Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
violence.
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7:20 A.M.
Greg woke abruptly when a weight settled on his legs and a
pair of sharp knees ruthlessly crushed his hands into the mattress.
He struggled as fiercely as he was able, but surgery and emotional
turmoil had weakened him more than he realized or wanted to admit. As
desperately as he tried, he could not escape. Terrified and unable to
reach out and restore light to the shadowy space, he drew a breath
to speak, but a rough hand fell on his mouth, forestalling his
attempt.
"Shhh. None of that, sweetness. Don't want anybody showing up
before the party's over, now do we? You know... Brett tried to tell
me you had guts. Me.. I didn't agree. I told him the GHB would take
care of your memory and you'd never talk without proof. Even if you
did remember anything... I said I was sure you weren't stupid enough
to give us up. I assured him you'd put your own pretty little neck
above everything else. Guess I was wrong , huh?" Cimino growled,
stroking Greg's face with his free hand. "Now he's in a cell... and
I'm on the run. And when I was driving away... leaving my whole damn
*life* behind, I figured... why not make the running worthwhile and
bury the only witness at the same time?"
Cimino leaned forward and snarled his next words directly into Greg's
ear. "You know what I'm going to do, bitch? I'm going to wrap my
fingers around your throat... and as the life drains out of your
eyes... I'm going to shove inside you one last time. I'll make your
last seconds on earth hurt like you never imagined it could... I'll
tear that sweet ass of yours apart this time... make you bleed so bad
nobody can fix it..."
Tears streaking down his face, Greg cried out, but the muffled sound
barely registered in the room. Cimino merely grinned, licked the
moisture off Greg's face and gripped the young man's neck with one
huge hand.
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7:25
Nick shuffled wearily through the hospital lobby and up to
the bank of elevators. Stabbing the button, he resolved to only stay
a moment, checking to make sure Greg was doing well before heading
home. When the car arrived, he stepped inside and leaned against the
rear wall, eyes closing reluctantly. He flexed the fingers on his
injured hand and grimaced as a dull ache flared. He knew he should
have had it re-examined after his altercation with Hodges, but the
truth was he really didn't want to know what further damage he'd done.
{I was an idiot, I'll deal with what comes of it. It'll
probably be a little stiff if any new breaks don't heal just right.
No more than I deserve. I don't know why I felt like I had to look in
on Greg this mornin'. Most likely he's still conked out...}
When the steel doors slid open on the fifth floor, Nick
suddenly stood up straight. His instincts were triggering caution
alarms in his head and he reached for his weapon, cursing quietly
when he remembered he'd left it at work, as always. He now understood
that it hadn't been a whim that had led him to Greg's bedside. Some
lingering sixth sense from his days as a cop had been trying to tell
him something was very wrong and it had guided him where he needed to
be.
He first moved to the nurse's station, noticing that it was
empty when there should have been someone in attendance. After doing
his own check on the unconscious woman, he then looked around for
anything he could use as a weapon. When nothing presented itself, he
glanced down at his cast and scowled. It took him a few seconds to
acknowledge and move past the pain he might be about to endure, but
he managed it. Just as he was walking towards Greg's room, the day
shift nurse finally arrived, looking harried and mumbling about being
late. On seeing Nick, she stopped, developed a confused frown and was
about to question him, but he cut her off.
"Call security and get a doctor up here now!"
"Sir, who are you..."
"Don't talk, just do what I told you!"
"Sir, I can't just..."
Nick threw his badge at her.
"Call security, damn it, and do it now!"
Stepping into the room, Nick flipped the light switch by the door.
Once he realized what was happening, he ran to the rescue, never
thinking for a moment about his own infirmity. He hooked his good
hand into Cimino's waistband, the fingertips of his casted hand under
the would-be murderer's collar and pulled with all his strength. All
his strength proved to be enough to propel Steve Cimino off of Greg
and halfway across the room. Following the path of the rapist's
flight, Nick, ignoring fresh agony surging through his hand and
wrist, stalked to where the man half-reclined on the floor and used
both hands to bounce Cimino's head off the tile. When the suspect
didn't move for several seconds, Nick turned and rushed back to see
to Greg.
"Greg? Greggo, c'mon... you're okay... God, what'd he do... Greg,
breathe..... you gotta breathe, man, please..." Nick almost sobbed,
leaning in and preparing to give his friend mouth to mouth. Just
then, Scott Denson exploded into the room followed by two uniformed
security guards and nurses dragging equipment. While the officers
took control of Greg's dazed attacker, Denson pushed Nick aside and
began barking orders. Stunned and fighting his swirling emotions,
Nick backed off a step or two, watching in silence as the doctor and
a few other members of medical staff worked to save Greg's life.
Within a few minutes, Greg was on a ventilator and Denson was
examining him for other injuries. Only when he was certain the young
man was otherwise fine did he turn to Nick, drawing the CSI out into
the corridor.
"So? Is he okay?"
"Other than the damage to his throat, yes. I imagine his attacker
intended to do a great deal more, but thanks to you he didn't have
time."
