Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot!

There was something different about the lab tonight, but Nick just couldn't put his finger on it. He stepped in to the building at a time when most people were heading to bed and right away he noticed something was off. But what was it? He twisted his mouth down at the corners while he strode within, trying hard to pinpoint exactly what it was that he was noticing. He met Warrick in the hall and they exchanged nods, noting each other's baffled faces.

"So you've noticed it too?" Warrick asked him. Nick nodded and looked around, gesturing his hands at nothing.

"Yeah what is it? What the hell is different?" he was on the verge of becoming exasperated if he didn't figure this out soon. A man with his job was trained to notice details, and right now he was failing quite nicely. Warrick pointed at the air.

"Just listen," he instructed. Nick stood still until it came to him at last. Greg's radio wasn't playing. The weird thing he was noticing was the complete silence in the building for the first time since the young lab rat had joined their team. Every day, without fail, he popped in a new CD from some horrid band at a decibel level that should be outlawed. The two men turned the corner and found the girls there, chatting about something they didn't want to ask about. Knowing them, it could be anything from make up to a case to a bad sexual experience. Interrupting them was like playing Russian roulette – you never knew.

"Hey, where's Greg?" Nick asked as they stopped to talk. The girls looked up and shrugged, both looking puzzled. Catherine pointed through the glass wall next to them, on the other side of which was the DNA lab.

"I have no idea, but check it out, there's some strange guy in his place," she answered. Nick and Warrick glanced at where she had indicated and saw that, indeed, there was someone new sitting there. They both blinked and squinted.

"Who is he?" Warrick wondered out loud. Sara shook her head, short brown hair flipping around her face. She huffed and blew it away in annoyance, making the others smile in amusement. Some things never changed. She glared at them before turning back to observing the new stranger in their midst.

"We don't know, he hasn't turned around yet so we haven't gotten a look at him," she admitted. The man they were watching reached out and groped beside himself without looking around, grabbing a pencil from a drawer as if he already knew it would be there, without having to check. Then he went back to typing on the computer, scratching notes on the desk in front of the keyboard. Eventually Warrick shrugged and leaned past them towards the wall.

"Well here, he'll turn around for this." He reached out and rapped his knuckles on the glass. The man inside stopped was he was doing, hesitated a moment, then turned around and looked at them with little interest. They all gaped, because it wasn't a stranger at all. It was still Greg! He didn't even smile as he held up a finger for them to wait, turning to gather a few papers before getting up and coming out to them. He walked right up and, without even a greeting, became all business.

"Catherine your hair sample was not a match to the vic but it was identified as a female relative. Warrick, you and Nick do have a match to your suspect's blood, but it had preservation chemicals mixed in. It may have been planted." Greg held out the papers he had gathered, but no one took them. They were too busy gaping at him. This could not be their wild and wacky friend. It was a completely different person. It was…really weird.

His normally wild and spiky hair had been cut, shaving off the blonde tips and leaving only a trim, business like hairstyle in his natural brown. Instead of jeans and a loud ugly shirt he had dark slacks and a blue button down, which was tucked in neatly. He even wore a black leather belt and matching black business shoes. His sleeves were rolled back to reveal no writing on the back of his hands, which had become a bad habit lately, and his fingernails were chemical stain-free. Worst of all, his face was expressionless, almost empty. He held out the papers more emphatically and Catherine managed to grab on to them both.

"You got a court date Greggo?" Nick asked him in wonder. Greg turned his eyes incuriously to him and blinked. He looked nearly bored.

"No," was the simple, calm answer. Then he turned and walked back in to his lab, where the radio was nowhere in sight, and right away went back to tick tapping on his keyboard. The four in the hall didn't move. When Sara voiced the question of whether or not that really happened, the others could only shrug and shake their own heads. They continued to stand there until Grissom found them and handed out assignment slips. He asked what had them all so distracted, but they all just pointed mutely in to the DNA area. He looked in too and furrowed his brow. Obviously he was about to ask who the hell that was but then Greg turned about to reach for a test tube and he started.

