Purging the Devil

He rushes at you in an enraged frenzy. Though your reflexes are still in good form, though you try to dodge, he is ever so much faster than you.

Another punch makes contact, right in your gut. You fall over, completely winded.

His knee slams into your face with a bang like a pistol shot, and your head snaps backwards, your- now broken-glasses flying off your head and out the open window.

“Shit! Those were brand new!” You think ridiculously as you lay splayed out on the floor, blood poring from above your eye like you were a boxer in a prizefight, and not a criminalist realizing you will now have to fight for your life.

Your mind is searching furiously for a solution, only to be interrupted by a black boot stomping onto your chest, followed by a backhand to your face that sends stars across your field of vision. Stars turning red as the blood flows down.

He’s on top of you now, a look of savage rage in his face you would never even fathom Nick Stokes capable of producing. You see the Devil in his eyes, the sick taste of fear in your mouth mingling with the blood that’s coming up from somewhere as a voice in your head informs you that something is not right with your ribs.

“Look what you made me do Gil!” he screams, “This is your fault you fucking asshole. You lying sack of shit, filthy bastard!”

“I see it in your face, this is just a game to you isn’t it? Fucking with my life!”

“Shut up! I have you figured out. You’re gonna leave me first chance you get, probably slept with someone else already. Who you fuckin Gil?! Greg? Is he your new bitch boy?! That whore Sarah!?! I’m not good enough to be your toy anymore!? Is that it?!”

You see the emotions coursing through him. Sadness, fear, despair, and the violent, desperate anger of a caged beast.

“I was never good enough for you was I? Just some cheap thrill, one of your experiments! You have no idea what its like do you? To feel what I feel?! To go through what I’ve been through. To love someone so much, and for them to not care?! Do you?!”

He’s enraged, something inside him, some paranoia, some vile insecurity forcing its way to the surface.

That’s the right word for you just now.

Where is this coming from? Christ, he's still afraid I want to leave him!

“To know its gonna end when you grow tired of putting up with worthless old Stokes?!”

Another slap, and your mind is ready to call it quits, to succumb to sweet oblivion. This needs to end, now.

“Not good enough to be your favorite CSI, but you have no problem treating me like a cheap fuck, a convenient ass to bang huh? Well I got you one better. I slept with that bitch from the bar just for fun…remember her? She was sweet Gil, smooth as silk, willing to do anything, I loved it…like fucking an angel. Not some queer hairy old quick shooter like you…I didn’t have to imagine I was with someone else to get off…”

“Nick, stop….please stop…or…or…”

You'll never forgive yourself...

***

“Methylenedioxymethamphetamine and Phencyclidine,” Catherine says, handing you the printout from Toxicology.

“Ecstasy and PCP?” you ask, surprised. "Explains the speed of reaction and the hyper aggressive response.”

“You mean hyper violent response, and yeah, a blend of both, combined with alcohol,” Catherine said.

“That’s not all. Hodges found some additives that confirm what we’ve been thinking all along…”

“Well shit Gilly-boy, the gang’s all here!” Nick quips coldly. “Warrick the gambling favored son, and Sara, the love struck lush. Fuckers!”

“Help me? HELP ME?!?!” Nick releases his hold on you and heads to the closed door. He starts pounding on it with his fists. “Help me Warrick?! You?! What are you gonna do, turn the light on? Cut off my air? Asshole!”

“That you Sarah? Bitch! I got your dream guy here Sarah, on his back. Is that how you like to ride him? He’s not so tough, I kicked his ass…where’s that pussy boy ass kissing worthless Greg? I’m not done with him yet…”

Nick takes a breath and unleashes a tirade of profanity at his friends on the other side of the door, cursing louder as they start to hit the door with an axe…

You are able to stagger to your feet. With Nick occupied at the door, now being assaulted by the other members of your team, you have a chance.

“You fuckers have no idea! You don’t know what it feels like! Well I’ve had it, no more towing to you, or to Grissom or fucking anyone else, anymore!”

You grab the lone chair in the room. Bring it over your head and break it across Nick’s back.

Though you try to back away, he catches your left arm in his grip. Swings his other arm around, and up, hitting it, and the bone snaps like kindling as a stuttered cry emanates from your mouth.

After months of investigating, you finally get a break in the case. “The Rave Plague” the media called it. Riots at raves and college parties, unexplained violent outbursts resulting in multiple deaths and injuries. Friends fighting friends, students attacking other students. Three brothers from UNLV mauled each other. Survivors were destined to spend weeks recovering from their injuries, and probably years in therapy.

While talking to a battered victim from the latest scene, she says she saw some guy there, lurking near the back door, someone she didn’t know. She remembered specifically because she didn’t know him. A man at a party where she knew everyone.

Someone bumped into him, he dropped it and the next thing she knew, she was mad. Filled with hate, paranoid, and attacked her boyfriend.

The CSI’s made haste to the scene, scouring the back door with everything in their arsenal. Gil himself swabbed the residue they found.

Brass caught the suspect. They got the warrant to search his house, and your team headed out there in full force.

***

He’s on top of you again. Bestial screams as he wraps his hands around your neck.

You struggle uselessly beneath him, your broken arm against the floor, precious oxygen leaving your body.

“You can’t leave me Gil. I’d rather you be dead than with someone else…”

It's the drug! Fight him! Stop this!

