Title: Going Home
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: CSI and its characters do not belong to me. I write and post for fun only.
Summary: Sequel to Murphy.

It’s clear that Nick doesn’t like Columbia. He follows Gil around readily enough, but he seems detached from the whole process. He never says anything negative, but he doesn’t make a single positive remark either. Gil soon regrets letting him drive; Nick seems to take a purely functional approach of how to get from point A to point B in the least amount of time, and although he agrees that they should visit a couple of neighborhoods and get a feel for the place, he barely slows down at intersections, let alone to look at a couple of houses with For Sale signs. Gil tries not to let Nick’s attitude get to him, but by Saturday evening he’s gone way beyond irritated and is now officially pissed off. Still, he’s determined to keep the peace.

“What about dinner? We passed a restaurant a few blocks back that looked pretty interesting,” Gil suggests, as they pull up in front of the hotel.

The way Nick shrugs sets Gil’s teeth on edge.

“I’m not very hungry. Why don’t we just grab something at the hotel bar?”

“Fine,” Gil bites out. Nick opens his mouth as if to say something, but then seems to think better of it, and he gets out of the car, leaving Gil sitting in seething silence.

“Another one?” Nick asks.

“No. I’ve had enough,” Gil answers, but doesn’t add ‘and so have you.’ Nick catches the bartender’s eye and points at his empty glass. He’s already three drinks ahead of Gil, and he’s hardly touched his burger.

“What time’s your flight tomorrow?” he asks Gil. He’s over-enunciating in an effort not to slur his words, but he doesn’t quite pull it off.

“Around four,” Gil says, but Nick doesn’t acknowledge his response, staring into his scotch.

“Nick,” Gil tries, touching Nick’s elbow, but Nick moves his arm away, and for Gil it’s the final straw. He doesn’t know what the hell is wrong with Nick, and he’d rather be angry than scared.

“Right. I’m off,” he says, standing up abruptly.

“Where to?” Nick asks blearily.

“Bed. See you tomorrow.”

“’kay. Sh—See you tomorrow,” Nick answers.

Before tonight, Gil had found Nick’s insistence that they book separate rooms quaint and almost amusing. In any case, he hadn’t seriously anticipated that they’d actually use both rooms. And Friday night they hadn’t. Not that Gil had given Nick much choice, but then Nick hadn’t seemed opposed to the idea either. It was only this morning that Nick had really started behaving oddly, but not enough so that Gil felt he could confront him. He wants to confront him now, though. Boy, does he ever. Except that it would be absolutely useless; if Nick isn’t already passed out, hopefully in his own room, he’s certainly in no condition for a conversation.

After fifteen minutes of prowling restlessly in his room, Gil feels as if he’s about to burst and decides to go for a walk. On his way out of the hotel, he glances into the bar. Nick is no longer there.

“Jesus, I feel like shit,” Nick mumbles, gingerly sitting across from Gil at the breakfast table.

Gil looks up briefly from his newspaper, taking in Nick’s bloodshot eyes and pale face. “You don’t look much better, either,” he says unsympathetically.

Nick reaches for Gil’s glass of orange juice. “Are you going to drink that?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Nick withdraws his hand and crosses his arms on the table, his shoulders and head drooping tiredly. “What’s the plan for today?”

After waiting pointlessly for a response, he tries again. “Gil?”

“I’ll leave that up to you,” Gil answers calmly.

“Huh?”

“You didn’t seem to enjoy my plans yesterday. So today’s up to you. If you can think past your hangover, that is. ”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Nick mutters. “I can’t do this right now.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. Okay?”

Gil folds the newspaper and puts it aside.

“No. Not okay. It’s obvious you don’t like it here. So why not just say so?”

Nick avoids looking at him.

“Nick?”

“You like it, right?”

“No. Not if you don’t.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it. It just feels… It doesn’t feel right.”

“Why?”

Nick shrugs. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t.”

“Is it Columbia that doesn’t feel right?” Gil asks, then pauses before adding in a tight voice: “Or us?”

“No!” Nick exclaims vehemently. “God, no. Is that what you think?”

“We talked about this. If we don’t like it, we find someplace else. So when you pull a stunt like yesterday, I don’t know what to think.”

Nick doesn’t respond for a while. He looks miserable and Gil wants to reach over and hold his hand, but he knows how Nick is in public places. He compromises by pushing his glass of orange juice over to Nick’s side.

“I’ve been having nightmares,” Nick says in a low voice.

“About what?” Gil asks, not sure if Nick is speaking literally or figuratively.

“You know,” Nick says. “I haven’t dreamt in months, but over the past couple of weeks…”

Gil doesn’t want to ask the question, but eventually he must. “Are you feeling trapped?”

“No. Not really. It just gets this way sometimes.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No. I don’t know.” Nick smiles briefly. “It’s kind of screwed up, isn’t it? This is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

“Me too,” Gil says, although Nick doesn’t appear to be looking for a response.

“I have to move on. But I can’t. It’s kind of screwed up,” Nick repeats in an amused tone, but Gil can’t see the humor in the situation.

“Maybe you just have to accept it,” he says slowly.