The boss seemed as taken aback as they had been, but it didn't last as long. Like always, he had a burning need to appear as if he had known everything all along. So he schooled his features back to normal and nodded a little. One thing he couldn't pretend to know, however, was why Greg was so different. He pushed his glasses up his nose a little more and leaned forward, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to see straight in to Greg's head and have the answer written there for him to read. He came up with nothing, but when he stood up straight again and tucked his glasses away he shook his head.

"He's more tense than usual, and he's obviously making an effort not to do something," he told them what he'd gleaned from the examination. "See that? His fingers twitched. He's resisting something." They all stared in to the lab again, but no one could spot what the boss man had ostensibly seen. Before they could do any thing more, he told them they all had scenes to process, and promised he'd talk to the youngest team member for them. That only placated some worries, and a few went out to their job sites with even more concerns.

Grissom went away and did some quick paperwork while he contemplated how to approach Greg. Something was wrong with this whole situation, and he needed to figure out what it was before he tried to fix it. He considered the evidence. A happy bouncy and enthusiastic Greg had clocked out this morning, and a serious calm business like Greg had clocked in twelve hours later. He'd had a complete reverse of image and personality, if the reported conversation was anything to go on. Unfortunately that was all the evidence; there was so far nothing else. Grissom needed to do some fieldwork.

His investigation started with simply observing this new personality his employee had affected. He sat in the AV lab with Archie without bothering to explain his presence and watched Greg through the glass, now able to watch his face. The ex-blonde worked at a steady, almost angry pace, face impassive. When people came in to drop off or retrieve samples and results he was always proper, just this side of polite, but never warm. No jokes were made, no music was turned on, and he smiled for no one. Though it very obviously caught every person's attention, Grissom, through reading their lips, could see that Greg gave no reasons.

He could also read the body language of his observational experiment. The lab tech was usually open for all to see, but he had closed himself off all of a sudden. His body was tense and his face strained, and he exposed his wrists to no one, odd in and of itself. Exposing the wrists was a sign of trust, and he did without thinking all the time, but not now. He constantly kept his head lowered and cocked to one side, which said he was hiding something, and perhaps a little angry. Finally Grissom decided it was time to go talk to the younger man, hoping for a hint of a reason. He waved to Archie and headed across the hall.

When he stepped in, Greg didn't even turn around. He continued pouring his chemicals, picking up a swab sample and cutting off the tip for processing. Gil waited and frowned, watching the tense shoulders, rigid neck, and too controlled movements with concerned curiosity. Finally when Greg needed something from next to Gil, he was forced to acknowledge him and ask what he needed, making the bug enthusiast's frown grow deeper at the lack of warmth in his voice.

"I was just coming to check up on you," he admitted. Greg met his eyes and Grissom would see a dormant swirl of anger there, backed by a repressed ocean of pain. Where had all of that come from? Then the eyes closed and the head shook, Greg turned his back on him.

"Why, are my standards slipping?" he asked bluntly. Gil blinked and assured him otherwise. He tried to engage him in some small conversation, searching for all his usual favorite topics, but no dice. He even tried to get Greg to talk about the women around the lab, knowing he was always up for that conversation, but was blown out of his seat in shock.

"That's inappropriate for the work area, sir," Greg told him with a completely straight face. Then he turned away again and went back to his test tubes and such, seemingly determined now to ignore the world and immerse himself in his world of chemistry. Grissom gave up and left, heading to his office to think while he completed more paperwork. This was more than he thought it would be. He'd thought that perhaps Greg was trying on a new style when he'd first saw him. Then through observations he'd thought that maybe it was that, but he'd also had a bad morning. Now he was convinced that something had happened to change Greg, something not at all good.

He dwelt on it the whole shift, and when the others came in from their scenes they all convened around his pickled things and bug cages to hear him report on his efforts. He told them of the non-conversation he'd tried to have, and of what he had found out through watching. There were many worried glances exchanged. The same thoughts as he'd had seemed to be floating around everyone else's heads.

Further discussion on the matter was cut off when there came a knock at the door and they all stared at it. Who knocked anymore around here? By now even Hodges and Wendy would simply open the door and burst in uninvited, aware that sometimes Gil could get caught up in something and not hear them. Grissom waved for one of them to open it and Sara was the first to get there. Greg stood on the other side, empty faced and arms loaded with folders. He didn't step forward, just stood there with no expression, waiting.

