Title: July 4th Redux
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: Gil doesn’t see the point of holidays.

“I just checked the roster. You’re working July 3rd, 4th and 5th?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Gil shrugs. “Someone has to.”

“But you worked the three days around Memorial Day. And Martin Luther King Day. And New Year’s. Can’t any of the other supervisors cover for you? Or one of us, for that matter?”

“What difference does it make?”

Nick shakes his head in disbelief. “You honestly don’t see it?”

“See what?”

“Holidays are there for a reason, Gil. Celebrations are important in life. They remind us of who we are and help anchor us.”

“I don’t need holidays to remember who I am. Anyway, what you’re really talking about is rituals, and that’s mine on July 4th. I work.”

“What, always?”

He starts to nod, then pauses. No, not always. He carries a mental picture of himself sitting with his parents on a blanket at the beach in Santa Monica, both awed and scared by the fireworks exploding in the sky and pressing himself closer against his father at some of the particularly loud explosions, until his father lifted him into his lap and wrapped his arms tightly around him. How old had he been? Four? Five?

After his father died, the only holiday his mother continued to observe was Christmas and it took Gil a couple of years to understand that it was a wake, a vigil for somebody that could never return back to them, rather than an actual celebration. The moment he was old enough, he left home, and while he returned often to visit his mother, he always found an excuse not to return for Christmas.

Instead of answering, he simply shrugs again. He can see that Nick is frustrated by his refusal to engage in the conversation, but he doesn’t really see the point of it. He holds up the file he was reading when Nick came into his office.

“I need to get back to this,” he says, and watches Nick turn on his heel and leave the office. He puts the file back on his desk and sighs. Not for the first time he reflects that being in a relationship, even with someone as open, reasonable and grounded as Nick, is like trying to walk through a field of landmines without a map; you think that if you pay enough attention and tiptoe you’re going to make it across fine, but the dangers are hidden and by the time you hear that faint click, it’s too late.

 

 

Gil’s standing at the kitchen counter, cup in hand, waiting for the coffee maker to finish, when he feels Nick’s arms snake around his waist and Nick’s lips on his nape.

“You’ve got the next couple of days off, right?”

Gil leans back into the embrace. “Right.”

“What have you got planned?”

“The usual: laundry, groceries, haircut. I also need to spend some time on the paper I’m writing for the Toronto conference in September.”

“Not today, you don’t.”

“I don’t?”

“Nope.”

“And what do I need to do instead?”

“Spend the day with me.”

Gil straightens up and turns around to look at Nick.

“You’re working.”

Nick grins and shakes his head.

“I’d know if you had leave. I’m your supervisor.”

“My supervisor who never pays any attention to the paperwork that comes across his desk,” Nick qualifies. “I have coverage, you didn’t refuse, so I assumed it was OK.”

“You should really wait for a signed approval,” Gil says sternly.

“Yeah, Gil. Uh huh. Right.”

Gil knows he doesn’t occupy the high ground on this argument, so he decides to keep his peace and instead admire Nick’s ass as he pads barefoot to the refrigerator and bends down to look inside.

“You’re looking at my butt, aren’t you?” Nick’s knowing voice comes from inside the refrigerator.

“Just admiring your shorts. What is that, a silk blend? And what would you call that particular shade of blue? Electric?”

Nick is methodically transferring the ingredients for a full breakfast from the fridge to the counter, and he ignores the question.

“Scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon and toast okay for you?”

“Sure.” Gil pulls another cup out of the cabinet for Nick, pours them both coffee and sits at the table. “So, what are we doing?”

“We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?”

“The 4th of July.”

“It’s July 8th. How are we going to do that?”

“Replicate the Stokes family rituals. Big full breakfast. Go to the beach and burn ourselves to a crisp. Then barbecue in the afternoon, lotsa beer and ice cream sundaes. Then a blockbuster movie. Then fireworks.”

“Sounds healthy. And where are we going to find the fireworks?”

Nick laughs, his brown eyes sparkling. “I’ve got it covered, Gil. Obviously this would have been easier on July 4th, but the bright side is that we won’t get stuck in any traffic jams.”

As the smell of sizzling bacon fills the kitchen, Gil finds himself starting to look forward to the day. He only hopes his arteries will survive to tell the tale.

 

 

Gil jumps when the cold drops hit the small of his back, then guiltily tries to hide what he’s reading under the towel.

“What do you have there?” Nick asks, dropping onto his knees next to Gil and showering him with more drops as he vigorously shakes the water out of his hair. He reaches under Gil’s towel, pulls out an entomology journal and narrows his eyes at Gil. “Is this business or pleasure?”

“Enjoy your job and you will never work a day in your life,” Gil intones piously, and makes a grab for the journal, but Nick easily holds it out of reach.

“You should have come into the water with me. It’s great.”

Gil shakes his head. “Lakes,” he says dismissively. “I have to take you to Santa Monica one of these days.” He only realizes the impact of the words and of everything they imply when he sees Nick’s expression. Nick tries to hide it by turning away to lie on his back and rest his forearm across his eyes, in order to block the sun.

“You never mention Santa Monica,” he says, his tone casual. “I didn’t think you ever go back.”

Gil sits up, wraps his arms loosely around his knees and stares out towards the lake, squinting into the sun.

“It’s been a while,” he says finally. “After my mother passed away… Well, there was no reason to go back.”

“Nobody you wanted to visit?”

“No.” Just graves, he thinks. He looks at his watch, suddenly impatient with this place, with lying around doing nothing. “I think I’m getting burnt.”