“Accept it?”

“Yeah. It happened and it was awful. Maybe you need to stop pretending it didn’t.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Nick says tiredly.

“Probably not,” Gil agrees.

“How are the pancakes?” Nick asks.

“Good,” Gil says, unwillingly accepting the change of subject, because he knows it’s what Nick wants.

“Any ideas on where we should try next?”

“No.” Nick studies the departures screen, as if he’ll find the answer there.

“I’ll do some research,” Gil says, pretending that he hasn’t already thought of more options.

Nick shakes his head. “No. Let me figure it out this time. We can take turns.”

“Wherever it is, it has to have good Thai food,” Gil warns.

“I’ll take that into account.”

They smile at each other.

“Nick…” Gil starts to say, but Nick interrupts him.

“They’re calling my flight.” He kisses Gil on the mouth. “Love you,” he says, then quickly walks away without looking back. Gil stares after him until he’s lost in the crowd. It’s going to be alright, he thinks stubbornly. It’s going to be fine.

“I’ve got it,” Nick says on the phone a few days later. “It’s got everything.”

“Yes?”

“Great Thai food, or so they tell me. Thrilling roller coast rides, all within a few hours’ drive. Over 300 days of sunshine per year.”

“Sounds like a retirement community.”

Nick laughs.

“Hardly.”

“So? Where are we headed?”

“Uh. Well. I’m not sure you’re going to like this.”

Gil hears the change of tone in Nick’s voice; he’s not joking anymore.

“Why?”

Nick hesitates, and suddenly Gil knows.

“Las Vegas?” he asks in disbelief but Nick still doesn’t answer.

“Nick? Are you suggesting Las Vegas?”

“I think I am,” Nick says.

“Okay,” Gil says mechanically, so many questions in his head that he doesn’t know which one to ask first.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Nick says quickly.

“Do you? Because I have no idea,” Gil answers honestly.

“You could consult, and appear as an expert witness. Not only here. Las Vegas would just be your base.”

He’s not too sure he likes the idea of being a professional witness, but it’s not as if he hasn’t considered it as a fall back option.

“What about you? I thought you wanted to leave Las Vegas.”

“Yeah. I thought so too. But I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“I figured it out, Gil. I don’t want to leave here. I can’t explain why, but I can’t leave here right now. Maybe in a few years, but not now. This is home.”

“But nobody’s left,” Gil protests confusedly.

“I’m left,” Nick says simply.

“I don’t understand.”

“I need to see it through. I can’t just walk away.”

“Nick—”

“What started for us… it started here,” Nick interrupts him. “If I leave, I’m someone different.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Where we live doesn’t make us who we are.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No,” Gil says firmly.

“You said you’d come back to Vegas if I asked you to. Well, I’m asking you.”

“People will know about us,” Gil warns, still trying to make Nick see some sort of sense. “You didn’t want that.”

“It was me I didn’t want them knowing about. Not us. Besides, they’d know about us anywhere. I’m OK with that.”

“I need to think about it.”

“Okay,” Nick says. “I can understand that.”

“Okay,” Gil repeats, not knowing what else to say, but not wanting to say goodbye either. Not when everything is unresolved. Not when all he really wants is to convince himself that Nick’s crazy idea is the sanest option.

“I survived here, Gil. If it had happened to me when I was still in Dallas, I wouldn’t have. I would have killed myself in the first hours.”

“No,” Gil protests.

“Yes. Or maybe later, after I got out and everybody believed me when I pretended to be fine. Or after my best friend got killed when I was sitting just a few yards away. You were right. I need to accept it, all of it, not only what happened, but that I turned into someone who can survive all that. I can move on, but it needs to be here. On my terms. With you. Afterwards, we can go wherever you want us to. We can go to Timbuktu for all I care.”

“Do you even know where Timbuktu is?” Gil asks, because he’s afraid he might start crying, and he has to break the mood somehow.

“Well, it ain’t in Missouri,” Nick answers, and Gil can hear the smile in his voice, and suddenly he’s smiling as well.

“I had a few other options in mind, you know,” he says.

“I’m sure you did. Are you finished thinking about it?”

“Nick, if I return to Vegas, we’re committed. You understand that, right? You’re stuck with me.” He’d meant to sound light-hearted, but somehow it doesn’t come out that way.

“I’m counting on it,” Nick says softly.

At the end of the day, it’s not about logic or rationalizations; it’s not about rules or cause and effect. It’s just taking that final leap of faith. It doesn’t even need that much courage.

“Okay, then. Las Vegas it is,” he says.

“Is that everything?” Nick asks him, standing at the door with a box in his arms.

Gil looks around him. “Yeah.” His voice seems to echo off the empty floor and bare walls of the apartment.

“Let’s go home then,” Nick says matter-of-factly, and he smiles at Gil.

And somewhere between that moment and the three days it takes them to drive from New York to Las Vegas, Gil forgets that he’s not the kind of guy who believes in happily-ever-afters.

A/N: This is the end of this series. My thanks to all of you who came along for the ride, and most especially to those of you who encouraged me with your feedback along the way!