Title: Five Days Greg Sanders Never Lived (1: A Day in Rhyme)
Author: flipflopadd1ct
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Greg wakes up, and every line of dialogue seems fit for a Dr. Suess story. Wtf? This is cracktacular. Heh.

***

The angry buzzing of the alarm woke Greg from his sleep. He rolled onto his side, hit it until it stopped, then turned over again.

He didn't want to get up.

Next thing he knew, the clock was obviously irritated as it flashed a time an hour later than it should've been. Greg half-jumped, half-fell out of bed and ran into the bathroom.

"Shit, I'm late! That's just great."

He stopped in mid-brush. That was weird, he thought.

"My words seem to rhyme...at least they did that time."

That time too.

Greg studied himself in the mirror. He looked normal, felt normal. He pressed a hand against his forehead to see if he had a temperature, but he didn't feel hot.

Hmmm.

Greg sped through his morning routine, and once on the road he was surprised he wasn't pulled over for reckless driving. "Just ignore all red lights and road rage fights," he reminded himself.

By the time he had pulled into his spot at the crime lab, Greg had gotten used to the whole rhyming thing. Maybe it would wear itself off. At least, that's what he hoped.

"Sara you've got a 419," Grissom said at the shift's briefing. "Cath'll join you at the scene."

Greg groaned out loud. Everyone turned to look at him.

"So you're all rhyming, just like me? It's annoying to a great degree."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sara said with a quizzical expression. "But rhyming words I can do without."

Everyone turned to look at her.

"Oh, my God; that was odd," she said, covering her mouth.

"Let's ignore it so we can work. It's just a random little quirk," Grissom said, wincing as his words rhymed too. "Anyway, Warrick, we've got a suicide. Greg and Nick, a homicide."

"You and me? That should be fun," Nick grinned. "But I hear our body's in the sun."

"What the hell? I hate the smell." Greg suddenly stopped and threw his hands into the air. "I can't take this anymore! It annoys me straight down to the core. Are we in some poet's dream? In fact, this makes me want to scream!"

"Woah, calm down; it'll pass soon. Maybe it'll stop by noon," Nick said, trying his best to be consolatory. He started pulling Greg along by the arm towards the parking lot.

"How does it not bother you? All our speech has gone askew!"

They were at Nick's Tahoe. Nick pulled open the passenger side door and nudged Greg inside.

"I just let the phrases flow. It's better than putting on a show." He winked and started the car.

"Fine. I will shut up. Hey, how old's this Starbucks cup?"

"Uh, probably at least a week. I wouldn't dare taking a peek."

"Ew, it's gross. Don't you clean? How old are you, seventeen?"

Nick arched an eyebrow. "Oh thanks a lot. So your car is without a spot?"

Greg laughed and slapped Nick on the knee. "Of course, of course. I'm not a horse. And I think you need a helping hand. Seeing this stainless would be grand."

Nick pulled over into an empty parking lot. He turned the engine off.

"Do you want to be my aid? 'Cause maybe it will get you laid."

Greg's eyebrows shot up in surprise but before he could answer Nick had leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Greg wasted no time in responding and kissed back with as much or even more passion than Nick.

"That was one hell of a kiss, Nick," Greg said playfully. "But now I really want your dick."

Nick pulled his shirt up and off and started on the zipper of his jeans...

That's when Greg woke up.

He blinked drowsily against his blurry vision until his living room came into focus. Sitting on the table was a bottle of Nyquil. Greg picked it up and held it close so he could read the dosage.

"That's what I get for taking too much," he sighed. "I should have dropped my dosage just a touch."

Greg promptly dropped the bottle in surprise; it shattered when it hit the floor.

Oh, shit.

***