TITEL: Evidenced

Part of the Evidence Series (CSI)

Part of the Denuo AU (Mag 7)

AUTHOR: Macx

RATING: PG-13

PAIRING: Nick/Gil

ARCHIVE: yes

DISCLAIMER: CSI belongs to CBS, Alliance Atlantic, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony E. Zuiker and whoever else claims rights. We don't. Nu-uh! We just play with 'em. The Denuo universe was created by Lara Bee and myself

Macx’s Voice of Warning (aka Authors’ Note): English is not my first language; it’s German. This is the best I can do. Any mistakes you find in here, collect them and you might win a prize <g> The spell-checker said everything's okay, but you know how trustworthy those thingies
are....

Evidenced
by Macx

It was a glorious day. The sun was out, beating back the clouds that had, just a few hours ago, rained heavily onto the city of Las Vegas The concrete and tarmac was shining from water of the downpour, giving everything a fresh and new look. Still, despite the sun out and barely a cloud in the sky, the temperatures were colder than it looked. Winter was still a resident and Spring was battling to take over. In a week or two, temperatures would probably rise and the weather channels predicted more rain to come. It didn't put a damper into the flock of tourists coming to the casinos on and off the Strip.

Dr. Gil Grissom, forensic entomologist, head of the graveyard shift, and without argument one of the most respected figures in his field of expertise, sat on the couch, a stack of science magazines next to him on a table. A bottle of soda, an untouched sandwich, the remote and a notebook crowded the low table, too. Brows drawn over blue eyes, Grissom glowered at the file he was reading, without actually reading it.

Gil was a man in his mid-forties, with graying, short curly hair, and a handsome, boyish face, but at the moment he resembled more of a five-year-old who had been told he couldn't have the cookie before lunch.

He was stuck at home while the team, especially Nick, could go in, work crime scenes and put in lab hours on evidence. They didn't have to sit in here, occupy themselves with repetitive articles in magazines; or the rather dull TV program; or count the number of petri dishes on the shelves.

His glare turned to the object of his annoyance: his right leg. It wasn't in a cast, but the metal-and-plastic knee brace around it didn't help either. Four days ago, Grissom had slipped a steep incline, on his way down to a crime scene. A foot set the wrong way, and he had ended up on his butt. Normally that would have been a laughing matter, a reason for joking, but Gil had felt the momentary sharp pain, that almost immediately turned into a glaring, mind-numbing pain. His knee had become the center of all nerve-endings, flaring, pulsing, telling him that whatever he had done to it, it was rather bad. His rational mind, which was quickly drowning in pain, too, had analyzed the fact and had come to the conclusion that he had probably ripped something off.
Brass and Catherine had been there, too, and they had called an ambulance.

His knee in an air-filled cast, Grissom had been transported off to the hospital. The doctor in the ER had told him that he had twisted it, but thankfully hadn't torn off any ligaments, and that he would need to lay off the leg for a while. If he had to walk somewhere, he had to use crutches, and the brace his knee was caught in would allow him only 'safe' movement. Pain medication took away most of the discomfort, but not all.

Grissom absolutely hated it.

He hated inactivity. He hated being away from the lab. He hated leaving the others alone. He hated being so dependent on anyone or anything.

To occupy his time, Gil had worked on some articles that were due in a few weeks, but nothing kept him occupied very long. It wasn't that he didn't have work, it was the fact that he had no choice but to do this.

He couldn't go out on crime scenes and he couldn't work in the office because he needed to elevate the leg.

He was restless; he needed to be out.

Grissom sighed and reached for his crutches. They were always next to the couch and he had managed not to entangle himself or fall over them.

Moving carefully, he stood and then made his slow way over to the kitchen. It was close to noon and Nick would be over soon. Making coffee was something Grissom could still accomplish without moving much and without help.

He was just done when the door opened and then closed again. Footsteps could be heard and he looked over the kitchen counter, smiling as his lover and partner walked into the room.

"Hey!" Nick called, smiling.

"Hello." Grissom pushed the 'on' button and the percolator started sputtering.

"How are you doing?" Stokes asked as he dropped the keys into a small basked on the side. It was where he usually left his keys.

"Absolutely bored to death."

Nick laughed. "At least you're honest."

He came around the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. Slipping an arm around Grissom's waist, taking his weight as he pulled him gently close, he kissed his lover.

Grissom, still balancing with one crutch, leaned into the loving contact, returning the kiss.

"How was work?" he murmured as they parted.

"Routine."

"There's never routine."

"And you never shut up about work, do you?" Nick teased, eyes dancing.

