Title: Cross My Mind
By: karachilovaa14
Summary: Greg listens to the tape Nick recorded in Grave Danger, with unexpected results causing a lapse of uncertainty.
Spoilers: Grave Danger, Play With Fire, Spark Of Life
Pairing: Greg/Nick friendship. I'm a huge fan of The Love but this story doesn't call for a relationship.
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship
Word Count: 1,096
Disclaimer: Own nothing. This idea has probably been written out so many times before, that I'm sure that I don't own that either...
Author's Note: This was supposed to be a one shot, but it got kind of out of hand. At the most it will be three chapters but. This chapter's from Greg's perspective and the next will be from Nick's. I know that this is a post Grave Danger story but it is completely Greggo angst. It might be considered a character study.

***

I look around urgently before zooming into the evidence room. I want to hear the tape. I know Grissom ordered us not to.

It's not your right to watch the tape.

Shut up.

I open the filing cabinet with shaky hands. It wasn't hard to get in here. We worked a double trying to get you out, and everyone's either gone home or to the hospital. I came here straight after we found you. I hope you're not pissed that I didn't come to visit.

When I reached the lab, dayshift was filing in, and Ecklie conveniently, with a touch of fake sympathy, pulled me into the DNA lab, to run backlog. It lasted about five hours, and now I'm on break.

The recorder feels heavy in my hands, and I'm tempted to put it back. I know that I'm the last person who should be doing this. Warrick your best friend; Catherine will know how to make you feel better; Grissom would know what to say. They should be doing this not me.

I seal the evidence box with shaky hands. The recorder hasn't been processed but I'm wearing gloves so it doesn't really matter. I shove it into my jacket pocket and force myself to leave the room. I know that I can't chicken out of this. I'll never get the opportunity again.

Striding past the ballistics lab, I take a sharp right, and push myself into the supply closet as discreetly as possible. I've been here so many times before, and I take comfort in the familiar, musky scent.

The first time was after the lab explosion. If the lab was suffocating me, or if I saw Catherine and wanted to scream at her, even thought I had done all the screaming into my pillow after she told me that she caused the explosion. I take all of Mum's calls here, because she worries about me and I miss her, and I know that if I tell my mum that I love her in public, Hodges will call me a Mamma's boy, and I get enough of that already.

Now I lock the door and slide down it. There's hardly any room, and I know my legs will cramp. I start the tape.

Mom and Cisco...Grissom...'Rick...Catherine...Sara...I'm sorry...You did your best to find me...

Nothing. Nothing addressed to me.

What did you expect? You're not his best friend. You're not his mentor. You're not his comforter. You're not his friendly competition. What are you?

Nothing

And now I feel like crying because I'm nothing to you, and you're everything to me. And I never cry. The last and first time I cried at work was after Tara Mathew's husband identified her at the hospital, and all I could think of was the lab explosion and I'd close my eyes and it would be three times worse.

I refuse to give way to tears, so I place the recorder back in my pocket and rush down the hall. I put it away, even though I want to smash it against the wall.

I can't stay here. At the lab. I have to go. Somewhere-anywhere.

I end up at the hospital, and I wish my legs would listen to me and not go inside.

Excuse me; I'm here to visit a Nick Stokes.

Now my mouth is conspiring against me. It doesn't seem to realise that I don't want to see you right now.

Fourth floor, room 12A.

The receptionist is petite. She looks over me condescendingly and I realise that I'm still muddied from your rescue. I notice that there are probably tear streaks on my face, and I move to wipe them away. When I look down at my hand there's mud on it and I grimace.

Thanks.

I take the stairs. There's less of a chance that some one on the team will spot me. There's no one in the hall outside your room. Peering inside your room, I see that you're asleep. There's nobody inside either, but I can't seem to work up the courage to go in.

I put my hand on the window and lean in as much as possible. I want to feel angry at you, but I can't. I don't know what I feel or what I should feel, and frankly I don't give a damn.