"Err, come in Greg," Grissom's voice was laced with confusion.

"Gregory, if you please," Greg corrected him, coming over to put the files down on the desk and ignoring the incredulous stares his request engineered. He'd always hated being called by his full name. "I've finished all of these for you. Is there anything else you require before I leave?" his voice was low and even and so out of place for him. It was supposed to jump and bounce and fluctuate. Grissom pushed his glasses up his nose.

"No…" he said slowly. Greg nodded.

"In that case I'll be clocking out now, if you don't mind," he announced. Then he made a controlled twirl and stepped out in hard clipped steps, lab coat flying out behind out and leaving stunned silence in his wake. There was definitely something wrong, and they were determined to know what. Never was a secret safe when you worked with CSIs.

The next evening, Greg found himself jumped in the parking lot as soon as he stepped out of his silver Jetta. Catherine had been lying in wait, and when she spotted him she hurried over and tried to drag him in to a conversation about sports. He seemed to be disinterested. Eventually she had run through all her option and discovered he would only speak about the case she was working on. He was intent and unwavering in his speech, and she had the involuntary thought that it was horrible that he'd failed at becoming a CSI. He'd be amazing if he took that attitude to the field.

Yet it was exactly that attitude she was trying to dissipate. So she continued to try and veer the discussion, and failed all the way up to the lab, where he told her he had much to do and shut the door behind him. She walked away with a feeling of sad frustration. When she got to the locker room she saw Warrick and passed the proverbial baton to him.

Warrick showed up in the lab not ten minutes later under the pretense of wanting his DNA results, which he already knew weren't ready yet. Instead of coming back in a half hour like Greg asked him to, he hovered in the glass room and tried to pry for information. Or even for emotion. He received nothing as well. Greg remained serious in the face of Warrick's best jokes, and refused to talk about anything not work related. The tall man tried sports, food, girls, surfing, music, anything. He left with the same frustration as Catherine had, and passed the baton to Sara.

Sara's attempt was frank, but very predictable. She flirted. Since Greg had always seemed to take an interest in her and had flirted outrageously on many occasions, usually to get her to go away, they all figured that her finally showing some interest might knock him back a little. Or at least put something on his face other than the deadpan look he sported now. Greg, however, either saw through the plan, had finally gotten over her, or was so wrapped up in what ever had happened that he didn't pay attention. When Sara tried to make her voice seductive and charming as she asked for results, Greg had wordlessly handed them over. She laid a hand on his shoulder, something she never did, and leaned in much closer than normal. He asked her to back off and said that she was acting inappropriate.

Her last ditch attempt was to be as blunt as Sara Sidle Extraordinaire could be. She asked him out on a date. His reaction was to turn fully in his chair, stand up, and get in her face, but his face remained the same. No anger, no disgust, no hope, no nothing.

"Coworkers shouldn't date Sidle," was all he said before blinking and stepping away again, leaving her slightly shaking. She wasn't sure what it was, but there was something in his voice when he had said that. Something she couldn't identify. So she left and couldn't resist a shudder as she walked away to tell Grissom it was his turn for another try. Gil sighed, realizing before he tried that it was hopeless. He hadn't succeeded the day before, and he didn't know of any new tactics to try out today. But, bravely as ever, he strolled down to the lab and dropped off some new work for Greg, doing his best to pull in small talk. Greg's lips remained sealed to anything off-topic and not criminal. He gave up faster than the others and met them in the evidence room. Warrick was posting pictures, doing his job and taking part in the gossip at the same time.

Nick was their last hope before they would be forced to turn to the lab rats to do the dirty work for them. They were loath to try that; lab rats were far from CSIs, they weren't trained to look for things, and they weren't trained for the same mental cataloguing system. Still, if they could do better, the CSIs wouldn't complain. Nick was determined to succeed as he strode down to the lab. He'd waited for an extra hour to give Greg a sense of space, but was unable to put it off any longer.

