Common Hours

by Emily Brunson

(c)2003

SYNOPSIS/NOTES: Six months after Nick's resignation, Gil finds himself in Dallas with an old case to finish up and a new puzzle: why Nick really left.

Warning: no warnings except the usual suspects.

My thanks to Micha for legal help and essential coolness. *mwah*

Common Hours
by Emily Brunson
(c)2003

I.

It took him forever to figure out where he was going. Dallas and its attendant myriad suburbs were a nightmare of organic growth: a seething primordial stew of outlet malls and subdivisions and endless, DNA-like braids of traffic.

By the time he found the restaurant, Gil’s jaw was aching from gritting his teeth so hard, and he’d already popped three Excedrin to belay the incipient headache. Didn’t help that the rental car smelled of old cigarette smoke, and handled like a three-legged bull moose. He allowed himself a brief and self-indulgent wish for his own clean, well-maintained Tahoe back in Vegas, and then applied himself to finding a parking space in the postage-stamp parking lot.

Inside the restaurant smelled wonderful: no smoke, and the tangy scent of barbecue sauce. Gil walked up to the hostess and smiled cordially. "I’m meeting someone. I –"

"Right," she told him in a sprightly unaccented voice. Her teeth were an orthodontic advertisement given living form. "This way."

It was early yet, and there weren’t many diners. He followed the excruciatingly cute hostess through a warren of oilcloth-topped tables to the windows. Only one booth was occupied, and he could only see the back of the person’s head. It was enough.

"Thanks," Gil murmured, no longer seeing the girl at all.

He stood by the table for a moment, frozen by rare indecision. And then Nick smiled, showing teeth even better than the pretty hostess’s. "You found it," he said easily. "Good deal."

"Hi, Nick." Gil slid into the booth opposite him, butt squeaking a little on the seat. "Sorry I’m late. I think someone purposefully made this city hard to navigate."

Nick’s grin didn’t waver, looking as natural as always. "It’s a conspiracy," he agreed. "How was the trip?"

"Boring. You look good, Nicky. It’s good to see you."

"You too." The smile started to fade.

The sudden silence felt as if someone had thrown a heavy fire-retardant blanket over the room. Now that he was here, he had no idea what to say. How are you? What’s up these days? He couldn’t make the words pass his lips. Too empty, too easy and superficial, even if they were completely and utterly safe. Safe wasn’t why he was here, was it? Safe would have been not calling when he’d called. Safe would have been doing the work he was in this colossal metroplex to do, and getting back on the plane and going back to the city he preferred, the city where his life was. No, this now, this wasn’t safe. Anything but.

Nick shifted a little, and Gil’s eyes narrowed. The smile might be the same, but Nick looked subtly different. He couldn’t place it at first, until he realized Nick seemed smaller. Thinner. Not as muscular as Gil remembered. Funny, he’d never thought of Nick as small, even though, granted, he wasn’t tall, and took short-guy comments with good grace. But Nick didn’t seem short, he seemed – diminished. It wasn’t a physical statement, but far more one of atmosphere.

"It’s been a long time," Nick said gruffly. His eyes flickered to meet Gil’s and then slid away again, down to the sweating water glass in front of him. His fingers skated through the condensation, leaving marks like alien calligraphy. "Man."

Gil nodded. "Nearly six months."

"Totally surprised me when you called." Faint color bloomed in Nick’s pale cheeks. "Guess I should have sprung for caller ID, huh."

"If you’d known it was me, would you have picked up?"

The look in Nick’s eyes was impossible to define. Angry? Hurt? Or just confused? "Probably," he answered after a moment. "Sure. Why not."

A waitress appeared in the middle of the second awkward silence. Gil absently ordered a cup of coffee and shook his head when she asked if they were ready to order lunch. Nick gave her a bright smile as he shook his head, and now it looked facile to Gil, not normal at all.

"Why’d you go, Nick?"

Nick met his gaze steadily, but a muscle twitched in his cheek. He shrugged. "Didn’t we talk about this six months ago? Time for a change."

"We talked around it. I’m still trying to figure it out. We all are."

"Man, you’re not much for small talk, are you?" This time Nick’s smile looked completely false.

"No," Gil agreed. "Never have been. But you know that already."

Nick glanced to the side, staring out the window at the expanse of cars, windshields electric with hard sunlight. "Like I said. Time for a change. So how long are you in Big D?"

Gil heard the subtext as clearly as if Nick had said it out loud: How long do I have to deal with you before you’ll go away and leave me alone? A flicker of confused anger made him sit up straighter in the booth. "Couple of days. Not long. Don’t worry."

Nick’s dark eyes returned to him, unreadable as slate. "I’m not worried."

"Where are you working?"

"I’m considering options."

Gil frowned. "I thought –"

"It didn’t work out." Nick gave a thoroughly un-Texan, faintly Gallic shrug. "I’ll find something else. Always do. I’m taking some classes right now."

"Ah." He felt as if he were navigating treacherously icy terrain. Feet slipping out from under him if he lost focus for a single second. "Sounds good."

The corners of Nick’s mouth turned up in a new, faintly ugly sardonic smile. "Beats watching soap operas all day."

The pressure of questions was almost too much to bear. You’re not working? Going to school? Why? What are you studying? And where in god’s name are you living? How are you living this way? Where’d the man I knew for four years go, and who in the hell are you?

"How’s Catherine?" Nick asked before he could let any of the pressure out.

"Good. She’s doing very well. She sends her love."

Nick smiled again, sweeter. "Send mine back. Warrick?"

Gil nodded. "Also good. Sara’s getting married."

"Wow. Hank?"

"Next year."

"Tell her congratulations for me."

"Why’d you leave, Nick? Really?"

Nick sat back, drawing in as visibly as a tortoise retreating into its shell. "Jesus." His voice sounded high and thin. "What difference does it make? Move along. It doesn’t matter anymore."

The waitress put a cup of evilly black coffee in front of Gil, and he waited a bare three seconds for her to leave before leaning forward. "I think it does. I miss having you on my team, Nick. And I’ve never understood why you left. You’re not working. You’re –"

"I’m doing what I want to do," Nick interrupted flatly. "People change, Grissom. Things change."

"If you’re doing what you want to do, why do you look so miserable?"

"Great." Nick’s eyes sparked with anger. "Is this why you called? So you could grill me about how I let you down? How I let myself down, left a great job and went back to Dallas to hang out at my parents’ house and eat bonbons all day?"

"Is that what you’re doing?"

"What I’m doing is making changes," Nick shot back hotly. His hands were tense on the table. "Because some changes needed to be made. Why are you acting like you’re still my boss? None of this is any of your business, not anymore. What difference does any of this make?"

"I’m not here as your boss. I’m here as your friend."

The tic in Nick’s jaw went right on ticcing. "When were you ever my friend?" Nick said in a stark voice.

It was Gil’s turn to recoil. Frowning, he asked, "I’ve always thought of you that way."

Something terrible came and went in Nick’s brown eyes. "You weren’t my friend. You were my colleague, sure. My boss. But friend? Come on. None of you were friends."

"Is that what you wanted? What you were missing? Friends?"

"You still have no idea, do you?" Nick asked, shaking his head slightly. His expression was honestly startled. "Even after all this, you guys still don’t have a clue."

"No, we don’t. I don’t," Gil amended with a grimace. "So why don’t you just tell me, instead of alluding to things I don’t understand? So it was us? You’re angry?"

For a moment Nick just laughed. The sound of it was so normal, so excruciatingly familiar, Gil winced. "Angry?" Nick asked, reaching up to wipe his eyes. "Oh man. That’s really funny."

"Share the joke."

"It’s called irony, Grissom," Nick replied instantly, odd smile vanishing. He looked cool now, suddenly distant. "That’s all. I find this entire conversation highly ironic. And kind of surreal. In fact your being here at all is pretty goddamn trippy."

"Damn it, I feel like I need a translator." Gil swallowed and then took a belated slug of his coffee. Its bitterness felt good in his mouth. "I’m not here to try to lure you back to Las Vegas."

Nick snorted softly. "I didn’t figure you were."

"Come on, Nick! Would you stop this? Just talk to me, like a normal human being?"

"Normal? What was normal about any of this?" Nick leaned forward, elbows on the table. His teeth flashed in reflected sunlight. "I got tired of being a gofer, Grissom. That’s all. There’s no higher agenda here."

"Gofer," Gil echoed. "Gofer? Are you saying what I think you’re saying? God, Nick, is that what you thought you were?"

"I worked hard, and did good work." Nick picked up his water glass and swirled the contents. Ice cubes clinked against the glass. "I can see why you’d be surprised. But that’s the point, see? No matter what I tell you now, you’ll never see what else was there." He smiled a little, bitterly. "No matter what good work I did," he continued slowly, "I wasn’t ever going to be anything but the guy from Texas. The kid from Texas." He looked at Gil squarely. "I need to see myself in a better mirror, that’s all. The old reflection was poisonous."

"I honestly don’t understand."

"I know. That’s all right. It’s none of your concern, really."

"But it is," Gil snapped. "It is. Because you’re telling me I failed somehow, and –"

"Failed? Not really." Nick’s smile was gentler now. Oddly, it hurt more to see it. "Come on, Grissom, we can’t any of us be anything but what we are. I decided it was time to do my own thing, that’s all. Time to stop seeing myself the way you guys saw me, and see what I could really do. Be."

Flummoxed, Gil sagged against the back of the booth. "How did we see you?"

"Young. Not worldly. Inexperienced." Nick shrugged. "All of which was true, when I started working in Vegas. I’m down with that. But it wasn’t true after a while. I’m not a kid. I’m 32 years old. I left being a kid behind me a long time ago. But that’s the thing, see? It’s hard to break an image. It’s hard to change people’s conceptions of you. And sometimes you have to go someplace where those conceptions aren’t so rock-solid, to be that person for real."

"I don’t think any of this is true," Gil said baldly. "I don’t believe you. I agree about preconceptions, to some extent. Valid point. But you changed a great deal during the four years you worked for me, and to say I didn’t see that – that any of us didn’t see it – is flat-out wrong."

"Suit yourself." Nick finally did sip his water, crunching an ice cube between his teeth. "This meeting was your choice. I can’t help it if you hear things you don’t want to hear."

"What I want to hear is the truth. I think there’s probably some truth in what you said. But I know it isn’t everything."

Nick’s expression faltered, became evasive. "Tough," he said shortly. "It’s what I’m here to say."

Gil shook his head at the waitress, who looked a little annoyed. "So you admit it? You’re not telling me everything?"

"No one wants everything," Nick said softly. "That much I know. Stop pushing. You already got shit you didn’t want. Don’t ask for more."

"All I’m asking for is the real reason you resigned. Did something happen? What is it, Nicky?"

Nick’s face contorted, a fast look of anguish. "I hate that name. Don’t call me Nicky. Don’t."

"All right. Nick. Why? Why did that bother you?"

Covering, Nick gave an ostentatious look at his watch. "I have class pretty soon," he said in a dull voice. "I can’t stay. Is this what you wanted? Because I don’t have time for it."

Gil made himself nod. "I respect that. Okay. Go to class."

Nick mouthed the word – respect – and smiled, a bitter smile that looked jarringly out of place on his features. "Okay." He shook his head. "Whatever. Have a good trip."

He waited until Nick had stood up before he asked, "Was it me?"

Nick froze in the act of taking out his wallet. Gazing at the floor, he said nothing, and Gil sighed. "Is that a yes?"

Still unspeaking, Nick sank back down on the booth’s bench. His wallet hung limply in his hands.

"Tell me," Gil said urgently. "For God’s sake, at least tell me. Maybe I can make it right."

"It wasn’t anything you did."

The flat miserable tone set Gil’s teeth on edge. Frowning, he sat back. "So it was me. Help me out here, Nick. Because I don’t know. I truly don’t."

"I know." Nick nodded slowly.

"Something I didn’t do? What was it about me that made you leave? Jesus, I’d have changed it, Nick, I wouldn’t have wanted it to cause this problem."

Nick’s eyes flickered up to meet his own, bright with misery. "It’s not your fault," he whispered. "I just had to go, okay? Had to."

"Because of me."

"The ribs here are good." Nick took out a five and dropped it on the table. "You should stick around and try them." When he stood his knees popped. His smile was wavery and false. "I gotta split. Listen, have a good trip. Say hi to the guys for me."

Later he thought that that preposterously friendly, agonized little speech was the worst part of the entire misbegotten not-lunch. Watching, hearing Nick try to be nice, try to be casual, when every twitch screamed of painful tension. Gil gazed at him, bewildered. "Okay," he said finally, at a loss. "I will. Take care of yourself."

He watched Nick walk out, and through the window to his car. Gil didn’t recognize the vehicle from Vegas; something new. Or old; it was vintage, a nicely kept 60’s-era Impala. Nick climbed inside and nothing happened for a minute. And then the car pulled away, and Gil sat motionless in the booth, looking at the empty place in the parking lot.

When the waitress ventured back he gave her an effortful smile. "I apologize," he said. "Something came up."

He left Nick’s five and added a five of his own. Hell of a tip for a cup of coffee and a glass of water, but he didn’t mind.

II.

The afternoon involved a lot of time spent waiting: for evidence, for test results, for people to move their easygoing asses and get him the information he needed in order to finish up and go home. Time with nothing to do but sit and wonder about the odd, stilted meeting with Nick, like sharing a table with a near-complete stranger instead of a man he’d worked alongside for nearly four years. A man he didn’t know, whose pain wasn’t physical, but radiated like solar heat in every direction.

By four he was tired, exasperated, and wrapping his head around the fact that this trip wasn’t ending anytime soon. Which he imagined was how he ended up sitting at a terminal, using the department’s software to look up Nick’s address.

He’d just finished scribbling it down when his liaison officer walked over. "Sorry for the holdup, Dr. Grissom." Haynes scratched behind his ear and shoved his hand back in his pocket. "Shouldn’t be too much longer. I dunno what is up with those boys down in the lab, but –"

"It’s all right." Gil tucked the slip of paper in his breast pocket and stood up. "I haven’t been in Dallas in a long time, and I wouldn’t mind taking a look around. You have my cell number, right?"

Haynes nodded, looking a bit relieved.

"Call me when you get the tests back. I’ll still need a lab and some equipment for my analysis, okay?"

"Anything you want, you got, doc."

"Good."

"We’ll holler at you just as soon as we’re back in business," Haynes said to Gil’s back. Gil nodded and kept walking.

The damp heat outside hit him like a gloved fist. Accustomed to Nevada dryness, he felt soggy with the humidity in Dallas, a little choked. His shirt was almost immediately clammy with sweat. Sliding into his rental car he made a face at the enclosed furnace heat, and hastily started the engine and hit the window buttons. No better in some ways outside, but at least the air moved. Just until the AC kicked in.

He had a vague recollection of Nick’s general area, but to be safe he took out the map the rental company had supplied. Not that far as the crow flew, but around here it was probably a lot further than it appeared. Gil studied the map for a moment and then put the car in drive.

It took over an hour of navigating before he found Turtle Creek. Or reached it; finding was not the same as being there. A short twisty jag later and he was in Oak Lawn. Older section of the city, and teeming with cars and pedestrians. Caught up in looking for street signs, he missed a few clues at first. It was probably the fifth or six rainbow-decorated storefront before it occurred to him that this was the Dallas equivalent of central Vegas, south of Charleston. The gay area. And a lot more concentrated.

He almost sat through a green light, absorbing that one fact.

He finally stopped for directions at a gas station, only to find that Nick’s apartment building was only a few blocks away. Smiling sheepishly, Gil got back in the car and a few minutes later parked across the street from his destination. Tall, probably twenty stories. The building looked decently new, grounds pretty well-kept. He nodded at a flamboyantly dressed woman walking to her car, and searched for Nick’s apartment number. No one answered when he buzzed. Feeling a little tired and a lot hot and uncomfortable, Gil sighed. Could wait. Unless Nick was taking night classes, too, he’d probably show up.

He resolved to hang around for a little while, at least until the sun angled a little further down in the sky or Haynes called him from the police department, whichever came first. He was sitting on the edge of the anemically gurgling fountain near the entrance when he saw a black elderly Impala pull into the parking lot.

Watching, he felt like a voyeur, a peeping Gil if you will, as Nick climbed out of the car and reached into the back seat to fish out a heavy book bag. No lie about school, then; Gil remembered the weight of textbooks all too well. Nick looked almost as wilted by the humidity as Gil. His face was a little lined with weariness as he reached the sidewalk, and then raised his eyes and met Gil’s gaze. His surprise was nearly palpable.

Gil smiled awkwardly. "Hi."

Still staring, Nick took a step and tripped on the curb. The book bag thudded to the ground as Nick caught himself with one hand.

"Crap," Gil muttered, and strode forward, holding out his hand. Nick eyed it warily and then reached out to grasp it, hauling himself up again. Then snatching the hand back to pick up the backpack.

"You okay?" Gil asked.

"What are you doing here?" Nick slung the bag over his shoulder again and visibly winced. "Thought I left the stalkers in Vegas."

Gil ignored the gruff tone. "I was – dissatisfied," he said feebly.

Nick barked a laugh and shook his head. "Man, that sounds like you. Whatever. Don’t you have work to do?" He started up the walk to the entrance, boots clomping on the cement.

"I’m being held hostage to your police department’s slow equipment." Uninvited, Gil fell in behind him. "Nothing but free time for the moment."

"So you looked around and found where I live." Nick took out a key and unlocked the front door. A wash of sweetly cool air bathed Gil’s face. Nick turned and regarded him stoically. "Guess you could come up," he added after a moment. "Hot out here."

Gil nodded. "Very. I’m used to Nevada, not the tropics."

The ghost of a smile came and went on Nick’s face. "Yeah. Me, too." He held the door until Gil caught it, and went inside.

They didn’t say much while Nick checked his mailbox, taking out a slim pile of letters and a couple of magazines. Gil glimpsed a copy of Bird Watchers Digest before Nick tucked the bundle under his arm and headed for the elevators.

Watching him press the button for the fourteenth floor, Gil asked, "What are you studying?"

Nick looked up at the floor buttons lighting up. "Biology, mostly." He shifted the bag on his shoulder. "Over at SMU."

"Grad school? That’s great, Nick. Don’t tell me – birds?"

Nick produced another stiff smile. "Figured I might as well. Thinking about doing some field technician work with Samuels next fall. He’s a good scientist. You know him, Paul Samuels?"

Gil shook his head. "Never did much with ornithology. I had no idea you were this interested."

"Be another year before I finish the master’s stuff and start my Ph.D. But Samuels doesn’t care what degrees I have as long as I can do good work. CSI taught me a lot about that."

The elevator dinged past the tenth floor. "Planning to teach?" Gil asked carefully.

Nick waited for the door to open on his floor before replying. "Don’t think so." He walked down the hall without looking at Gil. "Samuels is more into environmental impact. Texas has a lot of wildlife, a lot of birds wintering all over the state. Populations decreasing. Last year there was a big dip in migratory patterns in the DFW area. So that’s mostly the focus. What’s going on." He stopped at his door and inserted his key. "Home sweet efficiency," he said with a grimace.

It was a small place, granted. Nice view over downtown Dallas this high up, but Gil personally thought he’d go nuts in a week, bumping into himself. He followed Nick into the minuscule living room and stood by the couch, watching Nick unload.

"I got beer, Coke, orange juice. Water." Nick headed into the kitchen. "Hard stuff if you want it. Name your poison."

"A beer would be nice."

"Coming up."

Gil sat on the couch and looked around. Nothing like Nick’s condo in Vegas. Granted, Gil had only seen it a couple of times, and one of those was the aftermath of Nigel Crane’s damaging interest in occupying Nick’s attic. But he knew enough to know it was a nice place, not too bachelor-y, and a lot better than this. Couple of bookshelves untidily stuffed with a mix of nonfiction and fiction, more the former than the latter. A desk with a newish computer and a ton of papers everywhere. Nothing hung on the walls. It looked like Nick had brought only the essentials, left everything else – where? Storage? Made sense; this crackerbox apartment wouldn’t hold a fifth of the belongings Gil remembered.

"Here you go."

He looked up and smiled at Nick holding out a bottle of Shiner Bock. "Thanks." He waited for Nick to take a seat in the chair before tilting the bottle a little. "Old times."

Nick’s expression flickered. "Mud in your eye." He drank several fast swallows, and Gil finally followed suit. Putting down the bottle, Nick reached up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. "So. Not what you expected?"

The tone was belligerent, but Nick looked tired and still uneasy, eyes freighted with things Gil didn’t understand, not yet. "I didn’t have any expectations," Gil replied honestly. "But I think it sounds like you’re doing well. Graduate school, prospects. What’s not to appreciate?"

"Kinda living off my savings at the moment." Nick looked around, lip curling, probably unconsciously. "Couldn’t afford much, and Dallas isn’t that cheap. Eventually I gotta get a job."

Gil took another sip of the sweet, dark beer. "You’ve still got your old skills. Have you thought about going to work for criminalistics here? That’s –"

"Been there and done that. Remember? That’s where I was working when – you hired me."

"Ah. Right." Gil nodded. "Sorry."

"I’m okay with living poor." Nick’s mouth curved in a reluctant half-smile. "Getting a little tired of ramen noodles and Kraft macaroni and cheese, but I figure if I eat a few oranges every week I’ll probably miss scurvy."

His tone was marvelously dry suddenly, and Gil found a grin on his own face. "My standby used to be brown rice. I must have eaten a ton of rice my last year in grad school."

"California boy." Nick’s expression was reassuringly warm – familiar, finally. "Around here it’s frozen bean burritos. And ramen noodles. The official state college-student food."

Gil drank more beer and said, "So let me take you to dinner. Real food. What do you say? Your choice, since I know absolutely nothing about restaurants here."

To his surprise Nick flushed painfully red. "You don’t have to do that," he muttered evasively. "I’m not –"

"It’s not pity, it’s companionship," Gil interrupted tartly. "Besides, you can show me a few sights. I haven’t been in Dallas in years, and it looked a lot different when I was."

"They say, throw a brick out the window at night and there’ll be a building there in the morning." Nick’s blush faded a little, but he still looked rattled. "Crazy. Okay. If you’re sure."

"Come on." Gil slugged the rest of his Shiner and sat up. "We can beat the crowds."

Nick deposited their bottles in the kitchen and then glanced at him. "Mind if I change clothes real fast? Kinda skanky."

No more than I am, Gil thought, but shook his head. "No problem."

Nick disappeared into the bedroom, and Gil killed time investigating. Old habit, probably, but he felt a new surge of curiosity. All these ostensibly positive developments, and still Nick looked as edgy as Gil had ever seen. Edgier. A few things popped into his mind, and he blinked. Eliminate the obviously false, concentrate on the remaining possibilities. But there were so many.

The phone rang, jolting him out of his brief contemplation. After two more rings Gil said in a carrying tone, "Want me to get that?"

"Sure," came Nick’s muffled voice. "I’ll be right out, just a sec."

The voice that replied to Gil’s hello was deep and a little wary. "Nick?"

"Let me get him. Be a moment."

"O-kay."

He put the phone down as Nick re-emerged from the bedroom. No sense of style, Gil had always noticed that, but Nick still managed to look pretty decent. White shirt he was still tucking into neatly pressed chinos. He gave Gil a flustered look before grabbing the phone.

"Hello? Oh, hey." He stuck the phone between jaw and shoulder and finished tucking in his shirt. The pants made his slimness more noticeable. "No, just an old – friend," he added, glancing again at Gil. "In town for a day or two. Why? Can’t, I got plans." There was a long listening pause, and Nick edged back into the kitchen. "Don’t get pissed, all right?" he said in a lower voice. "No. Listen, no, it’s not –" A sigh. "I’ll call you later, okay? Later. Well, suit yourself. Whatever. Bye."

Feeling vaguely guilty for eavesdropping, even when short of actually leaving the apartment there was no way he could not have overheard, Gil risked a look at Nick. "Okay?"

Nick made an inscrutable face as he hung the phone back up. "Okay." His smile was the same bright nothing Gil had seen at their non-lunch. "Let’s go."

III.

"This is enough for both of us," Gil observed, gazing at his plate.

Nick busily forked a huge bite into his mouth. "Just Texas-sized," he said indistinctly.

Feeling faintly appalled, but lured by the delicious aromas, Gil set to. Two bites in he was reminded that Tex-Mex food really was best right here in Texas. Nothing quite like it.

"S’good, huh?" Nick took a swallow of his beer and smiled. "Told you."

"Delicious."

They ate in silence for a while, not uncomfortably for once. The restaurant was busy, the music was a little too loud, and Gil wondered just how long it would take to actually find their waiter in this sea of people when they were ready to leave, but for the moment it was okay to relax and eat. He used a tortilla to scoop up some beans and gave Nick a covert glance.

Something at another table had caught Nick’s eye, and Gil took the chance to study him while his attention was diverted. Maybe not as muscled up as Gil remembered, but Nick looked good. Relaxed now, dark eyes alert and amused. The white shirt made his skin look darker than it had before.

It occurred to him for the first time in a long while that Nick was very handsome. And on the heels of it came a companion image, of the rainbow flag flapping in the humid breeze outside one of the buildings on the way to Nick’s apartment.

Was this why Nick had come back to Texas? Left Nevada? Because the self-avowed ladies’ man might not be entirely what he appeared?

The idea felt odd, in a way that Gil didn’t care to examine too closely. He chose to drink some beer instead, and then found Nick’s cautious gaze fixed on himself.

"What?" Nick asked, losing some of the relaxation.

Gil shook his head. "Nothing. You look different, that’s all," he added at Nick’s visible doubt. "Must be the tan."

"Outside a lot. Daytime." Nick produced a tight smile. "No more night shifts for the moment."

"So how’s your family? Glad to have you back around?"

"Fine." Nick went back to his food. "Dad’s in Austin right now. I don’t really see them that often. Mom’s slammed at work. I have lots more free time than they do."

"You like being back?"

"S’okay."

He gave up with more than half his dinner still on his plate. "You want this to go?" he asked Nick, who’d made serious inroads on his equally large portions.

"Nah, that’s okay." Nick paused. "You want that last one?"

Gil stared down at the single chile relleno and shook his head firmly. "No thanks." He pushed the plate over. "Have it."

Nick grinned and forked it onto his plate. "These are the best. Man, dreamed about these in Vegas."

Gil drew a breath to say something, and his cell phone chirped at him. When he opened it he recognized the number. "Grissom."

"Hey, doc." Haynes sounded tired. "Finally got you something to work with. You told me to call."

Gil wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Okay, I’ll head over there as soon as I can. Lab’s open?"

"24/7."

"Good. Be there soon."

Nick had a guarded look on his face when Gil hung up. "PD?"

Gil nodded. "Maybe I can finally wrap this up."

"What are you here working on, anyway? You never said."

Gil regarded him silently for a moment, and then shrugged. "Why don’t you come with me? I could use an extra hand."

Nick blinked. "Where? The lab?"

"Why not? I’ll get you added onto the per diem. Between us we can get them straightened out in a couple of hours. It’d take me a lot longer by myself."

"Huh. Well. Sure," Nick said slowly.

"Good," Gil agreed, smiling.

The meal was absurdly cheap, and he felt a little odd that he was treating for something that cost under twenty bucks. Then again, it was good, and it was Nick’s choice. It occurred to him that Nick might have chosen it for the money factor. That didn’t feel so great, either.

Some of the stifling heat had eased with nightfall, and he felt almost comfortable walking to the car. Nick was quiet at his side, hands stuck in his pockets. Gil unlocked the rental and opened the door for him. "You’re gonna have to be my navigator," he told him, waiting until Nick got in before closing the door.

Nick didn’t say much in the car either, pointing out the turns and a few landmarks but otherwise sitting silently, eyes trained on whatever lay outside the windows. Gil endured the quiet for a few miles, and finally drew a long breath. "I’m not trying to woo you back to Las Vegas," he said evenly. "If that’s what you’re thinking."

Nick’s expression was hard to read in the flares of streetlights. "It’s not," he replied.

"Unless you want to come back."

"No." He said it facing forward again, toneless.

"We miss you. I miss you. Do you miss it? Us?"

Nick made a soft sound, impossible to tell whether it was a laugh or just a breath. "Yeah. I miss it sometimes."

"Where are we?"

"Richardson. About to hit North Dallas."

"How can you tell?"

This time he was pretty sure it was a laugh. "I grew up here, man. Near here."

"Richardson?"

"Highland Park. You need to get over to the right. Turn’s coming up in about half a mile."

They reached the lab about twenty minutes later, and not long after that Gil had a moment of powerful déjà vu, seeing Nick in the ubiquitous blue lab coat. Nick caught the look, and frowned at him. "You okay?"

Gil smiled briefly. "Yeah. Just – nothing. Let me get you up to speed."

It didn’t take long, and that fact made him feel somehow bleak. No lie, he did miss Nick, somebody he’d at least partially trained himself, and worked alongside for a considerable amount of time. He didn’t really have to think; Nick already knew the drill, and what would have required far too many hours alone sped by.

"So – I mean, no offense," Nick said at one point, waiting for the centrifuge to spit out his data. "But why’d they bring you all the way to Dallas? Seems like a lot of trouble for a pretty straightforward investigation."

"Did to me as well." Gil pushed his glasses up. "I’m familiar with the case. Originated in Nevada, about six years ago. Before your time. And time is of the essence, as it happens; statute of limitations is almost up on the previous case, and if we want to tag the two together we have to work fast. I worked it the first time; I don’t mind working the second. In fact I’d like to get the son of a bitch, finally."

"One that got away, huh."

"You know there’s been more than one over the years." Gil grimaced. "But this one’s done. That much I can promise."

Nick smiled at him. "That sounds like the guy I used to work for."

Gil smiled back, fighting down another odd clench of aimless discomfort.

It was late when they wrapped up. Gil rubbed an eye and glanced at the clock. "You have class in the morning?"

"It is morning," Nick quipped, and then shrugged. "Saturday morning. No class."

"Ah. Good." Gil finished repacking his case and sighed. "The rest will depend on the DA."

"I hear she’s pretty good."

Gil caught the grin, and then his eyes widened. "This district?"

Nick nodded. "Elizabeth Cushing McMartin." He chuffed a laugh. "Except I just call her Mom."

"My God. I had no idea. I thought she was the ADA."

"She was, until last year. Now she’s the big cheese."

"That’s terrific to hear." Gil picked up his case. "I guess the name threw me. I didn’t know she didn’t go by your father’s name," he said, hitting the lights on the way out and nodding at a passing tech.

"She did, early. Then when he got on the judicial track she I guess decided she wanted to go it on her own, so she reverted to McMartin."

"I can see the concern. Huh. Well, tell her congratulations next time you see her, all right?"

Nick snorted. "At this rate you’ll see her first. But yeah. Will do."

When they reached the cavernous parking lot Gil glanced at him. "That was fun," he said abruptly.

Nick looked wary. "What?"

"Working. Like that. Now you’re making me miss you more than ever."

Nick’s smile was both tenuous and pleased. "Thanks. Felt kinda good to get back in the saddle." He held up a hand. "Not that that’s me saying, ‘Beg me to come back.’"

"Just a comment, that’s all." Gil smiled. "Coffee?"

"Well, sure. If you want. There’s a place not far from my building. Pretty good diner."

"Diner sounds perfect."

The diner wasn’t quite packed yet, but getting there; Gil had to look at his watch before he realized it was close to closing time for the bars. The hostess put them in a booth near the back, and swatted menus on the table before Gil could tell her they probably weren’t eating.

"So when do you go back?" Nick asked, pushing the menu aside.

"Depends on your mother, to some extent. Sunday, most likely. Probably come back for the trial, whenever that takes place."

Nick leaned his elbows on the table. "So you got any other plans?" His expression was too bland to read.

"Nothing but avoiding the heat as much as possible," Gil replied with a wry smile.

Nick nodded. "You know, I mean, if you’re not working on the case tomorrow, I could show you around a little. You were saying you hadn’t been here in a while."

"That’d be nice," Gil agreed. "I’d like that."

"I mean, it’s not like there’s really all that much that’s interesting to see." Nick’s cheeks colored a little. "But a few things."

"Whatever they are, they’ve got to be more interesting than the interior of my hotel room."

"Good point."

The diner had been getting busier while they waited for their coffee. Now Gil saw Nick look up, gazing over Gil’s shoulder. Gil turned automatically, in time to see a couple of people waving. He looked back at Nick.

