Title: Need To Know Author: Cathy

Fandom: CSI - Crime Scene Investigation, slash

Pairing: Nick Stokes/Greg Sanders

Rating: PG, for brief nudity

Archive: Any of the list archives, fine. Anyone else, please ask.

Feedback: Yes, please! Constructive criticisms welcomed as well as ego stroking.

E-mail address for feedback:

Disclaimers: I've borrowed from CBS, William Petersen, and anyone else who own the copyright to CSI. I make no profit from this, just having a good time.

Summary: Post-ep for "Stalker" from Greg's POV. How would he have reacted to the events portrayed, and how would he help Nick recover?

Spoilers: Well, extensive ones for "The Stalker." Other than that, no episodes were mentioned.
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I had no idea that passing around that newsletter would be so important. Getting chastised by Nick I expected, but it being the one clue that made a real difference was not even on my radar screen of probability. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I guess I should start at the beginning. With the newsletter. The Crimestoppers departmental newsletter about Nick, the one that showed him as the superstar of CSI. I found it one night when I was looking for a pen in his desk. I swear I wasn't snooping; I couldn't get the drawer open cause the one below it was jammed. I was trying to be nice when I freed the obstruction, pulling out the newsletter, but then I took a good look at it. I remember the grin on my face as I thought of what the others would say if they read it. So, I did some digging, found out where it came from, and made sure it got into general circulation again.

Well, when I heard that Nick was mad, and looking for me, I knew why. But, I didn't realize how far over the line I'd stepped. I know Nick is a private guy; I should have known he wouldn't want it passed around. In my defense, it was just meant as a joke. He does a good job, and I know he knows I think so. But, I digress. Just wanted to give you a picture of my state of mind when suddenly, he was grasping my shoulder and digging in pretty hard. This was no love grasp either. There are times when hard is good; this just hurt. However, it did get his point across. I knew I'd screwed up, and I immediately started thinking of ways to make it up to him. Maybe a little begging. Maybe a little on my knees action of another sort.....yikes! At a time like this, when Nick is hurting, how can I think about sex? I guess it's my mind's defense mechanism.

Sigh. I'm jumping ahead again. I have to stay on track. Hard to do when my mind is tripping around faster than an acrobat at the circus, but I'll try. So, we were in the lab, and Nick had just finished setting me straight about the newsletter. He walked around the table, and I looked into the fume chamber.

What I saw there took my breath away for a moment. All thoughts of Nick temporarily fled from my mind when I saw the face print on the plastic. The first thing that came to mind came out of my mouth. "Was she suffocated?" I could see the puzzlement on Nick's face; how had I known? But, then he came back around to where I was standing and he saw it too. That image is enough
to keep one up at nights. That is, if it's not eclipsed by what came later. What was done to this girl was horrible, to put it mildly.

The clues started to add up; the stalking, the murder, the whole scenario was enough to give me the creeps. I don't know what I would do if this wacko had been watching me. When they figured out it was a service guy and Warrick and Nick went to interview one of them, I thought they were ok. Business as usual. I hoped this was the guy, a case like this freaks you out until the guy is caught; then you can start to heal. You can put it behind you, knowing the guy is behind bars, he can't hurt you, and it's over. At least that's what you tell yourself. It works better some times than others. I guess this is one of the others.

When I heard I was shocked. Sara came to me in the lab. I was alone, processing some samples, updating my notes on a test. She came in, quietly, and placed a hand on my shoulder. I looked up at her, a knot of fear forming in my stomach when I saw the look on her face. Her expression was tight, her lips set in a thin line.

"Sara, what's wrong? You look like your best friend just died."

"Greg, I have something to tell you. You need to know before it gets around."

A shiver passed over me at the seriousness of her tone. I swallowed, but didn't need to speak because she continued. "Nick was injured when he and Warrick went to interview a possible suspect. Warrick says he only turned his back for a minute, they didn't even think the guy was home..." Her voice trailed off and I could see she was fighting back tears. The knot of fear expanded to fill my chest and I felt cold.

"Sara, is..is he ok?"