"Greggo, did you run those samples Gris dropped off earlier? One of them is kind of important to my case." Nick tried to appear casual and not like he was about to proceed with an interrogation. He couldn't stop the slight twinge of hurt that shot through his chest when Greg didn't even look up.

"Gregory, if you please," he responded quietly. Nick had to shake his head, reminding himself to appear casual and staring didn't fit that persona.

"Err sorry. Um, well, did you?" Greg finally stopped writing his small, neat notes that were nothing like his careless untidy scrawl and stood up, searching through a stack of folders and pulling one out. He handed it to Nick without saying anything and sat back down to his pencil and paper. Nick stood and watched him and tried to ignore the fact that the small hurt had streaked through him again.

"Greg-" he tried to say but was immediately cut off by a calm, cold voice.

"Gregory," the tech insisted. Nick ground his teeth.

"Gregory," he acceded, "is there something wrong man?" he tried to push all his worry in to his voice and was fairly sure that he did a good job of it. But he'd hoped for more of a reaction. Even guilt would be good by now; he was getting desperate. But lo and behold Greg didn't move a muscle; just let his eyes flicker back up to reread what he'd just written in his report.

"What would make you ask that? Do I look sick to you? Injured?" Nick wanted to tell his chest to stop feeling that pain, but the nausea in his stomach overrode the thought and he bowed his head, mumbling something nonsensical, and backed out of the room. He berated himself for giving up so easy, but it was very obvious that it wouldn't get anywhere. So he strolled back to the others and they tried to think of what to do about it. They didn't come up with a game plan until shift was ending, and it was surprisingly Grissom that thought of it.

Therefore it was exactly two hours later that Catherine Willows appeared, alone, on Greg's doorstep, smiling brightly when he opened the door for her. She'd been here plenty of times, since they all bounced around between each other's apartments for gatherings on different occasions. Greg's was a favorite because it had a relaxed atmosphere. Greg greeted her shortly and, very proper and polite, asked if she would like to come in. Once she was inside she stopped to stare. It was like waking in to a place she'd never seen.

Greg was, by nature, messy and careless about appearances. His apartment always had clothes and dishes strewn about, a video game paused on the TV, and music playing loudly. The walls were as loud as his closet and there were posters everywhere, including a laminated one on the inside of his fish tank. At least, that's what it used to look like in here. Catherine was wondering if maybe Greg had stumbled in to somebody else's home and she'd made the same mistake. Because this couldn't be right.

The walls had been painted over with a warm golden brown tone and lined with crisp white. The hardwood floors were clear of clothes, there were no dirty dishes in sight, and there was the faint lemony smell that came when you mopped the floor. The television was actually off for the first time in nine years, and the air was filled with this odd silence: no music. The only thing indicating he was home was the laptop humming on the coffee table, which he'd been using. This place had changed right along with Greg, and it deepened her worry even more.

"Um…looks…good…" she muttered, a little unsure of what else to say. He didn't look like he needed, nor wanted her approval. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him instead of shoved in his pockets and waited for her to tell him why she was here. It took a minute of staring and a few more of gaping before she simply confessed to wanting to know what was wrong. He tilted his head, but didn't explain himself. So she tried again. She told him, in the hopes of stirring guilt or remorse, how everyone had noticed that he was different and they wanted to know if something had happened. Then, perhaps hoping to crack his shell with the instinct to seek comfort, she let him know that they were all there for him if he needed to talk. He listened very carefully and at the end bid her a solid goodbye, walking away to grab a cup of water and return to his laptop. She stood there, dazed. Had he actually just brushed her off like that?

There was really nothing she could do but leave after his obvious dismissal, so she went home and called Warrick, who called Nick, and they all convened at her place. Nothing came of this latest group session, but it made them all feel better to share their concerns. Seeking a solution and failing was better than brooding and not taking any action at all. They all talked late in to the afternoon, only getting home in time for a few hours sleep before all arriving at work that night, haggard and vexed. And what else could they do then but sit back and watch the damage take hold of their friend. Damage caused by something they didn't even know anything about.

