Previous part of Lost and Found

***

What Nick had said to Gil about getting used to having maid service wasn't exactly accurate.  Okay, it was nice to have someone to get your food and do your chores.  Very nice.  But as Nick nibbled on his sandwich and checked his e-mails he stopped and gazed into the distance; what was better than that was having company.  He was always happy with his own space and company, especially after the mayhem of his family home, but it was very relaxing to have someone, someone low-key, to share your day with...what made it kind of extraordinary was that it was Gil Grissom with whom he was sharing.

He had always been intimidated by Gris...Gil...it got easier as he'd got older and knew more about forensics and could hold his own but he always thought it was not the easiest of relationships.  Gil seemed far more at ease with all the rest of team than he did with Nick.  Maybe that was him and not Gil.  He was in awe of the man; of his knowledge and manner.  So authoritative without being in your face like someone like...Ecklie.  Yeah, Conrad Ecklie had position but he didn't command much respect from anyone as far as Nick knew.  But everyone respected Gil Grissom.  Even now people would refer to some of his old cases and despite them all trying, no one could do a morbid one liner quite like Gil.  Nick chuckled.

So what was it that made this situation so comfortable for Nick and apparently for Gil? There was no pressure.  They were meeting as equals; Gil was no longer Nick's boss.  But there was something else.  Nick couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was the Dirk incident.  The fact that the marriage was over.  Did that signify anything at all?  He thought it did but he wasn't sure what it signified.  He sighed.  He could think himself into a stupor and still not come up with an answer.  He had no solid evidence about anything...but there was something.  In the meantime he'd work him hard to get him into shape and enjoy the maid service.

Nick worked for an hour and a half at the computer researching and making notes on an article he was writing.  He also decided that when he'd finished the article he'd run it past Gil to see what he thought.  He saved all his documents, stretched and went in search of Gil.  He found him with his laptop at the kitchen table.  Nick got a glass and filled it with cold water and drank it while leaning on the counter.

'Gil, I'm off to bed.  You can do your work in the den now.'

'I'm okay here; have you finished your work?'

'No, but it's getting there.'  Nick could see that Gil wanted to ask more; he wanted to know exactly what work Nick was doing.  He decided to share.  'I'm writing up a case I had and comparing it to some other, almost identical murders that took place in the nineties in Oklahoma; just an idea I had on discussing changing techniques but still with a good outcome.'

'That sounds interesting.'  And Gil actually removed his glasses and chewed on one of the arms.  'If you want me to read it when you've finished I'd be happy to do so...not that I don't think you're capable, you know I do.  It's just...'

It's just...that Gil was becoming flustered and Nick was intrigued; Gil was usually, well...almost impassive.  Nick was smiling at him and didn't speak and he would swear, he would absolutely swear that Gil Grissom was blushing.  Just a little pink...but definitely blushing. 

'I don't want you to think I'm trying to advise you...I mean, I'm not.'

'As I was finishing up for today I thought that I'd ask you to look it through, when it's done...maybe early in the new year?'

'Yes. That would be good.  I'm not trying to undermine you, Nick, you know that?'

'Of course not; I never thought you were.'

'No.  Okay.'

Then Nick couldn't stand it anymore.  'Look...Gil, are you okay?  You seem to be, I don't know, embarrassed, by something.'

Gil looked down and cleared his throat.  'I treated you badly; especially in your first few years.  I'm sorry.'  It came out very quickly. They'd already touched on it briefly just after Gil had arrived.

'Yeah.  You did.  I'm over it and it only made me a better...'  He was going to say man, but wasn't sure if that was right.  'CSI.'

Gil looked shocked at Nick's reply as if he never expected him to agree in a million years.  'Why, why didn't you say anything to me?'

'I was the student you were the master, I guess I figured I needed you to keep on my back for me to get it right...it worked.  I think I'm good now.'

'You were good then.  I'm sorry I never gave you the approbation you deserved, I was too wrapped up in other things.  Will you accept my apologies?'

'Jesus, Gil.  You've nothing to apologise for...I'm better for it...and anyways you made up for it on your last day.'

'I did?'  Gil seemed startled.

'Yeah, you said I was your best student.  That meant a lot, man.'

'But you were.'  Gil seemed puzzled now.  As if Nick should have known all along that he was the best student.

'Thanks.  Still meant a lot.'

'I was blindsided you know.  By other people's issues.  By other people and my expectation of them.  I never expected things of you except to do your job and yet you delivered all the time and...and I never noticed.'

Gil was not really talking to Nick now but staring off into the distance not unlike Nick had done earlier in his den.  Whatever was behind it all, Nick was convinced that it was some unholy mess, especially where Sara was concerned; they were divorcing of course, but the reason for the failure of the marriage (if indeed it was a marriage) was bound to be some serious shit.  Nick suddenly yawned.  He was tired.

'Sorry, Nick, I'm boring you and keeping you from your bed.'

'You're not boring me, I can promise you, but I am dead beat.  I'm out very early tomorrow so I'll see you when I get home...could be the middle of the afternoon, but you know work, it could be later.'  He was still holding his water glass, so put it in the sink and went to walk out of the kitchen and without a conscious thought he put his hand in Gil's shoulder and pressed it down as if to give comfort.

And Gil put his hand over Nick's and whispered.  'Thank you.'

As Nick made his weary way up stairs to bed he thought about the small touch.  Not only was Gil a lonely man, he was also physically lonely for just a touch, some human contact.  Nick almost turned around and went back down to hug the man, but stopped himself.  That would be too fucking melodramatic.

***

The next day started well for Gil but then went downhill.  He became solvent and was able to get some of his own money in his hands.  He purchased a fancy pair of trainers...just like Nick's but with a different colour blaze on the side.  He'd also got some blister bandages and antiseptic cream for his two blisters...they were nasty and ordinary bandages were of no use.  He felt confident and relaxed as he arrived at the lawyer's office.

Sara was staggered to see him and was about to blow a gasket when her lawyer wisely stepped in and diffused her.  Gil could lip read that the lawyer said to Sara that Gil did have as much right to be present in person as she did.  She didn't speak to Gil at all.

But basically the matter still rested on the marriage and Gil's lawyer would not let it alone and as much as Sara fumed and her lawyer tried, they ended up having to agree to hire, naturally all at Gil's expense, an independent PI to travel to Guyana and discover whether or not there were actual marriage documents at the church and that they had been filed with the local authority to make it a legal matrimony.

