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nickngregHey everyone. Thank you so much to everyone who encouraged me to continue on this. I hope you enjoy it. Again, this is a little post GD from Nicks POV. This is a journal he has to keep for his shrink. language, and stuff. People and song aren't mine. The song belongs to mr day, although I changed the word from high to low. Hope you enjoy.
My Pensive:
My dreams lately have been, by most peoples standard’s, pretty fucked up lately. My med’s keep me from remembering most of them in any detail, but the ones that stick out most involve being back in that box. I can smell the stale air, feel the ants crawling over my skin, feel the burning pain in my flesh. Strange as it seems, I can deal with it. I know I’m simply reliving the experience, but I’m perfectly safe. In a way it’s like watching a scary movie or something. It’s almost cathartic being able to go through it. The only time it really bothers me is when I forget that I’m ok. Those times I’m back in the box not just in my mind but physically. Those are the times I’m glad Greg is there, to comfort me. He does this thing. It’s silly, really. But he sings to me when I forget that I’m out of that god damned box, and it reminds me I’m in my bed, and he’s with me.
The other one, I haven’t really shared with anyone but it bothers me a lot more than the first one does. It’s when I’m not in the box, that it gets really bad. Those are the times, that Greg just backs off and let’s me have my space, but his voice is always there reminding me I’m home. I refuse to tell him about those dreams, but I think he knows why. Hell, of course he knows. Those are the dreams where it’s Greg in the box, and I’m the one who has to find him. Working on the case, I am a mess. I always end up fucking something up and when we get to him. It’s always to late and it’s all my fault. If I had just been able to keep my focus on the case and not on the fact that it’s Greg on that computer screen I’d have found him in just enough time. But I don’t. I never do. Those are the ones that are harder to live with. But even those I understand. They stem from my love of Greg, and my mind trying to process how he was as amazing as he was. Because I don’t think I’d ever be able to do that. I’d have punched the walls till my hands were broke and bloody, and I was in the corner sobbing. From what I’ve been told never broke down. Not until I woke up in the hospital and he was there and I said his name for the first time. It took almost an hour and a shot to calm him down. When the shot kicked in they actually put him in the other bed because he collapsed from sheer exhaustion. I wanted them to put him in bed with me but I could never say that. So I had to settle for being able to watch my lover sleep.
Last night’s dream was different from both of them. And although I’m sure I could explain it all, there was something about it that caused cold sweat to cover me, and that made me forget how to speak, and had Greg’s hands shaking worse than they had since right after the accident and got him to bypass my normal med’s and gave me the one that doctor had told us was for “the really, really bad ones.” This time I was awake when I was locked up and I wasn’t alone. Greg and I were in there together. And as I looked up there were my parents, shovels in hand throwing shovel fulls of dirt on top of us. No matter how loud I screamed or how much I begged. Or even how much I promised to be a good boy, and stop telling lies about how much the girls liked to touch me. Nothing I could say could stop them. I don’t even know if they could hear me, I mean I think they could. They just looked so upset and disappointed and sad. Behind them I could see Sara and Cath, and Warrick and Gil, and everyone else from work just watching. They all had the same disappointed look on their faces. When they faded from view I began to focus on Greg. He was unconscious, but breathing which was good. He was alive and we’d be able to save some oxygen because of his slow steady breaths. I felt around in the darkness for what I knew would be there. I cracked the first glow stick and cast a side long view at Greg. I reached over and grabbed his limp hand and held it until I matched my breath with his own. My other hand reaches for the tape recorder. I press play expecting to hear the voice of that sick fuck. But it’s not. And here’s where I get almost more disturbed than watching my parents throw shovels of dirt at my face. It’s Grissom. On the tape. He tells me that I have enough oxygen to last the both of us 4 hours. But there is enough oxygen for one person to last twice as long, and that they will dig us up in 7 hours. He tells me about the gun that I already know is lying next to my head. He informs me that there is only one bullet in it. And it’s time for me to make a choice. I can shoot Greg while he’s asleep and will never know the terror of waking up buried alive and having to live life with out me, but I’d have to live knowing that I killed the one person I ever truly loved to save my own life. Or I can shoot myself and be spared the pain of having to live with out Greg, and giving him a long life, but leave him with all horrid feelings that I’d be saving myself from. One of us dies or both of us dies and it’s my choice. And I’d better decide soon, because the longer we both breath the less likely it will be that even one of us will make it. Greg wakes up at that point and I start bawling like a fucking baby. I try to tell him that I have to choose either me or us. I know there’s no way I’d tell him that his death is even an option. But somehow he knows. He just knows. He looks at me. Or as much as he can look at me and says. “Nicky, sometimes we have to make choices. Sometimes we don’t think that there is much of one, but there is always a choice. Remember that night I made the choice to ask you out, and you made the choice to go with me. I know things haven’t gone exactly how you planned, and I wish I could make them better. I wish my choice hadn’t led us here, but it has. But Nicky, I’d make that choice a million times over.” With that he reached over and grabbed the gun. It was too small a space to struggle with him. And I begged him to stop. To not do it. But I could see him wrap his lips around the barrel of the gun like he’d done to my cock so many times before. With the barrel pressed against the roof of his mouth he say “I love you.” Than pulled the trigger. That’s when I woke up and well, I already talked about that, but after I took the pills Greg nearly forced down my throat. We sat on the floor together. Both of us shaking and he held me and started to sing. Something he’d never sang before. I looked up the lyrics based on what I could remember.
