Title: Chances
By: saras-girl
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, Nick and Greg or any of the others, more's the pity. I make nothing from this other than a nice warm glow.
Summary: A series of opportunities. An accidental confession sets off a chain of events that forces Nick to re-evaluate his life. Can he take a chance? Does Greg even want to? Now completed.

***

Risk
AN: This chapter is set around Fannysmackin' but don't let that put you off. Chapter 1 is entirely Nick's POV.
Please humour me and see Nick with his season 6 hairstyle (the short 'do upsets me...)

Nick Stokes shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic hospital chair, changing positions every half minute or so – leaning back, hands gripping his knees; shoving them under jean-clad thighs in an attempt to stop himself fidgeting; finally resting elbows on knees and head in hands, pushing tense fingers through his dishevelled hair. His head hurt and there was a painful, leadlike weight in his stomach, though his heart raced and the tendons in his hands twitched in his anxiety.

He felt he would explode if Grissom didn't come out of that room soon. In that room was Greg Sanders, and the thought of him lying there, bruised and broken, was almost too much to stand. When he got the call, earlier in the shift, telling him that Greg had been dragged from his car by a hooded assailant and savagely beaten whilst trying to save a man's life, Nick thought he was going to be sick. He was just finishing up at a crime scene when Grissom called to give him the news. He had snapped his cell phone shut and leaned heavily against his Denali, the nausea rising in his chest, fingers pushed against eye sockets in an attempt to stem the flood that was threatening to burst forth. Images flashed through his head. Greg lying in that alleyway, bleeding, cold, hurt. All he wanted to do was rush to his side, comfort, protect, soothe. With some effort, he reminded himself that Greg was not his to protect. Never had been. He knew it made no sense, but his feelings were involuntary, and despite a concerted effort to suppress them, after seven years they burned brighter than ever.

He felt consumed, surrounded by warmth, whenever he was with Greg. Sometimes it felt like a warm bath, a tingling all over his body with a sense of comfort and wellbeing that brought an uncontrollable smile to his face, a glow to his skin and a sparkle to his serious dark eyes. Other times it was sharp, white-hot desire that shot through him like static. It would happen at the strangest, most innocuous moments. When he watched Greg eat, or laugh, or dance around the lab when he thought no one was watching – or more often, when he knew someone was watching. It would take hold of him and shut his brain down to everything except the need to grab Greg and push him against the nearest wall, claim his mouth and make him his own. Occasionally, though, it just hurt. An oppressive heat which blazed out of control and destroyed everything it touched, including any chance of another person getting close to him. There had been those that had tried over the years, some who had almost succeeded. He had cared, but no one quite matched Greg Sanders. Vibrant, brave, vital, stubborn, infuriating, ridiculous, adorable, he lived in Nick's veins like a virus that he couldn't and didn't want to get rid of.

Greg, of course, was blissfully unaware of this fact. Nick had thought about it, especially at the beginning, when he had first noticed the flirtatious edge to their relationship; that Greg always had a ready smile for him and seemed to put on a show when they worked together, maybe even, just a little, try to impress the older man. He had hesitated though, and the moment always passed, leaving Nick frustrated and angry with himself for being so gutless. He didn't even know for sure what Greg's sexual preference was. He spoke of dates and partners with obvious relish but never seemed to be gender specific. Nick imagined, often, that Greg was as much of a hit with the guys as with the ladies. He was just Greg.

Nick never asked and never gave up his secret. As years passed, they had slipped into a routine of easy flirting, camaraderie and friendship. The moments when Nick felt he might break his silence grew less and less frequent. He loved Greg with everything he had but grew to accept the wanting and imagining as a way of life, though he lived for the moments when their interaction would provide that warm, tingling feeling that was bittersweet, almost-satisfaction. Most of the time, he felt it as a niggle in the back of his head, something he could push aside and almost forget about. Now though, knowing how close he had come to losing Greg completely, ripped him apart.

After the call, he had composed himself and made a choice. He could dash to the hospital and do his knight in shining armour bit, probably getting upset and giving his feelings away, or do something productive to help Greg and process the hell out of his crime scene. He had opted, reluctantly, for the crime scene and had taken Warrick with him for moral support. Not that he knew – he knew Nick liked guys, most of those closest to him did – but not that his affections were firmly directed at lab-tech-turned-CSI Greg Sanders, Working alongside his best friend was a small comfort to him but when Warrick held up a chunk of Greg's hair, ripped out during the attack, he had again fought the urge to either throw up or punch the crap out of something. An urge which he lost control of when some idiot had started heckling from behind the tape. Warrick had been furious and pulled him back, but damn, the punch had felt good. He had put all of his anger, pain and fear into it, all of his aching and wanting and love for Greg resolved in that moment. It had been fleeting, though, and the feelings surged back in as quickly as they had left. He clenched his fist now, could still feel the raw tingle of the impact running down to his fingertips.

He sighed heavily, lifting clouded eyes to stare once more at the door and at the back of Grissom's head through the glass. Come on, man, he willed. Leave. After they had done with the crime scene, Warrick had driven the evidence back to the lab, and Nick had given in to himself and driven to the hospital. He wasn't sure what he would find in that room and he was afraid. But the primal need to be near the man he loved was stronger than the fear. Just to see he was ok, touch him, smile, tell him that he and Warrick were doing everything they could to take down the bastards that had done this. He could be there as Greg's friend, his co-worker, anything. It would be enough.

Finally, there was movement in the room and he looked up to see Grissom standing in front of him. The older man looked tired and disappointed.

"Hi Nicky," He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"How is he?"

"Sleeping. He'll be fine, physically at least."

Nick's heart contracted rapidly and painfully with the implication. Gil continued.

"The meds they gave him for the pain have knocked him out, but I spoke to him a little. He asked about the kid he hit with his car. I had to tell him he's critical. He's taking it pretty hard, as you would imagine."

Grissom paused. Nick stood, stretching cramped limbs.

"I'd like to see him."

Grissom nodded. "Of course, he's your friend."

Nick managed a half smile. Nodded his assent, and taking a deep breath, pushed the door open. The sight that met his eyes made his breath catch in his chest and a painful lump choke his throat. Greg lay motionless in the narrow hospital bed, arms by his sides, beautiful eyes swollen and closed. He was bruised, scratched, dried blood at his hairline, hair that was dishevelled in the wrong way. Standing over the bed, close enough to touch, Nick pushed down the temptation to reach out and smooth down unruly curls, trace fingers along bruised cheekbones.

He jammed his hands into his pockets in an effort at self control. Dropped into the chair at Greg's bedside, dragging it as close to the sleeping man as he dared. One eye squeezed open at the sound; regarding Nick squintily from beneath spidery lashes.

"Hey, G," Nick spoke softly, smiling at the ability Greg had to make his heart pound and swell with love, even in this condition. Just by opening an eye.

"Nick," he whispered. "Did Grissom leave?"

"Yeah. Listen, Warrick and I, we got everything from the scene. I just wanted you to know. They aren't going to get away with this, Greg. We'll do whatever we have to."

Greg blinked painfully.

"That kid I hit...he's not doing good...if he dies, it will be my fault..."

"No," Nick replied fiercely, the urge to touch Greg overriding the risk at last and he curled his fingers around Greg's, wincing at how cold they felt. "Don't you say that. What you did today saved an innocent man's life, Greg. We are all behind you, ok? You should get some rest."

"No, but I...god, I'm so tired..." he trailed off, eye closing again, fingers falling limp in Nick's. He didn't let go, just watched Greg sleep in silence. Now that Greg was unconscious, he could look all he wanted, naked concern and fear in his eyes. He began unthinkingly stroking Greg's skin with his thumb, eyes running over bloodied lips he still itched to kiss. Silence hung over the room like a blanket and the sounds of the hospital around them faded to nothing. Nick was tired. Hurting.

"Don't worry, G, " he murmured, speaking to himself more than anything else, Greg was dead to the world. "It's going to be ok. Everyone's here for you. Gris, Sara, Warrick, Catherine...even Hodges is worried about you, man." He cracked a small smile.

"And me. I'm here. I've always been here, Greg. You don't even know it but there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Look at you...lying there like that, you still light me up. No one makes me feel like you do, G, no one has ever come close." Nick smiled broadly and shook his head, feeling unsteady with the strange relief of finally hearing his confession out loud. Even if the person he was confessing it to couldn't hear a word of it. This is really quite cathartic, he thought, and continued, warming to his theme.

"Whatever happens with the James kid, you'll get through it. I'd like to help you get through it. What you did doesn't change anything, Greg. You're strong, brave, beautiful...god, you're beautiful..."

His voice cracked. He cleared his throat.

"The truth is, G...I love you, and it hurts me. Every day. Kunne du elske meg, Greg? Could you love me? I learned that for you, dumb, huh?" Nick laughed softly.

"I wish I could tell you properly, but I'm afraid, and I've missed a lot of chances. You know, when I told my mother about you, she said –"

Nick dried up rapidly, realising with a jolt that both of Greg's eyes were now open and fastened upon him, a look of mute shock etched on his face.

Nick stared, aghast, his throat immobilised. Heart racing and yet he thought he might pass out. He was awake. Greg was awake. Jesus. Do something, the voice inside his head screamed. Anything!

"Greg, I....ah...how much did you hear?" he croaked at last, pointlessly, knowing the answer before it came.

"That you love me," Greg mumbled at last. "All of it."

His eyes, Nick noticed, had never left Nick's for the entirety of this exchange. Greg's fingers were still entwined with his. He could feel Greg's pulse against his skin. It was hammering as much as his own. Something swirled in the pit of Nick's stomach. Seconds ticked by in silence. Nick hardly dared breathe. He felt as though the whole world might spin on a dime, dependent on what Greg did next.

Greg averted his eyes and pulled his hand away in one quick, painful motion.

"What the hell, Nick?" He hissed, staring at the wall. Picking fitfully at his blanket.

