If You Can't Stand the Heat...
Summary: (Set shortly after 'Play With Fire') Those few weeks after being released from the hospital, friends and coworkers stay with Greg to make sure he's all right. But he's not.
Type: Angst/General
Pairings: Greg/Nick implied (not quite slash, but we'll see.) You know, if Nick and Greg really DID… you-know-what… CSI would be back on top, making Grey's Anatomy its bitch!
Warnings: R for future chapters. Quite worksafe. ;)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. They all belong to the great Jerry Bruckheimer!! Obey! OBEEEY!!!
Appease the fanfiction gods and review!!! Kanpai!
"Mr. Sanders, your ride is here," an old blonde nurse told the young man laying in the hospital bed.
A week had gone by and Greg Sanders was finally allowed to go home. Behind the nurse, the lab rat could see a tall, black man in dark jeans and a grey sweatshirt standing in the doorway.
"Hey, Warrick," called Greg, his voice was still a little hoarse from the smoke inhalation.
"Yo, Sanders. How you feelin'?" he stepped into the mustard-yellow hospital room as the nurse left.
Greg slowly sat up, wincing at the ache in his back.
"Better than a few days ago," he replied, putting his bare feet on the cold floor.
About half an hour earlier, Greg had been informed that someone was coming to pick him up and take him home. With a nurse's help, he'd gotten dressed in his worn, comfy blue jeans, and his favorite black t-shirt that said, "My mommy thinks I'm special!"
"Yeah, man, you're 'special', all right," Warrick commented after reading the shirt.
Greg stuck his tongue out at his friend and stood up with a groan. There were still stitched in his back that itched like mad and took all his willpower not to scratch them out. They pulled a little when he flexed his shoulders.
Five days was far too long to spend in bed. He was ready to get out and have something real to eat.
"You look starved," Warrick observed, echoing the lab tech's thoughts. He watched the younger man gather the few possessions he had here.
Greg gave Warrick a bright smile, "Hospital food will do that to you."
Warrick grinned back.
"You ready to get out of here?"
"Oh, my god, yes!"
Warrick left the room for a moment and came back with a wheelchair.
"No way," Greg said, backing away.
"Have a seat."
The sandy blonde took a seat on the hospital bed, looking stubborn.
"In the chair, Greg."
"But I can walk!" whined the lab tech.
"Man, just get into the chair!" Warrick ordered, annoyed.
"But there's this old, old lady who the doctors are making walk everywhere! Give it her!"
Beneath the baggy sweatshirt, Warrick's muscles tightened.
"Get in the damn chair! It's not like to have to stay in it forever! Just until we get into the parking lot!"
An idea quickly hatched inside that spikey-haired head and he stood up again. Greg walked over and sat down in the wheelchair, backpack on his lap, much to Warrick's surprise.
"Thank you," he sighed, steering his young friend out of the room.
They went down the hall, Greg feeling like a fool for being in a wheelchair when he obviously didn't need one. He knew his face was red from embarrassment.
He brightened when he saw Mrs. O'Neal, the old lady across the hall from him. She was about thirty feet away from them, clutching her IV stand as she hobbled. Her white hair stuck out at ever angle from sleeping on it and her greenish hospital gown was wrinkled.
"Mrs. O'Neal!" he called.
There was no response, so Greg called again, louder. She looked up, startled. Then her face split into a warm, wide smile.
"Gregory! Are you leaving?" she asked, her voice ancient and shaky.
"Yeah, I'm getting out of here."
"Oh, well, that's nice, dearie," she rasped, stumbling a little.
"Are you going back to your room?" asked Greg.
Mrs. O'Neal nodded. Greg pulled the brakes on the wheelchair and stood up, ignoring his body's protests. He tossed his bag to the floor and and pulled the chair out of Warrick's disbelieving hands.
"Greg, what the -- ?"
"Here, have a seat," the lab tech offered kindly, bringing the chair up behind her.
Mrs. O'Neal sat down and looked up at the young man gratefully.
"Thank you! You're so polite!" she smiled sweetly. "Unlike my no good son!"
Greg grinned at her, nodding his thanks, " I don't think it's right that those doctors to make a young lady like you walk everywhere."
If possible, Mrs. O'Neal's smile grew wider.
Greg quickly escorted the old woman back to her room and said goodbye. When he returned to Warrick, he offered the larger man a sheepish grin that was met with a stony glare.
"Hey! She needed it more than I did!" Greg protested to an unsaid scolding.
Warrick pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and sighed.
"Whatever, man," he said, retrieving Greg's blue backpack from the floor. "Let's just get out of here."
"Fine by me."
