Title: In Search of Light
By: cynevie
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Futurefic. Warning for themes of disability, accidents, and violence. May also contain medical inaccuracies.
Note: My attempt at really physically injuring the boys, and therefore may not sit well with a lot of people.
Summary: "That which doesn't kill you, just makes you want to die." - Riding in Cars with Boys.

***

He dresses in silence, listening to Nick's breathing and the city waking up to another dawn. He stands next to the bed and looks down at the silent man with the silent smile on his lips. Greg presses a kiss on Nick's forehead and whispers against warm skin, "Bye Nick, see you tonight." But Nick remains silent and Greg sighs. "Go back to sleep. Mrs Zimmerman'll be here in three hours." Greg trails a line down Nick's throat, down his torso and clasps Nick's wrist, savoring the steady beat of Nick's pulse on his fingertips.

"Actually, I'll come home for lunch. How's that sound?" Greg kneels down by the bed and leans against Nick's side. He feels Nick's finger carding through his hair.

"I... I'd like that," Nick replies, struggling with his words. "I cook. Okay?" The speech therapy has shown good progress and Greg smiles inwardly.

Greg looks up and tries not to laugh, "No~. Mrs Zimmerman'll cook." Nick frowns and scowls.

"I... help? No?"

"You'll have to ask her. I'm sure she'll let you help." Greg stands up reluctantly and extricates the sheet that has fallen off the bed. "Go back to sleep," he says, pulling the sheets up to Nick's shoulders.


"Careful," Nick tells him as Greg opens the bedroom door.

"I will," Greg replies and walks out with a heavy heart and remembers the day when every dream turned into dust.


---


It was a particularly hard shift and Greg was glad that it ended. Nick intercepted him in the corridor and told him to drive ahead, "Grissom wants to run through some stuff before presenting it in court tomorrow."

Greg grinned, "Okay. Hurry home. I'll be waiting." Nick laughed and gave a friendly shove.

Nick called three hours later. "Hey. I'm in the car, be home soon."

"Put your headset on, baby," Greg told Nick in his best bedroom voice. "I wanna talk dirty." Nick chuckled, deep and low, and made Greg shiver in delight.

"Greg, I'm driving."

"Okay. So, no talking dirty then," Greg conceded. The last time Nick was distracted, the car ended up in a ditch. The insurance company wasn't very happy, but it could've been worse. It could've ended up wrapped around a tree, or a lamppost, or jammed into someone's wall.

"So, what are you doing then?"

"Surfing for porn," Greg giggled. "And checking e-mails. There's an e-mail from your Aunt Rosie. She is coming down to Vegas and wants to know if she can stay with us for... let's see... three days. Maybe four."

"Did she say why?"

"Uh... no. Wait. Yeah, she did. For Wendy's wedding."

"Who's Wendy?"

"Aunt Rosie's canasta buddy. Fourth wedding. Apparently Wendy met her soon-to-be husband on the Internet. Some grandchildren online forum or something."

"No. Seriously?" Nick chuckled and Greg wished that Nick'd be home soon.

"Serious! It says so here in the e-mail!" Greg pointed at the computer screen and quickly put his finger back down. "Where are you?"

"Not very far. Be home soon."

"Can't you break the speed limit for once? 'Found this really great porn on the Net. Wanna show you."

"No," Nick replied, a hint of amusement evident in his voice. "Be patient."

Greg sat back and listened to the music Nick had playing in his car. He closed his eyes and listened to Nick's breathing and the sound of the street that filtered through the telephone. "Where are you?"

"Not too far. Be... FUCK!"

Greg felt his blood drain from his face, from his whole body, as he heard the high-pitched screeches, the din of car horns, and Nick's panicked swearing.

"NICK! What's going on?! NICK?" There were sounds that he didn't like, loud and grating in his ears. The endless car horns from numerous cars, the crunch of metals, the squealing tyres and rubber digging deep into asphalt. There were commotion and fear and bangs and screams. Loud, blood-curdling screams and memories flashed in front of his eyes.