She looked at me and shrugged, shaking her head slightly. "I don't know. They took him to the hospital, but I don't know." Suddenly, all I wanted to do was run. I didn't know where I was going to run, but I wanted to get out of there. Sara must have seen the fear on my face cause she dropped her hand from my shoulder and opened her arms. I willingly moved into them and hugged
her, hard.

I don't know which of us benefitted more from the brief comfort, but when she pulled back, we were both a bit calmer. "Greg, I'm going to the hospital. I'll give you a call as soon as I know something. I promise."

The next while was nerve racking. I couldn't concentrate on work, all I wanted to do was go to him. I had to know that he was ok. After all we've been through, I just wanted to be able to hold him and feel for myself that he was still in one piece. All sorts of terrible scenarios passed through my mind. I didn't want to think the worst, but when someone flies out of a window on the second floor, how can you not help but worry? My hands shook as I filled test tubes; I dropped my pen dozens of times. When the phone rang, I jumped about four feet then knocked it off the cradle in my haste to answer it. I tried to still the tremor in my voice, but it still came out shaky when I answered.

"Greg, it's Sara. He's fine. A bit shaken up, but fine. He's resting now. Grissom told me to talk to him when he wakes up. I'm watching him for you. He's in good hands."

I breathed a huge sigh of relief and felt some of the tension fade. But, fine wasn't as detailed as I needed. "Sara, how bad does he look?"

"He's got a concussion, two broken ribs, a sprained wrist and five stitches on his forehead. He's got the bandage on his forehead, and some scrapes. It will be awhile before he's 100%; he's going to be sore and achy, but no lasting damage."

I heard the words, and I knew what they meant, but I still wanted to see for myself. Sara cautioned against it, but she could hear the determination in my voice. I didn't want to fight with her, but the feeling of dread wouldn't go away completely. I wanted to go to him right then, but I still had a job to do. Besides, it wasn't common knowledge that we were a thing. No one told me that I should go, but I wanted to.

Maybe it was cause I we hadn't gotten together the night before. Maybe it was Nick's nagging suspicion that something was wrong when he read his e-mail. Whatever it was, I wanted to see him to know that everything was ok. My mind was still wandering, focusing on too many things. What was Sara saying? I must have said ok, and I vaguely remember hanging up the phone; I
had the impression that she was going to call me again later.

I started counting the time till I was off. The clock moved way too slowly. At one point I wondered if it had moved at all. It was still two hours and 20 minutes until I could leave when the phone rang again.

"Greg, it's Sara. Warrick and I just dropped Nick off at his house. He has strict instructions to take it easy and rest. But, you know he's gonna want to come in. Will you go over there when your shift is over and make sure he follows the doctor's orders?"

I was glad to hear he was home, but there or the hospital, it was still two hours and 18 minutes till I could get away. I agreed to go over right after shift, and I think Sara was afraid I was going to be running red lights to do so. But, to give her credit, she didn't say anything about it. She just responded, "Ok. I know you'll take care of him. I'm coming back to CSI. See you soon."

More time crawled by, more pens were dropped and I even broke a beaker before I left the lab for a walk. I wandered the halls, going in circles. I was lost. I just wanted to touch Nick, wanted to feel his skin against mine, know that he was recovering. I wondered if Nick was thinking about it, replaying the scene over and over in his mind like I was. If he remembered it with the concussion, it must be 10 times worse for him, since he could actually see it; I had to imagine the scene. I'm sure that my conception was lacking details, like the feel of glass breaking against me, or the fall through the air.. I shook my head sharply - thoughts like those were not going to help me any.

Up ahead I saw the back of Archie's head, as he looked at a view screen, the guy on the screen weird looking, right up in the camera, thick glasses. This was the guy who had stalked the girl. This was the sicko with a voyeur problem. In all probability, this was the guy who had thrown Nick through the window. He didn't look big or strong enough to have done that. He looked small, weasely.

As I got closer I heard Catherine tell Archie to stop the tape. He focused in on something, enhancing the resolution. I stood, just outside the door, rooted to the spot as the picture cleared. There was that newsletter. There was Nick, a red circle drawn around his picture. Time slowed down, everyone moving in slow motion: Sara, Warrick, Grissom, Catherine, Archie. All looking at each other.