Go inside Greg.

He's asleep, Catherine.

He'll wake up...He was asking about you.

I bet he was.

What's happened to you, Greg?

Catherine is pulling me away from the window, and making me face her. I know I'm being bitter and mean, and I'm taking it out on Catherine.

I'm sorry.

It's okay.

Suddenly the world's spinning and Catherine's hand is gripping my arm tightly.

You're swaying Greg, and you look like shit. Let me take you home.

I let her lead me out, and I realise how exhausted I am. I just want to sleep, and forget about things for a while.

I don't visit you at the hospital again. I work instead. Exhaustion, caused but both overwork and worry for you and how you're coping, is winning over. I want to forget about the tape and just go visit you at the hospital but I can't. I'm still not angry at you- though I wish I was. I am angry at myself though. I keep telling myself to let this go. I want to let this go, but something keeps reminding me that I didn't even cross your mind down there in the coffin. I'm mentally and physically drained, and I don't know what to do about it.

I can tell the others have noticed. Grissom puts me on lab duty after every double shift, even though the other tech is free. I think he wants to send me home but doesn't know how. Sara insists to work cases with me, and takes me to the diner every break to stuff me full. Catherine keeps eyeing me and asking me if I'm okay, but I don't think she knows what else to do. I don't think anyone does, and I know for sure that I don't know what to do.

I'm apparently so deep into my own head, that I don't realise that you've been discharged from the hospital because the next thing I know the doorbell is ringing and you're standing outside my apartment. I don't know how you caught me here because it's rare that I'm home these days. I do know that slamming the door in your face won't work.

This really was inevitable wasn't it?

***

I would fall asleep
only in hopes of dreaming
that everything would be like is was before
but nights like this it seems are slowly fleeting
they disappear as reality is crashing to the floor

- Blind, Lifehouse

Ordering a taxi exhausts me and I'm not sure if I'll stay awake long enough to talk to you. I'm already in front of your apartment though, and I have no more cash. I guess my lack of money makes up my mind for me. The taxi guy looks annoyed so I pay and get off.

I can't do this.

Yes you can.

I count to five. One...What has gotten into you?...Two...Is it something I said?...Three...What if you hate me?...Four...I wish you would just talk to me...Five...What the hell am I suppose to say to you?

I banish all insecure thoughts and force myself up the stairs as fast as my injuries will allow me to.

I ring the bell.

Nick.

You look like the world is crumbling around you. Dark circles; bloodshot eyes; ruffled hair; dirty clothes. You look like shit. Like you haven't slept in days. Like you don't want to deal with anything right now. Like you want me to get the hell out of here. Like you want me to stay and make everything alright again.

What am I supposed to say to you?

Go away

You go to slam the door in my face. I place a hand on the door, and try not to wince as you push against it. I try to ignore the aggravated pain, and give the door a shove. It seems that even in my current state I'm stronger than you because the door swings open. You're standing behind it rubbing you're arm and looking up at me. Uncertainty is swirling through your eyes. Eyes that I've never been able to read before but are suddenly so wide-open that I'm scared to look into them.

Anger, pain, hurt, sorrow, confusion...I wrench my eyes away and look to the floor. What could I have done to cause that?

I push past you and collapse onto the couch. You sit down on the arm chair and pull your feet up. I've seen you on that chair so many times. I've seen you laugh on that chair so many times. It's painful to see you sitting there glaring at me like every smile that we shared has been lost in a swirl of memories that only I seem to want to sort through.

Why are you here?

Because I'm your friend, because I haven't seen you for a week, because I want you to be okay again. They're all good reasons, G. Pick one.

You reinforce your glare. You've never provoked any fear in me before, but right now I'm terrified. If looks could kill...