He reached out to take his bag from Warrick, but he pulled it out of the lab tech's reach.
"If you're gonna walk, I'm carrying the bag."
"Fine," sighed Greg.
They walked down the hall, towards the elevators. Greg reached for the handle on the door to the stairs.
"Uh, Greg? What are you doing?"
The blonde looked up at his friend, "Going down the stairs?"
Warrick shook his head.
"Guess again," he said. At Greg's confused expression, he continued gently, placing a big hand on the uninjured part of his shoulder. "Don't try to move too fast, okay? You're body's still healing."
Discouraged, Greg looked at the floor. The last time he'd been in the hospital, he was seventeen and had arrived as helpless as a newborn baby. The tests, the smells, the medicine, the other screaming patients…Therapy took months…
He shuddered, instructing himself not to think of that time in his life.
Warrick noticed, feeling the shiver under his hand.
"You okay?" asked Warrick, guiding him into the elevator.
"Yeah, just thinking of the last time I was here," Greg mumbled watching the doors close.
The inside of the elevator was mirrored, so Greg could get a better idea how rough he looked. There were fading bruises on his face and a cut along his jaw. Combined with the 5 O'clock shadow (which he resolved to take care of ASAP), it made him look like he was in a dangerous knife fight. There were bandages around his upper arms, a bandage around his left wrist and one around the palm of his right hand.
"Hello? You in there?"
Once again, Greg was startled out of his concentration.
"What?"
"I just wondered what happened that sent you here before," replied Warrick with a shrug.
"Oh," Greg squirmed a little under the man intense gaze. "I'd, um, rather not talk about it, you know, if you don't mind."
That response earned Greg a funny look from Warrick, which he pretended not to notice, instead concentrating on clenching his shaking hands. He felt his nails digging into the skin and focused on that feeling until the elevator doors opened to the lobby.
Warrick stepped out, slinging Greg's backpack onto one shoulder. He looked around, located the reception area and pointed to it.
"Go sign out. I'll be right here," he said, sitting on a bench near the elevator to prove it.
Greg nodded once and made his way to the desk.
"Hi, do you think I could get the sign out papers?" he asked, looking for them on the desktop.
"Sure!"
The nurse sitting at the desk was a perky, pretty, young brunette, who smiled at Greg as she handed him the clipboard. She knew when to appreciate someone with looks of a hottie, even if he was a little banged up.
"Thanks," Greg said, handing it back once he was done.
He winked at her and gave her a (slightly forced) trademark Lab Rat Smile before following Warrick out to the parking lot. His mind wandered again, and he didn't say anything until they got to Warrick's silver SUV. The CSI chattered away about something, but Greg wasn't really listening.
"Greg!"
The one in question jumped, alert, now that he'd been dragged away from Dream World again.
"What?"
Warrick got right into Greg's face and looked him straight in his green eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asked seriously. "That's the second time you've spaced out on me, man. Do we need to go back inside or something?"
"I'm fine. Just a little tired," Greg replied, surprised at Warrick's concern.
He didn't look convinced by the younger man's response, but he let the matter go. Warrick unlocked the car and the pair got in, throwing Greg's backpack into the backseat.
"Okay… Anyway, what I was sayin' was that someone's coming to stay with you for a couple days at a time while you're off work."
"What for?" asked the lab rat quietly, buckling his seatbelt.
The older man started the car and let it idle for a few seconds before answering.
"We want to make sure you're all right."
"Oh," Greg yawned, suddenly feeling exhausted.
They pulled out into the evening son and Warrick flipped the visor in front of him down. Greg followed the suit and let his hand drop heavily onto his thigh.
It was silent for a few minutes, the only sound being the radio, broadcasting some contest
"Hey, you want to stop for something to eat?" asked Warrick. He kept his eyes on the busy road, waiting for a reply. After a few seconds, he repeated the offer.
Everyone stopped for a read light and the CSI stole a glance at his passenger.
Greg was leaned against the door, head propped up on one hand. His eyes were close and his breathing was deep and even. The lab tech had fallen asleep.
Warrick smiled and turned the radio down as traffic began moving again.
The CSI eased his SUV into the parking lot, found a space and cut the engine.
"Greg, wake up," Warrick nudged the younger man gently.
His answer was a sleepy groan, so he tried again.
"Yo, Greggo! You're home!"
Still no response. How had the kid managed to fall so soundly asleep in a car in Vegas? But then again, this WAS Greg he was talking about…
Warrick sighed once. There were dark circles under Greg's eyes, indicating he hadn't gotten a whole lot of sleep in the past week.
