Title: Hell
By: sarcasticsra
Summary: What doesn't kill us makes us stronger.
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Thanks, again, go to Kelly for the beta. She's amazing. ^^ Spoilers for Grave Danger, if everyone in the world hasn't seen it yet. =P


("Oh, so he's 'your guy'?")

Gil and Nick had been more than colleagues and even friends for quite some time now. The shift split had taken some of the risk away from their relationship, which they had been grateful for. Of course, everyone else had assumed the entire reason for the whole thing was simply Ecklie being a prick. Grissom would've frowned at the assumption if it wasn't vital that everyone believed it.

"Some time now" translated to "a year" from Grissom to English. Although, "some time now" for Grissom technically started at two months. It was common knowledge that he wasn't exactly prime relationship material.

Nick had been stubborn.

("Are you two close?"

"That's none of your business.")

Grissom had never had much experience with certain emotions. Love, for example, was one. Also, need. He was independent. He wasn't used to having to consider another's feelings or sharing things he normally kept to himself, or even, dare he think it, depend on someone else sometimes.

It'd been difficult, in the beginning, to adjust, but Nick hadn't given up. Eventually, Grissom let himself give in. He let himself, actually, on occasion, need. It brought them closer together than ever.

("What does Nick Stokes mean to you?")

Grissom had never quite met anyone like Nick Stokes before. Charming, yet shy. Confident, yet self-conscious. He was a walking paradox.

Perhaps that's why he'd been drawn to the younger man, his good looks and intelligence aside; maybe it had been a scientific curiosity at first. Grissom was glad it'd developed into more.

Nick was special to him. He didn't quite know how to vocalize it yet, and it was doubtful that he ever would, but he thought Nick knew. He hoped Nick knew.

("How do you feel when you see him in that coffin? Dies your soul die every time you push that button? How do you feel, knowing that there's nothing you can do to get him out of that hell? Helpless... useless... impotent?")

Grissom had always been, surprisingly, agnostic. While most of the time he couldn't stand not knowing how or what or why, he thought when it came to religion, not knowing was the closest anyone ever really came to understanding.

He'd never believed in Hell. It didn't make sense to him that any kind, loving, God, Goddess, being of your choice would damn any of their "children" to a fiery pit for all eternity. He'd dismissed it.

How wrong he'd been.

Hell existed, which he knew quite well, now. No, there was no red man with horns, a spiked tale, and a burning pitchfork. There were no skyscraper-tall flames, shooting up everywhere, haunting, burning, torturing. There was torture, however, and there were the pained souls screaming around him, albeit silently. And his soul was definitely decaying and being destroyed every second.

Hell was watching Nick in that box. Hell was being helpless. Gil's Hell hadn't been underground and didn't come after death, but it was Hell all right.

("Pancho! Listen to me. Put your hand on my hand.")

Gil still didn't know how he'd remained so calm. He chalked it up to years of practice, because finding Nick, rescuing Nick, it had sent a shiver of relief so strong down his spike, he probably could have cried and not cared for one second who saw him.

Sitting in the hospital room, Gil looked at Nick, who was sleeping, apparently peacefully, in the hospital bed. He knew that it wasn't completely over, that there would need to be time for Nick to recover and cope, but he was still relieved.

Because while the whole ordeal had been Hell, knowing that Nick - and himself - had survived the worst of it, and that they would have each other to help them both make it through the rest, gave him hope.

It was a tiny shimmer of Heaven.


-End