"They live in my building," Nick said, shrugging. "Just some friends."

Said friends wandered their direction, and Gil felt terrifically old as he saw the variety of fresh, young, inebriated faces. Younger than Nick, too, by the look of it.

"Hey, Nicky, where were you?" One of the group, a man so handsome he was kissing cousins with pretty, meandered over and leaned against the booth. His eyes took in Gil and then dismissed him in about a nanosecond, going right to Nick. "I waited."

"I had plans." Nick didn’t look quite as happy to see the guy as the guy was to see Nick. "Next time."

"Charlie was pissed. He pouted all night. No fun at ALL."

Now Nick’s expression was definitely uneasy. "He’ll be okay," he said evasively. "Hey, listen, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?"

The man – Gil belatedly realized Nick hadn’t introduced them, and didn’t appear to be planning to remedy that little gaffe – gave Gil another look, somewhat longer and heavier, and smirked. "I see why he was pissed off," he drawled.

"Later, Julian." Nick produced a thin, strained smile. "Say good night."

"Okay, I know when I’m not welcome." Julian leaned over and put a fast kiss on Nick’s cheek. "Good night, sweetheart, and you damn well better call me. I want to hear ALL about it."

He sauntered away, leaving Gil silent and Nick absolutely speechless. The quiet was deafening.

Floundering, seeing so many pieces click together, Gil said, "Do you want –"

"I need to go." Nick stood up, jarring the table with his thighs and not even wincing. "You ready?"

Gil nodded after a split second of wariness. "Yeah. Sure."

Julian waved at them, but Gil was the only one to see it, or the kiss blown Nick’s direction. Nick’s back was ramrod-straight and stiff as Gil followed him out.

At the car Gil paused. "Nick –"

"I’m really tired," Nick said in a high, strained voice. "Can we maybe not talk about this?"

Which this are we not-talking about, Gil wanted to ask. Reasons why you left? Reasons why you won’t talk to me honestly? Reasons why you want to get away from Julian? So I won’t see anything you don’t want me to see?

He nodded instead, and unlocked the doors.

In front of Nick’s apartment building he risked breaking the glacial silence again. "I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It wasn’t my intention."

Nick didn’t look at him. His shoulders were slumped. "It wasn’t you," he replied faintly. "Don’t worry about it."

"If you want to talk about this," Gil said carefully, "I’m glad to listen. Any time, Nick."

Nick was silent so long Gil feared he’d overstepped again, but finally Nick shrugged. "What’s there to talk about? It’s not like you didn’t see enough already. You can figure it out."

Gil felt his brows drawing together at the sound of Nick’s voice: pallid, filled with disgust. Feelings that weren’t directed at Gil, but at Nick himself. The self-hatred he heard made him feel slightly sick. "I didn’t see anything terrible, Nick," he said as gently as he could. "Nothing shocking." Well, a little, but he wasn’t about to add that.

Nick’s gaze was scathing, even in the dim light of the parking lot’s lamps. "So go ahead," he said harshly. "Ask the question you’re dying to ask."

"What question are you expecting? If you want to tell me anything, I’m –"

"Willing to listen, right, I got that." Nick snorted. "Whatever. I’m going in. Night."

Gil drew a deep breath, watching Nick reach for the door handle. "Are you gay?"

An hour-long moment later Nick said tonelessly, "See? Told you you’d seen enough."

"Is this why you left? Because of this? Oh, Nick. Jesus."

Nick’s hand stayed on the door, but his fingers didn’t close on the handle. "Maybe it was. So what."

"But you didn’t –"

"Didn’t what? Tell anyone?" Nick flopped back against the seat, hands limp in his lap. "What exactly was I going to tell you, huh? That I wasn’t even sure who the hell I was anymore?"

Gil swallowed. "For starters, sure. Did you think we’d – vilify you for it? What would make you think that?"

"I didn’t think that. I don’t. I just – had to go. That’s it." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes closing briefly. "Look, I wasn’t – prepared for this, okay?" He put his hand down, but still didn’t look at Gil. "I haven’t told many people. People who knew me – before. You surprised me. I’m still – wrapping my own head around it, I guess. Whatever."

"Understood. But the idea that you left CSI, left your career behind over this – God, Nicky." He used the more affectionate name without thinking. "That kills me. We weren’t your enemies. We would have –"

"It wasn’t the only reason," Nick said in a soft, clear voice.

Gil gazed at him, fighting to understand the welter of emotions he saw and heard. "I’m sorry," he managed finally. "I’m very sorry. I wish I could have helped when –"

Nick made a broken sound and flailed for the door handle again. "I gotta go," he mumbled. "I’m sorry. I just – I have to go."

"Then go. I’ll call you, okay? Tomorrow."

Nick nodded briefly and was gone, walking fast up the sidewalk, shoulders hunched as if he were expecting a blow that never quite connected.

But Gil sat for a long span of minutes in the smelly rental car, digesting what he’d said. When he finally left, he nearly missed several of his turns, he was so distracted.

The hotel room seemed terribly sterile, and very empty. He was tired, but sleep was a long time coming that night.

IV.

"We could go out to Fort Worth. It’s kind of interesting, they’ve really been spiffing up downtown. And you gotta go to Six Flags. You like rollercoasters, right?"

Gil sipped his juice and nodded. "Love them."

"Killer coasters at Six Flags. You know all the Six Flags are a Texas thing originally, right?"

"Six flags over Texas."

Nick cast him a quick grin. "Figures you’d already know."

Gil tried not to appear too watchful, regarding him while Nick turned back to gaze out over the grass. The park was pleasant, busy with people but not annoyingly so, and the weather had taken pity on them: not quite so roastingly hot today.

Nick himself was another story.

The voice that answered Gil’s phone call earlier that day was barely recognizable as Nick’s. Hoarse, far deeper than usual. "Hey."

Gil winced to himself. "How are you?"

Nick cleared his throat. "I’m okay," he answered, not sounding appreciably better. "What’s up?"

"The DA called a few minutes ago. I’m officially here until at least Monday."

"Aw, man. I was supposed to call HER. I forgot."

"I have to swing by the PD for a few minutes later this morning. Want me to pick you up after? That offer still good?"

Nick paused, and then said, "Sure. Like noon?"

"Noonish, yeah. Depending on how long it takes me at the department."

"I’ll be here."

It was more like twelve-thirty when Gil finally buzzed Nick’s apartment, and a few minutes before Nick himself appeared at the door of the building. He looked tired, but otherwise okay, and made a comment about lunch. The search for food and then a place to eat their sandwiches led them to the park, and now Gil felt pleasantly full, and utterly relaxed.

Nick drew a breath, still looking out toward the little stream bisecting the park. "It doesn’t freak you out?" he asked quietly.

Gil leaned back on one elbow and stretched out his legs. "Surprises me, yes. It’s unexpected. But freaks me out? No."

"It did me. I thought I knew myself, you know? And it was like, this gradual thing, all these questions. I couldn’t believe it. Totally threw me."

"I can see that," Gil agreed, leavening the remark with a smile. "But I don’t want you to spend time worrying about my reaction. That’s for me to deal with. Your concern is you. Are you happy now? Is it better?"

"What, here in Dallas?" Nick met his eyes briefly, and shrugged. "I guess. I’m not really – out. Just kinda taking it day by day."

"Was there anyone? In Las Vegas?"

Nick’s shoulders stiffened, but his voice was calm. "No. Nobody."

"And now? You seeing anyone?"

"A little. Nothing serious. I’m – I dunno, it still feels weird."

"Weird, as in wrong?"

"Not the right person, I guess." Nick balled up his sandwich wrapper. "So you want to do Six Flags? Gonna be crowded, but that’s part of the experience."

Gil nodded slowly. "Yeah. Let’s go."

It took over an hour to navigate to Fort Worth. Nick filled the time pointing out a few things of interest, making cracks about traffic and DFW drivers. They’d taken his car, and Gil was hugely relieved to be free of the stink of his rental.

"Sold it," Nick said when Gil asked about his missing Tahoe. "Eating me alive in gas money."

"So how’d you acquire this one?"

Nick smiled. "Sitting in my brother’s garage for the past five years. He said if I wanted to put in a few parts, I could use it. Not like I had to buy the parts myself, he just hadn’t done it yet. So I fixed it up and it’s kinda mine now. Sorta. Ongoing project."

"It’s a beauty."

"Not as much as she will be. But yeah."

They parked about a thousand miles from the amusement park entrance, but Gil didn’t feel impatient. The warmth of the day was lulling, his calm lingering while they tramped with the crowds through the gates, studying a map to figure out the best route to the coasters. And the coasters were fun. A couple of the best he’d ridden, and the acute pleasure of seeing Nick’s wide eyes as they whipped around the curves. Not screaming, but nicely scared. Scared in a way Gil appreciated.

"You want to go AGAIN?"

Gil eyed the line and grinned. "One more go. Keep your head turned in the loops, and watch the park upside-down. It’s great."

Nick touched his stomach. "Man, I’m not sure I can do that without horking."

"On second thought, then."

Nick laughed.

And he didn’t throw up, although Gil was pretty sure he’d kept his eyes closed on the loops after all. Not a problem. The sun was down before they finally strolled out, dodging the new arrivals.

"Hungry?" Gil asked.

"By the time we get anyplace I will be."

"What do you feel like?"

Nick gave it some thought, barely avoiding a toddler waving cotton candy in her mother’s arms. "Want sushi? There’s a great place on Inwood. But that’s back in Dallas. Take us a while to get there."

"Good sushi?"

"Excellent."

"Then I can hold out. Lead on."

It did take some time, but like everything else it was curiously okay. And the sushi was startlingly good. They sat at the bar and ordered by sight, eating slowly and taking so much time Gil felt a little wondering. After there was green tea ice cream, and Nick’s relaxed face, so handsome Gil felt his throat tightening up.

You didn’t ask me why I was so not freaked out, Nick, he thought. You didn’t know to ask. If you did, would you feel this comfortable?

"That was great." Nick put his napkin on the bar and smiled at him. "What?" he asked, smile fading a little.

"Nothing." Gil smiled, too. "I’m digesting. This place is a real find. Wish I could take this back with me to Vegas."

Nick shrugged, the sparkle coming back to his eyes. "Well, you’ll just have to visit again," he said lightly.

"I look forward to it."

Nick met his eyes and then ducked away again.

Back in the car, Nick sighed.

"Tired?"

He nodded. "We walked our asses off today, man. Aren’t you?"

"Actually, yes. Dinner helped. Catching my second wind."

"We could catch a movie. Or go out. Ever been to Deep Ellum?"

Gil smiled. "No, and I suspect I’d crap out on you before we did that much."

"And a movie’s gonna put me to sleep." Nick made a face and started the car. "We must be getting old, Grissom."

"Call me Gil. I’m not your boss anymore."

Nick glanced furtively at him. "True. Okay. Gil it is."

They weren’t too far from Nick’s apartment, and Gil felt a tug of disappointment as Nick pulled the Impala into the parking lot. Nick looked at his watch. "Man, that’s sad. It’s not even 9:00 yet."

"We got an early start."

"Whatever." Nick palmed the keys. "Nightcap?"

The tug in Gil’s belly pulled harder. "Love one."

He could hear Nick’s phone ringing as they approached his apartment. "Machine’ll pick up," Nick muttered, shrugging. A man’s voice could be heard as they walked in. Sounding angry. Nick ignored it, talking over the noise. "Beer or the hard stuff?"

Gil heard the caller say something about Nick fucking up, and frowned. "Ah. What kind of hard stuff?"

Nick hit the off button on the machine as he passed by. Not even pausing to listen. "Bourbon or vodka. Well, wait. Jamie gave me some cognac at Christmas. I haven’t even opened the bottle. How’s that sound?"

The bottle piqued Gil’s interest. "What is that?"

"’Delamain Vesper Grande Champagne,’" Nick managed, grinning at his own butchered pronunciation. "Well, this sure isn’t champagne. What, is it good?"

Gil nodded, eyes widening a little. "Very good."

"Jamie’s got good taste. Bet it’s expensive, too."

"About $150 a bottle."

Now it was Nick who looked shocked. "Shit. You’re kidding me."

The cognac tasted as expensive as it was: fragrant and exploding like liquid gold on his tongue. Nick shook his head slowly. "Man, I really didn’t know this was so good. Or expensive. I mean, I got her a freaking gift certificate."

Gil sniffed the aroma and smiled. "You can make up for it next Christmas."

After a long silent moment Nick looked over at him. "I’m sorry I was an asshole the other day."

"Not quite an asshole."

Nick snorted. "Close enough for government work." He tasted his cognac and shrugged. "You in Dallas – it didn’t fit. Made me nervous. Could have knocked me over with a feather when you called. Man."

"It wasn’t my intention to –"

Nick raised a hand. "No, I know."

"You have a Scrabble board?"

Nick blinked. "Scrabble?"

"I feel like Scrabble."

"You think I’d play you at Scrabble? I know my limits, man, no way." He snorted and grinned.

"Monopoly."

"Don’t have it. You really want to play a game?"

"How about cards?"

Nick nodded slowly. "I got cards."

"Let’s play cards."

"No poker. I heard about you."

Gil grinned. "Gin?"

"About my speed."

They put a dent in Jamie’s excellent cognac, although Gil watched himself, both because he was driving, and out of respect for a drink that should be savored rather than knocked back during cards. And at some point, after Nick had taken his fifth game in a row and sat crowing over his good fortune, Gil realized he felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. Too long.

"I should probably head out," Gil said finally, glancing at his watch and startled to see the hour.

"You okay to drive?"

Gil smiled. "Cognac probably won’t have much impact on my inability to find my hotel."

"I could drive you," Nick said, looking troubled. "I mean, you don’t want –"

"I’ll be fine. I’m kidding. Thanks for today. It’s been fun."

Nick looked a little startled, and ridiculously pleased. "Has, hasn’t it?"

"Yeah."

Nick walked him down, mumbling something about how it was the least he could do, although for what Gil wasn’t quite clear. At Gil’s car Nick stopped and shoved his hands into his pockets. "You busy tomorrow?"

Gil fished his keys out of his pocket. Truth be told he was tired, and the idea of just sitting around and hiding out in his hotel room held a lot of appeal. And then it occurred to him that he’d most likely be leaving on Monday, and this unexpected – what, camaraderie, reunion – would be over. Nick wasn’t getting on the plane with him, going back to Las Vegas where Gil still felt as if he belonged. Nick lived here, and here was where he would stay.

The wrench of discomfort he felt surprised him. "Not busy at all. Free as a bird."

"So you wanna do something?"

Nick’s pleased look made him smile. "I’d like that," he said softly. "Very much."

Nick grinned. "Cool. Hey, be careful driving, okay?"

"Always. Night, Nick."

"Night, Gil."

When he drove away Nick was still standing there. But watching in his rear-view mirror, Gil thought some of the weight bowing his shoulders earlier was gone.

V.

He finished Monday morning. Martin Gustafson just might finally be brought to justice, although Gil suspected he might never quite believe this case was ending until Gustafson took a ride on old Sparky. Since that event, if it took place, wouldn’t be for years yet, he consoled himself with the knowledge that the Dallas PD wasn’t calling it quits anytime soon, and gave himself permission to let it go. Again.

Nick picked him up that afternoon. Gil had assured him several times the day before that it wasn’t necessary, he could easily grab a cab on his own, but Nick was adamant. "I’m not busy," he’d said, arms crossed stubbornly. "Besides, gives me an excuse not to study." His subsequent sly grin made Gil laugh.

Today Nick looked a little subdued, although he was still much more the old Nick than the tense, unhappy man Gil had first seen that infamous lunchtime. He stuffed Gil’s hanging bag in the trunk and unlocked the passenger door for him. "Good timing," he remarked. "Traffic might not actually eat our dinner today."

They made good time, but conversation was stilted. And Gil felt another odd tug in his chest, facing his flight. It felt glaringly wrong: Nick, here, not in Vegas. <Where he belonged,> Gil’s mind added.

At the gate Gil smiled. "You don’t have to wait with me. My flight’s leaving in a few minutes."

Nick nodded. "It – was good seeing you," he said awkwardly. His smile looked pinched. "Remember to say howdy to everybody for me."

"Of course." Gil held out his hand, and Nick clasped it after a moment. "Good luck, Nick," he said. "And thanks. I enjoyed this."

Nick’s fingers were warm and dry on his own, tightening briefly and then letting go. "Stay in touch, all right?" His smile was gone now. "I mean, send me an email."

"I fully intend to."

"Okay. Good." Nick looked as if he would say something else, and then closed his mouth. "Bye, Gil."

"Goodbye, Nick."

He wasn’t intending to watch him leave, but his eyes followed Nick anyway. His mouth tasted bitter. Get on the plane, he wanted to shout, come back and damn the consequences. Make this right, make it the way it’s supposed to be.

Nick disappeared into the crowd of people on the concourse, and a moment later his boarding announcement came over the loudspeaker. He slung his bag over his shoulder and got in line.

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

"So it went well."

Gil glanced over at Catherine and nodded. "I don’t think he’ll get away with it this time. I certainly don’t plan to make it easy on him."

Her mouth tightened with disgust. "Thank God. About time." She sighed. "So how was Dallas?"

"Hot," he said, going back to sorting his mail. "And humid. Otherwise fine."

"Did you see Nick?"

"Several times, yes."

"Good. And?"

He looked at her again. "And – he’s fine. He sends his regards."

She nodded. "Did you tell him we miss him?"

"More than once."

"What’s he doing? It’s like he fell off the map when he left; I have no idea what he’s up to."

"Going to school, actually. Evidently his birding interest was more serious than we thought."

He was behind on everything at the lab, so half the night went by in briefings, perusing files, and other kinds of catch-up work. But it was good to be back. Even if he seemed to see Nick’s ghost behind every door and microscope in the building. At one point Warrick’s words from six months ago echoed in his mind. "It’s like you have no concept of people’s place in your life until you see the gaping hole they leave behind." A year ago Gil wouldn’t have imagined Nick’s departure to be so glaringly noticeable. Now he found himself skirting that deep chasm all the time.

He was pleasantly tired by the time he finally got home. Really home, with his things and his music and blissful quiet. He made coffee in the kitchen and paused by the bar. The brandy he added to his cup made him think of Nick’s bottle of cognac. The phone rang, and he answered it feeling a little melancholy.

"So you made it."

Gil blinked. "Nick?"

"Yeah. Just wanted to make sure you made it home okay. No hijackers, no crashes. No feverish passengers flipping out and getting stomped to death."

Gil coughed a startled laugh. "No, none of that. It was actually pretty dull."

Nick sounded like he was grinning. "Well, that’s good to know."

"You doing all right?" He sat on the couch, setting his cup on the table.

"Oh yeah. Well."

"What?"

"Nothing. I talked to Samuels yesterday. You know, the guy with the field project down at Possum Kingdom?"

"The ornithologist."

"Right." Nick’s voice lost a little of its enthusiasm. "Turns out he lost his grant. No funding, no work next fall. So that kinda sucks."

"I’m sorry. That was pretty promising."

"I’ll find something. Classes are gonna kill me anyway. Probably crazy to think I could work and do school both."

He segued into an anecdote about Julian, the man they’d briefly encountered in the diner near Nick’s apartment building, and then Gil asked about the DA, a.k.a. Mom, and in the middle of laughing about something, Gil glanced at his watch and realized he’d sat there talking to Nick for nearly two hours, with no concept of the time going by.

"Man, I talked your ear off," Nick said.

"Equal time. But I’m glad you called."

Nick paused. "Me, too. I was thinking about you, you know. I mean, the flight and all that."

"Yeah," Gil said.

"I got class anyway, so I probably ought to go."

"Okay."

"So, you know. Write me. I may be in Texas but I still know where you guys live."

Gil grinned. "I might even be able to find you again if I put my mind to it."

"Well, if you come to Dallas again, I’m gonna hold you to that."

"Consider it a given."

"All right. Later, Gil."

"Later, Nick."

He hung up the phone and sat there, empty coffee cup in his hand. He was still smiling when he finally headed to bed later.

~~~~~~~~~~

All other things being equal, he wasn’t much for keeping up correspondence. His circle of old friends had thinned with the years, and those he really wanted to hear from, he called, so email was usually limited to work-related areas.

But Nick turned out to be a regular penpal. And the pleasure Gil had felt following that long phone call after his return to Vegas came back, reading what Nick sent. Rambling, sometimes typo-ridden letters, ushering Gil into areas of Nick’s life he hadn’t known even when they worked together on a daily basis. Areas like family, Nick’s sprawling brood of sisters and one brother, born so close together it was common to be asked if various siblings were twins. To Gil, growing up an only child, some of Nick’s stories were pretty exotic.

What seemed more troubling to Nick were the tales of his father’s career, and the impact he had on Nick’s life. "I think I came to Vegas kind of running away, too," Gil read one slow Thursday evening. "You ought to meet my dad someday. You’d either love him or hate him, that’s what they say. He was always the judge you hoped you didn’t get, even before he got appointed to the state supreme court."

When he asked, Nick said only that his father hadn’t liked Nick’s early police career. What Hank Stokes hadn’t liked, Nick wasn’t saying, but Gil could fill in a few blanks. Nick himself had pointed out in Dallas that Gil and his colleagues initially thought Nick was inexperienced – what Gil would have further specified as fairly innocent, as well. Protectiveness didn’t make Hank Stokes a bad father, but he could see how Nick might want to get out from under that influence at some point.

Escaping Las Vegas to head home to the bosom of the same family that stifled him five years ago was a little harder to figure out on the face of it, but that was another matter.

Email wasn’t his only contact with Nick, either. There were phone calls, sporadic at first and sometimes a little awkward, but growing more frequent as weeks passed. And Gil was startled to realize, late one dry August morning when he hung up the phone, that he liked those calls. Looked forward to them, planned around them. Hearing Nick’s voice, listening to his anecdotes and weird Nick-ish Discovery-Channel trivia and smart-ass remarks, and being able to bring up work and the kinds of things he faced every night with someone who genuinely knew what Gil was talking about. Nick wasn’t a colleague anymore, but his connection lingered, and his comments were sometimes startlingly astute.

"Don’t do it," he told Gil that morning. "Don’t let them do that to you."

Gil frowned. "Do what? Nick, it’s my case. It’s not as if they’re going to take it away from me."

"They don’t have to. Don’t you see? All they have to do is undermine you. The rest will take care of itself." Nick sighed. "Look, you’re not my boss anymore, so I can say this. As a friend, okay? But you suck at politics. Admit it. You’re all about facts and evidence. And you don’t see what’s going on outside the lab."

"What goes on outside the lab doesn’t matter. The case is what matters."

Nick snorted eloquently. "In your world, maybe. In the real world? Not so much. I grew up in a family soaked in politics, Gil. Take my word for it, okay?"

"You know, you were a lot nicer when you actually worked for me," Gil groused.

That got him a laugh. "Damn near chewed my tongue off not telling you what I thought a few times, too," he shot back. "Look, you don’t believe me about the case? Ask Catherine what she thinks. She’ll tell you I’m right. If you don’t start looking out for yourself, those fucking FBI shitheads are gonna eat you for lunch."

"Okay, okay. If it’ll make you happy, I’ll look into it. But it’s not my foremost concern."

"I’m not suggesting it should be, but –"

"You win, Nick," Gil interrupted, smiling in spite of himself. "Consider me warned."

"Good," Nick said with a sigh. "I wish I had ten minutes with Agent Carmody. Hasn’t he ever heard of interdepartmental cooperation? Don’t answer that."

"Relax. He isn’t as strong as he thinks he is."

"You say that now."

Nothing really came of it – barring a terse letter to the police chief in which Carmody bitched about Grissom’s "lack of team spirit," making Gil laugh – but it felt obscurely good to have Nick in his corner.

So it felt odd one evening to realize he hadn’t heard a peep out of Nick for three days.

He called that night, three times, getting Nick’s machine each time and leaving the same terse message: call me, just checking in. But the next day came and went and Nick didn’t call. There were no replies to Gil’s scattered emails. By the time Friday rolled around, five days of silence, Gil was fighting down real worry.

Nick called Saturday morning.

"I’m really sorry." He sounded tired, and a little distant. "Kind of a hairy week."

Gil sat down heavily on the couch. "Are you all right? I guess I’ve gotten used to hearing from you more often. Seemed – odd that you went quiet on me."

"Yeah, I guess it did. I just – class is kind of intense, and there’s – Well. Stuff."

"Stuff."

"Nah, I mean, it’s a fucking soap opera, man." Nick laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. "Trust me, you don’t want to know."

Gil stifled an unexpected flicker of hurt. "I do want to know."

"I didn’t mean -- Aw, crap. No, see, I was in Austin. Dad’s anniversary, five years. There’s all kinds of stories going around about how he’s next in line for the US court. The Supreme Court, I mean."

"That’s great, Nick. Congratulations."

"Well, yeah, except he isn’t sure he would – but anyway. So I come home Monday and Charlie’s completely freaking out."

Gil nodded, feeling a curl of new discomfort in his belly. "The guy you’ve been seeing."

"Not – I mean, I stress, NOT seriously. But try telling him that, you know? He lost his lease and he’s been looking for another apartment. So he’s been staying at my place for a couple of weeks, which has been really interesting in a kind of ancient-Chinese-curse way, and while I’m gone he’s gone all through my email. He starts yelling at me about you, and how we write all these goddamn love letters, and I’m just fucking around with him, and all this shit." Nick sighed. "So we got into it, you know, because he’s totally trashed my computer, all this shit –"

"Wait a second. Trashed? As in destroyed?"

"Threw it off the roof, yeah. Pretty much creamed."

"Jesus, Nick. Are you okay?"

"Me? Hell yeah. Asshole owes me big. So anyway, he’s gone, and I come back in and an hour later Jamie calls and says Kathy’s in labor – you know, my sister Kathy, the one in Euless, right? And – it’s just one thing after another. I didn’t even check my messages all week, and I have no email right now. Thought I’d use the computer up at the school, but never got around to it. But I got a new nephew. Name’s Caleb. Man, he’s ugly." Nick laughed, for real this time. "But cute."

"Wow." Gil released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. "I – Congratulations again. But what about this guy Charlie? Is he dangerous?"

"Not after I got done with him," Nick replied with dark glee. "I mean, that was private stuff. Not to mention an expensive machine. Goddamn freeloader."

"I’m glad you’re okay," Gil said softly.

"I -- I’m really sorry. Man, I hate that I worried you."

"Not a problem."

"No, it is a problem, because – you know. I mean, the friend thing."

Gil produced a wan smile. "Yeah."

"Are you okay?"

"Me? Of course."

"Does it freak you out? That he read that stuff?"

"Not really," Gil lied. "It’s just correspondence."

"Well, I mean. You know. The thing about – love letters. Because I know they’re not," Nick added hastily. "We know he’s just blowing smoke. But still."

"I’m not upset. Don’t worry about it."

"Okay. Listen, I meant to tell you. I was talking to Mom last night and your name came up. She said she’s pushing to go to the grand jury as soon as possible, maybe even by next month. Has anybody talked to you about that yet?"

Gil sat back. "Not a word."

"So – I mean, you’ll need to come back to testify, right?"

"As soon as they’ve got a timeline, yes. Almost certainly."

"Excellent."

Gil grinned in spite of himself. "Just promise me we’ll hit that sushi bar again."

"Deal. But you gotta find a hotel that isn’t in Egypt, man."

"I’ll do my best."

"Okay. Listen, I gotta head out. Study group started fifteen minutes ago. But I’ll talk to you soon, okay?"

"Okay. Be careful, Nick."

"Me? Always."

Gil hung up the phone slowly, smile sliding off his face. He leaned back and put his feet up, reaching up to rub his eyes. The residue of worry felt like a sticky coating, hard to shake off. He could see for himself that things were all right, next month. In person. The idea filled him with a kind of warmth he didn’t recognize at first. It was only as he got ready to sleep, staring into the mirror while he brushed his teeth, that a whisper of understanding penetrated his mind.

It’s not just worry, Gil old bean. It’s something else, too, isn’t it? It doesn’t just worry you that Nick’s ne’er-do-well boyfriend got territorial. It makes you mad.

It makes you jealous.

He rinsed his mouth and stifled the voice. But lying in the dark of his shuttered bedroom, sleep stayed resolutely away. He stared at the dim patterns in the wallpaper and heard Nick say, "I know they’re not." But what were those letters? He’d told Nick more in the past three months than he’d told most people in his lifetime. Why was that? Why now, why Nick?

You have the answer already, purred that soft voice.

He shut his eyes and put an arm over his face.

VI.

"Tell me again how long you’re gone."

Gil tucked the file under his arm and kept walking. "Two weeks. I leave Monday. I have my cell, and I’m only a phone number away."

Catherine quick-stepped to catch up with him and gave him a look. "Isn’t this just grand-jury stuff? Why so long?"

"Vacation. You’re always telling me I need one. I’m taking one."

"You really thought I meant that?"

He grinned at her. "I always take you seriously, Catherine. You should know that by now."

"Okay, joking, but seriously, that’s a chunk of time. You’re gonna get me up to speed before you go, right?"

"We’ll be doing that tonight."

"You’re vacationing in Texas?"

"It’s convenient. I’m not sure where I’ll go once I’m done with Gustafson."

"Okay. I’d have suggested someplace with a beach and cabana boys myself, but hey. Whatever trips your trigger."

Planning ahead had its advantages. His calendar was mostly clear for the time being, and his two court dates could easily be shared out between Catherine and Warrick, respectively, since they’d been his seconds on the cases. He didn’t worry about the rest. Catherine might say she didn’t want to step up to the mat yet, but she was ready.

"So." Catherine eyed her pile of papers and sighed. "Need a ride to the airport?"

He shook his head. "I’ll take a cab. But thanks."

"Call Nick while you’re there, okay? I bet he’d like that."

"No need."

"Why?"

"He’s picking me up Monday."

"Give him my love, would you? I miss his twangy Texas ass."

Gil grinned. "I’ll tell him, absolutely."

With things wrapped up at the lab, he spent Sunday packing, thoroughly and almost uncomfortably elated to be nearly gone. An excitement fueled to no small extent by Nick’s enthusiasm.

"Like hell you’ll take a cab," he said a week earlier, sounding indignant. "I got wheels, and I can use ‘em."

"What about class?"

"Not a problem. Forget it, Gil, it’s a done deal."

But that was only the beginning of Nick’s Big Plans, as it turned out.

"So you testify, you’re done by Tuesday afternoon, right?"

"Right," Gil agreed cautiously. "But –"

"No buts. My dad’s in town next week. Mom’s already planned for you to come to dinner Tuesday night. After the hearing, of course."

"I – Okay. I’d like that."

"How long are you here again?"

"Until the 23^rd."

"Oh man, that rocks. Two weeks? How’d you fly that one?"

Gil chuckled. "At least I’m actually taking some of my vacation time. I’ve accrued so much, if I were to actually ask for payment it might bankrupt the department."

"No doubt. Okay, so are you staying around, or headed someplace else?"

"Haven’t really planned it out yet, to be honest. Take it as it comes."

"But you’ll stick around for a few days, right?" Nick sounded wistful.

"I’m sure I will."

"Rock on."

What he didn’t say was that he had no plans and didn’t expect to make any. And now, setting his suitcase by the door, he was well aware that whatever plans he did make would include Nick. Had to. It was easy to be glib with Catherine, but the hard truth was that this was a vacation to see Nick. Whether or not that amounted to anything remained to be seen. And that was the part that made this so – out of character. When was the last time he’d been this flip about his own time? Squandered two weeks on a gut feeling? And who was to say that his – interest – was in any way reciprocal? For all he knew to the contrary, Nick was still seeing the asshole, and viewed Gil’s impending visit as a sheer social call, nothing more.

He shrugged and forced himself to let it go. This was feeling more and more like a schoolboy crush, and he’d last darkened a university doorway in a student capacity more years ago than he cared to remember. What would be, would be. And that was all.

~~~~~~~~~~

The cab was late, of course, and he spent the first hour of his trip aggravated, anxious, and sweating, but he made it onto the plane with about two minutes to spare. Thankful for a relatively empty business class section, he sat back and did his best not to think too hard on what he was starting to believe was some kind of slightly belated mid-life crisis.

