Title: Leather Guy
Author:podga
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Nick Stokes
Rating: R
Warning: Spoilers for Season 5 "What's Eating Gilbert Grissom?" (Just in case you're worse off than me and haven't even made it to that episode yet.)
Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me and I don't make money off of them
Summary: Established relationship. In trying to make Gil feel better, Nick finally feels better himself.

No matter how much reading I've done on the subject, no matter how many times I've seen it (and I'm lucky it hasn't been that many) I never get over it. How normal serial killers look. You expect them to look different, evil, but they never do. And no matter what the evidence tells you, you almost can't believe it's them when you finally catch up with them.

I can't help wondering why Kevin Greer just turned himself in. And although I'm thankful he committed suicide and saved us the trouble and the expense, not to mention the possibility that he might have actually gotten off, I wish he'd stuck around more in order to explain why. Not for me. This is one time I don't need to know why. But for Gil.

"Why are you taking this so personally?"

He looks at me, his expression shuttered.

"I'm not," he responds finally, then goes back to his book. I've invited myself over, thinking that if I'm there, he might open up, but it's not looking that way. Gil seems engrossed in his reading, lounging comfortably on the couch, while I've taken a post on the armchair opposite from him. I try a different tack.

"Why do you think he turned himself in? He went 15 years without killing anyone. He could have just vanished into thin air."

Gil just turns a page and keeps on reading. "Maybe he didn't want to go on without a soul mate any more," he says absent-mindedly. Suddenly he looks up at me, his eyes bright and hot, and I realize that maybe we're not talking about Greer any more. I look away first, not knowing what to say.

Gil puts his book down next to him and crosses his arms across his chest. I can sense he's still studying me.

"Do I look like a leather guy to you?" he asks suddenly.

"Wh-what?"

"The clerk at the Erotica Boutique. He said he'd have taken me for a leather guy. Do I look like a leather guy to you?"

I know Gil is changing the subject. I also know that no matter how hard I try, I won't get him to talk about something he doesn't want to talk about. Besides, this new topic is pretty tempting.

"Well…" I pretend to study him for a while. Offhand, it's hard to imagine anybody looking less like a ‘leather guy' than Gil at this moment, in his soft shirt, slacks and socks, his glasses half-way down his nose. "I don't know. Take your glasses off."

Gil grins at me, but doesn't move. "Leather guys all have good eyesight?"

"Maybe not," I concede. "OK, take off your shirt then."

He still doesn't move. "You know, maybe he didn't mean that I wear leather myself. Maybe he meant that I like to see others in leather. Are you into leather, Nick?" he says huskily.

I'm not. All the same, I have this sudden image of myself in one of Lady's Heather's rooms, Gil standing over me. A curling heat starts low in my belly.

"Well, you have this leather jacket I wouldn't mind borrowing," I say jokingly. I hope my voice doesn't sound as breathless to him as it does to me.

Looks like it's a standoff. Until Gil reaches one hand down and deliberately readjusts himself, then starts stroking himself lazily through his pants. God. I'm not sure who just lost, but I'm guessing it's me.

"Why don't you come over here and let me do that for you?"

His eyes are half-closed. "I don't think so," he says.

Oh, for Pete's sake. "Gil. Don't do this." I say angrily.

He stops, re-crosses his arms and focuses on me.

"What is it?" he asks.

Don't shut me out. Don't make everything a battle of wills between us.

"Nothing," I mutter.

"Nick." He waits until I look at him. "Why are you here?"

"What do you mean?"

He shrugs. "Over the past few weeks I can't think of one time we've been together when you haven't ended up angry at me. So, why are you here?"

Because we're in a relationship, I want to shout at him. Because I want to be with you. Because I keep on hoping that you'll show me that I'm important to you. Shit. I'll sound like a lovelorn 14 year old girl if I say any of that.

"I thought you might want me here," I prevaricate.

"I do. You know I do," he says firmly.

I'm frustrated. Does he really not understand or is he pretending not to? I'm too big a coward to try and find out. So I just sit there, frowning into space.

He gets up and comes to sit on the coffee table in front of me, his hands resting on the arms of my seat.

"I know what you want, Nick," he says quietly. "I understand."

I look at him startled, wondering for a second if I spoke out loud before.

"I love you. I want us to be together. But this is who I am. Don't expect more."

"People change," I murmur childishly, ignoring the fact that this is the 3rd time he's ever said he loves me in so many words. Not that I'm counting.

"Maybe so. Have you changed?"

It's not me that's the problem, I want to shoot back, but then something stops me. Because he's right. I haven't changed at all. I'm still looking for him to tell me what he expects of me, so that I can fulfill his expectations. I'm afraid of disappointing him, even though, in our personal lives, he's never given me any sign that I've ever done so. Even now.

He reaches out and caresses my cheek with the back of his fingers.

"Nicky. Stop tying yourself in knots. Stop second-guessing everything I say or do. It's not about how I feel about you," he says gently. He pauses for a second, as if searching for the right words, then just shrugs and sits back, looking down at his hands.

I've been so tense around him for so long, that when I start to relax I don't immediately recognize the feeling. But I can't help testing him one more time.

"Greer. Why did you take it so personally?"

He sighs. "Because he outsmarted me until the very end. And because Jim was right two years ago. No matter how good we are, sometimes it's better to be lucky."

He looks at me, as if challenging me to somehow make him feel differently, now that I know. I can think of a lot of things to say, but I realize they're not what he wants or needs.

"To tell you the truth, Gil," I finally say, "I'm not even really sure what a leather guy is."

He bursts out laughing. And hours later, after we've made love, he starts laughing again. Lying next to him in the darkness, hearing his joy, I smile, and I wonder how I could have ever doubted him or myself or what we have together.