Disclaimer: I own nothing
Note: This is my first CSI fic, and I really just wrote it out after a sad song that came on. So blame iTunes for this one. I hope you enjoy this!
Warning: Nick/Greg pairing
The Atom that Walked into the Bar
I've never been in so much pain before.
Isn't that a funny way to start a story? Perhaps not your most interesting beginning…No, definitely not. But then again, I'm not much of a story teller. In fact…I'm not much of anything at this point (oh, listen to my little pity-party! The ironic part is it only adds to how pathetic I am and, therefore, gives me more reason to seek pity.)
I'm sorry that I won't be able to tell this story very well. In actuality, I probably shouldn't be telling you anything at all.
I don't think I even know you…do I?
I can't help but not care at this point. I'd like to think I'm not trying to get attention – I truly am not – but I need someone to hear my story. I need someone to know.
Otherwise, dying will be as pointless as living...and that would defeat the entire purpose of killing myself, wouldn't it?
My life started long before the object of this story, and therefore we'll be fast-forwarding a bit (I told you I was a horrible story-teller).
It all started, instead, at the wedding.
Well can't you see the groom? I can…the image never leaves my mind….I can't get it out, I can't block it, I can't even see around it.
And it Never Leaves.
I loved him. That's why the image won't leave. I'm really not so surprised at all that I'm plagued by him in that crisp tux…his clean shaven face and neatly trimmed hair. He cleans up well…Especially considering I've seen him in all his worst.
It had hurt looking at him from far away, from a pew where I meant nothing at all but "another guest."
What was I expecting? Warrick was his Best Man, of course. They were best friends. We weren't. We were…colleagues. Nothing more.
At least, not in reality. Inside my head and down in my heart was something completely different.
Or it used to be, anyways. Now there's only pain in my heart and annoying ringing in my head. Honestly, it won't go awa- oh, nevermind, it stopped.
I had almost decided not to go to the ceremony – almost told them I had a headache (which wouldn't have been a lie) or that I wasn't feeling well (I could have easily passed that as truth – I looked just as bad as I felt, if Catherine was anyone to go by). Or maybe I would have called and given the real truth.
"Nick, I'm in love with you and so I can't go to your wedding…"
Yeah, I'm sure that would have blown over just wonderfully. I hadn't managed to tell you in seven years, but heck, why not now? Yeah, I can ruin the best day of your life with five words.
Sometimes I really do wish I had been that selfish…or stupid, depending how you look at it.
Not that I can really talk right now. The sleeping pills should be kicking in any moment and that shot (translation: whole bottle) of Tequila I had should make a splendid Cocktail for my depressed mind.
It's better than taking a razor to my wrists. I've done that before – not for a long time, of course – but it makes a mess. And I've seen what it does to people who succeed.
I don't want anyone having to clean that up – plus, CSI might show up for that kind of mess. Suicide isn't always clear at first and sometimes we're called out before it can be fully determined.
But a bottle of pills in one hand and the number of Liqueur bottles spread about this room will leave no doubt.
My friends won't have to see this mess. He won't have to see this mess.
It's hard telling a story when you're sleepy, but I hope I'm doing at least an okay job. If not, I don't think you'll have much longer to put up with me.
Anyways, I was supposed to be telling you why I'm doing this…Have I already? I can't focus, and the room is beginning to sway. There are two doors where before there were only one, and the television is such a blur that I really can't tell how many there are of those anymore.
You can have Double-vision, but how come no one calls it Triple-vision or Blur-vision?
I think I just fell onto the bed – Ow. Nevermind, I missed the bed and am now on the floor.
What was I saying? Yes…the wedding. Well, I don't really have to explain any further than that, do I?
I lost my best friend (a person I had foolishly let myself fall in love with) to some woman with a southern accent and the most beautiful green eyes.
I never was one to compete with girls, and in this case I would have failed miserably. Not that I even tried.
Perhaps that's a regret I'll have. I always wondered (having the job that I did) what goes through a person's mind as they die?
Do they whisper goodbyes to their loved ones?
Do they wish they could turn back time?
Do they regret?
I know the last one is true for me, at least. I should have tried harder, but I think it would have only awarded me a much sooner death and the humiliation that would have caused it in place of depression.
Nick is a straight-laced Texan boy. He's not going to fall for a guy like me- or any guy for that fact.
And there's the consolation. It wasn't necessarily "me" that turned him off. We hadn't even gotten to the "me" part of this, because he would never get passed the "guy" part of the equation.
I suppose this is very boring for you…or are you pitying me? Perhaps you're trying to call for help. Not much good now, is it? You don't know where I am. You don't even know my name.
You would never make it. (It's Greg Sanders, if that makes you feel better, though.)
But I do – I truly, truly do – appreciate the concern and the effort. I'm not doing this because "oh, poor pathetic me has no one to care for him" or like those "emo" people who do it for sympathy.
I'm doing it because I truly do not believe I can live with this pain. I gave it half a year because I'm not a quitter. I wasn't going to give up everything anyone ever gave me without at least trying to get over him.
It's been six months since the wedding, and I can't even look him in the eye. I quit work yesterday because he finally snapped – yelling and screaming at me.
Why wouldn't I look at him?
Why had I switched to days?
Why did I hate him?
I think that question is the one that finally did me in. Oh the fucking irony.
Me? Hate him?
I'd laugh if my jaw wasn't slowly clenching on it's own accord.
I think Sara might realize what's going on…maybe even Catherine. But definitely Sara.
She never came forward about it, only offered a helping hand. But she's gone now – left and said nothing. She broke Grissom's heart, I think.
At least I don't have anything left behind to be broken.
Although Sara didn't go quite as far as I am going. An interesting conundrum, don't you think? Who will do more damage? Sara, who everyone loved – who is still living, still able to see? Or me, who has no one at the lab to truly leave behind, but will never be seen again?
I have a feeling I might do more damage. It makes me cringe – not very well, might I add. My muscles don't seem to want to do what I tell them to…except the ones in my chest cavity. They seem to be twitching now.
I think it's the end. The door is kind of fuzzy now – like how when you wake up in the morning and it's like you're looking through foggy glass? At least the TV is back down to only two units and the door seems to be swaying between one and two, making a sort of rocking motion for my vision to follow.
Like a lullaby gently swaying me to sleep.
I know my eyelids are getting heavy so I'll say it now: I know you probably didn't want to hear this story. I'm sure you're either calling me a complete idiot or perhaps cursing me with boredom.
I don't really care. I just needed someone to know why I did it, because I didn't leave a note. I didn't leave anything behind.
My whole body is twitching now…it…it kind of hurts, and yet I can't feel anything. My jaw hurts the most. I'm very numb. I can't seem to open my mouth and cry out – my teeth are too tightly clamped.
Everything is getting dark.
Thank you for listening to me, even if you didn't have a choice in the manner. If, perchance, you ever meet a man named Nick Stokes…tell him I'm sorry and that I hope he has a happy marriage and a long, wonderful life.
And…now I'm hallucinating? Well that's a rather silly side effect I wasn't expecting. There's Nick now – and not just one but two of him!
Ha, I get it. This is my "heaven" I'm sure. My last little wish that my subconscious has granted me.
I'm happy dying now, truly happy. I got to see Nick one last time and he's not in a tux!
I don't know why, but I feel like thanking you again…I am happy that someone was there to hear the last story from a horrible story-teller.
So…er…what does one say for his last words? Whoa…I'm really getting dizzy now, I can't feel the floor underneath me.
Last words…last words…Ah!
Did you hear the one about the Atom that walked into a bar?
The Atom that Walked into the Bar