Title: To Save A Life
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Greg Sanders
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Rating: PG-13
Table: Hurt/Comfort, mission_insane
Prompt: 2, Sore
Author's Note: Standalone fic. Spoilers for the S7 episode "Fannysmackin'."
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 stretched his legs out in the hospital bed, wincing and letting out a soft sigh. He didn't want to be here, but he couldn't take care of himself if he was alone at home, not after how badly he'd been beaten up. It still hurt to move, and he had a hard time walking without help.

He didn't want to think about what had happened, but at the moment, he had nothing to do but think. No matter how many times he went over the events that had led up to his being beaten within an inch of his life, he couldn't see where he'd had any other choices. He'd done what he had to do.

If he hadn't hit the gas pedal when that kid had come at him, he would more than likely be dead now. And the man who that group of thugs had been beating would definitely be dead. He had saved not only his own life, but someone else's as well. He couldn't regret that.

He just wished that he hadn't been beaten so badly. He hadn't expected that; he'd thought that they would run away like the cowards they were. Greg winced as he raised a hand to his head, closing his eyes. He hurt so badly at the moment that all he wanted was to stop thinking and sink into oblivion.

But he couldn't do that. If he just let everything go, then it might all become too clouded in his mind, and he might start to think that he could have done anything differently. He knew that he couldn't have. That kid -- and the thugs he ran with -- were a menace to society and basic human decency.

He was so sore that it hurt to move, but if being beaten up this badly had been the price for saving that man's life, then he wasn't going to complain about it. Everything that he did had an equal and opposite reaction, Greg told himself. So it made sense that they'd turned on him.

If anyone doubted that he'd done what he'd thought was right, then they didn't know him very well. He'd been scared, yes, but he had known that it would cost two lives if he hadn't hit that gas pedal. And he couldn't bring himself to regret doing that, whatever the cost might be to his career.

Greg had no doubt that Ecklie would throw him under the bus to keep the crime lab's involvement in what had happened to a minimum. This could cost him his job -- and he was also fairly sure that the crime lab wasn't going to pay for his hospitalization time, even though he'd be injured in the line of duty.

Ecklie and the bigwigs would all be ranged against him, while the people he worked with on a daily basis would all be on his side, working to find out who the leader of that gang of thugs was and putting him -- and hopefully some of the other gang members, too -- behind bars.

But all the public would see was that a CSI driving a van had run down a supposedly "innocent" kid. Greg had to snort at that thought; if that kid had been so innocent, then he wouldn't have been running around with a gang of thugs who beat people up -- and murdered them.

There was nothing "innocent" about the kid who'd attacked him. Greg knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would be dead if he hadn't pressed his foot on the gas -- that rock would have come directly through the windshield and smashed his head in. He knew it.

He'd seen the look in that kid's eyes when he'd hefted the rock; there had been murderous intent there. But anything he said in his own defense would be twisted, and someone who had been nothing but a murderous thug would be made out to be a poor little misunderstood victim.

Greg's hands clenched at the thought, raw anger spiraling through him. With an effort, he fought it down, making himself relax. He didn't need to get angry now, he told himself firmly. He could save that for later, when he had more energy to expend on anger.

Right now, he had to concentrate on healing and getting the hell out of here. He knew that he couldn't work on the case that he'd been a part of when this had happened, but he wanted to be at the crime lab, back at work, in the middle of things and doing some good.

Being here in the hospital made him feel nervous and jumpy, as though everyone was watching him. He hated feeling as if he was on display, like some kind of sideshow in a carnival. He'd rather be at home, licking his wounds in private, even if it was more difficult in some ways.

He didn't have a choice about being here, though, he told himself, wincing as he shifted to what he hoped would be a more comfortable position. He was so sore and bruised that it hurt simply to shift from one side to the other while he was lying in bed.

That would only be worse if he had to deal with it by himself, he thought, sighing softly and wishing that he could simply wave a magic wand and make all of this go away. But what was done was done, and he couldn't turn back time, or change the present.

He was going to have to deal with this, even though he knew that once he was in better shape, he would more than likely have to go through a trial by fire. He would end up being thrown under the bus, he had no doubt of that. And he didn't know what to do about it.

He was going to be painted as some kind of villain, rather than as the victim. His injuries would be glossed over, and everyone would think that he was some kind of ruthless killer -- when in reality, it had been that murderous thug who had been the killer, not him.

But there was no use in getting himself worked up over it now, he told himself, closing his eyes. He wished that he could just drift off to sleep and float in oblivion for a while, let himself rest and relax, rather than have his brain working overtime and running in ten directions at once.

That had always been a problem for him, Greg thought with another sigh. He mulled things over too much; his brain was always working overtime, even when it needed to shut down and let him get some much-needed rest. He had to force it to settle down and be quiet.

That might be an asset when he was working, but it certainly wasn't now, he thought wryly. The only way that he was going to feel better any time soon was if he gave his body time to heal -- and his mind as well. He had to put that healing first, and think about the future later.

That was probably going to be easier said than done, he thought wryly. Once his brain was on a certain train of thought, it was never easy for him to turn it off. But he'd have to do that now, if he wanted to get some rest -- and have some peace of mind along with it.

Greg almost snorted at that thought. Peace of mind! That was something he probably wasn't going to have for a long time. This mess wasn't going to be untangled any time soon; he was just lucky to have something of a respite now, before the next blast hit him.

It was like being in the eye of the hurricane and knowing that he was going to be thrown out of it into the storm that was already raging around him, he thought, a shudder going through his body. He might as well try to rest and relax while he still had the chance. That rest probably wouldn't last for long.

He shifted position again, wincing when he rolled over onto his side. He was going to be sore for a while, that was pretty obvious. But at least being so bruised and battered gave him a reason for turning his back on all that he'd have to deal with once he started feeling better.

Judging by how sore he was now, it was going to be quite a while before he felt up to going back to work, Greg thought, wincing again as he tried to find a comfortable position that didn't put pressure on too many bruises. This wasn't going to be a fun vacation by any stretch of the imagination.

He finally found a position that didn't feel as though it was sending pins and needles through his body, sighing as he lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes. If this was how it felt to save a life, he told himself wearily, he'd rather not have to go through it again any time soon.

***