Nick recoiled visibly from the harshness of his tone, feeling as though he had been punched in the stomach. Greg had withdrawn from his touch like he'd been burned. Nick dredged frantically through the debris in his brain, searching for words to fix this, any words at all. None came. He stared at Greg in silence, unable to move, paralysed by the horror of what he had just done.

"Are you insane?" Greg spat. "What are you thinking, coming in here when I've just had the shit kicked out of me, telling me you love me? What am I supposed to do with that?!"

Nick hung his head, rested hands on his knees.

"I didn't mean to...I thought...oh, god, can we just forget I said anything? Forget you heard anything? Please?" Desperate. God, just let me go back half an hour and start over.

"No!"

Greg sighed. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, less bitter, but still resolute.

"We're friends. I'm straight. You tell me this....and expect, what? I can't look at you right now. You should go."

The younger man continued to stare at the wall. Nick's eyes followed his and met only an expanse of clinical, pale green painted wall. Greg's last words bit deep, as though they were chosen to hurt. Nick didn't recognise the man in front of him. Not because of the physical injuries; he could still see Greg Sanders under all that, until now. This man was a seething mass of anger. Resentment rolled off him in waves. Infiltrating Nick's senses. Catching in his nostrils and throat, stinging his eyes. Pouring ice water into his gut.

Slowly, unsteadily, Nick rose and walked to the door. His chair scraped across the polished concrete as he pushed it away roughly. He gripped the door frame and turned to say something. Opened his mouth and shut it again. With some considerable effort, Greg had turned himself onto his side and now had both eyes closed. Shutting Nick out. He sighed heavily and started to walk away. How had all this gone so wrong, so quickly?

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

He climbed into the Denali and slammed the door. Crossed one wrist over the other on top of the steering wheel, rested his chin on his forearms. Stared at the grey sky.

Are you insane? I'm straight. I can't look at you right now. You should go. Round and round.

Seven years of painstaking, hard-won self control, ripped away in one careless moment. Wanting to feel something, anything, other than the dull ache in his core, when the rain started to fall outside, he got out of the car and stood in it.

***

Run

AN: I'm finding this pretty difficult to write for some reason.

....and also, if you can tell which late 90s teen show I have semi-borrowed a plot device from, then you are as sad as I am ;-)

In the days that followed what Nick would mentally refer to as 'the incident', he did his utmost to carry on as normal. He had a heavy caseload as usual, and continued with his usual efficiency and attention to detail. He was quieter than usual, and smiled far less, but if any of his colleagues noticed, they didn't make an issue of it. After a day or two of mild concern and the occasion "Are you ok?" everyone seemed to let it go. Of course he wasn't ok, but he got up every morning and told himself he was. He was still breathing.

When he heard that Demetrius James had died in hospital, his instinctive response was to drop everything and fly to Greg's side, almost forgetting that the younger man did not even want to look at him never mind be comforted by him. He sat in his car outside the hospital for the longest time, hovering on indecision, before reversing out and driving away. There were people better qualified to comfort Greg, tell him he didn't have a choice but to do what he did. People whom he might be happy to see.

He was happy to receive a call from Grissom as he drove. An assignment. The victim had been found dead in the street outside a high rise tower block and had obviously fallen from a great height, probably the roof, though it was unclear at that point whether her death was the result of accident, suicide or murder.

"I need you to be there as soon as you can, Nick," Grissom said. "Sofia will meet you there."

When he reached the crime scene, he stood in the street and looked up. Must have been 35 or 40 floors, he estimated. Stairs or elevator? Stairs. It was as good a distraction as any and he ran up every flight, making good time. He crashed out onto the rooftop, breathing hard. Set his kit down on the concrete and looked around. Sofia was nowhere to be seen and he decided to wait for her talk him through the scene before he started processing. The wind was harsh and cold in his hair, and strong enough to make him feel unsteady on his feet. He took a few steps forward and looked out at the view of the city below him. It was almost dark and the riot of bright lights was dizzying from this height. He took another few steps and found himself standing at the edge, where the night fell away into nothingness. All that stood between him and that gaping void was a rather perfunctory concrete safety barrier. It didn't even reach his waist, nowhere near.

He leaned against it and stared down, trying to see the dark bloodstain where the victim had landed. Senseless waste of life, he thought. His mind began to wander, not thinking as a CSI, but as Nick Stokes, human being. He wondered if she had killed herself. Whether, earlier in the evening she had walked out onto the roof of her own accord. Feeling the same cool wind against her skin as he felt now. Standing right here next to the barrier, staring out into the night. He wondered what she was feeling as she swung her legs over the barrier. How long she sat there thinking about it before she leaned forward and tumbled into the night, the ground rushing up to meet her. Whether she had felt regret in those last moments.

Had she felt fear? Nick knew what it was like to feel fear like that. He had been so close to taking his own life in that box underground, but he had held on. He tried to remember why. At that moment, though, his memory failed him. His family? His friends? His pride? His logical right brain screamed at him but as he leaned out into the liquid darkness all he could hear was Greg. Greg. Greg. Thoughts of seeing him again and maybe-one-days had helped him cling to life in the most desperate situation. And now. Now, he couldn't seem to remember anything. His ears were filled with roaring static and he could barely recall his own name.

He didn't notice himself climbing over and sitting on the edge of the barrier, though he fuzzily registered the small rough stones embedded in the concrete, scratching his hands, but he did not register the pain. Sitting on a six inch thick wall of concrete hundreds of feet up in the air. He felt strangely calm. His hands gripped the barrier and his legs dangled, motionless. His breathing slowed and calmed. Stop, spoke a small voice somewhere deep inside him. But he heard nothing, until someone was yelling behind him. His head snapped up at the sound and in that instant his consciousness seemed to leap back into his body. Eyes seeing again, he looked down and pulled back, alarmed, a wave of nausea hitting him. His hands gripped the concrete, hard, and he was aware of the pain, and that his palms were bleeding. He had to get away from this edge. Now. But he felt frozen to the spot in fear. Realisation hit him. One false move and he would fall. And still the yelling. He turned his head slightly. Sofia. Oh thank god. Sofia.

"Stokes! Nick! What the hell are you doing?"

She was running towards him, reaching out. Long blonde hair whipping across her face. Genuine terror in her eyes that he had never seen before. As his senses flooded back, he realised in an instant that he had maybe one chance to salvage the situation, or at least try. With immense effort, he controlled his voice.

"Sofia, calm down, I'm ok. Help me down from here and I'll explain, ok?"

He turned slightly and held out his hand to the detective, which she grasped firmly and pulled hard. They tumbled, together, onto the smooth concrete of the roof. For a second they lay there, motionless, half on top of each other, the dark haired CSI and the blonde detective, silent. Sofia moved first, extricating herself with economical grace, slightly undermined by the stream of curses she was muttering under her breath. To Nick's mild surprise, she didn't stand but instead shuffled backwards on her behind and leaned against the barrier, pulling her knees up to her chest and rubbing at her bruised ribs. Nick squinted at her through the darkness for a moment, before maneuvering to drop down beside her. Neither of them spoke for a while, just stared ahead, listening to the myriad sounds of the city below them.

"I wasn't going to jump." Nick offered, eventually.

He felt Sofia's blue eyes slide towards him. He didn't know if she was buying it. Truth be told, he knew he would not have let go. He didn't want to die. He tried to rationalize his actions in those few minutes before Sofia arrived at the scene. It was as if he just wanted to dangle on the precipice for a moment. The edge of life. Feel, in that moment, the pure terror that threw life into sharp relief and forced him to remember what was really important. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had hoped that in that moment, Greg would be furthest from his thoughts. And yet, some cruel twist had made Greg his only thought. He realized that Sofia was still staring at him, waiting.

"She jumped, fell, or was pushed, right?" Sofia nodded slowly.

"I wanted to see how difficult it would be to throw yourself over that barrier. It turns out, not very. Lost it a little when I looked down. Couldn't move."

He looked down at his hands, crisscrossed with angry red scratches and small amounts of blood from where he had gripped the barrier too hard.

"Pretty fucking stupid thing to do, Stokes," she said at last, evenly. "You didn't even have gloves on."

She eyed his hands, and he winced, realizing he had contaminated the crime scene.

"Fortunately for you, we've obtained statements and CCTV footage that confirm the victim was up here on her own just before her time of death. She has a history of severe depression. Looks like a fairly open and shut suicide, I'll just need you to check for prints and blood evidence to rule anyone else out."

Nick exhaled heavily.

"I don't believe you were trying to off yourself, Nick. Though you scared the crap out of me for a moment there."

He smiled at his colleague thinly.

"But I do believe that something is messing with your head pretty bad to be sitting on the edge of a 40-storey building. Or someone," she added pointedly. Laid a hand on his arm.

He shook his head, shocked to feel the emptiness start to claw at his insides again, sparked by the detective's friendly gesture. He realized that he hadn't brought himself to touch another living person since Greg. The incident.

"I'm a pretty good listener, Nick." She hugged her knees to her chest against the biting wind.

"Crime scene isn't going anywhere. Besides, I need to know you're not certifiable before I let you go."

She smiled then, and Nick warmed to this rare departure from her usual brisk, efficient persona.

He didn't know if it was the adrenaline from his brush with a 40-storey drop, Sofia's unexpected warmth or just the fact that every fibre of him was tired and aching with it all, but Nick started talking. Spilling it all out, slowly and tentatively at first, embarrassed at his own emotions and desires spoken out loud, for only the second time ever. His colleague's eyes widened but remained fastened on him as he spoke, soon not caring how it sounded but just feeling gratitude and relief at being able to tell it.

Greg Sanders, thought Sofia, regarding her troubled colleague as he continued to speak. Love, hurt, frustration and pain flooding from every pore. You couldn't fake that. But Greg Sanders? She made a mental note. It certainly took all sorts. She leaned her head back against the concrete and stared at the stars.

