Canada

by Emily Brunson

(c)2002

Fandom: CSI

Pairing: Nick/Gil

Rated: This isn't exactly NC-17, but it ain't Disney, either, so's you know. More when I get the chance and my brain will get out of the way enough to let Nick and Gil do what they want to do as opposed to what I want them to do.

Summary: Roadtrip

NOTES: This is kind of a test, to see if anyone digs this. *sheepish grin* It can become a Gil/Nick piece, and I think it will, but it's primarily a reaction to Grissom's reaction, in the most recent new episode (sorry, I don't know the title, but it was the stalker ep).

I'm new to writing CSI, so just dipping my toes in the pool.

Feedback of any ilk is always welcome. janissa@odsy.net

CHAPTER 4 NOTES: Especially to our Canadian neighbors. Much of the Canadiana you'll find in this story is based on my own experiences. For example, the diner in this chapter actually exists. I had a similar experience driving up in my car with Texas plates. And yep, I had that sandwich, too. So I don't mean to cast aspersions on Canadian cuisine, just in case anyone's wondering. It's just a bit of real life that snuck in here. That and the crowd checking out the car. I kept it small for the story's sake, but in real life it was a BIG crowd; I think the whole damn town turned out for it. We shook hands, they took pictures -- I'm not kidding, it is a treasured memory. That, and my own ghastly French, checking into the hotel that night. Good for a laugh, trust me. Um, this is truly unbetaed, un-anythinged, so caveat lector, or Hannibal Lector, or whatever. eeep! Em
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Canada
by Emily Brunson
(c)2002


He started packing the day after the guys finished repairing his living room ceiling.

It didn't start out as actual packing. Just cleaning, going through things, marveling at all the shit he'd collected and kept lying around, collecting dust. And there was a lot of dust. Between Nigel Crane and the construction team he'd hired, even the dust was dusty.

A part of him was aware, though. Probably the same part of him that, when it came time to decide on a replacement door, chose one made out of metal. The same part that had him installing a security system.

Jane Galloway would've understood.

Work was all right. Nobody gave him shit about the newsletter anymore. There were a few cases that really absorbed him, gave him something concrete to think about.

But mostly Nick though about nothing at all. Or at least that was what he told himself.

The same day he spent investigating a double homicide -- jealous husband, cheating wife, boyfriend caught with his pants down, literally -- he realized he wanted out.

Everyone had been so fucking understanding. He figured maybe that was part of it. And Grissom, with his well-intentioned but totally awful explanation about how it hadn't been Nick at all, no, it had been some fruity scientist's theory brought to life by a lunatic.

Oh, it wasn't me, was it? Nick wanted to say. If it wasn't me, then who was it? You saying I just represent something? You boil it down to a theorem and suddenly it doesn't have anything to do with me?

It was hard to work with Grissom now. Hard to work with everyone. And when he woke up in the middle of the night, just about every night, with broken dreams of black-rimmed glasses and his own brains spattered all over his walls, he pretty much found it hard to work, period.

Catherine treated him like he was made out of spun glass. Way too understanding. Grissom was a fucking Vulcan, without any trace of understanding that Nick could see. Warrick, everybody -- too much. He hated going to work. Not the work itself, but the feeling. Like he had a bull's-eye painted on his back. Two times now. Two endless spans of time spent looking down the barrel of a gun and thinking about exactly what that bullet was going to do to him. Because he knew, oh yeah, crazy Nigel had it right. Nick knew.

He put the condo on the market two weeks later. He had to fight the buyers off with a stick; it was a good neighborhood, nice place, and he sold it two days later. That put him in serious packing mode, so he took off a couple of days, spent a long weekend alternately packing and throwing things away. A lot of things, in the long run. That's what they were, really: just things.

It was Sara who figured it out, when she cornered him at work and asked him if he'd moved.

"Do you blame me?" he asked bluntly.

The pitying look on her face made him feel almost dizzy with anger. "No," she replied with a sigh. "Look, Nick -- If you ever need to talk about --"

"That's okay." He made himself smile at her. "But thanks for the offer. I mean that," he added when she frowned. "Thanks."

He walked away before she could push any more than that.

But word got around, oh yeah, the grapevine was healthy and bearing lots of fruit. By the next day everybody knew Nick had Moved Out. Nick had Freaked, with a capital F, and that stands for FUCKED, my friends, Nick LOST IT.

The next day, his face burning with obscure shame, he asked Grissom for a couple of weeks off.

"Will it help?" Grissom asked him bluntly.

Nick shrugged. "I think so."

"It might be better if --"

"Look," Nick interrupted, his heart suddenly galloping briskly in his chest, "if you're gonna say something about getting back on the horse, you might as well save it. Been there, done that. It isn't helping."

Grissom regarded him with what Nick reluctantly recognized as understanding. "I was going to suggest a month," he replied mildly.

And damn it, he was by god NOT gonna cry in front of Gil Grissom, even if he felt like it right now. For the first time. Oh yeah, felt like it. "That'd be good," he said in a strangled voice.

By the time he got to his car, he didn't feel like crying anymore. Just getting away. What a goddamn relief.

He thought he'd visit a friend in California, but one day of Jim's relentless frat-boy good humor and Nick was ready to strangle him. He bowed out with a lame story about going up the coast to catch a seminar in forensic archeology and escaped.

Instead of Seattle, he drove southeast. Two days later he passed the Richardson city limit and let go of a sigh he didn't know he was holding. Home, then. Texas. Parents, friends, familiarity.

His folks were mystified but wildly happy to see him, of course. His work meant he didn't get home as much as they wanted -- or he wanted, for that matter -- and so he did the family thing, hung out with his dad and worked on the Mustang that would never be fixed up to his father's satisfaction, had lunch with his sister, complimented his mom very honestly on her cooking. Met up with some friends and did Deep Ellum a few times. Got drunk more than a few times. It didn't help, but it felt like something he wanted to do, so that made it okay.

Grissom left a message for him the second week he was home. How'd the guy know where he was? Fucking spooky Griss, more of a psychic than that asshole guy in Nick's condo had ever been. Nick didn't return the call. Nothing to say.

He stopped doing much, that third week. He'd done everything he was supposed to do, and now his parents were getting a little curiout about why he wasn't going back to work yet, and why he hadn't called Grissom or Catherine or Sara or Warrick. He slept a lot, stopped drinking after one hellacious hangover that had him re-enacting college by spending the entire next day sick as a dog.

But mostly he just existed, breathing and not doing much else. He wasn't hungry. Wasn't interested in much. He was there, and that was all that he could manage.

"What's wrong, Nick?" his dad asked one night, his tanned face creased with worry. "What's going on, son?"

"Nothing," Nick said remotely, and changed channels on the tv. Digital cable, not satellite, what a relief.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Don't worry."

But his dad did worry, and his mom, pretty much his whole family, and what had been comfortable, safe, was suddenly stifling. He packed the next morning without knowing he was going to leave, and damn it, there were tears in his mom's eyes when he hugged her goodbye, but what the hell was he gonna say? The truth? What WAS the truth? He'd lost his nerve? Had the balls scared off him by a lunatic and thought he might find them again in Texas, only he hadn't, and now he'd have to keep looking? Yeah, that'd fly. He could live with being scared. After a fashion. But he couldn't live with scaring his folks, any more than he already had, and so he split.

The day he was supposed to return to work, he called Grissom.

"Is everything okay, Nick? Where are you?"

Nick had to swallow, glancing around the pissant Maine boontown he had come to this morning. "I'm okay," he lied. "Sorry about today. I'll be back tomorrow."

"Take whatever time you need, Nick. Look, why don't you let us take you to dinner? Catch you up on things?"

Because I'm 3,000 miles away from you, Nick almost said, and found a hard, painful grin on his face. "Maybe tomorrow," he said guilelessly. "But thanks."

"Any time, Nick."

He took the ferry over to Nova Scotia and didn't call the next day. Damn, there wasn't a soul on the planet who knew where he was now. It was a weird, good feeling. A *free* feeling.

The next afternoon he stared at the phone in his motel room and felt the tears finally come back. Only this time there wasn't any stopping them. Grief flattened him, smashed into him like a Texas tornado, and he lay on the creaky bed and curled up and cried, cried so hard he finally had to stagger to the bathroom and throw up. And then cried some more, realizing he would sell his damn SOUL to talk to someone, to not be so goddamn alone.

He hit the speed-dial on his cell phone and tried to stop crying long enough to talk.

"Nick? Where the hell are you?"

Grissom didn't sound pissed. He sounded *worried*, and boy, that was all the damn tears needed to get started again. "Sorry," Nick said in a watery, foggy croak.

"Jesus, Nick, are you okay?"

Didn't even sound like Grissom, either. Never heard him sound worried like this. Will marvels never cease. "No," Nick croaked. "I don't think I am."

Sounded like Grissom was walking. "Where are you? I'll come get you, okay, just stay put."

His nose was running. "Canada. I'm in Canada."

A pause, then Grissom's thunderstruck voice: "CANADA?"

"I'm sorry," Nick whispered, flailing for the Kleenex box.

"Where are you? I'm coming to get you, all right? Where in Canada, Nick?"

You don't have to do that, he wanted to say. I'll be back soon. But horrifyingly he didn't say anything like that, instead all he could come up with was a watery "Okay. N-Nova Scotia."

"Christ. Tell me you're going to be okay until I get there, Nick. Tell me."

Okay? Of course he'll be okay, why wouldn't he be? "I'll be okay," he said waveringly.

"Tell me you're not gonna do anything to yourself. Can you do that?"

"Do anything?" he echoed, confused.

"Promise me you'll go to a hospital if you -- " And another wonder: Grissom's voice broke. Holy saguaros, Batman, the Las Vegas Vulcan sounds positively -- scared.

"I'm not gonna kill myself," Nick said, suddenly utterly terrified. But what if he was? Was he? Was this why he was here?

"Swear it," Grissom snapped.

"Okay, I swear."

"I'll be there tomorrow. Just -- don't do anything, Nick. Don't."

I won't, Nick wanted to say. But the words wouldn't come out, and he had no idea why.

He fell asleep around 3 a.m., but Grissom called a couple of hours later. And again, when he hit Boston, which was around noon Nick's time. And yet again, in Portland.

"I gotta rent a car. You okay?"

"Tired," Nick mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"Tough. I haven't slept in 52 hours. You gotta talk to me, or I'm going to drive off the road into the Atlantic."

So he talked, without any idea of what he was really saying. Telling Griss about California and Texas, and how he sorta wandered northeast until he hit Canada. Wondering if his car was still there in Portland.

Grissom sounded pretty fucking tired himself, but he kept Nick on the phone until he saw the motel, and then there was a knock at the door and Nick reeled over to open it.

"Hey," he said to Grissom's astonished face. And passed out cold.

Part Two


It wasn't much of a faint, but it was embarrassing anyway. Except he didn't really feel so much embarrassed as apologetic, because Grissom had a funny, grim look on his face that Nick had never seen before.

"I'm okay," he said, trying and completely failing to get up on his own. It took Grissom to haul him to his feet again, and even then the ground was doing some kind of gross pitch and yaw thing straight out of Perfect Storm, and it took all his energy not to puke, never mind walk
unaided.

"No, Nick, you're not okay," Grissom retorted tersely.

That made him feel like crying again. Shit.

"Why'd you have to run? You should have told us."

"Told you what?"

"That -- That you were --" Yet another surprise. Grissom, stammering.

"I don't know." It wasn't a lie. Except for the part that was.

Grissom sat down in the single chair and reached up to rub his eyes, and Nick took in how tired he looked. Tired, kind of old. There seemed to be more silver in his hair these days. With a weird twisting feeling in his gut, Nick felt hoped savagely that he'd put some of it there.

"Feel like you could eat something? You look like you dropped a few pounds, and unless I miss my guess, that little swoon was because you haven't had anything to eat. Sound about right?"

Mutely, Nick nodded.

"I don't suppose there are many delivery establishments here, huh." Grissom's voice was its dry best, and Nick forced a smile. "Okay, I'm going out for food. You'll be here when I get back, right?"

Nick nodded again.

Grissom regarded him steadily. "Your dad called me," he said.

"Oh."

"Your folks were pretty scared. Scared us, too."

Wow, how embarrassing. He felt his face heating up. "I just needed some space," Nick mumbled, looking down.

"I understand that. I do," Grissom added at Nick's startled look. "Although I don't think I've needed *this* much space."

"I didn't plan it," Nick said hoarsely. "Just kinda -- ended up here."

Grissom nodded slowly. "Then stay here, and I'll be back in a few."

"Okay."

He fell asleep, somehow, and the next thing he felt was a touch on his shoulder. With a garbled shout of terror Nick threw himself off the bed, only to fall over on the *other* bed and just sort of lie there, stunned.

"I'm sorry." Grissom sounded sorry, too, standing there with a sack in one hand and the key in the other, and a stricken expression on his face. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Nick tried to grab a breath. "S'okay," he squeaked, avoiding Grissom's all-too-intent gaze.

"I got Chinese. It was that or pizza."

The old Nick would have asked him why in the hell he didn't get pizza, but this new and not particularly improved Nick didn't much care, it seemed. He sat in the middle of the bed nearest the table, hands shaking too bad to manage chopsticks, trying to eat a little kung pao chicken and feeling Grissom watching, watching. Eating and watching.

When the food was not exactly gone but sufficiently picked-at, Grissom sighed. And here it comes, Nick thought, his stomach clenching. This wasn't *logical*, Nick, the Vegas Vulcan would say. Only Griss didn't really seem very Vulcan-ish these days, did he?

"You scared the shit out of me, Nick," Grissom said in a soft, weird voice.

Nick gave him a startled look. "I know," he answered hollowly. "I didn't think about that. I wasn't -- thinking much for a while there."

Grissom leaned back in his chair, and Nick didn't miss the way it was suddenly Grissom who didn't quite meet his eyes. "Feel any better?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Feel like coming back to work?"

Nick swallowed. "I don't know."

A tiny smile played about the corners of Grissom's mouth. "Just feel like -- being in Canada, is that it?"

"Something like that."

"Sara told me I should drag you back by your hair." Now the smile was a grin. "Catherine asked me if we could call the Mounties. I didn't think that would be necessary."

"No, no Mounties."

Grissom nodded slowly, picking at leftover rice. "So what now? Stay here? Work our way west?"

Nick's eyes narrowed. "'We'? Don't you have to go back?"

"Yes, I have to go back."

"But --"

"I didn't say I have to go back right now."

Nick snorted, shaking his head. "Gonna babysit me for a few days?" he asked harshly.

"Guess so. If that's what it takes."

"I'm a grownup, you know. I can --"

"--Take care of yourself, yes. I know." Grissom eyed him steadily. "But you've had a hell of a time, Nick. I'm not your babysitter."

"No, Grissom, you're my boss," Nick shot back.

"I'd like to think I'm your friend, too," came Grissom's soft reply.

Nick shrugged. "Okay, you're a friend. But I don't know what I want to do, okay? I don't --" He had to swallow; his throat was as dry as toast. "I don't know if I want to go back."

"That's fair. I can't say that I blame you."

"Oh really."

"Yes, really. Look, what is it with you and me about this? I've cut you every bit of slack at my disposal, not to mention --"

"I know," Nick interrupted, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. "I know. I'm sorry," he added stiffly.

Grissom didn't say anything else for a moment. Finally he said, "I've got to go get a room. Don't think they'll fill up, but you never know."

