Title: Blinded by the White Light (Five Ways David Hodges Didn't Freak Out)
Author: cinaed
Pairing: David Hodges/Greg Sanders
Characters: David Hodges, Sara Sidle, Wendy Simms, Gil Grissom, Bobby Dawson, Greg Sanders
Prompt: 20. "Untitled"
Word Count: 1,700
Rating: PG-13
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for Fannysmackin'
Summary: Five ways Hodges didn't freak out.
Author's Notes: There is a companion piece to this. It's called Five People They Thought They Were Fooling.

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I.

-the night goes on as I'm fading away-

When David gets the news in the form of a whisper of "CSI down" filling the halls and then him doing a headcount and realizing that Greg is the only one out in the field at the moment, he doesn't freak out. Even if it feels like someone has just kicked him in the stomach, he ignores the sensation, tightening his jaw and keeping his breaths deep and even.

He definitely doesn't race to Grissom's office and grab the shift supervisor by the collar, demanding to know the where and the how, insisting on being told the who and the why; instead David just sits down heavily in the privacy of his lab and stares blankly at the nearest wall.

Ignoring the feeling like he's been sucker-punched, he reminds himself that he and Greg have only been together for a few weeks, and more to the point, they're not exactly out. David would only earn unsympathetic or bemused looks if he let himself break down. Besides, there will be trace to process, and he doesn't -- cannot -- trust anyone else to handle the evidence.

He closes his eyes, breathes in, breathes out, and pastes on a neutral look.

David makes certain the facade doesn't slip when a red-eyed Sara hands him the evidence. He instead asks quietly, evenly, "Is this from Greg's scene?"

When she just looks at him, her weary expression is answer enough.

Questions catch in the back of his throat, bitter and sharp like glass shards, questions like "How badly is he hurt?" and "Was he conscious when you saw him?" and he tightens his jaw, choking back the queries because they would sound too fierce and desperate if he were foolish enough to voice them.

"Thank you," is all he says, grip tightening on the evidence. He doesn't watch her leave.

II.

-just want to scream how could this happen to me-

Wendy hasn't even taken two steps out of her lab when David descends, plucking the DNA results from her and saying briskly, "This the results for Greg's case? I've just got my trace analysis back. I'll give them both to Grissom."

He keeps his tone calm, unruffled, as though he is just trying to save her some time, as though it isn't that he needs to see the results of anything regarding Greg's case. She can't possibly know that this is how he deals, by learning all he can about the crime. Each new detail feels like he's almost touching Greg, and this is how he reassures himself that Greg is still alive, still here, at least until his shift is over and he can get over to the hospital.

There is a tightness in his chest, a pressure beginning to build up that feels suspiciously like a scream of frustration, when Wendy just blinks at him. He quirks an eyebrow and says, "Well?" and is almost absurdly grateful that his voice comes out as calm and unruffled as before.

"Okay," Wendy says slowly, eyeing him as though she thinks he's lost his mind, and David very pointedly doesn't think about the fact that she might suspect an ulterior motive, that he might be screwing up and outing him and Greg, fucking up royally because Greg doesn't need any more stress, not when he's in the hospital and--

David breathes in, breathes out, and then nods and walks briskly towards where he last saw Grissom. He refuses to lose it over a minor bout of paranoia. After all, Wendy isn't going to figure anything out just because he offered to take her results to Grissom.

He tries to ignore the prickling sensation on the back of his neck that is Wendy staring after him.

III.

-can't stand the pain and I can't make it go away-

Grissom looks as composed as always, but David knows there must be some inner turmoil there, because by now facts have traveled far enough along the grapevine that he knows that Greg was alone in the car, that Grissom had sent him out alone.

He suspects that Grissom is feeling a knot of guilt twist in his stomach, guilt that feels much like the worry gnawing at David's self-control and tearing apart the barriers that his common sense has built over the years. Soon, he knows, he will do something irrevocably stupid, and everything will fall, will collapse into ruin.

There is an ache, too, in his chest that makes it harder to breathe with each passing moment, and so he gets straight to the point, telling Grissom the analysis and DNA results in unusually concise sentences. He can feel Grissom's curious gaze pressing against his skin, an uncomfortable pressure, and bites back a comment of, "I'm not a bug, Grissom." He just looks at the map and swallows against the nausea that rises at the sight of Greg's name.

Grissom is still studying him though, and David holds himself very still, because the urge to grab Grissom's shoulders -- to shake every last detail out of the man, maybe, or perhaps to demand to be allowed to go the hospital nownownow -- is consuming his thoughts and tensing every muscle in his frame, and it is all he can do to keep from lunging at the other man.