Greg tasted blood in his throat, and the screams were his, as his legs took him out of the house, pounding onto the roads underneath him. There's a dialtone in his ear, because it's a housephone. The road cut into his bare feet, his eyesight blurred, his hearing clogged with his own screaming, and his throat raw. He snagged his toe against a jagged edge on the road and fell face first, the ground embracing him.

There were hands holding him down as he thrashed, flailing and calling for Nick. Because he refused to believe what his brain was telling him. Only that his voice stopped coming out of his mouth. Only sharp, ragged, huffing noises. And people swam into his vision, and the black night pulsating with bright colors, flickering. Like at a crime scene. And he saw Sara's face hovering at the edge of vision. And there's Brass too, looking grimly down at him, or maybe he was just seeing things. People. Faces. But no Nick.

"Nick?" Greg whispered, throat scratched raw and eyes stinging with dust and tears and maybe they came to arrest him.


---


He spots Mrs Zimmerman's car parked outside the house. Mrs Zimmerman comes five days a week to help clean the house and help with Nick's rehab. Greg notices a beat-up Mustang parked haphazardly next to Mrs Zimmerman's car. The Mustang, Greg thinks, has seen far better days. Almost stripped down to the metal underneath the paint, Greg notices the rust and dents and wonders who owns that sorry excuse of a car. His breath hitches when he sees the front door opened halfway.

Parking his car and walking slowly up the driveway, he tries to breathe deep and calm himself. He thinks about the break-in case from this morning and thinks that he's projecting. But as he approaches the door and hears sobs and hisses and low voices, Greg isn't so sure anymore.

There's a man, with his left arm around Nick's throat and his right hand around a gun pressed against Nick's temple. Mrs Zimmerman is crying and shaking on her feet, putting things into a black bin liner. They don't have much valuables in the house, but Greg thinks that the perp isn't so fussy. He scans the room and clears it mentally before unclipping his gun.

"Drop it," Greg leans in to press the nozzle of his gun against the back of the perp's head, marvelling how he manages to creep in unheard.

Instead of doing what he's told, the perp laughed and presses his gun harder against Nick's temple. There's a small scream from Mrs Zimmerman and she starts to babble uncontrollably. And Greg notices Nick for the first time. Pale and drawn, and shaking. Nick, on his paralyzed legs, crying and Greg feels angry and helpless.

"You're the boyfriend, huh?" the perp chuckles. "You shoot me, I shoot him. Fair?"

And Greg tries not to think about Nick's head blown open, tries not to think about having to process blood and brain matter, and to bury Nick.

"Whatd'ya say, boy?" the perp asks again. And Greg sees Nick struggling, trying to find purchase and slipping in the deadlock, neck strained and eyes bulging. "Keep still, idiot!" the perp addresses Nick who is slipping into a shock and Greg feels like his world is going to end. Because he won't be able to forgive himself, because he won't know what to do with himself.

What happens next feels like a surreal out-of-body experience, as he stands transfixed, watching Nick slump forwards. Nick's dead weight drags the perp down with him and Greg feels the solid mass against his gun fade away.

He hears screaming again. Mrs Zimmerman's from the sound of it. There's a sound of blood rushing in his ears, and the loud curses from the perp as both he and Nick falls to the ground. And there's a loud bang, and a crack and Greg falls onto his knees. He throws up on the floor and watches red blooming in his line of vision.

---

He wakes up with an almighty headache, the acrid stench of vomit and metallic tang of blood and Greg lifts himself up. Mrs Zimmerman is unconscious against a cupboard and Nick trapped underneath a dead body -- a dead body with an almighty gash to the side of the head, where the head collided with the side of the table on their way down.

Greg drags himself across the floor, and pushes the body aside. Nick is crying. Lying on his stomach, head bent awkwardly to rest on one cheek, and Greg wonders if Nick's broken his neck. And Nick is crying, face red with assertion and snot coming out of his nose and mouth and Greg gathers Nick into his arms and cries into Nick's shoulder, covered in a dead man's blood.

***