Let’s see, why don’t we start with age, while we’re on the subject? He’s seventeen years younger than you. Want to look at it another way? You were starting college when he was born. When you hit grad school, he was in pre-school. Thirty? He was thirteen. Forget meeting his father; you’re old enough to BE his father.

Age isn’t enough? What about location? Do you want to start something that will require an immense amount of effort, not to mention time, in order to sustain? Dallas isn’t exactly a day trip, Gil. Would you like to move there? Because he isn’t coming back to Las Vegas. As Nick would say, he’s been there and done that, and the tee shirt’s ragged already.

And if that isn’t enough, let’s talk about life goals. You aren’t the man who flirted with settling down in California. You left San Diego behind a long time ago. What do you know about sustaining a relationship? The bulk of what you DON’T know would fill a number of books. You know who you are. Nick is just starting to find out who he is, and he is a very long way from knowing YOU. Your history. Your quirks. A few months of email and phone calls doesn’t comprise encyclopedic knowledge.

He sighed, and jumped when someone said, "Sir?"

The flight attendant smiled at him. "Would you like something to drink?"

It occurred to him that this might go better if he were drunk. The companion thought wasn’t far behind: It might go far worse. "Club soda, thanks," he said, forcing an answering smile.

By the time the plane landed, he was solidly convinced that this was a rotten, abysmally terrible idea. And deciding that was comforting, because it was easy to not have anything happen. Hadn’t he lived that life for years now? Dating, sure, every once in a while. More out of a remote feeling of – should, than wanted-to. But anything more and he veered deftly away, doing his best not to inflict too much damage, knowing this was better. He’d have dinner with Nick, meet the folks, all that, but afterward he’d make his excuses, ease the sting as best he could – if there was one – and go somewhere else. He had a ridiculous amount of money stored up over the years. Could go pretty much anywhere he cared to go, and enough time to actually enjoy it. Europe. Australia. He had a couple of names in his notebook computer, and he’d wanted to see the facilities in Sydney for years. Could be very interesting. Yes. Check on that. Make a couple of calls. Much more appropriate.

Feeling resolute, stronger, much more himself, he patiently waited to file off the plane. The hubbub of excited voices didn’t much affect him. Besides, he had a grand jury to think about. This wasn’t a pleasure trip on the face of it.

One glimpse of Nick’s beaming face, and he forgot about Australia. Or testimony, or anything but the staggering slap of happiness turning the blood in his veins to champagne.

Nick didn’t say anything at all, grinning and laughing a little, grabbing Gil’s carryon and drop it on the floor before reaching out and hugging him. That manly, one arm over the shoulder, the other around the waist kind of hug, that nevertheless felt like a full body caress. His hands took in the feel of Nick’s body, the sleek waist, solid shoulders, the smell of him, faint cologne like hay in sunshine, and his knees actually went a little wobbly beneath him. He inhaled deeply, wonderingly.

"Oh man, it’s great to see you." Nick held on a second longer, and then let go. It felt like an electric shock, a surge of loss as he stepped back. "Welcome to Dallas. Well, Fort Worth."

His lips felt numb. He couldn’t quite tell if he was smiling, but how could he not be? "Hi, Nick. Thanks."

Still grinning, Nick swooped down to grab the bag again. "Come on. How was your flight?"

With no idea of what he would say, Gil followed him, launching into a description of his cab driver’s tardiness and the tense jog to the plane, and Nick countered with such a wild battle with traffic that Gil laughed harder and longer than he could remember doing since – what, his last trip? Sounded about right. At the carousel Nick stowed Gil and bag at the periphery of the crowd and shoved his way in, surfacing ten minutes later with the garment bag and a determined look on his face. He cracked another luminous grin when he returned. "It’s all in the elbows."

"You’d do well in Italy."

"Yeah? Have to check that out."

Sitting next to Nick in the Impala, inching their way out of the airport, Gil felt a flicker of understanding. Whatever control he’d thought he had over this – this whatever it was – was illusory. He could no more not feel this than he could voluntarily stop breathing. The motivational speech he’d given himself on the plane was crap. None of it mattered. The only thing that did matter was the person behind the wheel, making a face at the line of cars and asking him where he was staying.

"You know, I had a guest bedroom in my old place." Nick sighed and pulled forward two feet. "Lap of luxury, I guess. Didn’t appreciate it while I had it."

The idea of staying WITH Nick made Gil feel a little dizzy. "It’s okay," he heard himself say, wonderfully normal voice for being so fake. "I’m at the Sheraton."

Nick’s irrepressible grin came back yet again, and Gil found himself grinning, too. "What?" he asked curiously.

"Nothing. I’m just really glad you’re here. Been looking forward to this for a while."

Gil nodded. "Me too," he said softly. It hit him right then, how different this reunion was from their first. Worlds apart.

After ninety minutes of driving and aimless catching-up, he deposited his bags in his suite and straightened. Not too bad, and it had the distinct advantage of being a much less convoluted drive from Nick’s apartment building.

"Hungry?" Nick asked, glancing over his shoulder after inspecting the view from Gil’s windows.

Gil nodded. "Starved, actually."

"What are you in the mood for?"

You, Gil thought. "What do you think?"

Nick laughed. "I was hoping you’d say that."

"Let me change first."

The two-hour time difference meant it was actually dinner time here, for once suiting Gil’s own mood, and they made good time to the restaurant. Seated at the bar, Gil held up his bottle of Kirin beer. "Cheers."

Nick clinked his bottle against Gil’s, eyes still sparkling. "Cheers."

The sushi was as excellent as Gil remembered, and kept him occupied while he tried not to react too overtly to Nick’s presence. "How’s Caleb?" he asked, dabbing a piece of sushi in hot mustard.

"Caleb? He’s great. Not so ugly anymore." Nick laughed. "You’ll get to meet him tomorrow night, I think."

"Oh?"

"My sister and brother-in-law are coming, and I think Megan might be there, too. Second-oldest sister," he clarified. "I didn’t know it would be, like, this family affair thing, but my dad isn’t in town much in the fall, and I think Mom’s making hay while the sun shines. You mind?"

Gil shook his head. "Not at all."

"You’re an only, right?"

"Right."

"I wanted that so bad when I was a kid. I mean, everything I had was a hand-me-down. I hated being the youngest. Hated it." He shuddered theatrically.

"So are all your siblings around here?"

"No way. Kathy and Megan and me, that’s it. Everyone else is all over the place." Nick ate a bite of sushi and cleared his throat. "Brian’s in Houston, doesn’t visit as often as my parents want, but he’s closest to Dad, so that’s okay. Huh. Jamie’s in Chicago. Nina in San Francisco, and Julia in OK City."

"And everyone has kids."

Nick grinned. "Not as many as my mom and dad, but yeah. I’m pretty much the only Stokes who hasn’t procreated."

"That ever bother you?"

"Nah. Not really. I mean, you want the truth? Least of my concerns lately. Besides, I have more nieces and nephews than you can swing a cat at. I’m not lacking, you know?" His eyes narrowed. "What?"

Gil shook his head. "Nothing. You look happy," he amended, hoping his expression wasn’t too transparent. "It’s a good look for you."

"Ah. You’re not looking too tense yourself there." Nick’s cheeks colored slightly.

Gil’s mouth went dry, and he took a slug of his beer.

They ate hugely, lingering over their food even longer than that first visit. When they finally finished, it was well after dark, and the clientele had gotten dressier. Outside Nick cocked a look at him. "Tired?"

"Not really."

Nick smiled. "Where to?"

"You tell me. Someplace not too loud, maybe."

"Piano bar?"

"Perfect."

The smile faltered. "Let me think."

Gil shrugged, following Nick as they made their way to the car. "Any place, really. Someplace you like."

"There’s a good place on Cedar Springs." Nick stopped by the passenger door and got out his keys. His expression was hard to read in the irregularly lit dimness. "Kinda – well, gay, though."

Feeling his stomach drop a little, Gil said, "You like it? Then let’s go there."

"Well. Sure. I mean, it’s nice."

"So much the better."

They didn’t talk as much on the way to the bar. Cedar Springs was only a few blocks from Nick’s apartment building, a long avenue of restaurants, shops, and clubs, teeming with life, even on a Monday. Nick parked the Impala in an end space in a huge lot, and when they got out his face was tight with tension.

"Would you prefer to go somewhere else?" Gil asked, frowning at him.

Nick shook his head. "No. No, this is fine."

"But?"

Nick met his look and then glanced away. "This isn’t exactly an area I ever foresaw you in," he replied softly. "Weird."

"I’ve been much weirder places, Nick. Trust me."

That earned him a fast smile. "I can imagine."

Walking at his side, Gil thought, Can you? And dismissed the thought as soon as it had come.

The bar was a couple of blocks down the street. The mild air felt good on Gil’s skin, and he looked around with interest. So much like Vegas, the few times he ended up in the old neighborhood these days. Very much like San Diego. He brushed past a beautifully dressed couple holding hands, and had a moment’s savage wish to grab Nick’s hand, twine their fingers together. Stake a claim, use the gesture to shout, You can look but that’s it, he’s mine. Except he wasn’t anything except a friend, a friend whose own coming-out was so new it was wet behind the ears, and not too sturdy on its feet, either. He remembered what that was like. All too well. Watch out for the old guys, his younger self would have warned Nick. They’ve only got one thing on their minds. He felt like flinching.

"It’s up here," Nick said.

The bar was called Diego’s. Dim, the right number of people – busy without being crowded – and someone was playing "Fast Delta Blues" on the piano. They found a booth by the window, ordered drinks, and Gil took a deep breath of relief.

"Okay?"

He looked at Nick, and felt another stab of helpless, ridiculous desire. Why did his mind persist in making Nick seem so young? This wasn’t a boy sitting a foot away, but a man, crinkles at the corners of his eyes and laugh lines by his mouth. Someone who deserved better than an outmoded automatic classification.

"Yeah," Gil said, smiling. "This is good."

Nick’s teeth glinted in the candlelight as he grinned. "If you came here by yourself, you’d never have to buy your own drinks. They’d snap you up in a second."

"Me? I’d say you were a better candidate for that."

Nick shook his head. "Don’t sell yourself short. These guys would be on you like white on rice." His grin collapsed. "Man, that sounded kinda bad, didn’t it? I didn’t –"

"Stop being so careful, Nick. Please. I’ve been around the block a few times."

"Ah." A year ago he’d have expected a faintly hurt look, but Nick just looked a little sheepish. "Point." He glanced to the left and nodded at someone, and Gil looked as well. Not Julian, not anyone he knew. "Friend," Nick added shortly. "Well, acquaintance."

Their drinks arrived, and Gil glanced at Nick’s. "Gibson?"

"I like onions." Nick sipped his Gibson and shrugged. "Not good for your breath, but I hate olives."

"So how’s class? You haven’t mentioned it."

"S’okay. Told you this semester would be tough. I’m dealing, though. I think I’m still getting back into the groove with school. Been a while." Nick smiled reflectively. "You know, I didn’t give a crap about school when I did my undergraduate. As long as I kept my GPA above a 3.0? No problem. Now it’s like anything but A’s and I freak. I like class. I like – learning." He gave Gil a sharp look. "Don’t laugh too loud."

"I’m not laughing," Gil said, but chuckled anyway. "Maybe it’s not just class, but students, too. People a little more serious about their education. Doesn’t hurt."

"True." Nick’s smile faded as he looked over Gil’s head. "Crap."

Gil kept himself from glancing over his shoulder. "What?"

"No, I just –" Nick looked as if he were choosing words very carefully. "I’d kind of hoped to avoid this."

"Avoid what?" Gil asked, frowning.

"Aw, some guys I know." Nick’s eyes didn’t quite meet Gil’s. "Charlie."

Gil nodded slowly, feeling a knot of tension suddenly congeal in his stomach. "Is this a problem?"

"I hope not. No. No, not a problem." Nick gave him an uneasy smile.

"You’re not still seeing him?"

"Charlie? God, no. Ugh. But he’s, you know."

"Carrying a torch."

The smile got wispier. "You could say that."

"You want to leave?"

"No! Absolutely not. Let him look. Fuck him."

But a moment later he saw Nick tense even more, and then someone said, "Well, Nicky. Long time no see."

Gil turned. The man standing near the table was tall, well-built; Gil placed him somewhere in his mid-thirties. Good-looking, nicely dressed. His eyes bored into Gil’s with hot dislike before switching to Nick. "Got a date?" Charlie asked in a thin voice.

"Having a drink," Nick replied heavily. "Or trying to. Ch –"

"Don’t tell me. Is this Gil? The long-lost love?" Charlie’s handsome face twisted in a sneer. "So that’s the secret, huh, Nick? You like older men." He snorted. "Or was this the best you could do?"

Clamping down on an irrational surge of anger, Gil gave the man his coolest stare. "And you must be Charlie," he said smoothly. "Nick’s told me about you."

Charlie’s lips tightened. "Maybe someone should tell you about Nick," he retorted.

"I don’t know, I think I know him pretty well."

"Oh yeah?" The hotly angry look shifted to Nick. "You let him read your journal yet, huh, Nicky? He know you that well?"

A panicky look had crept over Nick’s features. "Shut up, Charlie," he said in a low, furious voice. "And fuck off, will you? Just let it go."

"I take it that’s a no."

He saw Nick’s hands clench into fists at the same time Nick spat, "Whatever it is, it’s none of your fucking business. Leave us alone, okay? Leave me alone."

"Okay." Charlie nodded sharply. "Sure, I’ll leave you with your jerk-off-fantasy buddy here. Hope you brought some Viagra along on your date. Bet he’ll need it."

The table was glassily silent in his wake. Nick’s face was a picture of astonished misery, and Gil swallowed the urge to get up and do – something, he wasn’t quite sure, but it was violent, and might wipe that terrible look away.

"You okay?" he asked after a long moment.

Nick finished his drink in one swallow. "I’m sorry about that," he said in a curiously formal, distant voice. "He’s – well. You saw. A jerk. Not sure what I ever saw in him."

"Jealousy does strange things to people," Gil replied slowly. "He read your journal, too?"

Nick nodded. "Should have put a password on the file or something. I didn’t realize."

"You didn’t know someone would violate your privacy on your own machine."

A listless smile flickered at the corners of Nick’s mouth. "Something like that."

Without knowing he was doing it, he reached out and touched Nick’s balled-up hand on the table. "Relax," Gil urged gently, rubbing the back of Nick’s hand with his thumb. "Don’t let it ruin the evening."

Nick stared at their hands, wordless. His hand unfolded slowly, turning under Gil’s. When their palms touched Nick drew a soft, fast breath. His eyes crept up to meet Gil’s.

"You don’t have to do this," he said, so softly Gil could barely make out the words. Only see the shocked, desperately hopeful look in his hooded eyes.

"I want to do this," Gil replied almost as quietly.

Nick’s face contorted when their fingers laced together. "Gil," he said in a strangled voice.

"You wrote about me in your journal?"

"Yeah."

"Before or after you left Las Vegas?"

Nick’s lips trembled. "Both." His fingers were cold.

Gil nodded slowly. "Is this what you thought about, when you did?"

"I -- Yes. God."

"Shhh. And now? You still think about it?"

"All the time," Nick blurted.

"So do I." Gil lifted their linked hands and kissed Nick’s knuckles. "So do I, Nick."

Nick’s face was white as paper, red blotches high on his cheeks. "You mean that?"

Gil nodded, smiling. "I really mean it. All the time."

"Wow." Nick slumped a little in his chair, a tense marionette with his strings suddenly cut. "I thought – but I never figured you’d –" He broke off, grimacing.

"Why’d you really leave Las Vegas? Will you tell me now?"

"I’m beginning to think because -- Because I was kind of stupid." He produced a wavery, beautiful smile.

"Not stupid. We’re here now, aren’t we?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we are."

All his senses seemed almost unbearably heightened. A part of his mind took in everything: from the smell of the bar, the sound of the piano soft in the background, to the feel of the linen tablecloth under his hand, and Nick’s cold fingers locked with his own. Burning it all into his brain, hardwiring it, carving it all into granite memory.

"Come here," Gil said hoarsely.

He thought he saw tears in Nick’s eyes in the split-second before they kissed. And he wondered vaguely if he could bear it, but then Nick’s mouth touched his own, soft lips slowly opening against him, and he couldn’t not bear it, because there wasn’t an alternative. Not anymore.

VII.

"Dr. Grissom. It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Gil, please," he said, holding out his hand. "And the pleasure is mine."

McMartin’s grip was firm and cool. "Nick’s told me so much about you. Thank you for coming. I don’t suppose I have to tell you this one’s important."

Gil nodded. "For me, as well."

She smiled and turned away, leaving him to stand around in the hallway waiting for his name to be called. Although it was pretty much a formality, he’d learned long ago that the outcome couldn’t be assumed to be a given. He might know the case was solid, but grand juries could be unpredictable things.

He watched Elizabeth McMartin disappear through the doorway, and smiled a little. Nick had gotten a lot from his mother’s side. The square jaw, for one thing; Gil would have guessed his father, but McMartin’s face was square as Nick’s, softened only a little with a stark kind of beauty. She wasn’t tall, but carried herself with a solid confidence that sent a message in the court: all business, thin lips speaking of a little ruthlessness. Nick didn’t have that sense about him, not yet, but the physical resemblance was remarkable.

Not so long ago Gil would have felt more than a little ruthless himself right now, faced with the prospect of a long-overdue indictment and the potential arrest of a man Gil was solidly sure was guilty. But this morning he felt just the usual faint nervousness, with a steady thrum of restless energy beneath it. And knowing the DA’s son was the reason for that tantric energy gave him a small, pleasant frisson.

"I’m not sure what to do now," Nick had said softly, the night before.

Nick’s hand was cold in his own, and it certainly wasn’t the weather outside Diego’s. Gil squeezed Nick’s fingers and felt a jolt of greedy pleasure: NOW I’ve got his hand. For the moment, at least. Take that. "Come on," Gil told him. "Let’s walk."

Fortunately his concession to his own possessive streak had a nicely positive effect on Nick as well. Nick relaxed a little, going from flabbergasted to merely jittery as they walked slowly back to the car. At the corner Nick gave him a sheepish grin, and Gil lifted his chin. "What?"

"Just – in the moment, man." His cheeks were flushed in the stark streetlights. He shook his head. "I never thought, you know. This would happen."

Gil smiled slowly. "Anything can happen, Nick."

"This doesn’t trip you out? Not even a little?" Nick snorted and ducked his head. "Okay, but –"

"It trips me out," Gil interrupted with a gruff laugh. "It does. But I’m all right with that. Are you?"

"Yeah." Nick’s teeth glinted when he smiled. "More than all right."

"Good."

They kissed again at the car, and when they separated Nick’s eyes had that same bewildered look Gil had seen in the bar. "What now?" he asked, sounding quenched.

"I don’t know," Gil said honestly. "Whatever we want, I guess."

Nick didn’t smile. "I don’t want to screw up."

"I don’t, either."

"You won’t."

"Neither will you."

That got him a fast flicker of a grin. "Whatever you say," Nick whispered, and leaned against him for another kiss.

In the car, they drove aimlessly for a little while, until Nick finally turned and asked, "Do you want to come to my place?"

"Let’s go to mine."

Nick snorted. "Hotel. Kinky."

"Well, it is a pretty nice hotel." He felt his smile fading. "Do you want to go to bed with me?"

Nick stared at him, and for a second Gil met that blistering look before glancing ahead of them. "Nick. Car."

"Huh?"

"CAR."

"Shit!" Nick swerved into the left lane, just missing a Volvo with the brake lights on.

When they were safely going forward again, Gil let go of the breath he was holding. "That wasn’t very good timing for that kind of question, was it?"

"Jesus." Nick’s voice warbled up into low soprano registers. Gil didn’t know if it was the question or the near-miss, and wasn’t sure he wanted to know. "Just. Man, you’re kinda blunt."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"When I’m trying not to kill us? Could be interpreted that way." But he was grinning, and shaking his head.

"So what’s your answer?"

"My answer? God. Yes, okay?"

Gil smiled. "Just checking."

After a couple of blocks, Nick reached out and touched Gil’s hand. His fingers were still cold, and shaking a little. "So you want to?"

Gil brought Nick’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. "Very much," he agreed softly.

"Just – checking."

They got to the hotel without any further incident, but Nick’s hand wasn’t getting any warmer. In the parking lot Gil climbed out and took in Nick’s expression with a frown. Walking around the car, he stopped in front of him. "Is this too fast?"

"No." Nick gave him a game smile. "I mean that. It’s just –" He broke off, shaking his head. "Man, I SO want to be right where I am," he added finally, this time smiling for real. "You have NO idea."

"Come on. There’s a bar in my suite. I don’t know what’s in it, but I’m not that picky."

"Me, either."

Upstairs, he tossed his card key on the foyer table and glanced at Nick. "Drink?"

Nick nodded. "Sure."

While he investigated the bar, Nick prowled around, radiating nervous energy. "PD’s picking up the tab for this, right?" he asked, flipping back the drape to look out the window.

"First couple of days. After that I’m on my own. We have bourbon, scotch, and vodka. And some other things I’m not so sure about. And beer."

"Whatever you’re having."

Gil took out two Buds and shut the refrigerator. When he handed Nick his bottle he saw Nick’s hand still shaking. "Cheers," Gil said mildly. He sipped, and watched Nick drink, and then set his own bottle on the nearby table.

Nick spilled a little of his beer when Gil kissed him, but no serious damage. And when Gil finally drew away, some unknown amount of time later, Nick wasn’t shaking anymore.

Nick’s eyes were unreadably inky, gazing into his own. "Not that often you find out the reality’s better than the fantasy," Nick breathed.

Gil smiled and slid his arms back around Nick’s waist. "Why, thank you."

"Do that again."

Nick’s mouth tasted beery-tart and delicious, a good kisser, going from astonished receptor to enthusiastic participant in about .03 seconds flat. Gil closed his eyes and felt Nick’s hands exploring his face, indenting his cheeks and moving down to smooth over his shoulders, fingers flickering and tugging at his shirt.

"You said something about bed," Nick whispered.

"You want that?" Gil asked, grinning.

Nick groaned and pressed his mouth in the crook of Gil’s jaw, making him draw a harsh breath. "I wanted it about five minutes after I met you," he said against his skin.

"Did you," Gil said unsteadily.

"Uh huh."

In the bigger of the suite’s two bedrooms Nick started to shake again, but this time Gil didn’t worry. Under his shirt Nick’s skin was silky-warm, hard little pebbles of nipples under Gil’s fingers. A part of him was still sitting back, marveling and questioning, while he took in the fact of Nick, here, with him. In a bedroom that didn’t have yellow police tape outside the door.

"What?" Nick asked, catching Gil’s reflexive little smile.

"Tell you later."

He’d seen Nick half-dressed before. On the job, mostly, shirtless when the situation required it, or joking with him on the way to or from the showers. But never naked, never like this. It almost hurt to take his eyes off him, that expanse of smooth skin and lean muscle. And all his, by God.

"Aren’t you gonna return the favor?"

Nick’s husky, slightly abashed voice made Gil blink. "Yeah," he said slowly, watching Nick sit back on the bed and trying to keep at least a brief hold on the urge to simply leap on him. "Yeah, I am."

Nick had no reason to be modest, and wasn’t, but Gil felt a weird flicker of misgiving, taking off his clothes. All level playing fields aside, he wasn’t Nick’s age, nor his physical shape, and the spare tire around Gil’s middle had never felt bigger or flabbier. Funny, he hadn’t thought about it that much in a few years, not since he first accepted that working out and watching his diet had pretty much zero effect on his softening waistline. Now, dropping trou in front of a man much younger and a hell of a lot firmer, he had to clamp down on the urge to hit the lights, hide in the murk. Hell, if Nick was going to be a fat fascist, he wouldn’t have gotten this far, right? And even better: If this was enough of a turnoff, better that they got it over with now, before they got any deeper.

He laid his trousers over the chair near the bed and turned. In the lamp’s yellow light Nick looked as if he were carved from warm marble, lying back on the pillows, watching. One hand was flat on his belly, stroking his skin mindlessly. His cock curved a little, erect and heavy. His eyes shone in reflected light. "So," he said in a husky, brand-new voice. "You gonna come over here, or am I gonna have to come get you?"

Gil swallowed. "You’re beautiful," he said starkly, standing next to the bed. "God. So beautiful."

Nick’s face twisted, became something simultaneously alarmed and aroused. "Yeah?"

Coming over to sit down on the edge of the bed, Gil nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Nick didn’t smile. "Come here," he whispered.

And so Gil did.

The bang of a door shutting made him flinch back into the moment, just in time to make out a man bawling in a juicy east-Texas accent, "All rise, the Honorable John Archibald Henson presiding." Except "rise" was a drawn-out monster of a dipthong, and "honorable" had dropped a few syllables.

Gil gave his watch a furtive, guilty look. That’s it, sit here and daydream about the DA’s younger son and the feel of that son’s mouth on your dick, and just how in the hell do you propose to get to the witness stand when your name is called and not advertise to the entire court your current state of, shall we say, preoccupation?

He found a chair down the hall and made himself sit, and did his best to push McMartin’s son and what he’d done with that all-too-talented mouth to the back of his mind.

*************

"So it went well. Of course it went well, man. I mean, this is you we’re talking about."

Gil glanced over and took in Nick’s profile, highlighted by the angle of the sun low in the sky. "I just put the pieces together," he replied mildly. "The truth is self-evident."

"The modest touch, yeah, okay." Nick grinned at him. "You could just take the compliment, you know."

"Let’s just say Martin Gustafson probably had a lousy afternoon."

"I’ll say. I think my mom’s running for president of your fan club about now."

Gil laughed.

The neighborhood Nick was navigating reminded Gil of the stately homes in the rich sections of San Diego, albeit not quite as obviously Californian. It occurred to him that Nick had grown up well-off, a far cry from the lower middle-class life Gil had known as a kid. Those perfect teeth had probably cost a fortune.

But all for a good cause, right? He kept smiling as Nick turned the car in the direction of a cul-de-sac. A ridiculous amount of real estate for so few houses, and they appeared to be heading for one of the larger ones. He sat up a little in his seat. "Impressive," he said.

Nick pulled the Impala into a long driveway and shrugged. "Seven kids, man, my parents used to say they should have just bought a motel instead."

The house was a sprawling, vaguely Georgian thing of brick and white-painted trim, surrounded by neat grounds. Gil counted six cars already parked in the driveway, and there appeared to be room for about a dozen more.

Nick reached over to touch Gil’s hand. "Ready to face the music?"

"You bet."

Nick’s half-smile faded. "They don’t know," he said softly. "About me."

"Oh." Gil regarded him, squinting in the light. "That’s awkward."

"I’m sorry, I should have said something earlier. Didn’t think about it." Nick withdrew, tapping the steering wheel lightly with one loose fist. "And I don’t know why, I just oughta tell them, I mean, it’s not like they’d --"

"Nick." Gil waited for Nick’s anxious eyes to meet his own. "That’s your choice," he continued gently. "I’m not here to force you to come out. That’s your own time and place, all right? And besides, I’m not going to ravish you in front of your parents." He grinned. "I can control myself, you know."

Still looking more than a little quenched, Nick nodded. "Just hasn’t been the right time yet, you know?" He sucked on his lower lip, and Gil tried not to want to kiss him right there. "Not sure when that will be. It’s like this huge -- thing." He shook his head slowly.

"You don’t have to decide tonight. Come on. I’m ready to see Stokes Manor."

Nick snorted and took the key out of the ignition.

Gil could hear music already outside the car, something vaguely Hispanic-sounding. "It’s not exactly what it looks like," Nick said as they approached the front door. "I mean, my dad finally caved a couple of years ago and hired these guys to do the garden crap. I think the neighbors were complaining. But mostly I’m totally serious -- they needed the space, and they got a deal on the house somehow. We’re not really rich or anything."

Privately Gil wondered what Nick’s definition of rich actually was, but he said nothing. And inside Nick’s words were at least somewhat borne out: it wasn’t palatial. Nice, but lived-in, neat but not so that you felt like avoiding touching anything. An enormous cathedral-ceilinged front room, another to the left almost as big. Stairs, and then they walked through a cluttered kitchen, two enormous steel refrigerators against the far wall.

"Everybody’s probably out on the deck," Nick said, lifting his chin at the wide window. "My folks practically live outside when the weather’s good. Come on."

The music got louder when they went out the back door, and Gil caught savory scents in the air before they mounted a few steps and came out on the deck proper. Elizabeth was sitting with two women and a couple of children, standing up abruptly when she caught sight of them.

"There you are." She smiled, hurrying over. "I had this feeling you were going to call at the last minute and cancel."

Nick shook his head and kissed his mother on the cheek. Her eyes softened briefly, scanning his face, before she turned to Gil. This close, the resemblance was even more striking.

"And Gil." Elizabeth held out her hand. "I’m so glad you could come."

He shook her hand. "My pleasure. Thanks for having me."

"I want you to meet Tom. Nicky, you want to get you guys something to drink? There’s margaritas, beer, whatever you want."

Nick looked at Gil. "Beer?"

"Sounds great."

Nick disappeared, and Elizabeth took his arm, ushering him over to the brick grill. "Tom? Gil Grissom’s here."

His first sight of Tom Stokes was a surprise: Nick favored his mother even more strongly than Gil had first noticed. Tom was taller, and almost ascetically lean, his tanned face photogenically lined. He wore old jeans and a button-down with faded elbows, and revealed crooked teeth in a broad grin. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he strode over and gave Gil his second handshake of the night.

"Dr. Grissom, it’s fantastic to meet you. I’ve been a fan of your work for a long time."

"Gil, please." Gil smiled, and registered the laser keenness in Tom Stokes’s pale blue eyes. "And likewise," he said. "Nick’s told me a lot about you. I hear congratulations are in order. Five years?"

"That? Ah." Tom shook his head. "Just an anniversary. You want a beer?"

"I think Nick’s handling that, thanks."

"Good, good. Liz, did he meet the kids yet?"

She snorted and smiled. "I thought I’d hold off for a second. We don’t want to scare him off."

Tom’s laugh was loud and infectious. "I don’t think he scares too easily, from what I hear." His cut-glass eyes focused beyond Gil’s shoulder. "There’s your beer."

Nick smiled as he came up, holding out a sweaty bottle. "Wow," he said a little breathlessly. "Never thought I’d see the three of you standing here in Dallas."

Elizabeth slipped an arm around Nick’s waist, bumping him with her shoulder. "Well, it’s about time. You hid in Las Vegas for four years and never even gave us the chance to meet your colleagues."

"Well, it’s not exactly around the corner from here."

"True. But I’m glad we finally have at least one face to put with the name."

It all started blurring a little after that. Nick’s estimate of attendance turned out to be on the conservative side; Gil was pretty sure he met a lot more than three siblings. Or maybe it was just that with in-laws and various children, it only felt like more. In any case, by the time they sat down to eat at the huge outdoor table, he felt a little overwhelmed. But the food was delicious, there was plenty of beer, and it gave him a kick to see Nick with his family. Nick’s anxiety soon wore off; he gave his sisters crap about a lot of things Gil didn’t completely understand, took his own ribbing with good grace, and seemed so comfortable Gil was distantly surprised Nick had ever left Dallas in the first place. Close-knit family, no obvious skeletons in the visible closets -- aside from one he knew about -- Nick had it lucky in many ways, and that was a fact.

"So now that you’ve administered the coup de grace, where are you off to?" Tom asked him while they were waiting for dessert. "Back to Vegas?"

Gil smiled and shrugged. "A little vacation first, but eventually, yes."

"Place would fall apart if he stayed away too long." Nick grinned at him, and Gil had to grin back.

"Not really," he objected.

Nick’s eyebrows lifted eloquently. "Uh. Really."

"I heard a lot about your work consulting on the Martinez case last year," Tom said, as if Nick hadn’t spoken. His gaze was unreadable. "Over in Nacogdoches. Lot of people unhappy about that verdict."

Gil faced him, feeling his smile slipping. "Guilty or innocent, I look for evidence," he replied as evenly as he could. The memory of Juan Martinez’s weeping, angry widow’s shrieks in the wake of his car was too clear in his mind. "The defendant was found innocent by a jury of his peers. I just present the facts."

"It ever bother you?"

"What? Finding the facts? No."

"Are you sure you have all the facts?"

"O-kay." Nick put his hands flat on the table and grimaced. "Who wants another beer?"