His hands tighten, and you feel your life slipping away. You reach for your gun; grateful you actually brought it this time. Grateful Nick broke the left, and not the right arm. Nick doesn’t notice, he’s focused on choking you. You’re able to get it out of the holster, and with all your fading strength, you pistol-whip him. The butt of your gun hitting his temple with a force that would knock a normal man unconscious.

Nick stays awake, but you did stun him enough to get his hands off your throat. You roll away from him, coughing and gasping for air. Your head is pounding, and you know your lungs are filling with fluid. The door is being battered down, but they haven’t gotten through yet.

“Don’t move Nick, or I’ll fire,” you say, on your knees, leveling your gun at him with your one good arm.

“Greg, get that container to the lab. Don’t open it, and don’t press that lever there either. That’s what releases it I think. Point it away from you. You don’t want any of that on you. If droplets get on your skin…”

His back is to the door and Greg doesn’t see Nick coming up behind him. Doesn’t sense the danger as he turns and Nick bumps right into the container he’s carrying, hitting the lever.

It’s all in slow motion suddenly. You swear you can see the droplets spray out of the container, see them hit Nick in the face. See them absorbed almost instantly into his skin.

The look of surprise on Nick’s face is quickly replaced by fury, his eyes filling with evil hate.

“You asshole” he screams at Greg, grabbing the younger man by his hair and flinging him out into the hallway, “I’ll fucking kill you!”

Miraculously, Greg manages to hang onto the container, and not get any of the chemicals onto himself.

“Greg go! Get help!” you shout, and Nick focuses on you instead, consumed by the Devil within.

The bullet hits Nick near his left shoulder, knocking him back slightly. You see his blood flowing, spreading through his shirt. A normal man would probably pass out from it, but he continues his charge.

You fire again, but you’re woozy now, the adrenaline in your veins no longer working as well it should. You want to hit his other shoulder, but your aim is off, and the bullet whizzes by and hits the wall. With a yell, Nick barrels into you, lifting you up.

The next thing you know, your falling through the air, barely comprehending that Nick actually threw you out the window. In the half second before you land, before blissful unconsciousness takes hold and sweeps your pain away, you have one last thought.

The first thing it registers is a buzzing sound, a vibration against your face as your eyes try to open. You’re not sure how long you’ve been out of it, but that drug-induced haze is familiar. Dull aches in your left arm and chest, hell, your whole damn body is just one big bruise.

Your face no doubt resembles a pepperoni pizza by now, and it stings a bit above your eye…stitches probably…great.

Like most people, you hate hospitals. The noises of the machines, that damn pine scent mixed in with the plethora of sickness, injuries and death. Hospitals are filled with the damn negative connotations, the holier than thou doctors, the victims and families and patients, and every other factor that can strip a man of his dignity.

Sure, good things happen here, people are made better, babies are born, miracles happen…still, given a choice, you’d much rather be at home in your own bed, with Nick curled around you, sleeping the day away.

Oh Nicky, hope your ok. It wasn’t your fault. No one’s fault, it just happened…

Not here, in this place, wearing that damn flimsy gown that shows everything you got off to the world. Just because you don’t give a damn what others may think of you, you still value your privacy, you’re hurt, but really, it’s none of their damn business is it?

You curse yourself slightly for not having your glasses. Your vision’s not that bad, but it’d still be nice to see everything clearly. Granted, the blurriness may just be from the painkillers anyway.

You crave a glass of water, and you are probably in dire need of a toothbrush, a shower, and a shave. You like to keep your beard neat and trim, you like the way it looks. The way it feels on your face.

But from the sound and feel of things right now, someone is trimming it for you. Or just finishing up rather. The noise and the vibration halt. A nurse you figure, maybe an orderly. Above the sickening pine, you catch another scent. It’s softer, a lighter smell, faint, and much more alluring.

That’s a relief. If anyone has to see you like this, it might as well be your best friend. You can trust Catherine, she’ll look out for you until you can look out for yourself again. No doubt Warrick and Greg are with Nick, watching over him. The thought is comforting, and you drift off.

“Just for observation. Let him talk to someone. He remembers everything that happened…you know how Nick is…”

“Docs say he should recover fully. Looks like Gil fought as hard as he could without permanently damaging Nick. He didn’t need surgery on the shoulder. Through and through, no bones hit or anything. Gil’s will probably be happy to hear that.”

“His back is gonna be sore for awhile, Sarah was right, it looks like Gil did hit him with a chair. I’ve never seen so many shades of blue before. Nice gash from the butt of Gil’s gun on his temple, a few stitches there…”

You say nothing, and keep your eyes closed. You’re still tired, sore. Why ask the questions they’re already answering? Of course, you’d like to know about your injuries now.

“How about Gil? I’ve been so busy fending off Ecklie and the Sheriff, I don’t know how’s he doing.”

“Well,” Catherine started with a sigh, “See for yourself. Broken left arm, cuts and bruises everywhere. Swelling on his face has gone down though. Gave him a shave yesterday …”

“The doctor says he’s got a few cracked ribs from where Nick kicked him, punctured lung, but the good news is that it was minor, his body repaired itself there. Concussion from being defenestrated, the bushes broke his fall, thank God, stitches above his eye, but the liquid kind…”

“About four days now. He’s been in and out, probably doesn’t even know it. Morphine is good stuff. Breathing on his own now. He should wake up in a few hours. They figure he could go home in a couple of days. All things considered, he’s lucky. It took four of us to pin Nick down, so the medic could knock him out. Greg almost cried. I can’t imagine being in there alone with the man when he was in that state. I would’ve been scared shitless. What about Nick? When can he leave?”

