Title: About Last Night
By: nixa_jane
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Rating: R
Summary: When Nick wakes up, he finds he's not alone.

The sun was filtering into his consciousness, trickling in through his eye lids and pulling him slowly awake. He groaned, throwing his arm over his eyes to try and block it out. It was hell trying to get sleep in the middle of the afternoon, and worse when he was apparently suffering from a hangover that he couldn't remember the fun of earning. He vaguely remembered Catherine asking him to go out for drinks after they broke their case, but very little after that.

He was going to have to get up, he knew. It was his day off for once, and he had to go shopping—do all of those other normal ordinary things people generally did during the day. He heard another groan, but he couldn't recall making the noise. He frowned when he felt motion beside him, and then someone had thrown an arm across his chest—his bare chest. Suddenly wide awake, he opened his eyes. His first coherent thought was that yes, that was indeed an arm, and no, it wasn't his. The second was that it was most likely attached to a male, because it was rather hairy.

This took a moment to process. Slowly, his eyes followed the arm over, and over, and up and he saw short wavy hair, silvered over brown. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, but when he opened them again the head was still there. Grissom's head.

This wasn't his house. He lifted the sheet slightly, and realized that no, he really wasn't wearing any close. He was sure he should remember this.

He was naked in his boss's bed, how the hell could he not?

He froze as that particular thought coalesced. He was in his boss's bed. And he was naked. His eyes shot back to Grissom, also naked and sleeping obliviously on, and he felt a little dizzy. Carefully, he lifted Grissom's arm off of him and laid it on the bed, then he slipped towards the floor, collecting his scattered clothes and moving out into the hall. He dressed quickly, found his keys on the coffee table, and slipped out the front door.

Outside, fully clothed and standing under the hot sun—he finally allowed himself to panic. He stumbled towards his Tahoe, wondering if perhaps none of this was really happening at all. People in his line of work had been known to crack, lose all perspective…see naked people.

He dropped the keys twice onto the black pavement before they finally went into the slot, and he worried a little once he'd made it in the car that maybe he shouldn't be driving. He took a deep breath, put on his seat belt, and reassured himself he was fine. He'd gotten a little drunk, and Grissom, considerate as he was, had let him stay at his place. Obviously, it had been very hot and they'd needed to remove all their clothes. No big deal.

He started driving down the street, heading relatively in the direction of where he lived, and pulling his cell phone off of the passenger seat. He hit speed dial on Catherine's home phone, and she took six rings to answer. "Wha—"

She sounded as hung over as him, he thought with a cruel satisfaction as he put down the visor to stop the stinging in his eyes. "Hello, Catherine," he said, sweet as he could manage with his head pounding as it was.

"Nicky? What—"

He cut her off, shouting, "What the hell happened last night!"

There was a pause, and he thought she was probably trying to stop the echoes of pain that the shout had caused, because he knew that was what he was doing. "Why?" she started, sounding uncertain. "Is something wrong? Didn't Grissom get you home alright?"

Nick winced. "Was Grissom with us?" he asked, turning up the air conditioner full blast.

"No, you called him," Catherine said. "Nick, what's wrong, where are you?"

"I'm driving home," he said, then winced again.

She paused, obviously taking as long to process things this morning as him. "Where were you before that?"

"I…never mind. Grissom wasn't there?"

"No, you called him. You don't remember?" Catherine snorted and he froze. This didn't sound good.

"No, I don't remember." He paused, wondering if maybe that was a good thing. He sighed deeply, knowing he had to ask. "What did…what did I say?"

"Oh, Nicky," Catherine laughed. "Are you sure you want to know?"

He was pretty sure he didn't, actually. He grabbed his sunglasses from the glove compartment, nearly swerving in the other lane before he'd got them on. "Tell me," he said, heaving another sigh.

"I think it went something like, 'Oh, Grissom, you're so wonderful,'" Catherine said, exaggerating a drunken voice with a levity he did not appreciate. "Then you went on to list why he was so wonderful, and fell off the bar stool. Highlight of the night, that. We have to go out drinking more often."

