nickngreg | Another sleepless night...

Author: Exit Music
Title: Devote
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: none
Spoilers: pertains to an event in "Play With Fire."
Summary: Hospitals. Eep.
A/N: I do not own these characters, I merely worship them.

A choked moan echoed against tile, Greg had rolled over during sleep and woke up with his back to the pillow. The quick stab of nerves propelled him upright, a futile attempt to find a more comfortable position.

“Oh god.” Nick hopped to his feet, hands hovering, calculating how to help. Slowly righting himself he gestured the other man sit down, it would be okay.

“What can I do, is there anything?” Greg strained to keep the eye line; Nick’s earnest expression salved him. Gently shaking a no, he passed out.

The smell of petrolatum based ointments and sterility made him nauseous, Nick could never stand to watch the slow suffer of a hospital stay. He had warmed the unyielding wooden chair since Greg had been admitted, only leaving to put in an hour’s worth of face time at the lab. Everyone knew, Grissom knew. He had stayed, with screaming muscles, in the same chair for almost three days. He watched the traffic of nurses and doctors, and wiped stray tears after the first painful bandage redressing. It had almost seemed more unbearable to watch than to experience, wicked curves of stress painting Greg’s fevered face. After seeing blood at one point he felt like crying himself. The last thing a wounded man needs is another invalid at his side, so Nick tried his best to maintain a stoic look of reassurance. The smell of new flesh was equally as sickening.

“Nicky…Nick. Hey,” Greg half smiled at the dozing lummox. He had never had such attention bathed over him. To receive it from someone, whom he knew to loathe the surroundings, cast a fog over the shrieking nerve endings and jigsaw lacerations. The sounds of crunching glass and hurried feet played a loop in his head, he often thought the floor of the hospital room was covered in shards. The mind’s trickery at work, with morphine at the wheel he sailed the wave and went with it. Nick placed tender lips on Greg’s right hand, lingering to clutch fingers.

“ How are you? If there’s…anything…” He noticed how easily the same few words made his partner choke up. He wrapped an index finger around Nick’s thumb, and cooed a ‘no’ before succumbing to the painkillers.

Helpless. It rang in his ears, helpless. He couldn’t embrace, didn’t want to infect. Couldn’t affect. The heave and roll of ache ridden sleep, the lips he wanted to touch. Another faceless nurse strolled in, bandages in tow, and his stomach turned. He could easily stand over rotting flesh at a scene, but this was nearly too much. She woke Greg abruptly, gesturing to her watch. Wincing, he waved Nick closer to the bedside. After one of the many other visits, Greg had lovingly titled the gaggle in his care ‘The Dragon Ladies’, a thought that kept a grin peeking every time one of them invaded the room. She pulled back the sickly blue colored gown, exposing goose pimpled flesh and semi-soaked bandages in an upside down L across his frame. The wounds seeped lymph onto rectangular Xeroform pads, which if not removed properly pulled violently at raw skin. After tugging gently at a corner, she grumbled something about the burn tub. She also mentioned the turnabout in his sleep, which possibly caused the wounds to overreact. He knew the last thing Greg wanted to do was move at the moment, so he cupped his hand and asked to accompany. The nurse ordered a facemask to be worn; he shook his head in agreement.

Tensing his body against the gurney, they wheeled him into the bright, chilled room. Greg found it funny that the building felt more like a morgue than a place for the mending. Water ran in an oversized white tub, and Greg hesitated a moment before carefully stepping off one side of the stretcher. With almost feline grace he slid out of the untied gown, knowing where to shift and move with the bandaging. Nick blushed involuntarily at the now very naked man. With a smile bordering on childlike mischief, Greg winked and was helped into the bath by an attendant. The nearing tepid water caused a shiver as he settled into place. The liquid soothed the heaviness of his person, and he lolled his head back. As Nick sat beside him, Greg floated his hands over the film of the water; tiny splashes kissing parts not entirely engulfed.

Nick remained motionless, gazing at intact flesh and bandages that began to billow. The silence of it was maddening; gravity yanked at him, the want to touch grew serious. He noticed the inoperative jet outlets positioned in a ring around the tub and grinned under the mask.

“Hey, you know what they use these tubs for besides regular ole bathing?” A snort of laughter fell from Greg.

“No, do I want to?” Nick twiddled a finger and nodded his head.

“They have these in every high end birthing center, women hop in and spit out kids all the time.” He watched closely, waiting for it. A growing giggle emerged from his partner, followed by the high pitched ‘ewww.’ Greg then wrinkled his nose and lightly shook his hands.

“Thanks for that, the image of underwater fetal olympics will stay with me forever, you know that, don’t you?” Nick laughed out loud. He sighed a mark of relief; he had been anxiously awaiting some sign of the real Greg for days. The squeamish little boy, the silly monkey still lived. He hadn’t mentioned the first night to him, the sleep that mimicked coma, the flash of uncertain fate. Nick knew Greg was better without it. Now mattered only, the petered out bubbles of happy noise, the pacifying soak.

Entranced by Nick’s peaceful appearance, he leapt at the whoosh of the double door; bath time was over. She came over to the lip of the tub, noting how pliable the pads had become, and pulled a pair of latex gloves from her shirt pocket. Before she could put them on, he pleaded,

“Give Nick the gloves, I’d like him to remove the gauze.” She started on about policy, which only annoyed him further.

“He’ll wear the gloves, we work at a lab, and we know how to be careful. Please.” Again.

“Please.” She handed them over to a surprised face and walked out. Greg observed him put on the gloves with intense care, and then felt submerging fingers.

“Tell me if I hurt you, ok?” Greg beamed and began to scoot himself down towards the faucet to give better access.

Nick was on the verge of passing out, not knowing how powerful the image would be. The bandage rectangles were yellowed and puffed out, but still clinging to the meat. He held his breath and began with the corner furthest underneath. He heard Greg release a grunt as the sagging pad was peeled away. It became easier as they went along, until they came to the pad on his neck. It hadn’t been fully saturated, and Nick paused.

“Hmm. Uh, babe. This one didn’t soak too well.” Greg turned his head and made the motion, cupping water and pouring. He nodded his head and performed the act several times until corners pried free and helped slide off the last piece. Greg exhaled painfully as the cool air hit the open wound. Nick stood up to get the nurse, and was stopped.

“Thank you.” Two words spoken softly slit him up the middle. Without warning, salty wet welled and flowed. Greg tilted his head and gestured acceptance; it was all right to cry.

“I love you,” Nick strangled through the fit of tears. He discarded the gloves and wiped his face, breathing out an ‘ah’ sound; feeling lighter. He stepped up to the fiberglass basin and with covered lips, moved his mouth over Greg’s forehead. Greg smiled and replied,

“I love you, baby.”

With a nod Nick straightened up and looked back,

“If there’s anything…” he uttered sweetly, and walked out.