It felt like his heart was bleeding. What else could hurt his chest this bad? "Nah," Nick said as casually as he could. "Got an extra bed right here, and it's paid for. Why don't you stay here?"

When he met Grissom's eyes Griss looked uncannily calm. "Sure. Okay. If that's what you want."

And it WAS what he wanted, there was the real hell of it. Because it was Grissom he'd called, when the shit hit the fan, wasn't it? Out of all the people he knew, the people who loved him, or cared about him, it had been Griss whose number his finger had dialed. So yeah, that was what he wanted.

"Yeah," he said gruffly. "It's what I want."

Chapter Three


He's going to die. There's no question of if, but only when. Will he pull the trigger now, or wait a couple more minutes? Help's on its way, but it's going to be too late, way too late, he's never going to know how late because he's going to be dead, dead like he wasn't last year but almost was, dead like the vics he's photographed, gone, just a case number, nothing

Crane lifts the gun and Nick screams, doesn't even bother with crying because it's too late, the gun's going off and there's this weird feeling in his head, a hollow thump and this horrible *lack*, a vacancy where his head used to be and

"NICK!"

He came to screaming, mindlessly struggling against whatever it was that was touching him, holding him, oh God it was Nigel, fucking NIGEL get your fucking hands OFF me you perv

"Nick, it's okay! It's okay, it's me, Grissom, listen to me. It's okay. Just a dream, all right? Just a dream."

Panting, heart banging against his ribs with panic, Nick fought for a second, and then Grissom's wonderfully calm, sane voice penetrated.

"Shhh, it's okay, Nick, it's all right. It's just a dream. He's not here. Just me."

Nick took in a gigantic whoop of air, and tried to sit up. "Wha --" he said dizzily. Grissom? But Grissom was in Vegas, and Nick was -- where, exactly? Maine, right? Wait, no, this wasn't Maine, this was Canada, Mounties, hair-pulling. Grissom.

"Gil," he gasped, and burst into tears.

Grissom didn't budge. Holding him, hard when he tried to break away because this was too fucking embarrassing, he hated to cry but he hated crying in front of anyone more, and yet he just didn't have the control, didn't *want* the fucking control. What he wanted --

-- was Grissom, there, and here he was, and it was okay, maybe not completely, but a shitload better than it had been. So he pressed his face against Grissom's chest and stopped thinking about it, and let go.

When he could think again, he became aware of two things. First, Grissom's tee shirt was soaked. And second, as screwy as it sounded, as unexpected as it was, Nick felt better, *safer*, than he had in weeks, right here.

He put his hand on Grissom's wet shirt and grimaced. "I'm sor--"

"It's okay. Relax. It's okay."

So here was a picture, a part of his mind told him. The part that sat back and offered its own lively commentary on everything. All cuddled up with the boss, ain't that sweet. Why don't you just call him Daddy and get it over --

"Shut up," he whispered.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, sliding his arms shamelessly around Grissom's waist and closing his eyes to the feel of Grissom's hand stroking his hair. "S'okay."