Tom smiled briefly and ducked his head. "Sorry if I came across pretty harsh there, Gil." He sighed. "After all you did on this case I got no right to question you on something else."

"Question all you want. I mean that," Gil added, forcing a smile of his own. "I stand by my work. I didn’t exonerate Hugh Halliburton. The evidence exonerated him."

"Touche."

Next to Gil, Liz set down a tray of frosty glasses. "I detect the presence of shop talk," she observed, giving her husband a look almost as chilly as the glassware. "Gil, Juan Martinez was an old friend of a friend’s. That’s why Tommy’s being a hard-ass."

Oh. Gil kept on smiling, with effort. "Understood."

There was a brief, itchy silence while Liz and one of Nick’s sisters -- Gil was pretty sure it was Megan, but wouldn’t have taken oath on it -- unloaded the tray of desserts. And then the other sister said something about yet another sister’s upcoming exhibition in Chicago, and somehow the awkwardness was thankfully behind them.

After dessert Nick leaned back in his chair, looking replete and so handsome he seemed to glow in the dimming light. "Any news?" he asked his father.

Tom glanced at him, but the ice-blue eyes already knew what Nick was asking about. "Nothing yet. I keep telling y’all, don’t get your hopes up."

"It’s a short list," Liz told Nick, including Gil in her smiling look. "Three candidates. So far so good."

Nick looked over at Gil. "Supreme Court."

"Right, I remember." Gil nodded. "Congratulations in advance, Tom."

The man in question waved a hand. "Like I said, it ain’t a done deal yet. You never know, political environment can go different ways, somebody could dig up some dirt on me -- Could all go away tomorrow."

"I doubt that," Nick observed. "Come on, Dad, at least let us be proud of you. You act like it won’t happen."

"That’s so I can be surprised if it does. Hope for the best, expect the worst."

"What a credo." Liz rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

When it was fully dark Nick leaned a little towards Gil. "You wanna get out of here?" he whispered.

Gil did, fervently, but tempered his reply. "If you’re ready, sure."

"Way ready."

Handshaking and a few hugs took them to the front door, and Liz’s slanted smile and curious eyes. "Thank you for coming, Gil," she said, her gaze flicking back and forth between himself and Nick. "I hope we’ll see you again before you go back to work."

He nodded. "Thank you for inviting me. Enjoyed it." He looked at Tom, looming over Liz’s shoulder. "Good luck with the appointment. I’ll keep my eye on the news."

Then they were outside, and he felt Nick’s nervous energy radiating, so strong Gil could almost see it, like a bright nimbus around him. In the car Nick dropped the keys, and rolled his eyes before scrounging for them on the floorboard.

With the car started, Nick glanced at him. "So where to?"

Gil smiled. "Indulge yourself."

VIII.

At the end of the block Nick suddenly hit the brakes, pulling over to the curb. Before Gil could ask why, the car was stopped, and then Nick leaned over and grabbed the front of Gil’s shirt, yanking him over. Nick’s kiss was hard and hungry, mouth flavored like beer and so hot and deliciously wet Gil felt dizzy.

"Wanted to do that for hours," Nick whispered against Gil’s lips.

Gil met his eyes, only inches away, and felt the heat in Nick’s gaze baking over him. "Me, too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Another couple of blistering kisses and Gil felt as if his skin were trying to crawl off his body, from sheer impatient uncaring lust. The dizziness was still there, not a comfortable feeling, an out-of-control feeling, and he felt a pang of anxiety at the same time that his mouth opened against Nick’s again, falling into that kiss like careening over a precipice.

Been a long time since he’d felt this way, this terrifying uncaring unstoppable force of attraction, and the memory made him draw back a few inches, throat tight with need and an icy needle of fear.

"What is it?" Nick whispered. His fingers stroked warm on the back of Gil’s neck, dreadfully alluring.

He meant to downplay it, anything to keep Nick from losing the moment, if not himself. But instead he said, "It’s been a very long time. Since."

Nick nodded slowly. "Since?"

"This. This -- feeling."

"What feeling?"

"Like hitting a patch of ice you didn’t know was there."

Nick’s brows drew together. "You don’t --"

"I do want this," Gil interrupted, and his heart took a skittering leap of agreement in his chest. "Oh, I do want it. You."

Even in the mild light of the street lamp he could see Nick’s cheeks flushing. "That’s good to know," he said breathlessly. He kissed Gil again, hard, and drew back, fumbling to put the car in gear.

By the time they reached Nick’s apartment building, Gil felt as if his nerves might just snap from the best kind of horrible tension. He could still taste Nick’s mouth, and the urge to grab him, just take what he wanted so desperately, made his hands shake. Nick looked a little wild-eyed, parking the car crookedly straddling two spaces and clearly not seeing he’d done it.

"We’re here," he said breathlessly and completely unnecessarily.

"Not quite," Gil replied in a hoarse voice.

Nick swallowed, his jaw iron-tight in the light of the parking lot lamp. "Jesus." His voice cracked.

"If we don’t get out of the car soon," Gil muttered, "I’m going to fuck you in the back seat."

He saw Nick’s eyes widen before they kissed again, hard, painfully. Under Gil’s possessive touch the pulse in Nick’s throat fluttered so fast it almost caught up with his own. "Someone would see," Nick whispered.

"I don’t give a damn."

"Oh, God."

Inside the apartment building the lights were absolutely unforgiving. Nick looked flushed and a little sweaty and so fuckable Gil groaned a little under his breath. By the time the elevator arrived there were two other people waiting with them, and the man gave Gil a level, smirking look that at any other time would have annoyed the hell out of him. Now it made him feel a little lightheaded. Yeah, if you weren’t here, friend, I’d probably do him in the goddamn elevator. We both know it.

Nick turned his head and gave Gil a look that should have crisped the shirt right off him. Gil held back a groan only after a moment of titanic struggle. Oh yeah, last night had been great, fantastic, but how was it possible that he could feel twice as desperate now, when 24 hours ago he’d thought he’d never been so turned on in his life?

The couple got out on the fifth floor, and the moment the doors slid shut Nick turned and shoved Gil against the wall, not even time for a startled gasp before Nick’s mouth was devouring his own, hands impatiently roving from shoulder to waist to sliding familiarly between Gil’s legs.

"This," Nick said thickly against Gil’s open lips. His hand squeezed Gil delicately. "This is what I want."

Gil drew a fast shallow breath. "I have every intention," he murmured shakily, "of giving you everything you want."

Nick smiled slowly. "I want you to fuck me," he whispered. His tongue traced snake-quick across Gil’s lips. "Gonna give me that?"

Gil pulled him flat against him and reached around to cup the tight curve of Nick’s ass in both hands. "Count on it." He rubbed his aching erection against Nick’s, and watched Nick’s lips part as he gasped.

Down the hall and Nick’s trembling fingers unlocking the door, and the slam of that door a millisecond before Gil did some slamming of his own, pushing Nick against the foyer wall and kissing him ravenously. Nick’s fingers tugged at Gil’s shirt, rucking it up his back and slipping underneath to stroke bare skin.

"God," Gil said hoarsely. "Bedroom?"

Nick drew back an inch, and Gil flinched at the look in his eyes. "Too far," Nick grated. "Do me right here."

The next morning Gil found the bruises on his knees, from Nick’s hardwood floor. Saw the marks of his own fingers on Nick’s skin. But right then none of it mattered, the completely unforgiving floor, nothing. He stepped back far enough to take off his shirt, and saw Nick grin toothily while he tugged his own shirt over his head. Looming in to kiss Gil fast and hard, the only contact while they stripped, and he had a quick glimpse of Nick’s erection before Nick grabbed him and pulled him to the floor.

He’d had sex like this before. This kind of mindless, utterly uncaring, nasty fucking. But so long ago, practically another lifetime from this. Now it felt entirely new: Nick’s bare skin, smooth and gleaming with sweat, bare ass clenching and spreading wide as he knelt. And watching while that unbelievably fuckable ass gave way to admit his own dick, a tight fiery kiss ushering him into oblivion.

Nick gave a kind of strangled growling howl and shoved back against him, and Gil coughed out a curse and grabbed Nick’s hips, fingers slipping and then holding hard. His thrust pushed Nick a few inches forward, and the little table holding Nick’s phone and bowl full of loose change teetered. He could have caught it, easily. Just let go and grab. But instead he pressed an open-mouthed kiss on Nick’s spine and ignored the tinkle of coins hitting the floor, the subsequent crunch of pottery.

Then he stopped noticing much. Too caught up in the feel of Nick’s body slick and delicious around his cock, the salty flavor of Nick’s sweat under his tongue. He sensed it when Nick paused, froze in place for an instant, and then bellowed something inarticulate and shuddered against him, ass flexing wildly. And that was enough to make a greedy flare of hunger in his belly, the insatiable craving to come, fuck Nick’s gorgeous ass until Gil was crying out, too, shoving so hard and so deep that Nick slid against the wall, bracing his hands and whooping for air while Gil dug in his fingers and buried himself to the hilt, mind utterly blank except for the almost unbearably wonderful feeling of his orgasm.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh, shit."

He hadn’t really noticed Nick’s ceiling until now. Not that much to notice, really. White paint. Slanted bars of milky morning sunshine spilling through the blinds. Pretty much not anything to look at.

"Yeah," Gil said, and coughed dryly.

He turned his head and saw Nick blinking at him. The pillow had left a dent in Nick’s cheek, giving him a rakish look. That, or maybe it was just the bloodshot eyes. "What’d we DO last night?" Nick asked. His voice was about an octave deeper than normal.

Gil swallowed and made a face at the morning taste in his mouth. "I don’t think it was just last night."

"Oh."

After a moment Gil turned laboriously on his side. Christ, he ached in places he’d forgotten he HAD. "Morning."

Nick’s puffy eyes sagged shut. "Mmphg."

Gil could hold back a chuckle. Reaching out, he touched Nick’s dented cheek and waited for him to open his eyes again. "Want some coffee?"

Nick stirred and made a half-smile. "Ask me tha’ again when I wake up tomorrow."

When Gil sat up he caught his breath. Not just the bruises aching, his goddamn groin hurt. Well, sex three times in one night for an old guy like you will do it, he thought, and winced as he pulled himself to his feet. His knees looked as if he’d spent the night at a glory hole. He glanced blearily around the bedroom. No sign of his shorts. Or any of his other clothing.

Oh. Well, he hadn’t undressed in here, had he? Out in the living area, amid the wreckage of a couple of pieces of Nick’s furniture.

"Don’ get up," Nick slurred from the bed.

Gil looked at him, registering the weary interest in his dick even after all they’d already done. No wonder: Nick looked like a debauched saint, tangled in a sheet that did absolutely nothing to cover him up, but seemed to have been arranged to display his body in the most suggestive way possible.

Nick’s hand slid over one nipple, and Gil swallowed. "Coffee," he mumbled. "Come on."

"Don’t think I can walk."

The smile came back watching Nick sit up. There was a big purple bruise just under his collarbone, and Gil wrinkled his nose. When had he given him that? Was it before or after they did the things on the couch? Did it matter?

Nick stood up and bent sharply at the waist. "What did you DO to me?" he said in a plaintive voice.

Gil blinked. "Sorry," he replied with all the sincerity he could muster.

Nick glowered at him, bracing his hands on his knees. "Liar."

Gil bit his lip, stifling a bubble of bright laughter. "You’re just stiff. It’ll wear off."

"I’m not gonna be able to sit down for a week."

A snicker escaped despite his most valiant effort.

"Oh yeah, laugh at the other guy." Nick straightened a little and gave a theatrical groan. "You spend the night doin’ it with King Kong and see how YOU feel." He took a couple of waddling steps, straightening a little more.

"King Kong, huh?"

"I mean that in the worst way possible." Nick’s lips quirked in an almost-smile.

Gil grinned. "Come here," he whispered, holding out his hand.

"No funny stuff." Nick leaned against him, sighing. "God, I’m sore."

"Just a kiss."

"I got dragon breath, man."

"I don’t care."

If it was morning breath it wasn’t any worse than Gil’s. And the feel of Nick’s mouth opening against his own was pure quiet pleasure.

Nick’s arms slid around his waist. "I hope you don’t have any big plans for today," he mumbled against Gil’s neck.

"Just this." Gil rested his chin on Nick’s bare shoulder. "I do want some coffee, though."

"Guess that much is okay."

Gil laughed.

They drank coffee sitting at Nick’s tiny dining table. True to his word, Nick wasn’t sitting any too comfortably. Seeing it gave Gil a little proprietary pang, and he hid his smile in his coffee cup.

Nick just rolled his eyes, but his cheeks were very pink.

A shower revived Nick enough that the mention of going out for lunch didn’t make him spit any actual curses. And the feel of Nick’s soap-slick skin under his hands gave Gil’s dick all kinds of ideas it by rights shouldn’t have had for another couple of months. He let his touch trail down Nick’s flanks, sliding over his buttocks. "Still sore?" he mouthed against the back of Nick’s neck.

Nick turned and pressed against him, careful in the slippery tub. "Yes," he whispered, opening his mouth for a kiss.

"Mmm. Too bad." Gil trailed his fingers through the open cleft of Nick’s ass, and smiled at Nick’s throaty groan. "Guess I better wait."

"Not gonna be sore forever."

Gil tightened his grip, squeezing gently. "You could always return the favor."

Nick snorted, but his eyes flickered with heat. "Yeah, and then we can buy a matched set of donut cushions."

"Aw, that’s sweet."

"You know, you coulda warned me you were a horn dog."

"Lots more fun to show you."

Nick grinned. "I’ll say."

Gil’s alarming libido notwithstanding, they did manage to get dressed and out the door not too long after that. They ate disgustingly good hamburgers at a place on Cedar Spring, and ducked into a dozen different shops along the street. And the smile never seemed to leave Gil’s face. He felt relaxed and incredibly energized at the same time. Better than he’d felt in what? Years? Maybe decades.

Over ice cream cones Nick narrowed his eyes, gazing at him. "What are you thinking?"

Gil licked his ice cream and relished the flavor. "Nothing in particular."

"I think there’s something."

"Yes, but I have to wait until we’re not in public to show you what."

Nick grinned, looking so simultaneously embarrassed and aroused Gil had to violently snuff an urge to do the showing right here and now. Nick leaned back on the bench, ostentatiously sitting a little canted to the side, and sighed. "You know, if you’d told me a month ago we’d be here." He shook his head, gazing out at the traffic zipping by on Oak Lawn. "I’d have asked you to share whatever you were smokin’."

Gil raised his eyebrows. "Same here. This -- I didn’t realize."

Nick met his eyes, smile fading. "But it’s okay, right?"

"Hell, yes."

"I was about to say." Nick’s grin came back, and he leaned a little further, nudging Gil with his shoulder. "So how come I never figured this out about you?" he asked suddenly.

"I don’t know." Gil finished his ice cream and started wiping his fingers with a napkin. "It’s not a state secret. Although I won’t say it’s common knowledge, either."

"Not hardly. I just -- I figured I’d have known. You know? But no clue." His smile turned mischievous. "So tell me about you. I mean, God knows you know everything about me."

Gil laughed and shook his head. "You’re not as much of an open book as you think you are. And I doubt there’s much to know about me."

"Bullshit. You’re lying through your teeth."

Gil sighed, but couldn’t stop smiling, still. "So ask me."

"You mean that?"

"I’m rescinding my policy of being inscrutably mysterious for today. Ask away."

"Wow. Better make it count, huh?" Nick looked surprised, and a little uncomfortable.

Gil reached out to cover Nick’s hand with his own. "I’m kidding," he said gently. "I don’t mean to harbor any big secrets. Or little ones. But I’m not sure where to start."

Nick’s hand turned, fingers lacing with Gil’s. "Man, I’m not either. There’s so much I still don’t know about you."

"What do you want to know?"

"While I was there, you know. Working with you, in Vegas. Was there anybody?"

"No. I was almost as monkish as I let you believe me to be."

"Coulda fooled me." Nick grinned and nudged him again. "So you never found the right guy?"

Gil stirred. "There was someone," he said slowly. He felt his smile slipping. "A long time ago." He made himself look at Nick. "I think you were probably in kindergarten."

"Tell me about him."

"All right. We went to school together. UCLA."

"Did he have a name?"

Gil snorted. "Jack. Jack Palliser."

Nick had slid slowly nearer, and now he leaned against Gil, his presence warm and welcome. "So he musta been a good guy."

"Very. Brilliant."

"Tell me he was rich and gorgeous and I’ll get to work on my complex."

"Not rich," Gil blurted with a laugh. "Definitely. And not really gorgeous. Not hard on the eyes, though."

"Ah." Nick’s eyes twinkled. "So what happened?"

After a moment, aware that Nick was waiting, Gil made himself shrug. "We were together for nearly ten years. And then it ended, and I got the offer here. So I took it."

Nick studied him. "That’s it? You didn’t see him again."

"No."

"Huh. So you ran, too."

Gil frowned at him. "What?"

"You ran to Vegas. The way I ran to Dallas."

"Sort of. I suppose I did. A fresh start."

"Is that why you tracked me down?"

Shifting, Gil slid an arm around Nick’s shoulders. "Maybe, partly. I don’t remember it being all that premeditated. It bothered me, the way you left. I didn’t even know you were looking, and you came into my office and said this was your two week’s notice." He shook his head slowly. "And the longer I thought about it, the more it bothered me. The things you weren’t saying."

Nick sighed. "I didn’t know how to say them," he murmured.

"You figured it out."

Nick’s shoulders lifted in a chuckle. "Yeah. I guess."

"So where are we going now? Any ideas?"

"I’m not sure. I -- I guess just take it one day at a time."

Gil smiled and squeezed Nick’s shoulder. "I meant right now. Anyplace you want to go?"

"Oh." Face coloring a little, Nick laughed weakly. "Wanna know the truth, I’m beat."

"Thank God you said that. I was just wondering how to broach the idea of going home without reminding you I’m a decrepit old man."

The smile on Nick’s face made Gil’s groin feel tight. "Decrepit, huh?" His eyes dropped to study Gil’s mouth. "If this is decrepit, I’m afraid to see energetic."

Gil leaned closer. "I was planning to show you that later on tonight," he murmured.

"Oh really."

Gil nodded slowly. "Unless you’d rather I didn’t."

The tip of Nick’s tongue slipped out to touch his lower lip. "I could be persuaded."

"Yeah?"

"You’re a persuasive kinda guy."

"I know."

At another time, in another place, he would have given second and maybe third thoughts to doing this in public. But right now he cared only about the feel of Nick’s mouth under his own, faint flavor of chocolate still lingering on his tongue. And the things he’d been holding back seemed insignificant next to it. Paltry. Part of another lifetime, one that hadn’t included Nick, hadn’t even known he existed.

"I could get used to this," Nick whispered against Gil’s ear.

Gil nodded slowly. "So could I." And pushed away the bubble of old, familiar fear.

IX.

His two weeks went by horribly fast. It wasn’t that he didn’t remember this was temporary. Catherine’s occasional phone calls reminded him of that fact. But it was perilously easy to relax, put off thinking about going home. Nick felt it too, clearly. He tried to ditch his classes the second week of Gil’s visit, mumbling something about how he’d catch up after Gil left, and it took a couple of honest reminders about how graduate school was nothing like undegrad, and Nick’s struggles with biochemistry, before Nick grudgingly admitted he’d be screwed if he didn’t go. What Gil didn’t mention was his own greedy urge to let Nick have his way, spend as much time as they possibly could together before –-

Before what? Before this fantasy ended and he had to go back to real life? Because this wasn’t real. It was vacation, it was temporary. And face it or not, Nick wasn’t getting on that plane with him this time, any more than he had the last visit.

His last few days felt more and more gloomy, and even the news of Gustafson’s arrest and indictment didn’t lift his spirits much. And when Nick was in class and Gil was left to fend for himself, wandering around Nick’s neighborhood or tooling around in Nick’s car, he had to admit that the idea of being separated was startlingly painful.

"I wish I could come up with something," Nick said quietly, one evening.

"Come up with what?"

Nick’s smile was wistful. "A reason for you to stay."

"We both know I can’t," Gil said after a moment.

"Yeah. I know."

Gil settled back against Nick’s sturdy body, relishing the feel of Nick’s arm heavy around his shoulders. "You remember what I said some time ago? About not being here to coax you into coming back?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"I’m reconsidering that."

Nick’s trailing fingers stilled. "Gil."

Gil drew back and turned, facing him. "Come back to Vegas," he said gruffly. "Come back with me."

Nick’s forehead creased, and he sucked at his lower lip for a moment. Then, carefully, he said, "To do what? Sponge off you?"

"You could keep going to school. UNLV has –"

"—has no decent grad program," Nick interrupted flatly. "Closest bio doctoral program’s in Arizona. I checked," he added at Gil’s look.

Gil smiled. "That’s encouraging."

"Look, I want the same as you do." Nick swallowed. "I mean, if we’re really on the same page here. Are we?"

"I think we are."

"I want to be with you."

"So do I."

"But I know I can’t ask you to leave Vegas." Nick shifted, edging a few inches away. His fingers laced tightly together in his lap. "That’s your career, your life, man. I wouldn’t ask you to do that. But what about my life?"

Gil paused, and nodded. "I see what you’re saying. I don’t have any answers, Nick. I wish I did."

"I’m not gonna be in school forever. I mean, a couple more years. But then I can work on my diss from just about anyplace. You know?"

"True. Absolutely."

Nick sagged a little. "You wanna wait two years? It’s a long time."

"Well, I intend to see you at least some of that time. You don’t live on the moon, you know."

That got him a weak smile. "Kinda feels like it sometimes. But yeah. I got winter break, too. I mean, could come see you."

Gil smiled and reached out to touch Nick’s cheek. "I’d like that very much."

"Be kinda freaky. You know, being back." Nick’s hand stole up to cover Gil’s, bringing it down to kiss the knuckles. "I can deal. I think."

"You don’t ever even have to see the lab if you’d prefer not."

"Wouldn’t mind seeing folks. I mean, catching up. Catherine, Warrick."

"They’d love to see you, that much I know."

"Cool." Nick’s smile faded, and he sighed, cradling Gil’s hand in both his own. "Gonna be hard, isn’t it?" he said quietly.

"I don’t know. I’ve never tried to have a long-distance relationship before."

"I’ve seen some folks. Usually didn’t work out."

"That doesn’t mean ours won’t."

"True."

They didn’t talk about it again that night, or the next day. But Gil felt the question hanging in the air, like a pall of anxious smoke. And at night, lying in Nick’s bed listening to the slow, even sound of Nick’s breathing, he couldn’t fight off the thoughts. After all this time, after I gave up years ago on ever finding anyone who could come within miles of Jack, and in a few days I have to walk away. Four years he was in Vegas, I saw him every day, and it would have been so easy. Why’d it have to be now, instead? Why couldn’t it have been then? When it wasn’t so damned difficult?

One thing he’d always loathed was self-pity. And so he stowed it away, best he could, and tried not to dwell on it. But two days before he was scheduled to leave, he had cause to remember those thoughts. And what had seemed hard that long quiet night became something very close to torture.

"My lab gets out at six," Nick told him early Friday afternoon, sounding busy and a little tired on his cell phone. "Be seven before I get home. You wanna go out to eat then? Where are you, anyway? Out?"

"I’m in Ft. Worth. I think." Gil slumped back in his seat, gazing at the packed traffic on the highway. "I was going to the museum, but it’ll be tomorrow when I get there at this rate. Must be an accident up ahead someplace. It’s a parking lot out here."

"Be careful, okay?"

The phrase made Gil smile. "Of course. So I’ll meet you back there at seven. Or whenever someone finally cuts through the Gordian knot here."

"Cool. See you then."

"Right."

It was an accident, although he didn’t see any signs that it’d been a terminal one for anyone. But enough to snarl traffic for miles, and make his visit to the Kimbell Art Museum a lot shorter than he’d wanted. And the rushed feeling didn’t dissipate as he fought more traffic on his way back to Dallas. But when it was all said and done he wasn’t terribly late; it was only a quarter past seven when he pulled up in front of Nick’s building. Hell, driving in Dallas with only a couple of weeks of navigational experience, he figured fifteen minutes behind was pretty damn good.

That minor triumph vanished completely from his mind when he climbed out of the car. Nick stood near his parked Impala, body a picture of utter tension. And the reason for that tension had his back to Gil, but it didn’t take seeing his face to know who it was.

"Don’t SAY that," he heard Nick hiss. His face was drawn in lines of unhappy anger. "Jesus, how many times are we gonna have to go through this, huh? You want me to write it down for you? Draw you a goddamn picture?"

Gil swallowed dryly and stepped closer, and Nick’s expression morphed into surprise. "Hey," he called. His smile looked forced, but he slung his bookbag over his shoulder and walked over.

"Is there a problem?" Gil gave Charlie a narrow look, and saw his pinched expression turn ugly with rage. "You okay?" Gil added, looking back at Nick.

"I’m fine," Nick said tightly. "Let’s go up."

"It isn’t that easy, Nick," Charlie interrupted in a harsh voice. He took a few steps toward them, giving Gil a good view of his appearance. Not as clean-cut as their first meeting; hair unkempt, rumpled button-down shirt and jeans. His cheeks bore a couple of days’ stubble. "You don’t get to just walk away. You hear me? I’m not going to let you do that!"

Nick spun around so fast it took Gil a little by surprise. "You don’t ‘let’ me do anything," Nick hissed, stabbing a finger at Charlie for emphasis. "You and me don’t exist, don’t you get it? We haven’t existed for months! Reality check, all right? Over! O-V-E-R, get it? So stop fucking -- stalking me! Stay the hell away from me!" He turned again, cheeks ashy pale with anger. "Fuck." He rummaged in his pocket for his keys.

"I just want to talk to you," Charlie said, in an abruptly normal, coaxing voice. He smiled, but his eyes danced with something that set Gil’s hackles rising. A bright, hectic light, completely belying the friendly gesture. "I mean, get some things straight. As it were." His laugh was artificial, and disturbing.

"We got less than nothing to talk about, Charlie," Nick told him, shaking his head. "Go away. Just go away." He turned to walk to the door, and Gil saw Charlie’s brittle smile disintegrate, leaving behind a glare of rage and a horrible longing.

Instead of following Nick, Gil stood very still. "You heard him," he said calmly, hiding his own tension with practiced control. "It’s time for you to go. Unless you’d like us to take this to the next level. Do I need to make a call?"

If Charlie’s look at Nick had been unhappy desire, it was pure loathing for Gil. The power of that stare impressed even Gil. "Oh, it’s the flavor of the month," he remarked icily. "Your turn next, you know. Once you fuck him, it’s all over."

"That’s not your problem. And unless you want a brand-new problem that’s all yours, such as a call to the police, I suggest you beat it."

"Fuck you!" Charlie snarled. But his eyes were starry with tears. "You don’t understand. You don’t fucking MATTER. What the fuck do YOU know?"

"Get in your car and drive away. If you still care about him, do him that much of a favor, all right?" Gil swallowed a surge of hot anger of his own, and walked up the path to the door.

"You’ll see!" Charlie yelled behind him, voice cracking. "I’m you, in a couple of months! You’ll be just like me!"

"I doubt that very much," Gil remarked without looking back.

Inside the air seemed dry and far too cold. Nick stood by the elevators, leaning against the wall, bag dropped at his feet. He looked up from studying the floor, already shaking his head. "I’m sorry, you know, it’s just --"

"Let’s go on up," Gil interrupted briskly, walking over to stab the call button.

"I don’t --"

Gil glanced at him, and something in his look stopped Nick cold. Instead of continuing, Nick nodded very slowly, and when the elevator arrived, he got in silently.

Inside the apartment, Gil waited for the thud of Nick’s bag hitting the floor before he drew a long breath. "You’ve been holding out on me," he observed tonelessly. His heart thudded in his chest.

Nick frowned, looking honestly rattled. "No, I haven’t."

"How long has he been doing this? Since my last visit? All this time?"

"Not all the time." Nick met his eyes briefly, and then sighed. He walked over to the couch and sat down heavily. "I keep thinking he’ll get the message," he continued slowly. "And for a while he’ll disappear, you know? But then he’s back, freaking the hell out. I don’t –"

"Did Nigel Crane teach you nothing?"

Nick blinked. "N --"

"You think you can reason with someone like Crane, or Charlie?" Gil had to swallow; his mouth was paper-dry. He took a few steps, skirting the couch, heading for the window. "You can’t reason with a stalker," he said hoarsely. "What else has he done that you haven’t told me?"

Nick didn’t say anything for a moment, and that was all Gil’s nerves needed to finish the process of shattering. He turned, gazing aghast at Nick’s pale face. "There have been other things, haven’t there? Jesus God almighty, Nick. Why didn’t you tell me?"

"Because it’s not that big a deal," Nick shot back, forehead creasing with worry. "Just somebody who can’t take no for an answer."

"What has he done? Tell me!"

Nick leaned back, hands lying loosely in his lap. "He calls," he said tiredly. "Hangs out at school sometimes, got his hands on my schedule, I don’t know. Shows up here sometimes. You saw him."

Gil nodded tightly. "And that’s it? What are you leaving out? He attacked you last summer, Nick, I know he’s capable of violence. Don’t try to bullshit me on that."

"Nothing that big. Believe that," Nick added intensely. "I told you I can take care of myself, and I can. I’m not afraid of him."

"I can handle a lot of things. A LOT of things. But one thing I can’t handle is you lying to me." His throat was aching savagely, and he realized he was appallingly close to -- something, he didn’t want to think what. "And a lie of omission is still a lie. You didn’t tell me Charlie was still a problem of this magnitude. Don’t you think I needed to know that? Don’t you think that’s something you should have told me?"

Nick sucked on his lower lip for a moment, and then nodded slowly. "I’m sorry. I don’t think he’s as big a problem as you do, all right? But I’m sorry I didn’t tell you." His eyes were dark and sad and watchful. "He’s no Nigel Crane, though, man, you gotta believe that. All he does is -- I don’t know, try to win me back or something. And we both know that’s not gonna happen. Not in a million centuries."

Gil let go of a long breath, feeling the deep hot ache in his muscles. Pure adrenaline. "We know that," he agreed after a pause. "But Charlie doesn’t. Don’t underestimate him. Please? Tell me that much. You won’t get taken by surprise."

"What do you want me to do? Take out a restraining order? I mean --"

"That’d be a good start, yes." Gil walked over to the couch and lowered himself onto the cushion. "A very good start."

Nick reached up and rubbed his forehead. "We both know how much good that’d do," he retorted darkly. "It’s not worth it."

"Don’t say that," Gil snapped with sudden fury. "Don’t you say that."

Nick drew back, eyes wide again, and Gil found a hard grin on his own face. "You say anything like your life isn’t worth a little trouble like that, and so help me God I’m walking out that door, Nick. This thing works both ways, you got it? I care about you, and you care about me, and part of that is that you understand that I care, that what happens to you matters to me. You understand? So maybe you think you can handle Charlie. Fine, that’s all just fine and dandy. But you call the cops for ME! Fuck what you need! You do it for ME!"

Nick sat frozen for a moment, staring at him. And then he nodded minutely. "Jesus. Okay, I’ll make the call. What -- Why is this freaking you out so bad?"

It rocked him a little, that question. So honest, and the answer was on his lips before he bit it back, horrified that he’d come so close to saying it out loud, admitting it. And then something else made it out of his throat, something equally unplanned.

"Because I love you," Gil said hoarsely, and stood very, very still. Too goddamn revealing, and true? As true as what he hadn’t said? Was it?

Nick’s face crumpled a little, leaving him looking painfully young and absolutely stunned. "Oh man," he blurted in a funny warbly voice. He got to his feet and came over, plastering himself against Gil’s tense form and pressing his face against Gil’s shoulder. "Gil."

Putting his arms around Nick felt like directing an automaton: he couldn’t quite feel Nick’s shirt under his fingers, the tense play of Nick’s muscles. His hands felt numb, alien. Far from blurting anything else surprising, his tongue felt dry, cleaving to the roof of his mouth.

As soon as he comfortably could he disengaged himself, trying not to see the intensity in Nick’s dark eyes. "I’m sorry I – said those things. I was worried."

Nick nodded, mouth curving in a gentle, terrible smile. "I see that," he agreed. "I love you, too, you know," he added, and placed a soft kiss at the corner of Gil’s mouth.

"That’s good to know," Gil said after a strangled moment. He took another step back.

