Title: All the World's Evils
Author: Dixie
Rating: R (language, violence)
Spoilers: "Boom"
Warnings: Language, violence, angst, oh, and Kristy.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, "I'm just goofin' around, that's all." No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: Something about the canon in "Boom" just didn't feel right, this is what I think happened. (i.e. The Nick/Greg angle)
*Notes: The song lyrics used come from Patty Loveless's: "I Try to Think About Elvis."
(***) denotes change in time and/or character pov.

** ** **

It had been a long night. After wrapping up a case, I decided to go immerse myself in the noise and life of Las Vegas at The Orpheus's bar. I was just about ready to leave when a solid hand landed squarely on my shoulder.

"Stokes! Nick, how's it going man? Haven't seen you in ages!" I knew that voice. And that ring. They both belonged to a college buddy of mine.

"Hey, hey, Eric. What brings you to Vegas?"

"Just seeing the sights," he said with a smirk that told me he was planning on seeing more than just a casino room show. "What about you, what's pulled you out of Dallas?"

"I work at the crime lab here in Vegas now."

"Wow, step up from the PD I guess."

"Yeah, it is. I really like it." I smiled at the simplicity of my description, but really, what else was needed?

"So, you wanna grab a few drinks? Catch up, talk football?"

"Nah, I can't, sorry man, maybe some other time." We have now successfully reached the entrance of the hotel and I hand my ticket to the valet. No getting suckered into staying out late and getting drunk tonight.

"Come on Nick, it's my last night in Sin City. One more drink man."

"Oh, no. I just pulled a double and I still have to file my shift report."

"Hey, you're off the clock. You'd have never passed up a wild night back at A&M."

"Well I guess I grew up."

"Too bad. Check that out." He says, motioning towards two women walking towards the hotel.

"Enjoy," I tell him, shaking his hand and hoping to make my disappearance soon.

"You must really love your job, man," he said disbelievingly and with a smirk before he made his way back into the casino, following the two women that had just passed us.

And I know, it's not the job that I love that's making me leave, it's the tech that I love at my job that makes me leave.

I really need to talk to Greg, I think for what has to be the thousandth time tonight as images of our fight last night flash across my mind's eye. Lots of yelling, both his and mine. I throw something at him... a football, nice spiral... and then he throws something back across the room at me. A book. A heavy, hard cover book. He's got good aim too, I ducked, barely in time to stop it from connecting with my head. More yelling, although the words are now starting to slur together in my memory. And then he's closing the distance between us, and, his fist connects with the front of my shoulder before he shoves me backwards. My blood has exceeded the boiling point now and I shove him back. Hard. Against the wall. Hard enough that it takes him another couple seconds to get his breath back. My fist connects sharply with the wall directly beside his head and the plaster cracks and he flinches, as if he was expecting me to hit him.

"Get out." I don't yell it, but the sound of my voice, so low and almost growling scares even myself. And even though he's trembling just slightly, Greg doesn't waste any time grabbing his jacket and keys before he bolts out my front door. When I hear the engine of his car start, I know I should stop him from driving, he's far too upset to have his mind and eyes clearly on the road. But I don't move from my position holding up the wall.

As I reach my Tahoe, I'm pulled out of the memory of mine and Greg's fight due to the fighting of a couple on the other side of the street. Except, I know that voice. "Kristy? Kristy!"

"Nick," I've finally caught her attention.

"Hey, we going to have a problem?" I say to the guy who refuses to let go of her arm. There's always a problem when I meet up with Kristy. And after the guy walks away, I know I should just tell her to take it easy and then head on back to where I was going, but no, of course I have to offer her a ride home. It's the gentleman-thing to do. And when she asks me in, all I can think about is getting back to the lab, or home, or Greg's place.

I need to talk to Greg.

I need to give Greg space and time.

I need space and time.

I want to talk to him, but I know that it's likely to get pretty heated again - and not in a good way - if we attempt it right now. So I go in. And all I can think about is Greg. And maybe that's part of the problem.

* * *

"Nicky, what have you gone and done?!", The voice inside my head is almost yelling. But I have to contain myself, I'm still at work and there are still people around. I immerse myself in my loud music, I don't want to hear the snippets of conversations and not-quite-whispers about the possibility of one of our own being a murderer. Especially not when that particular one of our own is my own Nick Stokes. Except, I guess, he's not really mine. Although last week I would have said he was, and he probably would have agreed.

I set up another sample to be processed and turn the volume up again on my personal cd player. I try not to think of the possibility.

"I try to think about Elvis, Memphis ..." and the familiar country tune that suddenly pops into my head despite the blaring noise I chose to drown my worries in doesn't help put thoughts of Nick out of my mind. I'm beginning to get frustrated, I haven't talked to Nick since before our fight a couple nights ago, and now, more than ever, I really need to talk to him!

