Title: Enough
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Nick Stokes
Rating: R
Warning: Very light spoilers for Season 5 "Swap Meet" (Just in case you're worse off than me and haven't even made it there yet.)
Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me and I don't make money off of them
Summary: Established relationship. Gil passes up on day shift.

When he works cases with Sara, it makes me uneasy. We all know Sara has a thing for Gil. And since most people see Gil as the Mr. Spock of CSI – all science, no emotion – it doesn't occur to them that Gil might see something in Sara. But I know Gil better. And there's definitely something there. I'm just not sure if I should be worried about it or not.

"Nick!"

"Hmm? What?"

"I asked if you want to come over for breakfast later," Gil says patiently.

I'm surprised by the invitation. Except for the very first time, when Gil asked me out, I'm generally the one who arranges for us to be together. Or he simply shows up at my house. If it were anybody else but Gil, I wouldn't even call what we have a relationship. But it is Gil, and he's doing the best he can. It's generally enough for me.

"Nick? Breakfast?"

"Sure. Sounds good," I smile.

He looks at me searchingly for a couple of seconds. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah, fine. Just thinking about the case," I say.

He doesn't look satisfied, but he drops it. "OK. See you later. Use your key if I'm not there yet."

He really has to stop giving me instructions about the obvious.

He's already started breakfast when I get to his house. I can smell the bacon the moment I walk through the door and my stomach responds loudly. I walk into the kitchen.

"Hey."

He smiles at me, but doesn't turn away from the counter, where he's grating cheese. He's not a very deft cook, but he's still better than me. I lean against the door frame and watch him for a while. His sleeves are rolled up. I love Gil's forearms.

"Are you just going to stand there admiring me or are you going to help?" he asks.

"Guests aren't supposed to help."

"No," he agrees. "So long as they enjoy burnt omelet and cold dry toast."

I move behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. "Well, I wouldn't mind if there were a good reason for it."

He relaxes against me for a second, letting go of the grater and the cheese so he can cross his arms over mine. Then he stands up straight again and unwraps my arms from around him.

"Breakfast," he says gently. So I help out, making and buttering the toast, filling two mugs with coffee and carrying everything to the table, while he finishes cooking the omelet.

Despite my help, the omelet is slightly scorched. I look at him, ready to make a snide comment, but when I see his face I change my mind. He's invited me over for a reason and I don't think I'm going to like it. I put my fork and knife down carefully, while my heart starts to thump painfully.

"What's up?"

"I wanted you to hear it from me. Ecklie's been promoted to Assistant Director. Days supervisor spot is open."

There can only be one reason he's telling me this the way he is.

"And you don't plan on taking it," I say.

He shakes his head.

I'm not hungry anymore. I push my plate away and pull my coffee mug in front of me, wrapping my hands around it.

"How come?" I ask the mug.

"I've recommended Catherine for the position. She's ready to become supervisor and she needs to spend time with Lindsay. She needs days more than I do."

"What about what we need?" I try to sound mildly interested rather than upset, but I don't think I pull it off.

"You work well with Catherine. I'm sure she'd be glad to have you."

He's obviously thought this through.

"If she gets the position. If you find two replacements with enough experience so that your team isn't composed almost exclusively of Level One CSIs." I'm getting angry. After almost two years this was our chance. There's no way they could have refused Gil if he'd asked for the position. And he just gave it away, without even consulting me.

"That's just great, Gil. Just great." I push my chair back and stand up. "You could have asked me," I say bitterly.

"Nick…" He pauses, seemingly at a loss for words. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Listen, I've got to go. Thanks for breakfast." I start to leave, but suddenly he's in my path, blocking me, grabbing my shoulders.

"I have to do what I think is right." He looks at me insistently, trying to make me understand.

"But you don't think what we're doing is right either, do you Gil? And you know what? I agree."

I try to shrug his hands off, but his hold tightens.

"No. But we can make it. We've made it so far."

"I'm not so sure about that."

He looks stunned and steps back, dropping his hands. How can he be so surprised? Doesn't he see what's been going on between us?

"Nick," he says again, his tone almost pleading.

I shake my head. "I've got to go, Gil." It's getting hard for me to swallow. "See you at work," I say thickly and I almost run out the door.

Every time I bump into him, he's with Sara. Bringing her coffee. Poring over evidence with her. There's a small voice in me telling me that he's no different with her than he is with Catherine or Warrick or Greg, but I'm too miserable to pay much attention to it. Maybe I should just quit and go into business with Marty Gleason, rake in the bucks. I'm qualified; I can handle bad smells and pools of blood and I have an authentic southern accent to soothe the bereaved.

When I think it through, Gil wouldn't have acted any other way. He's not the most selfless person in the world, but he tries to care for his friends. And he's right: Catherine needs this, in more ways than one. I don't want to understand and I'm an adult. How can Lindsay? Under other circumstances, I'd think that it's actions like this that make me love him.

But, damnit, how could he have made such a decision without at least talking to me first? Doesn't what I want count for anything for him? Sara walks by, a small bounce in her step. Good luck, sister. Why don't you just come over here and let me tell you what it's like to have a thing for Gil.

"Nick."

I look at him standing awkwardly right outside the exit and I remember so many other awkward moments between us, when we didn't quite know where we stood with each other, when we knew but didn't know what to do about it. Part of me wants to fling myself at him, feel his arms around me, his heart beating against mine. But I don't want to back down again, because I only feel good for a little while and then it's all worse again. What I want, he can't give, and I don't think what he can give is enough for me anymore.

But instead of moving away and towards my truck, I just stand there looking at him, his blue eyes, his curly hair, his mouth.

"Sweetheart," he says so softly that I read his lips more than hear him. "Nicky."

We're standing outside the lab and he's a foot away from me, his hands in his pockets, but he's making love to me. I close my eyes for a second and breathe in deeply, trying to find my balance, reach a decision. When I open my eyes he's still there and I know I can't walk away today. We didn't come so far for nothing. Maybe he's right. Maybe we can make it. For a while longer at least, that has to be enough.