As if through a fog, muffled, slow, I heard Grissom say to put in the last tape. I couldn't move, didn't want to know what was on that tape, I felt sick, fearing the worst.

The tape cued, and time sped up. The fog lifted, and everyone was normal for a split second before time went even faster, everyone moving in a blur, squeaky voices, the tape seeming to be in fast forward, but the words still perfectly clear. I could hear the sicko's words. He sounded odd, upset. Then, he said Nick's name. I stared at the screen, the fear cresting. The sick feeling intensified, a cold chill passing over me. I wasn't sure if I was going to throw up, or just pass out. He knew Nick. He stalking Nick too.

Suddenly, there was someone in front of me. My view of the screen was blocked and I saw Sara standing there. She reached out and put a hand on my arm, whispering that it was going to be all right.

She looked at me, searching my face. I nodded, the sick feeling having abated a bit. I followed her into the room, listening as Grissom talked to Brass. I wanted to grab the phone from his hand, and yell at Brass to hurry up. How could Grissom be so calm? Didn't it occur to him that the guy was
there? I trusted Jim, but I wanted to go with them.

A small part of my brain told me that I was _not_ an objective observer. I was overly emotional and not thinking clearly. Of course not - Nick was in trouble and I couldn't help him. Sara must have sensed my helplessness, cause she took my arm and quickly led me back to the lab.

I guess it was busy work, but when she told me to rerun her fiber analysis through the database, I didn't protest. She knew it would take some time. She told me to be thorough; I couldn't miss anything cause it may be the case breaker. I couldn't even remember what case it was from, but I
obediently sat in front of the computer, mechanically typing in the commands to run the cross-check program as she left, heading out with the rest of the guys to go to Nick's.

I watched the screen, the status bar blurring in front of me. My head was filled with dire images, ones of Nick dead, Nick hurt. I couldn't believe he had survived his earlier beating only to be within the guy's grasp again. I tried to tell myself that I was being stupid, but they hadn't found him yet. He _could_ be at Nick's house. Nobody knew _where_ he was.

The computer beeped, displaying the results and I just stared at it, the words incomprehensible. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sara again. She stood in the doorway, a blank expression on her face. I wished desperately to be able to read her thoughts, but her face remained blank.

She walked into the room slowly, each step seeming to take an hour. I couldn't move; I was rooted to the chair, immobilized with dread. She couldn't have good news; if she had good news, she'd be smiling, wouldn't she? Oh, God, please say he's all right. Please.

Finally, she reached me, so close I caught the faint scent of her perfume. She didn't touch me, just stood there. I couldn't talk, couldn't breathe. She blinked, and it looked like she was trying not to cry.

"Greg, when the officers got there, the guy, the stalker was there. He'd killed the psychic, and then he went after Nick. They struggled-"

She broke off abruptly when I lost it. I pushed past her, heading for the trash can, where I was promptly sick. I was shaking, sweat breaking out on my forehead, tears filling my eyes. Behind me, I heard the water running, and a paper cup was pressed into my hand.

I felt Sara's hand on my head, stroking my hair. "God, Greg, I'm sorry. He's fine. I should have said that right off the bat. Jesus, I didn't think. He's fine Greg, the guy's in custody. There was a struggle, but no one was hurt. They've got the guy now. It's ok."

I took a sip of the water, washing the sourness out of my mouth. Her words slowly penetrated, the knowledge that Nick was ok filtering through. I looked up at her, fighting the tears. She shook her head, berating herself for not saying so sooner. "I'm so sorry. He's going to be all right, I
swear."

I nodded, and she put her arm around me. Once again, she pulled me close in a hug. This woman, this remarkable woman, whom I would never have pegged for the comforting type was doing just that. I clung to her, resting my head on her shoulder for a moment, needing her strength more than she could possibly realize. She continued to hold me, shushing me, slowly stroking my hair. At
one time, I would have killed to be so close to her, but now I could only think of Nick.