And it kinda was okay, and he thought about how strangely great that was before he slipped back into the thankfully now-dreamless realm of sleep.

~~~~~

"So. Where to?"

Nick fumbled for his sunglasses. "Portland. My car, remember?"

"Right. Ferry?"

"Beats swimming."

Grissom laughed, and put the car in reverse.

Hell of it was, Grissom didn't seem to be anything but completely cool with waking up to Nick wrapped around him. And since Nick *wasn't* completely cool about it -- didn't know what to think of it, if truth were told -- that same coolness was extremely freaky in and of itself.

He'd had no idea how long Grissom had been awake. There was just the solid, unbelievably reassuring feel of a strong body next to his own, and then he was blinking at his boss, who he had evidently stuck to like a barnacle all night.

"Hey," Grissom said, looking sleepy and so not not-cool, Nick was immediately, extremely awake.

"Hey," Nick croaked, unbarnacle-ing himself. Even with the curtains drawn the brightness of the sunlight was crucifying. "Shit," he mumbled, reaching up to rub his eyes.

"Don't. You'll make it worse."

"Uh," Nick responded idiotically.

"Shower. Coffee. Breakfast. In that order?"

"Uh."

"You're not a morning person, are you?"

"Are you?"

"Shower, Nick. I prefer conversing with people who are actually awake."

He took a long, blissfully hot shower and tried not to look at himself too much in the mirror while he dried off. Man, he looked worse than his high-school girlfriend had the morning after they broke up. Give raccoons a run for their money.

He put on his jeans and finally paid attention to how loose they were. Maybe Griss was right. He'd dropped a few pounds. He'd see to that, if he could just find his lost appetite.

When he came out of the bathroom, toweling his hair, Grissom had found coffee someplace and was talking quietly on the phone. Seeing Nick, he put his hand over the receiver and lifted his chin. "Catherine," he mouthed. Nick nodded, most of his brief content melting away.

In the tiny cafe adjoining the motel, Nick poked at eggs and potatoes and watched Grissom polish off a seriously huge omelette. "Most important meal of the day, huh?" Nick remarked weakly.

"S'really good. Want some?"

"No, thanks." He went back to poking.

A few minutes later Grissom sipped his orange juice and leaned back. "Eat, Nick," he said gently, another one of those tiny smiles on his face. "You said it, not me, remember?"

Nick forced a smile and made himself eat a bite. The little, nasty voice in his head sat up and said, You know, Nigel watched you eat. Sat up there and candid-cameraed the whole thing. Breakfast, lunch, whatever. Watched you take a crap. Watched you shower. Watched you jerk

With a revolted sound Nick shoved himself back from the table, scanning the room with absolute focus, looking for the bathroom. About half a minute later he left what he'd managed of eat of breakfast in the toilet, and kept right on trying to throw up the lining of his stomach for a while after. When it seemed to be over, he clawed his way to a standing position, hit the handle on the toilet and reeled over to the sink. His mouth tasted utterly gross. He rinsed, and drank a little water, but when it gurgled dangerously in his belly he left it alone, too.

Just -- don't think about it. That's the ticket. Everything will be okay if you just. Don't. Think about it.

Back at the table, the dishes were thankfully gone, and Grissom had already paid the ticket. "Come on," he said mildly, touching Nick's elbow. "Let's pack up and hit the road."

Which brought them to now, and the sound of Gil's sweet laughter in the air, and back to the idea that this guy -- his boss, head honcho, brain trust -- had come three-fucking-thousand miles just to see if his sorry ass was still alive.

"Christ, this has been a real pain in the ass for you, hasn't it?" he asked, shutting his eyes.

"Yes, Nick," came Grissom's deadpan reply. "Major pain in the ass."

"Why didn't you send -- Sara, or Warrick, or -- " He broke off.

Grissom swung them out into traffic. "Would you rather I'd done that?"

Nick glanced at him, obscurely uncomfortable. "I didn't say that. I just -- They're not the boss."

"Humor me, and stop obsessing over it."

Nick caught his grin, and had to smile, too.

Chapter Four


Three days later they were in Quebec, and Nick was smiling a lot more.

"It's summer, right?" Gil asked, glancing out the window and frowning at the clouds.

"Last time I checked."

"Huh. So we're just acclimated to Nevada, I guess."

"It's cold, Gil. It's 49 degrees. For June, that's cold."

"So it's not just me."

"Nope."

"Good."

"Of course you're from California, and I'm from Texas. What do we know?"

"I was afraid you'd say that."

Nick just grinned.

When he thought about it, he couldn't remember ever having quite as good a time as he had had, the past few days. Well, sure he'd had fun. But this was different, in ways that sort of made sense and sort of didn't. A different flavor of fun, maybe.

For one thing, Grissom's smarts were pretty interesting, if Nick got over himself enough to admit it. Griss had weird little factoids about everything under the sun. From the history of Niagara Falls to a bewildering treatise on the Canadian dollar that had made Nick's head hurt, the guy just had a shitload of info stored in his head. And far from being geeky and kind of weird, it was actually pretty cool.

"You need to go on Jeopardy," Nick remembered saying, a day ago.

Gil gave him a baleful look. "No, thanks," he said thinly.

"Why not? Make a ton of money, dazzle people with your intellect --"

"Don't go there, Nick."

"Face it, Gil, you're a fucking brain trust. Besides, it's not embarrassing to do Jeopardy. A friend of mine did it, couple years ago. Didn't win, but he did pretty good. You'd knock 'em out."

Gil just smiled. "Can you really see me on Jeopardy?" he asked, and Nick had to laugh, because no, he really couldn't, but shit, the guy was brilliant! Could you blame him?

But there were other things he discovered, too. Things like the fact that Grissom wasn't a Vulcan, after all.

"I'm sorry about the other night," Nick said now, in a diner in a minuscule Quebec town. His Nevada plates had caused quite a spectacle; even now he saw a few folks clustered around the back of his car, gawking. Anywhere else, he'd have been out the door, sure they were going to slash his tires or something. Here, well, he wasn't worried. Call it instinct, but these didn't look like the tire-slashing types.

Grissom glanced up from his plate. "Sorry about what?"

Nick put down his sandwich and considered the possibility that what the cafe called "ham," was known as "Spam" in the states. "In Nova Scotia," he said, wrinkling his nose at the sandwich. "I have -- bad dreams."

"Oh. Don't apologize." Gil was eyeing his own lunch with a similar look of opprobrium. "I'm just glad I could help."

And that was the hell of it, because Gil *did* help. And with a level of concern and honest caring that made Nick feel deeply and obscurely ashamed for the names he'd called Grissom in the past.

There hadn't been any more nightmares since Nova Scotia, that he could remember. But some bad moments, for all that. The creeping certainty that Nigel Crane's attentions had been based on something other than sheer emulation had made it very hard to just give up and move on. Nick felt more and more that -- weird as it sounded -- Jane Galloway had been the warmup. The appetizer. Nick himself had been the main course. And that was damned hard to stomach.

"You could be right," Gil had told him very matter-of-factly, the previous night. "I thought at first that you simply represented something to him. You were an avatar -- an archetype."

Nick looked at him. "And now?"

"I'm not so sure."

"More personal than that, huh."

"Maybe so."

Hadn't been quite as hard to hear as he'd imagined, but that was probably based on the fact that Gil had had his arm around Nick at the time, and that helped a whole lot.

Which led him to the third different flavor of this trip -- not the bubble-gum ice cream of laughter, but maybe something rich, and more sophisticated. Jamocha, maybe. If he continued the ice-cream analogy.

Every night there was a double hotel room. But every night so far, they'd only used one bed. And that was both alarming and something else, and between the two Nick wasn't at all sure which was more compelling.

Where to start? Why was this happening? From choosing Grissom to call instead of Sara or Warrick, to being wildly glad that Gil was there, to winding up in bed with him? Not that "bed" had any real connotations. It was just comfort. But Nick hadn't been comforted by much of anyone for a while now, and certainly not Grissom.

Certainly not a MAN, the nasty little voice inside him piped up helpfully.

Which still didn't explain why it just felt so damn good.

They didn't talk about it. At least there was that vestige of masculinity left to him. Grissom didn't make any comments on how Nick couldn't seem to sleep unless he stuck to Gil like a limpet. No rejection, no cute remarks, no censure. Nothing but an easy acceptance that had Nick guiltily wondering about Grissom's past -- and his own new-found tendencies -- and growing increasingly uncertain about -- well, just about everything.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Nick looked up and felt himself flushing. "Canadian, or American?"

Grissom shrugged. "Whatever."

"Just thinking."

"Yeah, that much I figured out on my own."

"What did he plea?"

Grissom frowned, but fell for the ruse.

"Nigel. Guilty, not guilty?"

"Oh. I think his attorney's probably going with the insanity defense."

Nick snorted, giving up on the sandwich and focusing on his soda. "Think it'll work?"

"I don't know. Hard to say. The guy's at least somewhat insane."

"Somewhat? He's a fucking lunatic."

"Maybe." Grissom made the same gustatory decision and put his napkin on the table.

"Will I have to testify?"

"No one will make you if you don't want to. But the DA won't have much of a case without you."

"Yeah. Figures."

"Either way, he won't go to trial for months yet. Don't worry about it." He caught Nick's second snort and amended, "Not too much, at least. Better?"

"Guess so."

Outside the diner some people were still gawking. Nick smiled a little uncomfortably and unlocked the driver's side door. "Is it just me," he asked inside the car, "or are we some kind of fifteen-minute wonder here?"

Grissom fastened his seat belt. "As Americans, no. But the car? Yeah. How many people drive this far up into Quebec?"

"Good point."

The cool weather continued, and that night Nick shivered when he crawled
into bed.

<With the boss,> the voice told him with mock innocence.

Whatever, he thought, and pulled up the blanket.

Chapter Five


By the time they passed Thunder Bay, Ontario, Nick was getting tired of driving. Tired of the car, tired of traveling. Which somehow didn't quite translate to "ready to go home" quite yet, but which made him feel antsy, what his mom would have called "a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs."

So he surrendered the wheel with a sense of relief, and tried not to think about anything at all.

"Tired of Canada?" Gil was smiling, like he'd been waiting to drive and was thankful Nick finally gave in.

"Dunno. You?"

"Sorta."

Nick frowned. "How long can you be gone?"

"Twenty minutes?" Grissom laughed, sounding so ridiculously young and, well, human, Nick couldn't help grinning, too. "Catherine's got things in hand. I think she's enjoying holding the reins."

"She's been waiting for you to get promoted."

"Then she's got some waiting to do. Because I'm not promoting anytime soon."

Nick smiled. "Glad to hear it."

"Know anyone in Minnesota?"

"Not a soul."

"Friend of mine lives outside Duluth." Gil made a face. "Nah. And we'd have to backtrack to hit Chicago."

"North Dakota?"

"Nope."

"Me, neither."

Gil glanced at a semi passing them at full blast. "What do *you* want to do?" he asked, facing forward again. "Any ideas?"

Nick slumped back in his seat. "Not really," he answer honestly. "Let's go back."

He could feel Grissom's sharp gaze on him. "You sure?"

"No. But what else are we gonna do? Calgary?"

"Whatever you say."

"Ever been to British Columbia?"

Grissom gave him another sharp look. "You do realize that's a hell of a long way from here."

Nick nodded. "Look, you know, I could drop you off at the airport, shit, I dunno, Minneapolis. You could catch a flight home. I'll be okay."

"You sure?"

Nick drew a breath to reply, and Gil continued, "Because I think you're better, Nick, but I'm not going to ditch you and find out you disappeared again. That's -- No."

"I won't disappear."

"No, because you'll be with me."

"Gri --"

"Weren't you calling me Gil a few miles back?"

Nick blinked at him. "Habit, I guess," he stammered after a moment.

"Call me Gil, okay? Because otherwise I'm going to feel like we're working, and this is my vacation, you know."

"God, I hope not."

"Why not? Road trip, see some serious country, good company -- what's not to like?"

"Let me count the ways," Nick replied dryly.

"Look, don't worry about it, okay? Just relax."

Riiight. He'd been sorta relaxed, but now his nerves were jittering like cold water on a hot skillet. Great work, Nick. Not only have you fucked up your own job, but now you're cutting into Grissom's, too. Gil's. Whatthefuckever.

"I sense you continuing to worry."

"What kind of strings did you have to pull to do this?" Nick asked tightly, feeling his jaw start to ache. "Don't tell me you didn't, because I know what kind of a place CSI is, and there's no way you could just disappear and people don't notice."

"Funny, that's exactly what I thought when you did it," Grissom shot back.

"Place isn't gonna fall apart because I'm not there. I'm a cog in the wheel. You're the wheel, Gil. You they'll miss."

Grissom's knuckles looked a little tight on the steering wheel. "Let me tell you a story, Nick. No, don't talk," he added when Nick drew a frustrated breath. "Just listen. Once upon a time there was this guy. Good at his job, well-liked and respected by his colleagues. A nice guy.

"One day soimething very bad happened to our guy. Something no one could have predicted, and no one could have prevented. And it hurt him a lot. And finally it got so bad that he took some time off."

"G --"

"Shut up. Now this guy's friends and colleagues were pretty worried about him. They understood what was going on, or at least they were fairly sure they mostly did, but they couldn't help worrying. After all, he was important to them. They *noticed* when he was gone. Like the hole where a tooth has been, the way your tongue keeps looking around for something that's not there anymore.

"So one day his friends sat around a table and talked about what they should do. Because, you see, they had to do *something*. And they talked about it, and talked some more, and nobody knew what to do. But when one of those friends had an idea, everyone agreed." Grissom glanced over at Nick, his eyes thunderously dark. "That's the key, Nick. The moral to this little story. Everyone AGREED. This was the right thing to do. And everyone also agreed that if they all worked together, this idea would work.

"So stop worrying, all right? We miss you, Nick. I miss you. And I want you back. I don't want to sit around and do nothing while you're in trouble. I can't do that. And don't think we didn't argue about who got to come. Because there's not a person on our team who wouldn't have done in a fucking heartbeat. No one. I practically had to sedate Warrick to keep him from going on his own, and Sara was calling for plane tickets to Texas before we even knew exactly where you were. You got that?"

His chest hurt so bad, he thought maybe he was having some kind of heart attack. "Yeah," Nick wheezed without strength. "I -- I got it."

"Good." Grissom looked at him again, and some of the fierce emotion cooled a little. "Shit, are we staying in Canada or not? Did we decide that?"

Nick smiled a tiny bit. "Not really. How far to Vegas from here?"

"Thirty hours?"

"Wow. That far, huh."

"Yep."

"Home, I guess."

"Home it is."

A few miles passed in silence; not a bad silence, but somehow fraught, for all that. Finally Nick asked, "Whose idea was it?"

Grissom snorted a little. "Whose do you think?"

Staring straight ahead, Nick replied, "I think it was yours."

"Damn right it was."

Another mile, and Nick drew a difficult breath. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He could hear the smile in Grissom's voice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You talk to Catherine today?"

Grissom spat out toothpaste and shook his head. "She'll call if she wants. She's got the number."

"We'll be back by Sunday. Maybe you oughta call her." Nick shrugged out of his shirt.

"Tomorrow, maybe."

Nick nodded, and tried to sidle out of the way as Gil left the bathroom.

It didn't work, and later he thought that that was pretty much the moment the slippery slope became less of a stumble and more of a freefall.

Grissom's hand came out, just an automatic touch, but his hand on Nick's bare waist was like a caress from a cattle prod. Nick gasped, stiffening, and Grissom's touch tightened with quick concern. Thereby compounding the issue.

"You okay? What? What's wrong?"

It felt as if his entire blood supply had cleanly divided in half. Half went to his face, the biggest fucking blush he could ever remember experiencing. And the other half went immediately and most embarrassingly straight to his dick.

"N -- Nothing," Nick mumbled frantically. "S'okay." He stepped back, trying to do -- something, not sure what, either break Gil's dangerous touch or else maybe, what, he had no idea.

"Hey. It's okay."

"No, it's not," Nick whispered urgently. "It's really not."

He almost *felt* it when Grissom finally got the message. Hopefully it was because of their proximity, and not because of the spectacular boner Nick was now sporting. "Oh. Nick --"

"I need to grab a shower." He tried getting around again, only this time Grissom blocked him on purpose.

"What is it? Tell me."

"NO."

"You --"

"I CAN'T!" Nick cried miserably, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"Look at me. Do it, Nick, look at me."

Hot, absurd tears burned his eyes. He flickered a glance up and oh CHRIST, Gil's face was just too fucking close, it wasn't SAFE, didn't he get that? What did it take, a neon sign? "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here."

Then Gil reached out and pulled him close, and oh BOY if he hadn't figured out Nick's problem with Mr. Chubby by now this had pretty much given it away. But some rebellious part of him -- probably the part controlling his dick right now -- was overjoyed, so relieved it made him wordless, so intent it sent his own arms sliding around Gil's waist before his rational mind had a second to veto the action.

"Nick." Gil's voice sounded odd. Deeper, maybe. "It's okay. It's really okay."

It's not okay, his rational mind informed him coldly. It's most definitely not not not-okay.

Fuck that, his non-rational dick said, just before it sent him leaning forward, yearning with every cell in his body for something that he had no right to want. *I'm* in control here, not you, so fuck off.

The thing that shocked him then, the only thing that evidently had the power to break the spell of the non-rational, happened just after his lips touched Gil's. Because it felt so good he wanted to cry, but lookie here, Ma, Grissom's got a woody to match Nick's, and seems to be enjoying this -- say it, asshole, this KISS -- every bit as much as Nick is.

Which was the thing that suddenly made the rational take over, and had him pulling away with a broken, "No."

Chapter Six


"I'm sorry," Nick said from the other side of the room. Again.

He didn't have the nerve to look at Gil -- again -- and once again, Gil just said, "Don't be sorry."

Well, this was a pretty picture, now, wasn't it? The Younger Man, standing by the door in case he decides to bolt because holy SHIT, he realizes this could actually happen instead of being some kind of fucking perverted wet dream. And the Older Man, wise beyond his years, sitting Yoda-like on the bed, cryptic smile firmly in place. You know those young guys. Nervy things, don't scare 'em off. Draw more flies and virgins with honey than vinegar, right, Griss?

"Look, would you just sit down? You're making this into a very big deal, Nick."

Oho, the wise man speaks. Nick stopped pacing and stared at him, stung. But when he tried to speak, nothing useful come out. It IS a big deal. Is it? Evidently not. So ignore it and it'll go away? That was how he'd learned to deal, himself. Maybe Gil had, too.

Or maybe Gil-baby really didn't think anything had happened, but that was impossible, right? Because something had.

Was Grissom really that out of touch?

The man in question patted the bed. "Come on. Sit down."

Nick edged over and sat about as far away as he could without falling on the floor. When Gil didn't say anything else, Nick swallowed hard. "Okay, I'm sitting down now. Happy?"

"Honestly? Not particularly."

Nick nodded woodenly, staring at the bedspread on the opposite bed. "I didn't -- mean for that to happen. I think maybe I am kinda crazy right now."

"Understandably."

"I don't -- I don't usually --"

"I don't care."

Nick gave him a startled look, and Gil sighed. "Who was it? Elvis Costello? Said, 'Writing about music is like dancing about architecture.'"

"I, uh. What?"

"I don't care what you usually. All right?"

"Huh? I'm still -- Elvis Costello?"

"Never mind. Come here?"

Gil's arm around him felt so good, so right. Nick froze in place.

"Everything's okay, Nick." Gil sighed, pulling Nick against him. "If anything I said -- before -- made you feel as if this was your fault, I'm sorry."

"Okay."

"It wasn't just your idea, you know. I wanted to kiss you, too."

Nick clenched his eyes shut.

"If you don't want that, it's okay. I just want you to know that there's nothing wrong with it. That's all."

But there is, Nick thought desperately. Oh, there is.

"Talk to me, Nick, okay?" Gil sounded a little strained now. "I was never very good at ESP."

"I don't -- know what to say."

"Want me to stop?"

Nick sighed inside the circle of Gil's arm. Let go? No, he didn't want that. He shook his head.

"Come on. You're tired. Let's get some sleep."

He let Gil draw him down on the bed, not the same position as before. Before it had been Nick who clung to Gil. Now it was Gil who spooned up behind him, one arm looped around Nick's waist, hand flat on Nick's belly.

