Title: No More Distance
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Rating: PG-13
Table: Hurt/Comfort, mission_insane
Prompt: 6, Distrust
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own 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 walked slowly out to his car, trying to ignore the shouts behind him in the parking lot. Nick and Hodges were arguing about where to go for breakfast; he almost wished that he was joining in with them, feeling that he was a part of their little group.

He had always been a part of that group of friends, but lately, he'd been distancing himself from everyone around him. He hadn't meant to do it, but with this stalker business, he hadn't felt that he had much of a choice. He was starting to feel distrustful of everyone around him.

He didn't want to feel that way, but it was hard not to. He wanted to be able to talk to his friends and work colleagues, to lean on them, but he couldn't help feeling as though he was alone and that no one could help him to deal with this turn of events in his life.

Greg sighed as he got into his car and started the engine, pulling out of his parking place and out into traffic. Two police cars swung out behind him, obviously meant to follow him back to his hone for protection, though he didn't feel like he needed it.

The protective detail that had been assigned to watch over him had been wasted; he didn't think that his stalker was going to try to contact him in any way while he was under the scrutiny of the police. The man was far too smart to risk that kind of exposure.

No, he would wait until the threat seemed to have passed, until everyone thought that he'd lost interest and Greg was back home again, in his own apartment. Then the calls would start again, the unwanted gifts, the proof that he was still being targeted.

Already everyone else seemed to have relaxed their vigil over him, even though he knew that Nick was still worried, even if no one else seemed to be. It seemed as though the danger had passed -- but Greg knew that it hadn't. He had a nagging feeling about that.

Every time he got out of his car, every time he went anywhere, he had the disturbing feeling that he was being watched. He could feel the short hairs prickle on the back of his neck, and he just knew that his stalker was out there, watching and waiting.

It was one of the worst feelings he'd ever had in his life; he couldn't really put a name on it, but that feeling was with him everywhere he went, like a shadow that he couldn't get rid of. It colored everything he did, and made him feel that he couldn't trust anyone.

He shouldn't feel that way, and he knew it. But it was impossible to meet anyone new, to look at any person who was anywhere near him in a public place, without wondering if this was the man who was after him, the person who had threatened to take his life.

It wasn't so much that he was scared -- even though, if he admitted the truth, he was terrified. It was more that he felt he couldn't ever relax, that he was always a bundle of nerves that were going to come screaming to life at any second, sending him over the edge.

Maybe that was what his stalker wanted, he reflected wryly as he turned into the parking lot of his apartment building. Maybe all he wanted was to have Greg teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown -- and when he'd achieved that, then he would move in for the kill.

Greg shuddered at the thought, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back against the seat. He didn't want to get out of his car, didn't want to go into his own home. He was dreading what might await him there; he knew that this wasn't over, not by a long shot.

He couldn't help thinking that one day, he would walk into his home and find his stalker there, waiting for him, pointing a gun in his face. That was what he was most afraid of, even though he knew that the odds were against it happening.

No, his stalker would more than likely want to torture him first. Not that what he was doing not wasn't torture enough, Greg thought wryly as he opened the car door and got out. Just the stress and strain that he was under was enough to drive him crazy.

How much longer would it be before he was consigned to a rubber room, before he snapped under the stress? He hoped that wouldn't happen, but at the rate he was going, he was starting to feel that something like that would happen sooner rather than later.

Greg sighed as he walked across the parking lot and up the stairs to his second-floor apartment. There was really no use worrying about what could happen, he tried to reason with himself. All he could do was deal with what did happen when the time came.

He hated how he was starting to distance himself from everyone around him; he didn't want to turn into the kind of person who jumped at shadows, who distrusted everyone around him. He didn't want to be one of those paranoid freaks who thought everyone was out to get him.

But that was where he was heading, if he didn't force himself to calm down and try to think this situation through and deal with it rationally. It was getting to him in ways that he hadn't anticipated, making him isolate himself from the rest of the world.

He couldn't keep doing that. He had to spend more time with his friends and colleagues, to keep more in touch with people, to let them know exactly what was going on and how he felt about it. He couldn't distance himself; that would only make him feel even more paranoid.

Greg hesitated before putting the key into the lock of his front door; he couldn't help but wonder what he would find inside his home. Would his stalker be waiting for him, a gun leveled to shoot? Would his apartment be trashed, proof that someone had indeed been there?

But when he swung the door open and looked around, no such sight met his gaze. The place was just as he had left it this morning, right down to the t-shirts thrown over the back of the couch. He really needed to get his laundry done this weekend, he admonished himself.

Letting out a sigh, Greg locked and bolted the door, then moved to sit down on the couch, running a hand through his hair. He had to put this paranoia aside and let himself trust people again, before he became one of those crazy nut jobs he'd always disparaged.

He couldn't let himself distrust the world. He had to keep lines of communication open between himself and the people he was closest to; if he let those lines break down, then he would be truly alone, and there would be no one around to help him when and if he needed it.

No, there was no question about that, he told himself. There would come a time when he'd need help, and he couldn't push people away from him and distance himself from that help. This wasn't over, even if other people might think that it was.

His stalker was still out there, patiently waiting for the chance to stroke when he least expected it. That might sound paranoid, but he was sure that it was true -- and rather than thinking of it as paranoia, he preferred to see that attitude as a healthy dose of self-preservation.

Tomorrow, instead of saying that he had things to do before he got some sleep and heading home alone, he'd go out of his way to go out with his colleagues for breakfast. He wasn't going to push those people away longer. No more distance, no more distrusting those around him.

With a soft sigh, Greg got to his feet and headed down the hallway towards his bedroom. He would check the room carefully to make sure that no one was there -- and then he could hopefully get some sleep and wake feeling refreshed with a new sense of purpose.

***