Your guard is up. The shield you use when Sara needs calming down, and looks like she's about to punch you. You've never used it on me before, not even when I called you a CSI wannabe. You didn't subtly move my evidence to the top of the pile like you used to, but at least you talked to me. And at least you didn't look at me like that. Like I'm Hodges-talking shit and trying to steal your coffee.

What's wrong Greg?

Nothing.

Then why won't you talk to me?

I'm talking right now, aren't I?

You can be so defensive when you're angry. It's infuriating. No wonder you get so much shit from Detectives like Cavaliere.

Let me re-phrase that. Why won't you talk to me without biting my head off?

Anger flashes through me, and I can't control it in time. I think you might actually punch me now, because I know from experience that when you get defensive, it's never good to get defensive back.

And yet now you're saying sorry. I think maybe I've gotten you all wrong. Then maybe you're not angry at me at all. Something tells me that that's too happy a thought to be reality.

Just talk to me Greg. Let's sort this out.

My accent is deeper than usual and I hope it will penetrate your poker face that you seem to have picked up from Grissom himself.

What do I mean to you?

What are you interrogating me? What am I supposed to say to that?

What am I supposed to say, G? You're one of my best friends.

Stop lying to me!

You sound so accusing it's shocking. I'm suddenly fighting the urge to get up and go.

Are you a man or a mouse, Stokes?

I'm not lying to you Greg! What is the matter with you?

Your mask is gone. You're going to tell me now, I can feel it. I've pushed you enough, you're going to talk now. I realise with a inward laugh that I've treated you like a suspect. I've waited for your mask to melt and it has. I'd congratulate myself if I wasn't anticipating your confession.

If I mean that much to you, then why the hell didn't I matter enough-why wasn't I significant enough-for you to have a single bloody word to say to me in that damn tape!

I've never seen you so angry before and I realise, in a moment of shock, that it was I who made you so angry. In a twisted way it fells good to mean so much to some one.

It takes me a moment to figure out what tape you are talking about, and when I do a number of emotions overcome me. I let them swirl for a moment and then pick out humiliation, because you weren't supposed to watch that tape. After a moment I choose anger as well-to conceal my unease.

You heard the tape...Everything I said...The team heard every bloody thing that I said on that tape?

N-Not the whole team. Just me...

You look so uncertain now. I'm standing up now, and you're cowering into you're chair like you think I'm going to hit you.

I'm sorry...I-I shouldn't have listened to the tape...I'm sorry.

Reeling, I look into you're wary eyes, and take a step back. My anger suddenly gone, I run a hand through my hair and move towards the fridge. Raiding through it, I pick out two beers-expensive beers-and toss one to you. It was meant as a friendly drink (even if it was in your fridge) and I think it worked to displace the thick tension which was beginning to make my turtle-neck uncomfortably clingy. You walked over to the kitchen while I was rummaging through the fridge. You looked tense, but as you catch the beer bottle you go back to exhausted and sit at the counter.

I gulp down half my bottle of beer and indulge in the heated feeling as it burns down my throat. I've always imagined alcohol to burn a path down one's throat, marking it forever. Or maybe that's just what Mum likes to shove into my head. She probably said something about how it's 'God's way of punishing you for your sinful acts. It's Satan's drink you know'. My parents were always disappointed that I wasn't as God-fearing as them; that I don't go to church as much as my brothers and sisters do.

I'm sorry Greg.

You do this funny nod-shrug which looks oddly familiar. Jan Sanders did the same when she came to visit you at the hospital after the lab explosion. You really take after your mother. I remember that she was hysterical when she saw you lying there. They had just changed your bandages and you looked like you were in pain. I watched you from the doorway as you tried to calm her down. It was the first time I heard you speak in Norwegian and you were surprisingly fluent. You soothed my nerves too, even though I didn't know what you were saying. It was the tone of your voice I guess.

'Feel like Making Love' rings through the air and you squirm trying to retrieve your ringing phone from your jeans' pocket.

Sanders...Okay I'll be right in...Yeah, yeah...See you in a bit. Bye...