"The vent..."
"His throat was swelling closed. I had to make sure he could still
breathe."
"Oh... yeah, I knew that. I'm sorry for the stupid questions, doc.
I'm just... I can't believe I let this happen..."
"You stopped it. He's alive because of you..."
Denson let his sentence go unfinished when he realized that Nick
seemed unaware that he was cradling his broken hand against his
chest. "Mr. Stokes... did you use that hand to pull your friend's
attacker away?"
Nick gave Denson a mildly confused look. He glanced down then back
up, focusing on Greg's room and the activity still going on there..
"Huh? Maybe.... I did what I had to do. My hand is fine, you go take
care of Greg."
"Mr. Sanders is breathing well right now. There isn't much more I can
do. Let's go find somewhere to sit down so I can take a look at
this..." Denson insisted, reaching cautiously for Nick's cast
"I said I'm good. He's the one you should be worryin' about!" Nick
countered, turning away from the doctor's touch. This movement,
however, awakened a level of pain that finally overcame the anger and
fear he'd been swimming in since entering Greg's room. Nick's legs
buckled slightly, but he locked his knees and, with Denson's help,
made his way to the lounge where Catherine and the doctor had had
their tete-a'tete the previous day.
"What exactly did you do?"
"I... grabbed his collar with the... tips of the fingers... and
hauled him backwards. Had my other hand in his belt..."
"That might have been your saving grace. Is the pain in one spot or
everywhere?"
"God... everywhere... my whole arm's on fire..."
"You've probably torn either a muscle or some ligaments. I can't tell
until I get the cast off."
"Not now."
"Mr. Stokes..."
"Not now! An' no pain meds either. Not 'till I can make a couple
calls."
"Do you intend to use that hand to dial or hold the receiver?" Denson
asked wryly.
"Okay... not 'till you *help* me make a couple calls... oh, and get
my badge back from the desk nurse."
---------------------------
7:50
"You sure I didn't wake you, Gris?"
"I hadn't made it to bed yet. What's wrong, Nick?"
"I.. I stopped to look in on Greg before I went home... Cimino was on
top of him. He tried to strangle him, boss..."
Grissom pulled in a deep breath and forced himself to keep a tight
rein on his feelings until he knew for sure whether the news was
positive or negative. His voice tense, he finally asked the question.
"Tried. So Greg's not..."
"No, he... he's alright... now, anyway. I pulled the bastard off...
cracked his head on the floor for good measure... Ow!"
"Nick?"
"I'm okay. Had to use both hands to do the job. Put a hurtin' on my
bad one in the process. Cimino should be on his way to jail by now."
"Greg?"
"They got a tube down his throat before it swelled too bad. He's
breathin'... he'll be on a ventilator for a couple days... but he's
breathin'. That's what counts."
"Thank God you were there."
"Yeah...." Nick responded weakly. He badly wanted to say more, to ask
for support and guidance, but he couldn't make the words take form.
His newest injury might take him out of the field for a brief time,
but he was not about to be forced into office duty because Gris
thought he was weak or suddenly unable to handle stress. Thankfully,
Grissom's own intuition was also working overtime and he offered
without Nick having to say anything.
"I'll be there in thirty minutes. Can you hold on that long?"
"Don't bother, man. Soon as I get the new cast finished..."
"Nick. Can you make it until I get there?"
"I'm okay. You don't have to drive all the way out here, boss. You
probably haven't eaten..."
"Hospitals have cafeterias."
"With the world's worst food. Besides, you need sleep."
"So do you. Especially now."
"Damn it, Gris..."
"I'll make it twenty minutes, if you need me to."
"Don't you dare speed." Nick chuckled quietly, finally giving in. "I
can survive for another half hour."
"Good. See you then."
"Okay..."
---------------------------
8:15
As Steve Cimino was being hauled slowly down the corridor, dragging
his feet and still trying to shake the cobwebs from his head, he
barely noticed the columns of people that had appeared along each
wall. The out-going nightshift had passed the news of his capture to
the arriving day-shift and now both groups had gathered to see him,
forming two lines of grim, angry faces. Within a few seconds,
however, a gathering born of resentment and curiosity became a
gauntlet when someone stuck out their foot and tripped the suspect.
He stumbled, but was held up by his escorts and forced to continue
walking. A little farther on, another county employee got brave and
repeated the move. This continued the length of the hall, with every
third or fourth person taking their shot, until the rapist and his
guards turned left into another corridor.
Jim Brass strode calmly along behind Cimino and the officers grasping
his elbows. The veteran cop had noted the face and name of every
single man or woman who had participated in the minor bout of
revenge, but that was habit; simply a dog-eared, well ingrained
process that kicked in when he was confronted with an unsettled crowd
that could easily become a raging mob. He knew he might be questioned
about the incident, but he still wiped the information from his mind
without even a twitch of regret. Their suspect had a mild concussion
after all. It was expected that he might stumble a little...
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TBC.....