"Four days at home and you crawl up walls and want to go back into the field. Relax, Gil. Nothing happened. Lab's still in one piece and Catherine's handling things."

Grissom frowned. "What things?"

Nick shook his head, amusement rising. "Nightly things. We're not in trouble, the cases are going well, and even Ecklie is docile. Gil, relax, okay? You won't be able to work for now, it's Friday, we have the whole weekend to ourselves, I'm not on call, and I want to enjoy it with you."

Grissom blinked at his younger lover, then a slow smile spread over his features. "Okay."

A frown appeared on Nick's face. "Okay? Just like that? No argument?"

"No, no argument."

Nick studied him, apparently no convinced, then the smile was back. He gave him a quick kiss, then carefully disentangled himself. "Good! Now… I'm starved and from the looks of that withered sandwich, you haven't eaten either. Whatcha in the mood for?"

Grissom looked at the rather sad state of his sandwich, then frowned.

"Anything but that."

Nick chuckled and walked over to the fridge, checking the contents.

"I'll whip up something then."

Grissom knew his lover could 'whip up' something out of scraps and it would taste good. While he liked fast food, like a microwaved burrito, he also cooked. It happened on occasions and when Nick was in the mood, he spent hours making different dishes and putting them into deep freeze
for later. It was one of the many surprises Gil had discovered about the younger man.

He had never asked him where this talent came from. Maybe one day he should.

*

Half an hour later, he sat, with his leg elevated on another chair, in front of a plate of steaming noodles, covered in an experimental sauce with chopped vegetables. It smelled great and the first bite told him it tasted even better. They talked about work and while Nick ran down the latest case, Grissom asked questions. It was entertaining and distracting to bend his brain around a problem, try to see behind the façade, underneath evidence and alongside reality. It kept Grissom
occupied.

But not for long.

Nick cleared away the dishes and then helped his lover over to the couch where he arranged it so Grissom was leaning against him in a comfortable way.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Very."

It was how Nick fell asleep an hour later and Grissom just stayed where he was, very comfy and perfectly at peace with himself.

*

Saturday came and went. Nick was out shopping, then decided to use the mild temperatures to clean the car. Grissom spent the time watching his lover getting soaked as he scrubbed the black paintjob clean. He did a little crossword, he finished an article and betaed a second, then simply enjoyed a wet Nick in a clinging muscle shirt and jean shorts.

"What are you smiling at?" Nick called as he walked over from the now gleaming car.

"You," Grissom answered truthfully.

"Me?"

"Yes. You."

"How come?"

"Just because."

Nick threw the wet rag at him and Grissom skillfully caught it before it could hit him in the face – or land on his crosswords.

"Well, Smiley, I'm off to take a shower. And no, you can't watch."

Grissom rolled his eyes. "You think I'm voyeuristic?"

"You've been in the past," Nick teased.

"Ah, well, but back then I could join in."

Nick leaned over him, hands resting on the armrests of the chair. "You can still join in, but we wouldn't want to get your nice brace wet, now would we?"

"I can take it off," Gil played along.

"You wouldn't be able to stand on that leg. You know what the doc said…"

*

"I have a bathtub."

Nick laughed, leaning closer. "I'm not making love in the tub, Gil," he whispered.

Their lips met in a gentle, teasing kiss. Grissom wrapped an arm around the slender waist of his lover, urging him closer, and Nick complied by carefully swinging a leg over his lap and settling down.

"Too heavy?" he murmured.

"No," was the husky reply, then their lips sealed off all words.

Nick leaned forward, his hands gripping the back of the chair as he deepened the kiss, then one carded through the short, curly hair.

Grissom nipped at the lower lip, eyes sparkling with hunger and appreciation of the man on top of him.

"Go shower," he finally said, hands playing over the damp skin underneath the equally damp shirt..

"You telling me I smell?"

"Actually, yes, you do." There was a twinkle in the blue eyes that had Nick chuckle.

"Okay. I'm going. Reluctantly, but I'm going."

But not without a last kiss, which landed on Grissom's nose.

Grissom watched his lover go back into the house, already stripping off his soiled shirt. He admired the view of the muscular, sleek backside and felt something inside of him stir. Because of the resident pain and the brace, they hadn't been together more than a little hand- or blowjob, but the pain had gotten better.

He wanted this man. Very, very much.

Grabbing his crutches, Grissom levered himself up into a standing position and walked into the house.

*

The world stuttered to a halt. It creaked on the axis, then shattered into a million pieces.

Everything she had ever known, had ever believed in, was suddenly no longer.

