Title: Everything Flows
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Nick Stokes
Rating: R
Warning: Spoilers for Season 5 "Harvest"
Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me and I don't make money off of them
Summary: Established relationship. With its difficulties.

Everything flows. And you can tense up and fight the whole way and get yourself banged up. Or you can relax, just float along, sometimes getting snagged and coming to a standstill, sometimes moving along rapidly, fluidly, with only the vaguest idea of where you're going to end up.

I try to relax. It doesn't always work, because I know where I want to be and I'm not getting there fast enough. There are times I think I'm not going to get there at all and it scares me. It's hard to resist the urge to fight for what I want, to just trust that it will come to me in the end. Other times, I think I'm already there, but something jerks me loose and I'm off again, tumbling helplessly.

"Nick, you failed firearms qualification. You can't be here."

He looks and sounds exasperated. I'd hoped he wouldn't notice the report with my test score, it was just one more piece of paper on his desk, and I'm taking the test again day after tomorrow anyway. I try to reason with him, although it probably sounds like weak rationalization to him. He won't budge and I can't push too hard, because I know he'll see it as an attempt to take advantage of him. Of us.

I've managed to disappoint him once again. Another standstill.

I make up for it a little bit back in the lab, when I find us a suspect. He smiles and I feel proud. But I don't like the feeling, because it reminds me that we're not equals when we're working. Maybe I'm just kidding myself when I think we're equals when we're together.

In a way he saves me from being on the field when Alicia Perez is found. And even though I'm stuck in the lab and could do it, he takes it on himself to process the body. Protecting me from what looks like a sexual abuse case? Simply needing to be more involved himself? I don't know, but I know he hates cases involving children. I want to be with him, help him through this, but I don't know how to convince him to let me. So I go home.

He shows up later. He's quiet, morose. I try to explain about being on the field, but he doesn't want to hear it. He just sits there on the couch, his body stiff, his expression shuttered. I sit next to him, not touching him, but close enough if he wants to reach for me. The house is quiet and I can hear the hum of the refrigerator starting up at regular intervals and my neighbor's lawn sprinkler tchick tchicking outside.

"Don't do that again," Gil says finally. "Don't put me in a position where I have to reprimand you."

I know what he's trying to do. He hates needing anybody, hates feeling vulnerable, so he's looking for a fight, for me to push him away. Despite that knowledge, my anger overwhelms me, chokes me. I grit my teeth and fight the urge to respond, because I don't want to give him what he's looking for. But, of course, in the end I do.

"Fuck you! This is my home. We've had sex in this room. You don't get to play supervisor here. If you want to say something to me about work, say it at work."

All of a sudden I can't stand to be near him. I get up and walk towards the kitchen for a drink. With one hand on the refrigerator door I look back at him. He's standing as well, looking at me, his eyes glittering, his lips compressed.

Then he shakes his head and just walks out. My stupid pride doesn't let me stop him.

When I take the firearms test again, I pass with flying colors, but the only reason I'm satisfied is because that puts me back on the field again. Away from Gil.

He's the first one to realize who killed Alicia. Nobody feels good about breaking this case. I wonder if someone other than her little boyfriend actually mourns her passing for who she was and not for what she had to offer them. Her sad little life, cut short by the person she was supposed to save.

When I get home, he's already there. I gave him a key long ago, but he almost never uses it, preferring to be invited. I stand just inside the door and we stare at each other across the room. I can see his mouth working, as if he's trying to say something.

Then there's no thought, no resistance. I walk to him and he's in my arms and I hold him. And just like that, I'm moving fluidly again.