The panic was still circling, sniffing around, looking for a toehold. And his mind busily informed him, once again, of how this looked. You could sugarcoat it before, Nicky, you can sugarcoat it now, but what you KNOW is that you really don't want to go to sleep, do you?

With the same feeling as before -- feet slipping on loose scree -- Nick rolled over, coming face to face with Gil. Gil's eyes were soft in the dimness, all too easy to read. And it was all too easy to let go of his fear, let it dissipate in the warmth of Gil's body next to his own, and push himself over to meet Gil's ready mouth.

The joy was still there, a kind of incredulous WOW, but this time there was also relief, the feeling a dying man might have when he hit the morphine button yet again. It might not fix things, not forever, but it felt so damn good.

Nick made a soft sound deep in his throat, letting Gil pull him closer until their bodies lined up. The most thorough kiss Nick had ever known, the first time he could remember ever being the complete focus of Gil Grissom's fearsome attention. He felt a little like one of Gil's treasured bugs, only there was no pin sticking him to styrofoam. Just their bodies, connected at the mouth, hands, arms, legs. Groin.

Oh yeah.

Tears stinging tiresomely behind his eyes, Nick broke the neverending kiss and gasped for air. And then gasped again when Gil simply changed that terrible focus, kissing beneath Nick's jaw, to his throat, up to an ear and then to the vulnerable place where his jaw ended, a place other people had kissed, sure other women, you mean but never like this, never with this kind of singleminded enjoyment.

"God," Nick gasped without thinking, and flopped over on his back, bringing Gil with him.

Gil smiled an inch from his face, and bent to kiss his mouth again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He woke up early, not even dawn yet if the dark behind the curtains was any clue. For a second he had no idea where he was. There was absolutely nothing familiar in this room. No sounds, no outlines of furniture he could identify. Just dark, and a rising feeling of indescribable panic.

Someone sighed next to him, and Nick rolled away with a wrenching gasp, coming to rest on his knees at the edge of the bed.

Evidence, Nicky boy. Let's see. You have no clothes on. From the looks of it neither does Grissom.

Remember now?

You fucking faggot.

With a wounded sound Nick pushed himself back, but there was no more bed. Just a wall, the feel of his head thumping against sheetrock, and bedclothes tangled around one of his feet.

"Nick?" Gil said groggily, sitting up. "You okay?"

He fought the sheet until he could get untangled, and then scrabbled to his feet.

Inside the bathroom he closed and locked the door, hands shaking so badly even the thumb latch was a challenge. The bright fluourescent bulbs were absolutely unforgiving. Nick glanced at his nude body in the mirror

My, my, but you have that well-fucked look, my friend, that post-coital glow, should we say, FAG and recoiled, averting his eyes and going over to turn on the shower.

"Nick?"

Shit.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Jesus, it was hard to breathe. Steam was filling the room, but his throat was closing up, and in the midst of everything else one thought popped into his mind, so sharp and horribly clear that he couldn't even begin to argue.

You're dying. You're gonna die, Nick.

Allergic reaction, maybe. Allergic to what? No, asthma. Been years since he fought with that, but he remembered now, that awful struggle to get air OUT, never mind in.

DYING. Call 911. Someone has to help me, please, HELP, help me.

He leaned against the sink and opened the door, revealing Gil Grissom's worried face.

"Nick!"

Good, Grissom would know what to do. He let Gil catch him, free now to be as terrified as his body demanded, because at least someone KNEW, someone could help him when he

DIED

"Breathe, Nick." Distant, cool words, but why wasn't Grissom getting off his ass and calling the fucking CAVALRY? His chest hurt, maybe this was a fucking heart attack, too young and nothing wrong but there WAS something wrong, he was DYING, couldn't Gil see that?

"It's a panic attack, Nick," came Gil's awful, reassuring voice. "Come on. Relax. Let go."

"Can't -- breathe."

"Yes, you can. I promise. Just ride it out. It's going to be okay."

He pulled against Grissom's hold but it didn't work. And he *could* breathe, after all, but with that realization came the shakes, huge terrible trembling that made him feel weak as a day-old pup.

Grissom's arms were strong around him, soothing voice still going. "It's okay, Nick, you're fine. See? Already better. That's it."

His cheeks felt cold and wet. "What -- happened?" he wheezed out.

"Later. Just relax, breathe. You're okay."

"Gil."

"I won't let anything happen to you. Just relax. Close your eyes."

Nick sobbed once, and let his head sag back against Gil's chest.

Chapter Seven


"We could take a break."

Nick glanced up from tying his shoes. "Huh?"

Gil sipped his coffee and kept staring out the window. Not much to see. Great view of the parking lot. "Explore. Take a day off from driving."

"What's there to explore in Iowa?"

"That's the thing. I have no idea." Gil turned a smile in his direction. "I've never been in Iowa. Terra incognita."

"Kinda boring terra."

"Maybe. Let's find out."

With a disgruntled feeling he didn't quite understand, Nick shrugged. "We're only two days from home. Can we afford to take a day off?"

The smile didn't falter. "Can we afford not to?"

"I'm okay. You said it yourself. Just nerves."

"Exactly. And the closer we get to Vegas, the worse they get. Don't they?"

"I guess," Nick mumbled.

"So let's sightsee. Go out tonight, do something besides sit in a car. What do you say?"

"Whatever you want."

His lack of enthusiasm was either dealt with or ignored, he couldn't say which. But they did sightsee. Des Moines wasn't bad. Killed a few hours. Much bigger than he'd thought, and much more cosmopolitan. Interesting to see a city that wasn't quite as tacky as Vegas. Not tacky at all, in fact.

"A lot of people stopped here before heading west," Grissom remarked, gazing out the window at the enormous, ornate houses they were passing. "It was a primary staging area for pioneers."

"The Chamber of Commerce should hire you," Nick replied dryly.

"My family probably came through here."

"On their way to California."

"Yep."

Nick watched the houses go by, pretty, sure, what the hell, better than looking at Gil's concerned face.

And superimposed over that, another face. Not nearly so handsome, and a whole different flavor of caring. The terrible interest of a madman, maybe.

He leaned his head back against the seat and sighed.

They had lunch late, no crowds, which was a relief. He picked at his pasta and pretended he was eating, but hell, who was he trying to kid? Not like he'd been able to slip anything by Gil before, and for sure not now.

"Want to talk about it?"

Nick glanced over at Gil and shrugged. "I freaked."

"Well, yes."

His cheeks burned. "I don't regret it," he added hoarsely.

Gil smiled a little. "The freaking, or the other stuff?"

"The other stuff."

"Neither do I."

He speared a piece of chicken on his fork. "I think --" He set his fork down. "I think that's what Crane wanted, too."

"It's a possibility."

"It's fucking gross," Nick snapped, leaning back in his chair. "Every time I think about that whacko watching me, I mean, it just makes me sick. What does that mean?"

"It means you were violated, Nick." Gil's smile disappeared. "Nigel Crane mistook kindness for infatuation. To him, you and he were close. A lot closer than reality. You think you're wrong to feel sick about that?"

"I don't know. No." He looked at Gil. "You know what this is like, don't you?" he asked bluntly.

Gil took a sip of his drink and shrugged. "Close enough."

"So how'd you deal with it?"

"I didn't. For a long time."

"But you finally did, right?"

Gil's mouth curved in a smile that wasn't entirely pleasant. "Had to," he said briefly.

"So you freaked?"

Now it was a better smile, a real smile. "Not exactly. In my own way, yes."

Nick stared down at the napkin he held. "I don't feel like I'll ever feel safe again," he mumbled, and started tearing the napkin into long shreds.

Gil nodded. "Home's a sanctuary, it's where we relax, become fully ourselves." He pushed his plate away. "When someone violates that sanctuary, it can be very hard to get past it."

"Next place won't have an attic."

"That's a start." Gil grinned. "Come on. Let's get out of here and go for a walk."

Outside the weather was gorgeous, warm and sunny, and Nick inhaled deeply before glancing at Gil. "Feel better?" Gil asked, still smiling.

"Think so, yeah."

"Good. Don't forget where we parked the car."

After some wandering there was a park, sprawling and not too filled with people. Nick sat next to Gil on a bench and leaned his head back, soaking in the sun.

"So that was a panic attack, huh."

Gil nodded, unreadable behind his sunglasses. "Yes."

"Weird. I was just sure I was dying."

"Textbook."

Nick squinted at him. "What happens if I have another one?"

"We'll deal with it."

"Thank you," Nick whispered thickly.

They had dinner that night at some out-of-the-way bistro, where the smell of good bread and savory things actually awakened Nick's dormant appetite. Or maybe his body was finally screaming, ENOUGH! Eat or DIE, you moron! Whatever the case, he cleaned his plate and caught Gil's approving look.

"I do eat, you know," Nick said tartly.

"I see that," came the grave reply, which made him laugh.

A couple of beers at a tiny microbrewery later, and Nick was ready to call it a night. Unsure whether or not Gil's sudden social turn had eased up or what, but he didn't object to going back to the hotel. And when Nick walked inside their room, a familiar sense of unease reared its head and made his throat feel tight.

"I'd offer a penny for your thoughts, but in this case I think I don't need to," Gil said softly.

Nick wrapped his arms around himself, shaking his head. "Sorry."

"I'll offer a dollar if you'll stop saying that."

Nick turned him a shaky smile. "I'll try."

Gil smiled back, and went to hunt down a tee shirt. "So what do you usually do when you get home?" he asked over his shoulder.

"I dunno. Check email, see if there's anything on tv."

"What do you watch?"

'Mostly sports, I guess."

"Now there's a surprise."

There wasn't much on, but they watched part of a nine-ball tournament, and it was so comfortable that whatever anxiety he still felt didn't seem very powerful when Gil kissed him. It was just a kiss. A very good kiss, in fact.

"Don't you want to see who wins?" Nick asked fuzzily, propped on one elbow while he let himself explore Gil's neck with his lips.

"I already know."

"You do, huh."

"Yep."

He caught a flash of Gil's grin before another kiss erased all thought of pool, and anything else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, Gil paused, staring down at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Nick gasped, swallowing hard. "I'm okay. Christ, you're -- really good at that."

Gil gave him a tiny smile and leaned down to kiss him luxuriantly. "I was always an overachiever," he murmured against Nick's mouth. "Can't get enough of you."

When Gil drew back again, there was an expression on his face Nick had never seen before. "What?" he asked, feeling a little like Gil himself. "What is it?"

"You know you can set the limits, right? Tell me if I do something you don't want to do."

"S-sure."

Gil sat back on his haunches, stroking the insides of Nick's thighs where they lay open over Gil's lap. "I don't want to go too fast," he said quietly.

Nick's throat was suddenly very dry. "You want to fuck me, don't you?"

Gil nodded slowly.

"I've never --"

"I know."

Heart thudding in his chest, Nick blurted, "I don't know if I can do that."

"I won't make you. Trust me, Nick. I won't make you do something you don't want to do."

"Even if you want it?"

"Even if I want it."

Nick sighed, turning his face away. "I don't know what it's like," he said clumsily, feeling his cheeks burning. Gil's hands on his thighs felt almost unbearably good. Making him hard again, damn it. "I guess -- I thought about it a few times."

"That's promising." Gil untangled himself from Nick's legs and lay down beside him, on his side, head propped on his hand. "What did you think about?"

Rolling over to face him, Nick sighed. "I dunno. I start to think about -- it, and then every time I think about him."

"You can't be sure that's what he really wanted, Nick," Gil said softly, reaching out to touch his thumb to Nick's cheek. "I'm not sure you can boil it down to sex."

"I know. Just a feeling." Nick smiled, flushing harder. "Jeez, I can't believe I'm sitting here -- lying here -- having this conversation."

Gil smiled, too. "Can't say I planned it, myself."

Nick drew a deep breath. "But you thought about it? About me?"

"Give me a second to think about how to answer this without seriously undermining my authority."

"So you did."

"Yeah."

Nick gazed at him, recognizing the flush in Gil's cheeks with wonder. "Wow," he said weakly. "I had no idea."

"Good. Hopefully my professional image isn't too tarnished, then."

"Well, with me --"

"With the others," Gil interrupted with a sheepish grin, and bent forward to kiss him. A kiss that led to more kisses, and Nick had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out when Gil's thigh slid between his own.

"So this sex thing," he mumbled against Gil's neck. "Hurts, right?"

"At first, a little." Gil kissed him briefly and deeply. "Not forever. There's a reason why people keep doing it, you know," he added with a flashing smile.

"I -- Well, yeah. Hadn't thought about it that way."

"There are many other things we can do, Nick," Gil whispered, taking Nick's hand and sliding it between his own legs. "Many, many other things."

Smiling, Nick leaned forward to kiss him, inhaling Gil's harsh gasp when Nick took him in hand and stroked surely and easily.

Chapter Eight

By the time they hit the Nevada state line, Nick couldn't even lie to himself about how he felt. Scared shitless, and not just of Nasty Nigel, either. A more amorphous fear, a blend of the nutcase plus work plus finding a place to live, plus --

Well.

THAT.

Wasn't as if Gil hadn't noticed, either, although they didn't discuss it much. It probably wouldn't help, anyway, Nick thought, scanning the passing scenery with zero interest.

He glanced down at the speedometer automatically -- state animal ought to be a highway patrolman -- and then over at Gil. "Not too far," he said.

Gil nodded at the same time his cell phone beeped at him. What, seventh time today, or eighth? People had been calling a lot the past two days. The more overdue they got, the more strident the calls. Where the hell are you? What do we do with X? What happened to Y? Gil's jaw had
gotten tenser by the hour, and Nick almost felt guilty about his own worries. Hell, Grissom had a unit to run. The wheel, not the cog, remember?

Probably Catherine this time, like the past three. Gil said something peevish to her and hung up. And sighed.

"I'm s--"

"Don't say it, Nick. If they can't manage when I'm not there, I'm a crappy excuse for a supervisor."

Nick refocused straight ahead. What, he was going to actually say, You sound like my boss again and not my -- whatever? Not.

"I have to go to the lab when we get in," Gil said crisply, as if they really were already back. Nick's stomach clenched. "Just to reassure everyone we're still alive. An hour, tops."

Nick nodded mechanically. An hour for Grissom meant eight; there was no way he could just drop by and parley for a few, and then split. If he DID do that, Nick would really start to wonder about him. Simply not in his nature.

"I mean that, okay? Just for a few minutes."

Nick looked at him, meeting Gil's steady, all-too-knowing gase. "Right," he said faintly.

"I'll drop you off at my place. You can catch your breath, and I won't be long."

Oh. "Okay."

"Unless you want to stay somewhere else?"

There was no reading Gil's intent; his voice was as casual as a stranger's. Nick digested that, and then managed a shrug. "I hadn't really thought about it," he said, changing lanes and passing a gawking carful of what had to be tourists. Foreign ones, maybe.

"Where did you stay after you sold the condo?"

"Uhh."

"Slept at the office?"

"Yeah."

"Would you like to stay with me?"

Nick felt his teeth grinding together in an effort to stave off whatever terrible emotion was clawing at his throat. "If you don't mind, sure."

"I don't mind, Nick. I'd love for you to stay."

"O-okay."

Two hours later they were back, and Nick looked around Gil's home as if he'd never seen it before. Well, had he? Surely he had. But it seemed entirely new now. Neat, not very remarkable. Comfortable, in a kind of distant way. Nick set his duffle on the floor in the front hall and straightened.

"There's beer in the fridge, unless someone broke in and stole it." Gil brushed past him with a busy smile, and dumped his own bag in a room Nick couldn't see, but figured was the bedroom. "Grab me one, too, will you?"

Nick edged cautiously into the kitchen, feeling like a thief himself, and got out two Shiner Bocks. Huh. Nice choice.

He'd wandered back into the living room when Gil re-emerged, on the phone again and carrying one shoe in his hand. "I told you, I'll come by in a few minutes. But I'm still on vacation, remember? So don't count on me sticking around." A pause, while he dropped the shoe on the floor, stuck his foot in it, and listened. "Nick's fine. Good." He glanced at Nick and smiled. "No, he's staying over here until he gets a new place. Well, maybe I'll wait and let him tell you himself. Look, I gotta go. See you when I get there."

Nick smiled weakly. "Catherine?"

"Yeah. I don't think she wants to be the boss anymore," he added, straightening the crease in his pants.

"You set the bar pretty high."

Gil looked at him, and then walked over, plucking the second bottle of beer from Nick's hand. "Maybe," he replied, smiling. "Welcome home, Nick."

"Thanks."

Gil studied him for a moment, reaching out to take Nick's free hand. "It's going to be okay," he said quietly, pressing a kiss on Nick's fingers. "Come on, sit down."

Later he thought he might always associate the rich, dark taste of Shiner with that brief few minutes on Gil's couch. And nothing even really happened. Only everything.

"One step at a time, okay? Bird by bird, Nick, just take it bird by bird."

Nick smiled inside the comforting loop of Gil's arm. "What quote is that?"

"Wonderful book on writing. That's the title: Bird by Bird. Anne Lamott."

"Is there anything you don't read?"

"Far too much to even consider. Lamott got the title of the book from something her father said to her brother one time. Kid was agonizing over a book report on birds that was due the next morning, that he hadn't even started yet. So her dad said --"

"--Take it bird by bird." Nick nodded, brushing his cheek against Gil's
shirt. "I get it."

Gil sipped his beer. "And when you're ready to come back to work, come back. I don't plan to replace you, you know. Not unless you tell me to."

"No," Nick whispered roughly. "I'll come back."

"Good."

It felt both astoundingly weird and terribly reassuring to kiss him, back on home soil, back in a town he hadn't really known if he'd ever see again. The town he still wasn't sure about; the kiss, well. Pretty much felt great.

"I really have to go."

Nick sighed against Gil's throat, relishing the way Gil shivered in response. "I'll kick your ass if you stay all night," he murmured, smiling.

"Keep that up and I won't go at all."

"Promise?"

Gil drew back to kiss him once, firmly, on the mouth. His face was gratifyingly flushed. "You're really not playing fair, you know," he said in a hilariously plaintive voice.

Nick grinned, and shrugged. "I'd apologize, but."

"Yeah. Okay." Gil drew a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. "Okay. Sorry I didn't give you the tour, but it's very short anyway. If you don't find what you need, call me. All right?"

Mercifully the ridiculous blather that immediately popped into his head -- I need you -- didn't make it past his lips. Nick nodded. "I'll be okay, Gil. Go do your thing."

"Back in a few."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Someone touched his arm, and he awoke with a jerk.

"Hey, it's just me."

Nick blinked in the darkness. Shit, what the hell time was it?

The bed shifted when Gil sat down. "I see you found the bedroom," he remarked in a voice that just avoided innuendo, but only just.

"Thought you said an hour," Nick said muzzily.

"Well." Now there was a faintly guilty tinge to the words. "Not much more than an hour. You okay?"

That's called deflecting, Nick considered saying, and then let it go. "Musta crashed. I smell food."

"I brought back some takeout." Gil brushed Nick's cheek with his fingers. "Hungry?"

"I guess."

He trailed behind Gil out to the dining room, where he sat down and stared at his kung pao chicken.

"So how was work?"

Gil fished out a piece of broccoli with his chopsticks. "Some things never change," he said through his food. "One thing's for sure: We'll never be out of a job."

Nick nodded, and poked at his food with a fork. "How's everybody doing?"

"Fine. Told me to tell you they miss you."

He feigned interest he didn't feel while Gil talked about the cases they were working on, something hilarious Warrick had said, Catherine's latest ex-related woes. It registered, but somehow it didn't, too. He felt as if Gil were relating stories about strangers, just anecdotes, with no real impact.

Gil ran out of gas finally, working on his food while Nick faked same, and finally put his chopsticks down. "You're tired," he observed mildly.

Talk about a keen grasp of the obvious. "Yeah. More than I thought, I guess."

"Go back to bed, okay? I'll be in in a minute."

With a sadness that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, Nick trudged back to the bedroom. Pretty basic, but Gil had a comfortable bed, and that was primary, he supposed. His skin prickled with sudden nameless dread, and he sat down hard on the bed's edge.

Well, now's a shitty time to have another freakout, Nicky boy. What do they say about making your own bed? Lie down, boy.

And spread 'em.

He stifled whatever sound was trying to get out of his throat, and stood up fast. The room was way too small suddenly. The condo was too small, hell, the fucking CITY was too small. Couldn't fucking BREATHE here.