"Okay, man, I guess we do it the kiddie way then," muttered Warrick, stretching to the backseat to grab Greg's bag.
He got out of the car, slinging it over his shoulders. He walked to the other side of the car and opened the door Greg was leaning on. Warrick caught him before he moved too much and picked him up, bridal style. He was surprised at how light the lab rat was.
Warrick bumped the door shut with his ass and set off towards the apartment building.
There was laughing coming from nearby. Warrick looked around until his eyes landed on four or five kids splashing each other in the complex pool. A boy of about nine or ten caught his attention.
The boy was hanging onto the edge of the pool, looking up at Warrick with big blue eyes.
"What happened to Greg?" he asked through the chain link fence. He pushed wet, blonde hair out of his face.
"He had an accident at work," Warrick replied, walking up the sidewalk.
Since the walkway and the pool were parallel to each other and three feet apart, the little boy was able to pull himself along the edge to keep up with Warrick.
"You takin' him home?" he asked, craning his neck to get a better look at Greg.
"Yup, he just needs some sleep."
"So he's gonna be okay?"
He'll be fine," Warrick assured the boy. He was coming up to the big, glass entrance doors and realized he was faced with a small problem. He looked at the kid in the pool, still treading water. "You want to help?"
"Sure!" the little boy replied brightly. Since the big man was carrying Greg so carefully and Greg didn't look like he was in any pain or distress, the kid figured big man was okay to talk to. "What can I do?"
"Can you open this door for me?" Warrick asked after pretending to think for a few moments.
In a flash of red and orange swimming trunks, the kid jumped out of the pool. He ran to the door and pushed it open.
"Thanks, buddy," Warrick replied. He knelt down so he was looking the kid full in the face, eye level. He shifted to make sure his knee wasn't gouging into Greg's back. "Now, can you do one more thing for me?"
The little boy, never taking his eyes off Greg's bruised face, nodded.
"Did you see the car we came in?" he asked.
Another nod.
"You think you can run over and grab my keys out of the slot?"
The kid nodded again and was gone in a flash.
Warrick shook his head. He must not have been thinking. He'd cut the engine, got out, closed the passenger-side door, but forgot to take his keys and shut his own door.
In his arms, Greg began to stir fitfully, coming a step closer to the waking world. Another minute went by, and just as Warrick was getting ready to go back outside and check on his helper, the boy came running back in , jangling the key in his small hand as if they were some sort of musical instrument.
The man stood up, groaning softly when his back protested. He outstretched his hand that was supporting Greg's knees and the boy hung one of the key rings on Warrick's index finger with a bright smile.
"So, when can I talk to Greg?" he asked, looking up mat the tall man.
Warrick couldn't help but smile back. "How about you try tomorrow?"
Blonde hair bobbed in agreement.
"What's your name, by the way?"
I'm Robert Chase and I'm eight and a half years old!" he stated, obviously proud.
"Well, Robert Chase, my name is Warrick Brown and I'll be sure to tell Greg who helped us out."
The boy positively beamed before running off down the hall, probably back to the pool to tell his friends.
Warrick walked to the other end of the hallway and stopped at Apt. 7A. He fumbled a little with his keys, but managed to insert the correct one into the lock. The CSI opened the door, walked into the living room and set Greg down on the overstuffed, blue couch. There was a red, flannel blanket draped over the back that Warrick covered his friend with.
As he was shrugging the backpack off, a tinny ring tone floated out of his pocket. He pulled his cell phone out and read the display. Stokes. He flipped it open.
"Brown," he answered automatically.
"Hey, man," came Nick's voice. "Where are you?"
"Yo. Just got to Greg' place."
"Yeah? How is he?"
"Fine, I guess. He fell asleep on the ride home. He kinda spaced out on me a couple times though," he wasn't sure why he added that, but felt like it was important.
"Spaced out how?" the worry was evident in the Texan drawl, and Warrick was sorry he'd mentioned it.
Warrick looked around the living room at the band posters. Marilyn Manson, Linkin Park, Black Sabbath, even some Tool and Ozzy.
"Just went kind of quiet. He told me he was remembering the last time he was at a hospital," he replied, thinking how the lab tech's face had paled a little.
"Doesn't sound too bad," Nick's voice was thoughtful now.
"I guess," Warrick wandered into the kitchen, noting the scrubbed, round table and shiny silver refrigerator. "Where are you, anyway?"
"On my way over, like I'm supposed to."
In the break room yesterday, they'd all figured out a schedule for the next couple of weeks to help them remember who was staying with Greg and on what days. They had a little drawing and Nick was up first, though he wasn't available to retrieve his friend from the hospital.
"All right. See you in a few."
