Title: Wake Up
By: mickeylover303
Characters: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG
Words: 392
A/N: So, I just wrote this for a prompt not but a few hours ago. Literally, it only took me around thirty minutes to write (see uninspired title and equally uninspired summary), but the only reason I'm posting it is because I'm actually kind of proud of it...until further notice. I'll keep it here, but the prompt was: Greg gets hurt on a case, Nick freaks out.

Okay, I'll be honest. I'm a melodramatic person, and it really does reflect in my writing. Probably turns a lot of people off, but this was something I had fun working on despite its nature. I guess the fact that it was so different than my usual style (though, not really) that has me so excited about it. The music helped, too--a spur of the moment scramble to pick something that ended up fitting so well for me.

However, perhaps I took the rhetoric of parallel sentence structure a little too far.
Summary: There's a body on the floor.

***

There’s a body on the floor, Nick realises. There’s a man lying unconscious on the floor with his head positioned awkwardly against the wall he’s sagged against. Bruises still mar his face. Vibrant hues of violet and blue seep into pallid skin, overrun with a pulsing red that draws a path along his cheek, and Nick watches silently as it pools onto the tiled floor.

There’s a body on the floor. There’s a man who appears to be no longer moving supine on the floor in the house where Patricia Simmons was killed. He’s still breathing. Slight is the rise and fall of his chest, the movement barely noticeable, and Nick can’t remember how many minutes passed before the twitching finally stopped.

There’s a body on the floor. There’s a man lying unconscious on the floor in the bathroom where Nick found Greg struggling to breathe. Nick can still see the hands wrapped around Greg’s neck. The memory tingles like the throbbing in his knuckles, stains like the wetness trickling in between his fingers, and lingers like the splatters of the fading metallic warmth on Nick’s face.

There’s a body on the floor. There’s a man eerily quiet on the floor in the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom where he killed Patricia Simmons. It’s still a blank in the back of Nick’s mind. Greg’s eyes wide in fear, his face distorted in pain, and Nick can vaguely recall what happened after he heard Greg calling out his name.

There’s a body leaning against him, Nick realises. There’s a chest pressing into his back as he sits across from the man who looks lifeless on the floor. Nick’s knuckles are still throbbing. They pulsate in a manner that extends throughout his frame, shaking like the arms around his waist that restrain him with no intent of letting go, and Nick counts every second in between the sounds of Greg’s laboured breathing.

There’s a body on the floor, Nick says to himself. There’s a man lying unconscious on the floor in the bathroom where Brass and another officer enter with their guns raised. Nick is still trembling. He shudders as the arms around his waist tighten, vision blurring when he feels Greg’s warm breath against his neck, and Nick swallows a harsh sob at the scratchy voice that whispers into his ear.

“I’m okay.”