Gil was actually more than willing to pay to find out.  He also agreed to pay all of Sara's costs.  He admitted adultery...with a man.  In the event of the marriage being declared null and void he agreed, actually against his lawyer's advice, that he would make an ex-gratia payment to Sara. However, should the marriage be legal then they would have to thrash out an agreement. 

Gil wanted his house back.  Sara was currently living there having left her own rented apartment when she left Las Vegas the first time; her lawyer made it clear that in the event of the legality of the marriage being proved, (about which his client was absolutely sure) then he was looking at a hefty share of Gil's assets.  Since there was no pre-nuptial agreement, he stated that Sara was entitled to her share.

Luckily for Gil, his lawyer was able to hold her own and pointed out that this marriage, if it even was a marriage, lasted little over a year, and all Ms Sidle would be entitled to would a share in any assets accrued during the marriage.

The meeting rambled on, Gil spoke quietly on a couple of occasions to his lawyer and Sara stared at him as if she thought she could kill him with a look.  When it was over she left without a backward glance.

Gil's lawyer would arrange for the PI and Gil left a sizeable deposit to cover the costs.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.  That saying was foremost in Gil's thoughts as he sat in the taxi on his way to Nick's home.  He had his new trainers and he had intended to go, if not for a jog, then a good walk.  But he asked the taxi driver to find a liquor store.  He bought a bottle of whiskey and intended to drink a fair amount of it.  He needed something after the time spent sitting watching Sara seethe and getting drunk seemed like a good idea.

He hadn't been truly pissed for years.  He didn't drink that much, either beer or liquor and could generally hold his drink.  But he just felt the need and for once in his life he damned the consequences.

It was nearly four in the afternoon by the time he settled down with his first glass.  Nick would be home soon and he would stop then; he didn't want to show himself up that badly, he just needed a drink.

Nick was held up with a double murder.  It was nearly eight when he opened his front door.  The house was in near darkness which was odd since Gil was supposed to be in.  He smelled the whiskey as soon as he opened the door.  And he heard Gil.  Snoring.

He laughed quietly to himself at the sight.  The whiskey bottle was open and two thirds empty and an empty glass sat beside it...Gil was sprawled back on the couch, his glasses at an angle, his mouth open and sounding like an old traction engine you'd find on a farm.

Nick screwed the top back on the bottle and took it and the empty glass back to the kitchen.  He didn't know what to do.  With a hangover pending Gil would be better off in bed.  Should he wake him?  Then a thought struck him...just how much did Gil usually drink?  Was this an isolated incident?  Or did he regularly hit the bottle?  Was that why he was so out of condition?

Nick thought for a few moments about it but concluded that it was an isolated incident.  He was pretty sure that Gil had seen his lawyer today.  Maybe this episode was the result of bad news.  Wait.  Nick suddenly stood up straight.  The marriage; he bet it was confirmed.  He'd bet that was it.  But then he really didn't know it was just a wild guess; a stab in the dark and Gil would be disappointed that Nick hadn't looked for hard evidence.  But there was one thing he did know and that was he had to get Gil up and to bed.  Easier said than done.  Drunks were notoriously difficult to move.

It had to be done.  Nick went to his room to change into some casual gear, a tee and some sweats and then came down to start his onerous task.

Nothing had changed; Gil was in the same position and still snoring and the sound was beginning to seriously irritate Nick.

He sat down on the couch beside Gil and shook him.  Nothing.   He shook him harder.  Still nothing.  So Nick tried moving Gil and as he'd suspected he was heavy and it wasn't going to work.  Perhaps he should just cover him with a blanket and leave him?

No.   He needed to be on his side in case of vomiting and he needed to stop snoring or Nick would never sleep.  So he had to be woken.

He shook and shouted his name...harder and louder and after several minutes Gil started to emerge.

'Wha...'

'Gil.  Come on, man, wake up.'

'M'wake.'

'Not much you're not, come on.'  He shook him and tried pulling him upright from his sprawled position.  But he was an absolute dead weight.  But he was starting to come around; to realise that Nick was there.

'Nick?  Wanna drink?'

'No, thanks, man.  Come on, you need to get to bed.'

'Nooo...too early...don't go to bed 'til late.'  Gil was slurring his words and he looked around.  'Where's my drink?  I need a drink.'

'I took it in the kitchen I thought you'd had enough?'

'Still remember, Nicky...haven't had enough...'

Gil slumped down and put his head on Nick's shoulder and held onto his waist with one arm and wrapped another one around Nick's own arm below where his head lay on his shoulder.  In seconds he was tangled with Nick and Nick looked own and wondered how on earth he would extricate himself from this predicament.  

***

Nick didn't have any time to consider what to do because Gil started talking...slurring more accurately.

'Nick, I've fucked up badly.  You wouldn't believe how fucking stupid I've been.  God, I hope I'm not married.  The lawyers are sending a private investigator to find out.  I'm paying.  I don't mind paying if it turns out we're not married.  Money well spent. 

'She hates me you know.  Sara hates me.  You know what, Nicky?  I don't blame her.  I deserve to be hated.  I fucked up badly.  All my fault you know.  All my fault.'

Nick thought he'd finished speaking; he hadn't tried to stop him, he thought maybe he'd find out the reason for the divorce.  But Gil had other ideas.  It seemed he'd only stopped to gather his breath because he started up again.

'I wish I was with you, Nicky.'  Nick eyes widened at that remark.  'You're such a good guy. A regular Joe.  Calm and kind.  That's what you are.  You're the kindest person I know.  Bar none.'  He added with a flourish.

'Do you think we should try and get you to bed?'  Nick asked.

'I'm not tired.  I want to talk.  I don't have anyone to talk to.  No one listens to me anymore.'  He sounded particularly sorrowful now.  'She didn't talk and I didn't talk and we didn't talk.  Nick?  Why?  Do you know why?'

'No idea, man.  First I heard was when she came back to the lab.'

'She wouldn't stay with me.  Didn't like Paris.  I'm so unhappy, Nick.  So unhappy...'

And Gil started crying into Nick's shoulder.  Nick rolled his eyes.  He never figured Gil as a morose drunk; come to think of it he'd never considered Gil drunk at all.

'I only ever wanted someone to love and be loved.  Like you.  I wanted to love you.'  Gil continued to sob quite quietly and Nick sat staring ahead. 

What had he meant by that?  Nothing.  He was out of his brain.

'I'm just a sad old man with no one to blame but myself.  It should have been you...'  And without finishing what he was going to say, Gil fell asleep, his head pressed into the front of Nick's shoulder...right over his shotgun scars. It felt a little uncomfortable and Nick eased his arm from under Gil and with a smile he wrapped it around his shoulders and looked at the white hair nestled on his now damp shoulder.

