(no subject)
WHO: csi_nick_stokes
WHEN: Greg's first night back home
WHERE: His apartment
His home. It felt the same. It looked the same. It even smelt the same. Greg wasn't sure how long the smell would last, however, considering the stuff that was probably going bad in his fridge.
Nevertheless, it was his home. And he was happy to be back. He shuffled in awkwardly, trying to reaquaint himself with the place. But he wasn't entirely sure what to do. He could watch some TV... no, the bright lights would probably give him a headache. He could shower... but he wasn't sure he had the energy for that either, and he would need to change all his bandages if that were the case.
Giving up, he went straight for his bed. When he entered his room, he changed gingerly out of his clothes, and looked around stiffly for something else to wear. His eyes fell on a momentarily unfamiliar t-shirt, lying a few feet from his bed. He picked it up and pulled it on over his bruised back, and it suddenly came to him where he had gotten it; it was the shirt Greg had stolen from Nick's locker. It didn't fit him very well, Nick evidently had broader shoulders than he, and it was an odd rust-ish colour that surely must have looked better on the Texan than it did on Greg himself, yet he liked it. It was soft and comfortable, and smelled vaguely of Nick's locker, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
He fell onto the bed, promising he would start sorting things out in the morning, and sleep greeted him almost at once.
It didn't last long, however.
He woke up with a start only a few hours later, and there was a cold sweat on his face, the salt stinging a bit on some of his scrapes. Greg must have been dreaming... he could just barely remember what he had been dreaming about, yet considering the events of the past few days, he had a pretty good idea about what it had been centered around. He remembered feeling cold, alone in a small dark place. He was wet with blood. It wasn't his blood however, the man in the suit was lying at his feet. He was sure someone had told him the man's name while he was in the hospital, but Greg had forgotten it, and wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was again.
He was the man that Greg Sanders had killed. That was all the information he needed.
Unaware of the time, and still shaking softly out of both fear and sore muscles, Greg flipped on the lamp next to his bed and grabbed for his cell phone. He dialled Nick's number.