"Nick?"

This time the sound made it out anyway; a strangled kind of yelp that made him feel like laughing hysterically at the same time that he felt his throat immediately closing up. Oh CHRIST, not this again, no no FUCK NO

But this time it didn't help when Gil came over. Nick pushed at him wildly, staggering back against the far wall. One hand went to his throat, and all that was in his head suddenly was digging his nails in and getting it OUT, whatever it was that wasn't letting him breathe, that was CHOKING him.

"Nick, stop it." Strong hands on his wrists, pulling, and he snarled something and pushed again, hard, but Gil held on anyway.

And something inside him shivered and broke, like a glass shattering on concrete.

He struggled inside Gil's arms, panting and shaking his head, and in the midst of it all he could say was, "I don't want to be here, please, I don't, please just let me GO, please."

"Jesus, Nick," Gil said hoarsely. His arms were shaking, too. "It's okay, baby, it's okay."

"It's NOT okay!" Nick dug his hands into Gil's shirt, pulling until the fabric started to tear. "It's not fucking OKAY!"

"No, it's not, is it." Gil's grip loosened, and Nick clung harder, irrationally.

"Gil," he gasped. "Oh God, I think I'm going crazy."

"Sssh. You're not crazy, sweetheart, you're not. I swear to God you're not."

"Don't let go of me," Nick whispered fiercely, blinking away tears. "Please, please don't let go?"

Gil's arms linked around Nick's waist. "I won't. I promise you."

"I don't know what's happening to me. Gil, I'm so fucking scared."

"Just breathe, Nick," Gil murmured, rocking him gently. "Hold on, and breathe. That's it."

After a long, blank moment of nothing but the reassuring solidity of Gil's body against his own, Gil said softly, "Come on, Nick. Lie down. You're so tired."

God, he was tired, and yet every muscle in his body burned, too, jittery with a fear he couldn't even begin to quantify, much less really understand yet. He let Gil lay him on the bed, and managed to loosen his death grip on Gil's shirt long enough for Gil to slip out of it and lie down next to him. And then it was so much like that first night, that first time in too long that he'd felt truly safe, that he clung with mindless, frantic strength all over again.

"Sleep, Nick," Gil whispered, one hand smoothing down Nick's back in long even strokes. "Nothing's going to happen to you tonight. I won't let anything happen. Close your eyes."

He breathed in the clean smell of Gil's aftershave and did so, gratefully.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a perfect day. Not too hot, yet, and of course no humidity; Dallas might be humidity hell, but Las Vegas would probably implode if the average humidity level passed fifteen percent. All in all, a great day to be outside.

Nick poked at the coals on the grill and squinted. Time for the chicken? What time had Gil said he'd be back? Four hours ago, or five?

Ah, what the hell. He picked up the plate and started laying chicken breasts on the grill, breathing in the savory smoke.

By the time Gil actually did get back, the sun was almost gone, the neighbor's dog was whining at the fence, and the chicken looked and smelled fantastic.

"Hey, good timing," Nick called, seeing Gil at the back door. "Hungry?"

"Starving." Gil walked outside. "Damn, Nick, you never told me you could cook."

"I can't." Nick grinned, forking the last piece of chicken on a platter. "I can grill, though."

"That smells fantastic. Thank you." Gil came over and kissed him soundly. "So I guess you found everything you needed."

Nick nodded, covering the grill and reaching down to close the vents. "I figure I better do something other than occupy space, you know? Called my dad for his recipe. Come on, I got a salad, too."

Gil ate hugely, and Nick took one bite and felt a wave of sweet homesickness wash over him. So this was Dad's secret recipe. Tasted just like home.

"It's all in the marinade," Nick said when Gil gave him a wide-eyed look of approval.

When most of the food was demolished and the rest put away, Nick handed Gil another beer and went back out on the patio. A great day had turned into a gorgeous evening, desert-cool and tangy with lingering cooking smells and the aroma of mesquite. "So how was work?" he asked, sipping his beer.

"Pretty much exactly the way I left it. SSDD."

"Same shit, different day, huh."

"Yeah. You ought to come see everybody. They'd love to see you."

Nick's replete smile faded. "Yeah," he agreed softly. "Yeah, I'd like to see them, too."

"How's your dad doing, anyway?"

"Good. He's back in Austin now, court's back in session."

Gil nodded, but didn't say anything else.

"I've been thinking about work," Nick said finally.

"Oh?"

"I do want to come back."

"Well, you know you can, anytime you want."

Nick nodded. "I appreciate that."

"Personally I think your boss is a candidate for sainthood."

"How much can I laugh before you fire me?"

"Try me and see."

Nick grinned and glanced at Gil, absurdly pleased to see the relaxed look on Gil's face. "How about next week?"

"Next week would be great." Gil took a step closer and slid his arm around Nick's waist, and Nick felt the constant hard knot in his chest loosen a bit. "Hey, at least we have the same schedule."

Nick turned and gave in to the hug he'd wanted all evening. "Yeah," he whispered, closing his eyes and leaning against Gil. "That's good."

Later, inside, he toweled his hair and watched Gil grind coffee. "Doing anything tomorrow?" Gil asked, tapping the ground beans into a filter.

"Supposed to go look at a place. 10:00. Not much besides that."

Gil glanced at him. "Looking at apartments?"

"Yeah. Think I'll hold off on buying anything again. Considering right now I'm about tapped out."

"You know you can stay here. Long as you like."

Nick nodded awkwardly. "I just -- You know, once I go back to work --" He trailed off.

"You'd just as soon not telegraph it to everyone."

"I don't mean it that way."

Gil smiled. "It's okay. One step at a time, right?"

"Right."

So strange. When Gil kissed him, it seemed as if all his worries were ridiculous. Of course everything would be all right. As right as this felt, this completely unexpected, disturbingly fantastic connection. Work was just work. Nigel was in jail. And when Nick leaned into Gil's embrace and fell into another obliteration of a kiss, the last of the hard kernel of pain in his chest melted away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wanna go with me?" he asked the next morning.

"You want me to?"

Nick nodded sleepily, letting his hand drift over Gil's bare chest. "It'll probably suck anyway. Just a rental."

"Of course I'll go."

"We don't have to go yet."

"Good," Gil murmured, pressing a kiss on Nick's mouth.

Suddenly very much awake, Nick made a muffled sound and pushed himself up, slinging one leg over Gil's hips and straddling him. "Do that again," he whispered, and Gil grinned and did just that.

"So I rent this place," Nick continued, kissing his way around Gil's stubbly jaw to his ear. "But that doesn't mean --" He sucked at Gil's earlobe for a moment. "--I have to actually stay there." A nip. "All the time."

"I'd be -- very disappointed if you did," Gil said in a strangled voice.

"So when you get tired of me --" He kissed the tender skin of Gil's throat leisurely, and felt Gil's hands stroking his back, long slow arcs that started at his waist and went down to the place they'd only played with. "--I got someplace to crash."

"Not gonna happen."

Nick smiled against Gil's skin and slid downward, nibbling one of Gil's nipples and grinning at the way Gil sighed and arched his back. "You say that now," he replied, elongating the sibilant and watching Gil's nipple harden, "but the crazy guy might get a little annoying --"

Gil grasped Nick's shoulders, hard, and Nick broke off. "You're not crazy," Gil said intensely, frowning at him.

"I was just kidding."

Gil arched up and kissed him hard. "Don't sell yourself short," Gil murmured. "You're the one with the old guy."

Nick raised his eyebrows. "You know, you're right," he said in a reflective tone. "I mean, why should I settle for all this, when I could date some bowhead from Waxahachie and have six kids instead? Man, I'm glad you pointed that out to me, because for a minute there I thought I was doing pretty good...."

Gil's face colored nicely. "You're doing really good, and I wish you'd keep going."

"Is that a hint?"

"Should I make it an order?"

"Ow. You pulling rank on me, Grissom?"

"Jesus. Whatever it takes. *Stokes*."

Nick grinned delightedly. "Whatever you say, sir," he whispered, and slid a little further down.

Considering the fact that he had about as much experience sucking cock as Gil did as a fraternity president, he thought he was picking up the technique pretty well. He waited for the sarcastic internal commentary, but for once the nasty voice was silent. Thank God. Because this took some focus, after all.

"Shit," Gil groaned, hands tense at his sides. "You've been -- s-studying."

"I have a great teacher. I know what you wanna do. Do it."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Come on, baby. Fuck my mouth."

A little part of him still marveled at this, and probably would for a while yet, but it hadn't taken long to find out he kind of enjoyed Gil taking over, at least in some areas. It felt weirdly good to feel Gil's hands holding his head steady, to just -- take it, grabbing a breath when he could and just --

Okay, the swallowing part was still a work in progress. Sorta choked him, and the taste was going to be, um. Acquired. But it rocked to hear Gil come. Noisy and completely uninhibited, total about-face from the public persona, Mr. Freeze.

Crazy to be proud of making some guy come, but then this wasn't some guy, was it?

He held the tip of Gil's softening cock in his mouth, until Gil finally opened his eyes and blinked at him.

"I really like that look," Nick said softly, and licked his lips.

Gil smiled woozily. "Come here," he said in a hoarse voice.

"Yeah, I really like it." Nick crawled back up to blanket Gil with his body, and got a slow, sated kiss. "You like it?"

"I like it," Gil whispered. His fingers trailed down Nick's spine while they kissed again. When Gil's hand reached his ass Nick drew a sharp breath, an unexpected shiver of -- something, something not at all bad -- making him arch his back. "You like that?" Gil asked smokily, mouth quirked in a smile.

Nick nodded, shivering again as Gil's hands cupped his ass, gently kneading. "Can't keep -- your hands off that, can ya?" he managed.

"Nope. Come here."

He kneed his way up the bed, steadied by Gil's grip on his ass. Christ, his dick had been hard before but now it felt like he could probably hammer fucking NAILS with it, and there was Gil, just eating him up like he was candy --

Nick threw his head back and groaned, because as great as it felt to get his cock sucked, it was somehow just as great or maybe even better to look down and see his dick disappear down Gil's THROAT, and if he watched too much he'd just blow his load in a millisecond, JESUS H. CHRIST.

Gil's fingers stroked past his asshole, and Nick felt a jolt of heat sear through nerves he hadn't ever thought much about, a warm wash of sensation from his ass straight to his dick.

"Ah, FUCK."

Gil chuckled and the sensation was indescribable. And then something was IN his ass, a warm, slim, slippery fingerlike something, that didn't feel bad but felt mindbogglingly GOOD, and Nick's brain melted.

Only gone a few seconds, but MAN, what a way to go. He tried to breathe, still flexing and jerking in hectic tandem, and finally Gil let him go, dick and ass both, which was probably necessary for continued cognitive function but that didn't mean he had to like it, DAMN, wish that few seconds could last HOURS, fucking DAYS.

Somehow he got himself untangled from sheet and pillow and managed to lie down without falling off the bed, all twitches and limp muscles, and Gil pulled him close against his side and kissed him. Weird to know that was his come in Gil's mouth. So weird it was sort of hard to think about.

"So," Nick wheezed, collapsing bonelessly.

"So." He could almost hear Gil's grin.

"So that was my ass."

Now Gil laughed. "Among other things."

"Not too bad."

"Not too bad?" Gil yelped indignantly, and Nick snorted laughter. Raising himself on one shaky elbow, he made a considering face.

"I guess I'd be willing to give this thing a try," he murmured, feeling his heart do a little skip in his chest.

"Would you, now."

Nick nodded slowly. "Yeah." He didn't feel much like laughing anymore. "I would."

Gil locked eyes with him, a potent gaze that made Nick's chest tighten up again. "So would I," he whispered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I can't decide whether to hug you or kill you."

Nick grinned a little shakily. "All things being equal, I'd rather you hugged me."

Catherine did, a tight squeeze that felt awfully good. "Welcome back, Nick," she whispered urgently. "We've really missed you."

"Thanks, Catherine. Good to be back."

All the greetings had been some nuance of the same flavor as Catherine's, and Nick felt as if he just might come unglued from being so pleased. No huge party or any shit like that, thank God. Just some hugs, some handshaking, a clap on the shoulder from Warrick that had kinda hurt but felt pretty good for all that. Even Sara got a little sentimental, and then told him he almost owed her the plane fare to Texas. That made him laugh, and everyone else, too, so it was really okay.

"Canada?" Warrick asked, shaking his head. "Shit, man, why didn't you just head over to Europe? See something really interesting? I mean, if you're gonna hit the road anyway."

Catherine shook her head, too. "Nah. Bahamas."

"I like Canada," Nick said with a smile. "Nice people."

"Put some serious mileage on your car."

"About ten thousand miles, give or take a few hundred."

Warrick whistled. "Noooo thanks."

Gil cleared his throat. "Okay. Assignments."

He watched Gil with a mute sense of admiration. With all that had gone on lately, he'd sorta forgotten Gil was the boss, for all his teasing. Now, watching the guy in action, he felt both appreciative and vaguely confused. How exactly did he behave now? Same as before all -- this? Exactly how did he manage that?

But he nodded easily enough when Gil paired him with Sara for the evening, listened like always to the details of the case, and it felt pretty much like always to go to work.

Sara drove, which suited Nick just fine. He was having enough of an adjustment to simply go forward.

"I know you know this," Sara said abruptly, after about five minutes of amiable -- or what Nick had thought was amiable -- silence. Now he was wondering. She sounded strained, and kind of pissed. "But you scared the shit out of us."

Nick glanced uneasily at her. "I'm sorry about that," he said awkwardly.

"You know what we did the night you didn't come to work? Sat around and fought over which of us was going to try to find you." She kept her eyes on the road, but her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "You could have warned us, Nick. I wish you'd told us."

Shame, scalding and painful, made him fidget. "What was I gonna tell you, Sara?" he snapped with a lot more anger than he'd realized. "I don't know when I'll come back? IF I'll come back?"

"Yeah," she shot back, casting him a fierce glance. "That's exactly what you should have told us."

"Well, I guess not all of us are as clear as you are, okay? I told you what I knew."

"You told us you'd be back to work. And you didn't show, Nick! What were we supposed to think?"

He felt suddenly exhausted. "I don't know. I wasn't -- thinking real well."

"At all, you mean."

Nick swallowed. "No, I guess I wasn't."

"Shit, Nick, I'm sorry. I don't -- I don't mean to accuse you," Sara said carefully. Still driving, still white-knuckled. "Okay? I know you've had a rough time. But we have, too. I think you ought to know that."

"All right, I know now. Happy?"

She sighed. "Happy that you're back. Yes. Very happy."

"So would you maybe cut me a little slack here? Want me to kiss your feet, what?"

Her mouth quirked in a reluctant smile. "Kiss Grissom's," she returned, looking over at him. "He *freaked*."

Nick's heart stumbled in his chest. "Freaked?" he echoed weakly.

"I mean, all of us did, but he flipped. If you'd come in the next day he would have fired you, Nick. He was PISSED."

"Oh."

"Which for him I think was really just scared. You know, I don't think I've ever seen him scared like that. We thought you were dead."

"I was AWOL, not dead."

"Yeah, well. The shape you were in? We thought about it."

His skin felt as if it were crawling off his body. "Okay," he whispered, staring out the window at nothing. "Consider me informed."

They didn't say much after that. The work kept them busy, and Nick did his best to keep the conversation safely official. And it was really not hard, because this was a classic locked-room mystery, and it absorbed both of them.

"So she never left?"

The cop working the case -- Samuels, something like that -- shook his head. "Security cameras all over the building, didn't see a thing. And her colleagues say she told them she was working late." He shrugged. "But if she's here, she's invisible."

"Who made the call?" Sara asked, frowning.

"She did."

Nick blinked. "From here?"

"Yeah. Said someone was in the office with her."

"Custodial staff?"

"All cleared out by nine. Call came in at 9:14. All accounted for."

"So what did the cameras see?" Sara asked.

"Nobody's looked at all the tape from the whole building," Samuels answered a little stiffly. "But the tapes from this office between 9:00 and 9:30 show the call, and then she goes into that room there --" He lifted his chin at an executive-looking office near the windows. "--and she doesn't come out. And she ain't in there."

"What about the lobby? Security?"

"One security guard. My partner's talking to him downstairs. But he says no one left after the janitors, at least not by the front or back exits. Which leaves the garage, underground."

"And?" Nick prodded.

"If you think we'd found anything down there, don't you think I'd have told you?" Samuels returned acerbically.

"Maybe it's an X File," Nick murmured as he and Sara started unpacking equipment. "Woman vanishes from ten-story office building."

"Nobody just vanishes, Nick."

"Lighten up, man, it was just a joke."

But he had to admit it maybe hadn't been in the best of taste, considering he'd done his own vanishing act not too long ago. So he settled for working the case instead.

By 1:00 in the morning they'd done everything they could do with the offices. And there was absolutely no trace of Terri Brodie. Well, trace, sure. Lots of traces. But no Terri, alive, dead or in between.

"So either she left, and no one saw her." Sara plucked at one of her gloves restlessly, eyes flickering around the room. "Which would be tough to do, but not impossible. Or she's still here, and we just haven't found her yet."

"Or someone took her with them," Nick added absently.

"Who? The Invisible Man?"

"Who said it was a man?"

"Car's still in the garage. No signs of struggle anywhere."

"What about the roof?"

She glanced at him. "Check it out? I'm gonna call Grissom, tell him what's up."

Nick shrugged. "Suits me."

He dusted the door to the roof, but nothing came clear, of course. Wouldn't think that many people used that door, but enough had to make identifying any single print pretty damn tough. He stowed his brushes and went outside.

Had to admit Vegas at night was pretty special. Flashy, but impressive. Nick stood for a moment, taking in the terrain, and then did a circuit around the roof. If she'd jumped, for whatever reason, she hadn't hit the ground, so he felt pretty sure it wasn't a suicide. Why'd he think she was dead, anyway? No evidence for it. But the feeling persisted. Maybe just worst expectations, who knew.

His cell phone beeped at him, and he took it out without thinking, still looking out over the skyline. "Yeah."

"Find anything?" Gil asked.

Nick blinked. "No," he replied after a beat. "Roof looks clean. Can't get prints off the door, and it's too dark to see much detail."

"If we haven't turned anything else up by then we'll have a look in the morning. Sara didn't turn up anything in the garage."

"I think this is a dead end. Whatever happened, happened in that office. That's where we have to focus."

"So focus, Nick." He could hear Gil's smile. "Let me know what you find."

"Will do." He waited for Gil to hang up, and then stood there for a minute, digesting it. Might have to start dividing the two faces of Gil in his mind. Work was Grissom, not Gil. Work was work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey."

Nick looked up and smiled. "Hey."

Gil leaned against a locker, hands in his pockets. "Ready to get out of here?"

"Way ready."

Everyone but Sara was already gone, and Nick didn't really want to butt heads with her any more than he already had, so he took a cue from Gil and followed him out. The sunshine was punishing, bringing the vague headache he'd had all night to the forefront.

"How'd it go?" Gil asked, safely inside the car.

Nick reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Fine."

"Ow. I heard Sara read you the riot act."

"Who told you?"

"Catherine."

"How'd she know?"

"I've asked that same question a few times myself over the years." Gil smiled and steered out into traffic.

"She was pissed."

"She has a hard time showing her feelings. She'll get over it."

"Yeah." Nick drew a shaky breath. "I knew that girl was dead," he said abruptly. "How'd I know that?"

Gil was silent for a moment. "Maybe because all too often, the people we're looking for end up that way."

"I guess."

"I shouldn't have sent you on that one." Gil shook his head. "First day back, and --"

"Come on, Gil," Nick interrupted harshly. "I'm a big boy, and I've worked lots worse cases than that one. What, you gonna baby me forever? Can't happen. You know that."

A moment of silence, and Gil said, "Point taken." A bit stiff, but hey.

"At least it's over."

Gil didn't say anything to that, and he didn't have to. They both knew it. Same shit, different day. There'd be something else waiting for them tomorrow. Probably worse, but what could you do? Keep your head down and focus on the evidence, wasn't that what Grissom always said? There were worse ways to work.