Could he love a guy like Gil Grissom?   Too true, he could.  He kissed his hair, gently, and snuggled Gil a little closer.  A guy can dream...

...Nick was woken up with a sudden shove and wondered for a moment where he was.  He was on the couch and Gil was trying to get to his feet, his hand clamped, ominously, over his mouth.  He got to his feet unsteadily and made a dash for the kitchen.  Nick grinned and hauled himself off the couch to follow Gil; he hadn't entered the kitchen when he heard the retching.

He screwed his face up at the sound of Gil heaving his guts out into the sink and the smell of the whiskey.  There was no food just liquid.  He shook his he head.  He hated vomit.  He could deal with bodies and decomps, anything, but someone vomiting turned his own stomach.

Gil was sweating and tears ran down his face at the exertion.  After a few minutes he stopped and leaned forward on his elbows.

'I'm sorry.  So fucking sorry.  I'm sorry for coming here and disturbing your life.  I'm sorry I married her.  I'm sorry for everything.  All this mess.'

'Can I tell you something else you've going to be sorry for?'

Gil turned an exhausted face towards Nick.  Still drunk he swayed a little.  'What more could there be?'  He sounded disconsolate.

'That motherfucking bitch of a hangover you're going to have in the morning.'

He managed a chuckle but then started retching again...but there was nothing left.  He settled again after a few minutes.  Then he suddenly went rigid.  'Jesus Christ.  What did I say to you?  What did I...'  He turned his head slowly towards Nick.  He remembered.

'You were drunk.'  Nick chuckled and then grinned at the look of horror on Gil's face. 'I forget what you said.'

'If only I could...thank you.'  He sounded as bad as he looked.  'I think I should try and go to bed now.  What do you think?'

'Good thinking, Batman.'

Gil moved through the kitchen holding onto the counter and then the fridge and then the door jamb.  He hesitated in the door way for a few moments and was obviously considering his route to his bedroom.  Getting to the stairs without support appeared to pose a problem.  Nick came up behind him and then pushed into Gil in the door way and put an arm around his waist and started to help him walk to the stairs

'Come on, I'll help.'

'Thanks.'

'I'll get you some water and Tylenol and if you take a couple before you go to sleep it'll help when you wake up.'

'I'm not a drunk.  You do know that don't you?'

'I...don't think you are.'  Nick was joking because he just knew that Gil wouldn't be a drunk,  he was going through a hard time.  But his joke fell flat when Gil teared up again.

'Honestly, Nick, I'm not.'

'I know, I know, I was yanking your chain.  Sorry.'

'I'm sorry.  You know that, I just told you.'

They'd reached the stairs and Nick couldn't walk beside Gil.  He almost manhandled him onto the first stair and put his hand on the rail for him.  'Up you go; I'll be behind you.'

Gil made unsteady progress.  When they got to the bed Gil just sank down onto his back, fully clothed.  Nick removed his shoes and belt.  When he surveyed him he reckoned he'd be warm enough in his clothes since he didn't have the strength to get him under the bedclothes without Gil helping.  Gil looked as if he'd reached the end of his co-operative phase having got up the stairs in the first place.

'I'll get a blanket and the water and Tylenol.   Don't go anywhere.'

Gil did see the funny side of that and giggled.  A few minutes later Nick came back with his supplies to find Gil snoring again, a little more sedately than before.  He had to wake him; besides anything else he was on his back and needed to be persuaded to get onto his side and into the recovery position.

Nick shook him and he roused himself almost immediately wanting to know who was there.

'Me.  Your housemate.  Now sit up, come on sit up.'  Nick used a quite stern tone in his voice and Gil did exactly as he was asked and pushed himself up to a slightly skewwhiff sitting position.

'Drink some water.  Here.'  He held the glass to Gil's mouth and Gil drank some of the water.   'Now open your mouth wide and put your tongue out.'  And Gil did.  Nick was grinning and trying not to laugh as he popped two tablets onto the tongue.  'Okay, now take a mouthful of the water and swallow the tablets.  Make it all better in the morning...'  He knew he was lying.

He made Gil drink the whole glass of water and then manoeuvred him fairly easily onto his side and told him to go to sleep and he'd put a fresh glass of water on his bedside table and as an afterthought said he'd get a bucket for the side of the bed too.  You can't be too careful, thought Nick.    Her ran downstairs, retrieved a small bucket from his laundry room and ran straight back up with it.  Gil was out of it...Nick pulled the blanket up over Gil and decided to leave on a small lamp on the cabinet beside the bed.  He looked down at Gil as he slept his drink induced sleep and wondered about the things he's said.  He shook his head at himself.  The man was drunk not gay.   He left the door open as he left the room so he hear if there was any problem.

Nick was working the night shift the next day so he could fly out to New York first thing, straight from work.  He was going to work on his article into the night so he could sleep later in the day.  The shifts played havoc with his sleep but he was used to it and had quit complaining years ago.

***

Gil woke up with a start and as he moved to get up he was almost paralysed with a thumping pain in his head.  For a moment he wondered what was wrong with him but then he could taste the drink.  And smell it; he felt so sick he was convinced he was going to be sick but he gulped down a few deep breaths and the moment passed.  His throat was raw and it hurt to swallow.  He saw that he was fully dressed except for his belt and shoes and that he was covered with a blanket and there was a bucket and a glass of water.  All self-explanatory.  Nick took care of him.

He reached a very shaky hand towards the water and managed to bring the glass to his lips without spilling the water and greedily drank it down.  He had to get up, he desperately needed to piss.  His head was pounding and he could hardly see straight but he staggered to the bathroom and sighed as he emptied his bladder.  The relief of that alone easing his head.  He groaned when he looked in the mirror as he washed his hands...he'd seen healthier looking corpses.

He got his tooth brush out and brushed his teeth, twice.  He found some mouth wash and tried swilling it around his mouth but that made him retch and he had to spit it out and held onto the sink to recover for a few moments.  Then he stood and took all his clothes off and stepped into the shower.  He shouted out as the cold water hit his warm body, he just hadn't thought to let it warm first.

'Gil...you okay?'  He heard Nick shout out as the water warmed.

Gil opened the shower curtain and nodded sheepishly.  'Completely forgot that the water took time to warm up.'

'No problem.  How's the head?'

'Oh, fine.  Probably not going to explode and or implode for at least another ten minutes.  Did I get you out of bed?  I'm sorry.'  Nick was in a tee and sleep pants.

