Title - A Time to be Born

Author - black_dahlia63

Characters - Nick Stokes, Greg Sanders, various OC's

Rating - PG

Disclaimer - Not mine, sadly.
Before you were conceived, I wanted you.
Before you were born, I loved you.
Before you were here an hour, I would give my life for you.
This is the miracle of life. - Joyce Maynard

They'd been together for almost seven years, and there weren't many things Nick didn't know about Greg by now - but the notebook was one of them.

It was two thirds full, the cover faded and tattered, and the writing at the beginning was that of a child - a child who'd been picked on at school and hadn't told his parents, because his mother had been at the root of his problems…and then one evening Greg had realised that even though he might not have said anything, one of his parents understood anyway.

I know how your mom is, Greg, his father had told him when he'd come upstairs to say goodnight. I think deep down she knows you'd be fine if you played on the football team and did all the other things she doesn't want you to do, but she - we waited a long time to have you, and we're not going to be able to have any more kids, he'd said. But you know what? You'll understand when you're a dad, because you'll worry even when you know you're nuts to do it, and he'd handed Greg a thick notebook. If you can't talk about something, write it in here.

That was exactly what Greg had done, and although it hadn't magically made everything better it had helped a lot more than he'd thought it would. There'd be times when he wouldn't write in it for months - almost a year, once - and sometimes there'd be no more than a single sentence…but it was these terse entries that seemed, when he took the book out and read what he'd written, to have the most meaning.

What do I do if they don't find Nick in time?

It had been this entry that had been followed by a gap of almost a year, because what had taken place in those eleven months had been something Greg had never really believed he'd ever have - and when he'd written in the book again, it had been the longest entry he'd made since he was eleven.

Her name's Alison, and she's twenty three; she's already got another kid, and her husband died about four years ago - we don't know anything about the father of this baby, but Alison's "medically okay" according to Judith, which I guess means no diseases or anything. We've been talking to her on the phone for three weeks now, and she wants to meet us - so next Friday we're going to a place called Fort Stockton, which is somewhere in Texas and that's all I know. I asked Nick what sort of place it is, and he told me he's pretty sure everyone has indoor bathrooms there now - plus they have the biggest roadrunner statue in the country, which would sure make me want to live there. Ha ha.

I know Judith said it was going to take longer for us, but it looks like this might finally happen. I want it more than just about anything I've ever wanted in my life, so I don't know why I'm so nervous about it. I guess it's thinking about someone having that much power over us - and Alison does, much more than the home study people or any of the lawyers do, because it's down to her whether we get to have our family or not, isn't it?

God, I wish I wasn't so scared about getting on that plane next week.

Eight days later.

"You know what my dad calls these?" Nick asked, squinting through the driving rain at the sign reading Tom's Trailer Park that hung slightly askew on a nearby fence. "Tornado magnets," and he turned his head towards his passenger. "I bet you if the sun was shining there'd be someone playing a banjo," he went on, folding the map and cramming it into the glove compartment of the rental car - and although he was smiling, his hands were shaking visibly. "G -"

"Turning chicken?" Greg asked, reaching across the space between them to rest his left hand on Nick's right wrist, and what he'd written in his journal resurfaced as he realised that Nick felt exactly the same way. "It'll be fine," he said softly, and he planted a kiss at the corner of his lover's mouth. "Come on." He unfastened his seatbelt, and then waited until Nick had done the same before opening the passenger side door of the car; pulling their jackets up over their heads, the two of them ran the few yards to where a short, dumpy woman was climbing out of a red Toyota.

"Hi, Judith," Greg said. "How are you?"

"Hey, sugar," the woman responded, and she chuckled as she took in the expression on Nick's face. "You can start breathing again, Mr. Stokes," she said. "She isn't going to bite you," and she walked ahead of Nick and Greg towards a trailer several yards away; climbing the handful of rickety wooden steps, she knocked on the screen door, and there was a response of "Coming!" from somewhere inside.

It was covered in peeling yellow paint, and cheap toys littered the patchy grass in front of it; Nick looked at the bicycle that had one of its handlebars lying on the ground, contrasted it with everything he'd been given as a child - not just the material things, but the solid, loving upbringing, and as he felt a lump rise in his throat the screen door opened with a rusty whine…

…and it didn't matter how many photos and letters and phone calls there'd been over the preceding weeks, neither he nor Greg had really been ready for this moment.

There was a long silence, during which the rain poured steadily around them and the young red-haired woman with the mountainous belly stood in the trailer doorway eyeing them up and down - and finally, Nick swallowed the cotton that seemed to have filled his mouth.

"Hi, Alison."

"You look taller than your pictures," she said, her Southern accent even more pronounced than Nick's, and he supposed that he might have sounded like this if he hadn't moved to Vegas. "You guys wanna come in?"

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

Despite the threadbare carpet and shabby furniture, the inside of the trailer was spotless; Nick and Greg sat side by side on a couch that was draped with a Stars and Stripes throw, trying to make out the soft murmurs of conversation several yards away as coffee was prepared.

"Nick," Greg said out of the side of his mouth. "You're doing it again."

"What?"

"You're cracking your knuckles," came the whispered response. "Stop it," and before Nick could deny that he was doing what he always did when he was nervous, one of his hands was seized between both of Greg's. "Don't worry, okay?"

"You all right, Nick?"

"He's fine," Greg said, looking up at Alison, who was standing in front of them with a mug in each hand. "See, he does this thing with his knuckles when he's stressed out, and…"

"Cracks them? My uncle does that too," was the redhead's answer as she held a mug out to Greg. "Aunt June says he'll get arthritis, but he never listens to her," and she turned towards Nick. "You wanted cream in yours, right?"

"Yes," Nick managed to say. "Thank you," and after he'd accepted the coffee he watched Alison lower herself into one of the armchairs that didn't match the couch; there was another silence, during which Judith settled into the other armchair, and then Nick looked up over the rim of his mug to see Alison watching him with a hesitant smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.

"Got no clue what to say either, do you?"

"No," Nick admitted, kicking himself for having said this aloud. "Feels like the first time I had to give evidence in court, I was scared sh - well, I was scared I'd say the wrong thing then too," he corrected himself, his face burning.

"See, I told him to eat breakfast before we came over here," Greg said before Nick could shut him up. "I said if he didn't he was going to be like this, but…"

"There's an IHOP a mile down the road," Judith said. "It's almost noon," and she smiled. "Would lunch do, Nick?"

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

"- and this one's from last Fourth of July at Nick's parents' place," Greg said, flipping over a page in the album that lay on the table vying for space with plates of food, and the other three people seated round the table craned their necks to look.

"How many nieces and nephews did you say you had?" Alison asked as she studied the photo of Nick with a baby in the crook of his right arm and a half-eaten burger in his other hand. "It looks like a dozen, from all these pictures."

"It's seven," was Nick's answer. "It only feels like a dozen at Christmas when mom and dad try and fit us all in at the ranch," and he was unable to suppress a smile as he pointed at the photo. "My sister says that's her last baby, but she's always wanted a girl, so I think she'll keep going until she gets one - sorry," he said. "Probably too much information, right?"

"My mom always used to say I should have been a boy," Alison told them. "She bought all these dresses, and I just wanted to live in jeans and ride my bike all the time," and the corners of her mouth lifted in that hesitant smile again. "Have y'all bought much baby stuff yet?"

"We've painted the bedroom," Nick said, biting back a grin as a memory suddenly filled his mind - Greg standing halfway up a stepladder, brush in hand, green paint in his hair and the look in his eyes that always made Nick want to kiss him. "We've bought a crib, but we haven't put it up yet," and he drained the contents of his mug before continuing. "And one of my sisters sent us a box of stuff her kids have grown out of," he said, wishing he was back at the trailer where he hadn't said a word - because now he was talking, he just knew the words weren't coming out right.

Second hand baby things, Stokes. Real nice, he told himself silently. Now she'll think we're tightwads.

Forget feeling like his first time giving evidence in court - this was much worse than that.

"We're getting new clothes too," Greg broke in, still holding Nick's hand - reading Nick's mind the way he always seemed to when it really counted, and the image loosened the tightness in Nick's throat. "Just so you don't think -"

"Nothing wrong with second hand," Alison said. "When Cassie was little we borrowed whatever anyone would lend us, even though John was working - they grow so fast when they're little, ain't much point in buying new all the time even if you can afford to." She was silent for a while, chasing the last piece of chicken fried steak round her plate with her fork, and then she cleared her throat. "He was a great dad, you know," she said softly. "Cassie doesn't really remember him, she wasn't even two when he passed, but I tell her about him all the time," and although she was smiling there was a gentle sadness in her eyes as she looked at the two men sitting opposite her.

"I met him when I was fifteen, and everyone said I was too young to really know what I wanted," Alison said. "I did know, though, ‘cause you only ever get one person you feel that way about, right?" and in the silence that followed Nick thought back to the night when he'd met Greg and something had jolted the length of his spine. "I found out I was pregnant two weeks after I turned sixteen, and my folks cut me off - but John said he'd look after me, and I knew we'd be all right," Alison continued. "We might not have ever had that much money, but we had our little girl, and I couldn't believe I was so happy…"

"You don't have to talk about this," Nick said quietly. "Not if it hurts you."

"I don't even know what the guy's last name was," Alison replied, as though Nick hadn't even spoken, and an undercurrent of strength crept into the words. "Cassie was sleeping over with a friend from school, and I decided - well, I got tired of sitting on my own at night thinking that if John would've just worn his helmet when he tested that bike he wouldn't have died," and out of the corner of his eye Nick saw Judith shake her head as the waitress approached their table. "I went to a bar, and this guy bought me a drink," Alison went on. "Said his name was Mike, I don't even know if that was true, but I know he wasn't from round here. He had a room at the motel on the other side of town, so we went back there, and I was sorry as soon as it happened - I thought it would stop me feeling alone but I just felt dirty." She fell silent again, pushing her plate away, and it seemed to take an age before she spoke again.

"I knew I was pregnant even before I could take a test," Alison went on. "It was the same with Cassie, it's just a feeling you get," and she looked up at Nick and Greg again. "I knew right off I wasn't going to keep it." Another long silence followed, and then Alison reached for her napkin and blew her nose loudly. "I know I made a mistake, and I don't want the baby to have to pay for it," she said. "Sounds stupid, doesn't it?"

"No," Greg said, speaking around the lump in his throat. "You look at your daughter and she makes you think of John, right?" and he saw Alison nod tearfully. "I think you're right, you only ever do get one person like that - and if you know this isn't right for you, then it isn't," he went on, reaching across the table. "You know what, though?" he said, squeezing her hand. "You didn't have to go on with the pregnancy in the first place, so I think that makes you pretty brave."

"I don't feel real brave right now," was the answer, accompanied by a wan smile. "I thought it was going to be so easy to do this once I'd made my mind up, but it isn't," and Alison took the Kleenex that Nick fished from his pocket. "I met all these people through the pastor at the church I go to, and none of them were the right ones," she said as she dabbed at red-rimmed eyes. "I didn't care if they had a big house, I just wanted to look at them and feel like the baby would be happy, you know? Then my doctor said she thought I ought to speak to someone legal, ‘cause she said I had rights and she didn't want anyone to take advantage of me - so I found Judith from an ad in the paper, and she came all the way from Fort Worth to see me," Alison said. "Told me I could keep in touch with the parents, said I could even visit some of them if I wanted," she went on. "I don't think I want to visit, I just - well, maybe some photos? A letter? Just so I'd know she was okay?"

She.

Although Nick's breath froze in his throat when he tried to speak, something must have shown on his face anyway - because he saw Alison and Judith exchange glances, and a smile twitched at the corners of Alison's mouth.

"I had the scan last week - I just wanted to wait until you guys were here to tell you," Alison said. "What do you think about a little girl?"

*********

Days Inn, 6.20 p.m.

Greg sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back slightly as Nick knelt behind him and rubbed his shoulders. His eyes were closed, his ears tuned to the sounds around him - the whirr of the air conditioning unit, the plane roaring overhead, the people in the next room squabbling - sounds which seemed very distant as they fought for space with the images crowding his mind.

They'd ended up back at the trailer again after lunch, because they'd lingered over their food for so long that Alison had looked at her watch and realised that her daughter would be getting home from school. Do y'all want to come and meet her? she'd asked, the slightly anxious expression on her face telling them she wasn't sure they'd say yes, but they had accepted eagerly. Five minutes after the four of them had arrived back at the trailer, Cassie had bounded off her school bus, a broad grin on her face and a grease-spotted paper bag clutched in one hand; this had turned out to contain cookies she had made earlier that day, burnt to a crisp, but Nick and Greg had accepted one anyway. This had endeared them to Cassie instantly, and it had been another two hours before they'd managed to leave - and as Greg had looked at Nick and Cassie, their heads almost touching as the little girl chattered about something that had happened at school, it had really sunk in.

We're going to have a kid.

"Yeah, we are," Nick said behind him, and Greg smiled as he realised that he must have spoken aloud. The hands on his shoulders slid down his arms, drawing him back against Nick's chest, and he went willingly; he twisted his head back, eyes still closed, and when lips brushed his he let out a contented murmur.

"You know I love you, right?"

"Always," Greg replied softly, and he was drawn down to lie on the bed. He lay on his side with Nick spooned behind him, and he felt a hand move slowly up and down his side; neither one of them spoke for a long time, and Greg was just allowing himself to think that Nick had fallen asleep when his lover's voice broke the silence.

"Are we going to go and look for a place to have supper?"

"After that lunch you packed away? Alison's eating for two, and you even had her beat."

"Wiseass," Nick said, delivering a gentle swat to Greg's upper thigh. "Come on, I need to try and get reception on my cell so I can call my folks and tell them the news."