Nick sits up as well and presses one fingertip against Gil’s upper arm and they both watch as it takes a couple of seconds for the white imprint to fade away. “A little, looks like. Do you want to go?”

Gil nods.

 

 

It’s a quiet drive back to Nick’s house. Nick tells Gil to shower while he sets up the grill. Gil stands with his back to the mirror, craning his neck to see his red back and shoulders. He’s going to be sore for a couple of days. He steps under the shower, the cool water soothing on his skin, and he turns his face up to spray. He needs to pull himself back together; he was having good time before he mentioned his old hometown, and, more importantly, he’s not going to let his bad mood ruin a day that Nick’s obviously put a lot of effort into.

 

 

“More ice cream?”

Gil is tempted for a moment, then reason prevails. “No, thanks.”

“That’s right. Better to save some room for the coke and popcorn.”

Gil groans in protest and Nick laughs.

“Aw, suck it up, Grissom! You think the Stokeses do things half-assed?” He spreads the paper on the picnic table and opens it to the movies section. “OK, let’s see. Ocean’s Thirteen? No? Live Free or Die Hard? Spider-Man 3?”

“There was this movie with Anthony Hopkins I thought looked interesting,” Gil says hopefully.

“Which? Fracture? Not a chance.”

“But-”

“No. It’s supposed to be mindless entertainment.”

“Well, then does it have to be a movie?”

Nick looks up at the tone in Gil’s voice. “Why, do you have something else in mind you want to put on the table?” he asks, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

Gil stands up and leans across to cup Nick’s face and kiss him. “I’d rather put it on the bed,” he murmurs.

“OK, I guess substituting one activity for another is allowable so long as the objective is fulfilled. But we have to be done in three hours,” Nick warns, folding the newspaper and standing up himself.

“Nick, I’m fifty. I’ll be lucky to last thirty minutes.”

“Oh, stop fishing for compliments.”

 

 

He tries to ignore the hand shaking him awake, and rolls over, burying his head into the pillow. Next thing he knows, he feels a stinging slap on his ass.

“Ouch!”

“Rise and shine,” Nick says brusquely. “One more thing to do.”

 “It’s been a full day,” Gil says groggily. “Let’s just stay here. This is nice, isn’t it?”

“Up. This is the best part.”

“It’s not July 4th. Where are we going to find fireworks?” Gil knows that he’s whining, but he’s exhausted. Too much food, too much sun, too much sex. OK, maybe not too much sex.

“I told you, I’ve got it covered.”

 

 

“This is it?” Gil asks doubtfully, looking around. They’re in the desert, but the lights of Las Vegas are still clearly visible.

“Uh huh. Come on.”

Nick climbs out of the cabin and onto the hood of his truck, leaning back against the windshield and stretching his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. Gil follows more slowly.

“So what happens now?”

“We wait.”

Gil adjusts his back against the windshield and crosses his arms against his chest. He hears a coyote yip and howl in the distance, and somewhere closer a couple of dogs begin to bark. Closer still, he can hear Nick humming ‘America the Beautiful’ under his breath, and he smiles. Although it’s cooler than in the morning, it still has to be close to 68 degrees; nevertheless Gil is glad for the warmth of Nick next to him, and he leans against him. Nick wraps his arm around Gil’s shoulders and hugs him close.

“Should be any moment now.”

He no sooner says it than Gil sees colors blooming in the night sky. He watches white flares bursting into what seems like a million sparkling colors, bursts of blue inside of red, twinkles of bright white light that hang suspended in the sky. They’re too far to hear the sound of the fireworks, even though the coyotes and dogs have grown quiet, and the silence somehow makes the sight even more entrancing.

Twice he thinks the show is over, but it’s just a pause before the next, even more impressive display, and he almost starts to believe that the fireworks will go on forever, just for Nick and him, and he waits patiently through the third pause.

“I think that’s it,” Nick says.

“How…?” Gil asks, his eyes still glued to the night sky.

“Grand re-opening of the Majestic,” Nick explains. “Did you enjoy it?”

“I…”

He searches for words to explain what he’s feeling, but it’s all muddled, emotions bursting inside him like those fireworks, starting as one thing and then another appearing inside of the first: delight, and anticipation, and regret that the day is over, and gratitude that Nick planned it for him and joy that they’re together.

“Yes,” he says finally, and inadequately. “I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a day so much. Thank you, Nick.”

Nick tightens his arm around Gil and bends his head to kiss him. “Good. I’m glad,” he says quietly.

 

 

“The question is, when do we repeat it?”

Gil is already half-asleep, but he rouses himself enough to roll onto his side and reach over to caress Nick’s chest. “Next time I’ll take July 4th off,” he promises. “We might not get lucky with the fireworks again on a different day.”

It’s the first time he’s ever openly mentioned plans that include the two of them and that are further than a week or two in the future; the words slip out naturally, and he wonders why he put off talking about the future for so long, even as he experiences a sickening rush of adrenaline at the thought that Nick might reject him.

Suddenly he’s wide awake.

“You need to take off Labor Day weekend, as well,” Nick says comfortably, turning towards him and running his hand lightly along Gil’s shoulder. “And Christmas.”

“You skipped Thanksgiving.”

“That too. And New Year’s. And our birthdays.”

“That’s a lot of celebrating.” Gil tries to say it casually, but his voice catches.

“Yeah,” Nick agrees, pulling Gil closer. “A lifetime’s worth.”