SquidgeWorld Archive

I don't think I have ever been more scared in my life. Never. I felt like this heavy weight was crushing my chest and no matter how much I struggled, it wouldn't let up. Nothing eases up the pressure, and I felt like I might explode.

I don't think anything had ever come close to the fear that plagued me when I heard Catherine tell us what happened to Greg. It was like the world came to a standstill, yet was still spinning entirely too fast, all at the same time. When I was kidnapped, with everything I went through, the terror I felt then couldn't compare to what I was feeling at that moment. At least then, there was something I could do. I had a means of escape, even if not the one I wanted. At any moment I could have made the choice to end it right then.

But I didn't have that choice this time. I couldn't get to Greg; I had to work the scene. I couldn't rush to his side and let him know that we would make the assholes responsible pay. I couldn't run my fingers along his swollen lips, or cup his bruised cheek. I couldn't look into his beautiful eyes, and see the love that I knew was there shining back at me. But more importantly, I couldn't hold his hand and listen to him reassure me that he was okay. "I'm still here Nicky."

I knew all this, yet I hated it. Hated it because I have felt this way before, no matter how hard I tried to forget. Not long ago, I felt this same paralyzing fear, felt the same agonizing dread in the pit of my stomach. Yet the fear had not only been for Greg. It had been for me. I hadn't told Greg about my feelings, didn't even want to admit them to myself, and then I almost lost that chance. Back then it had been some random officer, whose name I can't remember, that had told me what had happened. I do remember the panic that overcame me. I remember the unease that settled in the pit of my stomach as I paced in the hospital waiting room, awaiting word on his condition. I remember the way he looked as he lay in that hospital bed on his side, asleep from the sedatives the doctors gave him, so young and vulnerable. I remember clasping his hand in mine, and watching him until he awoke. I remember the look in his eyes when he finally did wake up. But mainly, I remember the way he wiped the tears from my cheek, as he uttered two precious words in a raspy whisper. "I know."

So as I worked the case, the fear never left me. As we processed the scene, the unease never let up. As my fist connected with that jerks midsection, the anger didn't subside. As I watched Warrick remove remnants of Greg's hair from the scene the guilt that I have been trying to push aside bubbled to the surface. As we apprehended the idiots responsible, the bile that had been sitting in my stomach all day burned my throat. As I closed my locker and headed to the hospital, along with my team, the anticipation threatened to overwhelm me. As I entered Greg's hospital room, taking in the multiple bruises and swollen lip, the tears that burned my eyes before spilling over were of no consequence. But more importantly, as I looked into the beautiful, yet bruised, face of my lover, I couldn't help the broken declaration that fell from my lips. "Greg, I love you."