Title: Cup-a-Soup
Author: liquid_latex
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Inspired, as most of my stories are, by a conversation with Saras_Girl. She suggested I write a story featuring a sick Greg and hot chocolate. The hot chocolate never did find a way into the story, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.
Thanks, as always to Saras_Girl for keeping me on track, pre-reviews and general awesomeness.
Summary: Greg Sanders was not getting sick. Fluff!

***

Greg Sanders was not getting sick.

"I am not getting sick," he muttered to the empty DNA lab, head buried in a microscope. He turned, covered his mouth with his forearm and coughed.

Briefly, he wondered how much evidence would be contaminated if he coughed on it. Greg raised his blurry eyes to the clock above the doorway and found he still had two hours until the end of his shift. Two long, agonisingly brutal hours.

Throat parched and aching, Greg reached for his coffee cup, tipped it to his lips and found it empty. Tilting his head all the way back, he prayed for even just a drop of something liquid to soothe his scorched throat. Nothing.

The mere thought of the short trip down the hall to the break room for a refill exhausted Greg, and he sighed wearily.

"Hey, Greg. Turn up anything yet?" asked Sara Sidle as she breezed into the lab, dangling a bottle of Diet Coke from her fingers.

Greedily, Greg eyed her drink, "My kingdom for a cold drink."

Sara raised one dark eyebrow, "Your kingdom? I'll settle for the evidence, Greg," she said as she uncapped the bottle and poured half of it into the coffee cup he held out.

"By the way," she added, the corner of her mouth twitching in a grin, "You look like shit."

"Always a pleasure to see you, too, Sara," he said dryly, between gulps of soda. "Have a look at the microscope."

He wheeled his chair out of her way and broke out into a second coughing fit in as many minutes.

He caught Sara looking at him over her shoulder, "Maybe you should call it a night."

Greg simply shrugged and motioned for her to get back to work.

"You got a match?" she asked, and faced him with her trademark gap-toothed grin, "Greg, I could almost hug you!"

But when he opened his arms to accept the offer, she held up a hand, stopping him. "I said almost. I don't want to catch whatever it is you've got. I can't afford any sick days."

Greg put on a mock pout, then brought his gloved hand to his mouth and sneezed three times in rapid succession.

He growled as he peeled off the latex and snapped on a fresh pair. Wheeling himself back to the work station, he forced himself to focus on the tasks at hand.

The music coming from the speaker beside him was no match for the pounding in Greg's head. He switched it off with a quick flick of the wrist and then brought a hand to his temple and rubbed gently.

Greg was still sitting in the same position, half-dozing, when Warrick Brown ambled into the lab some twenty minutes later. He waved a large paper bag in front of Greg's tired face to rouse his attention.

"Food?" Greg asked hopefully, though he wasn't much in the mood for a meal. He just didn't want any more work.

"Hah. We both wish," came Warrick's droll reply. The long night was getting to him too, as evidenced by the lines around his eyes.

He overturned the bag and unceremoniously dumped the contents onto the counter in front of Greg, who groaned at the sight. Several DNA swabs, a hefty amount of used condoms, and a few more 'interesting' articles Greg would have to swab himself.

Greg selected a purple double-ended dildo out of the pile and shook it back and forth, watching it wiggle. He tried but failed to crack a smile or make the kind of wiseass remark he was known for.

He dropped the sex toy back on the table and lowered his head onto folded arms, too tired for humour.

Warrick looked at him quizzically. "Isn't this where you say 'double your pleasure' or 'two heads are better than one' or something like that?"

Greg waved him away, spun his chair around and coughed explosively, his chest aching with the effort it required.

As Warrick left, he paused with one hand on the door frame.

"Don't compromise my evidence, Greg," he warned.

Greg spun to face him, bloodshot eyes full of anger, his middle finger raised in a rude gesture. Warrick just laughed and walked down the hall.

*~*~*~*
Greg shrugged into his beat-up leather jacket, blew his nose and stuffed the tissue into his pocket.

He said hello to Anita the dayshift DNA tech as he passed her in the hallway, noticing with some dismay, the dripping black umbrella she carried in her hands.

Greg leaned heavily against the doorframe, coughed, and then shouldered his way out into the parking lot.

Outside, the day was just as dark as it had been when Greg arrived for work last night. The rain poured down in torrents, instantly plastering Greg's hair to his forehead as he made his way to his car.

When he was nearly there, relief almost palpable in his weary bones, a passing car roared by, icy water from the tires spraying Greg and soaking him to the bone.

Too tired to do anything but hang his head, Greg closed his eyes for a second, then fished his keys out of his jacket pocket. He watched disinterestedly as he dropped the wadded up Kleenex and it swirled to the ground and was swept away in a deluge of rainwater.

As Greg's eyes followed the movement, they were drawn to his front tire, obviously flat.

"Ah, fuck no," he cursed softly, then louder as he nudged the deflated rubber with his sneaker.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and pushed his sopping hair off his forehead, then lifted his face to the sky. "Why me?"

