Title: Lucy, You Got Some 'Splainin' To Do
Author: Jennie
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: FRT
Category: First time, humor
Archive: If you wish
Feedback: badly needed on this, my first try at G/N
Authors Web Site: http://www.fhsarchive.com/jennie/
Series/Sequel: Getting To Know You series/ sequel to Drinks
Disclaimers: Not my characters, no copyright infringement intended
Authors Notes: Still no beta. You have been warned
Spoilers: None so far
Summary: Greg gets outed.
Warnings: none

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not ashamed of my sexuality. After all, I've had about 16 years to come to terms with it. But. It's always been my policy to keep quiet on the subject when I fall in love with a straight frat boy.

Specially one who carries a gun.

Not that I make a habit of doing anything so foolish. I'd chalked my feelings up to temporary insanity and waited for my marbles to return to their rightful place.

After chancing a glance at his face - his suspicious expression tells me that not only is he well on his way to figuring things out on his own, he's not happy with the conclusion he's drawn.

"Well?" Damn, Nick can sound fierce when he wants to.

"Another pitcher, guys?" The chipper waitress asked, nearly giving me a heart attack with her sudden appearance at our table.

"Yeah," Nick answered. "And a couple of shots of tequila."

"I don't drink teq-"

"They're both for me." Not good. Not good in any way.

She nods and heads over to the bar. Soon as she's out of earshot, Nick fixes me with a demanding stare. "I'm waiting, Greg."

Waiting? *Waiting*? Let me tell you about waiting, Nicky. Five years I've been waiting for a chance to at least test the waters of your heterosexuality. Five *years*! Hoping that every time you drape yourself along my back to peer over my shoulder at some test result. Hoping that those killer smiles of yours mean more when directed at me. Dreaming, night after night, that you suddenly see *me*. That you realize how I feel. And return those feelings...

"What feelings?"

Dear God! Please don't let me have said that aloud.

"What feelings, G?"

Were it possible for a man to die of embarrassment, I'd have expired at that very moment. No such luck, though. Not for Greg Sanders.

Head tilted to one side, Nick watched me expectantly.

"I'm gay," I finally blurted out. Well, the words were actually squeaked, but let's not get caught up in details.

Nick does a really good 'well, duh' look. "Pretty much figured that one out on my own, G."

"And I'm kinda in love with you." In for a penny, in for a pound. If death was imminent - and it seemed likely to happen at any moment - I was damn sure not going to my grave without ever having said it.

"Kinda?"

I met his eyes directly. "I'm definitely in love with you, Nick. Not that I expect anything from you... I just wanted to say it once."

The waitress retuned, setting a pitcher of beer and two shot glasses on the table. "Enjoy!" she said with entirely too much cheer. Couldn't the stupid woman see that my life was over?

After filling our glasses and placing one of the shots in front of me, Nick cleared his throat and lifted his tequila to his lips. And paused, watching me expectantly.

"Told you, I don't drink tequila."

"You do today, Greggo."

Well. No arguing with that. So I picked up my own shot and downed it with a grimace. Damn, that shit is awful. Worse than awful. Battery acid would be an improvement.

"You trying to kill me?" I gasped. "A bullet would be faster and less painful."

He grinned. A very evil grin. "I wouldn't kill you, G. I just-"

"Hey guys." Warrick. With that outstanding woman on his arm. "We're gonna take off."

Bad news. Warrick was my ride. "Can you drop me back at the shop?" I asked weakly.

"Naw, don't worry about it, Rick," Nick offered with that evil grin. "I'll see that he gets back to his car."

I was still searching for an excuse to turn down that very generous and *very* scary offer when Warrick nodded his thanks and escorted his lady towards the door.

"Nick... I, um, I have to get going. Now."

"But we're not done talking yet." Where the hell had he learned that damned smile? The one that told me that my days - hours - *minutes* - were limited. A cop thing, I decided.

"I need another shot," he announced. "So do you. Put a little color back in your cheeks."

"I don't need color in my cheeks. My cheeks are just fine."

"Hmmm. You're a tad bit pale there, G." And he waved the waitress over.

"Nick! I really, really want to leave now."

Eyebrows raised, he studied me for a moment. "Okay," he agreed. "This probably isn't the best place to talk. We'll go back to my place."

Right. Because he wouldn't want any witnesses around while he beat me to death...

***