He didn't know how long he had spoken for, but long enough that his phone was ringing with his next assignment. Sofia had listened and nodded and told him everything would be ok. He had thanked her and meant it. He just wished he could believe her. Shaking his head and easing the kinks out of his back, he climbed back into the Denali and drove the short distance to his next scene with a heavy heart.

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

Three days later, Nick was sitting in the break room, drinking coffee and catching up with Sara, when he saw him. Heard his voice long before Greg appeared in his line of vision. He was talking to, or rather at, a slightly bemused but secretly delighted Wendy as they both rounded the corner. She hated to admit it but she had missed her lively colleague and was relieved to see him back at work, though the bruises on his face and slight stiffness to his walk were a constant reminder of what had happened. He seemed to be in good spirits though, teasing her and flashing that megawatt smile all over the place.

Nick leaned back in his chair to get a better view down the corridor. Despite everything, he hadn't seen Greg for several days now, and he was hungry for the sight of him. Equal parts concern, desire and self-torment, staring at the man he would never have. The bruises were fading now, but still visible on his face, the rest of course was hidden and he would never know. There was something defiant about the way he carried himself that tugged at something deep down inside Nick. He leaned back a little further on his chair, bracing one leg against the underside of the table, swinging it back onto two legs, the way they always told him not to at school. Sara had her back to him as she made herself a second cup of coffee. She was speaking, but Nick didn't have a clue what she was saying any more. Greg had seen him.

They both stared. Greg seemed rooted to the spot, all his easy charm dissipating in an instant, replaced by something Nick couldn't quite place. His mouth was slightly open and his liquid brown eyes drove right into Nick's, making him breathless. He wondered who would break the stare first, and indeed, why Greg was staring at him in that almost predatory way. He didn't have time to think too much about this as the world shifted beneath him. He reached out for the table edge, frantically, but too late as the chair tipped backwards and he crashed onto his back, winded. Short, staccato coughs racked his chest as Sara crossed the room in two strides and stood over him, her face a mixture of concern and suppressed amusement. She held out a hand to him and he took it. On his feet again, he looked back to where Greg had stood just moments before and he was gone.


Moments later, though, he breezed into the break room, making a beeline for Sara.

"Hey, Greggo," she smiled, throwing her arms around him. "Good to have you back. Feeling better?"

"Much better since I got this hot nurse's phone number," he grinned, brandishing a slip of paper. "She is fiiiine. We're going out next weekend."

Sara shook her head.

"Good to see some things never change, Greg."

Nick didn't hear any more of their conversation. His insides twisted with fury and jealousy, he gathered up his things from the table and walked quickly from the room, just wanting to put distance between himself and Greg.

********************************************************************************
When the anger dissipated, sometime later as he stood outside the building, trying to catch a breath of fresh air, he wondered if Greg had been trying to hurt him, and if so why would he do that? Or maybe he was just trying to prove a point about how red blooded he was. Ok, Greggo, point taken.

During the course of the rest of the day, it became painfully clear that Greg was avoiding him. That when their paths did cross, Greg was quiet and subdued, an almost fearful look in his expressive eyes. Seeing this, Nick's confusion ran rings around him. It was like Greg didn't know how to be around him any more. He was starting to feel the same.


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

One week later:

"Hey, do you know what's Greg's doing this weekend?"

Nick was changing his shirt in the locker room when he heard Catherine address him from the doorway. He stiffened but didn't answer. She continued.

"It's Sara's birthday and I thought we could all go out for drinks. Only, I thought I heard Greg talking about some hot date and I wondered if you knew what night that was. Nick?"

Catherine repeated his name a little louder. He turned swiftly, slamming his locker door closed with a crash that startled Catherine. His eyes were fierce and she took an involuntary step back into the hallway.

"Why would I care what Greg does with his time?" He spat. Made to leave the room. Catherine recovered herself and grabbed her colleague's arm. Looked up. Her anxious blue eyes meeting furious brown ones.

"Hey, hey...Nick," she soothed. "It was a simple question. I thought you might know because you guys are close, is all."

She paused, seeing something unreadable slide across the other CSI's face. "Or, at least, you were. Before Greg got hurt."

Nick watched her eyes flare with curiosity, a question burning on her lips. He was suddenly aware that she was standing in his personal space, the concerned hand still resting on his arm. If he let her, she wasn't going to let this go.

"Leave it alone, Catherine. Please."

He pushed past his friend and walked away, down the corridor and rounded the first corner he came to. Shaking his head. Trying to fight down the rising panic that told him this was not going to go away, however much he wanted to. His friendship with Greg was non-existent since he came back to work. He had foolishly spilled his guts to Sofia that day on the roof, and now Catherine had a sniff of something, she would be like a dog with a bone until she got to the bottom of it. He knew Sofia hadn't told anyone what had taken place at that crime scene. He trusted her. But every time she saw him, her usually stern expression would drop and she would ask him if he was ok. It was only a matter of time before this, too, became noticeable to everyone else, and he didn't think he could stand it.

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

Greg stood, rooted to the spot, in the corridor just six feet behind Catherine. He had overheard their conversation, if you could call it that, as he walked towards the locker room and automatically froze when he heard Nick's voice and his name. He raised haunted chocolate eyes to follow Nick's progress down the hall, his footsteps echoing in the space. Nick was obviously furious. And why wouldn't he be. Greg felt a stab of regret in the pit of his stomach. He had definitely taken the hot nurse thing too far, especially considering that she was a figment of his imagination, created on a whim and now given life by the CSI gossip mill.

He had felt compelled to do something, painfully aware that what he had been doing was standing in the middle of the lab, staring at Nick. Neither man had been able to tear their eyes away, until, of course, Nick had fallen off his chair. In the few seconds of confusion that followed, Greg had regrouped, put on his game face and got straight back on the horse. Jesus, Greg, that's a lot of cliches for one sentence, he thought, rolling his eyes. What he had done was stroll right into the break room and present a distraction.

He hadn't wanted to hurt Nick, it just had to be that way. Even so. The expression in his eyes and the catch in his voice as he had pushed past Catherine, sliced at Greg. Tiny, invisible wounds that bled. Death by a thousand cuts, he thought. No less than I deserve for being such a jackass.

He started. Catherine had turned now and was regarding him with an expression that chilled him.

"What?"

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

Nick reached the safety of the parking lot and closed his eyes, pulling cold air into his lungs. He waited, breathing deliberately slowly, calmly. Feeling a little steadier, he shook himself and walked back into the lab.

Why am I here? The question, though he tried to push it away, was insistent. It circled his brain slowly, constantly, as if daring him to come up with a satisfactory answer.

He'd worked hard to make Vegas home. He had a great apartment, full of comfortable, personal touches, a job he felt passionate about, a social life, a fantastic team of colleagues who he enjoyed being around every day. And Greg. Creeping into the empty AV lab, he sank into Archie's abandoned swivel chair and gave in to the question. I had those things. Past tense. Since the hospital, he had an apartment that he didn't want to be in, because every time he sat on the worn leather couch, he thought of Greg sitting next to him so many times, asking him to explain the point of football, or eating noodles, or talking animatedly about music or chemistry or anything really, he didn't much care. He just liked watching Greg be Greg. He hadn't been over since he left the hospital, and was unlikely to ever again. He still cared about the job, he really did, but he was beginning to feel jaded. Without Greg's easy smiles and sarcastic asides to cut through all the crap that made up human nature, crime scene after crime scene weighed heavily on him. His social life had become nothing more than a destructive escape. He could sit for hours in one spot at the end of a dirty, run down bar, throwing back more Jack Daniels than was wise, no problem. But he couldn't go anywhere he used to go with Greg. And now he could see his colleagues, one by one, uncovering the secret he'd hidden for so long. Full of concern. And there would be shock too, he knew that. He thought of Catherine looking through his facade, knowing what he was thinking. He felt exposed and he hated it.

And Greg, god....he tried to push him out of his mind. He barely looked at Nick any more. If they found themselves in a room alone together, Greg would make some excuse to leave, as if he couldn't even stand to be near his former friend without someone else there for...what? Protection, it seemed. To prevent Nick from talking about what had passed between them at the hospital. It was almost as if Greg was afraid of him, and that realisation made him feel hollow.


His conversation with Sofia played in his head. There's nothing for me here, he had said. At the time, they had just been words, but as he repeated them now, they took on an alarming clarity. His vision cleared and he took a sharp breath. Ran a slightly shaky hand through his dark hair. Thought of home. His parents' ranch. Open space. No bright lights. No crime scenes or senseless violence. No pitying glances. No more seeing Greg every day as if through a glass wall, unable to make the smallest connection, painful craving and regret, in every action. The thought of sitting out on the porch with his mother, watching the sunset, no words needed, was immensely comforting. He could find a new job no problem with his father's contacts. He offered numerous times, wanting Nick to come home, but he had always refused. Proud. Stubborn. Now he was tired, and that pride he had held onto was slipping away.

The thought, once in his head, would not be dismissed and it followed him around all day. By end of shift his mind was made up. A clean break, a chance to start over. He would be more careful this time, would not let someone in so easily, someone who would not only reject him but would flaunt that rejection in his face, talking all over the lab about a hot date with some...some...it didn't matter anyway, not any more.

As he left Grissom's office, he felt lighter somehow even though he knew a part of him was missing. He had left it in that room, with the perplexed silver haired man who stared after him, silently watching his resolute progress down the hallway. Two weeks notice. He hadn't given much of a reason. I need to move on. I need a change. I want to spend more time with my family. All the usual platitudes just rolled off his lips. Not really registering the enormity of what he was doing.

Grissom, to Nick's surprise and gratitude, had not pushed him. He had steepled his fingers, regarding his employee carefully over the top of them, his gaze unwavering.

"You're an excellent CSI Nicky, and I'll be sad to lose you. I'm sure everyone will. But it sounds like you've made up your mind."

It was then that Nick had registered the raw defiance of his stance, the set of his jaw as he stood there in front of the older man's desk, and tried to relax.

Grissom had accepted the envelope containing Nick's letter of resignation with a small, sad smile.