But it didn't lift his spirits, regardless. The fact of Terri Brodie's violent and painful death just sat there, staring him in the face, and he couldn't just shove it away. He watched the city go by outside the car, ordinary people, people who didn't have to find dead women stashed in air vents, or listen to the fucking cries of innocence from guys who were so guilty they might as well have five-foot neon signs flashing over their heads.

Truth was, evidence SUCKED. And that meant that one hell of a lot of people were rotten to the core, since it was their evidence that he hunted all night. Like reading spoor in a jungle, predatorial droppings like souvenirs of sickness.

And he wanted to come back to this?

Should have stayed in Canada.

"Don't do this, Nick," Gil said softly.

"I'm not doing anything."

Gil didn't bother replying to that one. "Let's go home."

But Gil's townhouse didn't feel much like home. Not yet, maybe not ever.

"Here," Gil said, holding out a bottle of beer.

"Drinking before noon." Nick took it gingerly. "What a life."

"We just put in fourteen hours, Nick. We deserve it." Gil sat down next to him on the couch and took a long pull off his own beer. "Talk to me. All right?"

Nick shrugged, feeling muleish. "What do you want me to say? I'm glad to be back?"

"Say whatever you feel."

He glanced at Gil's concerned eyes and flinched. "I'll get used to it again," he muttered. "Just a hard night."

"Sara?"

"Part of it, yeah."

"She's got a good heart. She just -- Well."

"Yeah."

"Coming back tomorrow?"

Nick frowned at him. "Well, yeah," he said. "I said I would, didn't I?"

"Yes, you said you would." Gil leaned back against the cushions, half-turned in Nick's direction. His gaze felt all too penetrating. "But you're worrying me."

"Well, stop worrying," Nick replied harshly, and took a sip of the beer he didn't want. "Just need to get my feet under me, is all. Get back in the groove. I'll be all right." He forced a hard smile and saw it register in Gil's slight recoil.

Neither of them said anything for a while. And finally Nick set his beer on the table. "Gonna grab a shower," he said vaguely.

Maybe it was bad Gil didn't say anything back. But right now he just didn't much care.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the end of the week, he acknowledged that something had to give. It was either him or the job, and he wasn't sure which.

Wasn't sure if it was the job at all, if the complete truth were told. Because the work didn't seem so bad after that first awful night. Not particularly great, but definitely no return to the clenched teeth and pounding tension headache of Terri Brodie.

Sara eased off, started to act a little less pissed and more like a colleague again, and that was good. Whatever the other folks felt, they didn't show it. Status quo, after another night or two. Nick's disappearing act was already history, and there was work to be done.

Which didn't solve one particularly nagging problem Nick hadn't given that much thought to until now.

"Tell me how I'm supposed to act around you now," Nick said on Thursday afternoon.

To his credit Gil took the question pretty seriously, instead of saying something meaningless, like, "Oh, just be yourself." Riiiight. "At the office? Professional You know the answer to that."

"I guess." Nick shook his head and flopped down on the sofa. "Everything feels so different now."

"Well, it is different. You don't think I ask myself the same question?"

"You do?"

Gil smiled at him, and even from across the room Nick felt the power of that connection like a hard blow to the chest. "About every ten minutes or so, when I get the urge to do something untoward and highly unprofessional."

"You too?"

"Oh, yeah."

Small as such things went, maybe, but it felt pretty damn good even so. And Nick was ready for something that felt good, in the midst of feeling so uncertain -- say it, Nicky, BAD -- at work.

He'd never in his life been so relieved to see Friday come and go. Gil noticed, of course. Kind of hard not to. Waking up with Nick wrapped around him like a tight-fitting suit of clothes was probably a dead giveaway.

"One step at a time," Gil murmured, stroking Nick's bare back. "You did fine. Don't worry about it."

Nick's voice was muffled against Gil's chest. "I was barely there."

"Was your work bad? You know it wasn't. The rest -- adjusting -- give it some time. All right?"

The thought didn't exactly fill him with confidence, but right now, comfortable, warm, and as safe as he ever felt these days, it wasn't too hard to let it go. He turned his head and met Gil's kiss with vigor.

He got up early on Sunday, thinking vaguely of how he should go to Mass, but time for Mass came and went and he was more preoccupied with other concerns.

"So you took the apartment?"

Nick nodded over his coffee cup, scanning the sports section. "Deposit plus two months' rent. I'm tapped. Is it payday yet?" He grinned at Gil, but Gil wasn't smiling back, and Nick put the paper down. "You pissed?" he asked after a moment.

Gil shook his head. "Why would I be pissed?"

"Well, you don't look happy. It's just a place, you know, I gotta get my stuff out of storage before it gets too crappy."

Gil smiled this time, but it wasn't too convincing. "I know. I went to see it with you, remember?"

"Okay. Whatever." A faint tingle of anger crept down his spine.

"You need your own space. I respect that."

Nick stared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's not supposed to mean anything, Nick," Gil replied, looking a little alarmed. "You think I'm going to tell you no?"

"Forget about it. Look, I better get a move on." He slugged the rest of his coffee.

"Want me to help?"

It disarmed him; he sat back in his chair. "Sure," he said slowly, warily. "If you want to."

"Wouldn't have offered if I didn't. Besides, I have a truck."

It took all day, but they got most of his stuff into the new apartment by dusk. Nick stared around the living room, wiping sweat off his forehead. "Man, I thought I got rid of everything I didn't absolutely need. Why's there still so much?"

"You're not a monk, Nick. It's okay to have belongings."

He glanced over at Gil, who looked pretty hot and tired, too. "Hungry?"

"Starved. I'd even eat pizza."

"Good, because that's what we're having." He grinned, and this time Gil grinned, too.

They ate in companionable silence, and by the time he polished off the fourth slice Nick felt kind of sick, and wonderfully tired. "I'm gonna pop."

"Please don't."

He glanced at his watch, or rather the place where his watch usually was, and then remembered he'd taken it off when it got caught on something and hadn't ever put it back on again. "What time is it?"

"Nearly ten."

"Shit. Well, at least it's all here. Someplace," he added, glaring at the piles of boxes.

"Okay, I'm gonna leave you to your boxes," Gil said, stifling a yawn. "I think I'm too old for this."

"Didn't do too bad," Nick shot back, grinning.

"Yeah, well, next time hire a moving company? If not for you, then out of consideration for my back?"

"That's right, you old guys don't heal up so fast, do you?"

Gil snorted, but still smiled. "You gonna be okay here?" he asked, pausing at the door.

Nick nodded. "I'll be okay." Without thinking he stepped closer, and Gil took the hint and kissed him slowly.

"You sure?" Gil murmured, pulling Nick into a warm hug.

"Yeah. Still gotta do some laundry, anyway."

"Okay. Call me if you feel like it."

Looking into his eyes, Nick felt as if that might take about five minutes, but he made himself nod again. "Ditto."

He watched Gil drive away, and even after he was gone he just stood in the doorway, trying to feel as if he'd done the right thing.

It was past midnight when his stuff came out of the dryer. By then he'd managed to put a few things vaguely in order, at least some kitchen items and the bed. Hell, he could fill the dressers up later. This was enough for one long-ass day.

He sat down on the edge of his bed -- his own bed, the one he'd bought with his own money a few years ago -- and held the heap of warm, sweet-smelling sheets in his lap.

Oh no. No no no. No freaking out in the new apartment, Nicky.

He made the bed with mechanical movements, trying to ignore the way his heart was pounding way too fast inside his chest. Mind over matter, this was NOT scary, in fact this was kind of cool, always liked new places, made you look hard at stuff when you tried to make it fit in a new apartment. No problemo.

In the middle of poking through stuff in one of the boxes in the living room, in spite of having decided at some point earlier he'd worked hard enough, he felt something close over his throat. And he KNEW what it was, but knowing evidently didn't have the power of stopping, so he rode it out best he could, pacing around, doing all the stuff Gil had told him to do. And how Gil knew so much, well, he hadn't considered that much before, had he? Just keep on repeating to yourself, Nick: It's not real. Nothing bad is going to happen. You're not going to die. It's just a panic attack. Keep breathing, baby.

He found his watch around three in the morning, plopped inside a box of computer crap, and put it on with hands that shook so bad the clasp was almost too much. But it was only when he grabbed his keys that he realized he couldn't stay here. Not yet, hell, maybe not ever. Didn't want to, and it didn't matter if he needed to. Wasn't gonna happen.

He locked the door behind him and felt like crying.

Gil answered the phone after five rings, sounding so tired and sleepy Nick felt about four inches tall. "Nick? Whass' wrong?"

"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea," Nick choked out after a couple of failed attempts.

"Where are you?" Gil sounded a lot more awake, suddenly.

"Outside."

"Here?"

"Yeah."

He was already kind of half-crying by the time Gil got the door open, and it was such a relief his knees went wobbly at Gil's touch. "It's okay, Nick, come on in."

"Couldn't stay there anymore," Nick mumbled into Gil's shoulder. "Sorry I woke you up."

"Stop saying you're sorry."

"Okay."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He felt like apologizing again when he saw Gil's face the next morning. The guy looked done in, and it was incredibly weird and not altogether bad to see Gil Grissom so damn human. Nick himself felt like the dog's lunch, and he didn't have to nursemaid a neurotic panicky lover.

Lover. Oh wow. Guess that's the name for it, huh.

"Maybe you should call in," Nick ventured, watching Gil pick at his breakfast.

Gil sighed, propping his chin on his hand. "Maybe I should retire. Getting too old for this."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"You want to talk about what happened?"

Nick tucked into a slice of toast. "Nope," he said indistinctly, reaching for his orange juice. Swallowing, he added, "Besides, isn't like you don't already know."

Gil nodded, reaching across the table and covering Nick's free hand with his own. "It won't always be like that. It'll get better."

"Yeah. I know." He squeezed Gil's fingers and smiled. "But thanks anyway."

"My pleasure."

Just when Nick was starting to think he wasn't hungry for bacon and eggs but maybe something a little more -- untoward -- Gil's cell phone rang. "Hold that thought," Gil said, sitting back in his chair and opening his phone. "Grissom."

Well, maybe eggs weren't so bad after all. Funny how he felt so hungry lately. Making up for lost time, maybe? What the hell, gain a few pounds back and make his clothes fit again.

"What did you say?"

Nick looked up sharply. Gil's face was thunderous, lips set in a thin line while he listened. Eyes flickering up at Nick.

"What?" Nick asked hoarsely.

"And can you tell me just how in the FUCK that happened?" Gil nearly snarled into the phone. "Oh. Great. Just great."

His belly felt quick-frozen. Never heard Grissom use that word before. Not the cursing type, for the most part. "Gil?" Nick croaked out.

Gil shut the phone with an angry snap, staring unseeingly at Nick. Opened it again. "Jim, it's Gil. Look, I'm sorry I -- Can you get me a patrol car over here? Just in case? Right. Good. Thanks."

"Patrol car?" Nick gazed at him, shaking his head slowly. "What's going on? Why do you need the cops?"

"Nick." Gil sounded like he was strangling. "Listen. Something's come up."

Without thinking Nick stood up, so suddenly his thighs wobbled the table. "Something that made you call the cops?" His voice sounded tinny in his own ears.

And oh, God DAMN he hated that solicitous worry-look Gil got. "Nigel Crane's attorney got him a new hearing, with a different judge," Gil said softly, standing up, too.

"Oh," Nick said clearly.

"Nick --"

"Tell me."

Gil's face looked odd. Almost tragic. Bizarre. "The new judge overruled the original decision. He granted bond."

He couldn't think, all of a sudden. The words didn't make any sense. Bond. "What does that mean?"

Gil's jaw tensed. "God, Nick, I'm sorry," he said unevenly. "The DA should have called me -- us -- but --"

"So he's out?"

"Yeah. He's -- out. Until the trial."

"I see," Nick whispered. And sat down hard when his knees folded under him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gil held out a cup of coffee, and Nick took it with icy fingers. The warm cup felt good.

"Better?"

"I'm okay," Nick muttered, sipping the coffee. Christ, he was tired of saying that. Wasn't doing a real good impression of being okay, now, was he?

"Why do you do that?"

He glanced at Gil, now sitting on the couch next to him. "Do what?"

"Give yourself such a hard time for being human."

Flushing, Nick looked down again. "I'm sick of being scared all the time," he said curtly, shaking his head. "I'm tired of -- all of it. The guy's a loser, but all you gotta do is say his name and I'm flipping out. Stupid."

"He nearly killed you, Nick. Loser or not. Don't you have a right to feel afraid?"

"Yeah, but when does it stop? When he's in prison? When I move to Timbuktu?"

Gil shrugged. "It stops when it stops. It doesn't work on a timetable. Fear's a reasonable response. Without it you'd let your guard down, and if the need for fear is still there, you can't afford that."

"Whatever happened to 'the only thing we have to fear is fear itself?'"

"Edgar Watson Howe said, 'A good scare is worth more to a man than good advice.'"

"Is there any subject you can't find a quote about?"

"Hypothetically, yes."

Nick smiled tightly. "So give me a helpful quote about how you get your balls back after having them scared off."

"I don't have one for that."

"Figures."

"You've already faced up to your fears, Nick," Gil said in a terribly gentle voice. "You came back, you went back to work, you survived. Today was a shock. Probably won't be the last one, either. But you didn't head to Canada this time, did you?"

"Not yet," Nick muttered, trying not to smile.

"Nigel Crane is a sick man, and a dangerous one." Gil met Nick's glance steadily. "He's also a known quantity. Do you see what I'm saying? You know who he is, and you know what he is. Don't you?"

Nick paused, swallowing. "As much as anyone does, I guess, except maybe his shrink."

"Do you think what happened two months ago is going to happen again?"

"No. No, not really." Nick stared down at his cup of coffee. "I think -- It's like I'm afraid of things I can't explain. Like he'll do something else, something I didn't anticipate. It's the things you don't know that get you."

"So anticipate. What's he thinking, right now?"

"You think I know that?" Nick shot back hotly.

Gil nodded. "Yes, I think you do. Think about it. What's his agenda?"

"He's -- fixated on me," Nick said in a dubious voice. "That's what the shrink said, anyway."

"And?"

"And he's got this weird idea that he's going to -- hell, I don't know, be me. He wore my CLOTHES, for god's sake."

"So right now, he's out on bail, able to do what he wants to a limited extent. What's he thinking?"

Nick gave him a wounded look. "Why are you asking me this? What the hell good is this supposed to do?"

"I don't know." Gil kept regarding him with the same steady gaze. "Demystify him, Nick. I don't say you have to understand why he does what he does. I don't think you can, or anyone else, completely. But if it's the things you don't know that scare you....?"

Nick nodded slowly. "I'm not even sure he's still -- fixated."

"But you assume he is."

"After you left the room, after he'd been arrested. He -- tried to look at me, through the glass. He knew I was there. He kept saying, 'I am I, who am I,' over and over again."

"I heard that, too. So what's the worst thing that could happen?"

"I don't want to say that," Nick whispered.

"Are you afraid he'll kill you?"

His throat ached. He shook his head after a long moment.

"Tell me, Nick. Say it out loud."

"I think I'm scared he's -- not going to kill me."

Gil frowned at him. "What?"

"He was going to kill himself," Nick continued hoarsely. "You know that. But now -- With all that's happened, I just feel like he's got this bizarre idea that I can make him -- feel something."

"Feel what?"

"Complete?"

For all his control, Gil's face was very pale. "How do you think he might do that?"

"He didn't touch Jane Galloway in a sexual way. I think that's what he wanted from me. With me."

"And that's what you fear."

"Yeah." Nick nodded jerkily. "I don't think I'm wrong, either."

"You probably aren't. But that's not going to happen. Even if he gets it in his head to try, he'll never have the opportunity."

"He's not stupid, Gil. He's smart. Smarter than I am. I can't anticipate --"

"You can't anticipate everything, no. But you can be prepared."

"Like a good Boy Scout, huh."

"Exactly like one."

Nick shrugged. "I already carry my piece."

"So you're armed, and you're prepared to use your sidearm if necessary."

"Oh, yeah."

Gil's hand was warm and good on his shoulder. "When he came for you, you were alone. That's something else that's different."

Nick drew Gil's hand down to hold it in both his own. "I don't want you in the line of fire," he said hoarsely.

"I won't be. Although I can tell you, if I have the chance I'll take the shot myself."

Nick glanced up at him. The glint in Gil's eye made him feel absurdly good. "Thanks."

Gil took his hand back and used the arm to pull Nick close to him. "I'm sorry I can't undo what he did, Nick," he said in a low voice, one hand slowly stroking Nick's back. "I'm sorry I didn't see it for what it was. But you think I'll take the chance that it could happen again? No way in hell. Never. Ever."

Throat terribly tight, Nick murmured, "I'll give you a dollar if you'll stop saying you're sorry."

"Make it a hundred and I'll think about it."

"S'not your fault."

"No. But Canada was."

"We're not in Canada anymore."

"No. Feel better?"

He thought about lying, but didn't. Fine, right as rain, thanks for the pep talk, Ace. "A little, yeah."

"Good."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hell of it was, he still had to go to work. Gil would have let him take some time off, but what good would it do? He could either sit at home and stew in his own juices -- something he figured wasn't going to make things any better -- or go to work, focus, business as usual even when it wasn't. He opted for the latter.

He was dusting a hotel room -- alone, but Catherine was in the hallway -- when his cell phone rang. Too absorbed in the mundane minutiae of fingerprints to think twice about answering, but the voice he heard changed all that, and fast.

"You moved out."

Nick froze, still holding the brush he was using to dust for prints. His throat wouldn't make any words. Just this transfixed silence.

"You know, I'm sorry about the damage. But it wasn't my fault. If that other guy hadn't been there things would have gone a lot more smoothly. You know that, right, Nick?"

"How'd you get this number?" Distantly startled at how calm he sounded. Maybe Griss was rubbing off on him after all.

"Where are you now, Nick?" Crane's voice was terribly, awfully calm. "I found your new apartment, but you're never there. Are you? Where are you staying? With a friend?"

The brush finally dropped from his numb fingers. "None of your goddamn business," he whispered.

"You came to work with your boss today. Is that who you're staying with?"

He should hang up. It would be so easy. Should be, and yet he just sat there, frozen, heart skipping so fast inside his chest he could barely hear anything but his heartbeat and this familiar, loathed voice.

"Did you have fun in Canada, Nick?" Nigel asked sweetly.

"Listen, you sick fuck," Nick said, voice warbling. "You'll be back in jail in an hour. Even your new lawyer won't be able to get you out this time, not after you --"

"Now come on, Nick, you can't just dismiss me like this. Look at all we went through together. I told you: You really need to work on your interpersonal skills." The spookily merry laugh made Nick's stomach lurch. "They can't put me in jail if they can't find me, now, can they?"

"Leave me alone," Nick whispered, fighting down nausea.

"Aw, you know I can't do that. We're connected, you and me." A pause. "Till death do us part, right, Nick?"

He heard Catherine's voice, from about fifty miles away: "Nick? Nick, who is that?"

But it didn't matter, she was too damn far away, and it didn't stop him from listening, from hearing, when Nigel added, "Don't feel bad, Nick. Nobody can keep us apart forever. See you soon."

He felt someone taking the phone out of his hand, but not fast enough. Catherine's concerned face seemed somehow murky, as if the room were filled with smoke.

"Slower, Nick, you're going to hyperventilate." A soft touch on his shoulder, barely noticeable.

He blinked away the fog and shook her hand off. "I'm okay," he said distantly. His head felt terribly lightweight, but something new was curdling in his stomach. Something that felt much, much better already. "I'm really okay."

"I'm calling Grissom. We need to get you to a --"

"No."

Catherine stared at him, and Nick drew a long breath and made himself shrug. "That won't be necessary. We have work to do."

"Screw work," Catherine shot back, face wrinkled in a frown. "You don't have to --"

"Yes, I do." He reached over to pick up his forgotten brush, marveling at the absolutely lack of a tremor in his hand. "I can handle it."

And yeah, he could, right? Because if Nigel fucking Crane showed up now, he was very, very sure of what would happen. No need for cops, or lovers, or bosses, or anyone else. This was between himself and Nigel, and it was only going to happen one way.

He registered the feel of his sidearm, warm under his jacket.

He fully intended to be the only one left standing.

He smiled easily at Catherine and went back to printing.