"See ya."
There was a click on the other end of the line and then a dial tone. Warrick snapped the phone shut and put it away.
He went back into the living room and took a seat in a green recliner. Curiosity was screaming at him to check out the rest of Greg's apartment, but respect for his friend kept him seated. Instead, he looked around the living room again.
The lights were still off, but the nearly set sun threw just enough illumination into the room to show another recliner. It was red and green plaid. There was a nice (real nice) television with a three-foot by two-foot flatscreen against the wall opposite the couch Greg was laying on. The entertainment center containing it also his a wicked stereo system with speakers hidden throught the room.
There were three DVDs on the mahogany coffee table in front of the couch. Two looked brand new, while the other was a rental. Warrick picked that one up to read the spine: Brokeback Mountain.
"Oh, you gotta be kidding me…" he muttered, replacing the DVD.
There was a soft knock on the door, and Warrick got up to look through the peephole. The face was rounded and distorted, but easily recognizable.
"Hey, Nick," he greeted, allowing the door to swing open.
"Yo," the Texan walked in.
Warrick took one last glance at Greg.
I put his pain pills in the kitchen. Make sure he takes one tonight, whether he says he's fine or not," Warrick instructed.
Nick nodded. "He eat anything yet?"
"Nope, he fell asleep before I could ask if he wanted to stop somewhere."
"Okay."
"All right then, I'm gonna get outta here. See you back at the lab whenever."
The pair performed some sort of complicated handshake and Warrick left, locking the door behind him.
Nick took up Warrick's former post in the green recliner and got a good look at the sleeping lab tech.
Greg's face was still pretty banged up, but it looked a lot better than last Nick saw at the hospital.
The Texan glanced around the room. His eyes were instantly drawn to the DVDs on the coffee table. He picked them up to read the titles.
Stark Raving Mad.
Sleepy Hollow.
…Brokeback Mountain. He turned the box over to read the summary on the back and didn't notice his face twisting into grimace.
"Gotta problem with the movies I watch?" a sleepy voice asked.
Nick's feature shifted quickly back into neutral mode when he looked at Greg. He held the DVD up.
"Brokeback Mountain?" he asked. "Come on, G."
Greg sat up slowly, wincing when the stitches in his back pulled.
"I liked it. Not many people know this, but I'm a sucker for a good romance," he yawned, scratching under the bandage on his hand.
"But a gay cowboy movie?"
"Dude, you don't have to watch it," Greg stated, sounding a little defensive. "It was a lot more than a 'gay cowboy movie'."
He ran a hand through his already out of control hair, making blonde and brown spikes stick up. Nick replaced the DVDs and settled back into the recliner.
"You hungry?" he asked.
Greg shrugged a little, not quite up to another conversation. He was still exhausted and the stench of the hospital was still in his nose.
"Not overly," he admitted, glancing down at the backpack near his feet, loking thoughtful.
He grabbed it by the shoulder strap and eased it up next to him. He unzipped it and began rooting around for something inside while Nick watched.
"What are you looking for?" he finally asked when Greg turned the bag upside down and dumped the contents.
The lab tech sorted through the mess of clothes and personal hygiene items.
"My painkillers."
"Oh," Nick said, standing up. "Where do you keep your glasses?"
Not looking up, Greg answered, "In the cupboard, over the sink."
He heard the cupboard close, then running water and Nick came back.
"Here, Warrick put them in the kitchen by the sink."
He handed the lab rat the glass of water and two red-and-blue tablets, which the younger man took and swallowed gratefully.
"Thanks," he said, and then looked puzzled. He sniffed the air. "D… does it smell… sterile in here?"
Nick took an experimental whiff, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. If anything, the apartment smelled a little musty from being shut up for a week. He shook his head. Greg stood up, despite his friend's weak protests.
He went down the hall and into the bathroom. For some reason, Greg's heart was racing and his palms were sweaty. He fell to his knees in front of the sink and pulled the smooth, white cupboard open. With trembling hands, Greg threw towels, washcloths and cleansers aside, ignoring his body's painful screams to stop moving.
After what seemed like forever, Greg pulled at can of air freshener out and fumbled at the trigger.
"Come on. Come on," he mumbled, fighting with the object.
A noise was growing in his ears, sounding like buzzing at first.
He swore at the aerosol can as the buzzing grew louder.
And louder.
Louder. LOUDER.
The buzzing transformed seamlessly into screaming. Greg dropped the air freshener to the floor with a clatter and clapped his hands over his ears. Closing his eyes, he saw a flash of white in his mind, accompanied by a writhing body on a narrow, white bed.
Then everything went black.
TBC…
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