Sara Sidle sat on one of the many benches lining The Strip, watching people bustle buy. Tourists, locals, businessmen, housewives, children and teenagers. They were laughing or serious, crying or arguing, taking snap shots of casinos or talking on their cell phones. It was the real world – no longer her world.

Her world had come to an end a mere two hours ago.

Her shift had been over, a double because a new case had happened, and she had decided to swing by Grissom's to see if she could help him. Or entertain him. Or whatever. Most likely he would politely tell her he needed nothing and she would go home, but she would make the effort.
Even after the disastrous attempt to get him to date her, Gil Grissom treated her like a friend and colleague. No hard feelings. She smiled thinly.

Yeah, right. Because Gil Grissom had soft feelings for someone else.

The door to the back yard had been open and while Sara normally wouldn't intrude upon her boss's home, she had been drawn to the voices. She had snuck into the yard, had seen the black Tahoe and recognized Nick's license plate. Grissom's car was sitting back at the labs still. It would remain there until he was fit to return to duty.

Nick's car. Grissom's back yard. A freshly washed look, water drying on the concrete, cleaning utensils close by. A dead giveaway.

And then she had seen the two men, their voices too low for her to understand, but she hadn't needed the words. The gestures were enough.

Sara swallowed hard. Yes, she had feelings for Grissom, but they were confusing feelings. Sometimes they overwhelmed her, and she did things she normally wouldn't. Like pursuing her boss and asking him out.

Another would most likely have seen this as harassment; but no Grissom.

Grissom, who had been kissing Nick.

Nick, who had been perched on top of the other man, answering each kiss.

*

Sara had seen the way they had touched, connected; how they had expressed what they felt. And it had hurt so much.

She had come to Las Vegas because of an internal investigation into the death of Holly Gribbs. Four years ago she had followed Grissom's call, actually hoping against hope that she might be able to stay here. Close to this fascinating, mysterious and complicated man. Her wish had come
true, but it hadn't brought her any closer to him. He had been a teacher, a friend and a boss, but never more.

Because what Sara wanted, the lover, had been reserved for someone else.

Not just someone… anyone… no, it had been Nick. Not a woman; a man.

Maybe that hurt the most. Knowing she had never stood a chance.

Sara didn't even think about just how long the two men had been together; from the way they had kissed and looked at each other – quite a while. There was something comfortable about them, something relaxed.

And she hadn't seen it before; not even suspected it.

Nick and Grissom.

Never, not in her wildest dream, had Sara thought about them together as a couple. Grissom and Terri Miller; Nick and that hooker Kristy. Yes, sure, she would have believed it. But them together?

She closed her eyes and buried her head briefly in her hands. When she sat up again, she exhaled slowly.

She had seen it; she had to deal with it.

But her world stayed in pieces.

*

Sunlight spread through the lowered blinds, finding a way through the obstruction between the small openings that hadn't been completely closed last night, and Grissom watched the sun rise on his sheets.

Spread out in the growing sunlight next to him was Nick. Naked, on his stomach, head buried in his pillow. Grissom watched him, too, smiling as he remembered the last night; filled with sensual passion and slow love-making that had melted a few more of his braincells into goo. He
might not be able to be very active, but it hadn't deterred his younger lover. Not at all.

Shuffling up against the headrest, Grissom watched the sun, one hand stroking over Nick's short-cropped hair, down to the broad shoulders. He loved the feel of the deceptively soft skin that stretched over quite a package of muscle.

Nick mumbled something and suddenly blinked his eyes open. A slow smiled stretched over his features as he looked at Grissom.

"Mornin'."

"Good morning, Nicky."

"Slept well?"

"Very."

Nick turned on his back and stretched a little, still on full display.

Not that Grissom had anything against it. He very much appreciated the sight. Nick rolled around once more, resting his head on Grissom's thigh, looking sleepily at him.

"So did I. How's the leg?"

"Still attached."

Nick grimaced. "Funny."

"I always knew you had a strange sense of humor, Nicky."

Nick caught the caressing hand that was mapping his shoulder and chest.

"Truthfully, Gil?"

"I'm fine. It doesn't hurt and I didn't really do anything bad to it last night."

Nick laughed. "Yes, you were a good boy last night," he teased.

Grissom grinned. "Unlike you."

"Would be half the fun if I were."

Nick finally sat up and slid out of bed, giving Grissom a wonderful view of a naked backside that was deliciously slowly going into the bathroom.

Searching for a crutch, he managed to follow his lover. What was the old saying? Save water, shower with a friend. And there was the stern order from the hospital doctor not to stress his knee, so he needed assistance. Loving assistance; assistance Nick was willing to give.

With these good intentions in mind, a smiling Grissom limped into the bathroom and closed the door.



Macx