Two weeks went by, and Greg remained closed and oriented. He only spoke if it was concerning DNA samples or opinions on a case. His Blue Hawaiian went suspiciously absent and when questioned he told them he'd stopped wasting his money. He stopped taking breaks, only leaving his station to receive the brown sewage that passed for coffee in the absence of his special brew. The others watched over him with a giant amount of concern, and never gave up on trying to bring him out of this new shell. It remained solid and unyielding.

The team spent many a day together, when they should have been sleeping, trying their damn best to think of something new, something that would break him, and coming up without an answer. At night they were forced to call him Gregory, and it bothered them almost more than his behavior did. Using his full name almost seemed like some sort of affront to him, but he wouldn't respond unless they did. They took to avoiding saying his name as much as possible, and when he was gone they religiously called him G or Greggo, trying to cling to as much normalcy as possible.

After a month, they realized that they were creating a small portable fan club, and it caused as many tears as it did laughs. The last straw came when Grissom asked Greg offhandedly if he could mind taking part in an experiment. Always before he would assume a look of blatant dislike and protest vehemently. He would voice his dislike openly and subject himself to it only when ordered to shut up and suck it up. That day, he had looked up from his whirring processor and nodded.

"If it is required in the job," he said, a tinge in his voice suggesting it was simply inevitable and he didn't mind at all. Grissom had almost forgotten what his experiment was in the face of such ready acceptance. Not even Nick would agree that fast, and he was the most mild person on the night shift. This included Bobby and Archie. After shift, Catherine called everyone to meet at her place and when they were all gathered she stood with her hands on her hips, all business.

"All right, this is it people. I am finally fed up," she announced. "This ends now, and if it ends drastically then so be it! I have formulated a plan that goes beyond normal propriety and you'd better all agree with it or Lindsey will have a sleepover at your house for a week." She glared down at them all and they found themselves nodding in a little bit of fear. Lindsey was loved by all, but a week? Only a mother could love her after that.

They listened to her plan, and it was the general consensus that it was so crazy that it just might work. It intruded severely in to his privacy, but maybe that was what Greg needed to break his walls. Even anger would be welcome, if only he would show any emotion at all. A whole month without so much as a frown was enough to make them desperate, and this plan was the product of that. They reassured themselves that it was his fault, really, for driving them to this. It made the guilt easier to swallow as they set out in one vehicle to gather everything they would need to pull this off. As they pulled in to the Lowe's parking lot, they began to formulate the other half of the plan: exactly how they wee going to pull this off.

If Greg noticed Nick and Warrick's absence through the whole shift that night, he said nothing. And if he noticed that his coworkers were suspiciously finally leaving him be, he didn't mention it. And when Grissom piled work on him just as he was about to go home, he didn't complain. The delay tactic worked perfectly, and gave them all an extra hour to have everything prepared. The key turned in the lock right on time and they all lounged at ease deliberately.

Greg strode up to his apartment in those refined clipped steps he had affected lately, glad that the day was finally done, and not even bothering to try and understand why Grissom suddenly had so much for him to do. It was a crime lab, and who there was to say when the crimes were going to be committed? He allowed a tiny bit of the tension in his shoulders to flow out when he reached his door and pulled out his keys. Just a tiny bit. He hadn't truly relaxed in way over a month, closer to a couple years actually. Now was not the time to dwell on that though. He searched through his key ring, found a small silver one, and shoved it in to the lock. The door opened as easily as it always did and he stepped it, not bothering to look around. His kit was neatly placed beside the door and his keys and wallet were placed on top for efficiency and easy finding. Then he turned around.

Over the last month, he'd gotten pretty good at hiding his emotions, but what he found here forced the shock in his chest to register on his face, even against his iron will. Just when he thought he could catch a break, his personal space had been invaded. And not only invaded, changed. The team from the lab was sprawled comfortably on his furniture, and his apartment looked nothing like when he'd left the night before. Actually, it looked identical to a month ago. His clothes littered the floor, his posters were taped back in place, and dishes from the team's meal were left lying around. They had their feet up on his coffee table, covered in papers and books. His television had Halo 3 on the screen, paused just as he walked in the door. They all looked up at him, apprehension almost exuding them in a sticky, nervous miasma.