"Good luck."

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

He didn't quite know how, but soon everyone knew that he was leaving, though most did not know why. The rumour mills were working overtime. He caught snatches of whispered conversations between lab techs that would stop as soon as they caught sight of him. The rumours were wide-ranging.

"He can't handle the job any more."

"Someone in his family is really sick."

"I heard he's getting fired."

"No....he met someone on vacation and now they're getting married in secret."


Some of them actually made Nick crack a smile, which he was grateful for.

Over the course of the next two weeks, he found himself increasingly frustrated though undeniably touched as almost every single one of his colleagues made some attempt to prevent him from leaving. Everyone except Grissom, who knew that there was no point. And Greg, who had cut off all non-work-related communication since...since the incident. Even though Nick knew it was a lost cause, which he dealt with by swinging between grief and anger on an almost hourly basis, he still held onto a little bit of hope that Greg might at least show some emotion when he heard that his former friend was walking out of his life for good.

But as his last two weeks at CSI slipped away, there was nothing.

All too quickly, and with two days to go, Nick found himself standing in the bathroom at the courthouse, waiting to testify at the inquest of Demetrius James. To try and convince the jury that Greg's actions in hitting the young man with his car that night had been the only course of action to save his own life and that of an innocent civilian. Despite everything, there was never any question that he wouldn't stand up and bat for his friend, but he did it knowing that this was the last thing he would ever do for Greg. He stared into the mirror at his dark ringed eyes and tried to smooth down his uncooperative hair. He hadn't realised how long it had gotten, how much it looked like Greg's.

Glancing up from washing his hands, he was startled to see Greg's reflection in the mirror, standing behind him. This was the first time since it happened that the younger man had chosen to be in a room with him. Why now? He looked heartbreakingly vulnerable. Nick caught his breath but did not turn around, instead he held Greg's gaze through the mirror.

"I just wanted to say, I appreciate what you're doing for me today. It's....it's...." his voice was shaky.

With effort, Greg regained control of his breathing. Nick continued to regard his reflection, dark eyes impassive.

"I've had a shitty few weeks too, Nick. A gang of thugs tried to kill me, and now I'm getting hauled over the coals for trying to do the right thing. But it doesn't excuse how I'm treating you. I want you to know that I know that. And also to thank you, for today. And to apologise...there was nothing on that piece of paper, you know. No phone number...I don't know why, but I need you to know that....ah....fuck."

The last word was a frustrated hiss. Greg looked at his shoes. Shoved his hands in his suit pockets.

He exhaled slowly and continued.

"I'm doing this all wrong, I'm sorry. My head's a mess with all this."

Nick, who had barely dared breathe while the younger man had been speaking, turned around at last. Greg didn't meet his eyes.

"All what, Greg?" The inquest? The assault? The spectacular implosion of their friendship?

"Everything. It's confusing. Are you really leaving?"

The question was unexpected. Greg lifted his head and pinned Nick to the spot with his gaze. His eyes were liquid brown, questioning, sparkling with the suggestion of tears.

Finally. Finally, a reaction. At last Greg was showing some emotion about his imminent departure. The look shot through Nick so forcefully he thought for a moment he had been touched, but Greg had not moved and was standing at least ten feet away from him.

"Yes, Greg. I'm really leaving."

"Why?"

Nick was silent for a moment, trying to read the other man's gaze, the eyes that hadn't left his for quite some time now, making his body respond in a way he had no control over.

"Why are you leaving, Nick?" he repeated, his voice soft but insistent.

"There's nothing for me here."

Those words again, the same but different this time. The words were loaded. Every syllable was a challenge, daring Greg to respond.

Greg stared.

"I'll miss you." Whispered, almost inaudible.

The spell was shattered as the bathroom door swung open, and a small man in a dark suit told them it was time to return to the courtroom.

As Nick sat on the stand and explained to the jury how Greg had no choice but to do what he did, there was a fierce vehemence in his voice, and his eyes never left Greg's.

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


When the verdict was returned, he watched Greg's face. He looked defeated, resigned and weary. Nick itched to gather Greg in his arms and make him forget everything. He was getting better at pushing those sort of feelings away, but now, he couldn't seem to get their exchange out of his head. In what way had Greg meant he was going to miss him? He's straight, Nick, remember? Don't go running away with yourself. And yet, there was something about the look in the other man's eyes when he had said the words, something that nagged.

Back at work, he sat on bench in the locker room for a long time, staring straight ahead. Long tangled strings of thoughts chased each other around his head. Thinking about missed opportunities, bad timing and regret. Somewhere in all his confusion he had two starkly contrasting images of Greg burned onto the insides of his eyelids. The cold eyed, broken, stiff, resentful man who had turned away from him in his hospital bed, and the warm, healing, confused one who had stumbled over his apology, bright-eyed, only hours before. However hard he tried he couldn't reconcile the two, but he knew which one was closest to the Greg he loved. He wondered, idly, how he would have felt if confronted by an explosive revelation like that at his lowest, most vulnerable ebb. He wondered. Fidgeted. Stood up and sat down again. Walked decisively to the door. Turned around and walked back to the same spot. He spun around on his heel and slammed his fist into the locker doors in acute frustration.

"Ah, fuck it." He muttered. He pulled a pen and paper out of his locker and sat down again.

He had nothing to lose any more. There was only one more day, and then he wouldn't have to face the consequences of one last shot.

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

Greg walked slowly to his car. His head was down and his whole body language was defeated. He shoved the papers he had just been served with into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, not even wanting to look at them. Getting sued by the James family was just the perfect, poetic end to the worst month of his life.

He had his hand on the driver's door handle when his eyes were drawn by a flash of white. An envelope tucked under one of his wipers. Whoever put it there was long gone, Greg was in the parking lot alone. He slid it out carefully, pulling his sleeve down over his fingertips before he touched it. Force of habit.

He carefully slid the envelope open and a single, small piece of paper fluttered to the ground. It landed at Greg's feet . There were only four words on the paper.

'Ask me to stay.'

***

Release

Nick Stokes walked into the LVPD crime lab to start his shift for the last time. He found himself looking at things he saw every day with new eyes and an unexpectedly sharp pang of loss. He perched on the end of the break room table to drink his coffee. Couldn't stop himself recalling so many moments sitting here. Laughing, arguing, discussing, flirting, thinking. Cases and relationships were made and broken at this table. Nick shook himself.

It's just a table, man. Get a hold of yourself.

A few nice memories were not enough to keep him here any more. Only one thing would have done that, and that was conspicuous by its absence.

He suppressed a shiver and wondered if Greg had seen the note. Part of him, the proud part that was so much of his father, regretted the moment of weakness. The other part, his mother's soft voice in his head, knew that despite everything, it was only right to give Greg one more chance. Just one more. He looked at his watch. Greg had eight hours.

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

Across town, Greg was sitting cross legged on the fire escape outside his apartment, wrapped in a threadbare bath robe over a scruffy t-shirt and track pants. His hair was messy from raking his fingers through it. He was also on the phone.

"Hi Grissom...aha....yeah....look, I won't be coming into work tonight, I'm sorry,"

Greg bit his thumbnail, visibly anxious.

"Er, I have...a....there's a family issue. You understand, right? Yeah. Sorry again. Ok. Bye."

He ended the call and dropped the phone onto the latticed metal floor next to him. Rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Sighed. He didn't like lying to Grissom, and not only because he always suspected that Gil would see straight through him, but because he considered himself an honest person.

As if hearing this thought formulate in his own head, Greg let out a bitter stab of laughter. Honest. He wondered just how many lies he had told over the last few weeks. If he could even remember them all.

"I'm straight."

Greg snorted derisively.

That was a good one. Greg liked to think he gave all potential lovers equal consideration, be they male or female. Though recently it had seemed that his consideration had been pointing in a very specific direction. He blinked. Didn't want to think about that.

"I got this hot nurse's phone number. We're going out next week."

There had been no nurse, hot or otherwise, and no date. In fact, he'd spent the night in question sitting out here with a bottle of tequila for company. Trying not to think about the pained look on Nick's face when...he shook his head. Right, yeah. Not thinking about that. What else?

"I don't know why, but I wanted you to know."

He knew exactly why he wanted Nick to know. He felt suddenly flushed as he recalled Nick, standing there in his perfectly fitting dark suit, eyes soft, listening intently to his fractured apology. Marvelled at how the mere memory of someone doing nothing more spectacular than standing in a courthouse men's room, could make him feel so flustered. The same feeling that had made him trip over the words at the time was creeping over him now, bringing an involuntary smile to his lips.

But he wasn't supposed to be thinking about Nick. No. He set his mouth into a firm line.

Thinking about Nick was dangerous, and it hurt. Thinking about how it was Nick's last day in work, his last day in Vegas, tore at Greg inside. He knew that he was the reason that Nick was leaving, that his behaviour, his cold rejection and attempts to hurt the other man had hit home. Greg had tried to push him away, and he had been successful. He just couldn't bring himself to witness the final act.

So he found himself here, looking and feeling like hell, and still he was thinking of Nick. What was the point of staying away if all he could think of was the one thing he was trying to avoid?

Greg smiled grimly at the irony, though the smile didn't reach his eyes. What he needed was a project. A distraction. Climbing back in through his window, he surveyed his home. It looked like it had been turned over. There were books and periodicals and CDs and take-out cartons everywhere. The floor was almost completely obscured. He sighed, pulled the belt of his bathrobe tighter and reached for the roll of trash bags.

As he cleaned, he slipped into a rhythm, humming along with the stereo. At first, fixedly concentrating on the task in hand, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he rubbed at a particularly tenacious toothpaste stain on his bathroom mirror. Soon, though, his mind began to wander, settling where it always did.

Wondering, imagining, how it would feel to stand so close to Nick that one could no longer be distinguished from the other, to breathe in his clean scent and entangle eager fingers in his dark hair. To be allowed to lose himself in those intense eyes. To press lips against his and give himself up totally, completely.