'That's okay I couldn't sleep anyway, these shift changes...'  Nick suddenly felt embarrassed.  GiI was naked with water streaming down his body and hell, he might be overweight but his cock was impressive.  He swallowed audibly, but Gil wouldn't have heard over the flow of water...over his body.  And that cock.

'Do you want me to make you a drink when I go downstairs?  Herbal tea?'  Gil interrupted Nick's thoughts.

'Oh no.  I'm okay.  Might go get a milk, or something.'

'Not whiskey.'

'No.  Definitely not whiskey.'  The both laughed and Nick turned and left, grateful for an out.  He breathed out as he walked away.  He was reading too much into this situation.  Gil was blind drunk when he said those things to him on the couch.  The guy was het and wasn't about to jump his bones no matter how much Nick would welcome it...now. 

He'd never really imagined Gil as a potential partner; he was too busy trying to please him.  For years.  And now Gil had apologised and admitted that he focussed on the others more than Nick.  He didn't exactly explain why though did he?  Nick thought about that.

He stood at the top of the stairs and decided he would go down and get a drink.  He was sure he had a low calorie chocolate drink of some kind in a cupboard somewhere; he'd used it before to help him get to sleep.  It reminded him of his childhood when he'd had a chocolate drink at bedtime.  He had some real good memories but then he had still been a slave to his sisters.  If he ever mentioned it now they would all reminisce about the things they'd made him do and he ended up being embarrassed all over again.  No, he kept quiet about it now, his thoughts of any payback long since abandoned.

He made the drink and stirred it for a few minutes to make it smooth and let it cool and then wandered back up to his bedroom.  Gil was emerging from the bathroom a towel wrapped around his waist.

'Nick, I think I'll need some more pain killers.'

'Sure, they're in my bathroom.'  He led Gil into his bedroom and disappeared into his bathroom and then came out and gave the box to Gil.  'Here, keep them, your need is greater than mine.'

Gil nodded and then grimaced and held his head.  'I don't do this often, I promise you, but you do forget just how fucking awful it is when you wake up.  I believe you called it a motherfucking bitch of a hangover.  Quite right, I'm afraid'

Nick swallowed hard, Gil still remembered everything.  How come?  He never remembered a thing.  He had a cereal packet glued to his head when he was a frat boy and to this day how that had happened remained a complete mystery to him.

As if he'd read his mind Gil spoke.  'I'm sorry about my pity party last night.  That's what drink does to me.  Not a happy drunk, never have been.'

'No worries, man.  When you feel the need...roll with it.'

'Did I ever say that?'

'Probably.'

'Enjoy your drink and try to rest. I'll get you some breakfast...about six?'

'Yeah, great, thanks.'

And as he left that's when Gil saw it or at least he thinks he saw it because he wasn't wearing his spectacles and his sight could be a bit dodgy especially when he had a bad head, and again, it was only for a split second.  But it certainly looked like it and he knew because he'd had the same magazine.  Instinct.  That's what he thought it was but he wasn't certain that Nick had a gay men's magazine in his bedside table.

As he wondered back to his room he was sure he must be mistaken.  Absolutely sure.

Nick noticed the magazine when he set his drink down.  Had Gil seen it?  He gave no indication that he had and apart from anything else he had a hangover...and he wasn't wearing his glasses and he wore them all the time so he must have fairly poor eyesight.  No, he hadn't seen it, he was confident.  But he must remember to put it away when he left for New York.  He looked at the magazine lying there and put it away in this bedside drawer straight away.  In case he forgot, he told himself.   

He sipped his hot drink for a few minutes and then opened the drawer and put the magazine back where it was.  If Gil came in again, or if he happened to come into the bedroom while he was in New York he'd see it.  Why not?  Why not indeed.  If Gil was gay or even bi, it wouldn't do any harm for him to know that Nick was...that way inclined, too.  Nick finished his drink, lay back down in bed and fell asleep.

***

Gil was downstairs at the kitchen table just sitting there staring blankly into space and regretting every fucking sip of the whiskey.  He'd noticed the bottle, nearly empty, was still on the kitchen counter but he couldn't summon up the bravado to even touch the bottle for fear of vomiting.  He was assaulted with waves of nausea but didn't think he was actually going to be sick.  His head was very slightly better.  He'd tried drinking some orange juice but with one mouthful in his mouth he'd had to spit it out into the sink.  He could not have swallowed it without repercussions.

He was alternating between sipping cold water out of a glass and taking gulps of hot black coffee.  Sweet.  Strong.  It would probably be his salvation.

After half an hour doing nothing but wallowing in self-pity he decided that he should at least try and get better.  He decided on a walk.  There was no way he could jog but a walk would do him good, get some fresh air into his lungs.  There was one serious problem though.  The sun.  The brightness would bore into his skull and it would kill him.  While he knew he was thinking ridiculously childish thoughts he also knew that he was right.  He poured himself another coffee...and when it wasn't hot enough he blasted it for a few seconds in the microwave and then added another spoonful of sugar.  Then he remembered.

He didn't have to search for it, he didn't have enough belongings at Nick's home for it to be difficult to put his hand on it and he found quickly and smiled lovingly at it; his trusty straw sun hat...it'd travelled.  Okay, not particularly well, but it had served him very well over the years despite the derision of his peers.  Maybe, he smirked, because of them.  

So armed with his sunglasses and a bottle of water, wearing his brand new trainers and his blister bandages and his trademark sun hat he set off.  Luckily it was a chilly day; it was winter after all, it was still sunny but there was a cool wind keeping the temperature down.  After a few minutes of picking up the pace Gil realised he was enjoying it, he'd actually made a good decision.  So, it proved he could still do that.  As he strode out thinking how his feet were comfortable in his new shoes despite his blisters his thoughts turned to Nick.

He hadn't seen that magazine; only he had.  He hadn't very nearly confessed his homosexuality to Nick: only he had.  The two things had coalesced in his brain.  He was sure Nick had put his arm around him and might even have kissed him.  That information was in some kind of twilight part of his brain and he was sceptical of his thoughts since he'd drowned in nearly a bottle of whiskey, but he had good recall, he always had, he had no lost times from his college days when he drank heavily on more than a few occasions.  But then it did mean anything other than Nick was a very caring young man.  Youngish.