Nick, for his part, was frozen with his eyes staring straight ahead. "I didn't say that," he said, but he knew denying it was futile, because he could hear his own drunken voice echoing in the back of his head saying the same exact things.

"You asked Grissom to join us, and he sent me home in a cab and was going to drive you home in your Tahoe when I last saw you." Catherine definitely sounded amused, which wasn't fair at all, because this was all her fault. She'd just had to go out for drinks.

"I have to go now," Nick said, his voice oddly emotionless.

"Nick, hey, wait—" He hung up the phone, cutting her off, and turned right onto his street. He took a deep breath as he parked in his driveway. This would be okay, he told himself, no problem. Grissom might not even remember, Nick decided in a moment of trademark optimism. He remembered drinking whiskey at Grissom's townhouse once they'd gotten there, and Grissom had been pretty drunk too.

His only worry with that was that he was vaguely certain he might have made a few declarations of undying love, and that was when Grissom had said he needed a drink.

—

He woke up with the vague feeling that he was missing something. His head was pounding and when he'd put on his robe and wandered into the kitchen to make coffee, he'd found a bottle of whiskey balanced on the radio next to the bread box. It was empty, which his analytical mind decided explained the headache. It didn't explain, however, why he had been drinking in the first place. He hadn't been hung over in years.

He winced when his phone started ringing, but dutifully picked it up. "What?"

"Gil, have you seen Nick?" It was Catherine, which was not unexpected, as she was one of the few people he associated with out of work. He barely registered her, however, because as soon as she'd said 'Nick' his mind had started to unravel.

Oh. God. Nick.

He headed back to the bed room, and carefully leaned inside. Nope, Nick wasn't there. He wasn't in the bathroom either. Maybe he only imagined it.

"Gil?" Catherine said, sounding concerned.

"He's not here," Grissom told her.

"I—" Catherine said, and then there was a suspicious pause. "Was he there?"

Gil's eyes strayed back to the empty whiskey bottle. "I have to go." He hung up, ignoring Catherine's outraged protest and walked into the living room. He stared at the couch for a moment, remembering bringing Nick here and letting him collapse onto it drunkenly.

He'd brought Nick here. Oh, he shouldn't have done that.

The night came back like a flash flood. Nick had been completely gone, telling him that he loved him and that he thought he had pretty hair, and he'd gone to the kitchen to get the whiskey because it was too painful to hear. Nick was drunk, would have said it to anyone, and he wanted him to actually say it to him. Well, the first part at least, he didn't really care if Nick thought he had pretty hair. In any case, the drinking was a bad call, obviously. One drunken person was bad enough, he'd quickly turned it into two, and the rest was pretty much a blur.

He recalled Nick coming over and pulling the whiskey bottle from his hands so he could take a drink, and then he remembered the kiss, soft and tasting like whiskey and then they had been moving down the hall, shedding their clothes. He groaned and put his head in his hands. Nothing good could come of this.

His phone began ringing again and he irritably picked it up. "Yes?"

"Would people stop hanging up on me, please?"

Catherine sounded just as irritated as him, which he didn't find that surprising, because he remembered her being pretty drunk herself last time he'd seen her. "Sorry," he said. He wasn't really, but there was no reason to be rude.

"I was going to tell you, Nick called me," Catherine said. "He sounded really out of it. What did you do to him?"

Grissom winced. He wished he knew. He was pretty sure Nick had passed out before anything had happened. It probably would have been better if he'd passed out while still in his clothes, but he wasn't above being grateful for small favors. "Nothing," he said. "Why? What did he say?"

"He couldn't remember anything," Catherine said, sounding amused. "Too bad, too, that phone call was priceless. I think our Nicky has a crush on you."

He froze. "Don't be ridiculous," he snapped.