"All right, but I need to show you something first," Greg said, pushing himself upright, and he leaned over the side of the bed to rummage in the bag he'd crammed his belongings into ten minutes before they'd left for the airport. When he sat back against the heap of pillows, he had a padded envelope in his hands, and Nick watched as it was opened to reveal a dog-eared hardcover book.

" Mormor og de åtte ungene i skogen?" Nick managed to say, virtually certain he was pronouncing the words wrongly. "Little help, G?"

"It means Grandma and the eight kids in the forest," Greg said as he passed the book to Nick. "It was my favourite book when I was a kid, because I just loved the dog," and he pointed at one corner of the cover, where a black dachshund was visible. "See? That's Ovnsrøret," he went on, his eyes lighting up as he recalled something that evidently held a special place in his heart. "I don't know how many boxes mom must have gone through in the attic, but she found it for me because I wanted the baby to have it - I know you'll think it's silly, but I used to sit on mom's lap while she read to me, and…"

"I don't think it's silly," Nick answered, looking down at the book and then up at Greg. "But she'll only understand it if you read it to her," and he was smiling as he placed the book back in Greg's hands. The kiss that followed was long and deep, lasting until they had to pull apart to breathe; Nick caught hold of a handful of Greg's shirt, and Greg felt himself stiffening as he saw the look in Nick's eyes saying that dinner was the furthest thing from his mind. "Now, put that book away before we wrinkle the pages."

October 7th

"Aren't you packed yet, G? We'll miss our flight if we don't leave soon."

"I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"What?" Nick chuckled, wrapping his arms round Greg's waist and grinning at him. "Four days in our favourite place - what's not good about that?"

"What if something happens while we're away?"

"The baby? Alison's got two weeks to go yet, you know that," Nick said, murmuring the words against Greg's neck and laughing softly when an almost imperceptible shiver rippled through his lover's body. "You know this is going to be the last time we do this?" he went on. "The last time it'll just be us? The next time we go to Florida it'll be Disneyworld or Universal Studios, we'll have ten times as much luggage and everyone else on the plane will hate us because the baby'll scream the entire journey," and he nuzzled the side of Greg's neck. "I want all that, G, you know I do, but I want this first," he said. "And I think the baby's going to let us have these four days, don't you?"

"Yeah," Greg said, trying to sound as though he meant it, and a kiss was planted on his lips; before it could deepen, the phone rang on the nightstand, and the two of them dived for it simultaneously.

"Hello?" Nick said, almost breathlessly, and then his face relaxed. "Hi, Meg. No, nothing yet, she's not due for another two weeks. Greg's fine - yeah, we're leaving for the airport as soon as he's finished packing," and he smirked at Greg, who rolled his eyes before grabbing clothes at random and stuffing them into his suitcase. "Four days this time, that's all we can manage - of course I'll call you if there's any news, you know I will. You give Nate and Alex our love, okay? You too, sweetheart. ‘Bye," and he hung up before turning back towards Greg, who was laughing almost under his breath. "What?"

"Thought it was Alison, didn't you?" Greg said with a smile, ducking the pillow that was thrown at him, and he zipped his suitcase shut. "Come on, didn't you say we had a plane to catch?"

********

They had put the crib together two days after returning from Fort Stockton, and a new dresser had been bought three weeks after that; its drawers were full of baby clothes, and the book that Greg's mother had unearthed for him sat on top of it. A tiny black and orange sleeper, its matching hat decorated with a pair of pointed ears, was draped over the side of the crib; it was only one of many things bought on impulse since their first meeting with Alison, but it was the one that made Nick smile the most. You're just a big kid, G, he'd said when the sleeper had been pulled from the carrier bag Greg had brought back to the apartment one evening. She isn't going trick or treating, she'll only be just over a week old…but that had been when Greg had raised the issue of the impossibly small pink and white Converse sneakers that Nick had bought the previous week, which Nick did have to admit pretty much evened things out.

Their first visit to Fort Stockton had been followed by a second one a month later, when they'd gone on to the hospital where Alison was due to deliver the baby - an appointment they'd anticipated with no little apprehension. Alison wanted them in the delivery room with her, but Judith had warned the three of them that this might not be possible - we're in Texas, guys, she'd told them, and some parts of it still aren't real progressive - but as soon as Nick and Greg had met Alison's obstetrician they'd known there weren't going to be any problems.

Call me Doctor Nick, the black man in his late thirties had told them. Just like the Simpsons, and when he'd flashed impossibly white teeth in a broad grin Nick and Greg had felt themselves relaxing. He'd fetched in cups of weak coffee from the machine in the hallway outside his office, and any worries Nick and Greg might have been harbouring had been quickly dispelled. I'll make sure we get this written down so that the nurses all know what's going on, he'd said. Mom here says she wants you in the delivery room, and that's fine - and then he'd said casually, One of you can cut the cord when Emily's born, if you like, which had made Nick fish a Kleenex from his pocket and blow his nose hard.

There were many times when Nick would wake in the middle of the night, find himself alone in bed and make his way towards the room down the hall; Greg would be sitting in the chair next to the crib, the book open in his hands and a gentle, faraway smile curving his lips…and as he watched from the doorway, Nick always felt his heart swelling inside his chest until he feared it would burst.

The notebook remained in the back of Greg's underwear drawer, and he had only written in it twice since their first meeting with Alison.

The first entry had been made in the small hours of the morning, after they had lain in bed after a shift and finally agreed on a name. With Nick sleeping beside him, Greg had unearthed a stub of pencil and written Emily Elizabeth Sanders Stokes; he'd looked at these four words, a grin spreading across his face as the giving of a name finally made the dream completely real.

The second entry, made one afternoon when he'd been alone in the apartment and Nick had been giving evidence at court, was the reason why Greg hadn't taken the notebook out again. The words he'd written had been painful to think of, and when he'd looked at them on the page he'd shed tears - and this had been the one time when writing it down hadn't worked, because the thoughts continued to haunt him even now.

Alison can't sign the papers until the baby's five days old. Judith's always told us that she could change her mind, and I'm trying so hard not to think about that, but I can't help it.

When Nick was kidnapped it was only a week after we'd exchanged our rings, and I'd already got so many plans, so many things I wanted to say and do - and I kept thinking, what if we never find him or he's dead when we do and I have to just let everything stop? Oh, I know if I told anybody how I'm feeling now they'd say it wasn't the same as Nick going missing - they'd say we could start over, get another baby, but it isn't that easy. It isn't about the money we've spent, I just feel like Emily's meant to be with us - pretty stupid, right? She hasn't even been born yet - but I just know.

I'm not the only one who feels like this - I know Nick does too, even though he can't talk about it any more than I can. There'll be times after we get home from a shift and I know he's damn near dead on his feet, but he won't come to bed - he'll put the TV on and just sit there, I know he isn't really watching it, but at least he isn't lying in bed in the dark thinking the same things I'm thinking. So I get up again and go and sit on the couch with him and put my arms round him - that's all I can really do except pray, and I've been doing a lot of that lately.

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

Geneva, Florida. 5.30 p.m.

Nick had fallen asleep within twenty minutes of leaving the airport, and he was finally woken by the rental car bumping along the uneven road that led to their destination. He blinked sleepily, focusing his eyes on the trees by the side of the road that were still stunted from wildfires which had burned years before he and Greg had ever come here; a hand touched the back of his neck, moving gently to erase the kinks that sleep had put into the muscles there, and Nick smiled without turning his head.

The house, located just about as close to the Everglades as you could get without being in them, belonged to an old college friend of Nick's who'd bought it to use as a retreat from his corporate law practice. Unfortunately, despite his best intentions to the contrary, these retreats weren't as frequent as he'd have liked; and so, when he'd extended an invitation to use the place whenever you like, man, just call and make sure I'm not there first, Nick had jumped at the chance.

The first time he and Greg had gone to Florida, they'd only been dating for a couple of months and were still at the stage where they couldn't keep their hands off each other; the house was literally miles from anywhere, and there'd been nobody to see them as they'd shed their clothes to migrate between the brass-railed bed and the swimming pool and the wrap-around deck until they'd been completely exhausted.

They'd returned almost eight months later, when they'd been seeing each other for nearly a year; Nick had hardly spoken during the journey from Vegas, and he'd only picked at the steak that Greg had cooked on the barbecue once they'd unpacked. I need to tell you something, Nick had said eventually, when he'd come indoors to find Greg staring out of the bedroom window. Can you sit down? Please? Greg had joined him on the edge of the bed, thinking that this must be where it was going to finish and realising simultaneously that he'd been dating this man for longer than he'd ever dated anyone else - and that had been when Nick had finally told somebody what had happened to him at the age of nine. He'd stared down at the floor between his feet while he'd spoken, his voice becoming quieter and quieter; Greg had taken the words in, biting his lower lip in an attempt not to cry, wanting to find the person who'd done this to the man he loved so that he could tear them apart with his bare hands. Nick had looked up when his story was done, anxiety etching itself deeper into his face with every second of silence that elapsed; Greg had held his arms out, felt tears soaking into his shirt as Nick pressed against him - and he'd felt closer to Nick that night than he had during any of the times they'd made love.

It had been Greg who'd initiated the third visit, finding Nick's buddy's number in Nick's address book and making the call himself; it had been the longest amount of time they'd spent there, a stay lasting over three weeks that had used up all of Greg's stockpiled vacation time, but he hadn't cared. Nick's face had still been pock-marked with fire ant bites, and he hadn't been able to sleep for more than an hour without waking in the grip of a nightmare; Desert Palms hadn't really wanted to let him leave, had said he was "still too emotionally fragile", but he'd remained resolute. I need to be with Greg , he'd said to one of the doctors. He can look after me better than any of you can, and if you don't let me go I'll sign myself out. They had spent most of the first week in the brass-railed bed, Greg holding Nick when he woke screaming and getting up to make food when Nick was ready to eat again; the second week had found the two of them outside, lying in the ancient hammock strung between two trees in an area that seemed to catch the sun most of the day, their limbs tangled together as they swung back and forth in silence and Nick slowly started to put himself back together. Bill and Jillian Stokes had flown out from Dallas that week, and when Nick's father had cornered Greg in the kitchen Greg had felt himself quailing inwardly; he knew that Nick's dad hadn't always been cool with Nick being gay, and wouldn't this just be the perfect opportunity to prove that he still really wasn't? But before Greg could say anything, he'd found his hands grasped between those of Nick's father. How are you doing, Greg? the older man had asked. We wanted to come and make sure you were both all right, and there'd been concern in his eyes. I'll be all right when Nick's better, sir, Greg had replied, a lump in his throat. I keep wondering if I'm doing enough, and he'd fallen silent when Nick's father had shaken his head. </i>You're doing exactly what he needs</i>, Bill Stokes had said. You keep doing it, Greg - and come up to Dallas and see us when he's ready, and his eyes had twinkled for a second or two. Oh, and stop this "sir" business, Mr. Sanders - call me Bill.

And now they were here again.

Greg pulled the car up in front of the house and killed the engine before unfastening his seatbelt and turning towards his passenger. They looked at each other without speaking for a long time, the soft ticking of cooling metal echoing in their ears; eventually, Greg placed a hand behind Nick's head, bringing him closer, and even though their lips barely touched he still felt that familiar warmth wrapping itself round his heart. "Come on," he said softly. "Let's get the bags in, and we can make supper."

*********

10.00 p.m

The sky was almost pitch black, dotted with stars, and every so often a rusty croak from a bullfrog would ring out in the slightly muggy air. The dozen or so tealight candles that Greg had lit were beginning to gutter, casting flickering light over the scattered clothing and the two people lying on the blanket that had been carried out onto the deck once they'd finished supper.

They had made love for what seemed an age, and afterwards neither of them had wanted to move. Nick was lying on his stomach, his head resting on his folded arms; Greg was lying on his side next to him, dragging the fingertips of one hand aimlessly up and down Nick's back and thinking that sleeping out here sounded like a good idea, when Nick's voice finally broke the silence.

"You know we won't get to do this again any time soon, don't you?" he said, lifting his head to look at Greg. "Judith said we shouldn't count on having time for a sex life till Emily's about two - if we're lucky."

"The hell with that - we'll make time," Greg replied, shifting close enough to place an arm round Nick's shoulders. "You couldn't go two weeks, never mind two years," he continued, and he darted the tip of his tongue into the tender spot just behind Nick's ear; there was a soft moan, and Nick's head fell forward onto his arms again. "See?" Greg whispered, biting gently at Nick's earlobe. "Scratch two weeks, make it two hours," and his soft chuckle was cut off abruptly when Nick twisted round to face him and their mouths collided. Moments later, although Greg would have sworn neither of them could manage anything again so soon, they were a tangle of limbs and grasping fingers; by the time harsh, broken cries of release cut the night's stillness, all the candles had gone out - and the cell phone that lay several feet away still hadn't rung. Told you she'd let us have this, Greg heard Nick say as though the words were coming from a great distance; he wanted to reply, but his mouth seemed to be full of cotton, so he settled for draping himself across Nick and closing his eyes while a heartbeat echoed in his ears.

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

Greg's notebook, October 17th - 11 a.m

Alison's due in four days. We're flying out to Texas this afternoon, and we're booking into a hotel until the baby comes.

Please let this all work out.

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

Days Inn, Fort Stockton, October 19th - 2.45 a.m

Nick scrubbed a hand across his eyes in the darkness as he woke from a fitful sleep, and as his vision cleared he could make out a familiar silhouette standing by the window. Throwing the covers back, he climbed out of bed and walked across the room to where his lover stood; he wrapped an arm round Greg from behind and held him close, feeling one of Greg's hands resting over his wrist as the two of them looked out at the parking lot.