"What the hell is going on here?" Greg ground out between clenched teeth, forcing himself to have enough control to shut the door gently. The mantra he had taught himself ran through his mind at a wicked pace, but it kept him calm. This seemed to disappoint the team of CSIs, who all stood up and faced him. Nick crossed his arms and furrowed his dark brows.

"It's an intervention Greggo," he declared. Greg narrowed his eyes and glared hard, unaware that he actually looked a little scary with his newfound intensity backing the expression up.

"Gregory," he automatically corrected the older man, expecting him to accept it meekly as he had before. Instead, Nick narrowed his own eyes, not nearly as scary, and all their faces hardened with resolve. This was it. It was time to make them, or break him. Prayers were sent from five minds to heaven.

"Greggo," Nick insisted firmly. "Why do you persist upon Gregory?" Greg admitted privately that he was a little overwhelmed to be faced with such unfair odds. The five of them against the one of him was completely unwarranted. They were acting as if he had hurt them somehow, and he silently scoffed at the idea.

"Because 'Greggo' is a nickname. And a nickname is a thing one gives to a friend." He turned away and picked up the mail that had been inserted in to his mail slot, walking away in to the kitchen as he riffled through it. Bills and junk. No contact from the sane world, aka California. He suddenly found a hand on his shoulder whipping him around and he came face to face with an angry Texan. He returned the anger only slightly, his mantra forcing his face back to deadpan.

"Yeah, so what's your point? We're friends, Greggo." Nick deliberately used the nickname, trying to throw force behind it. He was taken aback and his fire was doused with shock when Greg's face flared in to unbridled rage.

"Oh really? Because I always got the impression you couldn't stand me Stokes." Greg's voice was deceptively even, but harsh and unchecked. No one moved, rooted to the ground by this totally unprecedented thought pattern. Nick stared back at the lab tech and tried to see behind the walls in to those deep pools of chocolate. The anger was slowly breaking him, and Nick could see it leaking through. He could also see the hurt, and he yearned to know what caused it. He yearned to know how to fix it.

"How could you think that Greggo?" he asked softly. Greg snorted and brushed by him, brushed by all of them, to walk to the other side of the living room. His laptop was already up and running and he made quick work of finding what ever it was he was looking for. File inside of file, inside of file, inside of file was opened up until they were so deep within the system it was just too obvious he'd wanted to keep this hidden. Finally he opened it and walked away, leaving them to watch a media player boot up and start playing footage clips from the lab security systems. They all watched themselves from a third person, and every work spoken had harsh undertones.

When are you going to grow up?
You are so immature!
Would you stop being so childish?
Quit being an idiot.
Grow up.
Can you not be serious for one second?
Don't be so stupid.
God, you're annoying!
Sometimes I really don't like you.
Please just go somewhere else.
For once will you be an adult?
Urg you're a child!
Would you just GROW UP?!

The clips were fast and many, containing every one of them. But they were all centered around the same theme. When the compilation ended, it automatically looped and started again. They could only watch and listen in morbid fascination as they repeatedly reprimanded Greg for just being who he was. After the third loop, Warrick finally leaned over and gently pressed the stop button. There were no words, no thoughts, nothing to say about what had just been revealed to them. Being forced to face your own cruelty was never nice, and that it had had such a drastic effect took a nice big toll on all of them. Finally they managed to look over to find Greg with his arms crossed, the rage burning away his control.

"I'm sorry that I can't please you, no matter who the fuck I am," he grated out, and they all winced. Before they could protest though, he continued. "I realize that I fuck up everything, and I realize that I'm pretty much just a nuisance to you, but I thought I could change that, you know? You all wanted me serious, so here I am, completely serious. But does it please you? Nope. No you want more. You want both. Well you can't have both, so I guess you want neither. You don't want me, so I think it might be better if I just took me out of the picture." At the end of his rant they were left panting from trying to keep up with his thoughts, running so far ahead of them. Warrick was the first to catch up.

"What are you saying, man? You're not…leaving?" his face drew up in to a mockery of worry that made Greg laugh harshly. Or course he wasn't worried, he just didn't want to lose such an efficient worker. Cue the warm fuzzy. Not.