DNA Tech called in sick. Sometimes I think Grissom just likes making me do lab work. Anyone else would ask the swing shift tech to come in. I mean Catherine's in one ear, telling me to go home, and Grissom's in the other asking me to work another shift. It's more exhausting than actually working!

You're waving your hands about, splashing beer all over the place, and I can't help but crack a smile. Then you're mock-glaring at me. At least I think you're mock-glaring at me. I say sorry anyway.

It's not until after you leave to change that I realise that this might be the only chance I get to talk to you about what's bugging you. Because it's still bugging you even if we have come to some sort of truce.

I walk into your bedroom without thinking. You're rummaging through your closet clad in a blue button-down shirt, and red underwear (not unusual for you). You turn when I come into the room, and frown in surprise.

You still haven't told me what happened Greg.

It's stupid.

You look away with a nervous laugh and the slightest blush.

I still wanna know, G

I-You mean a lot to me Nick. And I've always liked to think that I mean something to you. I know I'll never matter as much as Warrick but-

Where are you getting at Greg?

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, like you're preparing yourself for something. Tapping my foot, I wait impatiently for your explanation. You have a knack for gong on and on and not getting to the point and I really hope you don't do that this time.

I heard the tape okay. I know I shouldn't have, but I wasn't really thinking. I was wound up, we all were. I thought it would give me some sort of closure. I wasn't thinking...

I see where you're going with this now. I know what you're going to say. I know what's got you so hyped up. I have to think of a way to sort this out.

I wasn't on the tape. And I'm not angry; I just want to know why. I don't want things to be different. I wish I hadn't listened to the tape. I wish I could just let this go, but I can't. I don't know why. I want to, I really do. I want to let this go. So can you just tell me why so that we can let this go? So what we can forget about everything's that's happened and go back to being friends again. I just need to know why.

Greg, I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to hurt you. I' so sorry...

You don't reply, but you don't look angry. You just want answers. I can give you answers. I can give you answers. I have to.

Come on Stokes, get your thoughts together.

You and Warrick, you're my best friends. You know that right?

You nod but something tells me you didn't know that before now.

Warrick's my buddy. My guy buddy. The kind of person who you order a six-pack and watch the game with. But you're my—you're the guy with the good advice. The one who's willing to help me out by actually talking not by taking me to a bar. And you're the kind of guy who believes in destiny and stuff. You haven't lost your faith yet—your innocence.

You don't seem to understand where I'm going with this, but you're trying to.

And you brought back my faith, G. But when I made that tape, I had given up. I thought I was going to die. When I was making it all I could think about was how you wouldn't have done that. You wouldn't have given up. You would have kept fighting, because you have so much more faith than I do. If I had put you on that tape, I would be dead for sure. If I had said goodbye to you, then I was saying goodbye to life. You kept me alive down there, G. Because some where along the road you made me realize that there is always something to live for. That there's always hope. I guess I still had some faith that I would survive. That's why I couldn't bring myself to say goodbye to you.

You look stunned. Like you're about to cry. Your hand is covering your mouth and when you speak your words are muffled.

God Nicky. I thought I had lost you...I thought we wouldn't find you in time...I gave up on you. I'm sorry, Nick. I'm so sorry.

I hug you, and it feels so right. You shoulders shake and you bury our face into my neck and cry. I feel my own tears slide down my cheek.

It's all over Nicky. It's over and everything's going to be okay. We have to believe that. It's gonna be okay, it's gonna be okay, it's gonna be okay.

I think that you're trying to convince yourself as much as you are me. I realise that you've lost a little bit of you're faith this past week, but I'm not going to let you lose anymore of it. We'll help each other through this.

Everything is going to be okay.

Your mantra stops and I know you believe it now.

THE END

I said my confidence
It gets stronger when you're next to me
But we pray from miles away
In quest for what we long to be

-Everlasting Friend, Blue October