"Hey, calm down," Catherine laughed. "I'm just teasing you…maybe." She paused for a second. "I don't know what the hell you guys were up to, but you might want to check up on him. He sounded pretty upset, and he's not answering his phone. I have to go pick up Lindsay or I'd do it myself."

Grissom hesitated. Seeing Nick didn't seem like a good idea to him at all, but putting it off wouldn’t do either of them any good. "Alright," he said, slowly. "I guess I'll go see if he's okay."

"You do that," Catherine said wryly, and then she hung up.

He sighed and got up to replace the phone in its carriage, and then he showered and got dressed, glad when the warm water and aspirin eased his pounding headache to manageable proportions. He was glad he had taken a cab to pick up Nick last night, because he was fairly certain he wouldn't have been able to find his car had it not been in his driveway. As it was, the thought of not having been able to find it wasn't exactly as horrible as one might think, because then at least he'd have an excuse to not face Nick.

He let out a deep breath once he had arranged himself in the driver's seat, and then started the car. Funny how life seemed to enjoy spiting him. Handing him everything he'd ever wanted, for instance, but putting such a spin on it that the whole thing turned into a nightmare instead. That Nick didn't remember anything was something of a blessing, but he had a feeling the memories wouldn't stay lost for long, and he doubted he would be able to explain this entirely away. He'd been drunk, but not drunk enough that he would have allowed Nick to kiss him if he hadn't wanted him to.

Not as drunk as Nick—Nick who didn't even remember.

He pulled up to the curb of Nick's house and sat there for a minute before getting out of the car. He steeled his resolve and started for the door, pausing when he reached the edge of the driveway as something caused him to turn and look behind him. Nick was sitting in his Tahoe, staring at his garage door, his hands clenched around the steering wheel tight enough to drain his knuckles white. Grissom rolled his eyes up to the sky. This was going to be even harder than he thought, he just knew it.

He walked back to the car and tapped on the passenger side window. Nick jumped, his hands pulling away from the steering wheel like it suddenly burned, and his startled eyes shooting to lock on his. Grissom watched, fascinated, as all of the color bleed from his face. Chances were, he decided, that Nick had remembered.

When Nick made no other move but to stare at him, he gave the window another small tap. Nick hit the automatic lock and Grissom opened the door. He sat in the passenger seat, and Nick returned his gaze to the garage door. "I got drunk last night," Nick told him after a moment's pause.

Grissom nodded. "I did notice."

"I woke up in your bed," he continued, still not making eye contact.

Grissom had figured that, too.

"I was drunk," Nick said again. Grissom nodded helpfully. Nick finally glanced at him, but couldn't hold the gaze long. His hands gripped the steering wheel again. "Am I fired?" he asked.

Grissom looked at him in surprise. "Of course not."

"Oh. Okay. Good." Nick bit his lip, and his fingers began to tap rhythmically against the steering wheel. "Because I thought that maybe I had, you know…said that, maybe, I was in love with you or something."

Grissom joined him in watching the garage door. "You did," he admitted, his heart giving a strange little twist. "But you were drunk."

"I was very drunk," Nick agreed. "People say that all the time when they're drunk, right?"

"That seems to be the general impression, yes," Grissom nodded.

"Right." Nick gave a nod of his own, trying to get past the surrealism of sitting in his Tahoe, in his own driveway, with Grissom in the passenger's seat, and without the intention of actually going anywhere. "So, are we okay then?"

Grissom gave a sad smile, but Nick never looked in time to see it. "We're fine," he said.

"Because not everyone would be cool with this," Nick said. His knuckles were white again, and Grissom wondered if maybe Nick was one of them. "I mean…I remember…things."

"We were drunk," Grissom said gently.

"Things like that happen all the time when people are drunk," Nick said, in unconscious reiteration.

"Exactly. There's nothing to worry about, Nicky, no one has to know."