But then Nick had never mentioned any girlfriends that he could ever remember.  There was that girl who was murdered...but she was a hooker.  It was Warrick who had mentioned the women and it was the girls in the lab who fluttered around Nick and he had heard that he'd sung to Mandy once, but there was no other information that he could think of that referred to Nick and his dating habits.  He flew under the radar even lower than Gil and that was saying something.  Was that, in and of itself, a clue?  Gil was pleased with his deductions and he would now make a concerted effort to be alert to any nuances that Nick displayed that would translate into evidence.

He chuckled.  What an idiot.  What difference would it make?  Nick was young and free; he had no baggage hanging around his neck.  Gil, on the other hand...  Ah well, he thought, it'll give me something to puzzle over.

Gil was maintaining a really good pace and he was pleased with himself.  He drank his water without stopping and was definitely feeling better.  He could even perhaps eat something when he got home.  The thought of food made he feel momentarily queasy, so he shelved that idea.

When he got home he brewed a fresh pot of coffee and spent a couple of hours working before he had to take two more pain killers to kill the insipient headache and decided he would try some dry toast.  It was okay.  He deemed he was on the road to recovery.  He worked some more and for some reason found himself thinking about Warrick's death and how it had changed him.  He sat back in his chair, or Nick's chair, and realised that ultimately the death had caused him to leave the lab and follow Sara.  What a fool he'd been.  Would he have gone after her if Warrick had lived?

Probably not.  He'd been shocked by Sara's departure but at the same time relieved.  The role of man engaged to be married had not sat comfortably on his shoulders and the longer the engagement the colder his feet.  But was he man enough to do or say anything?  Of course not.

So initially he'd thought it was a great escape but then Warrick had got himself killed.  And Sara came back and he'd thought about leaving.  Not quickly, he had given it months of deliberation and actually even gone against Heather's advice that sometimes not making a decision is a decision in itself.

And off he'd flown to the tropical heat of Guyana and found himself at the alter before that old Missionary before he'd even got over his jet lag.  He wondered why he was such an idiot.  He didn't know.  If he'd stayed, for whatever reason, with Nick for just a couple of days before he'd gone swanning off, he'd have known that trying to be happy with Sara was a ridiculous notion.  He wanted a man, not a woman, and Nick would easily have confirmed that by wondering around naked or half naked.

Then a thought struck him and he was embarrassed by it.  After Nick had gone off to work later he thought he would just have a look to see if that magazine was still by his bed.  Of course it would confirm nothing and it was be a gross intrusion of Nick's privacy but even so...no, he couldn't do it after Nick had been so kind to him.

Jesus.  Kind.  That's what he'd said to Nick last night; that he was the kindest man he'd ever known, bar none.  Gil groaned and rubbed his face with his hands knocking his glasses sideways.  He chuckled humourlessly.  Knocked sideways like his life.  He checked his watch, it was time Nick was up and he was cooking his last meal before his vacation to New York. Nick was leaving straight from work in the morning and that very thought struck him with sadness; that he wouldn't be seeing Nick for over five days.

That would give him plenty of time to snoop.  He smirked.  Embarrassed or not he was definitely going to do it...he was an investigator and he had to investigate.

He went to the bottom of the stairs and could hear Nick moving around so started his meal. A breakfast as Nick liked it, but it was far too ambitious for Gil's stomach, so he passed.

Nick came downstairs with his duffel bag and left it by the front door.

'I've given Catherine strict instructions to leave me out of it tonight so I don't get involved in anything.  If I miss that flight my family will come hunt me down...not a pretty sight when they hunt in a pack.'

'Paperwork then?'  Gil guessed correctly.

'You bet.  I swear I do most of it for her...I mean I don't mind that much but I'm only the hired help, she's the boss.'

'I think I may owe you an apology then.'

'You?  Why?'

'Because she did most of my paperwork for me and it sounds like payback.'

Nick thought for a moment. 'You're right.  You owe me big time.'  But he laughed but then became pensive as he continued.  'I sit in your old office and often look at your foetal pig sitting on the shelf and wonder if I'm doing it all right.  You know?  If I should be doing things differently.'

'I told you a long time ago, Nick, it's you, you have to satisfy, not me.'

'Yeah.  You did.  I guess I get by.  Assistant Supervisor.'

'And you know that you're younger than Catherine was when she first held that post?  And I never held it.' 

'I am?  You didn't?'  Nick was trying to remember back.  'You were senior CSI when I arrived.'

'I was never an assistant supervisor, we didn't have them.  That post was created for Catherine to help me out and was then incorporated into all the shifts to provide continuous supervisory cover.'

'Yeah.  I remember.  It was after...after Walter Gordon, and we all came back onto your shift.'

'Yes.'  A wave of nausea hit Gil at the mention of Gordon's name, and it wasn't from the drink.  'I asked Ecklie for us all to get back together and that was the solution; to have Catherine as my assistant.'

'Right.  I didn't realise you'd asked for us back.'

Gil nodded.  'More coffee?'

'Please. Hey, Gil, what are you going to do for New Years?'

'Nothing.  That's usual.  Maybe watch TV, a game on your multi-channelled cable.  How quickly I've become used to that, never been that spoiled for choice over sport before.  I've got work to do; I've got to prepare for the new semester at the Sorbonne.  Finish up some articles...  What's wrong?'  He'd seen Nick look at him with a puzzled expression.

'The Sorbonne?  You're going back to Paris?'  Nick was quite shocked at the revelation, he'd never considered that Gil would be leaving Vegas again.

'Yes.  I start the last semester the first week in February and it runs through until May, then my contract is up.  I thought I'd told you.  I came home...'   He huffed.  '...well, back to Vegas, almost on a whim really.'

'Oh.'

'I thought I'd told you.  I'm sorry.  Look, if you want me to move out I will...I have my money now, I can find a hotel, or motel, hire a car...'

'Man, I said you can stay.  Beside I'm getting used to maid service now.'  Nick grinned but he was feeling almost bereft.  In just a very few days he'd become so used to having Gil in his home, that the thought of him going was like a punch to the gut.  'And, I have to get you fit on a much reduced time scale so be prepared when I'm back for a full scale work out programme.'  His grin more genuine this time.

***

When Nick had gone, Gil sat at the table thinking about the next few days.  He normally did spend New Year alone or, more usually, working.  But now he had the house to himself he was lonely.  And he knew why.  He was lonely for Nick's company and he'd only been gone five minutes.

Nick had done a last minute check and was sure he had all he needed.  He was leaving his truck at the airport and Gil was going by to collect it and use it while he was away and pick him up when he got back.  Gil had asked if there was anything Nick needed doing and Nick had assured him there wasn't.  Gil has already decided that he would clean the house through, although it didn't need it would be a gesture and it would keep Gil busy for at least half a day.  He would only have to fill four and half days.

