Title: Let It Ride
By: geekwriter
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG
Summary: Post-ep for "Viva Las Vegas".

Nick drops his keys in the tray on the kitchen counter where he always puts them and reaches out to touch Greg's back. He moves towards him, watches as Greg pours himself a cup of coffee and he's going to say something about how Greg shouldn't beat himself up. He's going to say that Grissom's a great investigator but a bad teacher, that he lost his temper not because of what Greg did but because he gets frustrated when everyone doesn't automatically know as much as he does. He's going to remind Greg that Grissom's true colors came through when he gave Greg a second chance—he cares about his team even if he does come across like an asshole sometimes.

He's going to say a lot, but when Greg turns to face him he forgets it all and takes a step back because he can actually feel a chill run through his body. He's never seen the look in Greg's eyes before. It's not disappointment or sorrow or even frustration. The look in Greg's eyes is murder, absolute fury, and he pushes past Nick without a word. He leaves his coffee half-poured on the counter and when he slams the bedroom door the force of it shakes the walls.

Nick's halfway to the bedroom when Greg yanks the door back open, tosses a pillow and a blanket into the hall, then slams the door shut again. Nick squats down to pick the pillow up and oh, hell no. He is not sleeping on the couch when he doesn't even know why.

He can't think of a single thing he did wrong. And it's not like Greg's overly sensitive; he's not the type to get his panties in a twist about something small, so Nick knows whatever it is he's pissed about, it's huge. Nick knows for a fact he didn't sleep with anyone else or talk shit behind Greg's back, and those are the only things he can think of that would make Greg so angry.

"Greg?" he knocks on the door. He tries the knob. It's locked, but it's not like it's high security. He can pick it with a paperclip if he has to. "Greg?" He knocks again.

Greg rips the door open and glares at Nick with an expression so deadly Nick actually feels guilty even though he hasn't done anything.

"What's going on?" Nick asks.

Greg laughs at that, only it's not an amused laugh. It's more of an I can't believe you have the nerve to even ask that kind of laugh.

"I'm clueless here, G," Nick says. "I mean, yeah, I know you're upset with how your evaluation turned out, and it sucks that you have to find somebody else to work the lab, too, but—"

"Upset?" Greg asks. And he's still pissed, but at least he's talking. "You know that I'm upset?"

Nick sighs. "Look, it happens, all right? I worked with the Dallas Lab for almost an entire year before I got my level one certification and—"

And, oh, here come Greg's fists. Nick's pretty sure Greg has no idea how much they actually hurt since he's not a violent guy; he just uses his hands to emphasize his words, even if it means slamming them against Nick's body. "It happens?" he asks, his fist connecting with Nick's upper arm. "You're telling me that it just happens? That's your big excuse?"

Nick grabs his wrists. "My big excuse for what, Greg? I'm still in the dark here. What the fuck did I do?"

Greg pulls away from him. "You bet against me," he whispers. "You bet that I wouldn't make it in the field."

Nick sighs. "No, I didn't. I wouldn't do that, baby, you know I wouldn't do that."

"I saw you," Greg snaps, and, oh, there are the fists again. "I saw you and Warrick, I saw it with my own eyes and—"

"Damn, Greg, will you stop?" Nick demands, grabbing Greg's wrists again. "That hurts."

"Good."

"I didn't bet against you, you little freak," Nick murmurs. "I bet against Chandra."

Greg raises one eyebrow, waiting for Nick to continue.

"Warrick said he was impressed with her, I said I wasn't," he says. "I mean, she wouldn't even shake my hand because it was a little dirty. That right there let me know she wasn't going to hack it, not to mention the way she rattled off her qualifications like they were supposed to impress me. I don't care what perfectly organized research labs she's worked at. You know better than anybody the sheer volume of DNA evidence that comes in every night, the fact that she'd have to do twenty things at once—not to mention helping out with trace and any overflow from other shifts. She just wasn't going to cut it."