“Same, home in a couple days. They’re on leave of course. Sophia is back to being a CSI while they’re out, and we’re moving Robertson from dayshift to pick up the slack. We should be ok. You look beat, you should go get some rest.”

“Yeah, rumor has it he and Hodges got into a fight over who got to take a turn first.”

You wake up to the sound of crying. Nick is there now. His head is in your lap, both of his hands fiercely gripping your right hand. He’s in his own clothes now, black jeans and that light blue button down shirt you absolutely adore when he’s wearing it. Beneath the shirt, you can see the outline of a bandage on his shoulder, and a healing gash on his temple where you hit him with your gun. Nick always heals well, and you hope the bruises on his back have faded some.

He’s utterly bawling. You can see the hot tears coursing down his cheeks, forcing themselves out of his closed eyes. Soaking the sheet that’s covering you. He’s so caught up in his own grief, that he doesn’t realize you’re awake.

There’s a striking beauty to it. Though you would rather see his smile, you understand his need just now. He’s been bottling his emotions up for far too long, holding them in, a development you never really cared for, but never knew how to address, despite all the sundry talks you two have shared about everything in your relationship. You welcome it, this inherent need of his to cry, to release what is tormenting him so. It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

You love him. More than you ever thought possible. If anything, the battle you fought only reinforced how you feel. Made it stronger.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers through his tears, the pain in his voice tugging at your heart, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it…any of it…please forgive me…sorry…please…love you…please…please don’t…”

If possible, his grip on your hand has gotten tighter. He’s pleading with you. The remorse and fear causes his body to hitch, the guilt of his actions ratcheting through him in waves. You understand the remorse, even the guilt. Though none of what has transpired was Nick’s fault, within his control, he will still feel responsible. That he could’ve stopped it. That he should’ve fought it. He can be helped through all that in time.

His fear is another matter. This deep seeded fear of his that you will hate and leave him. Leave him to face the world alone. That you will no longer love him.

That hurts you more than any punch, any fall out of a window ever could. You feel like you’ve failed him. His sense of worthlessness is agonizing to you, frustrating as hell. You thought you had proved it to him. How you feel, how he is worth more to you than anything, how you could never comprehend your life without him in it. You don’t know what to do, how to help that. You fear he will always feel that way, and you will always fail to cast those fears out.

In an instant, you choose hope instead. You can find a way. Always a way to get through it.

“No,” he whispers, tears flowing afresh, “No, it’s not… I…this is my fault…”

You shake your head, bring his hands up with yours and place them gingerly over your heart.

It’s hovering above yours, and you throw your good arm around him. Bring him down closer for a kiss.

He’s kissing you frantically. Small, choking cries coming out of him as his mouth moves wonderfully over yours. His tears mix with yours as they fall onto your face, and you return his kiss with all the love you can muster.

It doesn’t fix everything, and you know that. You two have quite the difficult journey ahead. You don’t care about that right now. You have Nick with you. Kissing you, holding you. Loving you. That’s all that matters now.

Once he’s healed up enough to focus on other matters, he’s going to zero in on what you did to him with a vengeance. He’ll remember every punch, every slap, every word you said to him in your drug-induced frenzy.

You tiptoe on eggshells, ever watchful. Terrified of when the end will rear its ugly head.

The others have insisted they don’t hold you at fault. An accident they say, no big deal, nothing really to dwell on. Greg spent most of his visits apologizing to you like a small child, saying he should have been more careful. Warrick was sorry he had to tackle you to the floor, Sarah was sorry she had to sit on you…

Amusing in a horrendous way; how you wanted nothing more than to kill all of them when the drug was coursing through you, and they’re the ones who feel terrible about it.

You can’t move on. Not from this. You remember it all. How enraged you felt. What the fear and insecurity you keep locked away deep inside where you can ignore it did when it made itself known to your unhinged mind.

You place your head in your hands as you relive those moments again, muffling your sobs, hoping Gil doesn’t hear as he rests.

You reveled in it at the time. It was the thrill of the fight and the rush of rage. You enjoyed the infliction of pain on your lover. To you, it was justice, some divine right of punishment to him for what you were so sure he had done…

You don’t know what its like…to love someone so much and they don’t care…do you?!

How you taunted...

I slept with that bitch from the bar just for fun...like fucking an angel..

You were so positive that Gil was planning on leaving you, and that you would rather see him dead than with any one else. You felt righteous satisfaction in screaming your rage, seeing him struggle helplessly, as you watched life leaving his eyes while you choked him.

You wonder if Gil was told about what happened when you woke up in the hospital. How they had to sedate you, give you meds to stop the vomiting, the shakes, and the pleas for forgiveness.

This is my fault, and I don’t give a shit about God’s forgiveness…only Gil’s…and I don’t deserve it…

How Brass’s reasoning just didn’t get through to you. It couldn’t have been just the drug, you let it happen, you didn’t fight hard enough because…because…

It’s been two weeks since you both were discharged and allowed to come home. You refused to take your pain meds at first, out of fear of what they may make you do. It was only when Gil threatened to not take his unless you take yours did you concede. No way would you want Gil to suffer more pain because of you.

