Jul 06, 2007 22:52
It happens so quickly that Greg doesn't even feel the pain at first.
He's sitting on the couch, feet propped up on the table, flipping through a music magazine and listening to his iPod. His drink is on the table by his feet, a glass of soda, and he really wants a sip, but he's too comfortable to lean forward and get it.
One second the cup is on the table, and the next it's shattered in his hand, soda mixed with blood dripping onto his clothes and magazine as shards of glass stick out of his palm.
There's no way that happened. He refuses to even entertain that he moved it with his mind, because... well, science says it's probably just a freak accident, a burst of air from the vent in the ceiling or something.
Then the pain hits, and he quickly stands, cradling his hand against his chest, and shoves his feet into his shoes on his way out the door. He knows enough from working at the Crime Lab not to pull the glass out himself, in case it's hit a major blood vessel. There's a clinic in the village, he knows, and it's close enough to the hotel.
[open to greg and cuddy, and anyone else who wants to encounter a freaked-out, bleeding greg!]