After a moment, I stood up straight, ready to step away. She looked me in the eye, holding my gaze, perhaps checking to see if I was going to be ok. I nodded again, speech still not coming. She leaned forward, and kissed me softly on the forehead, squeezing me one last time before letting me go and stepping back.

"I've got to go watch the questioning. Are you sure you're all right?"

I nodded again, finally finding my voice. "I'll take care of the trash and then.." I looked at her, not sure what I should do after that.

"And then you'll take Nick home. He can't go back to his house, even if it wasn't a crime scene, it's got to be searched to see if what this guy left behind. I hear there's a big hole in his ceiling..anyway, I don't think he should be alone. Take him back to your place."

"Yeah, I'll get my stuff."

She smiled and left the lab. I turned to the mechanical tasks of cleaning up, putting away all the supplies, a new bag in the trash can, printing the computer results. I shook my head when I saw they were the same as last time, but I guess a double check is never a bad thing.

I tried not to think about later. I knew what Sara had said, but I also knew that there are many wounds that aren't visible. These are the kind that take the longest to heal. I hoped that Nick would let me help, but I worried that he wouldn't be able to talk about it. My head was clearer, the sick feeling had passed, but I was still cold. I worked carefully, trying to distract myself, trying not to give in to my need. The need to go to him, the need to know that he was all right. Earlier I wanted to touch him, hold him to know that he was ok after the fall. But now, so much more had happened. He was physically all right, but I couldn't be sure about the emotional aspect.

I saw Catherine exit the interrogation room down the hall. Warrick, Sara, and Grissom followed her. I didn't see Nick, but I knew it couldn't be long. I knew he was in there. Only a few yards and a wooden door separated us.

That and Grissom entering the lab. I didn't know what to make of his detour to see me. I wouldn't be able to function if he gave me work to do. Although I wasn't officially off for another 10 minutes, there was no way I was going to do overtime. He opened the door, coming closer. He saw the bag slung on my shoulder, must have realized what time it was. I expected him to ask me
to stay, had even started forming my response, but he surprised me.

"Greg, take him home." Four simple words, but they held a depth of meaning I would never have expected. I didn't try to figure out how Grissom knew, but he did. For a moment I couldn't move, but then I nodded at him and hurried out the door. I can only imagine the expression, probably one of interest, or perhaps concern, on his face; I didn't look back as I hurried down the hall.

He was standing there, looking into the next room through the one way mirror. He didn't turn around as I opened the door and I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to say anything, in case I startled him, but he must have heard me come in.

I walked in, letting the door close behind me, conflicting emotions surging through me. I wanted to hold him, wanted to ask him to look at me. I looked him over, his shoulders set, the corner of a bandage visible on his forehead. "Greg, they tried to tell me it's over." His voice was tight,
almost strained.

He stopped, but I could understand his meaning. Those few words told me everything. It may have been over legally, the perp behind bars, but the emotional experience was far from over. Two people were dead, and one man's life turned upside down. I don't know if Nick will be able to go back to his house after all this is cleaned up, but I did know that it was going to be many more days before he was able to not think about it. So, no, it was far from being over.

I walked closer, knowing he could hear my footsteps. I stopped a few feet from him, close enough to touch, but not doing so. He turned, facing me completely. Once more time slowed down, seeming to stand still as I looked at him. There was the bandage on his forehead, a slash on his cheek, and a scratch on his neck. It was his eyes that captured me, though. They stared at me, the brown deep and dark, swimming in unshed tears. I could see pain etched deep in those eyes.

I knew that the only thing I could do was hold him. I stepped forward and pulled him into my arms. His arms came around me, solid and warm. His grip was weaker than usual, but I knew I was going to have to be the one providing the strength. Just as Sara had done for me only a short while before, I pulled Nick's head to my shoulder and ran my fingers through his hair.

I kept my touch gentle, not knowing if I was brushing any sore spots, but not wanting to stop. One hand ran through his hair, the other over his back. I whispered soothing words; I couldn't tell you what they were, but they seemed to have an effect on Nick. I was too busy making sure he was in one piece to notice what I was saying. He was solid, real in my arms. I could smell him, even under the dust and the sterile smell of gauze and ointment, there was the smell that was uniquely Nick. It made me realize just how much I wanted to help him.