And yet, when the former lab tech first met Nick, he hadn't been impressed by him at all. Had found him intimidating and a little arrogant, and he obviously knew how good looking he was. How could he not? Greg had rolled his eyes behind Nick's back and made jokes about him to the other lab rats. It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to realise that he enjoyed talking about the CSI more than most, and that his sarcastic teasing was turning into flirting. That he would heat up when they were in the same room, his smile becoming uncontrollable.

His feelings for Nick had been a slow burn, developing and deepening with each new discovery he made about the other man. That his eyes crinkled when he really meant a smile. That he was, at times, insecure about the way he looked. That he was confident whilst still self-effacing but never arrogant. That his accent kicked up a notch when he was angry, or scared, or excited. That he really genuinely cared about the victims and always went the extra mile to get justice for them, whatever the personal cost. That he was strong in every way, with arms that Greg ached to be held by, and an incredible reserve of mental fortitude that had pulled him through stalking and death threats and being imprisoned underground. Yet he felt things, really felt them, and could speak from the heart in a way that floored Greg. He knew that now, flashing back to that room at the hospital, almost against his will. Nick's hand on his, his voice raw with feeling.


"Kunne du elske meg, Greg?"

Greg stopped mopping his kitchen floor, feeling his eyes fill with tears. He raised a hand to his face, surprised to see it come away damp.

Gripping the mop handle tightly, he rested his chin on top of it and closed his eyes. Gave in and stopped fighting his emotions, at last removing the barrier that he had erected to keep himself safe so many years ago. The force of it almost knocked him off his feet.

Greg had been happy, for the last few years, to quietly enjoy his feelings for Nick for what they were. Intense physical attraction, without a doubt; admiration, sure; an almost kids-in-the-playground desire to impress, to catch the older man's attention. He wanted to be noticed, chosen, relished the flirting and the friendship they had shared.

But love? Greg wouldn't, couldn't contemplate the word. Too risky. Wanting Nick had felt safe and comfortable because he felt secure in the knowledge that a man like Nick would never want a man like Greg. It was a warm, fizzy feeling that he kept locked away for when he was alone. There was no risk, nothing at stake. That day in the hospital, something unexpected had happened.

Nick had broken the rules.

It was Greg's game and Nick hadn't only broken the rules. He had started a whole new game.

The way he had reacted had been unforgivable. Cruel. It had twisted him in knots every day since, even his attempt at an apology hadn't offered much relief. The whole exchange had been over in about a minute, almost before his drugged-up mind had time to catch up with his instinct for self-preservation. They said it was a fight or flight response that was hard wired into people in times of stress. Greg thought his instinct had kicked in with a cruel combination of the two – simultaneously attacking Nick with his anger and lies and hiding himself from Nick's eyes, pushing him away. When he was certain that Nick had gone and would not be returning, Greg had let out the breath he had been holding, and cried for something he had never had.

Conflict raged inside Greg's head, heart and body. He was exhausted and he still didn't have the answer. He had created those walls to protect himself after he was almost destroyed by the last person he had allowed himself to love. He had spent many years blocking out that particular memory, and now allowing himself, he was startled to realise that it had been almost ten years ago. He'd been young and idealistic, even as he came round in a hospital bed, unable to remember what had happened but never believing that the man sitting at his side, telling him he loved him, was also the man that had put him there. Until it happened again. And again. He had slowly and systematically tried to destroy Greg, and had come so close to breaking his spirit. There had been enough Greg left, however, to move to Vegas and start over. To take a job in the best DNA lab in the country. Meet Nick Stokes. But although he had regained his sparkle and confidence, his defences were firmly in place. He did not need, want or feel able to relinquish enough of himself to love another person. That was his life and he liked it fine.

Greg didn't know what he needed or wanted any more. With a rough sigh, he dropped the mop back into the bucket and walked into his bedroom, crept onto the bed, allowing heavy eyes to close and a fitful sleep to claim him. In his last conscious seconds, he stretched out a hand across the sheets, reaching for someone who wasn't there.

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

He had held onto to some hope, just a little, that Greg would turn up before the end of the shift. Tortured himself, imagining that he would walk around the corner at any moment, stroll into the lab or be there waiting at the next scene. He knew that Greg was supposed to be in work, but he had clearly found some excuse to stay away. He scolded himself for daring to hope that Greg would see what he saw. Now, at the end of his final shift, he had his answer.

He would leave tonight, he decided. Not much point in hanging around.

Nick closed his locker, leaving the key in the door. A twist of sadness. He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked slowly to his car. He had said his goodbyes, individually, earlier in the shift, hadn't wanted the customary cake in the break room. Grissom, to his credit, had headed his colleagues off at the pass. He understood about wanting to be invisible.

Catherine was watching him from the window of her office. She had never seen Nick look so utterly defeated. She knew, now, but felt powerless.

"Come on, Greg....don't screw this up," she urged, frustrated. "Where are you?"

"I don't know," spoke a voice beside her. "Sanders can be pretty stubborn."

She turned to see Sofia, also standing next to the window and following her line of sight. Catherine hadn't realised she was speaking her thoughts out loud until the other woman responded. Mildly surprised at the detective's obvious insight into the problem, Catherine sighed.

"This is a mess."

Sofia nodded and crossed her arms. They both watched in contemplative silence as Nick's car pulled away and out of sight.


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

Greg stirred. The early morning sun was flooding his bedroom through the open window and warming his face. He stretched luxuriously, smiling without opening his eyes, thinking that he wasn't quite ready to wake up from the best sleep he had had in a very long time. His mind was calm and blank as he finally rose, rubbing the back of his head and stretching. This apartment is very clean, he thought idly, picking up his jacket from the back of the couch and reaching into the pocket to check the time on his cell phone. For the first few minutes after he woke, Greg was barely sentient, and he was running on comfortable autopilot when he drew out something else from the pocket. A crumpled piece of paper. He turned it over slowly.

Ask me to stay.

In that moment, Greg felt as though he'd been hit by a truck. Nick. It all flashed through his mind as he stood there. Everything. A flood of raw desire and need that made clarity, suddenly, blinding. Risk wasn't such a dirty word, was it, and Nick had risked for him over and over. How long did he have to work to prove to Greg that he wouldn't hurt him?

He stood, frozen to the spot, for just a moment, listening to his own heart pounding.

"You fucking idiot, Gregory Sanders."

He dressed hurriedly and drove quickly. No more missed opportunities. Pulling up outside CSI, he slammed the doors without locking them, breaking into a run and not stopping until he ran straight into Catherine. She was emerging from Grissom's office, carrying an armful of files which were now scattered across the floor.

"Greg, what are you doing?" Her face was unreadable. "Where were you tonight?"

He stared, unable to focus on anything but the knot of tension in his stomach.

"I was sick," he said at last. "Where's Nicky?"

"That's funny," remarked Grissom, walking out from behind his desk to stand behind Catherine. "I could have sworn you said you had a family crisis."

Greg coloured and averted his eyes.

"Yeah, that's what I meant. Family...thing. Where's Nick?" he repeated more urgently.

He didn't see Catherine and Grissom exchange glances. Catherine's mouth twitching slightly at the corners as she took in Greg's messy hair and frantic manner. He was glancing up and down the cross section of corridors now, trying to decide which direction to take first.

"He's gone, Greg."

"What? No!" He stared at Catherine. "Already?"

Greg felt sick. He was too late. He couldn't ask Nick to stay. He'd already gone. Was on his way to Texas thinking that Greg couldn't care less about him.

"What's so important, Greg?" enquired Grissom. "Can't you call him?"

Catherine looked at Greg. His face was stricken and to her surprise, looked like he might cry. She grabbed his arm and ushered him down the corridor out of sight.

"Greg, listen to me. You can fix this."

The young CSI drew in his breath sharply. A look of understanding passed between them.

"Should I go after him?" His voice was small.

Catherine nodded vigorously. As though it was obvious. She took Greg by surprise when she pulled him into a hug.

"Come on, Greggo. You can do this. Don't let him walk away now."

He nodded, resolute as she released him. Catherine was scribbling something on a piece of paper.

"He needs to know how much he means to people here," she said. "Give him this."

Greg accepted the piece of paper, his head turned by Grissom's voice. He too was holding something out to Greg, a small card containing a Texas address. He tried not to show his surprise that Grissom knew what was going on.

"If you're going to do this, Greg, do it right. I want my CSI back."

Greg nodded, wide eyed.

"So, er, no pressure then."

He walked out to his car with renewed determination. He realised he had no idea how long the journey was, but it didn't matter. He felt a rising excitement at finally, finally taking a chance on something he wanted. He'd drive all night if he had to.

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

Nick rested his hands on the steering wheel, barely seeing the road. It was a long drive and he knew he would have to stop sometime, but he just wanted to get home. Knew it would have been quicker to fly, but flying made him nervous ever since his abduction. Something about the enclosed spaces and lack of control. He switched the music up so that it filled his ears and blocked out the thoughts that bounced around the inside of his head.

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

7 am, Texas, Stokes ranch

Even at this early hour, the warm air hit Greg as he opened the car door, surprising him. He stretched his legs, looking at the sprawling residence before him. He blinked. There was a horse next to that far fence. An actual horse. I'm not in Vegas any more, he thought. Knocked hesitantly at the door, wondering what exactly he was going to say.

Finally the door swung open, and with a start, Greg found himself looking into the appraising eyes of a small, elegant woman in her early sixties. Of course, this was Nick's parents' place. Idiot.

"Hi," Greg ventured uncertainly, pulling his hands out of his pockets. He could feel her eyes searching him.

"Hello, Greg. Won't you come in?" She indicated the hallway with a sweep of her hand.

He was halfway to the kitchen before he realised.

"How do you know my name?"

Jillian Stokes didn't answer, merely pulled out a chair for him at the scrubbed pine kitchen table and busied herself pouring fresh coffee. She pulled up the chair opposite Greg and pushed a heavy mug across the table, which he accepted gratefully. Only then did she speak.

