather had been going on about. CSU: Crime Scene Unit. He immediately found himself infatuated with the show and its characters. His favorite by far, however, was the character Gabe Sandoval, a lab tech who was trying to become a CSI, or as they were called in this show CSD, Crime Scene Detective.

At the end of the episode, Greg found his stomach growling and got up to fix himself something to eat. He riffled through the fridge and found an orange – good enough – and began his search for a knife to help him peal it.

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!"

Greg turned around and came face-to-face with a pyjama-clad Emily, raising a bat above her head.

"EMILY?!"

"GREG?!"

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"

Both breathing heavily, Emily lowered her bat, still staring at Greg like he was mad, with Greg returning the look.

"Why are you home?" Emily asked. "I thought you went to church with everyone else?"

"Jillian let me stay behind," Greg replied. "Were…were you trying to kill me with a baseball bat?"

"Well, let's see," Emily said, putting on a contemplating face. "Uh…I wake up, and all I hear is someone down here riffling through the drawers. Put yourself in my shoes and see what conclusion you draw."

Getting the feeling that Emily wasn't too happy with him right then, he put on an apologetic face and said, "God, Em, I'm sorry. I should have told you I was here."

"That's okay…" Emily said, still trying to catch her breath. "Now we just need to let my heart come out of its attack, and then we'll be all good…"

Greg chuckled and continued his hunt for a knife. "Does your mom move things around? I could have sworn the silverware was in this drawer yesterday…"

"She says it keep people from finding her good silverware," Emily said, matter-of-factly.

Greg threw her a glace over his shoulder and furrowed his brows.

Emily giggled. "Learn to tell a joke from fact, Greg. They're in that drawer on the left side of the island; always have been, probably always will be."

"Too many drawers," Greg grunted, wandering over to the matching island in the middle of the kitchen.

"If you tell me where you found the orange," Emily said. "I'll be your best friend."

Greg snorted. "Resorting to playground tactics, are we?"

"They always did work well," Emily said. "So, do you want a new best friend, or not?"

"Bottom left hand vegetable drawer. I think you're mom's been shopping."

"I think you're right, Mr. Sanders," Emily said, finding the bag of a dozen oranges and pulling one out.

Greg handed her a pealing knife and they fixed their snacks in silence. Greg grabbed them each a glass of ice water while Emily hopped up on the counter. He leaned his elbows on the counter, setting Emily's glass in front of her and biting off a piece of orange. "So…you look like you're feeling better."

Emily nodded. "Uh-huh. I'm lactose intolerant. I shouldn't have had that ice cream last night. I'll be fine."

Greg nodded, feeling rather awkward. He hadn't really spent any time around Nick's family without his Texan fiancé somewhere close. Emily was staring at him, like he was a mildly interesting television show; rather like he stared at the bird shows Nick was so fond of.

"You're staring at me like I do the Discovery Channel," Greg mumbled. "What's up?"

"Has Nick been inflicting that stuff on you?" Emily snorted, picking at the chipping nail polish on her fingers. "Need to paint these again…"

"Get the long lasting stuff," Greg advised.

Emily stared at him, blinking.

"I sometimes…paint 'em black, you know…or clear, keeps my nails clean…gotta be squeaky with the job I work, ya know?" Greg babbled. "Of course, I haven't done that in a long time, did it in high school, which wasn't that long ago, but, you know – I'll shut up, now."

Greg glared down at his orange, which was broken into sections. He picked up his pealing knife and picked at a piece, ripping big chunks of orange flesh out. Haha. Destruction.

"Mmm," Emily mumbled indignantly through her mouthful of orange. "Wa id tat urnge eber do da 'oo?"

"Nothing," Greg mumbled. "At least not in my memory. I just do things like this sometimes. I used to have this destruction complex when I was a kid…I'd take things off my mom's table she put there and forgot about and take them apart, or rip them up…papers and stuff, you know? I'd watch. If something wasn't touched for four days, it was mine. I was one messed up little kid."