Home bound and on leave, you watch the Discovery channel every night night, waiting for Gil to say he can’t live with you anymore, not after what you did.

That first morning, you offered to sleep on the couch, fully expecting Gil to be weary of sleeping next to the person who tried to kill him. He told you to shut the hell up, get undressed and get in bed.

He kissed you when you woke up ten hours later. He’s kissed you every morning and every night.

He leans on you when the meds kick in after dinner, and he drifts off for a few hours.

He smiles at you sheepishly as you wrap plastic around his cast so he can shower.

He frets about the bruising on your back, asking you if it hurts. He insists on cleaning the wound on your shoulder, and you can read him very well by now, and you know he feels guilty about shooting you.

You expect him to cringe when you reach to touch him, but he welcomes the contact.

You expect his voice to be filled with anger and accusation, but all you hear is love and concern.

You expect him to say he’s mad at you, but all he does is tell you how much he loves you, and though you yearn to hear that, you refuse to believe it.

You expect him to be gone when you wake up in the afternoon, but he’s still at your side.

“Come on Buddy, I got cabin fever, I need to get out of this house for awhile.”

“Anywhere that isn’t here,” he says to you with emphasis, adding in a nonchalant tone, “how about we get you a haircut?”

“Har har,” you say as you attempt a casual smile, and grab the keys to your truck off the coffee table.

Las Vegas P.D

Criminalistics Division

Attn: Gil Grissom

3057 Westfall Ave,

Las Vegas, NV 89109

Dear Gil,

The docs here say that it may be better if I write things out, since I’m still having problems saying it, so I’ll try my best.

You’re probably wondering why I’m sending this to the lab, instead of home. I figure it would most likely find you there, hunting the bad guys. Hell, Peanut, I bet you’re wondering why I am writing now, when I just saw you a little while ago.

I love your weekly visits, I need them, but I just can’t seem to say what I want to say to you while you are here. So many things I want to ask you. So much I want to say and express to you, and I just can’t, not when you are here.

I know, I usually just hold onto you and cry a lot.

I don’t know why I can’t just talk to you. I’ve never had this problem before. It used to be so easy for me. For us.

I want that back. I want back that ease between us.

We’ve been through so much Gil. We both have faced Hell and made it through, and I don’t want to have these fears and these doubts anymore. I want to be your “Nicky” again. Your partner, and not your burden. I want to be strong again. Strong enough for both us, so you don’t have to be so strong anymore.

I’m so tired of being weak.

I guess that’s why I wanted to come here. I need help. The help I can’t ask you to provide. They say I’m making progress, that my biggest roadblock is what I’m holding onto, what I can’t say.

I’m trying Gil, I’m trying real hard. I swear it.

Remember that evening at Lake Mead? You and I had been cooped up for weeks, and you were going stir crazy with cabin fever. We got the greasiest, tastiest burritos I’ve ever had from that dive joint on Holland St, and drove out to Lake Mead to get some fresh air. I couldn’t believe it when you flashed your badge at the ranger there and got him to let us back the truck right up to the water’s edge so we could sit on the tailgate, eat our dinner and listen to music as the sun set.

I love it when you abuse your authority like that.

It was as if the world just looked the other away and let us be. Like it was just you and me there that night. You leaned back against me, and let me hold you as you rested your head on my shoulder. It was warm and it was peaceful, and after awhile, the only light we saw was from the stars.

You kissed me there, under the stars, with bullfrogs serenading us.

So perfect.

You were still taking those pain pills that pretty much knocked you right out. So when you fell asleep, I wasn’t surprised.

I was grateful for your trust in me.

I could hold you and cry like the emotional wreck I really am and you’d never know it.

So that’s what I did. I honestly thought you were going to leave me that day, that fate was going to hit another bulls-eye off its favorite target. When you didn’t, when you stayed with me, I just couldn’t believe how lucky I was. That’s when I decided to get help. I thought that if you really were going to stay with me, I needed to stop thinking and feeling the things I was thinking and feeling, and be the Nick Stokes you fell in love with. The Nick Stokes who fell in love with you.

I’m not crazy, but I’m not well. You didn’t fight me on it, you just nodded and helped me find the best place around.

I know Warrick and Greg thought you left me to the wolves out here. I know Catherine screamed at you, said there had to be another way, that Brass said I wasn’t crazy, and Sarah accused you of shutting down, and letting me go when things got tough.

I love them all, but really, they just don’t get it sometimes.

You do.

Once again, you did something I don’t think anyone else could have ever done, and you did it for me.

After everything I put you through, everything I did to you, you got me the help I need.

You stayed, when others would leave.

Why?

Why don’t you hate me? Why aren’t you angry with me? I believe with all my heart that you really do love me, as much as I love you. I just can’t figure out why. You told me after we got home from the hospital, that it wasn’t “me” who did it, it was the drug. An accident. That I didn’t need to keep apologizing, because there was nothing to forgive.

That we could move forward.

But I couldn’t. I never thought I would ever do something so awful to someone I love. Drugs or not Peanut, I beat you. Broke your arm, accused you of things I thought you would do, that I was positive you DID, yet knew couldn’t possibly be true.

I tried to suffocate you, and then I threw you out the window!