Greg's shoulders slump and he leans forward into Nick's embrace. "I was so close," he whispers against Nick's shoulder.

Nick holds him tight, slides his fingers through Greg's oddly spotted hair that he's pretty sure is Greg's way of silently protesting Nick's buzz cut. "You're going to make it," he murmurs, rubbing Greg's back with one hand. "I know you will. You'd better. I've got $100 riding on it."

Greg laughs softly, but it's partially a sob. "I'm sorry."

Nick sighs. Maybe he should be angry that Greg assumed he'd bet against him, but he's not. He knows it's more about Greg being angry with himself for screwing up, for compromising the crime scene and for picking a bad replacement for himself in the lab.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Nick whispers. He kisses the top of Greg's head, kisses his temple. "And it won't be long before you start to interview the next prospective lab techs."

Greg groans and pulls away, then flops down on their bed and covers his face with his hands. "Chandra was the best," he moans. "Nobody else even came close."

"Oh paper, maybe," Nick says, stretching out next to him. "But, really, you're the best tech at the fastest paced lab in the country, and how do you look on paper?"

"Damn good."

Nick laughs and nuzzles his face against Greg's arm. "Now, because you've got five years of experience in the second-highest rated lab in the country and papers and presentations, but what did you look like when you applied?"

Greg sighs. "Like everybody else, I guess. Masters from Berkeley, two years with SFPD, nothing major."

"So how'd you beat out 100 other DNA specialists with decades of experience on you?"

Greg sighs and thinks for a moment. "I don't know," he admits. "Brass interviewed me. And intimidated the hell out of me, I should add."

Nick laughs softly.

"And then Grissom came into Brass' office to take my blood and Catherine came in ranting about overtime and how she needed time off because Lindsay had chicken pox and just as I was getting to the part about my internship you and Warrick came in arguing about the assignments Brass had given you and he screamed at you about how he was the boss, not you, and you could quit if you had a problem with that. And Grissom finished taking my blood and gave me chocolate covered grasshoppers and a soda and said that he wanted to know if I could do an autosomal multiplex."

"And what did you say?"

Greg shrugs. "Well, it's pretty basic. I said I could do it in my sleep, and then I showed him, and that was it."

"You weren't freaked out by all the chaos?"

"It's not like it was all that crazy. I mean, there have been nights in the lab that were way crazier than that."

Nick props himself up on an elbow and leans over Greg so he can kiss him gently. "I think we just discovered why you got the job."

"So what am I supposed to do? Plan each interview around the lab's craziest times?"

Nick shrugs. "Or at least ask more questions about how they work under pressure—let them know just how fast paced it is."

"And then I'll be out of a job because we'll have a new DNA tech and I'll fuck up another scene."

"You won't," Nick says. "You've got what it takes."

Greg rolls his eyes.

"Repeat after me. Silk, silk, silk."

Greg looks over at him, unamused.

"I mean it. Silk, silk, silk."

"Silk, silk, silk," Greg says dryly.

"What do cows drink?"

"Baby cows or adult cows?"

Nick can't help but roll his eyes. "See, I knew you'd say something like that."

"Well, it was an ambiguous question, since baby cows drink milk but adult cows drink water. Although, I guess baby cows are calves and the word cow automatically denotes an adult female. What does that have to do with making it in the field?"

Nick kisses him gently. "I don't know, but for some reason Grissom seems to think being able to give the right answer is directly related to being successful as a CSI. You'll do fine, baby, I promise."

They're silent for a long while as they lay there together, resting from a far too hectic day. Finally, Greg asks, "Who bet against me?"

"Hmm?" Nick is half asleep.

"You said you had $100 riding on me making it in the field. Who says I won't make it? Warrick? Sara?"

"Hodges," Nick mumbles. "He was the only one willing to take the bet."

Greg smiles at that and kicks his shoes off before turning and curling up against Nick on top of the covers, neither one of them either bothering to get undressed before they fall asleep.