"A mother always knows, Greg. You look just like he described you."

Greg coloured and stared at the table top. He wondered how many times Nick had spoken about him to his mother. For some reason, the thought made him ache. She continued, her tone gentle but with a slight edge.

"He's not here yet. Now, I don't believe you would have come here unless you had something important to say, but let me tell you this."

She paused, and Greg's eyes flicked upwards, involuntarily, to meet hers.

"My son loves you very much, which is good enough for me. However. I know you hurt him. I don't know how and I don't know why, but it must have been something pretty big to make him think he wants to come running back here. So, my question is this – do you love Nick?"

Greg was shocked to feel his eyes fill with tears. He nodded, mutely.

"Good. If you want my help, you'd better start at the beginning."

Greg took a deep breath, pushed his coffee cup away and started talking.

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

7am, Texas, Hotel

Around the same time, Nick woke in an unfamiliar room. A low rent hotel room, he realised, feeling the scratchy sheets. Something felt wrong. He shielded his eyes against the harsh morning light and sat up, his head pounding. He was alone, thank god, he had been more than a little drunk last night. Had packed up the last of his things and just started driving. He'd stopped for the night here, he remembered now. Headed down to the bar. It had been 2am and the place was almost empty. He had started talking to some guy whose face he couldn't have picked out of a line up now. He remembered whisky doubles and realising he was being flirted with. Wanting to get Greg out of his system. The alcohol making him disinhibited. Stumbling into the room, being pushed against the door, someone's mouth pressed against his, someone's hand wrapped around him , seeking and finding urgent relief. They hadn't undressed and the stranger hadn't stayed. As he came down, pressing his hot forehead to the cold wall, Nick stared at him, as if seeing, registering, for the first time since he had left the bar. Through his intoxicated haze, he knew everything was wrong. The rough hands, short, neat hair, the smell that wasn't Greg's. Eyes that he looked into and saw nothing.

It was all surging back to him now. He remembered pushing him away and mumbling apologies, asking him to leave in a small voice. The door slamming. Collapsing onto the bed alone, semi clothed, and lapsing into unconsciousness.

"Oh, god," he sighed, rubbing his eyes and trying to stand. He felt weak and a little unsteady. What kind of warped logic told him that doing that was going to get Greg out of his head? The alcohol-saturated kind of logic, he thought grimly. The only result that he could see was that he felt dirty and ashamed. He didn't do one night stands, or least he hadn't until last night. He knew it was old-fashioned and that his opinions about sex often led to teasing from those who knew him well, but he genuinely believed that it was always so much better when it had meaning behind it, when you cared about the person. He had to force himself not to think about Greg, and how he had imagined so many times what it would be like to touch every inch of his smooth skin, and...oh yeah. Not thinking about Greg.

At the very least, maybe, he could see last night as some sort of closure on the whole nightmare. The end of seven years of longing and one truly horrific month in his life. He was in Texas now, over a thousand miles away from Greg, and he was moving on. He felt like shit right now, but he would hang on, and it would get better in time. Nick stumbled into the bathroom and regarded himself in the mirror. He looked like shit too.

"Right." He addressed his reflection sharply. "No regrets. This ends here, Stokes. No more."

With renewed determination, he got into the shower. Pulled the curtain, turned the water up to its hottest setting and scrubbed himself all over until his skin was raw.

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

Greg couldn't sit still. He struggled to stay in one position at the best of times, but nervousness with an edge of excitement was threatening to burst out of his chest meant he was worse than usual. He sat down and stood up again. He was almost wearing a track into the luxurious pile of Jillian's carpet. She regarded him over the top of her sewing.

"Would you please sit down, Greg? You're making me feel nervous."

He paused. Looked down at her with anxious eyes.

"Sorry. It's just...where is he? He set off before I did. He should be here by now. Do you think he changed his mind, went back to Vegas?" Suddenly hopeful.

Jillian smiled kindly and set her sewing down.

"No. He said he was coming, and he'll come. Maybe he stopped off somewhere. It's very long drive, isn't it? I know you did it in record time, honey, but you were running after something. He was only running away from something. Positive reinforcers have much more of an effect on us than negative ones."

Greg raised his eyebrows. Pushed fingers through dirty blonde hair. Momentarily distracted from his anxiety.

"Armchair psychologist?"

"I read."

Greg smiled. Talking to Mrs Stokes had been easy and surprisingly comforting, after the initial awkwardness. He could see now that there was so much of her in Nick, and the thought made his smile warm and genuine.

Jillian rose elegantly from her armchair and peered through the window.

"I think I see his car."

Greg turned quickly and walked out of the back door. Kept walking. The afternoon sun was warm on the back of his neck as he reached the far end of the yard and resumed his pacing, now tracing a track into dust. Moment of truth, Greg. Don't fuck it up.

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

Nick leaned on the wooden front door and pushed it open. Stumbling a little, laden down with bags, into his parents' kitchen. He smiled at the sight of his mother, feeling a warm tide of relief sweep his body. Life was a mess, but he was home. He let his bags slide to the floor. The sound made his mother turn around to face him, abandoning the coffee she was making and flying across the room, arms outstretched.

"So good to see you, Nick," she mumbled into his chest. Nick hugged her gratefully.

"You too. It's good to be home."

Jillian noticed that his voice cracked slightly as he said this, but she said nothing. She didn't need to ask what had happened. He had told her that this was all about Greg, and Greg himself had filled in the gaps that very morning. They pulled apart, and Jillian resumed her coffee making.

"Where's Dad?" Nick sank into a chair at the kitchen table. Eyes settled on two empty cups left on the table in front of him. Thought his father would have still been at work.

"He's at work, honey."

His mother sounded a little confused, and there was a slight edge to her voice as she slowly turned around to face him. Something felt strange, but he wasn't sure what.

"So," she offered brightly, wrapping her hands around a steaming cup. Nick frowned, noticing she hadn't made one for him. "Greg's a lovely looking young man, isn't he?"

Greg. The last thing he needed to think of right now. Nick's head hurt. He sighed.

"I don't really want to talk about Greg right now, mom...hey!" Something twinged in his stomach. His mother raised her eyebrows but her eyes and mouth remained still, neutral.

"I've never shown you a photograph of Greg."

"No, that's right."

Jillian's mouth was twitching at one corner now, and she struggled to control it. She pulled Nick out of his chair and propelled him down the hallway with surprising ease considering her small stature. Nick's mind was racing but he didn't have time to process what was happening before he was unceremoniously shoved out into the yard. The door slammed behind him and his mother's soft voice floated out.

"We'll talk later, ok?"

Nick took a few tentative steps away from the house. He was trying not to think at all, but couldn't help the tangle of emotions raging in every part of his body. Guilt, fear, anticipation. Regret. Confusion.

Every muscle tensed when he saw Greg. He was standing about fifty feet away from Nick, in the shade of a large tree. He had his back to Nick, but there was no mistaking his identity, not to a man who had been looking at him at every opportunity, every day for years. What was Greg doing here now? It was a long way to come unless what he had to say was very important. Nick couldn't help wondering if Greg had changed his mind, at last. His heart lifted, just for a second, and he started to walk towards Greg, before the memory of the previous night assaulted him once more. Oh god. He closed his eyes. Not for the first time recently he wished the world would just go away.

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

Greg knew he was out there. He heard the door slam some moments before, but stood frozen to the spot, suddenly paralysed by fear and unable to turn around and face the man he had driven all of those miles to see.

"Greg?" Nick's voice was soft.

He took a deep breath and turned around. The sight of Nick brought an instant smile to his face, despite the fact that he looked tired and worn, stressed. Like he had aged in the few days that Greg had not seen him. Nick didn't return the smile and Greg faltered slightly, recovering himself. He knew the other man had to be angry and upset. He had behaved horribly, and now had to try to put it right and claim what he wanted. What he knew now that they both wanted.

Greg shifted on the spot, Tried to resist the urge to jump up and down. Exhaled loudly.

"The thing is...well, the reason why I came here is, um...Nick, I've been thinking and I...."

He trailed off, frustrated at his own ineffectuality. It's ok, Greg, he thought. Just start over. Tell him the truth – that's what Jillian had said.

"Ok." He lifted his eyes to meet Nick's. "I love you. I came here to tell you that I love you, and that I want to be with you."

Nick's eyes were wide but he hadn't moved or made a sound. Greg continued, more firmly.

"I lied to you in the hospital that day. About being straight? I've lied to you a lot since then too. I thought that if I told myself I didn't really care about you, it would keep me safe. Thought that I could like you, even have a crush on you, and it would be ok, because you would never like me back, and I would never tell you. I was so angry with you that day because...because you changed everything!"

Greg's eyes pricked heatedly and he had to stop himself from covering his face.

"When you said you loved me, it was the last thing in the world I was expecting to hear coming out of your mouth. I didn't expect to feel the way I did when you said it. The intensity, it scared me. I told myself a long time ago that I wouldn't allow myself to feel like that about anyone ever again. I thought I had to push you away. But it hurt me, and it hurt you, and I'm sorry."

Greg felt as though the words were emptying him, each one dragging a little more of his flesh away from his bones. He had never felt so exposed. The tears were falling now and he didn't try to stop them.

Nick took a step forward. "Listen, Greg – "

"Wait." Greg whispered. "You got to say your piece then and I want to say mine now. Hear me out, ok?"

Nick fell silent. His expression was unreadable.

"The last person I loved hurt me. Badly. I was in the hospital, more than once, because of him. Loving him nearly destroyed me. When I moved to Vegas I decided that no one would get near me again. Not love, anyway. Too much of a risk. But you got through, and I wasn't prepared for it." Greg smiled through his tears. "I'm sorry this took so long, and I'm sorry for the way I treated you at work. I was scared, I suppose. I realised yesterday that if I didn't take this one risk, I was actually risking far more. I was risking my chance to have everything I ever wanted. With you."