"Why not? It's not like I'd be missed or anything. You all want something that's not me, so feel free to look for it. I'll stay till you find them, then I'll have no trouble getting in somewhere else." He didn't even bother waiting for their answer. He strode away to his room and shut the door behind himself, fully expecting them to just leave. They had what they wanted now. So he opened his closet and looked for something else to slip in to. The bottom was lined with boxes that were filled with his old crazy clothing, but the bar was filled with hangers holding business shirts and pressed pants that looked like they could be worn to court.

Just as he had a pair of sweats and a plain gray tee thrown on to the bed, he was reaching to undo his shirt when the door flew open and he twisted around quickly to see who the hell was still in his apartment. The whole team was attempting to hold Nick at bay but he was besting them. He finally broke free of them and strode over to a startled Greg like a hunter stalking pray, the fury in his gaze matching Greg's own.

"That's what you think? You think we wouldn't miss you? You think we wouldn't care?" he half shouted. Responding was the only thing the younger man could do. He felt himself finally breaking down, and it was such a huge relief that he didn't bother trying to stop it. His arms flew in to the air and his voice rose to a full-blown, rage induced yell. None in the room in the room had ever heard him like this before.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I think! What the fuck do you care anyway? You were always the worst!" he shouted, getting right in to Nick's face. The other's watched in fear of what would happen. They were both strong men, and had the potential to do a lot of damage, even in the short time it would take to cross the room and stop them. If they could. Nick clenched his fists and his voice lowered to deadly quiet, his body shaking. Everything about him screamed violence.

"I'll show you why the fuck I care," he asserted. Then he took that last step, grabbed Greg by the face, and smashed their lips together in a crushing, aggressive kiss. Breathing stopped all throughout the room, and time slowed. An eternity passed, and Greg could feel all of Nick. His mouth was soft, but demanding. His chest was constricted with worry and hurt. His hands were strong and gripped the back of Greg's head like they were afraid he'd pull away. Which was true. When he finally stepped back, the rage was still there, so he did the only other thing he wanted to do.

He punched Greg.

Right in the cheek, and it sent him flying sideways. Greg immediately recovered and plowed forward, tackling his huge Texan coworker to the ground, throwing his own punch before they even landed. When Warrick and the two girls surged forward to pull them apart, Grissom threw out his arms to stop them. They looked at him with incredulous expressions. The two men were going to kill each other and he wanted them to stand by passively and watch? But he was adamant and quick to explain himself.

"They need this, watch," he told them, and they turned back to the brawl on the floor. Texas versus California was not a boxing match they had ever expected to see, and if so they would have put all bets on Texas, but Greg was holding his own with a strength born of pent up passion. They pounded relentlessly against each other, crashing in to furniture and tearing clothing without care, rolling over and over I ntheir attempts to gain control. The spectators winced and cowered quite a few times as eyes were struck, heads were cracked against wood corners, and enraged roars pierced the air. Eventually it ended with them both on the floor, chests heaving uncontrollably.

Nick raised his head a little a half-heartedly kicked out as his exhausted opponent, who lay propped against the bed in a half sitting position. Rage depleted and barriers broken, Greg was abruptly flooded by all of his pain, and when he met Nick's eyes his own were suddenly filling with tears at an alarming rate. His breath hitched and Nick rolled over, crawling towards him. Greg choked out a pitiful sob and Nick drew him in to the protective cradle of his arms.

"God Greg, we're so sorry…" he whispered. Greg grabbed his shirt and buried his face in it, sobbing harder than humanly possible. Those by the door found themselves retreating, picking up their keys, and leaving. Intervention complete and successful, they knew Greg was in good hands, and that they wouldn't be needed further. Back inside the apartment, Nick gently rubbed circles on Greg's back, rocking the younger man back and forth. Greg's couldn't stop the sobs wracking his body or the pathetic little noises emitting from him constantly. All he knew was that everything he'd been holding in for he past two years was finally escaping and it felt both amazing and horrible to let it out. Knowing that Nick was there helped, and he clung desperately to that solid chest, trying to anchor himself to the world.