~~~~~~~~~~~

He might have reached a kind of peace with the situation, but the moment he saw Gil's face back at the lab, he recognized Gil hadn't.

"What did he say?" Gil asked tightly, jaw muscles so tight Nick could practically hear the stress. "Tell me."

"Whoa, calm down. Nothing happened. Just a phone call."

"Just a phone call for now," Gil shot back.

"Maybe." Nick shook his head. "He doesn't know where I'm staying. So we got nothing to worry about."

"Nick, that phone number is brand-new -- he shouldn't have been able to get that, either!"

He hadn't thought much about that. "Well," he hedged, "I don't think --"

"Who needs to think?" Gil snapped. "Have they picked him up yet? He's going back to jail."

"I don't know. Don't think so."

Gil's eyes widened. "You don't know? You called the DA's office, right?"

Nick shook his head. "It's not a big deal, Gil, we don't --"

"Wait a second." The minute Gil gave him the full force of his anger, Nick felt like running. God, the guy was intense. "You're telling me you didn't TELL them? Are you INSANE?"

Possibly, he thought about saying, but another glance at Gil's thunderous look made him think twice. Nick looked around Gil's office, and said in a low voice, "I'm armed, informed. He's not going to sneak up on me."

Gil leaned against his desk, face aghast. "Jesus, Nick," he said in a softer, wilder voice. "Don't you get it? He already HAS."

Rebuffed, Nick swallowed hard. "I'm not going to let him keep doing this to me," he managed. "I can't live like this. Let him try. At least it'll be over."

The anger evaporated; now Gil looked old, and wounded. "Don't say that, please. Just don't."

"Why not? It's the truth!"

Gil didn't reply to that. Without meeting Nick's eyes he fumbled his way into his chair, sitting as if he were suddenly utterly exhausted. Well, probably was, come to think of it. God knew Nick was.

Coming over to the desk, Nick leaned on one hand. Putting every bit of fierceness he still possessed into his voice, he said, "I can't run away this time, Gil, and you know it. I'm not going to live my life this way. It's like you said: we have to anticipate. I'm anticipating!"

"Are you?" Gil replied hollowly.

"You want me to hide behind uniforms instead? Not even be able to do my job because --"

"I want you ALIVE, Nick," Gil snapped, pushing himself out of his chair and leaning forward for emphasis. "That's what I want. That's ALL I want!"

"I am alive," Nick murmured helplessly.

Gil drew a long breath. Nick could see his arms shaking, the way his throat worked for a second. "All I want is for you to stay that way, Nick," he said finally, in a trembling voice. "Don't give up. Please."

"I'm -- not giving up."

"You sound like you are. Jesus." Gil closed his eyes.

"I just want my life back, Gil," Nick said in a stricken voice. "It's all I want. I can't -- let this guy live my life for me. I can't."

"Then let's call the DA's office. Put Crane back in jail."

Nick nodded stiffly. "He said -- they wouldn't be able to find him."

The words hit Gil hard; he made an inarticulate sound and sat down again. "Do you have any idea," he began slowly, not meeting Nick's eyes, "what would happen to me, if something happened to you?"

"Nothing --"

"You don't, do you?" The anger and fear drained away, leaving Gil white-faced and terribly calm. "You have no idea." An awfuil smile twisted his lips. "Neither do I."

"Gil, please, listen to me." Nick circled the desk, perching on the edge next to Gil's chair. "I'm gonna be okay. Nothing is going to happen. I can handle phone calls. They're just words."

Gil shook his head slowly, reaching up to rub one temple. "Maybe you can, but I'm not sure I can."

Nick smiled shakily and reached over to touch Gil's shoulder. "Bird by bird, man. Isn't that what they say?"

Gil snorted and didn't smile, but the old look faded a fraction. "I should kick your ass for this," he mumbled, covering Nick's hand with his own. "All the way to Texas. Call the ADA. If not for you, then for me?"

"Okay," Nick agreed, meeting Gil's anguished stare. "Let's do it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Didn't take long for word to get around. Nick's Nemesis was back. Maybe it was the way he himself behaved, though, because no one else got as completely thrown by it as Gil. Just a fact of life: Crane's out, back on the chase, and we'll deal with things as they come up. In the meantime, there's stuff to be done.

The ADA, Henderson, did all the right things, and soon enough there was an APB out on Crane. Wouldn't do much good, Nick knew; unless the guy wanted to be found no one would find him. Might be a lunatic, but he was a smart lunatic, a cagey son of a bitch, and Nick had no doubts that one phone call wouldn't be the last contact they had. He kept a bullet chambered in his sidearm, made sure he wasn't alone, and did his best to stay wary. What else could he do?

Gil, now. That was another matter.

It was frankly startling to see how hard this was on the guy. Hadn't it been Gil doing the Rock of Gibraltar impression, not so very long ago? But now it was Nick taking up the slack, vaguely surprised at how easy it was. How good it felt. Nice to be de-neutered, to get his balls and his nerve back. And just in time, because Gil was jumping at shadows, almost completely unable to let Nick out of his sight for more than a minute or two. Which didn't lend itself to easily concealing what was becoming a serious non-professional relationship.

Gil didn't say much on their way home early that morning. It was a new mood, one Nick didn't completely understand, but enough to know there wasn't anything he himself could say, either. The knowledge was right there, staring him in the face: Gil was as vulnerable as Nick was, in different ways, and this latest development had pushed him in a direction he hadn't had to deal with lately. Maybe never. Nick wasn't sure.

Who knew what Gil's background really was? Oh, sure, degrees, qualifications, personal quirks that revealed themselves over time. But what about the guy's emotional crap? Where in the hell did he put all the shit Nick knew for a fact he must carry around 24/7?

One thing was clear: Gil wasn't saying. Not now, and Nick wasn't about to try to guess when -- if ever -- he would say. So he sat silently in the passenger seat, waiting for some kind of clue.

It came in the way Gil grabbed him the minute they were inside. As if taking Nick in his arms was something he'd wanted to do as badly as a man dying of thirst in the Gobi grabbed for water.

"It's okay," Nick mumbled, crushed up against him so tight his ribs sang out with vague distress. "It's gonna be okay."

Gil didn't say a word, but pulled away enough to give him a frantic set of kisses, hard ones, not loving but voracious and oddly panic-stricken kisses. No idea what else to do; Nick just let him do it, reassure himself if that was what he was doing: Yes, I'm still here, still alive, staying that way, too. Right here, right now.

In the bedroom he tried to help Gil take his clothes off, but finally just stood there while Gil stripped him, aroused and kind of scared in the face of this bizarrely erotic focus. There wasn't a part of him Gil didn't touch, fondle, kiss: neck, chest, arms, fingers, belly, hips. He stepped out of his pants and felt Gil capture one foot, kissing the arch wetly and making Nick hiss with startled pleasure.

"Gil --" he gasped.

"No." Gil stood so fast it made Nick's own head spin, grabbing him and pushing him down on the bed. "No," he repeated, and pulled his own shirt off without unbuttoning it first. A couple of buttons bit the dust, clittering on the floor.

Oh, Christ, this was going way, way too fast, and yet there was a weird sense of abandon to it, like he cared less and less when Gil mashed him against the mattress, greedy too-hard kisses and Gil's clothed crotch glued up against Nick's bare one. What he cared about was wrapping his legs around Gil's hips, pushing up until it hurt, and hearing Gil's strangled growl of pleasure.

"What do you want?" Nick wheezed, pushing Gil back an inch or two, panting like he'd just run full-tilt for ten blocks. "What do you need? Tell me."

Gil's eyes were dark and glistening with lust and anguish and tears. "Everything," he rasped, grinding their dicks together.

He's going to hurt you, some part of him said, what was left of that still soft voice of reason. He's going to hurt you, fucking you, and he'll never get over it. You will, you know you will, just like you know for a stone fact he won't. Ever.

"Stop," Nick whispered, prying his hands free and putting his palms on Gil's oven-hot cheeks. "Stop, Gil. Slow down."