All of these words had come pouring out of Greg with a characteristic high-speed delivery. He was breathless. Relief at having said what he came to say, mixed with nervousness because Nick had not said a word other than trying to stop him. He blinked in the afternoon sun. Waited.

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

Nick couldn't string a sentence together. And if he did, he wasn't sure he trusted himself to voice it. Greg, standing there in front of him, looking like he'd not slept or changed his clothes in a couple of days, his face heartbreakingly sincere and anxious...as far as Nick could see, he looked literally breathtaking. The things he was saying, things Nick had waited and hoped he would say for a very long time. How many times had he fantasised, dreamed about this exact moment? When Greg had explained about his last relationship, Nick hadn't been sure whether to pull him close and hold him or kiss the breath from him.

In the end he had done neither, just stood there, heart hammering and sick guilt washing over him in a cold wave. Hitting him over and over again. Greg hadn't given up on him after all. Had driven across the country, through the night, to catch him. Was Greg at home, wrestling with his emotions, or trying to stay awake at the wheel, when he had been in that hotel room with some other guy? Suddenly he felt dirty again. Disappointed. And some other emotion, one less complicated but intense all the same. Sadness.

Sadness that he and Greg had felt the same way all along but that they had, between them, fucked it up so spectacularly. They had missed each other at every step. Even now. Greg, finally finding the courage to risk, was standing there raw, exposed, in front of a man who, in a desperate effort to let go of him had let him down so completely. Every breath felt painful now. Knowing that what he had to say next would require every last reserve of strength. He could not let Greg pour his heart out and then leave this unsaid.

"Greg...Greg." He paused, choked, dragging his eyes away from the other man's.

"The thing is...you're too late."

Though he didn't respond immediately, Nick heard his sharp intake of breath.

"Because I didn't stop you in Vegas?" Greg's voice was quiet, desperate. "Oh god, Nicky, I messed up, I was messed up! I'm sorry...I stayed away from work because I thought I might try and stop you from leaving and I thought it was best if you went, until I realised! When I woke up, I went to the lab and you were gone, so I...please Nick, I don't want to miss our chance."

Greg's eyes were bright, pained.

Nick couldn't believe he was doing this, but it was tainted now, because he had been weak. Because he had given up and run away.

"I wish you had stopped me before I left. I wanted that more than anything. I kept thinking you would be there, every time I walked into a room. But you weren't there, Greg. You've been in my head for seven years. But...the truth is...you're too late because last night I was with someone else."

Nick closed his eyes, defeated. Their timing had been disastrous throughout, and now it was timing that was going to put a final end to the whole thing. He felt devastated but strangely calm. Greg would go back home to Vegas; he would be ok. Nick knew he could stay here with his parents until he got back on his feet. He stole a look at Greg. Sitting now, Nick wondered when he had done that. Sitting on the rough stone wall surrounding the base of the tree.

"Anyone special?" Greg's voice was hollow. Small.

"No, Greg. I just met the guy. I was drunk. We didn't even...we just...look." Nick furrowed his brow and gathered himself. "It doesn't matter. The point is, I needed to get you out of my head. We've been out of step all the way through this, Greg. I've loved you for a long time but I guess some things just aren't meant to be."

They were both silent. Greg wasn't looking at him now.

"I'm sorry you had to come all this way. I'm going to go out for a while, drive around, I don't know. Take all the time you need."

The last words were soft as Nick forced himself to turn away and walk slowly back towards the house. He didn't want Greg to see him crying.

***

Redemption

Greg lifted his head and stared at Nick's retreating figure, his vision blurred and distorted. His breath ripped out in rags. Heart breaking. How was this happening? Remembered with a sickening rush, the excitement he had felt when he realised the long drive was almost over. The feeling of warmth when Mrs Stokes had hugged him and told him it would be ok, he just had to tell Nick exactly how he felt and he would understand. It had felt so right. He had convinced himself that allowing himself to love Nick, laying his cards on the table so openly, was going to be ok, because Nick loved him too.

The thought of Nick with someone else touched a part of Greg he didn't know existed. It hurt, sure, but with it was an unfamiliar feeling. A wave of intense and consuming jealousy that burned him and made his breath hitch in his throat. Imagining what might have passed between the stranger and the man he loved made him feel instantly nauseous, and yet...what was it Nick had said? He had just met the guy. He was drunk. He needed to get Greg out of his head. The pain in his voice as he had choked out the admission had been obvious. Greg blinked, clearing his vision momentarily. Nick was walking slowly, head down, and was almost halfway back to the house.

Something was shifting in the very centre of him. The uncontrollable jealousy meant that he didn't want Nick to be with someone else. Simple. But it wasn't was it? Had Nick meant it when he said that some things just weren't meant to be? Everything that had passed between them over the last few weeks wrapped around Greg, crystallised, sharp. He felt. Risked. Loved. It couldn't just be over, like that.

Something else was taking over him now, lifting him. Feeling fragile but vital. Greg swallowed hard. Found his voice. Called out.

"Stay."

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

Nick stopped and turned slowly.

Greg's eyes were huge, his pale cheeks tearstained. His hands gripped the edge of the wall he sat on, so tightly, as if trying to stop himself from tumbling off the edge of the world.

"What?"

"I'm asking you to stay," he choked, visibly on the edge on losing control.

Nick looked down at his feet. Scuffed one shoe through the dust, frowning. Forced himself to look up and was almost knocked backwards by the intensity of Greg's gaze. He didn't move, the sick guilt washing back and forth inside him. Greg's words like tiny barbs catching on his insides, a fierce, uncompromising merging of pleasure and pain.

Greg realised that Nick was not going to budge. It was his move now, he realised. It had been his move all along. Ever since that day in the hospital. Only he hadn't been moving anywhere, just turning in circles. He let go of the wall and stepped closer to Nick.

"Stay." He repeated, firmly now.

It was no longer a plea or even a request, but a statement of intention. A challenge, even. He closed the distance between them and pressed his palm flat to Nick's chest, eye contact never wavering. Nick glanced down, as Greg took his hand away, leaving something there, which lay suspended for a split second before floating to Nick's feet. A familiar, now tattered, slip of paper containing four words in his own handwriting.

Nick stared, his vision blurring.

"How can you, after what I've just said? How can you still want me?" Hope flickered in the dullest space, lighting it.

They were only six or seven inches apart now. Greg's eyes were almost black.

"I'm fighting for us, Nicky." Nick could only stare, mute. "I don't want to miss any more chances."

Greg held his breath. Had anyone ever died of tension? He felt close.

"You really want there to be an 'us'?" Nick managed at last. "Because I – "

"I'm not going to hurt you," Greg whispered, catching his thought. "Not any more."

Tentatively reached out and trailed gentle fingers down Nick's arm. The touch made him gasp.

"I don't want to hurt you either, Greg." Nick was hesitant.

"Last night...you weren't mine. I wasn't yours. I wanted to be, though, and I want to be now." Greg paused. Bit his lip.

"It hurts me to think of you with someone else. I don't want anyone else to touch you. I think we've spent too much time hurting each other. Can we maybe start over?"

"No." Nick said, eventually, he voice rough with emotion.

Greg looked stricken.

"I don't want to start over," Nick continued. "I want to be right here. Yours, ok? I've always been yours."

He reached out and laced fingers through Greg's belt loops, possessively, grazing slender hips as he drew the younger man close.

Feeling Greg's warm body against him, close enough to taste his breath, made him instantly and painfully hard but also suddenly nervous. He had waited a long time for this and the pressure to get it right froze him to the spot, inches away from Greg's mouth, where he stayed, agonised, wanting so much, for several seconds. After what felt like the longest time, Greg slid his hands up from Nick's arms, tracing his jawline and threading into his hair. His dark eyes were soft as he leaned in the last two inches and kissed Nick. Softly at first but then firm, insistent, hungry. Not seeming to need to stop for breath, Greg kissed with an intensity and enthusiasm that drew an involuntary gasp from Nick. He had never been kissed quite like this before, had never felt so desired by another person. Greg's tongue flicked inside his lower lip, making Nick moan into the kiss and cling to him, letting go of the belt loops and running firm hands up Greg's back, under his shirt, smiling his satisfaction as he felt the younger man shiver. When they broke apart he ached. Feeling as though something had been ripped from him when they were no longer connected. Leaning into Greg's soft hair, breathing him in deeply.

"Love you, Greggo," Nick whispered against the soft skin of the other man's neck. He could feel Greg's smile, warm breath against his ear.

"Love you."

Somewhere inside the house, Jillian Stokes stopped what she was doing, needle and thread in mid air, and smiled.

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

"So, what do we do now?" Greg was aiming for contemplative, but aware that it came out sounding more like barely concealed excitement.

Nick smiled, his hands sliding down Greg's warm back to just below the waistband of his jeans, pulling Greg hard against him. He knew exactly what he wanted to do now. Felt as though he had been waiting forever for it. He wondered how long it would take to remove that soft blue t-shirt and fitted, faded jeans. How long he could resist running his tongue over Greg's skin.

"Not that!" Greg laughed. It was a warm, reckless sound. Nick had missed it recently. His fingers slid down Nick's back, excruciatingly lightly.

"Anticipation," he continued, "Is known to increase pleasure...exponentially."

Greg's dark eyes were almost black, and he was breathless.

"I love it when you use long words, Greg, I really do. But, um, we've been waiting a long time already if you ask me."

"So, you can wait a little longer, it would seem."

Greg was grinning now, and he kissed Nick again. It was brief but intense, his quick tongue darting into Nick's mouth, making him gasp.

"Food. I haven't eaten since I left Vegas. Apart from that weird cake your mom made me eat."

Nick suddenly realised how hungry he was, and that he hadn't felt like eating in a long time. He had become so accustomed to carrying tension and fear around with him that when it evaporated in the moment Greg kissed him, he felt unbalanced. Greg laughed at his expression and grabbed his hand, pulling him to the car.