"You okay?" Nick’s smile faded, leaving him looking worried. "Gil?"

"I’m fine." Gil made himself smile, felt the insincerity of it as if it were a ten-foot neon sign, screaming the lie at Nick so clearly he couldn’t miss it. "Bathroom. Give me a minute?"

Nick nodded slowly, and Gil kept the smile until he was walking away, skulking away, wasn’t he? He shut the door to Nick’s tiny, tidy bathroom and leaned against the counter, staring at himself. The mirror’s reflection was pitiless. Gray hair, lines on his face, old, goddamn it he was so old, looked old and felt ancient. Too damn old to be doing this, this youthful folly, falling in LOVE, what kind of Harlequin bullshit was that? Lust, that was fine, desire, fondness, even a bit of geriatric infatuation, sure. Understandable. But this was –- what?

He rubbed his eyes and then splashed water on his face. When he looked at himself again he saw a far more reassuring image. Calm, unrevealing. Not that brief, raw glimpse of something he hadn’t thought would ever come again, could not come again because such things didn’t, no one had two chances, that kind of crap was for movies and bad novels, not reality.

He flushed the toilet to give a fumbling excuse for his being there, dried his face on a towel. And when he walked out, the robotic feeling was gone, the control was back. Where it belonged, where it must stay, MUST, because the alternative was too terrifying to face.

"You said something about dinner," he told Nick, smiling much more easily now. Just get through it, Gil. Just do what you have to do. And he won’t know. Not yet, maybe not ever.

"Sure," Nick said, and grinned so beautifully Gil wanted to turn and run, escape that too-handsome face, that dangerous sweetness and core of inner strength that had drawn him, snared him, made him lose his focus and his resolve until it was almost too late.

Almost.

"How about Thai?" He lifted his chin in the direction of the door. "Didn’t you say there’s a Thai place not far from here?"

He watched Nick pick up his keys, listened to him talk about the restaurant, how good it was, and inexpensive, always a plus, and a part of him sat back and started to plan how soon he could get away.

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

"So did you get everything?"

Gil glanced over and then finished zipping his bag. "Think so. I didn’t bring that much."

"I looked around. Didn’t see anything."

"Then I’m sure I got it all."

When he stood up, Nick nodded. His face was tight with unhappy tension. "I wish you weren’t going," he said thickly.

"I have to get back, Nick. Time and work wait for no man."

"I know." Nick nodded again and crossed his arms over his chest.

"We should load up," Gil added, with a meaningful look at his watch. "If we want to beat traffic."

"Right. Okay."

But at the door Nick paused, holding Gil’s carryon dangling in his hand. "Wait a minute."

"What?"

"Doesn’t this feel wrong to you?" Nick’s sorrowing eyes seemed to bore a hole in his forehead, trying to peel back the layers, see inside his mind. "What is it? What’s wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong," Gil said evenly. "We knew this wouldn’t be easy."

"I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about – this." Nick made an awkward gesture with his free hand, pointing to Gil and then to himself. "Something changed. Didn’t it?"

Gil sighed. "Nick, nothing changed. But we’re under the gun here, okay? And at this rate I’m going to miss my flight. Can we talk about this on the way to the airport?"

Nick’s eyes met his briefly, and then flickered away. "Sure. Yeah, you’re right."

Traffic was surprisingly light, and they made good time. But only translocation right to the site would have prevented Nick from having the time to bring it up again. Which he did, as soon as they were on the highway.

"Did I do something?"

"Nick, relax. Please. The issue isn’t something you did or didn’t do. Believe that, okay?"

Nick thumped on the steering wheel with the heel of one hand. "Then what is the issue?" he snapped, shooting Gil a dark look. "Because it’s obviously something, because you’ve been so fucking weird the past two days."

Drawing a deep breath, Gil turned toward him. "I think we need to slow down," he said after a moment. "That’s all. It feels rushed to me."

"What feels rushed? I mean, I can handle taking it slower. I just can’t handle – this."

"Handle what?"

Nick glared at the road ahead, brows drawn together in a thunderous frown. "You acting like my goddamn boss or something again," he muttered.

Gil blinked. "Your boss?"

"Whatever, sure as hell not my lover," Nick snapped.

"Okay. How do you expect me to act? What am I doing that’s not on your acceptable list of behaviors?"

"One minute you were there, man! You were with me, and then five seconds later you weren’t. And you haven’t been, not since then." Nick swallowed. "You know, you could treat me like this back in Vegas and there wasn’t much I could do about it. Not then. But this isn’t Vegas and I’m not that Nick, okay? So cut the shit, all right? You got regrets, just fucking say it. Just don’t shut me out!"

Gil reached out and gripped Nick’s wrist, tightly. "Nick, listen to me. Please." Gil sighed. "It’s not regrets. I promise you that. Please believe that. Do you?"

After a pause Nick produced a tiny shrug. "Okay. Then what?"

"Think about it. We knew from the start that I had to leave in two weeks. It’s put us under the gun, trying to fit a lot of things into a very short time frame. And I don’t think that’s the best way to start a relationship."

"So why didn’t you just say that? Instead of treating me like your damn colleague again?"

Gil drew his hand back. "Maybe because I didn’t know I felt that way myself until you asked. Nick -- This is all new for you. Not just you and me, but everything. You’re just getting your feet under you. And –"

"This is about my parents, isn’t it?" Nick’s jaw spasmed visibly. "I knew you’d bring that up. I KNEW it."

"Well, that wasn’t all I was referring to, but sure, let’s start with that." Tempering his voice to be as warm as he could make it, Gil continued, "I’m not complaining about it, I’m simply reminding you of the facts. You’re juggling a lot of issues right now, Nick. Coming out isn’t a small thing; it’s a major life step. Maybe some time is a good idea, in case things change."

"Unless what changes? Unless I decide I’m not gay?" Nick’s eyes were suspiciously bright, but with such fire in them Gil wasn’t sure that was tears or fury. Maybe both. "I’ve had a long, long time to wonder about that, Gil. You think this is new? Give me a break, man, I’m not just experimenting here! It took me ten goddamn YEARS to get this far, and you can be damn sure that I’m sure this is the right thing." He swallowed. "Or you talking about something else? You think I’m gonna change my mind about this? Me and you?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"Oh, for Christ’s sake. JESUS, don’t you fucking turn this around on me! What have I done to make you think that? Nothing! I’m here," Nick said savagely, nostrils flared. "And you -- You haven’t been. Not since Friday. So who’s changing their mind? Because from where I sit it sure as shit isn’t me!"

His stomach felt sour, and Gil swallowed a throat full of bile. "I didn’t say I was changing my mind. But I am saying I think it’s wise to take our time. We live hundreds of miles apart. It’ll be hard, Nick, you know that. And I want us both to be sure it’s worth it. That’s all I’m saying."

"I know it’s gonna be hard, but I think it’s worth it. I’m giving it everything I’ve got. You want me to come out to my parents, okay! I’ll do that."

"I want you to do that when you’re ready to do it. Don’t do it for me; do it for you."

Nick snorted. "And till I do that you’re gonna hold back, because I’m not what? Committed enough?"

"I didn’t say that."

"Didn’t have to."

Gil faced forward, feeling suddenly exhausted, and terribly sad. Two days ago all he’d been able to think about was this moment, getting away, getting some space, room to think. Now that it was here, the relief he’d expected was missing. In its place was a deep, hollow ache in his chest, and something he knew was fear.

"In about half an hour I’m getting on a plane," Gil said after a long fraught moment. "And I don’t know when I can come back, or if you’ll ever come back to Las Vegas. The other day you asked me, what about your life? And you have every right to ask that. I just wonder in two years if your life is still going to include me. If it even should."

"I wonder," Nick replied tightly, "if you’re ever going to acknowledge that that is my choice to make. When you’ll stop thinking you already know what I’m going to do. You don’t know that. Can’t you trust me that far?"

They drove in silence, and when Nick pulled up in front of the terminal entrance, Gil risked a look at him. Nick’s face was sickly pale, mouth a straight line of anger and hurt. He turned off the engine and climbed out of the car without saying anything, and Gil followed suit. Popping the trunk, Nick took out Gil’s bags and set them on the curb.

"You’ll get a ticket parking here," Gil said slowly.

"I don’t care." Nick’s expression morphed into pure misery. "Where’s your gate?"

"I can get the bags. Look, I’ll call you when I get home, okay? And I meant what I said: be careful about Charlie. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself?"

"That’s it?" Nick whispered. "That’s all you’re gonna say?"

"Let’s talk later. Please, Nick. Time apart will give us space to think about things. Both of us."

"But you’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?" Nick looked away, blinking. His throat worked as he swallowed. "You got it all figured out. Just like always."

"You told me not to tell you what you’re thinking," Gil said sharply. "Do me the same courtesy."

"What else can I do? You won’t tell me. You don’t tell me anything."

His chest ached savagely as he bent to grasp the handles of his bags. "I’ll tell you when I’m ready," he said more curtly than he’d intended. "You’ll have to be satisfied with that."

With jerky movements Nick slammed the trunk lid. "Okay, well." He nodded, keys jingling in his hand. "When you get ready to tell me what you’re really thinking, you know where to find me." His smile was coldly beautiful, and terrible. "But I can guess. And that’s about all I can do, isn’t it? Why don’t you think about that, when you get back to Vegas?"

"Nick –"

But he was already walking back to the driver’s-side door, climbing in. Gil stood watching, the ache in his chest curdling into real pain. When the Impala had disappeared into traffic he hefted the bags in his hands and turned to walk inside the terminal.

X.

He found Warrick lurking outside the DNA lab. "Yo, it’s the man himself." Warrick’s eyebrows lifted as he walked over, reaching out to shake Gil’s hand. "Thought you might not come back."

Gil smiled tiredly. "And yet here I am." He glanced around. "How’s it been? Or dare I ask that?"

"Been an interesting couple of weeks. Not too bad, though. Cath’ll catch you up." Warrick kept on looking at him. "So? How was your trip?"

"Interesting," Gil quipped, feeling his smile fading. "I need to get to my office. Come by when you have the chance."

"Will do. Hey, good to have you back."

"Thanks."

Catherine was waiting for him, as he’d thought she might be. She looked casual and young in a pristine white shirt. "Ah, the prodigal Grissom," she said laconically, grinning. "Heard a rumor you were back, had to check it out myself."

He smiled and let her precede him into the office. "And here I am." He set his briefcase on the desk and took in the daunting pile of message slips on the blotter. "How’d it go?"

"Let’s see." She took a seat in the chair opposite his desk and crossed her legs. "Warrick quit, Brass got fired, and Sara got pissed at a suspect and shot him. Other than that it was a piece of cake."

He snorted. "If I hadn’t already seen Warrick you might have gotten my interest with that."

"Darn. I was so hoping."

"So things went fine." He sat down.

"We noticed you were gone. But we handled it. You’ve got good people here, Gil. Even in your absence."

"I know."

"But as it happens you’re just in time. Ron Henderson’s up for parole."

Gil nodded slowly. "Brass mentioned that a couple of days ago on the phone," he said slowly. "I assume I’ll need to testify."

Catherine shrugged. "Considering how hard it was to get that conviction I’d think you’d be all over it. At least by what you’ve told me."

"It was a long time ago."

"Don’t tell me you’re gonna let your first big conviction in Vegas walk after only serving half his sentence? You going soft on me?"

Gil reached out and picked up the stack of messages. "Not as such, no. Anything happen I need to be aware of?"

Catherine pointed at the table to the right, and Gil took in the stack of files. "You can have a look for yourself. Pretty much business as usual. Sara’s out doing some more work on the jumper case we got last night. I’m supposed to meet Jim about ten minutes ago to talk to the guy they brought in for questioning. Arson," she added at Gil’s questioning look. "Kind of a tough case. Not sure what we’ve got yet."

"Keep me informed."

"You know it." She cocked her head to the side. "So you going to tell me anything about your vacation?"

"Such as?"

"Did you have fun, how was Dallas, did you go anywhere else – you know."

"Yes, fine, and no."

"How’s Nick?"

Gil started flipping through his messages. "He’s also fine. He sends his love."

"So you did see him?"

"Of course I did."

"You could go into a little more detail, you know." Catherine sighed. "I keep meaning to call him, but you get busy, and it just never happens. Is he happy?"

Stung, Gil glanced at her. "Happy?"

Catherine nodded slowly. Her eyes felt uncomfortably assessing. "You know," she said softly. "That state where you feel pretty good? Is he doing okay?"

"He’s doing fine," Gil replied gruffly. "Still in school. Busy."

"I gotta call him."

"He’d like that, I’m sure."

"Okay. I gotta run. Listen, let me take you to dinner later. All right?"

"I’m pretty busy right now. Maybe –"

"You’ll need to talk to me anyway," she interrupted breezily, standing up. "I’ll be back in a few hours. Paco’s?"

After a moment he nodded, and she grinned. "Welcome back, Gil. We missed you."

"Thanks," he said to her retreating back.

He hadn’t been lying about it. Between messages, calls he needed to return, cases that needed his attention, he had more than he could handle for one night. But five minutes after Catherine left he found himself staring at the same pink slip of paper, not reading the faintly irate message from one of the assistant DAs.

Nick hadn’t answered the phone when he’d called. Not really that surprising, was it? It was a duty call, one he’d said he’d make but had no idea what he would say. But instead he’d left a vague message, shamefully glad he hadn’t had to say more.

Nick didn’t call back. Gil spent the day unpacking, feeling unsettled and tense and out of sorts. The relief he’d waited for was absent. It was supposed to feel good to be home, to have the distance he’d so craved before. But all it did was give him time to think, to second-guess himself. To start to hate himself for all that he hadn’t said when he had the chance.

By evening Nick still hadn’t called. And Gil went to the lab forcing that fact to the back of his mind. Nick would be all right. He was young, he was resilient. Maybe it was for the best after all.

Now, surrounded by the detritus of his job, back where he had always believed he belonged, he felt like an imposter. Before this, he’d have been elated to have work to do, fascinated. Now he just felt tired, and obscurely afraid. Old, ingrown fear, so entrenched he had no idea how he’d ever let go of it. It was a part of him.

By the time Catherine returned he’d had visits from several other people. Sara, both welcome and oddly tiresome. Warrick again, with news about a couple of other long-term cases and a few new stories to tell, all of which should have interested him, but didn’t. Some others. He did his best to pay attention, but the distant feeling persisted. Catherine’s appearance didn’t surprise him, but only made him feel a bit more tired.

"You look like you need a drink or five," she observed, leaning against the door jamb.

He sighed and put down the file he was desultorily reading. "Probably," he conceded. "Now I remember why I haven’t taken a vacation for so long."

She lifted her chin. "Come on. It’ll keep."

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

"So Jim stands up, gets this look on his face. You know, that friendly look, the one he uses? And he goes, ‘I’ve been at this game a long time, Mr. Henderson. A hell of a long time, a lot longer than you have. And I can promise you I’m a lot better at it, too. So why don’t you just cut the shit and tell us why you bought all this crap? Because if it wasn’t meant to set fire to your ex-wife’s house, and you can’t prove you were about to strip the paint off a building about the size of the Pentagon, I’m going to arrest and charge you. You with me so far?’" She grinned and sipped her drink. "The guy looked like he was about to cry."

"I take it he confessed?"

"Couldn’t get the words out fast enough. And you know? It was all that smile. Man, Jim’s used that smile on me once or twice, and it’s scary as hell. You know what I’m talking about."

Gil smiled and stuck his fork into his food. "He’s a formidable man," he said, nodding. "Good thing he’s on our side."

"I’ll say." Catherine ate a bite of her chicken and set down her utensils. "So you gonna tell me what really happened?"

He glanced at her. "Happened?"

"Because I’ve been practicing the Jim Brass Look, and I think I got it down." Her smile was a little forced. "Don’t make me use it on you."

The fish tasted sour, and he washed it down with a sip of wine. "Why do you think something happened?"

"Answering a question with a question, okay. That’s all the proof I need." Catherine sighed and shook her head. "You look bad, Gil," she continued baldly. "You don’t look like you just had your first vacation in decades. You know what you look like? Like you just got back from a funeral."

"Sorry," he said softly.

"Is it Nick?"

He met her gaze with effort, feeling his heart lurch in his chest. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I know you, and I know that look." She picked up her glass but didn’t drink. "And I think Nick’s why you stayed in Dallas for two weeks, and why you always sounded so happy when I talked to you on the phone. And now you don’t look happy, you don’t sound happy. I think Nick is why."

"Sounds like you’ve given this some thought."

She nodded. "So you’re not denying it?"

"No." He paused. "Although I’d prefer it didn’t become public knowledge."

Her shrug said that was a given. "Just between you and me. Nick’s gay?"

"That’s for him to say. I can’t –"

"No, I got it." She waved impatiently. "Did he tell you not to tell anyone?"

"Not as such."

"Wow." Catherine sagged back in her chair. "So was this the reason he left?"

Wishing for another glass of wine, Gil nodded slowly. "At least in part, I think."

"And you?"

"What do you want me to say?" he asked a little tersely. "There were – developments, yes. But it’s not simple."

"Of course it’s not," she replied tartly. "This is you we’re talking about. Ain’t ever simple."

He put on a company smile. "We’ll see how things work out. But really, Catherine, I wouldn’t make too much out of it. Nick is at a very particular place in his life. Very different from me."

"It doesn’t have to always be this way, Gil," she said gently. Her fingers were cool on his wrist. "No one’s going to criticize you for getting on with your life. You know that, right?"

Did he? He gazed at her, thunderstruck, before trying to recover. "Of course I know."

"And Nick’s a great guy. Quirky," she added with a grin. "But great. Why not just enjoy it?"

He smiled down at his plate. "I’ll do my best."

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

When he got home the next morning, Nick hadn’t called. A part of Gil hated his own disappointment. How jejune of him: As he’d so insisted, Nick was in fact a grownup. He could call or not call, his decision. And if that decision had been influenced by Gil’s own words and actions, so be it.

He went to bed and tried not to think of any of it. And mostly he succeeded.

A few days after his return to work, Catherine mentioned trying to call Nick. "Trying," since he hadn’t picked up or returned her message. Gil nodded, said something about how busy Nick was with school and activities, and put that information in the same tightly locked mental box as the rest.

But by that weekend his resolve was fraying. Oh, he understood that Nick was angry, and probably hurt. But nothing Gil had said had been wrong. To Nick those two weeks had constituted some sort of real relationship, and that was too goddamn fast. Barely enough time to start discovering each other’s quirks, much less truly cementing some kind of bond.

Besides, whispered that voice he’d first heard in Nick’s apartment a week ago, isn’t it better this way? There’s no commitment, and therefore there’s no risk. You swore you wouldn’t take that risk again, and now you don’t have to.

And yet it was so tempting. Just to call, just to hear Nick’s voice, forget the doubts for a moment and relish that familiar voice. Even if it couldn’t last, even if it was misbegotten from the start, just to know he was all right.

He gave in on Sunday. Finger shaking as he punched out the numbers, palms damp. Feeling ridiculous, and eager, and more afraid than he’d realized he’d feel. What the hell. At least he could make sure of things.

But Nick didn’t answer, and this time the answering machine coolly informed him there was no more room for messages. Gil hung up slowly, missing the cradle entirely and only realizing it when he heard the phone hit the floor.

Nick hadn’t gotten his messages. Not for a while, not if there were enough to fill up his answering machine’s memory. And why was that? Had something happened? Was that something named Charlie?

It was hard to breathe, his terror was so immediate. Like a choking, cloying miasma, suffocating him, making it impossible to think or plan. He hadn’t called because he couldn’t, did you think about that? Not because he’s stubborn, not because he’s got a broken heart over boyfriend Gil breaking up with him or he’s too angry to call. Because he wasn’t able to call.

And there was absolutely nothing he could do about any of it. No one he could call, not without jeopardizing Nick’s little house of secret cards. His mother, his father? Could be done, but would Nick thank him for it later? Almost certainly not. Nick would have to be dying before he’d --

He shied sharply away from that thought, feeling his gut clench painfully tight. And sitting in his quiet, empty living room, he told himself all the reassuring things he could think of. Nick’s capable of taking care of himself. Nick had been a damn police officer, and it might have been years but surely he could stay out of reach of someone like Charlie. He knew the score; he wasn’t that stupid. And if Charlie had become more of a problem than before, it would explain Nick perhaps staying someplace besides his apartment for the moment. He had family, he had friends. He had resources.

But Gil didn’t sleep well that night. And when he woke, far too early, he made coffee he couldn’t taste and sat staring at the phone, waiting for a time when he could try again.

That time was 9:00, and his heart nearly stopped when it picked up. But the voice that answered wasn’t Nick’s.

"Hello?" Female, sounding tired.

Gil sat up, frowning. "May I speak with Nick, please?"

"Who’s calling?"

"Gil. I’m -- a friend."

There was a pause, and when the woman spoke again her tone was frosty. "I don’t think he wants to talk to you right now."

"Who is this?"

"This is Jamie. Look, haven’t you done enough already?"

Gil swallowed. "Jamie? You’re the sister in Chicago."

She gave a brittle laugh. "Yeah, until you decided to fuck with my little brother, at which point I came to Dallas."

His skin prickled with a formless itch of foreboding. "Tell me what’s going on. Please? I just -- I’ve been worried, and –"

Her crisp words cut him off as cleanly as a sharp blade. "Look, Gil – whoever you are – I got here last night and found out Nick hadn’t even been out of bed in a week. Okay? So screw your worry. You did what you did and walked away, and –"

There was some kind of noise, voices arguing, and then Gil flinched when Nick’s voice came over the receiver. "Gil?"

"Nick? My God, I –"

"Just a second. No," he said from what seemed like a foot from the phone. "Just calm down, all right? I can handle it." He cleared his throat. "She’s a little pissed at you."

"I noticed." Gil had to swallow. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

Nick’s laugh sounded high and odd, like a stranger’s. "Me? Never better, man. What do you think?"

"Nick –"

"No, really, Gil. What do you expect me to say? I’m dealing."

"I didn’t mean to hurt you."

"Bullshit. You didn’t care about that, you just wanted to get away. Well, you’re there and I’m here, and life goes on."

Hands so cold he could barely feel the receiver, Gil said, "You never answered the phone. I called. I tried, Nick."

"Gil, what do you want from me? You want me to tell you it’s okay? You want me to say it means as little to me as it did to you?"

"I never said that. I didn’t."

"You showed it by what you did. You went from hot to cold in 0.5, man. Believe me, it came across loud and clear."

His heart was going far too fast. Gil swallowed. "There are – things," he said thickly. "Things I haven’t told you."

Nick snorted. "Yeah, no shit. So why don’t you try telling me?"

Closing his eyes, Gil said, "I’m not ready."

"Well, there’s a surprise."

"Jamie said you hadn’t gone to class."

"So what," Nick muttered.

"Please don’t let me cost you that."

"I told you already: I’m a grownup. I can make my own decisions. If I wanna ditch class, I’ll ditch. It’s not your problem."

"Has Charlie been around?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Really. Jesus, Gil. What do you want from me? Why are you calling? So you can make yourself feel better about it? So you can hang up and say everything’s okay because Charlie isn’t around? Tough. Everything is not okay. You got that? It’s not."

Nick’s voice had gotten hoarse during that bitter speech, and Gil felt his own throat aching with acid regret. "I don’t want this to end, Nick," he said when Nick didn’t add anything else. "I don’t. I just needed some – breathing room. Can you understand that?"

He heard Nick swallow. "You got all you want now," Nick said, and sniffed.

I’m doing the best I can, Gil wanted to protest. I’ve already done so much more than I ever thought I could again. You’ve already gotten more of me than anyone has in twenty years. Isn’t that enough? But none of it was anything but bitter whining, and he pushed it away. "Yes, I do," Gil agreed softly.

Nick sniffed again, and this time Gil could hear the tears in his voice clearly. "You know what really sucks about all this?" Nick said jerkily. "It sucks that I miss you so fucking bad. You pissed me off so bad, I’m so goddamn mad at you, and I’d give anything if you’d just get on a plane and come back. Anything."

"Nick –"

"I don’t want to talk to you anymore," Nick interrupted. "Not right now. I ne -- I need some space of my own, okay, so just – don’t call me for a while. Lemme think."

Gil nodded slowly to himself. "Okay," he said softly. "I understand that."

Nick sounded like he had a cold. "Okay. Bye."

"Bye, Nick."

He hung up slowly, and had to try four times before he could swallow past the throbbing lump in his throat.

XI.

It was more difficult than he’d hoped. Some errant part of him, lagging behind, believing that distance would make the heart grow less fond, or something. But as days went by, it didn’t get better. And he hated that, as much as he realized bleakly, more and more, that any protestations he made about needing space and time, and Nick’s unsettled personal life, were just empty words. Not talking to Nick, not seeing him, not knowing how he was, ate at him like a cancer.

And the pain of that cancerous loss showed, too. He knew it showed, and yet there was nothing he could do to prevent it. It seeped through the cracks, pushed and pressed, until he felt like a poorly mended dike, just a few bricks and his own fingernails holding himself together.

He wasn’t accustomed to being transparent. He didn’t like it.

"What is UP with you?" Catherine finally snapped, casting him a hot glare from across the room. "I don’t give a crap about which of us does what, but would you stop hounding me? I know how to do my job!"

Gil fought down a wave of absolute despair. "I’m sorry," he said after a moment. "That was uncalled-for."

"Sure was. I learned to lift prints quite some time ago, Gil, and I don’t need a goddamn refresher course."

He nodded.

It was unexpected, this – picking he was doing. Checking up on people. Nosing into their business. As if he couldn’t find enough to occupy his mind with his own work and supervisory duties, but had to…dig. And Catherine wasn’t the only one noticing. Everyone was, and it wasn’t because they were suddenly astoundingly astute. He wasn’t hiding it well. He was annoying, brusque, and very much everything he tried not to be as a boss.

And even then it wasn’t anything he felt he could stop. Because on the other side of those blunt hard-edged emotions was raw pain, and he had to draw the line somewhere. It was that or fall apart, and he wasn’t going to do that. Not yet. Not ever.

Later that night Jim Brass stuck his head in Gil’s office. His expression was cautious. "Got a minute?"

"Less than that," Gil said without looking up. "More on Alvarez?"

"Found the girlfriend. Warrick’s taking care of it."

"Then you don’t need me, do you?"

Brass stepped inside. "I didn’t come here to talk about John Alvarez," he said steadily.

Gil sighed and put his pen down. "What did you come here to talk about?"

"You."

"I’m not on the agenda today, Jim. Try me some other time."

"I think I better try you right now." Brass sat down across from him. His gruff features were composed. "What’s wrong?"

Gil put his glasses back on and met his gaze briefly before shaking his head. "I’m overworked, we all are," he said briefly. He took up his pen again. "Any more questions?"

"I’ve seen overworked, and this isn’t it."

"Well, what is it then, Jim?" Gil snapped, leaning back. "You’ve got all the answers – you tell me."

"You turned into an asshole, that’s what," Brass shot back. He snorted. "I mean, you always were, to some extent. But now? You’re making Ecklie look reasonable."

Gil raised his eyebrows. "Is that it? Can I go back to work now, or do you have any other pithy observations you care to make about my character, or lack thereof?"

"Sure, I can keep going." Brass leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "You’re driving your team insane, and me, with ‘em. You double-check work you wouldn’t have given a second thought to a year ago. You got Sara so freaky she’s worked 80-hour weeks twice running. Catherine’s about to kick your ass, and I’m gonna fight her for the honor."

Dark, oily anger curled in his belly. "Anything else?" Gil whispered.

"Stop ripping the uniforms a new asshole at scenes. They’re just doing their jobs, Gil, they don’t work for you."

"So noted."

Brass stared at him. A muscle ticked in his jaw. "What’s going on, Gil?" he asked softly. "You’re falling apart. And you’re trying to take all of us with you."

Gil sighed. "I’m far from falling apart. You’re exaggerating."

"No, I don’t think I am. You know what Warrick said to me a couple of hours ago? He said, ‘Jim, man, I don’t know what crawled up Grissom’s ass. But it’s starting to make the other grass look greener.’ I asked him what he was talking about. Turns out he’s had a couple of offers. Good ones. And he’s thinking about them." Brass swallowed. "You gonna let this go until you drive away the best team you could ever hope for? Or are you gonna lighten up, talk, and get this out in the open?"

Listening, Gil felt anger turn to surprise, and a deep sense of foreboding. "Warrick’s gotten an offer?" he repeated stupidly.

"Two. And I’ll bet my pension he’s not the only one taking a look at the market right now." He sighed. "Like it or not, believe it or not, it’s that bad. So now are you gonna talk to me like the Gil Grissom I used to work with? Or are you gonna let it all go to hell, because you’re too goddamn stiff-necked to admit there’s something going on?"

Gil stared at him. "They wouldn’t leave. This is a great lab."

"They’d probably all prefer not to. But hell, Gil, they want to work with you, not your evil twin."

"I’m sorry," Gil said slowly. He sat up, feeling a little lightheaded. "I – didn’t realize."

Brass nodded, some of the tension leaving his features. "I know," he said gently. "But now you do. Look, you don’t have to tell me what’s going on. I know there’s something, and that’s all I need to know. But if it’s bad enough to turn you into a megalomaniacal control freak, you gotta think whether or not it’s worth it. Fix it, Gil. Deal with it however you have to. Take up drinking. Do whatever you gotta do, but fix this, because if you don’t, there won’t be a team to work with much longer. You got it?"

Gazing at him, Gil nodded. "Yeah. I got it."

"I mean, as your friend, right? And your colleague. If I didn’t give a shit I wouldn’t be here."

"I know."

Brass gave a fleeting smile. "Okay then. And you know, if you want to talk about it, you got my ear. Whatever you need."

"Thank you."

"Don’t thank me. Thank Catherine for not kicking you in the balls. She wants to."

"Yeah."

After Brass left Gil sat very still, staring at the far wall and not seeing anything. Not hiding it – hell, he’d evidently been broadcasting his problems for the entire department to see and deal with. Now was that the way he perceived himself? As a martinet?

With a feeling of mixed fear and shame he got up slowly and closed the file on his desk. Not worth it. Not if it cost him the people he’d come to depend on, for good work, and say it, friendship.

It took a few minutes to get everyone in the break room. Even included Greg, since he’d felt the edge of Gil’s temper lots more than once the past two weeks. Kid didn’t deserve it. He was damn good at his job, despite some of Gil’s painfully remembered barbs.

He took in their expressions with sadness. They looked as tense as he’d ever seen them, which was saying something. It didn’t help knowing it was his fault. It didn’t help at all.

"I think I owe you all an apology," Gil said after a deep breath. "I haven’t been acting fairly lately, and you deserve far better. I promise I’ll do my best to –" He broke off, searching for words. "I’m sorry," he finally said, shaking his head.

"It’s okay, man," Warrick said into the ensuing awkward silence. "No big."

"No, it’s not okay," Gil replied unevenly. "I’ve let some – personal issues affect my work, and my conduct at work, and that’s not only unprofessional but unfair. So -- Please, when I do things that seem wrong in some way, let me know. I’m not sure I’m very good at knowing the difference."

Sara looked pale, and he saw anger there where he’d missed it before. "We just want to do our jobs," she said in a thin voice. "We can, you know. We know how."

He felt his face coloring. "I know. I agree."

"Okay," Catherine said briskly. Her eyes were too knowing, too seeing, regarding Gil. "So let’s work. What do you say?"

Gil nodded. "Good idea."

Outside the break room Catherine touched his elbow. "You didn’t think you were getting off that easy, did you?" She smiled, but her expression told him she was serious. "We need to talk."

"I know." Gil mustered a half-smile for her. "Breakfast?"

"It’s a date."

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

He sipped Paco’s oily coffee and grimaced when he felt it hit his empty stomach. Normally he relished the espresso-strength brew, but this morning it was like drinking napalm.

"It helped, what you did." Catherine held her cup in both hands, eyeing him over a thin swirl of steam. "Apologizing. People were getting pretty annoyed. Yours truly included."

"I know. Jim read me the riot act. I honestly hadn’t realized."

"Jim’s a good friend. You have no idea how many times he took your back the past couple of weeks." She smiled. "Even had to talk me down a couple of times."

"He’s a good man."

"So are you, Gil. So why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?"

He met her eyes, and looked down again. "It’s complicated."