They'd arrived two days earlier with a suitcase full of baby paraphernalia, some of which had been given to them by the rest of the team before they'd left Vegas - including a travel crib that Warrick had handed over. "You'll need it when you get her out of the hospital," he'd said with his customary pragmatism. "Don't let the hotel loan you one, man, you know some of the scenes we've worked at hotels…" but Nick had laughed and cut him off with a wave of his hand.

Most of the previous day had been spent with Alison; they'd started out by taking her out for breakfast, where she'd eaten a huge plate of food and then polished off the pancakes Greg hadn't been able to finish.

And now all they could do was wait.

"I couldn't sleep," Greg said, leaning his head back against Nick's shoulder. "Didn't want to wake you," and a long silence followed; when Greg eventually spoke again, the words were barely audible, but the emotion in them made Nick's throat tighten until he could hardly breathe.

"I want this," Greg murmured. "I want it so much, Nicky, and if she says -" and his voice dropped to a cracked whisper. "If she says we can't have her…"

"We've got to believe she won't do that," Nick managed to say, his eyes smarting with tears, and he lowered his head to press his lips against Greg's bare shoulder. "But if she does -" and there was an audible sniff from Greg that tore at Nick's heart "- if she does, then we'll get through it. We will," he said, with all the conviction he could muster. "You want something to drink? Coke? There's a machine down on the next floor."

"Yeah," Greg said. "Please," and he lowered his head. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"Don't be," Nick said, stepping in front of Greg and placing a hand against one side of his face. "We'll be fine," and he kissed Greg lightly on the mouth before moving to the nearby chair where he'd left his jeans; he put them on over the boxer shorts he'd worn to go to sleep, and he checked the back pocket for his wallet. "I'll be right back," he said, managing to keep his voice even, and he left the room.

Down on the next landing, it took Nick three attempts to get his money into the vending machine and extract two cans of Coke. Leaning against the wall, he popped the tab on one of the cans and drank deeply before closing his eyes against the tears that still threatened.

He recalled the year, seemingly so long ago now, when the two of them had spent Christmas at the ranch in Dallas for the second time. Greg had been at the centre of a group of Nick's nieces and nephews for the whole of Christmas Eve - holding them enthralled with some of his more printable anecdotes from work, lifting the smaller children up to place ornaments near the top of the Christmas tree, grinning good-naturedly at the cries of "But I want Greg to read to me!" when bedtime finally came. It had been much later that evening, when everyone else was asleep, that Nick had finally managed to get Greg alone. "What do you think about having some of our own?" he'd asked, his heart in his throat, because he'd never thought he'd care about anyone enough to ask them this - and when he'd seen the way Greg's face lit up, he'd had his answer.

God, please, Nick thought now, as he turned and headed for the stairs. If this goes wrong, it's going to kill him…

"Nick! Nick!" and he looked up to see Greg leaning down over the stair railing, not seeming to care that he was wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer shorts and was shouting loudly enough to wake the dead. "Her water just broke -"

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

Pecos County Memorial Hospital, Fort Stockton - 6.45 a.m

"Okay, Alison, the next time you feel a contraction coming I want you to push really hard," the doctor said, looking up from the foot of the bed. "One or two more, and you've done it."

"I can't do it."

"You can," Nick said softly, reaching for the washcloth with his free hand and pressing it against Alison's forehead. "You're doing fine," but his heart ached as he looked at her sweat-beaded face. We'll stick with our kids, he'd told Greg when they'd first made their decision to have a family. No matter how badly they screw up. If there was ever a time when someone needed their family, it was now, and how could Alison's parents not want to help her through this?

"God, I want this out of me," Alison whimpered, and she renewed her grip on Nick's hand with enough strength to make bones grind together beneath the skin; her face turned crimson with effort, and a moan was forced out through gritted teeth.

What happened next seemed to stretch out into hours, although in reality it took less than two minutes.

"Nicky! I can see the head!" - and when Nick looked down to the foot of the bed Greg was standing next to the doctor, his face drained of all colour and his eyes brimming with tears.

"Come on, Alison, one more - you're nearly there, sweetheart," the doctor urged. "One more…"

"I - can't," Alison managed to say, but her hand tightened on Nick's again - squeezing so hard that by the following day he would barely be able to move it - and a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a scream escaped her lips.

"That's it, you've done it!"

"Oh my god, Nicky, look…"

A wail broke the sudden silence, slicing into the core of Nick's heart, and he blinked away tears as the doctor held up a tiny, blood-streaked form.

"Here she is, Mr. Stokes - are you going to cut the cord?"

"Yes, he is," Alison said, finally letting go of Nick's hand and managing to smile as her head fell back against the pillows - and when Nick forced himself to move, the first thing he did was to lean over her and press his lips to her flushed, perspiring forehead.

"Thank you," he said in a shaky voice, and he felt her arms wind themselves tightly round his neck - and as the baby continued to cry, nobody else heard the words that were whispered in Nick's ear.

"You look after her, you hear?"

**********

7.30 a.m.

"How is she?"

"She's asleep," Greg said as he joined Nick on the two-seater couch in the room down the hall from the delivery suite, and he grinned as he looked down at Nick's right hand. "How's that hand now?"

"I might get some feeling back in about a week," Nick said ruefully, adjusting the ice pack that he'd been given - and before either of them could say anything else, the door swung open to admit a nurse wheeling a Perspex cradle.

"Is she all right?" were the first words out of Greg's mouth, and a lump rose in his throat as he thought of what his father had told him so long ago.

"You'll understand when you're a dad, because you'll worry even when you know you're nuts to do it."

"She's absolutely fine, Greg," was the answer. "She's going to need feeding, would you like to do it?" and a warm smile spread across the nurse's face. "I don't think Nick's quite got the use of that hand back yet, do you?" and Greg supposed that he must have managed to say something in response - because moments later, the nurse was leaning over him and placing the bundle in the crook of his right arm. "I'll just go and get her bottle," the nurse said, the words sounding as though they were coming from a great distance; the door opened and then closed again, and for the first time the three of them were alone.

Infinitely slowly, afraid he would drop her at any moment, Greg opened the blanket and looked at the little figure in the yellow sleeper. Her tiny hands were clenched into fists, her rosebud mouth gently pursed; she had almost impossibly long eyelashes, and the thickest shock of hair Greg had ever seen on a baby.

Our daughter.

Ours.

"Nick?" he managed to say faintly. "Nicky?"

"Right here," and when an arm snaked around Greg's shoulders he leaned carefully against Nick's side. "Look at her, G," Nick said, the soft wonder in his voice making something tighten in Greg's chest. "Look at her," and Greg's world shrank until nothing registered except for Nick's arm round him and the warm weight in the crook of his arm.

"Hei," he whispered, tracing a fingertip down the velvet softness of his daughter's face and knowing that even though she was less than an hour old he was already prepared to die for her. "Hei, kjaere."

*********

December 12th

Dear Nick, Greg and Emily -
Hope you guys are well - how's the weather out there in Vegas?

We've been living in Louisiana for nearly six weeks, and things are starting to go really well for us. I'm back at college, learning to be a beautician - I figured people are always gonna need their nails and their eyebrows done, right? Cassie's settling down in school - she wasn't too sure at first, but she's made a few friends already, and I know she feels better about being able to have them come and play in a house with a real back yard instead of where we were living before.

We're not going to be living with my aunt and uncle for ever - I'm looking for a part time job that fits in with my college hours, and once I do that we're going to rent a little place of our own. It was kind of scary when we first moved here, but I'm glad we did, because this way I get to start over and really make things better for me and Cassie.

Hope you have a great Christmas - are you going to California or Dallas? I keep thinking of Emily with all those cousins fussing over her.

Take good care of each other, and I hope we'll hear from you soon.

Love from Alison and Cassie xxx.

December 18th

Dear Alison -
It was so good to get your letter yesterday. It's great that you guys are settling in where you are now - and Louisiana isn't that far from Texas! We're spending Christmas with Nick's folks, so let us know if you'd like to meet up. I know you said you weren't ready to do that, but if you change your mind we'll work something out. We fly out on Christmas Eve, and you've got our cell numbers if you want to call, okay?

We've put some pictures of us in with this letter so you can see how big Emily's gotten already! Most of them are from a birthday party we went to last week for someone we work with (remember we told you about Catherine?) - we had to make sure Emily was still in the baby carrier when we left, because a whole bunch of people looked like they wanted to take her home with them. Never mind all her cousins, she's got a lot of honorary aunts and uncles now!

We can't begin to tell you how much things have changed since we brought Emily back to Vegas with us. We haven't slept a whole night yet, we've just about managed to figure out how to wash baby clothes without shrinking them - but we're so happy we still can't believe it. There isn't any way we can ever thank you enough for what you did for us, but we're going to keep doing it anyway.

Happy Christmas to you both, and all the love in the world -

Nick, Greg and Emily xxx

Dallas - Christmas Eve

"How is she?"

"Still asleep," Greg said in mild astonishment, once he'd craned his neck round to the back seat of the rental car. "You know what? I think I've figured it out," and he grinned at Nick. "We just have to set up a schedule where one of us drives her round in the car all the time."

"She'll sleep through soon," Nick told him as he guided the car up his parents' driveway. "The paediatrician said so, remember?" and the tone of his voice implied that he wanted to believe this would happen, but didn't have much faith that it would. He brought the car to a halt and laid his hand on the horn, a smile curving his lips when the front door opened. "Hi, mom!" he called out as he opened the driver's side door and climbed out, and moments later he and his mother had their arms wrapped round each other.

"How's that gorgeous granddaughter of mine?"

"Well, we figured we'd leave her behind," Nick said with a grin as he glanced back over his shoulder at Greg, who was occupied with unfastening the straps securing the child seat; he was muttering in Norwegian under his breath as he did so, because this was the one aspect of having a child that still presented him with problems. "You know, give her the run of the place…"

"You always did have a smart mouth, Nick," his mother said fondly, and then her eyes lit up as she saw Greg approaching from the passenger side of the car, holding the seat by its handle. "There she is - hello, darling," she cooed as she bent down to look at the sleeping figure. "Have you been a good girl?"

"She slept all the way from the airport," Greg said. "Hi, Jillian," and he kissed Nick's mother on both cheeks when she stood upright again. "Are we the first ones here?"

"Only by a little while," was the answer. "Meg and Russ and the boys are half an hour away, they called a little while ago - come on in, I just made a pot of coffee."

"You want to grab her bag, Nick?"

"I got it," Nick replied, reaching into the car and grasping the diaper bag that lay on the back seat; as he moved to follow his mother and Greg, he glanced up at the darkening sky and smiled. Her first Christmas, he thought, and the thought was still warming his heart as he made his way up onto the porch and into the house where he'd grown up.

He could see the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, its tip almost touching the ceiling; boxes which he knew contained the decorations were stacked nearby, and the same anticipation that had always gripped him as a child wound itself around him now.

A fretful wail echoed nearby, and it was immediately followed by Greg murmuring soothingly in Norwegian; Nick remained where he was, his ears picking up a quiet exchange of conversation between his mother and Greg in the kitchen and the soft whistling of the kettle. Once again, the idea that this was his family - his own family - seized him unawares, coiling round his heart and finding a place at its centre.

"Mom, where's dad?" he called out. "Don't tell me he's out this late."

"He's right here," came the response from the living room before Nick's mother could answer the question, and Nick watched his father lever himself out of the chair near the fireplace. "You caught me napping," and Bill Stokes crossed the room to join his youngest son. He moved slowly, his slightly hesitant gait clear evidence of the arthritis that was plaguing him more and more of late - but when he drew level with Nick, he hugged him with his habitual fierceness.

"Good to see you, Pancho."

"You too, Cisco," Nick said, a smile appearing on his face as his father's gaze was directed towards the kitchen. "Greg, you want to bring her out here?" he called out. "I think her grandpa would like to feed her."

*********

"Greg, lift me up! I can't reach!"

"All right, Alex," Greg said good-humouredly; he hoisted the five-year-old onto his shoulders before moving closer to the Christmas tree, and he waited until the Snoopy ornament had been hung from one of the branches. "You're just about too big for me to lift now, kiddo, you know that?"

"Are we still gonna be buddies?" Alex asked once he'd been set down on the floor, and his face was pinched with anxiety. "Nathan said now you've got your own kid you won't want to hang out with me any more when you come up here."

"Your big brother's a smartass," Greg whispered in the little boy's ear, and there was a giggle in response. "You know what? Once I make a friend, they stay my friend, all right?" he went on, and he glanced across the room to where Nick's sister was holding Emily. "You want to hold her?"

"I can't," Alex said, although the look on his face seemed to say he wanted to. "I'll drop her."

"No you won't," Greg said matter-of-factly, taking Alex by the hand. "Come on," and he led the way across the room. "You sit right in the big chair," and he leaned down to scoop Emily from her aunt's arms. "Now, put your arms together - yeah, like that," he said, and he lowered his daughter carefully onto Alex's lap. "You've got to make sure her head stays on your arm, because she's not very strong yet," and Greg knelt next to the chair as Alex looked at his new cousin in fascination. Somebody's camera flashed, but the little boy didn't appear to notice - and then finally, after a long, rapt silence, he lifted his head and looked at Greg.

"How'd she get in her mom's stomach?" he said. "I asked mom how I got in hers, and she said she'd tell me later."

"Oh no," Greg said, as he saw Nick's sister muffle a giggle. "I'm not having that talk until she's old enough," and he nodded towards Emily. "You and Russ are on your own with this one, Meg," he said, and as he joined in the good-natured laughter that followed he let his mind go back to the Christmas two years since - when Nick had found him out on the front porch of the ranch, gazing up at the stars because he couldn't sleep, and had asked him what he thought about having children of their own. He'd nodded in response, because he'd been rendered speechless, but at the same time he'd felt another piece of the life he wanted for himself dropping into place…and now, drawn even further into Nick's family, he felt exactly the same way.