Grissom's voice had shifted to that soft tone he rarely heard, usually only when he'd almost been shot. He turned to look at him, and he felt a little sick when he saw how sad Grissom seemed. What had he been thinking calling Grissom while he was drunk? Grissom didn't deserve to get dragged down by his drama. "I'm sorry," he said. "God. This is all my fault." He paused for a moment. "And Catherine's," he added.

"It's not anyone's fault," Grissom said softly. "You obviously want to just forget this, Nick, so that's what we'll do. You don't have to worry, alright? Everything's fine."

Nick let out a relieved breath. "Okay. Okay, good. Fine."

"If anyone is to blame, anyway, it's me. I wasn't near as drunk as you were, and I let it happen, right?" Grissom told him, giving a small self depreciating smile. "I should have stopped it, but I couldn't."

"It's not your fault," Nick said promptly.

"It's no one's fault," Grissom said, the smile fading away. He glanced at Nick. "Enjoy your day off, Nicky, alright? And stop worrying." He opened the door and slipped out of the car, and when he closed the door, the slam of it seemed to jar Nick out of his blurry disposition.

Nick turned in the seat, clicking the seat belt loose and watching as Grissom drove away. Had Grissom said he couldn't stop it? Why wouldn't he have been able to? Nick bit his lip and turned back towards his garage door. "You're losing it," he told himself. "Doesn't mean a thing."

But he couldn't shake the thought that maybe it did.

—

Nick paced his living room floor, going over the conversation, trying to puzzle Grissom out. But Grissom didn't like to be figured out, Grissom was a mystery, and it wasn't as easy to trace his motives as it might have been in theory. He kept trying to remember what else had happened last night, but he only got pieces of it at a time. The phone call he remembered, and he really wished he didn't. Anything after Grissom going to the kitchen to get whiskey was distorted and shaky.

Well, that wasn't completely true. There was the kiss, the first one, he remembered that.

In Technicolor and surround sound.

It's just a silly crush, he'd always told himself. Hero worship—nothing more. Then he'd had to go and kiss the man just to prove himself wrong. That was just like him, too, wasn't it? He could never leave anything alone. Had to keep beating the dead horse. Well, it worked well for his career choice, anyway, but it was hell on his personal life.

He remembered convincing Grissom to take him to his place, saying that he never really spent any time there and he'd like a night cap, anyway. Grissom had done it, though why, Nick couldn't fathom. He'd been completely drunk and Grissom would have been better off dumping in the cap along with Catherine. Nick bit his lip. And why hadn't he, then?

He remembered stumbling through Grissom's front door barely able to walk, and falling against the wall trying to keep his balance. That was the first time he'd told Grissom he loved him, he believed, wincing as it came back to it again. Grissom had come over then to help him to the couch, and had whispered that he loved him too and…

Nick stilled his pacing, backtracking. That couldn't be right. He shook his head. He was remembering it wrong. Grissom couldn't have said it back, Grissom wasn't drunk yet. Nick's legs gave out and he dropped down onto his couch. He had though, Nick thought. He could still hear his voice whispering it in the back of his mind, as clear as if Grissom were right next to him, telling him again.

—

Nick was mortified, Grissom thought with a wince. Well, he had always wanted to know, hadn't he? He had always told himself, that if he just knew he didn't stand a chance he could move on. He didn't have a chance. He still couldn't move.

He placed his head in his hands; the thought of getting his other bottle of whiskey wasn't really all that tempting. His hangover was still lingering and he really had no wish for it to make a repeat appearance tomorrow, as well, especially as tomorrow he had to work.

What had he told Nick? Everything's fine. That's right. Well, he hoped Nick at least believed it.

He'd pretty much gone from nearly hopeless to lost cause in the space of one drunken night. One drunken night that kept replaying, over and over, and he couldn't seem to find the pause button. He'd been kissing Nick. Nick had been in his bed. And it wasn't ever going to happen again.

He stood up, still feeling out of sorts from the hangover, among other things, and walked to his bookshelf. He couldn't seem to find anything that might distract him, and he didn't own a television. First time he'd had reason to regret never buying one.