I'm startled when my headphones are lightly lifted from my ears. And a little hopeful. Maybe... No. It's Catherine.

"Hey, Greg. How you doin'?" The concern in her voice makes me wonder just how much she knows about how I'm doing.

"Same as you. Worried about Nick."

What I don't say, but everyone's thinking, is 'Worried that Nick might really be a murderer. Is it possible?'

And then she asks to see his DNA sample. From the condom. From the girl's house. Fuck. I fight off the surge of anger and disappointment and worry and pull the slide out of the freezer. I look down the scope at something that I'd licked, touched, and elicited out of Nick so many times before. But this, looking at it in this context, on a slide - and not just for fun - this was something completely new to me.

"Nick's little soldiers. It's all you." I move to let her look down the slide and I can't help feeling just a little embarrassed. Not for me, she doesn't know what I was just thinking, but for Nick, because I don't think I'd want any of my co-workers analyzing my "specimen" under the microscope. I answer her questions and rethink our fight. How my fist connected so quickly with his shoulder. How the air had rushed out of my lungs as I was thrown back against the wall. How the sound of plaster cracking beside my head echoed in my ears as Nick's fist connected solidly with the wall. And a small tremor slips through my body as I remember the fear I felt then. I'd never been afraid of Nick before. I knew he was one for punching walls, but I didn't know he did it right beside someone's head. I shudder a little more when I think of how easily he could have changed his mind, hit me with all his force instead of the wall, and then nobody'd be worrying about whether or not he killed Kristy because he'd already be booked for killing me. But I try to put that thought out of my head... it only makes it harder to reassure myself that Nick didn't, couldn't, kill this girl.

"I try to focus on the headlines, Street crimes..."

* * *

I was sitting in my living room in the dark surrounded by empty bottles, my mind reeling in a drunken haze.

"What, are you in love with her Nick?" The question was simple enough, yet it was the spark that created such a huge explosion.

"No. You wouldn't understand, Greg."

"I wouldn't understand because you won't tell me."

"Just let it go."

"I'm not good enough for you, is that it? Momma wouldn't approve, so you have to keep up appearances, is that it? Well I don't mean to burst your bubble, but here's a news flash for ya. From what I've heard, Momma wouldn't approve of her little Nicky sleeping around with girls who sleep around!" And that's when I had lost my cool, broke down and finally just hit him. "She's a whore, Nicky! Wake up!"

I take another pull of Scotch when I hear a car pull up outside. I concentrate on the bottle - Jack Daniels - I study the simple words like I've never seen them before.

I wasn't going to answer the knock at the door, or the phone call, but he just wouldn't give up. So, I stumbled over and pulled open the door, which wasn't locked. But Nick's too much of a gentleman to just let himself in uninvited.

"Greg, I'm sorry," he says as soon as he's inside.

"Sorry for what?" I let the question hang for a second or two, see his mind reeling before I continue. "For defending her? Because you shouldn't be sorry for that. For returning my aggression? Because, you really shouldn't be sorry for that either. So I guess that leaves... Sorry for stepping out on me, or maybe for worrying me and half the lab with the possibility of blood on your hands?"

He's had it rough and I probably shouldn't be giving him an even harder time, after all, he did come here to apologize to me. He looks like he might even cry a little, but that Jack is a nasty little friend and once he gets into my system, he takes over everything. Including my ability to stop talking.

"Greg, you gotta believe me, I didn't go looking for her. And I had no intention of things happening the way they did. It's just..." He rakes his hand through his hair, visibly searching for the words.

"I know, Nick. You just wanted to protect her. It's what you do. Protect her from those ugly, unnecessary charges, protect her from the big, bad, spitting security guard, protect her from being used by some John. But, I guess... third time's the charm, right?" And I don't mean the sarcasm to be so thick, but like I said, it's all Jack. "You tried to protect her, and guess what? It didn't work. Didn't work. She's dead now, Nicky. And she almost took you with her."

"Greg, have you been drinking?" Nick asks, scanning the room and seeing my mountain of bottles. Good deduction, CSI.

"You know what the irony of the situation is, Nick? Yeah, here's the kicker. If you had of just booked her the first time, she'd probably still be alive today. Yup, those charges you tried to save her from, would have actually saved her." He flinches at the words and I know it's a low blow, he's feeling guilty enough as it is.

He turns his face away from me but I see the tear that slipped down his face. I'm suddenly sober. Now, I guess it's my turn to apologize. I go to him and gently place my hand on his shoulder. He tenses at the touch but I don't let go. Now, both hands of mine are on both shoulders of his, rubbing lightly until I turn him towards me and pull him tight against my chest.

"I'm sorry," I whisper into his ear as he clutches at the back of my shirt and cries. "I'm sorry I was, or am, such an ass. And baby... I'm really sorry you lost a friend."

All he can do right now is cry. And all I can do is try not to as I hold him tight, protecting him from the evils of the world.