**********

1.20 a.m, Christmas Day

The excited children had finally been shoehorned into their sleeping bags in the guest bedroom they were sharing; the adults had remained up for several more hours, retrieving gifts from assorted hiding places to place them beneath the now-decorated tree and then talking over glasses of Jillian's home made egg nog. Emily was passed around and fussed over, particularly by the few people who hadn't been able to make it to Vegas for the party Nick and Greg had thrown once the adoption was final - and it was only when she had started to get fretful that the gathering in the living room had broken up.

The room they'd been given had been Nick's when he'd lived at the ranch; striped wallpaper had been replaced by cream paint, the single bed by a double that always seemed to sag in the middle - and for now, with Greg lying behind him and Emily snoring gently in the travel crib less than two feet from the bed, this was Nick's world.

"You okay?"

"Fine," Nick whispered into the darkness, but a hand rested on his shoulder in the near-darkness and squeezed gently.

"Nicky?"

"Dad just looks so tired," Nick said softly. "I never really noticed it that much before," and he let out a shaky sigh. "His arthritis is worse, did you see?"

"He's getting old," Greg said, running his hand slowly down Nick's arm. There would have been times when he might have grinned and followed this remark with something along the lines of it'll happen to you one day, but he sensed that this was not one of those times - so he settled for holding Nick tightly without saying anything else for a long time.

"Sorry," Nick said eventually, when Greg had just begun to think he might be asleep. "It's Christmas - we're supposed to be happy, right?"

"We're not supposed to be anything," Greg replied, pressing Nick back against the pillows. "You love your dad and you're worried, you can't help that," he went on as he looked down at Nick, whose face was barely visible in the dim glow of Emily's night light. "Bullshit the rest of them round the dinner table later, but tell me what you really think, okay?" and when the question was met with a silent nod, Greg leaned down and kissed Nick on the mouth. Nick lifted his head to respond, the fingers of one hand tangling gently in Greg's hair; when the kiss eventually broke, Nick almost felt rather than heard the love you which was murmured against his lips before he was drawn into the familiar warmth of Greg's arms. He let his head find its familiar resting place in the spot where Greg's neck met his right shoulder, and he closed his eyes; lulled by the combined breathing of his lover and their daughter, he drifted into sleep - and it would only be when they woke to the excited chatter of the older children seven hours later that Nick and Greg realised that Emily had finally slept through the night.

*********

December 27th, 8.45 a.m

"How come Uncle Nick and Greg have to go so early?"

"'Cause we have to go back to work, that's how come," Greg said as he fastened the child seat into the back of the car. "Don't pout like that, kiddo, it won't be long before we see you again."

"Bet it'll be Easter," Alex said gloomily. "That's a long time."

"Well, how about if I write to you? Send you a postcard?"

"G, we need to get out of here," Nick said. "We'll miss our plane."

"He's bossy, isn't he?" Greg stage-whispered, reaching down to ruffle Alex's hair. "I will write you, I promise," and he hugged the little boy before climbing into the driver's seat and closing the door.

"Now, you three travel safely," Nick's mother said, "and you'll call me when you make it home, won't you?"

"We always do," Nick said with a smile as he stood next to the car, and then his dark eyes took on an anxious expression. "Mom, do me a favour, would you?"

"Of course, sweetheart."

"See if you can get dad to the doctor," Nick told her. "I'm just…"

"…fussing over nothing, the same way your mother is," a voice said behind them - and when Nick turned round his father was several feet away, dusting his hands on the faded brown pants he always wore to go to the stables and tend to the horses. "All he'll do is prescribe me a lot of things I don't need, Pancho - I'm an old man, that's all that's wrong with me."

"Dad -"

"You mind me, now," was the response, but his father's eyes were twinkling as he stepped closer. "I could still beat you if we were racing two of the horses, and you know it," and Nick was enveloped in a hug; he returned the gesture, the scrape of an unshaven cheek against his own along with the familiar scent of his father's cologne imprinting themselves on his subconscious and bringing inexplicable tears to his eyes.

"You look after that baby," his father told him, and Nick heard himself say that of course he would. He watched his father walk around to the other side of the car to shake Greg's hand, making the ritual of farewells complete, and then Nick got into the passenger seat.

Moments later, the car's engine thrummed into life and they headed down the driveway; from the passenger seat, Nick craned his neck and stared back in the direction from which they'd come. His parents still stood on the front porch next to his sister and her youngest son, all four of them waving - and Nick kept his eyes on them until they became too small to make out in the distance.

*******

Las Vegas, February 14th - 6.45 p.m

"Hey," Greg said softly as he knelt next to the bathtub with one arm braced carefully round his daughter. "You like that? You do, don't you?" He lifted a red plastic cup filled with water and let it trickle slowly onto Emily's stomach, provoking a squeal of delight. "I think you're going to be a swimmer when you're bigger," he told her. "Yes, I do," and he lifted her slowly out of the water before wrapping her in the towel that had been draped over his shoulder. "Come on, let's get you all dry and comfy, shall we?" he said, and once he'd pulled the plug out of the bathtub drain he rose to his feet; cradling Emily against his chest, he left the bathroom, and a handful of steps brought them into the nursery.

"It's nearly bedtime, sweet pea," he said as he dried her carefully and set about putting a new diaper on her almost without thinking about it. "We'll get you all dressed and then you can have a drink, how about that?" He was instantly rewarded with a waving of chubby hands and a toothless grin - and it didn't matter that there'd been thousands of smiles like this now, it still hit him straight in the heart the way it had done the very first time it had happened.

A minute or two later he was closing the last snap on Emily's Minnie Mouse sleeper, and as he scooped her up in one arm before heading to the kitchen he reflected that in the beginning things hadn't been this easy. Never mind all the practice he'd had on other peoples' babies, never mind what the nurses at the hospital had taught them both - doing it on your own was completely different.

During the first few days they'd had Emily at home, he'd been in such awe of this tiny person that he'd been afraid he would hurt her if he did anything other than hold her; he'd deferred to Nick at bath time, not because he'd really wanted to, but because he'd been scared he was going to drop Emily and because Nick had made it look so easy.

"No you don't," Nick had said on their fifth night back in Vegas, when Greg had once again offered to go and "take care of things in the kitchen" once bedtime had come around. "The bottle's made up, the dishes are going to wait - get your ass back over here," but despite the smile, the expression in Nick's eyes had said that he understood. "She isn't going to drown, you're not going to drop her," he'd told Greg while he'd tested the temperature of the water in the baby bath they'd used when Emily had first come home. "She knows we aren't going to hurt her - see? Put your hand behind her head, just like they showed us -" Nick had been kind and he'd been patient, the way he'd always been over everything else, and it hadn't taken long for Greg's apprehension to disappear - and now, as he stood in the kitchen waiting for the bottle to warm up, he could hardly remember a time when it hadn't felt as though he'd known what to do.

"Here we go," he said, removing the bottle from the jug of hot water and testing it on his inner wrist to the accompaniment of agitated cries. "I know, I know," he continued soothingly. "Let's go," and he headed back along the hallway.

******

"That's better," he murmured, almost under his breath, as he settled into the chair and guided the bottle towards Emily's mouth. She grasped it with both hands, and seconds later the only sounds in the room were the creaking of the chair and the soft smacking of lips. Looking down at her face, the blue-grey eyes already beginning to close with the onset of sleep, Greg felt his throat tighten until he was hardly able to breathe; he'd never imagined that it would be possible to have the same feelings for someone else that he had for Nick, a love so fierce and consuming that it hurt - but the past four months had taught him otherwise.

He blinked rapidly and cleared his throat, the sound making Emily's eyes open wide again for a second or two, and he smiled down at her before he began to sing.

"Bæ bæ lille lam
Har du noe ull?
Ja ja kjære barn,
jeg har kroppen full.
Søndagsklær til far,
og søndagsklær til mor,
og to par strømper til bitte lille bror."

Greg sat still for a long time once the song was finished, and then he rose carefully to his feet with the warm, limp body of his sleeping daughter cradled in one arm. Setting the empty bottle on the dresser, he lowered Emily into the crib and covered her with a blanket; and once this was done, he leaned down to run a hand gently over her hair.

"You're the best little girl in the world," he said in a hushed whisper, even though Emily was asleep, because he never put her to bed at night without telling her this. "I love you so much…Nicky loves you…and we'll see you in the morning," and he kissed her forehead before picking up the bottle again and tiptoeing from the room.

He'd barely finished tidying the kitchen when there was the sound of a key turning in the front door, and he found himself smiling again. He turned towards the kitchen doorway, and Nick was standing there with a bunch of dark red roses in one hand and a warm smile on his lips.

"Didn't think I'd forget what day it was, did you?" he said, crossing the kitchen and handing the flowers over. "Emily said I should get you these."

"Well, she told me," Greg said as he set the flowers down on the nearby table and wrapped his arms round Nick's waist, "that I had to make you dinner, run you a bath and make you come so hard you wouldn't know what day it was."

"She did?" Nick said, his lips touching Greg's ear as he spoke; a hand curved round Greg's hip and squeezed, pulling them even closer together, and all at once every fibre of Greg's being went taut with need. "In that order?"

"She wasn't real specific," Greg said, his voice slightly unsteady. "She - god," and he bit back a moan as a hand stole to his crotch and rested there. "Please, Nicky," he breathed, because all he could think of was three months three weeks and we haven't; a low, dirty chuckle vibrated against the side of his neck, rendering him so hard he thought he would explode.

Nick's other hand moved to the back of Greg's head, fingers winding in his hair and pulling hard; they looked at each other for a split second before their mouths collided, teeth mashing against lips and tongues twisting like snakes - and when the phone rang, it was hardly audible over the roaring in Greg's ears.

"Leave it," Nick gasped, his eyes heavy-lidded and the pupils already half blown. "Come on," and the two of them stumbled along the hallway past the room where their daughter slept.

*********

"G."

"Mm," Greg muttered against Nick's chest; he didn't know what time it was, but there was no light coming through the blinds now, and he was so wrung out that he wasn't sure he'd be able to move for at least three days.

"What's for dinner?"

"You're holding me to that?"

"Emily said you had to, remember?" Nick replied. "Or was that just a trick to get me into bed?"

"Didn't think I needed one," Greg answered smartly, rolling away to dodge the swat directed at his butt. "I got steak, will that do?"

"It'll do fine," Nick said. "Come here," and he propped himself up on his side to allow their lips to meet. The kiss was slow, lingering, drained of its previous urgency, and when they broke apart there was a dazed, sappy smile on Nick's face. "I love you, you know that?"

"Yeah, I do," Greg said, and he levered himself out of bed with a groan. He crossed the room, grabbed a robe from the back of the door and headed for the kitchen - and as he set about fixing dinner, he was pretty sure that the smile that had been on Nick's face was on his own too.

**********

"Nick!" Greg called out, once he'd slid each of the steaks onto a plate and set them on the table, "it's ready!" but there was no answer, and he grinned. Putting some salad next to each of the steaks, he added a knife and fork to each plate before picking them up and heading out of the kitchen.

Thought you might like to eat this in bed was what he'd been planning to say, but the words dried up before he could give them voice.

Nick sat on the edge of the bed, the phone still clutched in his hands. He was staring at the floor between his knees, and there wasn't a drop of colour in his face; he didn't react when Greg finally managed to say his name, and it was only when Greg set the plates on the end of the bed and knelt in front of him that he looked up.

"He told mom he'd go to the doctor just so we'd all quit nagging him," Nick said, and his voice was hollow and drained of all emotion. "The guy took a blood test, said he was probably anaemic and that was all, and next thing they know he's calling dad back in for some more tests." He broke off, swallowing hard, and Greg felt apprehension creeping through his veins. "He asked them both to go into his office today, and it - he's got cancer," and the helpless, trapped expression in Nick's eyes spoke of some hidden emotion struggling to get out. "The main growth's in his liver, but it's spread to his stomach and his kidneys, and they don't think he'll make it to Thanksgiving," Nick said, and as the two of them stared at each other they heard Emily begin to cry in the room next door.


AN: The song Greg sings to his daughter translates as -

Baa baa little lamb
Have you any wool
Yes, yes, dear child
My body's full
Sunday's trousers for the father
Sunday's trousers for the mother
And a pair of socks for the wee little brother.

Dallas, March 28th - 6.15 a.m.

Greg woke to the sound of a raspberry being blown several feet from his head, and when he reached behind him he was none too surprised to find the other half of the bed empty.

"Brrr."

"Brrr."

The noise became more insistent, making Greg realise he wasn't going to be able to sleep in no matter how much he might want to, and he groaned under his breath as he scrubbed a hand across his eyes.

"Hey, you," he said, watching Emily's eyes light up at the sound of his voice. "Not gonna cut me a break, are you?" and he threw the covers back as a steady stream of ba ba bas erupted from Emily's lips. Setting his feet on the floor, he reached into the crib and scooped her up before placing her on the bed; he changed her diaper and dressed her in a fresh sleeper, talking to her all the while and managing to smile despite the weight that had been lying over his heart for more than a month.

Avoiding the handful of floorboards that creaked - something he'd quickly learnt to do during his first few visits to the ranch, when he and Nick had been given separate rooms and two or three nights had simply been too long to wait - Greg left the bedroom and made his way downstairs. He entered the kitchen and moved to retrieve a bottle from the fridge, the sight of Emily's breakfast producing a delighted squeal; he switched on the kettle and took a jug out of one of the cupboards, and then he crossed the room to stand in front of the window that looked out onto the back yard.

There were fields beyond the fence that bordered the yard, and even though Greg couldn't see him he knew Nick was out there somewhere. "He'll be back soon," he told Emily in a soft murmur, although he wasn't sure if it was true; as soon as they'd finished unpacking the previous day, Nick had gone out on one of the horses and hadn't returned until it was starting to get dark.