Nick had left and had, Gil thought, wished him a happy new year a bit awkwardly.  Perhaps he didn't want to leave the house in Gil's hands.  Or maybe he didn't really want to go to New York, Gil didn't know.  Nor did he know whether to shake his hand or give him a fashionable man hug to wish him all the best in the coming year.  It was all such guess work.

The strangest thing was that Gil wouldn't normally have company.  He'd had one New Year's holiday with Sara and they'd been in Guyana, working.  They'd hadn't celebrated.  But this year he would have really like to have spent it with Nick, not doing much, just spending time in his company.  That was all.

Gil didn't go to Nick's bedroom; he resisted the urge since it would be intolerably rude.  The next day he was going to tidy the kitchen, living room and den.  He'd give it the proverbial spring clean three months early.

The next morning Nick texted Gil from the airport and told him the truck was parked in row J, number 26.  Gil called a taxi and was soon collecting the vehicle and driving out on the open road.  It was then that he had the idea.  A ride out to the Canyon, maybe spend a night or two, even New Year at a lodge, if they had a room, and go hiking. 

He booked a cabin online at the Bright Angel Lodge for two nights.  He packed his duffel bag and was just about to leave when he had a thought.  He smirked, dumped his bag by the front door and went back upstairs.  He hesitated momentarily at Nick's bedroom door.  It was shut.  He took a deep breath and opened it and walked inside.  As soon as he stepped inside he could see the magazine on the bedside table and it was exactly what he thought it was...Instinct.   He walked over and looked down at it, it was the December/January issue with Janet Jackson on the cover.  Gil had seen this particular magazine on a magazine rack at Rome airport.

He stood looking at it for a few moments.  It could mean that Nick is a fan of Janet Jackson and that's why he had the magazine on his bedside table.  He'd made no attempt to hide it and if he was a good investigator as Gil knew he was, he would have known that Gil could have seen it when he came into the bedroom for the pain killers.

So the sixty-four thousand dollar question was this: was it a deliberate clue?  Or an oversight; or was Nick just an overzealous Janet Jackson fan?  CDs.  Gil would go and look at his CDs and see if there were any by Janet Jackson.

He closed the bedroom door behind him and walked calmly downstairs, though his heart was thumping in his chest.  He felt he was close to knowing...whatever it was he wanted to know and he had to admit that this little investigation of his was piquing his interest.

Not one. 

As far as he could see there wasn't one Janet Jackson CD.  It was easy to check because Nick had alphabetised his collection.  Gil sighed at the amount of country music that Nick had.  Very little classical.  But Gil was happily surprised to see a number of the old rock bands that Gil still loved.  Dire Straits.  Pink Floyd.  Queen.

So could Gil infer from the evidence so far that Nick might well be gay or bi?  His breath caught in his throat at the very prospect but he quickly beat down any thoughts of himself with Nick.  Nick was twenty years younger and...fit.

After locking up and loading his bag Gil set out for the canyon.  He filled the tank up at the petrol station and then manoeuvred out of the city limits and traffic and onto the open road with surprisingly little traffic.  It was just after one in the afternoon.  He couldn't book in until four but he could still park up and go for a hike for an hour or so before the light failed.  Something to eat and then some preparation because he intended to do as much of the Bright Angel hike as he could manage tomorrow.  No stopping to look for bugs; he was intent on fresh air and exercise, exercise, exercise.

He'd been driving for about twenty minutes when a thought struck him.  Nick was fifteen years younger not twenty.  Did that make a difference?  Would that make a difference if Gil was to...what...make a pass?

The journey passed quickly because Gil was pondering all the avenues he could take.  He booked in at reception and they gave him his key but said he couldn't get in until four.  He was pleasantly surprised that they trusted him to wait.  A rare occurrence these days, he thought.  He parked up quite close to his cabin and then went back to the shop.  He'd spent a few minutes researching before he'd left home.  Nick's home, he reminded himself.

To walk the trail the reviews he'd read had recommended hiring walking poles and he liked the idea.  Not only did they increase your exercise they provided support for walking on rougher terrain.  His new trainers would be adequate for the journey, providing it didn't rain.  But it wasn't forecast so he hoped for the best.  If it did start raining he would return immediately.  He had light clothing but would wear layers; it could get very cold as well as very warm even in December.

He was quite excited by his little adventure; but at the back of his mind all the time was Nick.  Gay?  Not gay?  He didn't know but what he hoped to do for the next two days was to think about how to approach him.  Or, if he actually should.  No, he had to do it, it would be ridiculous not to...but would it be ridiculous to do it?  For every positive thought he thought he had a negative response.  He'd just walked into the shop when his cell buzzed.  A text.  Only Nick was texting him...he hoped.  He stepped outside again and read the message.

'In NY at hotel. Pretty big but not seen the apple yet. Seen plenty of relatives. I had forgotten how noisy they all are. Need ear plugs.  Have a Happy New Year. N.'

Gil laughed at the joke about the Big Apple. He realised that Nick had no idea where he was so he texted back.

'At Bright Angel Lodge in the canyon for two nights. Last minute idea. Will exercise. About to hire walking poles to do as much of the trail tomorrow as I can manage. You are lucky to have a big family enjoy them.  Happy New Year. Gil.'

Gil pressed send and went back into the shop.  He was in the middle of hiring the poles in the near empty shop when his cell buzzed again.  He was dying to see what it said but continued to get the poles and do some shopping for necessities.  He was annoyed at having to buy a new water bottle because he had several of them at his home.  He bought two large water bottles of water and some powdered Gatorade to mix in his water bottle and carb and protein bars recommended by the sales person.  The guy assured Gil he'd have sufficient provisions for the trek but to make sure he had the right clothing and shoes.  He okayed the trainers when Gil told him about them, 'not ideal but they'll do', is what he said.

When he'd completed his purchases he went outside carrying his supplies and retrieved his cell as soon as he could and read the message.  His immediate reaction was to feel warm and happy.  He knew he had a pathetic and stupid grin on his face.

He walked back to Nick's truck and dumped all his purchases and took out the cell again and re-read the message.

'Love my family but I would much rather be with you in the canyon. Jealous that you are hiking the trail.  I love it and have done it three or four times.  Take care and watch out for mule dung though it should not be so bad in winter.  Take provisions and water and wrap up well will be colder than you imagine.  Poles are good.  You should buy some.'