"I think we all have little phases like that," Emily said. She popped the last of her orange in her mouth with a flourish and stared longingly at what was left of Greg's snack-turned-plaything. "Could I…?"

"Go ahead," Greg mumbled, pushing a few pieces towards her with the pealing knife. She smiled in thanks and took them, nibbling on one.

"I went through a pyromaniac phase myself," she continued.

Greg grinned at her. "No kidding? Me too. My grandma still doesn't trust me enough to leave me alone near an open flame."

Emily smiled and nodded. "Must be awesome."

"Huh?" Greg asked, continuing to violate his fruit.

"I mean," Emily said. "Our grandma died before Tessa was born… She had cancer, and grandpa died not long after…but you've still got your grandma and grandpa. Granted, you're three years younger than even the youngest of my siblings, but…must be cool, huh? To have them around?"

Greg smiled. "It is kind of cool. But my grandma was really young when she had my mom. She was sixteen, and my grandpa was eighteen, and they were high school lovers, not even married yet. My grandpa actually got kicked out of Norway for it. And he has this saying. "Som man reder sa ligger man." One must lie in the bed one has made."

Greg smiled, rather proud of himself and went back to massacring the poor, defenseless produce sitting on the counter in front of him. "And then, not to be out done, my mom had me at the age of fifteen. Grandma nearly had a heart attack hearing it, but I think that's rather hypocritical. I'm waiting. First of all, I don't think I'm ready for the strain child birth will bring to my body."

Emily snorted. "Well, I can see your point of view. Mom was twenty when she had me, and she and dad kept on churning 'em out for about twelve years. I decided early on that I wouldn't put myself through the strain of having a child that young. And I did pretty well. Sarah was born about two weeks after my twenty-ninth birthday. Nikki came three years after and so on and so forth."

"It must be cool for you, too," Greg said. "Having kids, I mean. I mean…having someone so utterly dependent on you…it's the scariest thing on the world, but also the most beautiful thing I've ever allowed myself to imagine."

"Yeah, and it's everything you think it is until they hit puberty," Emily informed. "That's when things get scary. And fast. That's when the interest in the opposite sex comes, and all the…interesting tidbits that come along with the maturing sexual organs…I can't wait until Carson hits…god. I'm just letting Jake take the reins from there. That will be scary."

Greg snorted. "Fond memories, Em…fond."

Emily's face grew red with the effort of trying not to laugh. She could only imagine which memories were so fond for Greg.

"It was scary just watching two brothers go through it. One of my Sunday morning chores was washing the bed sheets…" she shuddered. "And it was through all that that the barn was born…"

Greg choked on his glass of water and the half-chewed ice he was munching on fell back into the cup. "Barn? Which barn?"

Emily grinned. "Oh…I think you know the one."

Greg blushed, remembering the night he and Nick had snuck out to the barn, missing dinner and being discovered by Carol and Chris in the process. That had been a risky, but at the same time satisfying experience for Greg. Though, that could have been because it had been over a week since he and Nick had made love and they were, or as Carol had been so nice to put it, ‘Hornier than a coupula purple unicorn.’

"Oh, yes." Emily smirked into her glass, swirling the ice in it. "You know the one, Sanders."

"Don't know what you're talking about."

Emily grinned and took the orange rind, wrapping it in the paper towel she pealed it on and dumping it in the garbage can. "You know, the orange was dead long before you decided to attack it…you can stop murdering it now."

Greg snorted and picked up what was left of his own orange, trying to slam-dunk it into the garbage, and only ending up with orange bits scattered all about the kitchen.

"Oh, bright," Emily groaned. Lucky Greg, just then the door bell rang, and he literally ran into out of the kitchen and through the entrance hall.

"Hi," Greg breathed, smiling at the well-dressed man in front if him. He looked familiar and Greg thought he might have seen him in town someplace, during the few times he had been there. "What can I help you with?"

The man stared at him for a few moments, surly and not showing any interest in returning Greg's smile. "This is the Stokes' house. I've never seen you here. Who are you?"