"What's up, G?" came the faint voice of Nick Stokes, who had driven up beside Greg.

"Flat fuckin' tire," he replied with a sniffle as he jerked a thumb towards his car.

"Get in, I'll give you a ride," Nick offered, as he leaned forward to unlock the passenger side door.

Eager to get out of the rain, Greg climbed in and used his cell phone to call a tow truck. He broke out into another coughing fit just as the call ended and saw Nick glance over at him.

"You don't sound too good, Greg. You okay?"

Greg wondered if the concern he heard in his co-worker's voice was genuine, and the look in Nick's eyes told him it was.

"I feel lousy," Greg admitted, wishing his sinuses weren't so clogged up.

Greg had always harboured a secret, deep-seated admiration, as well as desire, for the broad shouldered Texan. Sharing space with him had always been one of the perks of the job, and Greg knew from prior experience how good Nick always smelled. Like an interesting combination of warm spiciness and laundry dried on a clothesline in the sunshine.

As Greg leaned his head back on the headrest and allowed his eyes to close, he reflected on how much he missed that scent right now.

Nick's voice was low as he interrupted Greg's thoughts, "Mind if I make a quick stop first?"

Greg lifted a hand tiredly, palm open and up. "Your car, man."

He thought he caught the ghost of a smile on Nick's lips before his eyes closed once more.

Greg awoke briefly when Nick stopped the truck at a 24-hour convenience store, and watched, with one eye, the muscles strain against the fabric of his tight t-shirt as Nick exited the vehicle.

Greg rubbed his eyes and re-adjusted his position, trying to achieve a more comfortable one. He was back asleep within seconds, dreaming about peeling that navy shirt off Nick and running his hands along the smooth, exposed flesh.

He jumped when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and opened his eyes to see Nick's face looming before him.

"You're home," Nick said softly, nodding his head in the general direction of Greg's apartment.

When Greg tried to clear his throat and speak, it set off another bout of coughing. After he was finished, he wrapped his arms around his middle and rocked forward.

"Thanks for the lift, Nick."

One corner of Nick's mouth lifted in a smile and Greg's fingers twitched in an intense desire to trace the dimple threatening there.

"Let me grab my umbrella and come in with you. You look..."

"Like shit. I know," Greg interrupted, dragging a hand through his hair, which drooped as if even it was too tired to stand up.

Nick's smile widened. "I was going to say that you look like you could use some taking care of."

Greg was only vaguely surprised to see Nick grab the plastic bags from the floor of the truck and follow him to his apartment. He really wanted to be alone, but was too tired to argue. Besides, he thought, with the slightest twitch of a smile, would he ever really say 'no' to Nick?

Sluggishly, they made their way through the rain, Nick shaking off his umbrella in the foyer and continuing down the hallway to Greg's apartment.

Greg fumbled with the keys and dropped them twice before he felt Nick's warm fingers close firmly over his own cold ones. Greg stared stupidly at their entwined fingers, his field of vision narrowing only to encompass their hands. 'Nick has really nice hands,' he thought, and grazed his thumb over the top of Nick's hand, feeling the veins beneath the tanned flesh.

"Greg?"

Nick's voice broke the trance and Greg compliantly released the keys into Nick's waiting palm. Greg closed his eyes and mentally kicked himself before he felt Nick's hand at his back, ushering him into his own dark apartment.

Nick made himself at home, dropping the bags on the kitchen countertop, while Greg went around the room, turning on lights. He cast one longing look towards the bedroom, where he knew his soft bed and warm blankets were waiting, then turned his attention to politely entertaining his guest.

"Can I...uh...get you a drink?" Greg asked, then turned to cough into his shoulder.

Nick raised one dark eyebrow and Greg watched the corner of Nick's mouth twitch.

"Never mind me. I'm fine. What you need is a nice, hot bath."

He had to admit that the idea of soaking in a tub full of hot water was very appealing at the moment, though Greg could not fathom having to be naked and relax with Nick in such close proximity.

Nick made a shooing movement with his hands and Greg shrugged reluctantly, then shuffled wearily towards the bathroom.

As steam rose and fogged the mirror, Greg peeled his damp shirt over his head and for the first time, gave thought to how horrid he must look. He sighed and was in the midst of unzipping his jeans when the bathroom door opened and Nick walked in, looking completely nonplussed.

He was holding a glass of water in one hand and a blue plastic bottle in the other. Greg froze, his hands still at the fly of his pants.

"Nick?"

"Here." Nick replied, thrusting the water and a small orange tablet into Greg's hand.

Greg continued to stare blankly at Nick, who simply laughed.

"Vitamin C."

And once more, Greg felt those warm fingers upon his, as he watched Nick guide his hands. The orange tablet was dropped into the water and began to effervesce.

"Drink," Nick urged and Greg obediently lifted the glass to his lips and felt the fizzy orange-flavoured liquid slide soothingly down his throat.

Nick now held out the blue bottle.