Staring down at him, Gil made a terrible sound deep in his throat and shook his head. Nick held harder, forcing him to be still. "Listen to me, Gil," he said fiercely, as gently as he could. "Listen to me. We can do this, I want to do this. But not like this. Not now."

Gil made another broken sound, and Nick arched up to kiss him, fast and hard. "I'm right here, man," he continued, pulling until Gil lay on top of him, panting but for the first time easing off a little, listening. "Right here, and not going anyplace. Believe it. But you don't want it to be like that. I know you, I know you don't."

He had no idea how long they just lay there, naked and clothed, both hard and scared and wheezing like a couple of asthmatics who left their inhalers at the office. But there was a moment when he felt Gil finally let go, almost saw the terror and desperate need morph into honest feeling instead of angry lust. Gil rolled to the side, still wrapped in Nick's arms, and
buried his face in the crook of Nick's shoulder.

With a sense of distant wonder Nick petted Gil's hair, combing his fingers through it, listening to Gil bark a few harsh sobs. "He didn't get me," Nick crooned, almost to himself. "I won't do that to you, Gil, I swear to God. I didn't know I was doing that to you, but I do now, I swear I do, and it won't happen again. It's okay, it's all okay."

He's not a Vulcan, that tiny voice whispered. How could you ever have thought that? But you never will again, will you?

"It's all right," Nick whispered, blinking back a few tears of his own, and closed his eyes, letting his calming touch say what words simply couldn't, anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gil slept late, his turn apparently. Nick lay there in filtered white Nevada sunshine and watched him sleep, a hushed moment of inspection. In sleep Gil's guards came down: mouth soft, lines of focus and thought smoothed out. Dark eyelashes making sooty shadows against his skin.

What a strange, awful, wonderful time it was, wasn't it? So weird, to feel so good. It wasn't enough to recognize how unexpected it was, how unlooked-for. It felt more like considering some completely alien concept. He could never have anticipated this. Of all the things to take him by surprise the past couple of months, none compared to now. No fearful flight could match this fluttering, almost painful sense of astonished joy he felt now.

If this was what love was like, he had something in common with Gil. He'd never been in love before.

He lay on his side and watched Gil wake up. Slow, syrupy-tired sleep into muzzy-eyed wakefulness.

"Hi," Nick breathed.

Gil's mouth curved in a slanted smile. "Hi yourself," he replied in a sleepy voice.

Nick reached out to touch the place on Gil's cheek where the pillowcase had left a dent. "Feel better?"

"Yeah." Memory flickered like a movie over Gil's features, and Nick smiled.

"This is nice."

The momentary tension bled away, thank God. "It is, isn't it?" Gil murmured, covering Nick's hand with his own and bringing it over to kiss his fingers slowly. "Really nice."

"Want some coffee?"

"Not really."

"Neither do I."

Funny how words seemed so important, and yet turned out to be vastly overrated. The angle of the sunlight changed, sliding over the sheets until it shone on the east wall, but time itself had stopped. Nothing else really mattered. Nothing outside. Nothing could touch them here.

There was love, after a while. The kind of passion that didn't obliterate, heat that didn't scar but felt wonderfully, achingly intense. Ignoring Gil's faint protests Nick explored Gil's body, taking a kind of absurd sheepish pride in marking out various places that got more of a response than others. The hollow over Gil's collarbone, the warm furriness of his armpit. Watching the way Gil shrank away when Nick kissed a ticklish place, rumbling laughter tinged with blessed heat, and listening to the urgent sounds he made as Nick skirted his hard cock, nuzzling his hipbones, the insides of his thighs, the place where his dick met his balls. No such thing as time, anymore. Time simply didn't matter.

He kissed the tip of Gil's cock and smiled slowly, watching him from between Gil's tense thighs. Kneed his way back up the bed and kissed Gil's open mouth, reaching with one hand over to the bedside table, inside the drawer.

Gil drew an expectant breath, seeing it, and Nick shook his head slowly. "I want it, baby," he whispered almost noiselessly, vaguely resenting the crackle of plastic.

Without any real thought he smoothed a condom on Gil's dick, taking his time but not too teasing now. No, this wasn't the time for that. This was the time for this.

It was Gil who opened him up, fingers slick with lube and so deliciously, terribly gentle. Kissing him when he winced, smiling against his mouth when the wince turned into slow sticky pleasure.

He turned on his side, briefly mourning the position while Gil's sure hand caressed Nick's hip, urging his thighs apart. He made a strangled sound when Gil pressed into him, listening hard to the whispered assurances, the pauses while Gil let him get used to it, letting him set the pace even when Nick felt the thrum of energy in Gil's body, the urgency in his hardness.

But it didn't hurt at all then, felt strange and briefly naughty and then just flat-out GOOD, slow strokes deep inside him and back, not quite out again, sweet motion that woke up parts of him that had always slept before, now shivering and flexing with more and more intent urgency. We LIKE this, do that again, yeah, THAT, oh SHIT, yeah, again, again, YES.

He didn't even recognize his own voice, this taut anxious cajoling, begging Gil to do that faster, deeper, all the WAY man, YES, and then Gil's rumbled laughter and obliging more intent thrusting, meeting the way Nick tried to push back with pushes forward. The room and the city and everything else, EVERYTHING, went away, left them blissfully alone with just this, the feel of Gil's cock INSIDE him, the feel of his own hand stroking himself to the same fantastic, mind-erasing rhythm, until he coughed a sharp sound and tensed up, here and THERE, heard Gil's hoarse curse when he felt it, too, and they came almost the same time, two tense bodies locked in one shuddering long moment of absolutely YES.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Holy cow," Nick said some unknown amount of time later.

Gil's arm tightened around him, his chest shaking with a chuckle. "Yeah."

"Man," Nick mumbled, blinking blearily at him. "Why didn't you TELL me?"

With a theatrically studious look Gil shrugged. "I don't even have a quote for that one."

Nick leaned forward an inch and kissed him luxuriantly, tightening the grip of his leg thrown over Gil's hips. "That," he mumbled against Gil's mouth, "was amazing."

"It was, wasn't it?" Gil kissed him back, one hand cupping Nick's still-quivering buttock. "I told you there's a reason people keep doing it."

"Mm-hmm. How soon can we do it again?"

Gil laughed, kissing him again briefly. "Considering I'm an old guy and we have to be at work pretty soon?"

"Yeah." Nick nuzzled beneath Gil's jaw.

"How about tonight?"

"That better be a promise."

"Absolutely."

Reluctantly Nick levered himself up on one elbow, looking at the clock. "Man, it's late," he breathed, surprised. "Hey, can we call in sick?"

"Well, no."

"Damn."

Another chuckle. "I know. BELIEVE me."

"Take a shower with me?"

"Oh, no."

"Aw."

"Not if we want to make it to work. No way."

"Damn," Nick repeated, smiling gently.

When he got out of the shower Gil had sandwiches ready, and Nick bolted his and made another while Gil ate, trying very hard not to give in and tackle the guy again. He got dressed while Gil had his turn in the shower, which gave him the distinct pleasure of being able to watch Gil naked, hunting for something to wear.

"You don't have to do that on my account, you know," Nick said in his smokiest voice, and got a flustered glare in return.

The closer work got, though, the more he could put this new level of awareness where it belonged, banked, not gone but relegated to a controllable degree. He was strapping on his sidearm when the doorbell rang.

"Want me to get it?"

Gil shook his head, moving to the foyer. "Shift change, checking in. Grab my jacket, would you?"

It was the no-talking that made him go still. No greeting, just the sound of the door opening, and then silence. Nick frowned and looked past the hall closet door.

"Hi, Nick," Nigel said, smiling. The revolver in his hand didn't waver, held an inch from Gil's temple. "Miss me?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room did a nauseating duck-and-roll, and he blinked away a fog of utter terror. "No. Please, no," Nick whispered almost soundlessly.

"You've really disappointed me, Nick." The business end of the revolver pushed against Gil's temple, and Nick saw him brace himself. Nigel's calculating smile widened. "I turn my back for just a little while, and this is where I find you. Bad, bad boy."

It hit him like a slap in the face: this familiar tone, fucking TEASING voice. The fog was completely gone. He felt suddenly as cold and clear as a razor-sharp Nevada winter morning. "What can I say?" Nick replied easily. "He's hot."

The smile vanished. "You're a fucking whore, you know that, Nick?" Nigel spat, giving a twist to Gil's captured arm. "I knew you were rotten, but you've surprised even me. Look at what you're making me do."

Part of his brain stood back, guaging how far away they were, how close his weapon was, how long it would take to draw it. Too fucking long; Gil had about a millisecond to spare if it came to that, and the fastest draw west of the Mississippi couldn't match that. Plan B, Nicky. NOW.

"Go, Nick," Gil said in a strangled voice.

"Shut up," Nick said pleasantly, keeping his eyes fixed on Nigel's. "This isn't about Grissom, Nigel. Leave him out of it."

A strange look crept over Nigel's taut features: almost astonished, pure puzzlement. "You let him FUCK you?" he breathed, shaking his head minutely. "There's no limit, is there? You use people, and abandon them. Does he know what kind of person you are?"

A spasm of horrible fear almost made him back down, but he straightened. "No," Nick said in a low voice. "Not like you do."

"That's right." Nigel grinned. "No one knows you like I do. No one ever will."

"You trashed my place," Nick continued, shrugging. "I need someplace to crash, and Grissom offered. So we fucked. Big deal. Wasn't so bad." He sighed. "You know it didn't mean anything."

"You expect me to believe a single word you say?" Nigel laughed once, a harsh caw. Gil flinched again as the revolver kissed his temple. "When he dies, it'll be your fault, Nicky."

"So kill him," Nick said through numb lips. "Kill me, kill yourself. But for God's sake, stop TALKING so goddamn much."

With a throttled curse Nigel pushed Gil, hard, sending him reeling against a bookshelf. Gun still pointed in Gil's direction, Nigel spat, "Get down on your knees, Nick."

Nick took a step closer, nodding. "Want me to suck you?" he asked, casually. "Is that what you want? Because I'm good at it." He bared his teeth in a grin. "Let me show you."

A flicker of bewilderment crossed Nigel's features. "You disgust me."

"Oh really." Nick paused as if considering it, and shrugged again. "I still make you hot," he murmured, flicking an explicit glance at Nigel's crotch. "Don't I?" He took another step, licking his lower lip. His stomach reeled. "All those times you watched me jerk off, you wanted to come, too, didn't you? Only you didn't. Did you?"

Nigel's cheeks flushed deep red. "Nasty boy," he breathed, panting. "You're such a disgusting excuse for a person."

"I'm okay with that, Nigel." Nick smiled, and saw little fireworks going off in the edges of his vision. "But you're not, because all you can do is watch, can you? Can't get it up, so you gotta watch me make it with somebody else. Can't stick your own dick up my ass, but you like watching somebody else do it."

Without any transition Nigel lashed out with the revolver, catching Gil on the side of the face and dropping him, hard. Nick bit back a scream of fury and clenched his fists. "That wasn't smart, Nigel," he murmured. "You gonna shoot me now? Is that what you want to do?"

The revolver stared him in the face. "It's what I have to do, Nick," Nigel replied in a horribly reasonable voice, one that made Nick's fury falter. "I'm doing you a favor. Him, too." He shook his head once. "He won't have to know just how rotten you are."

The phone rang, a shrill wheep of noise that made them both jump. Nick grinned. "Then let's go together," he hissed, and grabbed the barrel of the gun.

It took a second after the gun had gone off for him to realize it hadn't hit him. Shot gone wild, buzzing past his right ear.

"Oops," Nick said, and wrenched it out of Nigel's thunderstruck hand.

"Now what's it feel like?" he asked, pointing the gun at Nigel's forehead. "Looks huge, doesn't it? Staring at it that close. How's it feel, Nigel?" he spat.

Nigel's face worked for a moment, and then he regarded Nick calmly. "I feel sorry for him," he said, sighing. "You can shoot me, but you're only showing him who you really are, underneath all -- that. You don't care about anyone, Nick. You don't know how."

"Maybe," Nick said, nodding rapidly. "Maybe I don't. But you'll sure as hell never know for sure." He drew back the hammer.

"Nick."

"Shut up," Nick said over his shoulder, not moving. "Stay out of this, Gil."

"Don't do it, Nick," Gil said gently. "You've won. It's over."

"It's not over," Nick blurted. "It's not over until this sick fuck is DEAD."

Nigel smiled beatifically.

"Maybe," came Gil's calm voice. "You remember what you said? You told me you knew I didn't want it to be like that. And you were right. I didn't. You don't, either. Trust me. Listen to me. You don't want this."

Furious tears stung his nose. Shut UP, Gil, you're ruining my REVENGE, you fucker, just shut the fuck UP.

Gil came into his vision. Bleeding merrily from the gash over his cheekbone, but so incredibly calm. "Nigel can't do anything now," he continued evenly. "And you're not going to, either. It's over."

Nick sobbed once, harshly. "He should die," he mumbled, hand traitorously starting to shake. "He should DIE for this."

"Maybe. Give me the gun."

He almost flinched away when he felt Gil's hand on his wrist. Almost. But not quite.

"It's over, Nick," Gil said with aching love in his voice. "Let go."

Nick sobbed once and did.

"So that's why you let him fuck you," Nigel said nastily, and Gil turned the gun smoothly, pointing the same way Nick had a second earlier.

"Don't tempt me," Gil said.

Something in his expression made Nigel's face go white, and he didn't say anything else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Much, much later, Nick slumped on the couch and glanced over at Gil, taking a seat next to him. The bandage on Gil's cheek was startlingly white.

"How's your head?" Nick asked rustily.

"Hurts," Gil replied, touching the bandage briefly. "I'll live. How are you doing?"

His throat was painfully tight. "Should have let me," he managed. "Why didn't you let me?"

"Because that isn't you," Gil said simply, and produced a lopsided, luminous smile.

Nick coughed and slid over to envelop Gil in a careful hug.

"So I guess we don't have to go to work tonight," Nick said a little while later, cheek pressed against Gil's chest.

"Not tonight, no." Gil's hand stroked Nick's hair. "Feel okay?"

Nick nodded. "Think so, yeah."

"That was pretty amazing, you know. I was profoundly impressed, except when I was simply scared out of my mind." Gil chuckled. "Ow. Remind me not to laugh."

"I think," Nick murmured, "if it'd just been me, I don't -- think I could have done that. But he blew it, man, he used you, and I saw that and --" He broke off, swallowing.

"Like I said, amazing."

"No. More like -- desperate."

"Nevertheless." Gil placed a soft kiss at Nick's hairline.

"What happens now?"

"He's back in jail. We both testify at his trial next year, and he goes to prison. For a very, very long time."

Nick closed his eyes, sliding his arms around Gil's chest. "Music to my ears, man."

"Mine, too."

After another moment Nick chuckled. "What?" Gil asked curiously.

"Just thinking. About that promise you made me."

"Which promise?"

"About -- that. Tonight."

Gil laughed a little, too. "Well, God loves to make liars out of us."

"So I take it -- no?"

"Tssh. I didn't say that."

Nick pushed away enough to look him in the eyes. "So...?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Gil grinned. "There's time, honey," he murmured an inch from Nick's lips. "Time for that and more."

"Is that a promise, too?"

"One I definitely plan to keep."

Nick smiled. "Good," he whispered. And leaned forward to kiss him.


END