Gil's first thought when he read it was that Nick would love to be with him, but then when he read it again it really was the hike that Nick wanted to do, not be with Gil.  His warm feeling dissipated.  But then he did say, take care and told him to, wrap up.  Nick cared.  But then Nick cared about everyone.

In the matter of five minutes Gil had gone from being acutely optimistic to chronically pessimistic.  Life was cruel.  But he made a decision.  No more pussy-footing around.  As soon as he had the opportunity he's ask Nick if he was gay.  No use beating himself up; might as well find out if he's gay and then see how he feels about...

Gil sighed.  He had been excited about this last minute trip but now he wished he'd stayed at home.  Nick's home, he reminded himself for about the hundredth time.  But he did decide to send another text.

'Wish you here, too, it wouldn't be so lonely.'  But he deleted it and tried again.  'Wish you were here. We could have fun.'  He deleted that one, too.  'Wish you were here. I am sure you would have fun seeing me struggle with the poles.'  He pressed send and waited, and he was rewarded.

'I am proud that you are making the effort to get fit. Got to go to first family get together. I wish I brought the tylenol with me.  If there are any left.'

Gil's spirits soared.  Proud?  He smiled.

'There are two tylenol left. You just need to re-acclimatise. Do not let your sisters order you around.  Stand up to them. :O)'  It was the first time that Gil had ever used a smiley face.

'You should try it; see how far you got. L8r. :O('

Gil laughed.  It was four o'clock, he could go to his cabin.  He settled in and unpacked his clothes and provisions.  He had about two hours of daylight so he decided to walk for about three quarters of an hour in one direction and then come back. He would practise using his poles.  He would eat in the restaurant, and then come back to his room and read one of the books he taken from Nick's shelves.

***

The poles were awkward for the first half an hour or so, but once he'd got into the swing, literally, of using them they did make it easier.  They supported him and made his posture better.  By the time he got back to his cabin it was almost dark and he was ravenously hungry.  He made himself a coffee in his cabin and then showered and shaved.  He wasn't going to shower in the morning before his trail blazing. 

The restaurant was about half full and he had a table by a window, not that he could see much.  It was ironic they were so close to Vegas where the lights could be seen from space to here, where it was so black outside he could see nothing except the low-lights that lit the paths to the cabins and the occasional flicker of some people using flashlights.  He'd bought his own, a good move.

He ate grilled chicken with salad, was easy on the dressing and drank water.  He declined a dessert and felt holier than thou when he walked back to his cabin. He could have breakfast at six, so he would be there on the dot and then get underway.

He had a good breakfast, but kept off fried foodstuff and instead had wholemeal toast, without butter, with tomatoes, a bowl of fruit with yoghurt; he did have one other round of toast because they had his favourite marmalade in a little tub, so he scraped a little butter on and off and layered it with the marmalade and swilled it down with the last of three coffees.  No cream or sugar.  He felt full and was satisfied that his breakfast was right for his task.

At ten minutes to seven he set off.  He'd packed his backpack carefully.  A spare pair of socks and his blister bandages. (He'd made sure the two blisters were properly dressed before he'd put on his socks and trainers.) His drinks and his protein bars and a chicken salad sandwich he'd purchased after breakfast.  His flashlight and his cell...fully charged.

He'd dressed in his jungle attire; lightweight but waterproof and windproof pants and cagoule; cotton tee and long sleeved polo shirt and his lightweight fleece.  He could carry any of his clothing, if need be, in his backpack.  It was neither heavy nor bulky.  He had a fleece beanie and gloves too and as he stepped out of his cabin with his poles at the ready and felt prepared and confident.

Eight hours and forty five minutes later he opened his door and fell inside his cabin with such relief he could have wept.  He had proved one thing.  He was a fucking fool and that was an incontrovertible truth.

Yes, he was fully prepared.  Yes, he had the right equipment.  Yes, he had food and water.  No, he hadn't got the energy or the fitness level for the task he'd set himself.

He threw off as much clothing as he could before collapsing on the bed.  He was about to die, he knew it...as much as he wanted a coffee he was incapable of any more movement.

He sighed deeply at the comfort of the bed for his weary bones and muscles.  His only consolation was that Nick wasn't here to see the train wreck he'd become.

The fault, he decided, was his attacking the trail so vigorously so immediately.  He had his poles.  He had adequate equipment and supplies.  It was his fucking body that was inadequate.  He'd done this at the gym and suffered and he wasn't completely mended from that disaster.  He'd gone at it like a bull in a china shop.  And he'd been fine for about an hour...maybe two, and then the trail had become harder.  The people had thinned out and the stragglers were left behind and still he'd pushed on...and on... 

Maybe if the weather had been hotter he'd have slowed down, but it was cool and he'd stepped out...until suddenly he couldn't step out any more and he slowed and slowed until he was going at a very slow pace and he still kept going down for very nearly another hour...until it suddenly dawned on his pathetic brain that if he was going this slowly downwards how fast could he go back up the trail?  He had his answer immediately once he'd turned around and started the uphill journey back.

For two and a half hours he'd walked down the trail and he was nowhere near the bottom of the canyon.  On the uphill trek he'd taken three half-hour rests to eat and drink but it took a further four and three-quarter hours of walking, on legs made of jello to finally get back to his cabin.

He fell asleep on the bed thinking about his disaster but was woken by his cell phone buzzing.  He sat up with some difficulty and saw that he'd slept for over an hour.  He managed to get to his back pack where he'd dumped it by the door and retrieve his cell.  It was a text from Nick.

'Hope you have finished the trail and it was not too hard. Spare couple of hours before the big party have a happy new year. I guess they'll be a party at the lodge. Do not get drunk. I am not there to take care of you.  N.'

Gil was warmed by the text.  He didn't know if there was a party or not.  He needed to eat so he would have go to the restaurant after he'd showered but he was going to bed early...of that he was absolutely certain.   He texted back to Nick.

'The whole trail was too ambitious for me. I made it about two thirds of the way down but had to come back and it took me a long time. I need to be fitter. Will be in bed long before midnight but you have a great time with your family. G.'

He made himself a coffee and then collected his clothes from the floor and unpacked his backpack.  His cell buzzed again.

'Take it easy tomorrow. Rest up. Pity about your party but then I could do with a good nights sleep. Had to buy a packet of tylenol. N.'

Gil chuckled.  He would be taking it easy; he had no choice but to do so.

'Will definitely take it easy tomorrow I have no choice in the matter with my creaking bones and sore muscles. If you have a couple of hours off you should be resting up yourself in preparation for your party. You should take care of your own health I hope your headaches are manageable. G.' 