"Aroma bath," he said, as if that made perfect sense, and poured a generous amount under the running water.

Almost at once, the room was filled with a menthol and eucalyptus fragrance and Greg breathed deeply.

"My sister swears by this stuff when her kids are sick. I figure it's alright for adults, too."

His dark eyes sought Greg's and he reached for the waistband of Greg's partially unfastened jeans. Nick's knuckles brushed against the skin of Greg's belly.

Greg took a sharp intake of breath and pushed Nick's hands away.

"I got it," he said gruffly and watched Nick's back as he exited the bathroom.

Greg threw the rest of his clothes in a soggy pile on the floor, then eased his aching body into the hot water. He pulled his knees up to his chest and allowed his shoulders to slip beneath the fragrant water.

He soaked until the water began to cool, then pulled the plug and dried off. There was a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms and a faded red t-shirt hanging on the back of the bathroom door, and Greg changed into them. He finger-combed his hair and entered the living room, shocked to see that Nick was still there.

He was sprawled out on the couch, with his feet up on the coffee table. When Greg coughed, Nick hit 'mute' on the remote, stood up and stretched.

Greg watched as Nick laced his hands together above his head and arched his back, saw the hem of Nick's shirt lift from his jeans, pull up and reveal a stripe of exposed skin.

Greg felt a sudden rush of warmth that he couldn't entirely attribute to his bath. He gave a slight nod and sat down on the couch, wrapping a knit afghan around his shoulders.

A glance towards the television told Greg that Nick had been watching Animal Planet. Greg smiled. Nothing new there.

Nick sat back down, holding out a steaming mug.

"I made you some soup," he said and Greg's stomach gave a low rumble as he wrapped both hands around the mug.

"Thanks."

"Normally, I would prefer to make my soup from scratch, but you'll have to settle for Cup-A-Soup tonight," Nick said with a frown that told Greg he was seriously displeased.

"I don't know how I'll manage," replied Greg sarcastically and Nick laughed. The sound was infectious and Greg began to laugh as well, but the laughter quickly escalated into a coughing fit.

Greg hastily set the soup mug on the table and covered his mouth with his hands as his shoulders shook with the effort of his coughing.

Nick jumped up from the couch, saying, "I knew I forgot something!"

By the time he had returned from rummaging in the bags, Greg had his cough under control, though his eyes were streaming and his chest ached.

Nick handed Greg a small, plastic medicine cup with a vile greyish looking liquid inside.

"Veritaserum?" Greg asked warily, eyebrows raised.

"What?" Nick looked genuinely confused at the Harry Potter reference.

Greg, now afraid to laugh, grunted and shook his head, "Never mind."

Regarding Nick over the rim of the cup, he raised it to his lips and swallowed.

"Jesus Christ on rollerskates, Nick!" he exclaimed, sticking out his tongue and making a face of disgust. "What the hell was that?"

"Cough medicine," Nick replied, unable to stop a wide grin from breaking out across his face, "It's supposed to be the best."

Greg was still grimacing. "No wonder. Everyone is afraid to cough for fear they might have to take more."

"Honestly now, Greg," Nick said, angling his head to one side, "It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"You try it," he challenged, his dark eyes flashing.

Nick chewed the corner of his lip for a moment, contemplating, then he bridged the distance between the two of them.

Greg barely had time to register Nick's hands again, this time on either side of his face, before he felt Nick's lips hesitantly press against his own. Rigid with surprise, Greg allowed Nick's tongue to gently force its way past his lips and inside his mouth.

Once the realization hit him, of what was actually happening, Greg kissed back. His tongue met Nick's, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. Then Greg's hands splayed across Nick's chest and pushed him backwards.

"I can't breathe," he whispered apologetically, his eyes focused on a single bead of moisture glistening on Nick's lower lip.

Nick's eyes were dark and glittering as he stared at Greg.

"You were right," he said hoarsely, though at the moment Greg had no idea what Nick was talking about.

"That does taste horrible." Nick laughed, pulling a face.

Greg smiled, nodded and tried, but failed, to stifle a yawn. Nick angled himself so that his back was against the arm of the couch and Greg settled between his legs. Absently, Nick ran his fingers through the damp strands of Greg's hair. Greg was asleep within minutes, mouth open and snoring slightly.

Nick smiled and watched Animal Planet without any sound.

*~*~*~*
Three Days Later...

Nick Stokes was not getting sick.

Or so he tried telling himself as he was busy sifting through the crime scene photos he had recently taken.

"Hell with this," he muttered groggily to no one in particular.

He sought out Grissom and asked for, and was granted, permission to leave early.

Nick was just tying the belt on his robe when he heard the knock at the door. Knowing instinctively who it would be, he grabbed a Kleenex, wiped at his nose and opened the door.

Greg was on the other side, holding a plastic bag and grinning manically.

"Not that godforsaken cough syrup," Nick groaned, shuffling away from the door.

"Nope," said Greg, and his grin broadened, "Cup-A-Soup."

***