David breathes in, breathes out, closes his eyes briefly and ignores the weight of that intense stare. "I'm not a bug," he says without thinking. He doesn't look at Grissom's expression when the other man says mildly, "I know," because he isn't certain that he wants to see what's on Grissom's face.

When he finally summons enough courage to open his eyes, Grissom is studying the map, and it isn't until David slips out of the room and is halfway to his lab that he realizes he's shaking with something akin to relief.

IV.

-try to make a sound but no one hears me-

Bobby comes to see him just before the end of the shift, looking more than a little world-weary. Even his hair seems less carefree, flopping listlessly into his eyes. He hesitates at the doorway, and when David just looks at him and doesn't tell him to leave or to stay, he steps inside.

"Thought ya might wanna know that Nick and the others are goin' to see Greg right after shift. They're bringin' him some food," Bobby says quietly, and his eyes are all-too-knowing, because Bobby is one of the select few who actually do know about David and Greg's relationship. He runs a hand through his hair and adds, softer, "If ya need me to drive ya anywhere...."

David shakes his head at that. "I'm going to go to his apartment, check on his fish, grab that book he's been trying to finish for the past week." He forces his voice to be straightforward. Even if Bobby knows and there is no need for pretence, David realizes that if he lets emotion color his voice now, he will break down and lose what little control he has left.

And so when Bobby takes a quick, furtive glance out the door to make sure no one's around, and then takes two giant steps forward to tug David into a fierce, almost desperate hug, David doesn't make a sound. He doesn't let the sour-tasting grief and fear that has been lingering in the back of his throat all night long surge from his lips as a sob, just closes his eyes and doesn't push Bobby away. Even if he wants to collapse, to shake himself apart in Bobby's supportive grip, he breathes in, breathes out, and swallows back the wretched words that want to escape his lips.

"He'll be okay," Bobby says firmly into his ear, and then releases him, his eyes suspiciously bright.

The bitterness at the back of his throat is still there, so David just nods and tries to find solace in Bobby's confident words. Of course Greg will be fine. This is Greg they are talking about. The physical -- and emotional -- scars will heal with time, and soon Greg will be his normal exuberant self.

"He'll be okay," Bobby repeats, voice almost painfully earnest, and David nods again. He doesn't trust himself to speak.

V.

-try to see but I'm blinded by the white light-

He has always hated hospitals, and cannot help but linger outside the main doors for a long moment, not looking forward to the overabundant scent of disinfectant and overwhelming white of the hospital corridors. David breathes in the last fresh air he'll have for a few hours, breathes out in a single sharp exhale, and then steps into the hospital.

The bright, garish lights temporarily blind him, and he finds himself squinting even as he gets the directions to Greg's room from an overly perky nurse. A few corridors later, he is hovering uncertainly in front of the door to Greg's room. Another deep breath, a squaring of his shoulders as though preparing for battle (and in a way he is preparing for a battle against himself, against reactions which might hurt Greg somehow), and then he opens the door.

David doesn't let his hands tighten into fists, doesn't erupt into a string of profanities that would make a sailor blush, though that's what he wants to do when he sees Greg's bruised and battered face for the first time. He doesn't let the bitterness at the back of his throat, which has increased tenfold in mere seconds, spew forth harsh, vindictive curses against the ones who did this, doesn't throw the book he's brought with him across the room or punch the nearest wall, even if adrenaline is flowing swift and dangerous through his veins.

Instead, he coaxes a smile on his face, lifts the hand not in a cast to his lips, and kisses Greg's palm (gently, oh so gently) as he murmurs into the unharmed skin there a low, hoarse, "Hey."

"Hey," Greg says, and David doesn't say a word when Greg's voice cracks; he just presses more soft kisses into that undamaged palm, and lets Greg shake himself apart with tears and anguished words.

Untitled by Simple Plan

I open my eyes
I try to see but I'm blinded by the white light
I can't remember how
I can't remember why
I'm lying here tonight

And I can't stand the pain
And I can't make it go away
No I can't stand the pain

How could this happen to me
I made my mistakes
I've got no where to run
The night goes on
As I'm fading away
I'm sick of this life
I just wanna scream
How could this happen to me

Everybody's screaming
I try to make a sound but no one hears me
I'm slipping off the edge
I'm hanging by a thread
I wanna start this over again

So I try to hold onto a time when nothing mattered
And I can't explain what happened
And I can't erase the things that I've done
No I can't

How could this happen to me
I made my mistakes
I've got no where to run
The night goes on
As I'm fading away
I'm sick of this life
I just wanna scream
How could this happen to me

I made my mistakes
I've got no where to run
The night goes on
As I'm fading away
I'm sick of this life
I just wanna scream
How could this happen to me

***