come lay down at the edge
come lay down at the broken edge
come lay down at the feet of angels
eyeing you in a northern sky
come lay down at the end
come lay down where the times suspended
come lay down and and hear the voices
calling you from a northern sky
follow me and don't look down
you're alright
come with me, forget you're low
it's alright in all
your eyes are open and singing
your eyes are open
and not quite breathing
your eyes are open
you're seeing things
that i can't see as hard as i try
follow me and don't look down
you're alright
come with me and forget you're high
it's alright
and alright.
don't look down
keep your eyes off the ground
so afraid
these days will fall
like tears down your face
follow me and don't look down
you're alright
come with me forget your low
it's alright
and alright
follow me don't look down
you're alright
come with me forget you're low
it's alright, alright
I know I could analyze that last dream. I mean everything is pretty self explanatory. But than I think I’ll see what my shirk has to say. It should be a good laugh. I’m thinking he’ll say something like....I feel buried by my parents desire for me to be a lawyer. I feel that Gris, keeps giving me impossible choices to make. And I’m afraid of losing Greg. Well, that last part might not be so far from the truth. But I don’t feel like writing about that now. Greg just got home and I should try to get some sleep. It’s funny he keeps telling me that I need to get more sleep. That I need to try a normal sleep schedule. But it’s gotten to the point where I can hardly turn my back to the front door while Greg is away. Pretty fucking sad isn’t it. A grown man reduced to that. But he’s here now and I’m safe. And I’m rereading this now, and I think I’ve gotten a little better at this whole honesty thing. I didn’t even have to go back and rewrite anything this time. Although I know I have to expand on a couple things next time, but I don’t have time now.
As always any and all feedback is welcomed.
SAEbuffyboy
PS thanks to the roomie for letting me bounce ideas.
My Pensive:
My dreams lately have been, by most peoples standard’s, pretty fucked up lately. My med’s keep me from remembering most of them in any detail, but the ones that stick out most involve being back in that box. I can smell the stale air, feel the ants crawling over my skin, feel the burning pain in my flesh. Strange as it seems, I can deal with it. I know I’m simply reliving the experience, but I’m perfectly safe. In a way it’s like watching a scary movie or something. It’s almost cathartic being able to go through it. The only time it really bothers me is when I forget that I’m ok. Those times I’m back in the box not just in my mind but physically. Those are the times I’m glad Greg is there, to comfort me. He does this thing. It’s silly, really. But he sings to me when I forget that I’m out of that god damned box, and it reminds me I’m in my bed, and he’s with me.
The other one, I haven’t really shared with anyone but it bothers me a lot more than the first one does. It’s when I’m not in the box, that it gets really bad. Those are the times, that Greg just backs off and let’s me have my space, but his voice is always there reminding me I’m home. I refuse to tell him about those dreams, but I think he knows why. Hell, of course he knows. Those are the dreams where it’s Greg in the box, and I’m the one who has to find him. Working on the case, I am a mess. I always end up fucking something up and when we get to him. It’s always to late and it’s all my fault. If I had just been able to keep my focus on the case and not on the fact that it’s Greg on that computer screen I’d have found him in just enough time. But I don’t. I never do. Those are the ones that are harder to live with. But even those I understand. They stem from my love of Greg, and my mind trying to process how he was as amazing as he was. Because I don’t think I’d ever be able to do that. I’d have punched the walls till my hands were broke and bloody, and I was in the corner sobbing. From what I’ve been told never broke down. Not until I woke up in the hospital and he was there and I said his name for the first time. It took almost an hour and a shot to calm him down. When the shot kicked in they actually put him in the other bed because he collapsed from sheer exhaustion. I wanted them to put him in bed with me but I could never say that. So I had to settle for being able to watch my lover sleep.