I tried to kill you. In my nightmares, I succeed.

I remember everything I did, everything I said. Every punch, every smack. Oh God Gil, I think, deep down, a part of me enjoyed it. It felt right to me, that you deserved it in some way. I was so sure that I’d be better off with you dead, than seeing you with someone else.

God help me, it felt good.

Our experiences help shape us, and I don’t like what my worst experiences were shaping me into.

You told me once that within each man is the ability to cause harm. That there is a monster, an evil Devil longing to get out and wreck havoc. That fighting the Devil within, keeping him reigned in, is how we can purge ourselves of him, and this is just one of the dues we pay so we can have love.

I didn’t get it at the time, I but I think I do now.

My wonderful Gil, though you’d say no, I did let him out, and it almost cost me you, the greatest gift I’ve ever received. You told me that I was worth everything to you. That you can’t imagine your life without me in it. That you have never met anyone like me, and couldn’t possibly love someone else like you love me.

I think I can start to believe you now.

I may never be able to quiet the fears I have permanently, but with the help I’m getting here, I may be able to take away their power, and deal with them better.

So I can be strong for you again.

I am not worthless.

I am Nick Stokes.

I count.

I matter.

And I love you.

With all my heart.

Be home soon.

I promise.

Much love,

Nicky

“Yup,” you tell her, almost giddy, “I’ll bring him home this afternoon, and we’ll both be in at the start of shift.”

“That’s good to hear…” she trails off, her eyes on Warrick as he comes down the steps of your house, pulling a t-shirt over his head.

“I gotta go Gris, Tina’ll be all over me if I don’t get home soon,” he says, voice muffled briefly by the shirt, “Thanks for letting me taker a shower.”

“No problem,” you say, “least I could do. Thanks for helping me stain the deck.”

He nods with a wink, flashes Catherine a smile as he heads out the front door, “Thanks for stopping by with lunch Cath.”

She flips her strawberry blonde hair in the manner that drives most men wild and says, “Yeah, the view. Hot guys working in the sun with their shirts off, sweat gleaming, running down your chest like small rivers…sexy.”

“You’re not so bad yourself Gil-baby, and I can see why Nick likes the straw hat so much,” she tells you playfully.

“As a matter of fact, I do. Tell Nick I can’t wait to see him tomorrow night ok?”

It’s an incessant thought. You’ve been thinking it since midnight. Nick is coming home today. He’s been away for almost two months, and you never knew until he was gone how accustomed you’ve become to living with him. To go from sharing so many aspects of your life with another soul, to coming home to solitude was a hell of a wake up call to your new reality.

You told Catherine once that you weren’t use to people being in your house. Now, you can’t fathom living alone anymore. Nick expanded your world in ways you could have never imagined, and it’s been so small since he has been away. The weekly visits to him as he got help to work through his demons helped you get through as well, and provided you with a small window into Nick’s healing mind.

The team, after their visits with him, lay off of you. They finally understand that he was getting the help that neither you, nor they, could give him. No shame, or inadequate feelings from that. It’s just how it was. Your relief at that was puzzling at first, as but a few years ago, you wouldn’t have cared what they thought of your actions, just as long as you thought you were doing the right thing. Now, their opinion of you matters, and you figure that might be Nick’s influence on you.

Almost as much as knowing you’ll be sleeping in your bed with Nick tonight. Since he’s been gone, you couldn’t bear to sleep alone in the bedroom, so you’ve been crashing on the couch, with only your thoughts and Audubon to keep you company. Granted, it wouldn’t be so bad if that damn cockatiel would stop talking for five minutes as you try to sleep. On the really bad mornings, you had half a mind to let its feathers grow and “help” him escape. But Nick loves that bird, so you pushed the thought away.

You head back outside to the backyard, relishing that job well done feeling. The house is immaculate after your earlier cleaning frenzy, the refrigerator is stocked with all of Nick’s favorite food and beer, and Warrick helped you stain the back deck this morning while Catherine enjoyed the show.

It’s a light mahogany color, and to your satisfaction, it’s almost dry. The Las Vegas sun can take on anything, and today is no exception.

You double check the grill, intending on stuffing Nick full of steak and shrimp until he can’t eat another bite and otherwise spoiling him rotten. You fuss about with the deck chairs and open the umbrella over the table before wiping the sweat from your brow. You then survey the newly landscaped backyard, hoping Nick likes it. You are not the gardener he is, but your Visa has no set credit limit, and you have no qualms against paying someone else to do the job. Besides, you think that you may be able to expense it to the lab somehow.

For that’s the newest addition to the home you two share. The in-ground pool is ready for use. The workers had finished it right before this whole “Rave Plague” ordeal started, but filling it was not high on the priority list till now. It’s pretty impressive, and your yard is plenty big enough to accomodate it. You and Nick scored some luck when this corner lot with your dream house on it suddenly became available when you needed it, and it was in your price range, but you don’t dwell on the reason you needed a new home.

You shake your head at that thought, wondering what movie you got that line from.

It’s good advice, and seeing how they filled the pool with that tanker of water was fascinating in that “guys like big trucks” kind of way. You intend to make full use of the pool, especially on those hot steamy nights off when skinny-dipping is on the agenda.

You smirk to no one in particular and doff your straw hat, tossing it onto the table.