He heard a strange knocking sound coming vaguely in the direction of his front door, and he turned to stare at in a moment of utter confusion. It clicked a second later. Someone was knocking. Someone wanted to come in. He was relatively certain that for most people this was a common event, but he had no wish to have a visitor.

Still, turning off all the lights and hiding out of view of the windows seemed more than a little immature, so he walked over and opened the door. Nick was the very last person he had expected to see. He had thought Nick would still be sitting in his Tahoe, trying to erase the previous night.

He looked a little like that was where he would rather be, and Grissom frowned, wondering what he was doing there. He hoped he wasn't thinking of doing something like resigning, because that would be just like Nick—thinking it was all his fault and he owed some kind of imagined penance.

Nick glanced up at him, and down again, licking his lips and not saying anything. He was staring at his welcome mat, which said in big black letters to 'bug off.' He saw Nick's brief smile before he finally looked up to meet his eyes. "Can I come in?"

Grissom nodded, moving out of the way to let Nick in. When he closed the door and turned around, Nick was standing in front of him. Right in front of him, as in plastered against him. He tried to move a little further back, but the door made it impossible to get far. He frowned, his skin tingling with never to be forgotten memories as Nick's arm brushed his.

"I've been thinkin'," Nick said, quietly. "You know Catherine's motto, right, no regrets and all that? Well, that's a pretty good way to live, really, and I'm trying it out."

"I'm glad," Grissom said, his eyes flickering off to the side before coming to rest back on Nick. "Was there…something I could help you with?"

Nick looked suddenly serious, a little less nervous, and he nodded. "Yes, actually." He leaned forward, placing his hands on Grissom's neck, and kissing him. Not the drunken mindless kind of kiss of last night, not with laughter roaring in his ears as Nick found it funny for reasons known only to him, but soft and fleeting and sweet in a way he hadn't really expected.

Nick pulled back, but not far. "It wasn't the alcohol, you see," he whispered breathily. "Well, it was, I would never have told you otherwise, but it doesn't make it any less true."

Grissom's head was spinning a little, and he couldn't quite convince himself it was only the hangover. He nodded a little vaguely. "You were drunk," he pointed out.

Nick shrugged. "I'm an honest drunk."

"But you said—" Grissom couldn't quite wrap his head around any of this. Things like this didn't happen to him.

Nick was looking a little nervous again. "I said what I thought you wanted to hear. But then I thought maybe I had it all wrong, and that maybe you didn't really want to just forget it at all. Do you?"

The part of him that was Nick's supervisor, the part of him that had inspired many people to whisper 'robot' behind his back wanted to tell him that yes, he wanted to forget it all, but even if he said it, he knew he wouldn't forget it. And the whole no regrets thing sounded a lot better than making himself miserable for the rest of his life. "No," he said, catching Nick's face between his hands this time, and kissing him again.

They had just made it to the couch, Nick moaning in a way that was shutting his mind down completely, when the ringing finally registered. He pulled back, and turned to glare at the phone irritated, but Nick was not to be deterred, and he shivered a little when he felt the soft kisses on his neck.

"What do you want?" he snapped when he picked up the phone.

"Jeez, Gil, we gotta get you a new greeting. Why don't you try 'hello' once and awhile?"

He almost smiled at the teasing note in Catherine's voice, but Nick's hands were keeping him effectively distracted. "I'm a little…busy…"

"You sound odd," Catherine said. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Grissom said, trying to affect a pleasant tone—so that she would go away.

"Well, what happened? Is Nick alright?" she demanded, sounding irritated that he was once again being deliberately obtuse.

Grissom did smile when he heard Nick laughing into his neck. "He's fine, too, Catherine. I'm going to hang up on you now."

"Don't you dar—" she shouted, but he just turned off the phone and tossed it behind him, and neither he nor Nick paid much attention when it started ringing again.