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

Ten minutes later he was sitting at a shiny formica table, protesting loudly, even as Greg returned with a laden tray and set it on the table with a flourish.

"No offence, Greggo, but this is not food."

He watched, entranced, as a look of mock-disbelief settled on the younger man's face and he dropped into the chair opposite Nick.

"What? French fries are one of the five major food groups, Nicky, didn't you know that?"

He folded a long fry into his mouth theatrically as he spoke. Licked the salt from his fingers. Nick couldn't tear his eyes away, revelling in the feeling of finally being allowed to stare at Greg as much as he wanted to.

"Are you going to check me out or eat your cheeseburger?"

"Can't I do both at once?" Nick made a show of raising the food to his mouth, eyes never leaving Greg's, deliberately brushing his knee against Greg's under the table. He felt filled with an easy warmth and mischief that he had almost forgotten he could experience. Because he only felt that way around Greg, he realised. You make me come alive, Greggo, he thought, mouth full of processed meat, wondering if he was communicating his thoughts just through his eyes. What he actually said, swallowing, and wiping his mouth with a paper napkin, was:

"Where do we go from here?"

Greg tilted his head on one side, thoughtful.

"Well...we could stay here. Y'all could work at the ranch, ropin' steers, and I could get a job here, flippin' burgers," Greg replied, attempting a Texan accent. Nick laughed, then noticed the implication of the 'we'.

"You'd do that?"

"Of course. Cooking is just chemistry." He almost looked offended. Nick wanted to hug him.

"I'm sure you're a great cook, G, but that's not what I meant. It was the...um...the 'we'."

"Yes," said Greg, slowly, as if speaking to a very slow person. He sucked impatiently on his straw. "At the risk of sounding like a complete sap, where you go, I go. You can't get rid of me now, you've got me."

Nick couldn't stop himself reaching across the table for Greg's hand. His touch slightly hesitant, remembering still the day not so long ago when the younger man withdrew from him. This time though, Greg did not pull his hand away from the touch but curled his fingers around Nick's.

"Or?" Nick spoke, feeling more confident.

"Or...we could go home. To Vegas. Your job is still open."

Nick paled. Letting the implication of that statement settle in.

"Relax. I didn't tell anyone why you left."

A white lie, thought Greg. He didn't tell them because they already knew.

"But... they know you're here?"

Greg shrugged. "I told Gris I needed some personal time."

Nick stopped breathing. "What did he say?"

Greg smiled. "He told me to bring you home."

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

"I still cannot believe this room!" Nick exclaimed, shifting his position on the huge bed so that he was lying on his side, facing Greg, mirroring his posture. Watching the soft evening sun filter through the curtains and gently illuminate Greg's features. He took in the strong nose, long eyelashes and full lips with satisfaction. His now.

"Well, it's a little extravagant, granted, but I figured I'd need it. Either I'd want to bring you back here, or if you rejected me at least I'd have a nice room to feel sorry for myself in."

Greg was touching him so gently from only inches away and he was luxuriating in the slow, teasing, agonising attention. They were lying on top of the covers, still fully clothed, and yet it felt like the most erotic thing he had ever experienced. He was no longer trying to hide his obvious arousal, and neither was Greg, but he had started to realise that he would just have to put up with that for now. Greg was certainly not rushing, and who was he to mess with his masterplan. He was surprised, having always imagined sex with Greg to be a frantic, desperate explosion. And yet this, god, this...he whimpered softly and was rewarded with a seductive smile. This was intense and frustrating and perfect. The fire in his core being reignited with every touch, stroke and kiss. He reached out and threaded his fingers through Greg's unruly hair.

Greg spoke suddenly, his tone hopeful.

"So...do I really have to persuade you to come home with me? No?"

Nick was silent but he grasped the hand he was holding a little tighter.

"Because, just in case, getting with this wasn't enough for you,' Greg indicated himself with a flamboyant wave of his hand. Nick laughed. "I have some messages from the guys."

"They all knew didn't they?"

Greg sighed, but his eyes were soft. "Yeah. It wasn't so hard to see."

He pulled a ragged piece of paper out of the pocket of his tight jeans with some effort. It looked like it had been folded and unfolded many times. He cleared his throat and read aloud.

"Sara says you have to come back with a present to make up for missing her birthday. She put kisses!" He raised one eyebrow before continuing.

"Catherine says she misses you. She says she knows you'll say you've only been gone a day, but to tell you that you've been missing for longer than that, and she wants you back."

They exchanged glances and Nick suddenly ached to hug Catherine and Sara.

"Sofia...Sofia wanted me to tell you not to look down. I didn't really get that, but she said you would."

Nick knew. Sofia understood about risks. Fear. Trust.

"Hodges says, and I quote, 'You and Sanders are both idiots. Please do the world a favour and remove each other from the gene pool.' "

Nick laughed then, a real laugh, rich sounding and uncontrolled. How could he have thought he didn't want to work with these people any more? Even Hodges?

"There are more, but I'll let you read them later. Right now, what I want to do is kiss you until you pass out."

"Ok...I can't argue with that. But wait one sec." He pulled Greg to him, losing himself in those eyes, lips not quite touching

"I've heard what everyone else says. What does Greg say?"

Greg's smile was effortless, instant, electric. He had missed seeing that smile.

"Greg says, 'Jeg kunne aldri opphøre'."

He kissed Nick unbearably softly, once, twice. Stopped.

"It's the answer to your question."

Before he could ask for a translation, his composure deserted him. A very warm and enthusiastic Greg was sitting astride him, pinning him down by his wrists and claiming his mouth with searing kisses. He struggled for a few seconds, trying to free his wrists so he could touch Greg, but eventually submitted. For a while at least. When Greg leaned back to pull his t-shirt over his head, Nick reached out for him, taking advantage of his superior strength and Greg's surprise to reverse their positions. Pushing Greg back into the mattress, wanting to feel all of him.

"Too many clothes." His voice low and urgent.

Greg stared up at him, mouth slightly open. "Ok."

The last barriers between them now strewn on the carpet, Nick slid one hand into his Greg's hair and one underneath him, guiding, seeking and finding the perfect position, pushing slippery, painful hardness against Greg's, sliding, slowly, finding their rhythm. Staring down at Greg's flushed face and half closed eyes for a moment.

"Mmm...so good...want you....Nick....please," Greg managed, the words lost when Nick leaned down and kissed him hard.

Time seemed to spin out. The room became unfocused and closed down to nothing but warm, bare skin, Greg's soft damp hair and insistent lips, his incoherent cries of desire. Fingernails dragging across yielding skin, control abandoning him, his perception of who was fucking who became blurred as he let go. From somewhere, he heard his own gasps of more, harder, please, Greg, now....until the white light exploded behind his eyes. Then nothing but delicious warmth, trailing fingers, Greg's light breathing and his eyes closing, unable to stop them.

When he opened his eyes, he didn't know what time it was but it had gone dark outside and there was a slight chill in the air. Nick leaned down and grabbed one of the discarded blankets from the floor. Paused as he looked at Greg, his pale skin almost luminescent in the darkness. Lying curled on his side, his back to Nick, eyes closed, breathing regular. So quiet, thought Nick, smiling, a stark contrast to the almost non-stop, incoherent stream of demands and curses that spilled from his mouth when Nick was inside him. Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, Nick threw the blanket over both of them and wrapped his arms around Greg, gathering him tightly against his chest and throwing one leg over his, surrounding him. Greg stirred slightly and linked his fingers through Nick's, lips curving gently in his sleep as he felt the kisses on the back of his neck.

Nick didn't move or close his eyes for a long time, even when light started to creep through the curtains once more as the sun rose. Stared at Greg as he slept with a quiet disbelief that was slowly turning to gratitude. For risks; for second, third and fourth chances. And for the man sleeping next to him who was prepared to take them.

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

The following Monday, 11pm, start of shift.

They stood, side by side, in the parking lot of the Crime Lab, not saying a word. The few days they had spent in Texas had been unreal, dreamlike almost. Both desperate to make up for so much lost time, they had barely left the hotel room. There had been so much to find out about each other, and every new discovery had made Greg shine a degree brighter, and started to restore the sparkle to Nick's eyes. When they had ventured out and had dinner with Nick's parents, the tentative interaction between his father and Greg had choked him a little. Both wanting so much to impress each other but painfully unsure of this new situation. Nick had stood back and watched them, proud and grateful for the two most important men in his life. He had sat outside on the porch with his mother, just as he had imagined, but neither of them had been able to stop the words from flowing, long into the night.

To Nick it felt like one of those endless summers he seemed to have when he was a kid. But end it had to, and now they were standing here, the place where it all started. Sensing Nick's anxiety, Greg squeezed his hand, just for a second.

Suddenly remembering something, Nick turned to the younger man.

"What did you say to me the other day? Y'know, before we...?" He trailed off, his face flushing. "What was your answer?"

Greg smiled, his dark brown eyes shining with contentedness, openness, delight. His bruises were fading now, and to Nick he looked more beautiful than he ever had.

"That day in the hospital, you asked me if I could love you. I said 'Jeg kunne aldri opphøre'. It means 'I could never stop.' "

Nick didn't trust his voice to respond without cracking. He lifted a hand to caress Greg's face instead. The younger man caught it and brought it to his lips, pressing them against Nick's fingers. Work was going to be very different from now on. Different was good. There were challenges ahead, he knew that. They both knew that. The difference was that together, the challenges didn't seem quite so insurmountable any more. Nick was almost looking forward to the comments and gentle teasing he knew his colleagues wouldn't be able to resist. After all, he had run away to Texas and Greg had brought him home. There was no doubt in his mind that this was where he was now – home. He couldn't keep the smile from his face.

Greg locked the car door and beckoned to him. "Come on, CSI Stokes. Let's do this."

FIN

A/N: did you really think I would deny you (and myself) a lovely fluffy ending? This was an absolute nightmare to write, I have the utmost respect for those of you who write fics with a million chapters. *retreats back to safety of oneshots*

***

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