Your shirt is drenched through with sweat, and you know you don’t smell great right about now. You figure you have a few minutes to relax, before showering and heading off to pick Nick up, so you wander over to the pool, chastising yourself slightly for not putting the cover over it to conserve water, but enjoying the sparkling blue just the same.

The sound of the patio door opening and closing quickly disturbs your reverie. You turn in time to see Nick running at you full speed, a blinding smile on his face as he laughs and barrels into you, and knocking both of you into the water.

Fortunately you were standing by the shallow end, so coming back up for air is not a problem. You come to surface with a gasp, and a shaking, dripping wet Nick hanging onto you with all the strength he has.

‘Nicky!” you say breathlessly, your hands instinctually holding him close to you, water and clinging clothes be damned, “How?…What?”

He tightens his hold, and you realize that it isn’t just the pool water making your face wet. You swore to yourself you wouldn’t cry when Nick came home, but now that he’s here, back in your arms, you can’t contain it, and the tears of joy just fall.

You push him away from you slightly, but don’t let go, so you can see his face. His wonderful smile, his watery, sparkling chocolate and amber eyes. You've missed him so, and its damn good to see him.

He kisses you then; the two of you holding each other close in the pool, crying like fools under the hot sun. It’s a deep kiss, obliterating the world around you and reaches the very core of your being. You’ve missed his kisses desperately while he was away. His lips are soft, and his tongue his bold and sweet in your mouth. He tastes of cinnamon and…and something else, something delicious that you can only ever identify as "Nick".

Months ago, you overheard him tell one of his sisters that you were a phenomenal kisser. Whatever talents you possess, they are nothing to his.

You nod your head, unable to put into words how you feel, and he kisses you again. Nick’s mouth on yours, his body against you, the sound of his strong heart filling your head. You don’t even notice the two of you sinking under the water at first, and when you do, you don’t care. You just let it happen. You let the water envelop you, holding both of you in its own cool embrace as you continue kissing Nick.

Two months in that hospital has done you worlds of good. The voices of doubt and guilt no longer shout at you. The wretched invaders of your thoughts and your daily life have at last been driven back. They are but mere whispers as you continue on your journey to reclaim control, and make your life your own once more. Gil can help you the rest of the way.

Gil, with his brilliant mind, his endearing kindness, and his unlimited love for you, is yours to keep as long as you want him.

“It serves him right Peanut, maybe next time he’ll mind his own damn business.”

Gil just chuckles at you and nods as the two of you make your way into the house, water dripping off your clothes. Your first make out session with Gil in months was going quite well at first. The two of you in the hot sun, cooled by the water from the pool, and kissing each other like there’s no tomorrow.

You both had stopped crying eventually, though you maintained your state of euphoria at being home again, and of being with Gil again. You held his face in your hands, laughing and kissing him for what seemed like hours. By the feel of things, it was about to get more interesting there in the pool when a loud gasp broke your concentration.

You both looked over to see old man McGinty, your codgy neighbor, staring at you both with a scandalized look on his face.

“So much for privacy fences,” Gil mumbled, and then he waved, “Hey Mr. McGinty, nice day isn’t it?” he said cheerily.

You were pissed, that sniveling, shriveled goat broke the mood! Still, the look on his face was classic, and you start to giggle like a little girl.

A year ago, you would’ve been horrified to be caught making out with a man, these days you could care less what someone might think of you.

For some reason that makes you smile as Gil helps you out of the pool to go inside, where the world is blind to whatever the two of you may do next.

You catch Gil giving McGinty a flirty wink, and almost double over with laughter when the old man sputters and ducks his face back behind the fence.

The mood doesn’t stay broken long. It’s been friggin forever since you and Gil have gotten all carnal. You know your man, and the last thing he would do is to pressure you into anything you may not be ready for, but he takes hints very well. You eyeing him hungrily as he strips out of his wet clothes in the kitchen to avoid getting water on the carpet is a pretty big hint. Gil even double checks, giving his butt a slight wiggle in your direction as he starts to head up the stairs.

In a flash your clothes are off, and you’re sprinting up the steps two at a time and briefly wondering if Gil has been working out lately. You catch up to Gil just as he reaches the top, and tackle him to the floor of the hallway. You two are not six feet from the bedroom, but it might as well be six miles because you fully intend on fucking Gil right there where you are, and deal with the rug burn later. He turns underneath you, and shit, he has been working out, his body is more toned than the last time you saw him naked, more defined, and trimmer. If your aching, leaking, cock was any harder at this point, you could probably jackhammer through concrete, and when Gil gives you one of his smiles, his eyes that lustful Pacific storm dark that sends shivers through your system, you are done for.

He takes your cock inside him with a moan as your mouth covers his. A mixture of sweat and water serving as a natural lube aids in your taking of Gil Grissom. He’s perfect, this man of yours, perfect for you. Rough grunts from somewhere inside, somewhere primal, escape as you thrust into him. His arms and legs are wrapped around you, holding you tight to him as you fuck, reveling in the friction your movement over his body is creating. His breathing is stuttered and ragged, and you are no better off, feeling like you’re running a marathon, but you know the prize for finishing will be marvelous indeed.

You feel it building, and your rhythm falters. It’s been too long since you felt him around you. All velvet tight heat and slick glorious sex and you’re so damn close! You nuzzle into his neck, licking the skin, drinking the salty sweat and inhaling his dizzying smell. You move faster, a heart pounding pace as you drive into him, and he’s crying out now. Calling out to God, and screaming your name as you feel his hot, copious release hit your stomach.