It took a bit longer than forever for him to pull himself together, with Nick murmuring in his ear the while time. Finally he pulled away and wiped his sleeve across his nose, sniffing noisily and ducking his head in embarrassment. The other man would have none of that. He reached out and grabbed Greg's chin, forcing his to meet Nick's eyes.

"Greg I…I'm sorry…if I had known that it hurt…I didn't ever mean it you know? I like you just the way you are. Or, the way you were. It was just- I wanted to keep my distance. I didn't want to know that I…" he trailed off helplessly, but saw Greg nod, saw the tears welling up again. He stood and lifted Greg to his feet, right away pushing him down on the bed and crawling up next to him. He wrapped his arms around his long-time crush and hugged him tightly, trying to squeeze the pain away. And it seemed to work.

After a long time of simply lying there, being together, Greg began to talk. He told Nick everything, from how it had hurt every time someone said something, right up to the point where he couldn't take it anymore. He'd started documenting everything, stealing the security tapes from Archie and copying the clips, making them in to one big chain video. He'd started listening to it over and over.

"I guess I was reminding myself of everything I did wrong, trying to convince myself to be better. Then one day I snapped. I didn't want to be me anymore. I hated me because I thought you all hated me too. So I pulled a complete overhaul and I didn't even think about it. Then you all still seemed to hate it and I didn't know what to do…" Nick held him tighter and buried his face in the short, no longer blonde hair.

"We never hated it. What we really hated was this new cold you. I want me Greggo back, I want to hear your laugh again, see your smile. I lived for them for so long you know? Sometimes knowing you're at the lab to cheer me up is the only thing that keeps me going on a long night. We never meant any of those things though." He frowned when he a sudden thought reached him. The clips of the video had included all of them, even Brass and the other techs, but there had been an inordinate amount of him. And he'd always had the harshest words. He sighed, knowing he would have to work hard to erase that.

Then he thought for a moment that the world had stopped. Greg lifted his head of the older man's chest and looked up at him. For a moment he was still, and then he unexpectedly broke out in to a smile. Nick could only stare at him in wonder, and Greg continued to smile when he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Nick's. This kiss was the complete opposite of the first. It was gentle, tentative, and loving. It was also everything that both of them had been thinking about for the past while. This time when they pulled apart they were both smiling, and immediately leaning in for more. Grissom was right, a fight had been exactly what they needed, but so was this.

The next night when Greg came to work, he wore a shirt so bright some people had to shade their eyes, and it was not tucked in to his ratty jeans. His checkered converse shoes bounded along the hallways as he cheerfully greeted people, shoving his newly died blonde hair in to rooms and scaring people with joyful intensity. When he and Nick met up in the break room, neither could resist a burst of laughter, because it was just too funny. They both sported a black eye, as well as multiple bruises on the face. Since they were both wearing t-shirts in the desert heat, it was all too obvious that the rest of them were black and blue as well, not to mention the huge slice running down Nick's neck from coming in to contact with a broken floor board.

As people drifted in to the break room, each person perked up at the scent of a fresh pot of Blue Hawaiian and smiled widely when they saw Greg with his favorite green cup. He actually matched the cup though, which added laughter to their smile. He allowed them their questions and freely gave them his answers, glad to be back to himself. He was also glad that he could finally trust in himself to call them his friends without doubts and harsh words springing up in his head. His talk with Nick the night before had cleared the air for him.

He was on his way to his lab when he was suddenly bombarded with a hug from a flying blue streak. As soon as they hit he howled in pain and who ever it was stepped back. Mia's eyes widened when she took in his bruises, then she shrieked when Nick appeared out of nowhere in exactly the same condition. She looked between the two of them and her hand shook as she took it away from her shocked mouth.

"My god, what happened to you two?" she asked breathily. With a smirk, the two boys pointed at each other. Mia almost fainted dead away, but they just looked at each other and shrugged. She almost fainted again when Nick leaned in and placed a small gentle kiss on Greg's bruised lips. Then he walked away without a word. Mia looked to Greg for an answer but he just blinked his one good eye, the one not swollen shut, and shrugged.

"It takes all kinds of things for love to find the way," he told her cryptically. Then he was gone in his lab, and the music was blaring, and everything was as it should be.