"I hope you're boiling water for coffee," a voice said behind him, and Greg turned to see Nick's father standing in the kitchen doorway. He had a hand braced in the small of his back, and although he was smiling it didn't look as though he meant it completely.

"Not yet," Greg replied, managing to smile in return. "We've got priorities, haven't we?" and he planted a kiss on the top of Emily's head. "I was kind of hoping she'd sleep a bit longer, but…"

"They never let you get enough sleep," Bill Stokes said as he moved closer. "Not till they're in college, and maybe not even then." He reached out to pass a hand over Emily's hair, and when the gesture was rewarded with the raising of a pair of chubby arms a wistful expression appeared in Bill's eyes. "Can I take her for you?"

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

The weather was unseasonably warm, and the three of them had migrated to the deck that overlooked the back yard. Emily, her bottle long since emptied, sat in her grandfather's lap sucking the two fingers that always seemed to find their way to her mouth of late; Greg sat in another chair a foot or so away, clutching a mug of coffee that had gone cold without him taking a single sip.

"What's on your mind, Greg?" Bill asked, finally breaking the silence. "You're usually the last one up when the three of you come here…"

"How do you know anything's on my mind?"

"Nick isn't talking about what's happening to me, is he?" and when Greg's head snapped up he saw recognition in Bill's eyes. "Am I right?"

"You're right," Greg said softly, accompanying the words with a nod. "I'm trying to help him - well, I want to, but I don't know how," he went on. "He isn't talking about it, so I don't know what he's thinking," he went on. "And everyone in my family lives till they're at least ninety, so I haven't got a clue what he's going through," and a stricken look appeared on his face as soon as the words had escaped his lips. "Christ, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

"I know you didn't," Bill told him, raising a hand to forestall any further apology; a gentle sigh echoed in the air, and it was a long time before Nick's father spoke again. "I love my children, Greg, I love them with all my heart," and the older man's expression grew distant. "I wanted them to be happy, but I wanted them all to make the best of themselves too, and I was probably tougher on them than I meant to be," he continued. "My father raised me with - well, a rod of iron, really, and I told myself that was the one thing I wouldn't do when I had children, but I guess I didn't try as hard not to do it as I should have done." He broke off, lowering his head to stare down at the weather-worn boards between his feet, and when he went on speaking his voice had lowered in pitch and volume. "It didn't really seem to matter to any of the others, but Nick…" and the sorrow in Bill's eyes as he stopped speaking again was almost too painful for Greg to look at.

"I can't think about how he must have felt, not telling us what that woman did to him all those years ago because he was afraid of what I'd think," Bill said eventually, his voice barely audible. "He flew out here, didn't tell us he was coming - just said he had something he needed to tell us, and I'd never seen him cry like that before," and Bill finally lifted his head. "All I could do was ask myself what I'd done to make him keep that to himself for so long," he said, and then eyes that were so like Nick's fixed themselves on Greg. "You made him come out here and tell us, didn't you?"

"I had to," Greg said, darting a glance at Emily who was staring in fascination at a bird perched on a nearby fence. "We hadn't talked about having kids, not then, but I knew that if I had one I'd want to know if someone hurt them. I wanted to come here with him, he was so scared, but I knew I couldn't, and - I think it was when I watched him get on the plane that I realised how serious things were getting between us," and he had to swallow hard before he could carry on speaking. "It never hurt like that when I couldn't be with someone before, and I was afraid he wouldn't come back - I knew what you felt about me then, and I…"

"That's water under the bridge now," Bill said, still looking directly at Greg. "We both know how he is, Greg, he'll talk when he's ready," and he reached across the space between them to squeeze Greg's forearm. The fact that the grip wasn't as firm as it had been even six months since made Greg's throat tighten, and he felt something prickle behind his eyes when Bill spoke again.

"I'm just glad he's got you."

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


Greg's notebook, May 15th, 3 a.m

The hospital asked Bill to participate in a trial for a new drug that should relieve some of the symptoms he's got. He said yes, even though they told him there might be side effects, and I can understand that - if it was me, I'd do anything to get more time with my family too.

Nick won't tell me what he thinks, because he's still not talking about it. I try and talk to him about it, and that's difficult enough, because now we're working different shifts we hardly seem to see each other - but he always finds a way of changing the subject, and right now I feel as if

and then the phone rang next to the bed, making Greg set down the notebook and pen.

"Hello?"

"Hey, G," Nick said - and even coming over a bad cell connection, despite the cares that occupied his heart and mind, the sound of his name on his lover's lips made Greg smile. "How is she?"

"She's asleep," Greg said, sitting up and shoving the notebook into the drawer of the nightstand. "Didn't finish her bottle before bed, her nose was pretty stuffed up." Emily had come down with a cold the previous day, which seemed to be taking hold with a vengeance despite Nick and Greg's best efforts to the contrary, and when Greg recalled the expression on Nick's face as he'd had to leave the apartment he felt something stinging the back of his throat.

"Poor baby," Nick said, his voice barely audible. "I think I'll take her to the doctor later today if she isn't any better."

"It's a cold," Greg replied, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his free hand in an attempt to dislodge the sand that seemed to be embedded in them; he couldn't remember a time lately when he'd slept for more than two or three hours at a stretch, and it was at times like this that he realised how tired he really was. "He won't do anything we can't do at home, Nicky."

"I know," was the answer, and Greg thought he made out a sigh following the words. "Look, I need to go, Warrick and I have a call, we've - yeah, I'm coming," Nick shouted, and then his voice dropped again. "Love you guys," he said in a near-whisper, and before Greg could respond the connection was broken.

Greg yawned and stood up, peeling his T shirt over his head and letting it land in a heap on the floor. His jeans followed, and he padded along the hallway in his boxer shorts; he'd check on Emily once more, he told himself, and then he'd grab a shower and sleep. Even after all this time he still wasn't quite used to working days, and it wasn't simply because he'd become accustomed to being out at night - it was because work had always meant being around Nick before, and now it didn't.

"We're not putting her in daycare", Nick had said one night not long after they'd met Emily's birthmother for the first time. "Not when she's so small", and he'd wrapped his arms round Greg as the two of them lay in bed. "I want the first person she smiles at to be one of us, not some stranger," but Greg had known there was more to it than this, that what had happened to Nick as a child was still affecting him even now. He'd told Nick that would be fine, had seen the tiny lines of anxiety on Nick's face smooth themselves out - and seeing this, Greg had felt his own heart lighten.

The room was lit only by the dim coloured glow from the Disney Princess lamp on the dresser - a gift from Catherine, who had been quick to point out that Lindsay had been the one who'd chosen it - but Greg had learned to navigate this near-darkness a long time since. Making his way to the crib, he stood looking down at Emily; she lay sprawled on her back, two fingers of one hand plugged into her mouth and the other hand clutching the cloth diaper that was already threadbare in one corner from her habit of rubbing it against her cheek. Her congested breathing was clearly audible, and it made Greg's heart ache to listen to it; he stretched a hand down towards her sleeping form, but then he thought of how long it had taken to get Emily to sleep not an hour and a half previously, and he straightened up again and stepped away from the crib.

A final glance back over his shoulder as he paused in the bedroom doorway, and then Greg took the handful of steps that brought him into the bathroom. Blinking sleepily in the bright light that bounced off the white tile, he pulled the curtain round the tub and reached to turn on the shower; steam began to rise in clouds over the top of the shower curtain, and then just as he was bending to remove his boxers he heard a fretful whimper strike up in the room next door.

He stood motionless with his head cocked to one side, waiting to see whether the sound would tail off the way it sometimes did; despite his tiredness, a smile darted across Greg's lips as he thought of how it was when he and Nick were both at home and Nick would rush into Emily's room at the slightest squeak. I bet she'd go back to sleep if you left her , he'd told Nick more than once, even though he knew he wouldn't behave any differently himself. You know you're spoiling her, don't you?…

…then the crying disintegrated into a gargled choking sound, and when Greg's shoulder hit the doorframe as he ran from the bathroom he barely felt it.

He struck the light switch as he flew into his daughter's room, and as he stared down into the crib there was the briefest instant when he felt that his heart would stop.

Emily still lay on her back, but her arms and legs were jerking convulsively. Her head was thrown back, her eyes rolling up in their sockets, and a trickle of fluid was coming from one side of her mouth.

Greg reached into the crib to pick Emily up, and a glut of vomit flew from her mouth onto her sleeper and the mattress; he lifted her into his arms, her limbs continuing to jerk as though she had no control over them. Her body felt like a furnace next to Greg's bare torso, making him think how could she be this hot, she was fine when I put her to bed - and as he ran to the other bedroom, his movements seemed to slow to a crawl.

He sat down heavily on Nick's side of the bed right before his legs gave out, and it took three tries before he could snatch the phone from its cradle on the nightstand. "Come on," he said frantically as he tapped in a number and Emily continued to thrash against his chest, her eyes still rolling upwards. "Please, sweetheart, wake up -"

"911, what is your emergency?"

"My - it's my little girl, she's having a fit," Greg said, his tongue threatening to cleave to the roof of his mouth with every word. "She's burning up, her arms and legs are moving but it's like she passed out…"

"How old is your daughter, sir?"

"Almost seven months," Greg replied, a little voice in his head saying don't panic while his entire body slowly turned to ice. "She's got a cold, and she…"

"Okay, sir, I'm going to get someone out to you right now," was the answer. "Can you confirm your apartment number for me?" and Greg supposed that he must have spoken, because a moment later the anonymous female voice was asking, "Has she vomited?"

"Yeah," Greg told her. "Yeah, when I picked her up, I thought - how long is the ambulance going to take, ma'am?"

"It's going to be there very soon," the voice said. "What's your name, sir?"

"G - Greg."

"All right, Greg, where's the baby now?"

"She's here, I'm holding her," Greg said. "She sounded like she was choking, so I went in her room, and when I picked her up…"

"Okay, Greg," the woman soothed, "you need to lay her face down on your knees - can you do that for me?" and Greg balanced the phone between his right ear and his shoulder; as he was in the act of turning Emily over there was a hiccupping sound, and a split second later his lap was soaked in warm wetness.

"She threw up again," Greg said into the phone. "What do I do now?"

"Just make sure she doesn't hurt herself," was the answer. "Hold her still - and just keep calm, Greg, okay? If her daddy's scared she'll be scared too, won't she? What's her name?"

"Emily," Greg said as he kept a trembling hand between Emily's shoulders. "You're okay, sweetheart, I've got you," he half-whispered as he looked down at the red curls of hair. "Ma'am?" he said into the phone, raising his voice and trying to swallow the fear that was mushrooming in his chest; at the same time he was thinking that he and Nick had taken a first aid course, that he ought to know what to do now... Where's that ambulance? he wanted to ask, but the words wouldn't come, because at the moment he opened his mouth Emily's limbs stopped jerking.

"No, no, no -" He let the phone fall to the bedcovers, feeling heat radiating from beneath Emily's arms as he lifted her up. "No, baby, please," he said, his heart in his throat. "Come on, wake up, look at me," and for a split second all he could think of was the morning three days since when the three of them had been in this room. Nick had made breakfast and brought it back to bed; when he'd dabbed strawberry jam on Emily's bottom lip she'd licked it away, and her entire face had lit up with delight…

…then there was a small inrush of breath, seeming like the loudest thing Greg had ever heard even though he had to strain to hear it. Emily's eyes blinked open, fixing themselves on his face - not the way they did when she woke up from a nap, but slightly unfocused, as though she was wondering where she was - and seconds later, her mouth drew down in a trembling arc and she began to cry.

"I've got you," Greg said, his voice cracking as he spoke; sensation rushed back into his limbs and blood roared in his ears as he cradled Emily against his chest, feeling sick with relief. "You're okay, sweetheart, I've got you -"

"Greg? Are you there?" It was the woman's voice, sounding as though it was coming from miles away, and he grabbed the phone up from the bed. "Greg?"

"I'm here," he said, feeling something tickling his cheeks and knowing that he must be crying but not caring. "She woke up."

"Greg, the paramedics just pulled up in front of your building, you're going to have to buzz them in."

"Thank you," he said, and he forced himself to his feet. Keeping a firm grip on his daughter, he moved along the hallway, each step slow and sludgy as though he were walking through molasses; as he was drawing level with the front door, the buzzer sounded next to him - and reaching out with his free hand, he pressed the answer switch and spoke with what felt like the last of his strength.

"Yes?"

"Paramedics, sir."

***********

3.55 a.m.

Another motel room, another dead body, like so many other cases he'd worked over the years.

Bag her hands.

Cigarette butt in the ashtray, no lipstick, can't be hers. Bag that too.

Both glasses used, take those.

Because while he followed the routine and allowed the minutiae of work to take over his mind, Nick wasn't thinking about what was happening in Dallas.

The thing that he didn't allow space for while he was at work intruded at other times, though. He'd be in the truck on his way home, he'd be alone in the bed that always seemed far too big when Greg wasn't in it too, he'd be standing over the crib watching Emily sleeping - and the thoughts would ambush him then, cutting deeper into his soul every time.

There wasn't going to be another Christmas when they'd all be together.

If he and Greg adopted another child, his father wouldn't see it.

His father wouldn't see Emily grow up.

His father was going to die

When these thoughts took hold of him, Nick would sit frozen at the wheel of his truck or lie motionless in bed as his throat closed up and something squeezed his chest to the point where he could hardly breathe. Even though he and his father had not always seen eye to eye, Nick had always loved him and known that he was loved in return - and the idea that, before the year was out, there would be a gap in Nick's life that couldn't ever be bridged was so painful to contemplate that he pushed it to the back of his mind. He let his entire existence become work and Greg and their daughter - things that were familiar, things that were safe - and it was only in unguarded moments that he was forced to remember that his world was going to change.