You place your hands in his, bringing them up over his head, and then pin them to the floor, kiss him fiercely, sucking roughly on his tongue as your orgasm approaches like a bullet train of ecstasy, and then it hits you. You come hard, the climax rippling through your body in cascades of unbelievable, breath taking heights of pleasure that leave you in tears, gasping for air as you lay your head on Gil’s flushed and heaving chest.

He gently strokes your hair, soothing you as you come back down to Earth. You grin and look up at his face, his eyes now a bright shining blue, sparkling with joy as he grins back. Next thing you know, he’s lifting you up, carrying you like you were a small child into the bedroom, where he places you on the bed and kisses you lightly before laying down next to you.

He tucks an arm around your shoulders, filling you with that sense of safety only he can provide, and kisses your cheek.

“So am I Gil,” you say drowsily, your eyelids feeling like weights, “So much I want to tell you…say to you…”

“Shh Nicky, rest now,” he says to you, his hand rubbing your back gently, “We’ll talk later.”

“Well, ok, I have a scrip for it, but I really don’t need it right now, more of a “just in case”, he says to you lightly, cutting into his “I want it to have been mooing this morning” rare steak with a relish. You quirk an eyebrow playfully, and hand him a cold beer from the cooler by your chair.

“I know, how cliché,” he says, shaking his head and downing a large swallow, “but it helps, it really does man.”

You’ve spent the early evening of Nick’s first day home lazing about the pool, and ignoring the ache in your ass from the earlier activities you engaged in with him. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, dazzling your eyes with its crimson hues and dancing sparkles over the water, you fired up the grill.

Nick’s the grill master, but you are not so bad yourself, deftly turning the steaks and basting them with a marinade that you say has been in the Grissom family for generations, though you actually got it off the internet yesterday.

It works, as Nick is obviously enjoying what’s on his plate. But you are more delighted that Nick is talking to you. Really talking. Not mumbling half-hearted answers, not deflecting your questions. There is neither worry in his eyes nor tension in his mannerisms or anxiety in his general behavior.

“I mean, yeah it was tough at first Gil,” he says to you, buttering a roll with gusto, but not breaking eye contact, “Jesus, I had to bring out everything; what happened when I was nine, being stalked by Crane, being buried alive, being drugged and hurting you, even my issues with peanut butter,” he says with a small laugh.

“And it wasn’t just talking about it either, it was talking through it. Once we talked through it, they helped me figure out what I could do to change how I thought about it. Not stop thinking about it, just how I was thinking about it you know? That way I could change how I may react to situations in the future and all that stuff. Doc Menken was right, this stuff isn’t just bullshit…”

Doctor Jon Menken, PhD, head of the National Cognitive and Behavioral Institute, Las Vegas. A leading Cognitive and Behavioral therapist, he took charge of Nick’s case personally, helping him to navigate the rocky seas of his mind, root out the causes, and provide him with the tools he’d need to face whatever the rest of his life may hold.

You found that out during one of your sessions with the man. It was supposed to be an information session only. One time deal. You just wanted to catch up on Nick’s progress. See how you could help when he got home.

You were just happy Nick was all for it, and besides him, you confided only to Catherine, who swore to take it to her grave.

"True, but the challenge is dealing with those issues…very nice ring there by the way. What’s the story behind it?”

You nod again, and finish off your steak, medium, because well done is too done for your tastes, and rare? Well, you see enough blood each day that you really don’t care to see it on your dinner plate.

“Oh yes, can’t wait, catch some bad guys, see the gang. Though if Greggo keeps asking me if I have any Freudian complexes, I may have to hurt him…”

Nick is chattering on, the drinks he’s consumed turning his cheeks bright pink as he relates amusing tales about some of the friends he made ‘on the inside’.

“We kept talking about my anxieties, my fears. A lot. And my biggest one, well, they suggested that maybe I just ask you one more time, and then I don’t think I’ll ever have to worry about it again.”

You turn your hand beneath his, and he changes his grip, interlacing your fingers.

His face is a mixture of adoring love with steadfastness and a hint of nervousness.

“I know we’ve had this conversation, so I’m only going to ask you one more time, Gil, and then I promise I’ll never ask again.”

“I love you,” he says softly, “more than I ever thought I could love anyone. I know you love me too.”

You nod, and his eyes get teary. You can see where this is going, and you want nothing more to reassure him, but he needs to ask one more time, and you…you need to answer.

“I thought my biggest fear was losing you, either by my hand or someone else’s...I mean…Zephyr…” Nick pauses, wipes a tear away.

“That isn’t it though,” and Nick’s voice is cracking a bit, but he’s determined to finish, “my biggest fear is being alone for the rest of my life, cause of losing you because you leave me. Because of how I hurt you, all those things I said, or whatever. So I need to know Gil, are you going to leave me?”

Your stock answer to this question is “I’ll leave only if you want me to”, but that doesn’t fit here. Nick needs a pure definitive. He’s looking at you now, a tear rolling down his face, his hand holding yours.

You reach your free hand over, and wipe the offending tear from his cheek. You gaze at his beautiful face, looking into those shiny amber flecked chocolate eyes, seeing the pure, gentle soul within and your answer is so simple, so clear and obvious.