After a moment, Nick pulled back slightly and looked up at me. He had shed a few of the tears, but I could tell that he was still holding back. Maybe it was the setting, maybe it was the need to lie down. I don't know, but I did know that I had to get him out of there.

Taking his arm, I started to lead him out of the room. He brought one hand up and rubbed his eyes, the fingers digging in slightly. Sighing, he followed me out of the room, then out of the building.

When we got to the parking lot, I pointed out my car several rows over. Nick looked at me and nodded. His face was neutral, no hint of emotion. I wondered if it was because he wasn't feeling any or because he was holding back. I realized I needed to get him alone, truly alone, in order for him to let go.

The ride to my place was short and silent. Nick stared out the side window at the darkness, and I tried to keep my eyes on the road. I was tempted to watch him, to make sure that he was really there, but I knew I had to concentrate on getting home.

We pulled up in front of the building and Nick followed me inside and up to my floor. He still didn't say anything as I opened the door and walked inside. He stepped into the living room and looked around, but I wondered if he was seeing my walls or something else.

He followed me into the bedroom, but stood just inside the door. I waited, wondering if he was going to say anything, or move, but when he didn't I realized _I_ was going to have to say something. "Nick, do you want to lie down, or something to drink maybe?"

He shook his head and again I met his eyes, seeing the pain filling them. I held out my arms and he moved into them, wrapping his arms around my waist, his head on my shoulder. I held him tight, and felt him start to shake. I brushed back his hair and kissed his temple, muttering soothingly again.

When he pulled at my shirt, tugging it out of my pants, I was surprised. He raised his head and looked at me, the tears starting to fall. "Greg, please. I just want to lie next to you and feel your skin. I want to know that I'm still here. Make me forget him for a little while, please."

I nodded, and quickly helped him to take our clothes off, shirts and pants, leaving boxers and boxer briefs. I was careful, mindful of his bandaged wrist and taped ribs. I let go of him for a moment to pull back the sheets and we climbed the bed, stretching out next to each other. I pulled the covers back up and over us, as Nick settled into my arms.

I held him close, feeling his warm skin against mine. Fat tears rolled from his eyes, landing on my shoulder. I whispered, "Nick, I'm so sorry."

He pulled back and looked at me. "Greg, I love you, but it's not your fault. You had nothing to do with this."

I shook my head. "I know. I just...sorry was the first thing that came to mind."

Nick looked at me, a slight smile on his face. I was encouraged by the smile, but puzzled by it. "Oh, Greg. You're sorry, but in a way, you were the one that helped me out. From what I hear, that newsletter was the thing that made the guys realize he was watching _me_ too. I don't know what would have happened if...." He words trailed off and his eyes filled with tears again. I felt better, knowing I had helped a bit, but I felt terrible for not distracting him.

I pulled him close again, pulling his head to my shoulder. "Nick, forget about that now. You're here with me, and I'm not going to leave you. Just try to get some sleep." I don't know if it was the words or the hand in his hair, but I felt him finally let go as his shoulders shook, his tears wetting my chest and his sobs filling my ears. I held him tightly, letting him cry, knowing he needed the release.

I loved him desperately and all the horrible images I'd had that day were washed away with his tears. The only thing that mattered right then was him in my arms, his solid warmth next to me. I knew he was real and he was safe.

I kissed his temple, feeling my own tears falling in his hair, somehow knowing that they would help him as much as my arms. He lifted his head and met my eyes, brown meeting brown, tears flowing from both. Lifting a hand, he brushed at the tears on my cheek before bending down and kissing me lightly on the lips. "Greg, I love you."

I nodded and replied, "I love you too, Nick." He kissed me again and then lowered his head to my shoulder once more. My tears still flowing, I whispered into his hair. "You'll never know all the answers, never know all the whys. But, that doesn't matter now. No matter what happens, I'm here. _That's_ all you need to know."

end