Gil knew what it was like to suffer with headaches.  He chuckled somewhat maliciously; his life had been one big fucking headache since he married Sara.  Then he sighed, that was unfair.  It was his own fault.  As he sipped his coffee his cell buzzed yet again.

'I am okay. Just need to catch up on my sleep and have some peace and quiet. Lying on the bed trying to sleep now but cannot. Trouble is I am too set in my ways. I am nearly middle aged. Lol. N.'

Gil did laugh out loud. 'I really did laugh out loud. If YOU are middle aged what does that make me? G.'  The reply was very quick.

'YOU are in your prime. Okay unfit. N.'

Gil laughed again.

'If I am in my prime they you are not even approaching middle age.  I am not only unfit but overweight white haired and I think that is thinning. G.'

There was no immediate response to this text and Gil assumed Nick may have fallen asleep.  He decided to go and shower and see if he could get away without shaving.   He looked at his face in the bathroom mirror.  He actually looked fit and healthy, that was if he ignored the double chin and his thinning hair.  He got into the shower and stood under the hot water as it soothed him.  If he wasn't so hungry he'd really like to go straight to bed.  But he had eaten his rations and there was no food in the room, just the coffee making provisions.

He didn't shave but towelled dry and got dressed immediately otherwise he would have been tempted to get into bed.  When he went back into the bedroom he checked his texts. There was a response.

'Do not sell yourself short. You look good you only need to lose a few pounds. You are just going through a bad patch is all. N.'

And then it just struck Gil like a wet cloth across his face.  They were flirting with each other.  Surely these were not the texts of seemingly macho fuelled heterosexual men.  The overwhelming probability, in his opinion, was that Nick was gay and now Gil wondered if he really could stand a chance.  Even if it was only a very slim chance...

***

Nick lay on his bed in the hotel trying to sleep and failing miserably.  He'd taken two Tylenol half an hour ago, but his headache was still in the background and he was tense.  He'd told Gil that it was a big family gathering.  But he hadn't told him just how big.  Altogether there were forty-one of them here in New York.  That was just close family, but that now included a couple of nieces and nephews with their partners and two grand-nieces.

Nick loved all his family.  He really did.  The problem was that he'd lived away from them for over fifteen years.  And in all of that time he'd lived alone.  In fact, for four years before that he'd lived on his own in Dallas, but then he still within spitting distance of his parents and several of his siblings.

He wasn't the only one who'd flown the coup and lived out of state but he was the only one still living on his own.  And then there was his alternate lifestyle.  Okay, so his parents still fully included him in the family and his sisters were actually all good about it, it was his brother, Dan, and a couple of his brother-in-laws who were not as welcoming as they could be.  But he didn't let them bother him.  He saw them once a year and they kept their distance. They wouldn't dare do or say anything in the presence of his father.

Dad had been incredibly tolerant, for a God-fearing Texan, but Nick could never quite shake off the feeling that he was disappointed.  Nick had never taken a boyfriend back to meet the family and, frankly, he never thought he would.  But there was another side to the story.

Nick had never had a boyfriend whom he would have even considered taking back home.  In point of fact he'd never had a boyfriend for longer than four months two weeks and four days.  And that had been over six years ago.  He was never short of offers and had a fair number of gay friends, some were ex-boyfriends with whom he'd stayed in contact.  His relationships rarely ended acrimoniously and his kind of best friend often tried to set him up with other men.  In truth that was mostly how he got to have any dates.

He supposed Tom was his best friend and he was gay.  They'd dated once back in the day and regardless of that disaster they'd gone on to be the friends they were now.  Tom had tried on so many occasions to set Nick up...and failed...that he'd virtually, but not quite given it up as a bad job.

The main problem in Tom's eyes was that Nick was the most conservative gay man he'd ever met and he'd been around and met quite a few, a great many in fact.  He was certainly the only gay man that Tom had ever encountered anywhere in the world, or so he'd told Nick, who would not have sex on the first date.  It's what gay men did, he still insisted, but he said Nick behaved like a Southern Belle.  He liked to be courted and romanced and there just wasn't anyone out there willing to do that nowadays. They all wanted to immediately test drive!

Tom despaired but did occasionally call Nick and say he'd found the perfect man for him.  Of course the man never was.

What had been bothering Nick...was Gil.  Especially when he'd heard from him that he was in the Canyon and going hiking.  Nick was green eyed with envy.  He would have loved to do that.  But more than that he would have loved to do it with Gil.  On the flight from Vegas to New York he'd thought about Gil between his naps.

He was almost certain that if he wasn't downright gay he was at least bi-sexual.  And Nick could wonder about it and guess and do nothing, or he could come right out and ask.  For Christ's sake he wasn't a blushing virgin.  A Southern Belle.  If he made a fool of himself did it matter?  Gil would move out and anyway he was going back to Paris in January.  Nick decided he would do it as soon as he got back.  He would not prevaricate.  Because in the space of a week he was now crushing like a...like a fucking Southern Belle...over Gil Grissom.  Tom will die laughing when he tells him...or maybe if he told him.

Nick picked up his cell and thought whether or not to text Gil again.  He would.   So they exchanged texts and poor Gil told him of his woes.  It wasn't as bad as it could have been at least he'd made it back to his room.

Nick was worried that Gil would get drunk again, on his own; his self-esteem seemed to be really low.  It was weird thinking Gil Grissom being like that, because Nick had always assumed he would be supremely confident but he wasn't...except about his work.  But what was it they said if you assumed things?  It made an ass out of u and me...

But the one thing that Nick felt more than anything else was lonely.  He was in the midst of his huge family and he was the outsider.  He would really have loved to be with Gil in his room, maybe toast the New Year in and snuggle down in bed together and make love.  That was Nick's idea of heaven.  He decided.  He also knew that if he jerked off his hard-on he'd probably get a little sleep.  He set the alarm on his cell phone and slipped his hand into his boxer briefs.

He was hard and hot and his overwhelming sensation as he pumped himself was of Gil kneeling in front of him with that magnificent cock of his in one hand as he held Nick's hard-on in his other hand.  Nick squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth as he furiously pumped himself with Gil's naked image planted firmly behind his eyes.  In moments he was coming and he let out a rush of air from his lungs as a rush of hot semen filled his hand.

With his sticky hand still clasped around his softening cock Nick fell into a deep sleep and dreamed of being on the Bright Angel trail with Gil and mules...hundreds of mules.  Talking mules with the voices of all his family!

***

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