"I’m going to take a flying leap here and translate that from Grissom-speak. ‘Complicated’ means Nick, doesn’t it?"

He smiled briefly at his hands. "You are a good investigator."

"I do what you taught me. Look at the evidence. And you’ve been the Stepford Man since you came back from Dallas. Frankly if all my cases were this easy I’d be in clover right now. What happened?"

"I think I fucked up," Gil whispered, and felt his throat clench tight.

Catherine was silent for a moment. And then gently she said, "Tell me?"

It took another cup of acidic coffee and most of a meal Gil only picked at to get the story out. He tried to edit, but Catherine’s occasional prompts had him telling more than he wished. So much that telling it he felt he was reliving it. And doing so, he saw what he’d done, all too clearly.

"Well," Catherine said when he’d wound down. She sighed. "You fucked up, Gil. Major."

He coughed out a sad laugh. "I think so."

"You want my advice? Or do you see what you have to do?"

"I see it." He nodded jerkily. "I’m not sure I can do it."

She let it sit for a moment. And then she sighed. "It’s been a long, long time, Gil," she said gently. "And all this time you’ve held yourself back. I know. I know why. But," she added when he glanced at her. "But I think you have to let it go. For good. Twenty years is so long. Isn’t it time?"

Gazing at her, Gil fought down a surge of familiar, terrible grief. Still so ready after all this time. What was the statute of limitations on pain? Twenty years, forty? A lifetime?

"I miss him so much," Gil said in a choked voice. "Oh Jesus, I miss him every day."

Catherine’s eyes were suspiciously bright, but her hand felt warm on his own. "I know," she murmured. "I know you do."

He swallowed painfully and shook his head, glaring down at his half-empty coffee cup. "It wasn’t fair, what I did to Nick," he said painfully. "There’s so much he doesn’t know."

"Then why don’t you tell him?"

"I don’t know."

"I think I do." When he looked up Catherine’s smile was terribly gentle. "Because telling means you’re saying goodbye. And you’ve never been able to do that. But you need to, Gil. You need to live today, not back then. Grab what you have. Nick’s a wonderful man."

"I know," Gil agreed thickly. "He is."

She squeezed his hand. "Then do what’s best for both of you. Talk to him."

"Y-yeah."

"Does he love you?"

Wordless, Gil nodded.

"Do you love him?"

"Yes," Gil rasped.

"Then that’s all you really need, isn’t it?"

After a long moment he nodded again.

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

He tried Nick’s number when he got home, but there was unsurprisingly no answer. That was okay. There would be time later. Time for everything. Just – keep going forward. It was all anyone could do.

He slept hard and dreamlessly, and awoke late. In the rush to get to the lab he forgot about trying Nick again, and resolved to do so once he saw what the night’s roster had in store. Inside it was a bustling hive of activity, and he caught Sara’s overworked smile and returned it briefly before heading for his office.

Which was where Catherine found him, about twenty minutes later. Her face was set in grim lines.

"What?" Gil asked, taking off his glasses and frowning. "Did I do something else?"

"You see the papers today?"

"No. Didn’t have time. Why?"

Catherine pursed her lips. "Nick’s father was officially nominated for the U.S. Supreme Court."

"Really?" Gil smiled. "I knew he was being considered. So the news is out?"

"That’s not all that’s out." She took a copy of American News from her briefcase. "Have a look."

It took him a moment to see what she was talking about. The nomination hadn’t made the top headline, but it was front-page news. There was a picture of Tom Stokes next to the article. Gil scanned it quickly, the usual babble about Tom’s history as a Texas Supreme Court civil justice, record as a hard-line moderate Republican judge in Dallas County, etc., etc. Family mentioned briefly, and so on. Gil glanced up at Catherine. "And?"

Her unhappy look didn’t ease. "Now flip over to page four."

The Stokes article snaked to page four, and he didn’t see anything at first. And then he looked to the right, short companion piece.

"Oh Christ," Gil said weakly.

XII.

He tried Nick's number, and this time the lack of an answer felt sinister. Of course he wasn't home. Or at least not answering -- if this had made the news, there was no telling what sort of reaction he was getting from friends, family.

Family. Gil swallowed. Well, this was one way to clear the air. Not the way Nick would have wanted, that much was certain.

"Gil, I'm really sorry," Catherine said. Her face was a picture of awkward unhappiness. "Jesus. They crucified him."

"Yeah, they did." Gil picked up the phone again. "Anyone else know about this yet?"

"I don't know. Who in the hell did this? Who would do such a thing?"

Gil gave her a grim look. "I have a few ideas," he replied thinly, and hit redial.

Nick still wasn't answering, and the machine didn't even pick up. Great. Was Jamie still there? Screening the calls? Might be a damn good idea right now.

"Gil?"

He nodded absently at her, reaching out to pick up the phone book on the table.

"You want me to take it tonight?"

"I'll be there. Just a second." He dialed fast, and waited through the interminable hold before someone finally picked up. "Yeah. I need a reservation from Las Vegas to Dallas. As soon as possible."

"Gil," Catherine said.

He cast a hot look at her. "He'll need help," he retorted thinly. The reservations clerk on the other end of the phone made a questioning sound. "I'm still here. Yeah, tonight or tomorrow morning at the latest. Standby, whatever you have." He listened, watching Catherine without quite seeing her. "First class is fine. Right." He reeled off his name and information, and finally hung up. "Soonest I can get out of here is 0700 tomorrow morning."

She nodded. "He'll be glad you're there."

"I'm not so sure about that. I'm sorry, Catherine, this is lousy timing. But I'll come back as soon as --"

"Screw that," Catherine interrupted gruffly. She frowned at him. "Nick's just had his personal life telegraphed all over the country. You think I mind holding things down for a week or two so you can help him with that? No problem."

He gave her a brief, grateful smile. "I appreciate it."

He went over a few things with her, but it didn’t take long. She’d just finished covering his ass for weeks; it hadn’t been long enough for him to pile up much she didn’t already know about. "I’ll have to be back by the 24^th," Gil told her, scanning his calendar and trying to care about the dates and appointments he’d scribbled down. "That’s Henderson. But you can take the Eisler testimony, right?"

She nodded. "Not a problem. Anything else?"

Gil gazed at her and shook his head. "Jesus, I don’t really know," he said helplessly. "All I can tell you is to call me if anything comes up. I’ll check in every night, see what’s going on. I won’t be gone so long this time. I can’t be."

"We’ll manage," Catherine said gently. "And if I hit crap we both forgot, I’ll call you. I’ve got your number. Trust me."

Gil nodded. "He isn’t out, Cath. Not to his parents, not his family. This will crush him."

"Well, he is now." Catherine’s half-smile faded. "Who did it?"

"Unless I miss my guess, someone he dumped last summer. He’s been – a problem ever since." Gil snorted. "I gave him the benefit of the doubt before. I won’t make that mistake again."

"Just be careful, okay? There’ll be press everywhere, you know there will."

"That’s what I’m afraid of," Gil agreed softly.

It was past midnight when he finally left, still talking to Brass on his cell phone. But once he was home, stuffing clothes into a carryon bag, it hit him all over again.

Charlie hadn’t minced many words. Whoever he’d found to blab Justice Stokes’ son’s secrets to, they hadn’t edited much. It was all there: Nick’s most difficult secret, the one he was most ill-prepared to make public – in black and white. Gil’s name wasn’t mentioned; the only reference was to an "older male lover." Gil grimly suspected the only reason they hadn’t been specifically linked was because Charlie probably couldn’t remember his name.

Ignoring the hour, he tried Nick’s number several more times. Still nothing. Was he there? Was he out getting plastered? Was he out beating the ever-loving shit out of Charlie? With a flare of red hatred Gil hoped for the latter. Serve the prick right. Even if it did put Nick back in the papers sometime soon.

When he’d packed he lay down, thinking about a couple of hours’ sleep. Fifteen minutes later he got up again, pacing the townhouse, thinking about calling Catherine and apologizing again, trying Nick one more time, maybe calling the goddamn psychic hotline and finding out where in the hell Nick WAS and what was going on. As if Gil didn’t know already, all too well. Nick’s family was exceptionally tight-knit; this sort of news would have been startling even if it had been Nick doing the telling. To read about it in a paper only one step up from a tabloid? For a conservative family with a Supreme Court nominee only just announced? It would be disaster.

His cab got there at five-thirty. Gil sat in the back seat and closed his eyes. Hurry.

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

It felt almost familiar to be back in Dallas. He rented a car – not as smelly as his last one, thank God – and drove with only a cursory glance at the map. The weather was rainy and sullen, a gray gloominess that only heightened his sense of building anxiety.

He could only think to start at Nick’s apartment. Would he be there? Who knew? There had been no answer when he’d called from the plane or the airport, but did that mean he really wasn’t there? Or just not answering? The absolute lack of any information whatsoever was the worst torture he could imagine. His mind coughed out a thousand scenarios, each worse than the last.

With ruthless intent he clamped down on the worry, negotiating heavy Dallas traffic with less difficulty than he’d had the last couple of trips. Nick’s neighborhood felt welcome, familiar buildings and shops and streets. Odd how it had taken such a short time, really, to feel at home visiting Nick. He wouldn’t have thought it would happen at all. Now he saw it had happened when he wasn’t looking.

His mouth was dry as he pulled up in front of Nick’s building. And what exactly was Nick supposed to say when Gil showed up on his doorstep? Come to join the party? Gil put the car in park and drew a deep breath before he stepped out into the drizzling rain.

No one answered when he rang the buzzer. He leaned on it again, scowling, needing something to happen, anything. But there wasn’t anything but silence, the feel of raindrops on the back of his neck.

Gil took a step back and sighed. Well, this was pointless. Now what? Lurk around here to see if Nick showed up? Exited or entered? It had worked once, but twice was pushing it. And standing here it occurred to him just how little he still knew about Nick’s life here. Were there friends he could call? Certainly, but he didn’t have a single number, much less any names. There had been the Julian person, but Gil didn’t remember a thing about him except a rather flamboyant hairstyle. Greg would have approved. Family was out. What exactly would he say? "Hi, I’m the reason Charlie outed your son in front of God and the entire American public, and I know that sucks, but I really need to get in touch with him. Help me out?" If he were they, he knew what he’d have said to that. Fuck off would have been the nicest part.

"Oh, Nicky," Gil whispered, almost silently. "Where the hell are you?"

"Gil?"

It startled a sharp sound of surprise out of him. He whirled, heart suddenly tripping in his chest.

Liz Stokes stood on the sidewalk, only partly visible under a wide black umbrella. She walked up, frowning at him. "Gil?" she repeated.

He nodded jerkily. "Liz." He walked up to her, thinking about shaking her hand and just as quickly deciding against it. Best to see what sort of reception he’d get. If she didn’t stick that umbrella anywhere that required medical attention to remove, he’d probably be all right. "I was looking for Nick."

She didn’t smile, but her expression wasn’t noticeably angry. Tired, very much so. But nothing more. "You came all the way from Las Vegas, just to check on him?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

Feeling a little sheepish, he nodded. "I – heard about it. The paper. And he didn’t answer his phone, and I got worried."

"It was very sweet of you to come." A small smile warmed her angular features. "He’d appreciate it."

Gil swallowed. "Is he here?"

She studied him for a long moment, and then lifted her chin in the direction of a rain-slicked Lexus parked across the street. "Why don’t we go find some coffee? We should talk."

Nodding slowly, Gil said, "All right."

The interior of the Lexus smelled pleasantly of perfume. He waited for Liz to speak, but she seemed content to navigate in silence. It wasn’t far, and he saw with a painful tug in his chest that they were going to the same diner he’d visited with Nick, the night Nick had haltingly admitted he was gay. Small world. Smaller every day.

They ordered coffees, and finally Liz looked directly at him. "You want to know what’s crazy about all this?" she asked.

"What?"

Her smile was tiny and faintly bitter. "We knew all along."

Gil stared at her. "You did?"

"Well, suspected." She sat back to let the waiter place their cups on the table, and then another moment to let him go away before continuing. "This neighborhood, his friends." She shrugged and picked up her spoon. "The paper just confirmed what Tom and I were already pretty sure of."

He watched her spoon sugar into her coffee. "I see," Gil said slowly. "He was -- I think he would have told you himself. Soon."

"I’m sure he would have. Nicky was never all that good at secrets." She smiled again, slightly wider. "Of course bringing you to dinner wasn’t exactly subtle."

Gil lifted his eyebrows, feeling his face heating up. "No, I don’t guess it was."

"Do you love him?"

The bluntness of the question took him completely by surprise; he froze with his coffee cup lifted halfway to his lips. Slowly he placed it back in the saucer. "Yes," he said carefully, meeting her steady gaze. "Very much."

"Did he think we’d hate him for it?" she asked. Her face crumpled a little, and now Gil saw the real feelings behind that professional façade. "Jesus. Did he think we’d disown him or something? We’re not like that. I mean, Tom -- I won’t say he liked it. But half of that at least was reading it in the goddamn newspaper." Her lip curled, and he saw her hand crumpling a napkin into a tight wad. "I wish I knew who leaked that," she added in a low, fierce voice. "I’d kick his sorry ass all the way to Brownsville."

Gil smiled. "Can I help? I’d really like to."

She snorted. "I think there are five or six Stokeses in line before you, but I’ll be happy to add you in." Her half-smile faded. "Tom’s thinking of refusing the nomination. He wasn’t ever sure he wanted it, really. Leave Texas, leave our family –" She shook her head. "It would be an amazing career move. But his heart’s not in it. And now." She swallowed. "This is the sort of thing people do to you when you’re in the public eye. Mudslinging, digging up dirt, making public the most private parts of your lives, and those you love. Don’t get me wrong; Tom and I have been active in politics for a long time. Tom even tried to talk me into a House run last year. I told him I’d prefer to stay right where I am. My father was a senator for fourteen years. I know what can happen."

"I’m sorry," Gil said after a silent, helpless moment. "I’m not even sure what to say."

She drank half her coffee and put the cup back down. "You already said it, by being here, Gil," she said evenly. "Nick’s not doing well."

Gil sat back. "Is he home? Not answering the door?"

Her dark eyes flashed. "Tell me who leaked the story. And I’ll tell you where Nick is."

"Liz. Jesus, I can’t be sure."

"But you have an idea. And you don’t strike me as a man who depends on lucky guesses all that often."

He nodded reluctantly. "I know of someone. He – had a grudge. Nick’s had trouble with him before."

Liz straightened, suddenly seeming far more the DA and not Nick’s mother. "I’m not going to do anything to him. I won’t say that I don’t want to," she added with a fierce smile. "There are lots of things I’d like to do to him. But I want to know who he is, that’s all. Make a note." The curve of her lips was almost cruel, and Gil thought uneasily about getting on her bad side. Elizabeth McMartin would be a formidable enemy. Make no doubt about it.

"His name is Charlie," Gil said softly. "Nick never told me his last name, and I never asked." He made a face. "I wish I had, now."

Liz nodded. "He was – involved with Nick?" she said with obvious effort.

"At one time. It’s been over for months. Since early last summer."

She nodded again, swallowing. "Well, it’s a start," she said, sounding a little too brisk. She cleared her throat. "Nick left last night. He’s staying with Jamie for a while."

"Chicago," Gil breathed.

"Nick and Jamie have always been close. Born less than a year apart." Liz picked up her cup but didn’t drink. "Jamie thought it would give Nick a little space. Until the dust settles."

A lump of terrible sadness filled Gil’s throat. "I need to see him," he said, distantly astonished to find tears prickling his eyes. "I wasn’t – here for him, when he needed me. I just – want to make sure he’s all right. That’s all."

Liz’s forehead furrowed, and she reached out to place cool fingers over Gil’s wrist. "Gil, I don’t claim to – know everything, certainly not about you, or Nick, or you and Nick. I just – he’s my boy, my baby. You understand?" Her eyes were bright with tears. "Will it help him to see you? Will it?"

"I think so," Gil managed. "I hope so. Oh God I hope so."

She squeezed his wrist and withdrew her hand. From inside her purse she took out a tiny pad of paper and pen, and a small, expensive PDA. "This is Jamie’s number and address," she said, writing fast and neatly. When she’d finished copying the information she folded the paper in half and held it out, between index and middle fingers. "I’m not going to tell you to memorize it and then eat it," she said with a half-funny, half-intense smile. "But I am going to tell you that if this contact information gets out, I will hunt you down and cut out your liver. And that’s a promise."

"I understand. I’m not here to harm him, Liz. I swear."

"Then take it." She reached out, and he took the slip of paper.

"Thank you."

Her smile was wobbly now. Tears had smudged her mascara. "Make him happy again," she said hoarsely. "And tell him -- Tell him we will love him no matter who he chooses to be with. He won’t -- He’s afraid to talk to us right now."

Gil nodded. "I’ll tell him."

"We should go." She fished a tissue out of the same capacious purse and wiped quickly under her eyes. When Gil got out a five she didn’t move to object. "I can’t believe we crossed paths. I was just at Nick’s picking up his key. He left it under the mat."

"Very lucky for me."

The drive to his car was another silent few minutes, but after she pulled up alongside the rental Liz put the Lexus in park and leaned over to kiss Gil’s cheek. Surprised, he looked at her.

"Frankly I think Nick has excellent taste," Liz told him, with the first real grin he’d seen since the dinner at her home, weeks before. "Just don’t prove me wrong."

"I won’t."

"Goodbye, Gil."

"Goodbye, Liz."

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

He sat in his car while he called the airlines. The thought of jumping right back on a plane when he’d only arrived a few hours ago didn’t fill him with enthusiasm, but the companion idea that this time he actually knew where Nick was, did. He haggled with three different operators telling him there were no tickets left before he finagled a business-class seat on a mid-afternoon nonstop flight. At least it would still be light outside when he got to Chicago. Been a couple of years since he was there, and he might need all the help he could get.

And he might still need help once he got where he was going, he thought grimly. Because after all that had happened, Gil just might be the last person Nick wanted to see.

He pushed that fearful thought away and put the rental car in gear.

His mind was filled with thoughts of Chicago and Nick, and he almost missed the tall form standing outside the store at the corner of Cedar Spring. Braking sharply, Gil stared out the window. And then he gritted his teeth and pulled over.

It took a second for him to be recognized. He didn’t bother smiling. "I hope Nick gave you those," Gil said thinly.

Charlie’s face was bruised, a black eye and split lip that looked wonderful to Gil. Charlie gaped at him for a brief moment, and then his expression turned angry. "Fuck you," he spat, reaching for the door to the restaurant.

"Did he?" Gil asked calmly, stepping close enough that he didn’t have to raise his voice. "Or did you fuck someone else over recently, as well?"

"Public’s got a right to know," Charlie said. His jaw jutted stubbornly.

Gil shook his head. "No, Charlie. They don’t. What you did was nothing short of rape."

"Rape? He fucking assaulted ME!"

"He did?" Gil grinned. "You just made my day."

"Fuck off."

He was still grinning, even with everything else, as he climbed back into his car.

Good for you, Nicky. Good for you.

About a minute after he checked in for his flight, his phone rang.

"Grissom." Catherine sounded tense. "Where are you?"

"Dallas. For the moment. But you know that."

"Okay, well, you might want to rethink that."

He frowned and dodged a roughly ten-year-old boy brandishing a corn dog. "Rethink what?"

"Mobley came by."

Gil sighed. "And?"

"Gil, he wants to know why you’re taking another vacation when you just got back from one. I told him it was an emergency, but he wasn’t buying what I was selling when I couldn’t tell him it was a family member."

"He’ll get over it," Gil said mildly. "I have plenty of vacation time stored up."

"That’s not the question. The question for Mobley is your commitment to your position." She kept going before he could add anything. "Which we know is bullshit, which everyone knows is bullshit. But he’s had it out for you forever, Gil, even before he was re-elected. I mean, I have to tell him SOMEthing. What do you want me to say?"

"Tell him I’ll be in touch when I get back."

"I’m not sure you’ll have a JOB when you get back."

He nodded slowly to himself, and said quietly, "I’m not sure I care."

Her pause was more eloquent than any words. Finally she stuttered, "Gil?"

"Mobley can censure me when I get back, but I doubt he can actually have me terminated. If he does manage it, there are other labs." Gil cleared his throat. "As to when I WILL come back, that’s not clear. I’m about to get on a plane to Chicago. I should know more soon."

"Chicago? What the hell is in Chicago?"

"Nick," Gil replied simply. "His sister lives there," he added after a moment. "I think he’s gone to ground. Waiting for the fallout to settle, I’m not sure. What I am sure about is that pretty soon I’ll see for myself. Any other questions?"

"Jesus, Gil. You know, for a guy whose life was all work and no play six months ago, you’ve gotten really interesting lately."

Gil chuffed a laugh. "I’ll tell Nick you said that. That is if he’s still speaking to me."

He could hear her smile. "Bet you he will."

"I leave bets to Warrick."

"Be careful. Okay? I’ll – tell Mobley something. He just wanted someone to bitch at anyway. You weren’t here, so."

Gil winced. "I’m sorry for that."

"Fuck him. I’ve handled lots worse, BELIEVE me."

He grinned. "I do believe you."

"Give him my love, okay? And why don’t you just bring him home while you’re at it?"

"I have every intention of trying," Gil said, and heard his flight number on the loudspeaker. "Have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow."

"Right."