Greg, realizing he must look rather out of place in this setting, especially if this person knew the family, stuck out his hand. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm…uh, new, to the family. I'm Greg Sanders, nice to meet you."

The stranger neglected to notice Greg's hand and just kept on staring coolly at him. "All of Jillian and Bill's girls are married off."

Greg nodded. "Uh…That they are. You see…I'm a significant other of a different type."

"I see," The man growled. "You're the one that's been running around with that queer son of theirs, aren't you? Nick, isn't that his name? He was such a pleasant boy growing up. I don't know how he became such a sinner. Poor Jillian and Bill; to have such a disgrace in their family."

Greg was angry, now. He had realized what this was about the second the guy had uttered the word, "queer."

"Look," Greg growled. "I don't know who you think you're talking to, but I am sure you have no idea what you're talking about, and that Jillian and Bill would tell you the same thing. Please, leave. I don't want any trouble and I doubt that Jillian or Bill would either.

"And they let you call them by their first names?!" the man, his outrage far surpassing Greg's cried. "An abomination like you and your traitor of a partner?! You shouldn't be allowed to address such humble people as them at all!"

"Emily…" Greg called faintly over his shoulder as the stranger advanced. "Emily… Call the cops. Call the cops now."

"By lord they are as much traitors as you and your kind are!"

Greg was allowing himself to be backed back through the entrance hall and essentially into a corner and he had learned in his self-defense classes that that was a very bad thing, and not something that was easy to get yourself out of. But there was really no choice. There was no reason for a coat that big in this heat and the man was obviously concealing something, whether it be a knife, or a gun, or anything in between. What mattered was that this man was armed and dangerous, and Greg was squished in between him and wall, with no means of escape other than mediocre defense training.

"I knew, you know!" Greg's now attacker cried. "I knew the second I saw you parading around the house of the father like you were welcome there! I knew you would be a problem that I would have to get rid of to further my quest!"

They were now almost to the kitchen and before Greg could think about his actions, he turned and ran, the only thought on his mind being, "Knife, knife, knife…"

"Greg?"

Emily still stood in the kitchen, looking uncertain. "What's going -"

"Emily!" Greg cried. "Get out of here!"

He pushed her towards the door just as the man came barreling through it and into the kitchen. "Run! Emily! Call nine-one-fucking-one! Get out of here!"

Emily, eyes wide, shot upstairs. Greg tumbled towards the island, where the pealing knifes still sat. In his efforts to get Emily out, he'd slipped on some of the orange still present on the floor and had fallen. He ended up banging his head on the corner of the island. He just managed to close his hand around something before he fell.

"I realized a long time ago that you people weren't going away by yourselves. I know now that in this modern world, I have to do it myself!"

Greg scuttled backwards to lean against the counter. He could feel something dribble down his face and into his eye, stinging it. He looked down at what he had gotten a hold of and realized it was Emily's pealing knife, grabbed by the blade. It had dug into Greg's hand, resulting in a large, deep gash. Ignoring the pain, Greg raised the knife, trying to get a good aim at the guy.

But he was already towering over Greg, his own knife raised. "Die, you dirty abomination!"

And with that, Greg saw him lower the knife, and the sting of it cutting fast into his side, tearing through him.

A/N: Yeah. Cliff hanger. Ha.

I know, I’m so evil, aren’t I? :) thanks for reading this chapter. I’ll have the next one up as soon as possible. Thanks to CSI.Gabigail. She is too, too sweet, and she helped a lot. It took a long time to find the “One muse lie in the bed one had made” quote, and I was just about to ask my translator, Mari, to help me with that. But, lo and behold, I found it. And GOD. It was in Let the Seller Beware. Their always talking about that episode on the shipper forums. What kind of NG shipper am I? God…lol. :)

Thanks. For reading, again. I love you guys. And I am SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SOOOOOOOOOOO sorry if I offended ANYONE in my portraying of this person. But I think we all know what kind of demented things people do in the name of God. Really, I am so sorry. :(

-Lynn