"Spoke to the guy in reception," Warrick said as he appeared in the doorway of the room and shook rain off himself like a dog. "She checked in two days ago, paid cash -"

"He didn't ask her for any ID, right? Does he know if her car's still outside?"

"You didn't get a real good look at him, did you?" Warrick replied, following the rhetorical query with a snort of laughter. "I could smell the booze as soon as I stepped in the room, we're lucky he knows what day it is," and then he quirked one eyebrow enquiringly. "You okay, man?"

"I'm fine," Nick said, keeping his voice even-toned, and he turned back to his work. The carpet in the room was so grimy that there would probably be a hundred different strands of DNA on it as well as that of whoever had killed the woman who lay sprawled across the bed, the sheets beneath her soaked with blood which had flowed from the single wound across her throat. Her fingernails were well-manicured, though, and the expensive clothing strewn over the nearby chair spoke of someone who could easily afford to stay somewhere much better than the Oasis Motel; not for the first time, Nick told himself that unless they were lucky enough to get a hit from CODIS this was probably going to go unsolved - and then, as he was moving to dust the headboard of the bed for prints, his cell rang.

"Nicky?"

"G, I'm in the middle of a crime scene, this isn't -" and then everything at the other end of the line hit Nick at once - the barely-suppressed panic in Greg's voice, Emily screaming, and a voice in the background that sounded as though it was coming over a radio. He heard himself asking where are they taking you? in a voice that sounded like someone else's, and once he had the answer he snapped his phone shut; he stood on the filthy carpet, unable to move, as Warrick asked what was wrong and the words buzzed in his ear like a distant insect.

*********

5.10 a.m

"No, baby, it's okay," Greg said softly, settling into the chair next to the crib that was so unlike the one back at the apartment; he held Emily in the crook of his right arm and smoothed her hair down with his left hand, trying to calm her despite his own inner turmoil. "They're all done, it's all right," and he managed to smile down at his daughter as her body heaved with sobs. "Come on, sweetheart," he told her, his thumb rubbing the side of her face as he began the mantra he used at bedtime. "You're the best little girl in the world," and in this moment it became just the two of them, the ebb and flow of the hospital seeming to disappear. "I love you - Nicky loves you -" and the words continued to flow from his lips, telling Emily that she was being such a brave girl and that Nicky was going to be here soon. The sobs tailed off into soft hiccups of indrawn breath, and when Greg wiped Emily's tears away with his thumb she stared up at him - her eyes fixed on his face, knowing who he was now instead of the blank stare that had terrified him an age ago back at the apartment.

"How are you doing, Greg?" someone asked behind him, and Greg looked up to see the nurse who'd been at his side practically from the moment he and Emily had arrived in the ambulance. "I've got a boy just a bit older than your little girl, and I know how it feels when they're sick," she went on. "Could you use some coffee? It's pretty bad coffee, but…"

"That'd be great," Greg told her, bending his head to the left and then the right to try and relieve the muscle cramp that was lodged in his neck, and everything started to come into focus again. He was wearing sneakers with no socks, and his most threadbare pair of jeans was topped with a T shirt he'd grabbed from the laundry hamper; the beginnings of a headache lanced his temples, and he felt as though he hadn't slept in days. "I just wish Nick would get here."

"He'll be here as soon as he can," the nurse told him, gentle sympathy in her voice and her eyes. "It's raining pretty hard out there right now - you want me to put her to bed for you so you can stretch your legs?"

"No, thanks," Greg replied as he shook his head and unconsciously tightened his grip on Emily, whose eyes were almost shut now. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for a week, but there was no way he was letting go of his daughter now. "We'll be fine."

"I'll get you that coffee," the nurse said. "Hang in there, okay?" and she headed for the door; footsteps moved away into the distance, and when Greg could no longer hear them he looked down at Emily again. She had finally succumbed to slumber, worn out by the events of the last few hours; her left hand was flexing gently even in sleep - seeking the worn piece of cloth that was still lying in a room littered with toys, a room that was as far removed from this white, sterile environment as it was possible to get…

…and Greg didn't know how much time had passed before there were footsteps in the hallway outside, running and getting closer, and then an out-of-breath voice with a Southern accent.

"I'm Nick Stokes, you - you've got my -"

"She's in there, sir."

…and there was Nick, leaning in the doorway, hanging onto the doorframe to keep himself upright. His face was chalk-white, his mouth hanging open as he tried to catch his breath - but it was his eyes, huge and dark and riveted on the sleeping child in Greg's lap, which pierced Greg's heart as surely as if a knife had been used.

"G -?"

"She had a seizure," Greg said. "It was - she spiked a fever after I put her to bed, the doctor said it went up really quickly and that's why -" then he stopped speaking while Nick moved, seemingly in slow motion, to kneel next to the chair. "It isn't epilepsy, Nicky, they checked her out and she -" but whatever else he'd planned on saying dried up in his throat.

Greg watched as Nick stretched out a shaking hand and touched Emily's head - tentatively, the way he'd done the day she'd been born, as though he was afraid he'd hurt her - and when a sniffling, indrawn breath from their daughter echoed in the room, Nick's free hand flew up to cover his mouth. A soft, inarticulate whimper escaped his lips, and tears began to run down over his fingers - and Greg knew instinctively that this wasn't just about what had happened to Emily, but about something that had been suppressed for more than two months now.

He placed his free arm round Nick's shoulders and pulled him closer, feeling arms clasping round his waist as sobs echoed in his ears and threatened to break his heart. "It's okay, Nicky, it's okay," he whispered, although he wasn't sure it ever could be, and later on he would not remember the nurse stepping into the room and leaving without saying a word.

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

2.00 p.m.

They'd been allowed to take Emily home just before lunch, by which time she was blowing raspberries at the doctor and making a grab for his stethoscope; once in her seat in the Denali, however, she'd fallen asleep again, and she hadn't woken when Nick had taken her out and carried her to bed.

She was fine, the doctor had told them so, and even though what had happened meant she could have another seizure next time she spiked a fever she would grow out of it - but this didn't mean that either of them wanted to leave her alone now, so they sat on the nursery floor with their backs against the dresser as they watched their daughter sleeping.

Greg reached out to take hold of Nick's left hand, clasping it between both of his own, and he was rewarded with a shaky inrush of breath that made something clench tightly around his throat.

"G?"

"Go to sleep," Greg said in a whisper, and he pressed his lips to the back of his lover's hand. "I'll watch her."

"I…" and whatever Nick might have been planning to say was choked off; pressing his free arm across his face, he leaned heavily against Greg's side and began to cry again.

"Ikke gråt, kjære," Greg managed to say, realising but not caring that his voice was wavering. He wrapped both arms round Nick and held onto him tightly, knowing that there would be many more tears in the months to come and praying silently that he would find the strength to get them both through what was going to happen.


AN: What Greg says to Nick in the final paragraph translates as, "Don't cry, sweetheart."

 

Greg's notebook, August 17th.

Last year I booked a table at that Cajun restaurant he likes, because we both had the night off. The Denali was in the shop, so we had to take my car, but when we got down to the parking garage it wouldn't move - he got out to see if he could fix it, and I was right behind him before he even opened the hood. I pressed him up against the wall, and even though he told me to stop I could tell he didn't really mean it…I got down on my knees, blew him right there, and he came so hard he couldn't move after I got done - I had to grab his arm and drag him into the elevator, and we only just managed it before the guy in 213 pulled into the spot next to ours. We spent the rest of the night in bed(never mind the restaurant, we ended up raiding the fridge around 1 a.m), and he ragged on me for days afterwards about how I must have done something so the car wouldn't start, but I told him I didn't know what he was talking about.

(It was the spark plug, actually. I went down and put it back once he'd finally gone to sleep.)

None of that tomorrow, though - we're parents now, right?

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

August 18th, 12.20 p.m

Court had taken longer than he'd planned, and because he'd just come off a week of working nights Nick was barely able to keep his eyes open by the time he got back home; he rode the elevator up to the third floor, blinking sleepily and morbidly certain that he was going to open his front door to find the apartment full of people, despite what he'd told Greg.

But when he turned the key in the lock and opened the front door, all he could hear was a familiar sound coming from the direction of the living room. It was the DVD that had been a present from two of Emily's cousins the previous week, and to which she'd become instantly addicted - so much so that Nick and Greg had formed a pact that they wouldn't play it for her more than once a day.

"Touch a needle on this tree and I'll give you such a doing!"

"Oh yeah? You and what army?"

"Oi!"

"Oi! Oi!" Emily shouted, from where she stood between Greg's thighs, clinging to his knees as he sat on the floor. When Nick coughed loudly, his daughter turned towards the sound, and four teeth were instantly displayed in an ear-to-ear grin; letting go of one of Greg's knees, she swayed unsteadily, but Greg caught her before she could fall.

"You look surprised," Greg said, rising to his feet with Emily in his arms and crossing the room. "Thought there were going to be a dozen people here, didn't you?" and he shifted Emily to rest over his right hip so that he could curve his left palm around the back of Nick's head. "You told me no party this year, right?" he said, a smile spreading across his face before he tilted his head so that their lips touched for a second or two. "Happy birthday," he murmured, and then he looked at Emily. "Are you going to say happy birthday to Nicky, kiddo?"

"Oi!"

*******

The two of them were sitting on the couch with Emily between them; she was enthusiastically ripping up the empty envelopes which had contained the birthday cards covering the coffee table, and every so often Nick or Greg would pluck a piece of paper from her fingers just before it found its way into her mouth.

"Careful," Greg said, passing a small package to Nick once all the cards had been opened. "Don't drop it."

"Did she wrap this herself?" Nick teased, his lips twitching into a smile as he picked at the tape securing the crumpled tissue paper; he was finding it easier to smile now, although it still didn't come automatically the way it had done six months previously. Ever since the terrible day when Emily had been taken to hospital and he'd shed tears, it had been as though an immense weight had begun to lift from his chest.

"Smartass," Greg said in a whisper. "You know I'm no good at that stuff," and he watched Nick lift the present from its nest of paper. It was a white mug, with Nick painted on one side in red lettering and a small red handprint on the other. "You like it? We went to that pottery place across town, you've got no idea how hard it was to get a good handprint from her -"

"I love it," Nick said, his voice a little uneven. "Thank you, sweetheart," he murmured into Emily's hair as his daughter continued shredding paper, and then he looked up at Greg again. "So what did you get me?"

"You'll find out once she goes to sleep this afternoon," Greg told him matter-of-factly, and he quirked one eyebrow ever so slightly before leaning to pick Emily up. "Going to come and have some lunch?"

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

2.00 p.m.

Nick glanced at the dresser to reassure himself that the baby monitor was turned on, and then he tiptoed out of the room; he pulled the door almost shut, and once he'd done this he walked along the hallway.

The blinds in the bedroom he and Greg shared were closed, blocking out the afternoon sun, and a single candle on one of the night stands cast flickering light. Greg sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, wearing only the black cotton lounging pants he always put on to go to bed, and when he saw Nick standing in the doorway he rose to his feet; closing the distance between the two of them, he grasped the hem of Nick's T shirt with both hands and moved his head forward so that their mouths were almost touching.

"Anything you want," he said, breath shunting from his lips to Nick's. "Until she wakes up again, I'm all yours."

***********

Rising on his knees, Greg reached for the bottle that sat in a basin of hot water on the night stand; he uncapped it, allowing some of the contents to trickle onto bare skin, and then he leaned forward.

His fingers roamed over Nick's shoulders and he began massaging them slowly, a soft smile curving his lips. When he reached what was evidently a particularly sensitive spot, the prone figure beneath him stiffened visibly, and Greg instantly let his touch become feather-light.

"You're all tensed up," he murmured. "Just relax, I got you," and he resumed his efforts. Taut knots of muscle were probed and smoothed out, and for a long time the only sound in the room was the whirring of the air conditioning unit - then, when Greg pressed the heel of his hand slowly along the curve of Nick's spine, there was an audible sigh of appreciation.

"Better?"

"Mm," Nick responded, not lifting his head from where it rested on his forearms. "You're too good to me."

"I know I am," Greg said. "Deal with it," and he was smiling as he stretched himself out on top of Nick. He tilted his head, darting the tip of his tongue into the hollow behind Nick's ear, and when his ears picked up a hitch of breath he drew Nick's earlobe into his mouth and bit down gently. "Now turn over so I can work on the other side."


**********

4:45 p.m.

Greg walked out of the shower, towelling his hair briskly, and found the bedroom empty; a familiar gurgle of laughter echoed down the hall, followed by nonsensical babbling, and it made him smile as he collected his clothes from the floor and put them back on.

He walked into the kitchen to find Emily in her high chair, eating a banana which she'd squashed between the fingers of both hands. Nick sat at the table, looking at a small piece of paper which bore the signs of having been folded and unfolded many times; he kept his eyes on it while he slid a mug of coffee across the table, and as Greg accepted the mug he found his interest piqued.

"What's that?"

"She lives about six doors down from Catherine," Nick said, still not looking up, and he held the scrap of paper out to Greg; it bore a phone number and the name Angie written in Catherine's habitually neat script. "Looks after a few kids in her house."

"Oh?" Greg responded, trying to act casually. "How long have you had that dragging round in your pocket?"

"Remember when she was teething?" Nick said, turning his gaze towards Emily who was now working the remnants of the banana into her hair. "Cath gave it to me after our shift ended one night - she said one of us was going to end up falling asleep on the witness stand or at a crime scene one day if we didn't get some help."

"You said we weren't going to put her in daycare." Greg paused, thinking of this piece of paper sitting in Nick's pocket for over a fortnight, and he reached out to take Nick's hand. "I said I was fine with that, and I meant it - I still do," and he managed a rueful smile. "She'll get all her teeth eventually, right?"

