Title: Poison Heart
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen, Greg Sanders
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Continuation of Obsession.
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Greg Sanders, unfortunately, just borrowing him for a while. Please do not sue.

***

Greg let the door of the bar swing closed behind him, taking a good look around before he moved out into the parking lot towards his car. He took his keys out of his pocket, waiting until he was right beside the car to make sure the doors were unlocked.

He wasn't going to give anyone a chance to slip into his car unnoticed -- and he was going to make damned sure there was no one there already, he told himself grimly. He checked the back seat, including the floor; there was no one lurking or trying to stay hidden.

And there were no unwanted packages anywhere in his car, either, he noted with relief as he slid into the driver's seat and locked the doors before pulling on his seat belt and fastening it. He was still more than a little shaken by those -- and by the mysterious voice on his cell phone.

He hadn't gotten any more phone calls or unwanted gifts, but he hadn't been able to shake the feeling that someone was watching him everywhere he went. Whether he was at a crime scene when he was working, or simply going to the grocery store for a gallon of milk, he always felt uneasy.

There was always a feeling of being watched, of having someone's eyes on him. Greg knew that there were plainclothes cops parked outside his apartment when he was at home; Brass had insisted on that after the second threatening phone call. He knew they were watching.

No, what he felt was a different kind of scrutiny. One that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, one that made him feel as though he was walking through life naked for the world to see. One that made him feel vulnerable -- and completely helpless.

That was how he had felt in that bar tonight, Greg told himself as he put the car into gear and backed out the parking place. He had been sure that his stalker was there; he could feel eyes on him, assessing him, making him feel more vulnerable than he ever had.

When a nice-looking guy had come up to the bar to stand beside him, he hadn't turned around to look. He had simply stood there, drinking his beer, not making conversation. And when the guy had offered to buy him a drink, Greg had refused, draining the last of his drink and leaving.

He hated that his stalker was turning him into the kind of person who was nervous and jumpy, who was suspicious of anyone who paid the slightest bit of attention to him. He'd always disliked people like that; he didn't want to become one of them himself.

He was rapidly losing his trust in people, and he didn't want that to happen. He didn't want to harden his heart towards the rest of the world; that would make him far less effective as a CSI. He could lose the empathy he had with victims if this kept going on for much longer.

The last thing he wanted was to let this bastard poison his heart, make him less effective at his job, and diminish him as a human being. But yet, he was playing right into his stalker's hands, letting this person mold him and shape him into something that he didn't want to be.

He braked for a red light, his hands clenching into fists on top of the steering wheel. He hated what was happening, even though it was barely perceptible yet. He was changing, becoming a fearful person, suspicious of everyone around him, always looking over his shoulder.

That was exactly what his stalker wanted from him, Greg told himself angrily. This man was trying to push him into a corner with his back against a wall; he was being manipulated, like a rat in a maze, nudged in the direction that someone else wanted him to go.

He knew that -- but he had no way to stop it. And that made him feel even more helpless than ever, more completely defenseless. He had no idea what his man's next move was going to be; he didn't know when he would get another unwanted gift, or a phone call -- or worse.

Greg swallowed hard at the thought. He didn't want to be another statistic, a body that his friends would have to process at a crime scene. It was frightening to think that he was the object of a stalker's obsession; he just wanted this man to be found and put behind bars.

It felt as though his entire life was being slowly poisoned from the inside out. His heart would be the first part of him to succumb; he wouldn't feel that he could trust anyone, and he'd end up turning away from people and distancing himself from everyone around him.

He didn't want to have a poison heart, closing himself off and living in some kind of safe little bubble. If he did that, then his stalker would have won, and that wasn't an option. He wasn't going to let some crazy person he didn't even know turn his life upside down.

Living like this was taking its toll on him already -- and on his work. Just this morning, Nick had put a hand on his shoulder when he'd come into the locker room, and Greg had gasped and jumped, opening his mouth to scream without thinking.

If he stayed this tense, he would end up snapping at some point -- and he was afraid of all those pent-up emotions recoiling on his colleagues. Or, worse, on someone at a crime scene -- which could cost him his job, as well as making the crime lab look bad.

This couldn't keep on. If it did, he was going to end up in a very bad place -- a much worse one than he was in now. And he would more than likely get to the point where he'd never feel as though he could trust anyone again. He didn't want to be that kind of person.

But at the moment, it looked as though he didn't have much of a choice, Greg told himself with a sigh as he pulled the car into the parking lot of his apartment building. He had to keep himself safe; that was his first priority, and one that he wasn't going to neglect.

The sooner they found this guy, the better -- not just for him, but for everybody around him. He knew that Brass and the cops, as well as everyone at the crime lab, was doing all they could to find out who this person was, and put him in jail where he belonged.

Greg closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the headrest. He knew there was nothing unpleasant waiting for him in his apartment; if anyone had been near the place, Brass would have gotten a report from the cops who were watching the place and let him know.

There was nothing to be worried about. So why was he so hesitant about walking into his own home? This was getting worse every day; he had to shake off the sensation of being watched, the insidious feeling that he had to close himself off from everyone and everything around him.

He didn't want to end up with a heart and soul that had been poisoned by suspicion. He'd seen too many people who were like that, and he'd always felt sorry for them. He wasn't going to let some deranged person force him to join their ranks.

Squaring his shoulders, Greg got out of the car, being careful to lock the door before heading towards the front door of his apartment. Whatever the future might bring, he was going to be ready for it -- and he would face it head on with all the strength he could muster.

***