He stowed the phone in his pocket and bent to pick up his carryon. Bring him home. Yeah. That sounded like as good a plan as any. In fact, best of all.

~~~~~~~~~~~

My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind
That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.

(William Shakespeare, King Henry VI)

XIII.

O’Hare was nightmarishly crowded. With no checked luggage to worry about Gil pushed through the masses of people, gritting his teeth and heading for the taxi stand. Screw the rentals; he’d been to Chicago a number of times in the past, but what familiarity he had with the city was marred by increasing tiredness, and a growing sense of acute worry. There wasn’t any time to waste wandering around trying to find Jamie’s home. Best to leave that in the hopefully capable hands of a cabbie.

The cold outside didn’t surprise him, but he shivered anyway, squinting against the crisp wind. Spending your life in California and Nevada didn’t prepare you for northern temperatures; it certainly got cold at night in the desert, but Chicago was wet, too, and somehow that made the chill worse.

Once in the cab, he thought about calling ahead. No telling if they were actually there. But some part of him insisted that face-to-face was best. Don’t give Nick time to cut and run again. Not without at least saying what he needed to say.

With a sigh Gil sat back and looked unseeingly out the window.

Jamie Stokes lived in the Bucktown area, near Smith Park. The drive there was probably interesting under normal circumstances, but Gil just found it all tiresome. If all went well, maybe he could do a little looking around, preferably with Nick in tow. But now? Who the hell cared? Another enormous city, another trip where he simply wanted to BE THERE already.

By the time they reached West Grand he was queasy from the cabbie’s reckless driving, and maybe from nervousness as well. He sat very still for a second after the cab pulled over to the side, mustering his nerve. Then he handed over some bills and climbed slowly out of the car.

The blustering wind whipped his coat as he walked up to the building. Wishing he’d brought gloves, and thinking if Nick had stayed in Dallas he wouldn’t have needed gloves, Gil scanned the list of names next to the buzzers. J. Stokes. Well, at least he had the right address. It remained to be seen if he’d ever get inside the door.

It didn’t take long for his ring to be answered. A woman’s voice – Jamie’s, he assumed – called, "Yeah?"

Gil scanned for a surveillance camera, but saw nothing. "Jamie? It’s Gil."

"Who?"

Swallowing, Gil nodded. "Gil Grissom."

There wasn’t anything for a moment. And then Jamie’s cool voice: "You’ve got to be kidding me."

"I need to see Nick. Please." Gil closed his eyes briefly, wincing as another sharp twist of wind snarled fingers in his hair.

This time there really wasn’t a reply. He thought about hitting the buzzer again, and shook his head. What had Charlie said? I’m you in a few months? Was that what he was doing, stalking Nick all the way to Chicago? When Nick clearly did not want to be found? Christ.

Feeling a spasm of self-loathing Gil stepped back from the doorway. He’d turned around, already wondering bleakly what in God’s name he might do next, when he heard the door opening behind him. Gil turned again and had a split-second to widen his eyes before Nick barreled into him.

The force of the impact nearly knocked him back on his ass; he reeled against the railing, barely able to take in at first the fact that this wasn’t actually an attack, but the most ferocious hug he’d ever received.

"Oh, thank God," Nick groaned, arms wrapped so tightly around him it almost hurt. "Oh god, Gil, Jesus."

With a broken sound he hadn’t planned to make, Gil returned the hug. Nick’s shoulders were shaking under his arms. "Nicky," Gil said, tasting the name in his mouth.

They stayed like that, glued together, until finally Gil’s precarious position against the railing made him stagger a little. Nick drew back, and Gil got his first look at his face. Drawn with emotion and tiredness, stubbly with more than a few days’ beard, eyes red and already filling with tears, and somehow in spite of seeing all that, Gil drank him in, staring greedily, memorizing every bit.

"How’d you find me?" Nick asked breathlessly.

Reaching out, Gil brushed his thumb against Nick’s stubbled cheek. "Luck and help. God, Nick. I went to Dallas and you weren’t there. I –"

Nick captured Gil’s hand and pressed a fast kiss on his palm. "If I’d known you were coming I’d have stayed. But -- Things were so bad." His throat worked. "Charlie –"

"I know," Gil agreed grimly.

Nick nodded. "You -- You should come up. It’s fucking freezing out here." He blinked, and then sighed. "I forgot my key. I gotta –"

Staring beyond him, Gil shook his head. "Door’s open."

Jamie looked a great deal like Nick. Enough that Gil could immediately see why people might assume they were so closely related as to be twins. She was more petite than he expected, but the same coloring, even the square jaw – softer in her case, but definitely a Stokes jaw for all that. Somehow the best of both their parents, making her startlingly attractive.

But the look in her dark eyes was anything but welcoming. She leaned against the open door, arms crossed. Standing under that dour regard, Gil felt sized up, and found considerably lacking.

Still hovering far too close for anything but the obvious, Nick forced a smile. "Jamie, this is Gil."

She nodded crisply. "I figured that much out, thanks." Her grim expression faltered, and she shook her head. "Come on up."

Nick’s cold fingers entwined with Gil’s, pulling him in his wake. The interior of the building smelled new, wood shavings and lemony something. Jamie’s shoulders were stiff, her movements brisk as she stabbed the elevator call button. "So you’re Gil," she said, without looking at him. "I gotta hand it to you," she added, stepping onto the elevator. "You have really interesting timing."

Following, Nick made a face. "Jamie –"

"No, Nick," she interrupted curtly. She was still avoiding looking at Gil; it made him feel weirdly invisible. "I mean, maybe you’ve forgotten what’s been going on, but trust me, I haven’t." She hit a button with more force than it needed.

"I haven’t forgotten anything," Nick shot back.

"Good. Then you remember that this is the guy who dumped you and broke your heart, okay?" This time she did look at Gil, a brief flash of angry eyes, and he wished she’d ignore him again. "And now he rides in like a goddamn movie hero or something? Dudley fucking Doright? Excuse me if I don’t fall over in awe."

"Damn it, Jamie, you don’t –"

"She’s right," Gil said tonelessly.

"Gil."

"I did dump you. It was a mistake, but it doesn’t change the facts." He forced a smile. It felt foreign on his face. "I don’t expect my coming here to do that. I just –" The words dried up, and he shook his head. "I’m sorry," he said after a moment.

"You’re damn right it doesn’t change anything," Jamie observed, giving him another heated glance as the elevator doors opened on her floor. In the hallway, she stopped. "Tell me this," she added. Her jaw was tense. "Did you really come here to help? Or are you gonna dump him again the minute things get too intense? Isn’t that what happened before?"

This time Gil looked at Nick before considering what to say. In the milder light of the hallway Nick’s face was somehow even more haggard, and Gil felt another painful stab of guilt, seeing it. "I have a lot to answer for," Gil said slowly. "And I know that. I want to – make it right. And if I can’t –" He broke off. "I want to try."

Nick’s eyes flickered between Gil and his sister, and finally settled on Gil. There was a tinge of watchfulness there that had been missing before. "Can we go inside?" he asked, a question at Jamie while he kept gazing at Gil. "If we’re gonna do this?"

Jamie made a face and fished keys out of her pocket.

The loft was enormous, bigger than it had appeared from street level. On a surface level Gil admired it: clean lines, open, a rank of wide windows letting in natural light. The floor was original warehouse, wood with the old metal pallet frames still intact. Furnishing was sparse and comfortable, and original paintings hung on the walls. Jamie’s, he surmised.

Tossing her keys on a table, Jamie cast over her shoulder, "I think we all need a drink."

While she went to the kitchen, Nick wandered over to the long low couch and sat down. Gil followed warily, perching on a chair nearby.

"How are you? Really?" Gil asked softly.

Nick slumped a little, forearms braced on his thighs. "Really? Pretty shitty." His smile was wan and humorless. He shook his head. "See? I told you I’d come out."

"Hardly the way you’d plan it. No one would."

"Well, you warned me about Charlie. Guess you were right."

"I saw him in Dallas."

"Oh?" Nick glanced at him. "I saw him, too."

Gil nodded. "I noticed."

"That fucker. He’s a goddamn weasel."

"How did you…"

"What? Find out?" Nick snorted and leaned back. "My brother called me." He reached up to scrub at his eyes with his fists. "Asked me if I saw the paper yet. I figured it was the stuff about Dad. So Cabe says, No, you’re in the paper, too." His hands flopped down to lie limp on his thighs. With a thin bitter smile he added, "Cabe wasn’t the only one to call, don’t have to tell you."

"I’m so sorry, Nick," Gil said after a silent moment.

"Yeah. Me, too."

Jamie’s heels clicked on the floor as she walked over. She set a bottle of beer in front of each of them, and held one for herself. Her expression was hard to read. "I’m gonna go do some work," she said slowly. "You okay, Nicky?"

"I’m all right." He produced a tiny smile and nodded. "We just need to talk."

"Okay." With a final warning glance at Gil she walked away, disappearing behind a walled-off section of the loft.

"That’s her studio," Nick said, lifting his chin in the direction she’d gone. "I told you she was a painter, right?"

"You mentioned it, yes."

"Couldn’t remember if I did."

Gil stirred, and picked up his bottle of beer. The glass was cold and slick under his fingers. "I saw your mother while I was in Dallas. We talked for a while."

Nick gave him a guarded look. "How’s she – you know. Doing?"

"She’s all right. She told me to tell you she loves you."

Nick’s expression wavered, a flash of misery coming and going before he visibly mastered the spasm of emotion. "Guess it’s gotta suck to not only find out your son is queer, but have to read about it in the fucking newspaper," he said thickly. He shook his head again, throat working. "She told you I was here?"

Gil nodded. "After a while. But she didn’t know what happened, before."

"That you blew out of town?"

"Yes."

"That wasn’t all you did," Nick whispered. His dark eyes were hectic with a terrible mix of love and anger.

"I hurt you. And I’m – I’m sorry, I know I can’t undo it, but –" Gil cleared his throat with difficulty. "There are things I should tell you. Important things."

"Yeah, well, you said that before." Nick’s gaze didn’t waver. "So what is it? Why’d you go?"

Suddenly the beer in his hand was deeply welcome. Gil tilted the bottle and took a couple of hefty swallows. Setting the bottle back on the table, he drew a deep breath. "Do you remember that day in Dallas? We were eating ice cream, and I told you about someone I – used to be involved with. Jack."

Nick’s eyes narrowed a little as he nodded. "Yeah. The guy in college, right?"

"It’s where we met, yes."

"Go on?"

It took a long time to tell it. Long enough that the sun was well vanished by then, the capacious room dim except for two lamps at opposite ends of the couch. And his first beer and another were gone before he was done.

"I started graduate school right after getting my bachelor’s. Working full-time at the coroner’s office, taking classes when I could fit them in."

"Youngest coroner in LA County history," Nick said with a wispy smile.

Gil glanced at him and nodded. "Too young in some ways, I think," he added. "It was a great time, though. I was learning so much, doing so much, and it all meant something. I felt – valuable. Not – invisible."

"Can’t imagine you being invisible."

"Imagine it. I was a cipher in a lot of ways. I just wasn’t interested in so many things other people were interested in. For me, I guess science was more than a distraction. It was – a reason for being, I suppose. It felt that way." He drew on his bottle of beer. "So when I met Jack, I guess you could say I was unprepared. Extremely," he added with a nod of his head.

"Tell me about him?"

"I -- Yes. Jack was another grad student. Biology, like me. I did bugs, he did reptiles." He found a halting smile on his face. "He used to joke that we had to be together, because we’d cornered the market on the two most universally reviled and feared creatures on the planet: spiders and snakes." He didn’t look at Nick to see if the brief humor was appreciated. His skin felt clammy with dread. Whether of Nick’s reaction to hearing it, or his own discomfort at telling it, he wasn’t sure.

"We sat near each other in our microbiology class. And we talked, and I remember thinking, How could this guy even want to talk to me? Because he seemed like everything I wasn’t. Handsome, funny, outgoing. Smart. He was so intelligent. I used my intellect as a shield then, I think. But his was better than mine. And moreso because he knew it and never used it the way I had in the past."

"You got a real thing for biology grad students, don’t you?"

This time he did look, and felt a lurch of pleased emotion at the sparkle of new humor in Nick’s eyes. "Looks like it," Gil agreed softly.

"Keep going," Nick said, smile fading.

But I don’t want to, Gil thought, and looked down. "This – is very difficult," he murmured, staring at his knees.

"What happened? Come on, Gil." Nick’s voice was harder, and Gil looked up. "Don’t keep shutting me out," Nick said, grimacing in frustration. "God, for once will you just open up? Just – spill it. Okay?"

Gil forced a tight nod. "All right. We went out for coffee, beer, a few times. And then – well. One night we were at his apartment, and we ended up in bed." He swallowed. "I had never had sex with anyone before that. I hadn’t been interested, or so I guess I told myself. I wasn’t even sure I liked men. But I liked Jack. I liked him immensely."

A trace of discomfort was on Nick’s features, but he nodded gamely. "I knew he was your lover," he said awkwardly. "I didn’t know he was, you know. Your first."

"He didn’t either," Gil told him dryly. "When he found out he was a little appalled. But he got over it." His brief smile faded. "So we saw each other all semester, and I think I was – in love with him – long before I actually realized it. I moved into his apartment over the Christmas break that year." He drew another deep lungful of air and straightened, bracing his hands on his knees. "And we lived together after that for a long time. Close to ten years."

Nick’s eyes were a little furtive. "Long time," he murmured. "Pretty serious."

"Very serious. I thought everything was set. I planned to spend the rest of my life with Jack. I never questioned it for a second."

The furtive look deepened; Nick looked troubled, and a little sullen. "So he was awesome," he said gruffly. "What happened? Why didn’t you stay?"

As if Nick had said it aloud Gil heard the question: Did you run from him the way you ran from me? A cold knot congealed in his belly, and he deliberately quaffed the rest of his beer, noting the way its chill didn’t come close to matching the ball of ice in his stomach. "For that I think maybe I could use another of these," he said slowly, forcing a tiny smile.

Nick nodded. "In the kitchen. I’ll get it."

With an impulse he couldn’t quite define, Gil stood and followed him. Nick’s shoulders were bowed, reminding Gil suddenly of the weight he was bearing right now, in the midst of Gil’s difficult soliloquy. Gil leaned against the island in the kitchen and watched Nick take two more bottles of beer out of the refrigerator.

"Are you okay with this?" Gil asked hesitantly. "This –" He gestured with one hand. "Story?"

Nick set one bottle on the tiled island in front of him. "You mean am I okay hearing you were happy as a clam with some guy I’ve barely even heard of?" he replied, not quite meeting Gil’s eyes. "Guess I better be."

"You weren’t even in grade school yet, Nick. I did have a life before Las Vegas."

"I know that." Nick took a swig of his beer and leaned on the opposite side of the island. "So? Finish the story."

"We were – living in San Diego then. Jack was a lecturer at UC San Diego, and I was still with the coroner’s office. Not quite as wet behind the ears anymore. It was spring, and Jack had just gotten an invitation for an interview for a tenure-track position at Ohio University. I mean, I had no idea what I was going to do in Ohio, but if he got the position I would have gone with him. No question.

"We were talking about that one night, and Jack suddenly looked at me, and said, ‘There’s something going on you should know about.’" Gil drank a fast sip of his beer, bracing himself. "I remember watching him, I remember the expression on his face. And I remember thinking, My god, he’s going to tell me he’s met someone else."

He paused, and flinched a little when Nick’s soft voice said, "Did he?"

Gil glanced at him and shook his head. "Not exactly." He drew on the beer again. "He told me there was a student in one of his undergraduate biology classes. Mark Sheffield. Evidently Mark had – a crush on Jack, for want of a better term. Jack assured me this wasn’t reciprocated, that he’d gently but firmly disabused Mark of any idea that this could go anywhere. I believed him. He’d never lied to me before. I trusted him."

Nick’s brow had furrowed into a frown, and Gil saw the watchfulness in his eyes turn to cautious concern. "That sounds bad," he murmured. "What happened then?"

"Nothing at first. I was pretty – unhappy, but Jack was really just himself, told me it wasn’t a big problem, that he could deal with it. Student crushes, hazard of the trade. He was laughing when he said it. I remember that." His throat closed up suddenly, and he regarded his half-empty bottle of beer helplessly.

"Gil?"

Gil nodded and lifted a hand. He was shaking, and knowing it didn’t make it stop, or ease the terrible clutch of old pain in his chest. He took a deep breath, several, before he could make his throat work again. "Sorry," he wheezed. "This -- I’ve never told it like this."

"God, Gil." Nick circled the island, coming up beside him. His hand on Gil’s arm was warm and absurdly welcome. "Man, what happened? You look –" He broke off.

"What?" Gil asked.

Nick’s frown was bigger. "You look like you’re gonna – faint or something," he said uneasily. "Come on. Let’s sit down."

"I’m fine," Gil objected, but let Nick lead him to the couch. This time Nick sat next to him, and that presence was so welcome Gil felt stricken. "You might – have to give me a second," he mumbled, shaking his head. "Harder than I thought."

"What is it? What happened, Gil?"

Looking at Nick’s stricken, terribly beautiful face, Gil felt the core of old agony in his chest tighten even further. "What happened," Gil said slowly, "was, I guess, the end of the world. For me. For a long time."

XIV.

Nick nodded cautiously. Now all the hurt had gone from his face; he looked almost afraid. "Jesus, Gil," he whispered. "Was it the student? Did he – Was he lying?"

"No. No, my instincts were right, I think. Jack never lied about it. He told me there wasn’t anything real going on, and I don’t think there ever was."

"And? What happened?"

Gil sucked at his lower lip for a moment. "Jack left for his interview in Athens. It was late March, I think. Spring break, I remember. I didn’t go with him. I wanted to, but work was busy, you know how it is. He’d only be gone a couple of days. So I drove him to the airport and that was it.

"That night I heard someone outside the house. We lived in a pretty quiet area, older neighbors for the most part, and I was already in bed. Couldn’t sleep because Jack wasn’t there," he added softly, remembering. "So I thought we had a prowler. But when I turned on the lights I didn’t see anyone. I went out, walked around, had a look."

"You didn’t call the cops?" Nick asked, with a trace of indignation in his voice.

Gil smiled briefly. "No, I didn’t think it was anything that serious. I walked around, and I saw something on Jack’s car, under the windshield wiper. A piece of paper. I picked it up, because I thought – I’m not sure what I thought, maybe a note from a student, saying they were going to miss class or something, I don’t know." He found another wintry smile on his face. "As it happens, I was partly right. It was from a student."

"Mark."

Gil nodded. "I wasn’t going to read it. But I sat there for what felt like, well, forever, and finally I did. Just a folded sheet of paper, no envelope. This tiny, cramped handwriting. Even the look of Mark Sheffield’s writing made me feel strange. I didn’t know why yet. Just did."

"What did it say? A love letter? Something like that?"

"No," Gil said slowly. "It may sound odd, but I think I could have handled that. This -- It was…horrible."

He felt Nick draw back a little, and then Nick’s hand was on his own, chafing his cold fingers. "Horrible, how?"

Gazing down at their linked hands, Gil murmured, "It was – very detailed. About how Jack had betrayed him, had ignored all that they had, and how important that relationship was."

Nick’s hand clenched convulsively on his own, and Gil darted a glance at him. Nick’s features were pale and grim.

"Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?" Gil asked softly, nodding.

"Nigel Crane," Nick bit off, looking faintly ill. "Was the guy stalking him?"

"We didn’t call it that then. But I suppose he was. I won’t ever know for sure."

"What did you do? Get his ass arrested?"

Gil shook his head. "On the basis of a single letter? I couldn’t. I called Jack, very late, even later where he was. I must have sounded crazy, I don’t know. He got me calmed down, told me he’d explain it all when he got home. He took the earliest flight out he could."

Nick gave him a tight nod. "And THEN did you get Sheffield arrested?"

"When I asked Jack if this had happened before, he told me it had. But not this intensely. Mark, he told me, was very insistent. But not sounding so…pathological."

"Jesus. And?"

The chunk of ice in his belly was melting, becoming not quite nausea. More a sense of all-over body sickness. Gil swallowed sour spit. "He promised me he’d watch out. Be careful. And I went into this strange – hyperactive protective gear, I guess. I tried to make sure he wasn’t ever alone. But it was hard to do; we worked in completely different areas, fields, and my hours were crazy. I was on call every other week, and I came home late, sometimes not at all if we were busy.

"But there weren’t any more letters. Not that I knew of. And Jack swore he’d tell me if Mark did anything else, and I was so vigilant, I think he would have." Gil shook his head. "It was early May, nearly graduation time. Jack was incredibly busy with finals, a couple of master’s theses he was advising. On Friday I got off pretty early, still light outside. He’d been cooking, and there was a bottle of champagne. I asked him what was going on, and he gave me this huge grin and told me he’d accepted the job at Ohio."

Nick’s worried eyes scanned Gil’s face. "So it was good news."

"Yes." Gil smiled and felt Nick’s fingers twining with his own. "Very. We drank that bottle and another one, and – well. Celebrated." His cheeks felt warm, remembering, and he heard Nick’s soft laugh.

"I get the picture," he said dryly.

"Yeah. At any rate, I was thinking about what would happen to me, career-wise, worrying. And Jack said, I did some checking around while I was visiting. He’d met one of the professors, who had a few connections with local law enforcement. In any case, Jack was pretty sure I could find a position with the criminalistics lab in Columbus. Hell of a commute, but he thought maybe we could find a place to live somewhere in between, share the difference.

"I was on call that weekend, and for a while I didn’t get any pages. But we had a major traffic accident late in the afternoon, and I was at the office all evening, very late. It was nearly 2:00 in the morning before I could go home. I remember that, thinking, At least it’s Sunday, if I wake up Jack he can sleep in." His voice trembled on the last few words.

"Gil."

"No. No, I have to tell this part." He reached up to rub his eyes, and was distantly startled to find wetness there, too much for tiredness to account for. "The house was dark when I drove up. I figured Jack was asleep, so I was quiet going inside. I had trouble just going to sleep right away, and I had this – habit of making coffee before. I know, caffeine," he added thickly, shaking his head. "But it didn’t keep me awake. Relaxed me, for some reason.

"I went into the kitchen before I turned on any lights. And I smelled something. Wasn’t sure what it was, this – odd, faint smell. Almost like candy. Sweet. It took me a long time to remember what it reminded me of." He swallowed twice. "Smelled like black licorice. Most kids hated it, but I loved it as a kid. Licorice whips." He coughed a savage laugh. "It made me feel hungry."

"Shit, Gil? What the fuck?"

Gil shook his head and stood suddenly. His head spun a little as he walked a few quick steps away, and then turned again. Nick was standing, too, tense, eyes wide.

"That’s the thing, see?" Gil said harshly. "I made coffee. I put water on to boil, and I felt hungry, and so I hunted through the fridge for something to eat. I stood there and drank my coffee and thought, I’m just not sleepy, I wonder if Jack would wake up. See if the celebratory mood is still there, you know? Hell, it’s the weekend, who’ll care?

"So I had my sandwich, and I put everything away and washed up and took my time, and then I went into the bedroom. But he wasn’t there." He laughed once, and felt his eyes burning, seeing nothing but a dark room in a house he’d left behind so many years ago. "It never occurred to me, you see? Not until then. He’d been in bed, but he’d gotten up. And then I saw the light under the bathroom door. The bathroom was to the back of the house, so I hadn’t seen the light when I drove up.

"I called out for him, but he didn’t say anything. So I went over and tried the door. It wasn’t locked, it would open an inch or two, but there was something blocking it."

Nick’s face was a mask of real dread now. He took a helpless step forward and stopped. "Oh no," he said, shaking his head. "Gil."

"I didn’t even think about it. I was a little scared now, and I pushed. Pushed hard. And something – I heard something fall over. And I saw a foot, by the door. Jack’s foot."

"Oh, Gil."

"I thought he’d fallen. Hit his head." The words were coming faster now, unstoppable. Like emesis, vomiting out the things he hadn’t told anyone, not since Catherine and not before her, because everyone who should know already did, and everyone else would have to simply not find out. "I was calling his name, over and over again, trying to get in, but he wouldn’t MOVE. And it smelled. It smelled horrible, anise and vomit and shit. And I thought, he’s fractured his skull, something terrible, and I squeezed myself in there, tore my shirt, left some skin on the door frame."

His stomach lurched once, and he swallowed bile. Oh God, Jack. Jack.

"Gil," Nick whispered.

"And he had fallen, oh yes," Gil lumbered on, nodding rapidly. "I think he’d gone to bed, earlier, and when he started feeling unwell he got up and went into the bathroom. And that’s when he had the first seizure."

Nick’s pale face went slack with surprise. "Seizure?"

"The first signs are apprehension. Fear, probably. Restlessness, muscle spasms. Jack had an old back problem, an injury in high school, on the wrestling team. So he probably got up to take a muscle relaxant." Gil drew a snorting breath. "He hit his head when he fell, so that part of my scenario was at least right."

"Gil, what --?" Nick’s mouth sagged open.

"Strychnine is a neurological agent," Gil said crisply. "It affects the chemicals that control the muscles, forcing rigidity. It takes about 30 to 60 minutes to take effect, in large enough doses. And he’d had a large dose. Plenty. Based on his appearance, he’d probably seized for some time before he died. Exactly how he died is hard to say. It might have been respiratory arrest. Or the fact that his seizures were severe enough to break his neck. I never found out for sure."

Nick said nothing at all, staring at him with utter horror on his white features. Gil took it in, and felt something terrible gathering inside him. With a shudder of formless terror he shoved it down, willing it away.

"He’d been dead about two hours," he rasped. His legs wobbled under him, and he took a moment to make sure they’d hold him. "So while I was fucking around in the goddamn kitchen, he was lying on our bathroom floor, with his tongue chewed nearly off and his eyes – open." Gil dragged a gulp of air that felt like sarin gas in his lungs. "Risus sardonicus. Id actually seen a tetanus victim the previous year. Jack’s face looked like his. That grin. I could barely recognize him."

Without saying anything Nick walked over, eyes painfully trained on Gil’s face. And his touch felt both terribly welcome and utterly dangerous, the something in Gil’s body gathering and tensing, poised and ready.

"They found the poison in his -- In a bottle of tequila. I didn’t drink it, but he did. It was a vice, probably; he liked to drink, maybe it was his failing. But he’d been drinking that night, probably shots. And slamming them too fast to taste them. He said he hated the way tequila tasted, and loved the way it felt." Gil had to stop and swallow another time.

Nick nodded. His hands covered Gil’s, fingers almost equally cold. "Tell me the rest," he murmured.

"I went – crazy," Gil gasped, shaking his head. "I don’t remember some of it. That night, the next day. The day after that. I felt insane. I think I was insane for a while. That night – I couldn’t stand to see him. I felt such – horror, I couldn’t remember ever feeling so horrified at the sight of a dead body. It had always fascinated me, puzzled me. But never made me feel so – sick. I was repulsed, Nick, I didn’t want to look at him. That couldn’t be Jack, you know, that twisted thing on the floor. I called the police, and nothing I said made any sense. They thought it was a domestic disturbance, for Christ’s sake." He coughed a sharp laugh. "I’d worked with the two cops who came to the door. One of them practically sat on me while the other one went to have a look around. I remember what he said, can you believe that? I remember it: He said, ‘Oh, jeezly CHRIST,’ when he saw Jack’s body. He knew Jack, too. He sounded like a little old lady."

Glaring at Nick, Gil whispered, "But all these people came, the ambulance, and a couple of detectives, and then some people from the lab, people I WORKED with. And they took Jack out to the ambulance, and I saw this – shape, under the plastic. And I thought, That’s Jack. That’s my lover, that’s the man I was supposed to be true to until death did us part. And death had parted us, death had come up and yanked him away from me, and it hit me that I would never see him again. Not like he was, not alive. Maybe I’d see his body, but the part that was really Jack was gone for good. And I was sitting there on the ground, staring, and thinking that THIS was what those victims’ families felt. All those people, their loved ones just cases for me, but REAL to them, real people. And I couldn’t imagine ever doing it again. Ever."

His voice cracked on the last word, and his throat spasmed with such pain that he thought maybe he wouldn’t be able to talk again, either.

And then Nick’s arms were around him, strong and warm, and Gil coughed out a strangled cry, not quite a sob, just a grunt of pure pain.

~~~~~~~~~~~

As it happened, his voice wasn’t permanently lost. It took a while, and the rest of his beer, and Nick’s familiar, patient embrace on the couch. But Gil’s voice finally came back.

"I’m sorry," he said hoarsely, against the side of Nick’s neck.

"What are you sorry for?" Nick’s hands kept stroking Gil’s back, a slow, easy motion. "Don’t gotta apologize to me, Gil. Not even."

Gil nodded dumbly. Nick’s skin was smooth, hair smelling like shampoo, clean and sweet. Gil wondered if perhaps tonight he could stop trying to smell Jack in Nick’s hair.

"It was the student, wasn’t it?" Nick asked softly after another long pause. "Sheffield."

"Yes," Gil said, nodding again. "He was the only suspect. They – didn’t find him for a couple of days. It was a police call, actually. A body in a hotel in LA. He’d committed suicide there. Hung himself. It was – briefly sensational. Student poisons professor, kills self. Twisted homosexual fixation gone terribly wrong. Film at 11."

Nick drew back a bit, fixing Gil with a frown. "And you?" he asked intently. "What happened?"

Gil regarded him with a new ache in his breast. This one not so unwelcome. "I fell apart," he said simply. "And when it was all done, when Jack was buried – I quit my job. I sold the house, never even went back to pack up our things. I couldn’t. Some of our friends did it. I don’t know what happened to it all. I didn’t want it."

"But you didn’t stay quit."

"I fell back on it after about two months. I didn’t have anything else. Science – forensics – was my life, before Jack." Gil smiled painfully. "And it was my life after Jack. I got a call from Del Chappell, you remember him? Jim Brass’s predecessor?" He waited for Nick to nod before continuing. "Before your time, I realize. But I’d had a few offers here and there, had a good reputation as a coroner, investigator. Del told me he was working in Las Vegas, and the CSI lab was in need of someone like me. Someone organized, someone who could whip it into shape. I grabbed that job like a lifeline. It was a project, it was something concrete. And it wasn’t in San Diego."

Nick gave him a slow smile. "Whip it into shape, huh?"

"The lab was a disaster when I got there. I spent the first week just taking in how bad things were. Careless, sloppy -- I mean, don’t get me wrong, they got some results. But it wasn’t anything like what I wanted it to be. So I got to work. Pissed off any number of people, but I couldn’t have cared less. Before I started, I told Del, I will work for you, but you have to give me the authority to do what it is you want me to do. If you want a top-notch lab, you have to be willing to change. He said, If you can get me the kind of results you’ve had in San Diego, you’ll have anything you need. And he was as good as his word. After a while –" Gil shrugged. "It got easier. I loved the science, I loved the puzzles of my work. And there was SO much work, it was easy to put everything else off." He sighed, resting his chin on Nick’s shoulder. "And that’s pretty much it," he added tiredly. "You know the rest. All the parts that count. All of them."

"I believe you," Nick said softly.

"Good," Gil murmured, and closed his eyes.

"Sleepy?"

"S’not that late."

"Jet lag."

"Didn’t even change time zones," Gil slurred.

Nick’s arm tightened, and then he sat up a little. "Come on," Nick said gruffly. "You should lie down. Get some rest."

Gil thought about protesting more, but when Nick half-hauled him to his feet he had to admit he was about as tired as he could remember being in his life. Nick led him past the kitchen, behind a glass-bricked wall, revealing a small, comfortable bedroom. The bed felt like heaven, and Gil lay back with a deep sigh.

"Don’t go," he said, grasping Nick’s wrist.

Nick’s eyes crinkled with amusement, and warmth. "I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry." He lay on his side next to Gil, head propped up on one hand. The other lay flat on Gil’s chest, and Gil took it, holding it between both his own. "Close your eyes," Nick said softly, lips curved in a gentle smile. "I’m gonna be right here."

"Thank God," Gil said, gazing up at him. "I was so afraid you wouldn’t be. Not after – all I did."

"We’ll talk about it later." Nick bent and placed a kiss on Gil’s lips. "Relax."

Gil nodded, and closed his eyes.

XV.

"So what do you want for breakfast?"

Gil eyed him blearily. "I’m still grappling with the idea that I slept twelve hours."

Nick cast a grin over his shoulder and went back to foraging in the fridge. "You were out like a light, man," he said. "Never seen you sleep so hard. But you needed it." He fished out eggs and a container of ready-made biscuits. "This okay?"

"After some more coffee it will be."

"Drink up, then."

Gil smiled at Nick’s back and drank deep.

Funny, how he’d slept so deeply, so dreamlessly. Usually new places were uncomfortable, making him open his eyes at the slightest unknown sound, try to filter out light from where it shouldn’t be. But he barely remembered lying down, much less any struggle to reach sweet Lethe’s fabled shores.

And he’d awoken slowly, so comfortable he didn’t want to move at all. Conscious with no surprise of Nick’s warm body next to him. Nick had one arm slung over Gil’s chest, belly-down, face half-buried in the pillow. Watching him, Gil had felt a weird sense of deep contentment. Still raw from spilling out the story of Jack, still aware that there were new hurdles already standing in the near future, but in that moment, just happy to be right where he was.

The feeling persisted now, watching Nick bustle around in Jamie’s hyper-modern kitchen, frying bacon, cracking eggs into a battered porcelain mixing bowl. The air was filled with good honest cooking smells, baking biscuits and bacon grease, and Gil inhaled with pleasure. His stomach suddenly growled loudly, and Nick glanced over.

"I heard that."

"Guess I could eat breakfast after all."

Nick grinned. "I’ll make a lot."

"Good."

He had time to pour a second cup of coffee before Nick set the food out. With a flicker of warmth Gil saw how Nick had silently done two different kinds of eggs – remembered that Gil liked his over easy, while Nick was a soft-scrambled kind of guy. A brief memory: that second morning in Nick’s tiny Dallas apartment, and Nick wrinkling his nose. "Can’t do runny. I mean, I can make ‘em, but don’t make me eat ‘em."

They ate in silence, Gil tucking in with gusto that surprised him. Finally it was all gone, and Gil leaned back, wiping his mouth on a paper towel serving as a napkin.

"Better?" Nick tucked a last bite of biscuit in his mouth.

"Much. Thank you. That was delicious." He reached for his glass of orange juice. "Is Jamie at work?"

Nick nodded. "She split early. I think she gets home around seven. Not 100% sure. She usually waits for Jeff to be done."

"Jeff?"

"Her boyfriend. He’s a nurse, works in an ER. Has a crazier schedule than we do, according to Jamie." He sat back, still smiling. "Seems like a good guy, though."

Gil put down his glass and switched back to coffee. "She wasn’t too happy to see me," he said carefully. "Not that I blame her. She was looking out for you."

"She’s always been pretty intense." Nick’s smile faded, and he shrugged. "I mean, I don’t think she hates you. Just – she gets kinda protective."

"I’m glad of that. You needed someone."

"I’m all right," Nick said gruffly. He slowly put knife and fork on his plate. "Well. I’ll be all right," he amended. He looked over at Gil, face solemn. "Thank you for telling me about Jack. It makes a lot of things make more sense."

Gil felt Nick’s hand covering his own, and turned it so that their fingers twined. "I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you," he replied awkwardly. "If I’d been up front from the beginning we might have avoided a lot of…issues."

"Maybe." Nick’s fingers tightened. "So just tell me next time. All right?"

"It’s a deal."

The half-smile on Nick’s face faded. Gil frowned. "Talk to me about you, okay?" he asked, leaning forward. "What’s going on?"

Nick was silent for a second before shrugging again. He didn’t take his hand away, which reassured Gil a lot more than he’d thought it would. "I really don’t know," Nick said finally. "I’m just getting through the day. Need to call my folks. Need to do a lot of things."

"What do you want to do? Stay here for a while? What about class?"

"Class isn’t a problem."

"What do you mean?"

"I dropped out."

"Oh, Nick."

"No, I wasn’t –" Nick broke off, and this time he did take his hand back, wadding up his paper towel and staring down at it. "No, you were honest with me, and I gotta do the same thing. School just wasn’t working out like I thought it would. I wasn’t sucking, I mean, don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t flunking. Just."

Gil nodded cautiously. "Just what?"

"I’m not sure that’s what I want to do." Nick snorted softly. "Not sure what the hell I want to do. Sitting there in class and talking about these things that were really interesting, and the same time I was thinking, But none of this makes any difference, not any real difference. And I think – what we do, did, at CSI, that did make a difference."

"Do you want to come back?"

Nick’s eyes met his, and Gil saw the struggle. "No," Nick said after a long beat. "It’s not – Chickens can’t go back into eggs, you know? I don’t think you can go back, not like that. Not and have it be what it was. You have to go forward."

Fighting down a flicker of disappointment, Gil made himself nod again. "Valid consideration."

"I was talking to Jeff the other night. Before you got here. He was trying to talk me into nursing."

"Huh. That’s certainly a possibility. You think?"

Nick made a face. "Don’t know," he admitted with another little snort. "But maybe EMT training. Something like that. I want to be out there doing something that helps. It’s not like going to school wouldn’t do that, maybe. But I wasn’t very happy there."

"EMT training sounds great." Gil reached out and recaptured Nick’s limp hand. "I want you to be happy," he said softly, waiting for Nick to look him in the eye again. "Whatever that is. School, job training – hell, if you just want to take some time and consider your options, you know, there’s no hurry. No fires burning. You don’t have to make up your mind right now. You have time."

Nick’s mouth curved in a sweet smile. "Yeah. You’re right, I guess." He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So what are you gonna do?"

"Me? Digest that wonderful breakfast, sit here with you. After that – whatever else we want to do."

Nick swallowed. "And after that?"

"I want to talk to you about that," Gil said after a considered pause. "But I don’t want to rush you. There’s time for that, too."

"Tell me?"

Gil nodded. "Okay. I want you to come back to Las Vegas with me."

Nick’s dark eyes were filled with too many conflicting things to read clearly, and for a moment Gil felt his chest tighten with dread. And then Nick smiled and shrugged. "Okay."

Gil stared at him. "Wait -- What?"

"Well, I can do EMT training there as well as anyplace else." Nick’s smile morphed into a grin. "You thought I’d fight you on it? No way. I’m sick and tired of this long-distance shit." He gave a theatrical shudder, and the grin slipped. "I mean," he added slowly. "If we’re gonna do this. Is that what you’re telling me?"

Smiling, Gil said, "If by ‘this’ you mean, making this work? Yes. That’s what I mean."

"You have to promise me," Nick said thickly. "Promise you’ll be honest. I mean, if you -- If that ever happened again, I don’t think I could deal. It hurt too bad."

"It won’t," Gil told him urgently. "Nick, I know I made some bad choices last month, Jesus, I know. But we’re on the same page now. You know why I reacted so badly to Charlie. It’s – my only secret. I’m not hiding anything. And I’m not lying: I want to be with you. I want YOU to be with me. All the time, not just here and there, a week or two. I mean, from now on."

"Wow." Nick gave him a shaky smile, and covered Gil’s hands with his own. "That’s -- Yeah. Well. Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Gazing at him, Gil felt a shiver of startlingly hot desire flicker through his groin. "Good," he whispered, rubbing his thumb along the top of Nick’s hand.

Nick’s smile broadened, becoming just shy of a smirk. "Aw, I know that look."

"You do?"

"Means if you get your way I won’t be walking too well for a while."

Gil laughed out loud. "You just might be right about that."

"Oh, really? Pretty sure of yourself there, aren’t you?"

"Of this? Yes. Absolutely."

Nick kept grinning. "Well, you know, Jamie’s at work," he drawled. "And we got this place all to ourselves." One eyebrow lifted. "Except I gotta clean this crap up first. Eggs."

"You cooked. I’ll wash up." Gil squeezed Nick’s hands and let go, not without a little frisson of regret. Time for that presently. Down, boy. "Listen, why don’t you call Liz? She’d really like to hear from you."

Nick winced. "Yeah. You’re right." He sat up in his chair, a troubled look settling over his features. "Way to break the mood there."

Gil shook his head. "Just postponed. But I think it’ll make you feel better."

"Not sure if you’re right about that. But yeah. Okay."

Gil took his time washing the dishes. There was a dishwasher, but for the moment it felt good to do it himself. Unfamiliar kitchen, presenting a minor challenge. While he ran hot water he heard Nick in the living area, voice soft and mostly unintelligible. But the several times Gil looked out, he didn’t see anything but sober, not overly unhappy looks on Nick’s face. And even a couple of smiles.

Gil smiled, too, and started scrounging for a dish towel.

He’d spent five minutes puzzling over where to put the wire whisk when Nick walked back into the kitchen. Gil gave him a frazzled look. "I found where everything else goes, but this doesn’t seem to belong anywhere."

Nick smiled and plucked the whisk from his hand. "For whatever reason she puts it up in the cabinet." He stowed it away. "Hey, never feel right in somebody else’s kitchen, you know?"

Gil nodded and leaned against the counter, wiping his hands on the damp towel. "How’d it go?"

"Fine. I mean, weird, in a way. But she was okay. Dad’s in Austin, but I promised Mom I’d call him, too." Nick produced a flustered smile. "I, ah, think I’ll wait and maybe do that later. Tonight, maybe."

"Feel better?"

"I don’t know. Yeah, I think. Mom – she was okay. I mean, the weird thing is, she said it was mostly how they found out, not what. You know? Which I guess I figured." He gave Gil a slanted look. "She asked me if you’d gotten here all right. I think she has a big old crush on you."

Gil blurted out a laugh. "Liz? I doubt that."

"You know, if Harrison ever leaves the Dallas lab, I bet you get an offer to take over."

"I think I’ll stick with Vegas. But I appreciate it."

"I’m just sayin’."

Gil smiled. "Come here."

"You’ve got that look again." Nick took a couple of short steps, bringing him within touching distance. His grin was slanted, and beautifully aroused.

"Like I said, not cancelled, just postponed." Gil reached out and slid his arm around Nick’s waist, pulling him flush against him. He was suddenly very hard, every nerve tingling with awareness. "I missed you," he said hoarsely. "So much."

"So I see," Nick murmured. His eyes shone with mixed humor and heat. "I missed you too."

Nick met his kiss eagerly, that whole-hearted enthusiasm that had so charmed Gil in the very earliest stages of their relationship. Now, tasting Nick’s mouth, Gil wondered distantly if he’d ever wanted anyone as much as this. He groaned, feeling Nick’s arms sliding around his neck, fingers tugging at his shirt.

"Maybe," Nick gasped as Gil’s mouth explored the curve of his jaw, "twelve hours – of sleep – is just what you nnnnneeded. Oh shit." He leaned his head back, gripping Gil’s shoulders hard. "N – No broken furniture, okay? This stuff isn’t mine."

Gil nodded, busily unbuttoning Nick’s shirt. "I promise." He yanked Nick’s shirt out of his jeans and ran his hands underneath, caressing the smooth skin of his flanks. This time it was Nick who plastered himself up against him, making little caught sounds in his throat and cupping Gil’s face between his hands as they kissed roughly.

They’d made it as far as the bedroom when Nick’s phone rang. With a muttered curse he picked it up off the bedside table, answering with a not especially friendly greeting.

"Oh hey, Jamie," he said after a tiny pause. "What’s up."