"I don't want her to pay for what happened to me," Nick said as he looked at his daughter. "We can't wrap her up in cotton wool just because of one sick person, G, she needs to be around other people too."

"Only when you're ready for it," was Greg's response, and he tightened his grasp on his lover's hand - sensing, somehow, that there was another reason that hadn't been revealed yet. "You haven't got to prove anything to anyone, you know."

"It's all this, too," Nick told him, waving his free hand around the kitchen. "The three of us like this, it doesn't happen anywhere near enough," and his voice became quieter. "I - there'll be times when I'm here on my own and I think about Cisco, and I need to talk to you and you're not here," he went on; he lowered his head, and when it came up again he was blinking rapidly. "That's selfish, isn't it?"

"No," Greg said quietly, and he thought of all the nights when their bed had seemed miles wide without Nick in it; his chair scraped as he leaned forward, planting a kiss on Nick's mouth, and he smiled gently. "Tell you what - neither of us has to be anywhere until tomorrow, why don't you call this woman and see if we can meet her tonight?" and his smile widened. "You do that, and I'll see what I can do about getting this mess out of Em's hair without having to shave her head."

"We don't even know if you'll get back on nights, though," Nick said, a doubtful tone in the words despite the relief in his eyes at the fact that Greg understood. "And I don't know if Cath mentioned the shift thing, this woman might not want a kid five nights at a time, and that's if you can even -" but whatever else he might have said was cut off by another kiss.

"Call her," Greg said, and he stood up. He scooped Emily out of her high chair, provoking an outraged squawk, and a handful of banana was swiped across his face; he carried her from the room, and once the two of them were in the hallway he stopped moving. For what seemed a long time, there was no sound from the kitchen -then, when the silence was finally broken, Greg found himself smiling.

"Hi, is that Angie? Ma'am, you won't know me, but Catherine Willows gave me your number…"

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

7:00 p.m.

The breeze ruffled the flag hanging from a pole in the front yard of the house; toting Emily over one hip, Nick followed Greg up the path that divided the neatly-manicured grass. They stopped on the porch, turning to look at each other, and Nick opened his mouth to speak - but before he could say something like are you going to ring the bell, G? or maybe this wasn't such a good idea, there was the sound of a chain being drawn back, and then the door opened.

The woman looked as though she was in her mid-fifties, short and smiley with greying hair and bright blue eyes; she was wearing a T shirt bearing a faded emblem that couldn't be made out on the dim glow of the porch light, and she wiped her hands on her sweatpants before extending one of them to Nick and Greg in turn.

"Just a bit of flour," she said, her accent betraying New York origins. "I was baking when I saw you pull up," and she stretched a hand out towards Emily. "Well, aren't you just the sweetest thing?"

"She's a bit shy around people she doesn't know," Nick said, trying to keep a note of apology out of his voice as Emily buried her face in his shirt. "Maybe -"

"Just give her a bit of time," was the response. "That's all it takes. Now, come on in and have some coffee," and the woman stepped aside to allow her guests into the house.

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

Greg's notebook, 2 a.m.

We were there for more than two hours, and I honestly didn't realise it until I looked at my watch. She makes chocolate cake that's even better than my mom's, and we seemed to talk about everything except why we were actually there - but I think she found out everything she wanted to know about us anyway, because I get the feeling she doesn't miss much. Must come from her husband being a cop - I guess that intuition kind of rubs off, right? I know she picked up on how nervous Nick was, even though he tried not to twitch when she picked Emily up - she got him talking about Texas, because her best friend lives just outside Dallas, and after a while it was like they'd known each other for ages.

She and her husband moved down here so they could be near her son - he and his wife both work for United Airlines, and she started watching the grandkids when their parents both had to work at the same time. (told Nick he should stop worrying about the shift thing, ha ha) She just loves being around children, she doesn't do it for the money - which makes me feel a lot better about this, if I'm honest. She's got one other kid at the moment, and the grandkids are there one week every month - that way it'll be like a family, not one of those huge commercial places that seem to be everywhere.

She didn't put any pressure on us - just said we should call her if we wanted to take things any further. I liked her a lot, though, and even though Nick still hasn't said very much I think he did too - so we'll see what happens, won't we?

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

October 9th, 7.00 a.m.

"You're quiet," Greg said as they headed for their first destination. Nick had been quiet the entire shift, now that he thought about it; he was pretty sure it hadn't been merely due to the fact that their case had involved the victim being in the kitchen while his head was in the bathtub, because Nick would have said something then. Ever since they'd started dating seriously, they'd had one rule that was carved in stone - they didn't talk about work at home - and now they were parents, this had become even more important. "Anything you want to tell me?"

"Later," Nick said, managing a smile that was almost convincing, and he brought the Denali to a halt outside a house where the Stars and Stripes flapped in the early-morning breeze. Killing the engine, he removed the keys from the ignition and then headed towards the house with Greg in tow; once they were up on the porch, he knocked at the door - quietly, because he knew Angie's husband was working nights this week - and Nick's smile became a genuine one when a shrill "Ee-ee-ee!" echoed from inside the house.

"You're just in time," Angie said, opening the door wide to let them in. "There's a fresh pot of coffee just brewed," and Greg knew from experience that there would probably be cake or waffles to go with it, because Angie's mothering tendencies didn't stop at the children she looked after. "Rough night?"

"Don't ask," Greg said. "It'll be all over the papers later on."

"Oh, God, were you two at that thing off the Strip? Max was called out to that, he said something about the guy's head - no, I won't ask," Angie replied as the three of them entered the kitchen. "Look who's here, Emily -"

"Hello, sweetheart," Nick said, moving swiftly across the room to scoop Emily out of the playpen that sat in one corner of the kitchen. He planted a kiss on her forehead, producing another delighted squeal, before passing her to Greg to receive the same treatment; they sat down at the kitchen table as mugs were filled and handed out, and for the moment at least Nick's worries were pushed to the back of his mind.

It had taken him a long time to call Angie after that initial meeting, and the first time they'd dropped Emily off with her had been a weekend they'd booked off so that if there were any real problems they could go and collect her before the night was over. She'd cried when it had become clear they were going to leave without her, reaching out towards them from Angie's arms; everything in Nick had told him this wasn't going to work, that they should just take her home…but then Angie had said just go and wait on the porch, okay?, the look in her eyes saying that she knew exactly what was going through Nick's mind. They'd done what she'd suggested, although Greg had had to tug pretty hard on Nick's arm to get him out of the house, and they'd listened through the partly-open front door in amazement as the sobbing was abruptly cut off; when they'd peeked through the living room window moments later, they'd seen Emily crawling purposefully in the direction of Angie's elderly cat as a stream of chatter flowed from her lips. "Let's go," Greg had whispered, and they'd headed back for the apartment where they'd slept for the next nine hours - and when they'd returned the following morning, there'd been coffee and carrot cake while Emily sat in a highchair cramming her mouth with Cheerios, something she'd refused to even try eating at home.

*********

1:20 p.m..

A quick check to ensure that the baby monitor was switched on, and then Greg slid into bed; the blinds shut out the afternoon sun, Emily was going to sleep for at least two hours, and he and Nick had developed the habit of taking catnaps at the same time. But he knew Nick too well to believe that he was already asleep, and so Greg slid an arm across the unmoving shape beneath the covers - and his suspicions were proved right when there was a gentle sigh.

"Nicky?"

"Mom called last night," Nick said, shifting so that he lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. "While you were talking to Warrick."

"Something with your dad?" Greg asked, leaning until his head touched Nick's shoulder. Bill had asked to be taken off the clinical trial two months previously, when it had become apparent that whatever they were testing on him was making him feel worse instead of relieving his symptoms; lately, he seemed to alternate between sleeping for most of the day and not eating, or trying to do things he was no longer capable of and then getting angry with himself.

"He went to the specialist yesterday," Nick answered after a long silence. "Guy told him he shouldn't fly."

"Oh, man," Greg said softly. "Well, listen, we take the party out there, that's all - no big deal."

"Everyone was supposed to be here," Nick said. "People from work, my folks, yours…" and an audible sniff echoed in the darkened room. "How often have your folks seen her, G? Twice?"

"Three times," Greg replied. "They understand," he said, propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at Nick. "They understand, Nicky, they know why we go to Dallas so often," he went on. "You know they do."

"But -"

"No," Greg said, emphasising the word ever so slightly. "I'll call them later today, I bet they'll be able to come out to the ranch instead - and even if they can't…" He broke off then, draping himself across Nick's chest and feeling Nick's arms winding themselves tightly round him.

Even if they can't, they'll be around for the other birthdays. Although Greg hadn't finished the sentence aloud, Nick had known what he would have said - because it had been hanging over them for over half a year now, and it was getting closer with every day that passed.

*******

Dallas, October 19th, 4.00 p.m.

The back yard was full of people, and balloons had been tied all the way along the fence; a table had been placed at one end of the deck, laden with food, and the air rang with the shrieks and giggles of the younger children playing on the grass.

To all intents and purposes, a family party like so many others, but the faces of the adults told a different story. Whenever one of the children approached they would be hoisted onto someone's lap, favoured with a smile, their hair ruffled affectionately; but when they were back roughhousing on the grass again, the adults would talk in small groups, their faces showing what none of them could say aloud.

Nick leaned against the wall, holding a beer that he'd only taken one or two sips from, his eyes riveted on a scene playing itself out a few yards away; Greg was sitting cross-legged on the grass, his posture mimicked by that of Nick's twelve year old niece Daisy. Emily was walking back and forth between them, honing a skill she had mastered barely a week since; when she lost her balance and landed on her bottom she was scooped up by Daisy, who blew a raspberry against her neck and made her shriek with laughter.

Bill Stokes sat in a nearby lawn chair, an untouched glass of iced tea in one hand; pain had etched new wrinkles into his face, but his eyes were riveted on his youngest granddaughter as though committing her face to memory - and as Nick looked at his father, he felt his throat tightening until it was hard to breathe.

One birthday, that's all he's going to see…

"Nick, can you give me a hand?"

Blinking rapidly, he looked round to see his mother standing in the half-open doorway holding a cake. Easily more than two feet long, it bore a cluster of pink rosebuds at each corner, along with the words Happy Birthday Emily and a single candle at the centre; Nick knew that his mother must have been up very early that morning in order to get it finished in time, and he managed to smile as he opened the door all the way to allow her to walk out onto the deck.

"Kaketid, mamma!" Greg called out to his mother, who was deep in conversation with one of Nick's sisters, and everyone gathered round as the cake was set on the table. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw his father levering himself out of his lawn chair infinitely slowly; he watched his niece scramble to her feet, leaving Greg to pick Emily up, before approaching her grandfather and placing a hand on his arm. Whatever his father said was too quiet for Nick to make out, but he saw Daisy's hand drop down to her side again as Bill picked up his cane and made his way up the three steps leading to the deck.

"What did he say to her?" Nick asked under his breath as Greg drew level with him.

"Don't know," was the response. "I was sorting Em out, she tried to eat grass again," and before they could do more than turn to look for Daisy, the singing had begun.

"Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday, dear Emily,
Happy birthday to you…"

*******

It didn't take him long to find Daisy, because all Nick had needed to do was think about where he'd always gone as a child when he'd been upset about something.

He pushed the door open and closed it behind him, breathing in the familiar scent of straw and horses. He didn't call out, but walked silently with his eyes alert until he reached the empty stall at the very end of the stable block. A figure was huddled in the corner, hands clasped around their knees and dark hair hanging forward to hide their face; climbing over the gate, Nick crouched down beside his niece and touched her shoulder, only to be rewarded with a mumbled, "Go 'way."

"Daisy, whatever he said, he didn't mean it, okay?"

"He s-said he didn't need anyone fussing over him," and when Daisy lifted her head Nick could see that her eyes were almost swollen shut from crying. "I only wanted to help him get up, and he just shook my hand off," she went on, her lower lip quivering. "He just gave me this real angry look -"

"He's not angry at you, sweetheart," Nick said, sitting down next to her. "He - well, he's scared about what's happening to him, and when people get scared they can get angry too."

"I don't want him to die, Uncle Nick," Daisy said, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "I don't want him to die and still be mad at me -" Her voice cracked then, and when Nick put an arm round her she didn't fight him off. He held her as she wept furiously, shedding tears which he suspected had been held in for a long time; eventually, he retrieved a Kleenex from his pocket and handed it to Daisy, who dabbed at her eyes before looking at him.

"You talk to your mom and dad about how sad you are?"

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"Mom doesn't like talking about it," Daisy said, looking down at her lap. "She cries when she thinks I'm asleep and dad's working late, so…"

"You can't keep it to yourself," Nick replied, and he swallowed hard, because that was exactly what he'd done for more than twenty years. "You've got to talk to someone, otherwise - well, it eats you up," he said. "I know it hurts your mom to talk about your grandpa not being around for much longer, because it hurts me too."

"Does Greg let you talk to him about it?"

"Yes, he does," Nick said. "And your mom's going to let you talk to her too, once I have a word with her."

"No, Uncle Nick, you can't -"

"Yes, I can," Nick said with a solemn smile. "I'm her little brother, it's my job to bug her about stuff," and he put a finger under Daisy's chin when she stared down at her lap. "No, you look at me," he said quietly. "We'll stick together and we'll make this better, okay?" and after a long silence there was a tearful nod. "Going to come out and have some cake?"

"'M not hungry."

"Well, you sit next to me, and I'll eat your cake for you," Nick told her, and he rose to his feet. "How about that?"

********

8:00 p.m.

"How come Daisy gets to stay over and I don't?"

"Because Uncle Nick and Uncle Greg need her to help them with Emily tonight, that's why," Nick's sister Janet said, her eyes meeting Nick's over the car roof. "They're going to bring her back tomorrow when they leave to go to the airport."

