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The house was dark and quiet when Nick got home, which was odd. He opened the bedroom door, slow and careful, but found the room flooded with the eerie light from the television, Greg sitting up in the bed, shirt off, sheet around his waist, eyes on the screen, face blank.
“Hey.” Nick glanced at the screen long enough to see that Greg was watching music videos on mute, and then turned his attention back to the still figure in the bed.
“Hey.” Greg’s eyes didn’t turn from the screen.
“Rough night?” Nick pulled his shirt off, tossing it aside before sending his pants to join it.
“You could say that.”
“What happened?” Nick slipped into bed.
Greg sighed. “I don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?”
“The whole ‘give the new guy’ a hard time thing. It’s not tradition, it’s not even a joke, it’s a twisted game.”
“Greg, what happened?”
Greg looked at him, “You heard about our case?”
“Yeah.” He had, people talked. “Sounded rough, but didn’t sound that bad.”
“They sent me to the hospital to get evidence off the victim.” Greg watched, waiting for a reaction, but Nick didn’t know what to say. “They sent me to take evidence from a burn victim.” Greg waited again.
“G, that had to be rough—”
Greg interrupted. “Rough, right, just rough. You know what, forget it.” He rolled over, turning his back to Nick, letting the light from the television spill over his skin. His skin, and his scars. Scars that Nick had seen, touched, kissed, every night, and if he’d missed it, somehow forgotten, then Grissom and the others definitely hadn’t remembered.
“Greg,” Nick slid over in the bed, skimming those familiar scars before wrapping around Greg, holding tight. “It wasn’t a game, just stupidity, I promise.”