“Oh Gil!”

You open your eyes, trying to focus on something in the room, anything.

“Shit! Shit! Fuck! Shit!”

Lustful curses spew from your mouth as your body is being assaulted by your skillful lover.

He’s got you backed against the kitchen counter now, dirty dishes completely forgotten as you swing a leg around his crouched form, giving him more access. He’s licking you again. His tongue swirling around your opening, traveling to just behind your balls, and then settling just on that spot in your groin that sends shivers through your whole damn body. You can almost swear his beard is creating electricity along with the delicious friction it’s generating between your legs.

He’s not even touching your dick. His hands are moving about your body, squeezing your buttocks, raking along your thighs.

But not touching your dick.

Nope.

Not. At. All.

That’s not stopping it from twitching and bouncing about like a live wire though, pre-cum just leaking out like a river breaking through a dam.

He takes your nuts in his mouth and you almost come unglued.

“Aww shit! Oh God Gil, just like that, oh Jesus!”

Neighbors be damned, you can’t help being vocal. No point holding it in. Gil is bound and determined to make you scream.

Your eyes close again as his hands come to rest on your hips. You can’t believe how close you are to coming again. It’s been what, five minutes?

And that’s counting the three minutes the two of you spent climbing out of the pool after christening it the old fashioned way.

With Gil fucking you as you clung to the edge of the diving board moaning like some wanton whore.

Shit.

He starts tonguing your cock, and you can just feel your body flushing, sweat forming on your brow, your arms, and your chest. You know you’re bright red by now, but you don’t care.

Gil takes it as a damn compliment.

Your eyes open as you gasp when Gil takes you into his mouth.

His eyes are dancing with wicked glee as he sucks, creating a perfect vacuum that has you slamming your hands against the marble countertop.

The smug bastard.

He pokes a finger up into your ass and that does it.

You freeze up, and then with a long aching cry of his name, you come.

***

The fog lifts and you find yourself panting on the cool kitchen floor. You are satisfied and sweaty, and from the feel of things, you seem to be recovering pretty quickly.

And Gil?

He’s holding you close, humming some sort of tune you can’t seem to place and stroking your hair.

You purr softly.

“I take it that was pretty good Buddy?”

You answer him with a kiss. Slow and deep, you slip your tongue inside of his mouth, stroking his softly. You glide it along the palate, finding those soft ticklish spots, exploring like it’s the first time, like you’re not familiar with your lover at all.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmurs as you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him harder.

You push him onto his back, lying on top of him. Is it possible that in the short time since your last orgasm, your desire for him as intensified?

Yes.

You growl, and the primal force inside you makes itself known once more.

“Do it Nicky.” He gasps. “Please…”

You slide inside of his tight, sweaty ass. The muscles pushing against your cock in fluttering waves of pulsating pleasure that have you biting your lip, doing everything within your power to maintain control.

Gil’s gasping, swears mingling with erotic cries. He’s writhing on the floor beneath you, and practically clawing your back, hanging on for dear life as you plunder his body. You kiss him quickly before altering your position; bringing his legs up and pushing them back against his chest. He catches on, and spreads them wider, opening himself further for you.

You bring your hips into the mix, moving inside Gil with a circular motion, and he gives off a strangled howl that fills your heart with triumphant joy.

“Oh God Nick! Oh Please! Harder! Faster! More! Please!”

You oblige, increasing to a pace with a force you’ve never reached before, spurred on by Gil’s cries.

“Fuck Gil…you feel so good…shit…so good…so damn good!”

The two of you are drenched in sweat and the feel of it on Gil’s body, his spicy earthy scent, his harsh, aching pleas of “more” and “faster” and “yes” take hold of your brain.

He’s staying; he’s not going to leave you.

He’s yours, this man beneath you, yours and yours alone.

Yours to fuck.

Yours to make love to.

Yours to hold, and kiss and spend your life with.

Yours to love.

He belongs to you.

And you belong to him.

You feel a hand on the back of your neck and grin as Gil pulls you downward. He nips your lower lip before kissing you. His fingernails dig into your shoulder as he licks down your neck and your thrusts begin to falter.

It’s close again, and he won’t let you stop, won’t let you stave it off.

In a flash, Gil has pushed you off him and rolled you over onto your back. He positions himself, and slides down onto your cock. He rides you like that, his knees squeezing your hips, one hand gliding along your chest as he uses the other to bring himself off.

His come lands on your chest, and you feel as if your very bones are melting as you move inside him. He licks his own come right off of you without missing a beat in a move so hot you’ll remember it till the day you die. He leans over, biting down hard on a nipple and that sends you overboard.

You come violently hard and when it passes, you’re in tears. Your emotions are so strung out and raw you don’t know if you’ll be able to come back. But then Gil is there, holding you again, kissing you and telling you how beautiful you are, how he loves you more each minute.

You hold tight to his hand as he helps you up off the floor and like zombies the two of you make your way upstairs. You reek of sex and you know you should shower before climbing into bed, but that’s just not an option as exhaustion wins out every time.

Before long, you are snuggled up against your lover under the cool satin sheets. Gil kisses you one more time before sleep calls him in for the night. You sling a possessive arm across his body, claiming him as yours before succumbing to your exertions.

“Goodnight Peanut…”

The End