"That's stupid," Daisy's brother Sam muttered, kicking one of the car's tyres to emphasise his disgust. "I could help them too."

"You know what?" Nick said. "You can come visit us in Vegas," and he bent down to boost the disgruntled five year old into the car. "I bet Greg's going to have a new game or two for his PlayStation pretty soon."

"What about Bully?" Sam asked, enthusiasm sparking in his eyes. "Will at school says it's this really cool game where you -"

"Not till you're at least fifteen," Nick said. "Do your seatbelt up, kiddo," and he straightened up to look at his sister. "You going to be okay?"

"I will be," Janet said, smiling although her eyes were red-rimmed, and in the next instant Nick was enveloped in a fierce hug. "Thanks, Nicky," she whispered shakily before the two of them broke apart; stepping back, Nick watched her get into the driver's seat, and he kept his eyes on the car until it had disappeared from view.

"Hey," a familiar voice said, and he closed his eyes briefly as Greg's arms slipped round his waist from behind.

"Where's Emily?"

"Your mom wanted to give her a bath, and mine's probably in there telling her she's not doing it right," Greg said, leaning forward so that his chin rested against Nick's shoulder. "You coming in now?"

"Yeah," and Nick turned to face Greg in the near-darkness. "Listen, I - thank you."

"What for?" Greg said matter-of-factly, raising one of Nick's hands to place a kiss in the centre of its palm. "Come on, it's getting cold out here," he went on, and he kept hold of Nick's hand as the two of them walked back into the house.

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

The noise of the TV was clearly audible when they stepped into the kitchen, and Nick made his way towards the hallway with Greg close behind him; he moved over the threshold of the den, ready to ask whether anyone wanted something to drink, but the words stuck in his throat.

Greg's father was sprawled in one of the big leather armchairs, his head tilted back and his eyes closed as a low rasping noise emerged from his lips. A foot or so away, Bill sat at one end of the couch, also asleep but with one arm round Daisy who was curled against his side; her eyes were fixed on whatever was on the TV, but in the dim light from the nearby lamp Nick could make out trails of moisture on his niece's cheeks.

Nick remained motionless, a lump in his throat as he thought about fences that were being mended now only to be torn down again who knew when - then a hand came to rest on his shoulder, squeezing gently, and a kiss was planted on the back of his neck.

"Let's go upstairs," Greg said quietly, and the slight unsteadiness in the words said that he was thinking the same thing Nick had been. "I think our daughter needs rescuing from her grandmothers."


********

November 15th, 8:55 a.m..

Nick woke to the smell of coffee and a metallic banging noise in the kitchen, and a smile touched his lips - because even though his eyes were still closed, he could picture exactly what was going on several yards down the hall. Greg would be fixing breakfast, covering every square inch of counter space with crumbs and spills, while Emily would be indulging in her current favourite pastime - emptying the one cupboard that didn't have a child lock, and then banging a ladle against one of the saucepans.

"Emily, you want orange juice?"

"No!" and this made Nick chuckle softly, because although his daughter knew several words now this was the one she used most frequently. "No, no, no…"

"Let's take our breakfast and go see Nicky, kiddo."

"No!" but moments later two sets of footsteps were heading towards the bedroom; Emily made it first, moving swiftly to Nick's side of the bed and grinning with her face inches away from his.

"Nick! Nick!"

"There's my girl," Nick said, his smile matching hers, and he leaned down to lift Emily up onto the bed. "Did you help Greg make breakfast?"

"No!"

"Well, at least she's being honest," Greg said as he placed a heavily-laden tray on the night stand on his side of the bed. Once he had climbed beneath the covers again, he reached for a mug of coffee and passed it to Nick before setting a plate within everyone's reach - and the moment this had been done, Emily grabbed a piece of toast and started cramming it into her mouth.

"What are we going to do today?" Nick asked, once he'd half-emptied his coffee; it was a Saturday, and since neither he nor Greg had to be back at work again till Monday evening they had the rare pleasure of an uninterrupted weekend ahead of them.

"This one needs a new pair of sneakers," Greg said, nodding down at Emily, who was reaching for a second piece of toast even though the first one was still swelling her cheeks to hamster-like proportions. "No you don't," he said with a smile, catching hold of her wrist. "Swallow that one first," and as his words were met with an aggravated squeal the phone rang next to the bed. "No, I got it," he said when Nick moved to set his coffee down, and he reached for the receiver. "Hello?" he said, and his smile disappeared instantly. "He's right here, Jillian, one second." He held the receiver out wordlessly, and as Nick took it he felt ice creeping into the suddenly hollow space in his chest.

"Mom?"

*********

"Where are my keys?"

"I've called a cab," Greg said as Nick rummaged through his pockets with shaking hands. "Nick, stop," and he reached out to take Nick's hands between his own. "You're not driving, okay? Don't worry about it," and the silence that followed was broken when the buzzer sounded next to the front door. "Come on, Em," Greg said, bending down to pick her up. "Let's go."

"Bit!" Emily shouted, wriggling in Greg's arms as she was borne towards the door. "Bit!"

"Oh, Jesus," Nick said faintly, feeling as though everything was caving in around him. "I don't know where it is, G, let's just -"

"It's over there," Greg said, raising his voice when Emily began to cry, and he nodded towards the couch. Feeling as though his legs were going to give way at any moment, Nick moved to retrieve the tattered cloth diaper without which Emily would never leave the apartment; he held it out in a shaking hand, and Emily grabbed it before pressing it against her mouth as the sobs were cut off as if by magic.

The buzzer rang again, and Greg moved swiftly into the hall. "Yeah, we're on our way down," he said into the intercom, and he opened the front door with his free hand. Hoisting the bags, Nick followed in his wake, and once the apartment had been locked the three of them headed for the elevator; Greg pressed the button to summon it, and then he and Nick looked at each other in silence.

And before Greg could think of anything to say or do that would make everything hurt any less for either of them, the elevator doors pinged open.

**********

Dallas, 5:40 p.m.

"Nick?"

"He had to go see grandpa Bill," Greg said, stroking Emily's hair; he was rewarded with a smile, and then his daughter went back to the plastic blocks that had been occupying her attention.

Nick's mother had made breakfast that morning, but when she'd gone upstairs to tell her husband it was ready she hadn't been able to wake him; he hadn't woken since, although he was still breathing, and now he lay in a hospital bed surrounded by everyone who'd been able to respond to Jillian's panicked phone call.

Three of Nick's sisters had managed to make it, two of them accompanied by their husbands, and a fourth would be landing in Dallas within the hour; Nick's brother was in Saudi Arabia on a business trip, and wasn't going to be able to catch a flight until the following morning. "You can't take that child in there," an officious nurse had told Nick and Greg half an hour previously; so Greg was sitting in the relatives' room down the hall, staring at year-old copies of "Time" and "Newsweek" while Emily busied herself with the meagre contents of the toy box, and the words on the pages of the tattered magazines were eclipsed by a memory of Jillian's blank, emotionless face as she sat by the head of her husband's bed.

*********

9:15 p.m.

"Fader vår, du som er i himmelen.
La ditt navn holdes hellig.
La ditt rike komme."

It was dark outside now, and the hospital had quietened down, because anyone who didn't need to be there once night fell had gone home several hours since. Emily lay asleep on the floor, her beloved "bit" clutched in one hand, and all Greg could do was watch her and wait for news. He'd never wanted to be with Nick as much as he did right now, and the fact that there was only a hallway separating the two of them was hurting him more than he would have believed it could - and then, from some distant memory, he'd found the words his mother had used every night when she'd tucked him into bed.

"La din vilje skje på jorden som i himmelen.
Gi oss i dag vårt daglige brød.
Forlat oss vår skyld,
som vi òg forlater våre skyldnere."

He recited the familiar words with tears stinging behind his eyes, and a lump in his throat made it difficult to speak - because as bad as Nick's kidnapping had been, this was far worse. Nick had been rescued, they'd both come through it - but it wasn't like that now. Nothing was going to bring Bill back, and how could he possibly know what to do to help Nick through this?

"Greg?"

"Yes?" He turned towards the door, blinking furiously and there was the nurse who'd smiled at Emily earlier that evening and offered to heat her bottle - but she wasn't smiling now, and Greg felt the blood draining slowly from his limbs. "Is he - has he gone?"

"No," was the answer as the nurse came into the room, close enough for Greg to be able to make out the W. Harvey on her name tag. "But I think you ought to go in there now."

"I can't," he said, looking down at his daughter who was mercifully oblivious to what was going on. "They won't let me -"

"I'll watch her," the nurse said, reaching out as though she were going to place a hand on his arm, but then she seemed to think better of it - and Greg was glad, because if this stranger had touched him he would have started crying and never stopped. "She'll be fine," she told him. "Go on," and by some superhuman effort Greg pulled himself up from his chair.

Moving slowly, as though he feared he would fall over, he made his way out of the room and walked the few yards that brought him to a door with a label bearing the number 7; once he had taken a deep breath, he pushed the door open and walked into the room.

Closing the distance between himself and the group assembled round the bed, he placed his hands on Nick's shoulders; Nick's right hand came up to cover Greg's left, and he turned his head briefly to look at Greg before redirecting his gaze towards the figure in the bed.

Greg thought of how Bill had been - god, it wasn't even a month, was it? - when everyone had been at the ranch for Emily's birthday; his face had been lined with pain, the slightest movement had left him exhausted and irritable, but deep down he'd still been Bill. You and my son feed her too much sugar, he'd told Greg when Emily had put up a fuss about going to bed the night of her party. If she'd grown up in this house she'd never have been allowed a piece of cake that size - but there had been gruff affection in the words nonetheless…

…but looking at the motionless, gaunt form in the bed, Greg knew there was almost nothing of Bill Stokes in there now. It was a mere husk, the pain dulled by the drugs Bill had refused for as long as he could, the constant beeping of a monitor the only sign that Nick's father was still hanging on somehow; and seeing this, Greg resumed his prayer so quietly that the noise of the machine drowned the words out.

"Led oss ikke inn i fristelse,
men frels oss fra det onde.
For riket er ditt,
og makten og æren i evighet

Amen."

"Daddy?" Janet said, her voice wavering, and in the same instant the beeping changed to a continuous drone. "Daddy, no -" and she sagged against her husband, shaking with sobs. The door opened and a doctor who Greg had seen in the corridor earlier slipped into the room; moments later the machine was switched off, and the droning noise was replaced by the sound of quiet weeping.

"G?"

"Right here," he said, in a voice that sounded nothing like his, and without another word he leaned down to wrap his arms round Nick; as he did so, his eyes wandered to Jillian, who had clasped one of her husband's hands and pressed it to her lips.

Greg thought back to the terrible night when Nick had been hauled from the Plexiglas box he'd been buried in…when he'd looked round the door of that room at Desert Palms and seen Nick's injured face against the stark white hospital pillow…when he'd seen Nick's eyes open and had been so relieved he'd thought his heart would stop. What if I'd lost him? he asked himself. What if it had been me sitting holding his hand the way Jillian's holding Bill's now? - and because the idea was more painful than he could comprehend, Greg pressed his face against the back of Nick's shoulder and wept.

Not only for Nick, but for himself too.

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

Dallas, November 24th, 11:15 p.m.

"We should be downstairs," Greg said tentatively from the bedroom doorway. "The car -"

"I can't get my tie done up," Nick muttered, staring into the wardrobe mirror and making another attempt at something he'd done a thousand times but which eluded him now. "Damn it -"

"Here," Greg said, moving into the room. "Let me," and within a matter of seconds the tie was resting neatly against Nick's shirt. "See?"

"How many times have I done that before court?"

"Listen," Greg said gently, placing a hand each side of Nick's face to lift his head up. "You'll be fine - you will," he went on, and he let his lips touch Nick's for a few seconds. A few more hours and it'll be over, he wanted to say, but he stopped himself - because he knew that what they were about to face was only the beginning, and that he'd have to find the strength from somewhere to get them both through it. "Come on, you," he said, bending towards Emily who was playing on the bedroom floor. "We're going to go for a ride in the car."

********

12:30 p.m.

The church was packed, and folding chairs had supplemented the pews; there was a single wreath resting on the coffin, along with a photo of Bill in his judicial robes, and Nick had been unable to take his eyes off it since he and Greg had sat down in one of the front pews. Emily, awed into silence by all the dark clothing and by the fact that nobody was smiling, had fallen asleep in Greg's arms twenty minutes after the service had started; Greg had been afraid to put her down in case she woke up, and so he held her in the crook of one arm while he followed the service sheet over Nick's shoulder.

"-Hear and answer prayers devoutest,
Break, O Lord, each binding chain,
Dash the gates of death asunder,
Quell the devil and his train;
Bring the souls which Thou hast ransomed
Evermore in joy to reign."
The hymn ended, and the congregation sat down as a single unit; the minister threw an enquiring glance towards the front pew, and Nick summoned every bit of strength he could in order to rise to his feet. He took the handful of steps that brought him to the lectern, and once he had stepped behind it he sucked in a deep breath as he looked down at the words on the sheet of paper.
"You'll be fine - you will." And with Greg's words still inside his head, Nick began to read aloud.
"Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I, and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, that we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name,
speak to me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference in your tone,
wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me and if you want to, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was,
let it be spoken without effect,
without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was;
there is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you,
for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just around the corner.
All is well."

His vision blurring, he looked up from the lectern at the crowded church; then his eyes came to rest on Greg, looking back at him from the front pew with one arm round Emily, and Nick knew he would be fine. Not right away, and maybe never completely, because the gap left by his father's passing was impossibly large - but he had Greg, and he had their daughter, and as long as he had them he had everything he'd ever wanted.

He had his own family, and life would go on.

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