Gil kissed the back of Nick’s neck and heard him draw a fast breath. "No, we’re good. Yeah, he woke up a couple hours ago. Slept like a baby."

Nuzzling his way down the groove of Nick’s bare spine, Gil smiled as Nick’s voice trailed uncertainly off. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Gil reached around and pressed a kiss at the small of Nick’s back as his fingers blindly began unfastening Nick’s jeans.

"What? No, I was, I was just. Uh. Yeah, I feel, um. Fine…."

Nick had on briefs under his jeans. Gil used his thumbs to pull them down slowly, revealing the sweet curve of Nick’s ass. When he kissed the dimple above Nick’s left buttock he saw Nick’s skin prickling with gooseflesh.

"No, nothing’s wrong," Nick said in a strangled voice. "C- Can I call you back? What? Oh. Well, I mean. You really wanna know?" He uttered a high laugh. "Didn’t think so. Yeah, I’ll – c-call you. Soon. See you t-tonight."

The minute his phone snapped closed Nick groaned, hands covering Gil’s as they stroked his bare hips. "Wasn’t fair," Nick whined, and sidled his legs further apart, jeans and underwear dropping to the floor. "Man, that was my SISTER."

Gil grinned and kissed the other dimple wetly. "Sorry."

"Liar." Nick turned, revealing a flushed face and extremely erect dick. "You did that on purpose."

"Can’t resist," Gil said with a shrug. "Call it making up for lost time."

Reaching out to touch Gil’s cheek, Nick shook his head. "I call it making my sister really weirded out," he quipped, and then grinned.

With a growl Gil pulled, and Nick thudded down on the bed next to him.

"What am I, a one-man show here?" Nick gazed up at him, still smiling, wetting his lower lip with his tongue. "You just gonna watch, or you planning on joining me?"

God, had it really been less than a month since Dallas? Because the way he felt right now, it could have been a year of drought. The sight of Nick’s bare smooth body was a pure aphrodisiac. "Scoot up," Gil said hoarsely, unsmiling. "Spread your legs for me."

He saw Nick swallow, and do as he asked. Nick’s hands stroked his own belly slowly, erection lying stiff against his abdomen. "You’re still dressed," he said in a smoky whisper.

"I know."

In spite of his own flaring need – imperative – to slide himself between Nick’s legs, bury himself inside Nick’s body, he took his time. Kissing the soft skin of his inner thighs, listening to Nick’s throttled groan of pleasure. Nick’s fingers plucked at Gil’s hair, soft little touches, and Gil chuckled and ran his tongue from the base of Nick’s cock all the way to the crown.

"Oh, crap," Nick said in a strained voice.

Drawing back, Gil looked up at him. "Yes?"

Nick uttered a high little laugh. "Not supposed to be – this close, this fast," he panted. "Maybe when I was 13."

"Want me to stop?"

"NO!"

Gil laughed again and went back to what he was doing.

And it didn’t take long to bring Nick off, after all – he hadn’t been kidding about being close to the edge. But hell, it was the pleasure that counted, not the stamina, not right now, and Gil clung to Nick’s thighs and drank him down, and when it was done Nick gazed at him with such a dazed, sated look Gil flinched as if it had been an electrical shock.

"Come on," Nick whispered, plucking one nipple and smiling lazily. "You know you wanna."

Gil rasped, "Yeah. I do."

"Bring it on, Daddy."

"Oh, you did not just say that."

Nick sat up a little, that cat-after-cream smile still in place. "Why not?" He reached out and ran his thumb across Gil’s lower lip, wiping away some spillage. "Gonna move back to Vegas, live with my sugar daddy. Eat bonbons all day." He popped his thumb in his mouth and sucked it clean. "Get fat."

"So that’s what you’re gonna do, is it?" Gil found a hot smile of his own. He cocked one eyebrow.

"Uh huh." Eyes sparkling, Nick grinned. "What? You don’t like my life plan?"

Gil sat back and started unbuttoning his shirt. "I like parts of it. You’re definitely moving back to Las Vegas."

Nick’s eyes flickered to watch Gil’s progress. "Yeah," he breathed.

"And you will live with me." Gil tossed the shirt on a chair, and Nick dove for his buckle, unfastening it greedily. "So far so good."

"Oh yeah." Nick unzipped Gil’s pants and Gil hissed softly. "What about the bonbons?"

"Sure," Gil said unsteadily. "Eat all you want."

"Mmm. I want a lot."

"Do you."

"Uh huh. Lie down. Unless you want me to get some scissors and cut these fucking things off."

Gil grinned and lay down. As soon as the offending pants were peeled off, Nick straddled him, gazing at him with humor and heat and such deep, unshakeable love that Gil’s throat tightened unexpectedly. He reached out to smooth his hands over Nick’s lean hips. "I love you, Nicky," Gil said slowly.

Nick’s smile would have lit up the whole city. "Starting to see that," he replied, rotating his hips a little.

And he rode him like that, too, bare body gleaming with sweat, and just before Gil came Nick bent low and licked his ear, and whispered, "Love you, Gil." And smiled while Gil groaned and arched up and came buried in Nick’s body.

XVI.

Around three Nick gave him a drowsy look. "We should do something."

"Not again." Gil groaned.

"I don’t mean that way. Day’s nearly over. I mean, up. Out of bed."

"Oh."

Nick started plucking at Gil’s chest hair. "Jamie’ll be home after a while," he continued. "Want to make some dinner?"

Gil smacked Nick’s hand. "That would be nice," he agreed. Nick’s hand stole over to his nipple again and this time Gil grabbed his wrist. "You know, the reason we SPENT all day in bed is because you keep doing things like that," he added, mock-severely.

"Uh huh. And you had nothing to do with it." Nick propped his chin on Gil’s shoulder, grinning. "I think that’s called revisionist history."

Gil snorted, but kept Nick’s hand. "What’s the menu?"

"No idea. I don’t cook, remember?"

"You cooked breakfast."

"That doesn’t count."

"Ah. Well, what would you like to have?"

"Anything that doesn’t jump off the plate before I can stick a fork in it."

Gil turned an amused look at him. "Hungry?"

Nick nodded. "Starved."

"So tell me what you want."

"Something with meat in it."

"Beef?"

"Yeah."

"Could have a boeuf bourguignon."

"Sure. If you say so."

"Beef, wine, mushrooms? A kind of stew."

"Oh. Yeah."

It was still almost four before they’d showered and gotten dressed and out the door to shop. By the time they returned, laden with bags, the wind had sharpened, and Nick shivered as he fished for the door key. "Jesus, it’s cold up here. My blood’s too thin for Chicago."

"Mine, too. Hurry up."

It had occurred to him more than once that while Nick’s fears and anger might be mostly appeased, Jamie’s probably weren’t. Not a lot he could do about it, and he pushed the thread of worry aside again, relaxing into the familiar rhythms of cooking.

"Say, you’re pretty slick," Nick observed from the kitchen island, where Gil had banished him to chop mushrooms and tear up lettuce for a salad.

Gil didn’t look up from his work. "I got tired of takeout about fifteen years ago. When I have the time I like to cook. It’s very grounding."

"Maybe one of these days I’ll try something besides eggs and steaks."

Gil grinned. "You might be surprised."

Finally it was all a matter of letting chemistry do its work, and Gil and Nick cleaned up the kitchen before retiring to the couch with glasses of wine. And it was so comfortable, so oddly easy, that Gil was surprised when he heard the key in the door.

Nick stood up, brushing his hands on his jeans. "Hey, Ja."

Jamie glanced at them both. She looked a little breathless, hair wind-whipped. "Hey." She kicked the door closed with one high-heeled foot. "God, it smells fantastic in here. Don’t tell me you learned to cook?"

Nick grinned, walking over to take her briefcase. "Don’t look at me. Gil’s the chef."

Her look at Gil was calculating, not entirely pleased. "Well. It smells great. Thanks."

Standing too, Gil nodded. "My pleasure."

"Are we eating right now?" Jamie asked in Nick’s direction.

"Don’t think so."

"It’ll be at least half an hour before it’s ready," Gil said evenly. "No rush."

"Great. I gotta change. My feet are killing me."

They watched her clatter into the walled-off area that comprised her bedroom. Nick walked up alongside Gil, and touched the small of his back. "Huh."

"It’s okay."

"She needs to cut you some slack, man."

Gil smiled at him. "Don’t worry about it."

Jamie re-emerged about fifteen minutes later, clad this time in sweats and soft moccasins. "Better," she quipped, heading for the kitchen. "Any wine left?"

"Plenty," Nick told her.

Finally there wasn’t any more bustling to do. The table was set, the food was still not quite ready, and there they were: Nick and Gil on the couch, and Jamie a few feet away physically and Gil suspected about a light-year away emotionally. She sipped her wine and gave them both an artificial smile.

"So, did y’all have a good day?"

Gil stayed silent, letting Nick steer for the moment. "Yeah," Nick said, nodding. "Got caught up. You?"

"Busy. So Gil, how long are you planning to stay?"

The bluntness of the question took him a little by surprise. He drank a little wine to cover, and then shrugged, holding the glass loosely in both hands. "I’m not entirely sure," Gil said. He met her guarded gaze directly. "Not that long, I don’t imagine."

She produced another brittle smile. "I take it you guys have worked things out."

"Starting to," Nick said.

"Okay."

"Come on, Jamie, lighten up." Nick sat back with a sigh. "How many times do you want him to apologize?"

"When he’s gone overboard I’ll let you know," she shot back.

It was surpassingly odd to hear himself discussed as if he weren’t there. But Nick and his sister were staring at each other with such focus, Gil didn’t dare say anything.

"It’s enough for me," Nick told her curtly.

"Well, that much is obvious. Jesus, Nicky, how many guys are you gonna let walk all over you before you speak up?"

"Look, I know you heard what really happened." Nick was sitting bolt upright now, the mirror image of Jamie’s indignantly tense form. "Why can’t you let it go?"

She nodded crisply. "I didn’t have to hear it; I SAW it. I was THERE, Nick! And he wasn’t! I’ve been right here helping you pick up the pieces. Where’s he been?" She pointed her beer bottle at Gil without even losing a beat. "Back in Las Vegas, that’s where," she finished. "Hiding."

"You’re not gonna sit there and tell me I haven’t done the same goddamn thing for you." Nick snorted. "The name Alan ring any bells? I had to act like I liked him for two damn YEARS because you asked me to cut him some slack. Okay? And I was right, wasn’t I? He was a shithead, and you never listened to a word I said. Well, Gil’s not Alan, okay? He’s not, and you KNOW it."

With growing discomfort Gil took in the direct hit; Jamie’s face had gotten very pale, and she didn’t say anything at all. Nick sighed again, and shook his head. "I wanted to kill him for what he did to you," he continued in a heavier voice. "But I let you do what you wanted, because I respected you. Why can’t you do that for me? I’m not wrong, Jamie. I’m not."

"He hurt you," Jamie said, sounding throttled. Color was back in her cheeks, but she looked an inch away from crying. "I’m not going to forget that."

"Okay, don’t forget it." Nick nodded and leaned forward. "I think that’s probably pretty smart. But at least give him the benefit of the doubt before you get out the tar and feathers, all right? He fucked up, yes." Nick cast a fast glance in Gil’s direction. "Sorry."

"Don’t be," Gil said softly.

"But I know him, Jamie. I do. And I don’t think this is going to happen again. I know it won’t."

Listening, Gil felt a stab of tired pain in his belly. Yeah, Nick, it won’t, because I will turn myself inside out before I’ll let it. I promise you.

There were a couple of tears on Jamie’s cheeks now, but she also wore a shaky sort of half-smile. "You’re way too nice, Nicky," she murmured. "Cabe always said that."

"So I’m nice. I’m still not wrong. So let’s start over, okay?" Nick’s smile was a little forced, but he included both of them in it. "Gil, this is Jamie. Jamie, Gil. So would you fucking – shake hands or something, and let’s eat? I’m starving."

He was pretty sure he wouldn’t have laughed at it – far from it – but Jamie’s smile became a soft chuckle, and Nick made some sort of sound halfway between a snort and a giggle, and then Gil was grinning along with them, feeling a little confused, but almost unbearably glad whatever impasse they’d reached had somehow been circumnavigated.

The food was good, the company, if not quite comfortable yet at least more comfortable than it was. Despite Nick’s plea Gil doubted he’d be in Jamie’s truly good graces for a long time to come. But she’d thawed a little, and when the meal was over and they were restored to their places in the living room, it was Jamie who brought up Dallas.

"I know you don’t want to talk to Daddy yet. I mean, I don’t blame you. But you need to, Nicky. Get it behind you. Start fresh. You know?"

Nick stared into his mostly empty wine glass and snorted softly. "For better or worse?"

She shrugged. "What’s the worst thing he could say? He doesn’t approve? He didn’t approve of you taking the job in Vegas years ago, and you survived that. You’ll survive this, too."

"I’m not sure his career will."

"And you talking to him will change that? No. At worst he’ll turn down the nomination, but that’ll be because he hates the idea of living in Washington, not because his younger son is gay."

"Maybe." Nick stirred, gave Gil a fast uneasy smile. "So you want to go back to Dallas with me? Or you gotta head back to Vegas?"

He knew the answer to that already. Mobley probably had Gil’s resignation letter typed out for him, ready to be signed. The longer he waited, the worse the fallout would get. He needed to go back home. Yesterday.

Gil smiled. "Dallas works fine."

Nick’s luminous smile was far more than enough to offset any uneasiness Gil felt over job, or career, or pretty much anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"That’s all you brought?"

Nick finished zipping his bag and nodded. "I was in a hurry. Didn’t need much." He picked up the bag. "You ready?"

Gil hefted his own carryon. "We both traveled light."

"Excellent."

Jamie and Jeff were waiting in the living area. For all that he’d known him about twenty minutes, Gil thought Jamie had made a good choice. Jeff was gruff, struck him as a little shy, but seemed utterly devoted to Nick’s sister. And good humored about being drafted to drive them to the airport.

"S’what I get for having an SUV."

"Which you don’t actually need," Jamie told him. But her eyes were warm.

"Comes in handy now, right?"

"All right, all right. I’ll save the lecture about gas-hog vehicles for the next trip. You got everything?" Jamie narrowed her eyes at Nick. When he nodded, she did, too. "Okay. We gotta hit the road or you’ll miss your flight."

The drive to O’Hare didn’t take as long as Gil feared. They’d missed the worst of morning traffic, and Nick’s objections to Jamie’s decision to call in to work were met with flat dismissal. "Believe me, they can miss me today," she’d told him with a wave of her hand. "You guys aren’t the only ones racking up the overtime, you know."

Once they’d unloaded Jamie got out, hugging Nick fiercely. "Call me tonight, okay?" she said in a low voice. "You’ll go see Daddy?"

"Guess I better."

"It’ll work out. I swear."

Nick stepped back, nodding. Jamie glanced at Gil. "I’m sorry I was – a little terse before."

"No apologies needed. Thank you for letting me stay."

The corner of her mouth turned up in a half-smile. "Not like Nick was giving me much of a choice." She walked forward and startled him by hugging him, too. Not as close or as hard, but far more than he’d expected. "Hurt him again and I’ll have your balls for breakfast, okay?" she whispered. And then gave a soft laugh.

They shook hands with Jeff, and then it was nothing but turning around, facing forward again. Nick waved when they were at the doorway, and glanced at Gil. "Any idea which gate?"

"I’m not even sure which airline. What city are we in?"

Nick grinned, and nudged him with his shoulder in the direction of a departures board.

They were at their gate before Nick said, "It could get rough."

Gil looked at him. "Dallas?"

"Yeah. Dad, he’s -- Well, you met him." Nick glanced over at the clump of people waiting for the same flight. "Remember a long time ago, I told you he was the judge you hoped you didn’t get? Try having him for a dad."

"You’re not on trial, Nick."

"No?" A faintly bitter smile crossed Nick’s features. "Say that when you see the reporters in Dallas. Dad’s made some enemies. You can bet they LOVE the idea that his son is queer."

"He strikes me as a man who can take care of himself. But Jamie’s right. You had this hanging over your head for a long time. Maybe now you can let go of it a little."

"I guess."

When he touched Nick’s hand his fingers were very cold. Gil frowned, and Nick gave his hand a brief squeeze before letting go. "I’ll be okay," Gil said softly.

Nick produced a short nod. "Probably. We’ll see."

XVII.

There weren’t as many cars in front of the Stokes house this time. Just the Lexus Gil recognized as belonging to Nick’s mother. The weather was chilly but at least dry, and Gil was glad for the jacket he’d bought not too long after they arrived back in Dallas.

Nick looked tired and plain scared, climbing out of the Impala. He met Gil’s concerned gaze with an awkward smile. "Just keep telling me that later on I’m gonna be glad I did this," he muttered, walking around the car.

"You will be."

"No reporters. I wonder if he’s even home."

"One way to find out."

He wanted to be closer, grip Nick’s hand for encouragement, something. But this was neither the time nor place for it, and so he simply walked at Nick’s side, a little behind, following when Nick walked inside the house. "Anybody home?" Nick called, voice only a little strained.

"In here," came Liz’s familiar tones from the back of the house.

Nick led him to a room Gil hadn’t seen during his single other visit, a comfortable, rather cluttered den. A fast glance revealed the two people they were here to see. So much for Nick’s probably hopeful theory.

"Hi, sweetie." Liz got up and came over, enveloping Nick in a tight hug. "Are you okay?" She looked over Nick’s shoulder at Gil and gave him a tiny smile.

"Yeah, Mom. I’m fine." Nick disengaged himself, smiling, but his eyes sought out his father. "Hey, Dad."

Hank Stokes looked awkward, and Gil would have bet a substantial sum that the expression on his face right now was pretty rare. "Glad you came home," Hank said slowly. "We were worried."

"Jamie sends her love." Unmoving, Nick stuck his hands in his pockets, looking pinched and anxious. "I -- We left this morning. I thought, you know. We’d come by."

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine." Nick bit his lower lip. "What’s -- You decide anything about it? You know, the nomination?"

Hank shrugged. He walked over slowly, even his posture looking a little tired to Gil’s eyes. "Not yet." He glanced once at Gil, an oblique look before his focus was once again on his younger son. "You didn’t have to run, Nicky," he said abruptly, sounding strangled. "Not from us."

Nick’s expression crumpled. "I didn’t want it to be like that," he blurted. "It was so fu - screwed up. And if it messed up your nom –"

"It didn’t." Hank stood still for a moment, and then reached out to put his hands on Nick’s shoulders. "I won’t say I was happy about it, but I’m even less happy about some jerk talking to the press out of school, you know that? He had no right to do that."

Nick nodded without saying anything. His color had risen.

"Is this what you want, son?" Hank asked softly. His head tilted in Gil’s direction, but he didn’t look at him. "You’re happy?"

"Yeah," Nick managed. "Yeah, I am."

"It’s gonna be tough sometimes. You know that. You’re prepared to deal with that?"

"What life isn’t tough sometimes?" Nick countered with an awkward smile. "I can deal with tough a lot better than I can deal with dishonesty. That’s the really tough part."

After a moment Hank’s face creased in a smile. "That sounds like my son, all right." He regarded Nick for a second, and then pulled him close.

"You want some coffee, Gil?" Liz asked, putting her hand on Gil’s elbow. The sparkle in her eyes made him feel absurdly good.

"Coffee would be great."

They sat in the cavernous kitchen drinking excellent coffee for at least an hour. Gil didn’t mind. Nick needed the time with his father. And catching up with the other half of Nick’s parental unit was pleasant.

"Gustafson’s trial is set for May." Liz topped off their cups from a stainless steel carafe. "I assume you’ll be here to testify."

"Of course."

"We always have a Memorial Day get-together, too. I hope you and Nick will both be here."

Gil smiled. "Count on it."

"How are you, Gil? Are you all right with – all this?"

Meeting her intent gaze, Gil considered, and then nodded. "I want Nick to be happy," he said awkwardly. "I can’t say that this has played out the way I’d prefer in some ways. But I think it’s going to work out. I know I’ll give it everything I’ve got."

Liz’s smile was warm as rich June sunshine. "None of us can ask for more than that. Can we?"

Gil shook his head. "I don’t suppose so."

Hank and Nick emerged some time later from the den, both looking a little frayed around the edges, but smiling. "Hey," Nick said to Gil, walking over and touching his shoulder. "Sorry that took so long."

"No apologies needed." Gil smiled.

"What are you going to do now, Nicky?" Liz asked, standing and walking over to study him. "Have you decided?"

Nick drew a breath and nodded. "I’m going back."

"What about school? Are you ever going to finish?"

"Not sure yet." Nick sighed. "I need some time, I guess. Get back on my feet. You know?"

She nodded slowly. "I hate to see the past year go to waste. That’s all."

"Hey, nothing’s ever wasted. You told me that, remember?" Nick smiled. "It wasn’t a waste, okay?"

She hugged him, and this time her eyes were bright with something besides a smile. "Be careful, sweetie," she murmured. "I love you."

"Love you too, Mom."

After a certain amount of leavetaking, hugs, handshakes, they were walking back to the Impala. At the passenger-side door Gil paused. "You okay? Really?"

Nick grinned at him over the roof of the car. "Yeah," he said softly. "Really."

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

"Right. I’ll be back tomorrow night."

Over the phone Catherine sounded elated. "Thank GOD. Because I’m about to buy a bullwhip to use on Mobley."

Gil nodded, watching Nick in his tiny kitchen, hunting for a pan. "Any more job threats?"

"The usual. It’s not like he can really do anything, Gil, but he’s made a lot of sound and thunder."

"Signifying nothing, I presume."

"You presume correctly, sir."

Gil smiled. "Good."

"How’s Nick? Did you find him?"

"Nick’s fine. Doing very well." Gil shifted, feeling the smile on his face widening to a grin. "And you can ask him yourself pretty soon. He’s moving back to Vegas."

Catherine was silent for a second, and then blurted, "Really? Hot DAMN!"

Gil laughed, and made a placating motion when Nick walked over looking curious. "My thoughts exactly. Listen, I should let you go, but we’ll talk tomorrow night, all right?"

"Hell yeah, we’ll talk. Oh Gil, that’s so great. Tell him to make it snappy, okay?"

"Will do."

Nick wore a bemused expression, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "What’d she say?"

"She said the sooner the better," Gil replied. He set his phone on the coffee table and stood. "Are you cooking?"

"Well, it’s late, I’m tired, I know you’re tired, I figured you didn’t much feel like going out." Nick shrugged. "Just some spaghetti. No big."

"Thought you said you didn’t cook," Gil said softly, stepping close and taking the towel from Nick’s hands.

"I don’t," Nick agreed with a smile.

"And yet you keep cooking anyway."

"Sorta."

Gil slid his arms around Nick’s waist. "I’m not very hungry," he murmured, and kissed him lightly on the mouth.

"Shouldn’t waste it." Nick’s hands slid up Gil’s arms, hands locking behind Gil’s neck.

"Mmm. True." Another kiss, this one slower, and a lot deeper. When they parted Nick’s cheeks were flushed. "Then again," he said a little breathlessly.

"It’ll keep."

"Yeah."

They made love in Nick’s college-spare bedroom, and in the midst of it, gazing down at Nick’s sweaty, beloved features, Gil felt perfectly complete. No lingering doubts, no qualifications. No more ghosts.

Goodbye, Jack, he thought with a surge of sweetly sad emotion. It’s time for me to finally move on. It’s what you’d have wanted, I’ve known that all along. Just took me a long time to finally find the right person to do it with.

And you’d have liked Nick. You would have liked him a lot. I think you’d approve.

"What?" Nick asked, fingers gentle, cupping Gil’s face.

Gil shook his head slowly. "I love you, Nick," he said softly.

Nick smiled and tightened his legs around Gil’s hips. "Love you, too."

Some time later, Nick spoke again. "What happens now?" he asked, sated and lying with as much of his body glued up against Gil as possible.

Gil smiled. "I go back to Las Vegas. You pack, and get there as soon as you can. Other than that – whatever we want, I suppose."

"Sounds good." Nick’s head was heavy on his shoulder. "I guess – I gotta think about what the hell I’m gonna do once I get there, huh?"

Gil ran his fingers over the exuberant mess of Nick’s hair. "There’s time for that. Don’t you think?"

"Yeah, I guess. You know what?"

"What?"

"We missed my anniversary."

Gil drew back, frowning at him. "Anniversary of what?"

Nick gave him a slow, sleepy smile. "I quit my job a year ago last week," he said softly.

Gil made a silent "oh" of understanding, and Nick’s smile widened. "I mean, it was kind of a bonehead maneuver," Nick continued, slinging one leg over Gil’s and locking his foot behind Gil’s calf. "I see that now. But it got us here."

"Yeah," Gil murmured. "It did."

"No regrets."

Gil nodded and met Nick’s steady gaze. "None whatsoever," he agreed, and kissed his lips.

EPILOGUE

He was in the kitchen when Nick answered the door. Gil regarded his work with a fast, critical eye before walking out to see who was there.

"Hey." Catherine gave him a bright grin and hefted a wrapped package in one hand. The other arm was still clasped around Nick’s waist.

"No gifts, remember?" Nick said, laughing and shaking his head. "Man, we got SO much crap already."

"I’ll have you know, this is NOT crap." Catherine gave a lofty sniff. "Just a little something. You know, mark the occasion and all that."

Gil took the present and gave her a fond smile. "Thanks. Come on in. Want a drink?"

"Better make it light. I’m on later tonight."

"Understood."

By four the whole complement was there, and Nick gave them the tour, cheeks flushed with pleasure. Seeing the pool, Warrick gave a low whistle. "Nice place," he pronounced, eyebrows lifted. "You guys win the Lotto or something?"

Nick exchanged a fast look with Gil and shrugged. "Just hocked ourselves up to the hairline, that’s all."

Sara was still gazing out at the pool and surrounding area. "This is a beautiful place," she said, with a sigh. "I’m jealous."

"You can use the pool any time you want," Nick told her. "I mean, if you want to."

"I just might take you up on that."

They ate Gil’s food out on the same patio, drank Nick’s punishingly strong margaritas. Everyone had brought gifts of various kinds, despite the admonishment that this was a housewarming, yes, to show off the new house, but gifts were not a requirement. "You got plenty of space," was Catherine’s smilingly acerbic comment. "Don’t tell me you don’t have room. We see just how much room you’ve got."

"So what made you decide to move?" Jim Brass asked, sipping his drink.

Gil shrugged. "The townhouse was great, for one person. Two and it was a little cramped."

"Makes sense."

"So what’s going on with you, Nick?" Warrick asked later. "You all set?"

Nick shrugged. "I started my EMT stuff last week. But I think I’m probably going to nursing school in the fall. Kept on thinking about it, and it seemed pretty cool, you know? Thinking about ER nursing."

"Just make sure you do the night shift," Catherine told him. "That way we can all keep tabs."

Nick grinned. "Planning on it."

The small party came to an end when the rest of the CSI staff had to report to the lab. Nick and Gil saw them to the door, amid thanks for the gifts and admonishments about the good food and drinks making everyone sleepy around midnight. "Maybe Greg’ll spare some of his coffee," Nick said, grinning when Greg looked alarmed. "You still got your coffee, right, man?"

"Hey, that’s expensive stuff," Greg protested, and then sighed. "Okay. But after tonight everybody’s on their own again, understood?"

"We’ll see," Catherine said with a smirk. "Night, guys. Enjoyed it." She hugged Nick hard, and then Gil just as thoroughly. "Be happy," she whispered against Gil’s ear. "All right?"

"I plan on it," he told her.

With their guests gone, the house seemed huge again. Gil sipped his refilled drink and surveyed the wide, sunken living area, and flinched when Nick’s fingers twined with his own.

"Whatcha thinking?"

Gil smiled. "Not much, really. They’re good people, you know."

"Great people." Nick nodded. "Wish we’d had it at Christmas. Would have made a good place for the party."

"We can do it this year."

"Absolutely."

Out on the deck they tidied up a little before giving up and just sitting back to enjoy the violently colorful Nevada sunset. "How was class?" Gil asked, nudging Nick’s leg with his foot.

"Fine. I’m ready to get out there and do it, though, you know? Lots of this stuff I already learned when I was a cop. CPR, you know? Shit like that." Nick considered. "Although the IVs, now – that’s new."

"When do you start your practicum? Have they said yet?"

"May. Two months of ride-alongs. Then I’ll start for real."

"Just in time to go back to school." Gil sighed. "You’re going to be busy."

Nick grinned. "Like you aren’t? Hey, it’ll give me something to do besides sit around here and wait for you to get off work."

"24-hour shifts? Even I don’t work that long."

"Ten days a month. Not so bad." Nick stretched his leg out and laid it over Gil’s thighs. "Just make sure I don’t get a call for you, okay? Be careful?"

Gil stroked his hand over Nick’s ankle, up under the hem of his pants. "Always. I promise."

Nick glanced over their small property. "This is nice, isn’t it?" he asked after a long silent moment.

"Very. I’m glad you’re here."

"Me too." Nick smiled and pinched Gil’s belly with his toes. "And I’m even more glad you’re off tonight." One eyebrow raised. "I got plans for you."

Gil grinned. "Oh? That sounds promising."

Nick’s smile faded, leaving him looking contemplative. "You ever think about him?" he asked slowly. "Jack?"

Gil considered, and then nodded. "Sometimes, yes. Not all that often."

"Weird thing, I mean, I wish I’d met him. Even though that would have meant, you know. You and me wouldn’t have happened." Nick smiled awkwardly. "That sound weird? I just mean, he sounds like he was a pretty cool guy."

"He was. But if you’re asking if I miss him?" Gil shook his head. "I always will in some ways. But I wouldn’t change a thing about my life right now, Nick. Not a thing."

"Me, either."

"How’s your father?"

"Oh, he called last night. They’re all settled in, so he says." Nick shrugged. "Hard to believe they sold the house. Man, that’s my whole childhood."

"I’m glad he accepted the nomination after all. It’s an amazing opportunity."

Nick nodded. "My dad, on the Supreme Court. Well, at least we know his position on gay rights."

Gil laughed. "True."

"We should finish cleaning this crap up," Nick observed, regarding the lingering mess with a baleful eye.

"There’s time for that. You mentioned some plans."

"I did, didn’t I?" Nick leaned back and stretched a little. "Guess this means I won’t be studying tonight."

"Nope," Gil agreed blithely. He set his drink on the table and stood, holding out his hand. "Come on. I have something I want to show you."

"What?" Nick took his head, eyes narrowed. "Tell me."

"I’d rather show you."

He ignored Nick’s questions, leading him through the living room, down the hallway to their rather enormous new bedroom. He took the box from the dresser, where he’d stowed it earlier than day. Nick’s expression was a mix of surprise and confusion, as he took the package.

"What’s this?"

"Nothing major. Just something I wanted you to have."

Nick cast him a lingering look, and started ripping the paper away. "Is this gonna make me feel bad because I didn’t get you anything?" he asked with a slanted grin. "I think I’m the only person who remembered there weren’t supposed to BE any presents today."

Gil smiled, and sat on the bed to watch Nick open it. Nick’s expression changed, seeing the small velour box. "What the hell?" he muttered.

"Open it."

Nick took out the pendant, blinking at it. "It’s – beautiful," he said slowly. "What is this?"

"St. Michael. Patron saint of ambulance workers, among many other things." Gil smiled. "Here." He took the pendant and unfastened the clasp. "I want you to wear it."

Nick let him put the chain around his neck, his hand flat over the silver medal. "Man, I – Thank you. What’s – what –"

"Someone to watch over you, when I can’t." Gil smiled at him. "Just in case."

"You, superstitious? Doesn’t fit." But Nick looked almost absurdly pleased. "Thank you."

Instead of saying anything, Gil leaned over and kissed him. Hand still touching the pendant, Nick met him eagerly, and when they parted he was breathing a little faster. "This anything like a ring or something?" he asked, eyes crinkling when he smiled.

"Not precisely." Gil cupped Nick’s cheek with his hand, studying him. "Is that what you want?"

Nick considered, then wrinkled his nose. "Not legal here. But I mean, someday. Someday, yeah. You?"

Gil smiled. "Someday, yeah," he agreed softly.

"Come here."

He let Nick bear him down on the bed, and gazed up at his face. "Welcome home, Nicky," Gil whispered.

Nick smiled, and bent to kiss his mouth. The St. Michael medallion brushed Gil’s throat. "Glad to be here."

END