Last night’s dream was different from both of them. And although I’m sure I could explain it all, there was something about it that caused cold sweat to cover me, and that made me forget how to speak, and had Greg’s hands shaking worse than they had since right after the accident and got him to bypass my normal med’s and gave me the one that doctor had told us was for “the really, really bad ones.” This time I was awake when I was locked up and I wasn’t alone. Greg and I were in there together. And as I looked up there were my parents, shovels in hand throwing shovel fulls of dirt on top of us. No matter how loud I screamed or how much I begged. Or even how much I promised to be a good boy, and stop telling lies about how much the girls liked to touch me. Nothing I could say could stop them. I don’t even know if they could hear me, I mean I think they could. They just looked so upset and disappointed and sad. Behind them I could see Sara and Cath, and Warrick and Gil, and everyone else from work just watching. They all had the same disappointed look on their faces. When they faded from view I began to focus on Greg. He was unconscious, but breathing which was good. He was alive and we’d be able to save some oxygen because of his slow steady breaths. I felt around in the darkness for what I knew would be there. I cracked the first glow stick and cast a side long view at Greg. I reached over and grabbed his limp hand and held it until I matched my breath with his own. My other hand reaches for the tape recorder. I press play expecting to hear the voice of that sick fuck. But it’s not. And here’s where I get almost more disturbed than watching my parents throw shovels of dirt at my face. It’s Grissom. On the tape. He tells me that I have enough oxygen to last the both of us 4 hours. But there is enough oxygen for one person to last twice as long, and that they will dig us up in 7 hours. He tells me about the gun that I already know is lying next to my head. He informs me that there is only one bullet in it. And it’s time for me to make a choice. I can shoot Greg while he’s asleep and will never know the terror of waking up buried alive and having to live life with out me, but I’d have to live knowing that I killed the one person I ever truly loved to save my own life. Or I can shoot myself and be spared the pain of having to live with out Greg, and giving him a long life, but leave him with all horrid feelings that I’d be saving myself from. One of us dies or both of us dies and it’s my choice. And I’d better decide soon, because the longer we both breath the less likely it will be that even one of us will make it. Greg wakes up at that point and I start bawling like a fucking baby. I try to tell him that I have to choose either me or us. I know there’s no way I’d tell him that his death is even an option. But somehow he knows. He just knows. He looks at me. Or as much as he can look at me and says. “Nicky, sometimes we have to make choices. Sometimes we don’t think that there is much of one, but there is always a choice. Remember that night I made the choice to ask you out, and you made the choice to go with me. I know things haven’t gone exactly how you planned, and I wish I could make them better. I wish my choice hadn’t led us here, but it has. But Nicky, I’d make that choice a million times over.” With that he reached over and grabbed the gun. It was too small a space to struggle with him. And I begged him to stop. To not do it. But I could see him wrap his lips around the barrel of the gun like he’d done to my cock so many times before. With the barrel pressed against the roof of his mouth he say “I love you.” Than pulled the trigger. That’s when I woke up and well, I already talked about that, but after I took the pills Greg nearly forced down my throat. We sat on the floor together. Both of us shaking and he held me and started to sing. Something he’d never sang before. I looked up the lyrics based on what I could remember.
come lay down at the edge
come lay down at the broken edge
come lay down at the feet of angels
eyeing you in a northern sky
come lay down at the end
come lay down where the times suspended
come lay down and and hear the voices
calling you from a northern sky
follow me and don't look down
you're alright
come with me, forget you're low
it's alright in all
your eyes are open and singing
your eyes are open
and not quite breathing
your eyes are open
you're seeing things
that i can't see as hard as i try
follow me and don't look down
you're alright
come with me and forget you're high
it's alright
and alright.
don't look down
keep your eyes off the ground
so afraid
these days will fall
like tears down your face
follow me and don't look down
you're alright
come with me forget your low
it's alright
and alright
follow me don't look down
you're alright
come with me forget you're low
it's alright, alright
I know I could analyze that last dream. I mean everything is pretty self explanatory. But than I think I’ll see what my shirk has to say. It should be a good laugh. I’m thinking he’ll say something like....I feel buried by my parents desire for me to be a lawyer. I feel that Gris, keeps giving me impossible choices to make. And I’m afraid of losing Greg. Well, that last part might not be so far from the truth. But I don’t feel like writing about that now. Greg just got home and I should try to get some sleep. It’s funny he keeps telling me that I need to get more sleep. That I need to try a normal sleep schedule. But it’s gotten to the point where I can hardly turn my back to the front door while Greg is away. Pretty fucking sad isn’t it. A grown man reduced to that. But he’s here now and I’m safe. And I’m rereading this now, and I think I’ve gotten a little better at this whole honesty thing. I didn’t even have to go back and rewrite anything this time. Although I know I have to expand on a couple things next time, but I don’t have time now.
As always any and all feedback is welcomed.
SAEbuffyboy
PS thanks to the roomie for letting me bounce ideas.
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no subject
Date: 2005-06-06 06:04 am (UTC)Un-fucking-believeable.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-06 06:06 am (UTC)Poor Nicky, all the bad stuff and then awful dreams...
Lovely fic..
no subject
Date: 2005-06-06 06:21 am (UTC)I do hope there'll be future editions; I'd like to see Nick make some improvements.
(From a purely editorial standpoint, in the first sentence you used the word "lately" twice, and near the end of the second paragraph I believe you meant to say "From what I’ve been told he never broke down." But then again in this case any editorial errors can be chalked up to being Nick's mistake, no? :) )
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Date: 2005-06-06 06:28 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2005-06-06 08:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-06 01:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-06 02:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-06 07:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-06 07:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-06 02:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-06 05:32 pm (UTC)