Title: Maslow’s Hierarchy
Author: podga
Pairing: Nick/OMC, Gil/Nick
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: CSI and its characters do not belong to me. I write and post for fun only.
Summary: Aftermath of the events in “Stalker”. Sequel to Tell Me. Series 5.

“Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs?”

Nick stretches carefully against the back of the couch, the dull ache in his ribs flaring into sharp pain for a couple of seconds. He wishes Brian would sit down. Or at least stop pacing back and forth, and stand still for a couple of seconds. “Yeah.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard that one.”

“Sure you have. You know. Physiological, safety, belonging…” His voice peters out at the flash of resentment in Brian’s eyes. He clears his throat. “Anyway. Grissom said it was about Crane himself, not me.”

“Uh huh,” Brian says distractedly. He continues pacing.

“Brian.”

Brian finally comes to a standstill at the far end of the living room, his back to Nick. He turns his head a little as if to listen, but Nick can feel the tension radiating from him.

“It was good of you to come,” Nick says.

He hopes that Brian will turn around at that, make one of his off-hand jokes, but Brian only nods, as if in acknowledgement.

“I’m okay,” Nick says. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Brian finally turns around, but he still doesn’t meet Nick’s eyes, his head bent as if he’s studying his own shoes.

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” Nick repeats. He’s not quite sure why it seems so important to establish this fact. Maybe because it’s the only thing that seems to have gotten through to Brian in the half hour or so that since he arrived.

Brian digs his hands into his pockets, balling them into fists.

“Have you seen the tapes?” he asks finally, his voice low and gruff.

Nick shakes his head but realizes that Brian doesn’t see the gesture. “No.”

“Am I…? A-are we…?”

“I don’t know.”

Brian shifts his weight from one foot to the other, glances at Nick quickly, then starts pacing again.

“Brian,” Nick tries again, but it doesn’t work this time. He gets up and places himself in Brian’s path, forcing him to stop and look at him. “Probably,” he says, meeting the stormy gray eyes unflinchingly.

“So everybody will know.”

“Probably. Not everybody, but yeah. A lot of people.”

“Don’t you care?”

Nick shrugs. “I had a gun held to my head and I’m still alive. I could be dead. So, no, considering the alternative, not really.”

Brian shakes his head and turns away. “That’s fucked up, man,” he mutters. “That’s really fucked up.”

“Is it? I don’t think so.”

“I thought you were like me. You didn’t want to be outed.”

“No. But it’s not the end of the world. It’s who we are. Maybe it’s better this way.”

As he says it, he realizes that he doesn’t really mean it. He hasn’t had to face his team yet, and he hasn’t had time to think of how they’ll react. He determinedly pushes away the images that suddenly flash through his mind, the smirks of some people in the lab, the discomfort in the faces of others when they look at him and know that he isn’t who he’s pretended to be, maybe even the disgust.

“Anyway, it’s happened. We can’t turn back the clock.”

Brian swings around. “Who’s ‘we’?” he asks hotly. “This happened to you, not me! I just got dragged into it.”

The unexpectedness and unfairness of the attack stun Nick and his first instinct is to yell back, and he tries to control it by inhaling deeply. The breath is cut short at the stab of pain in his ribs. He’s often heard the expression ‘see red’ but he’s never experienced it. Not until now, when everything seems covered by a red haze. “Fuck you,” he finally says softly. “Fuck. You.”

Brian’s eyes suddenly glitter with tears. “And fuck you, too,” he says thickly, brushing at his eyes angrily with the back of his hand. “This isn’t what I signed up for.”

“Great. So get lost then. Fuck off.”

Brian doesn’t respond. He seems to hesitate momentarily at the door, then opens it and slams it shut behind him.

Nick simply stands for a long time, trying to breathe shallowly against the pain in his ribs and the heaviness in his chest. When he knows he won’t cry, he numbly goes to the kitchen, takes a painkiller with a glass of water and goes to bed, falling thankfully into a deep and dreamless sleep.

 

The sound of the alarm clock is familiar, yet somehow wrong, and it takes him a couple of seconds to realize that it’s actually the doorbell, not the clock. He lies in the dark, feeling woozy and disoriented, hoping that whoever it is will go away. Unless it’s Brian. Especially if it’s Brian.

The doorbell sounds again, and is quickly followed by a fist thumping on the door. He hears somebody calling his name, then the thumping again.

“Alright, alright,” he mutters grouchily, even though he knows that whoever it is can’t hear him. He sits up stiffly, his ribs hurting worse than before, then pulls on a pair of sweatpants, and walks unsteadily towards the entrance. By this time he’s awake enough and close enough to recognize the voice.

“What?” he asks aggressively, swinging the door open.

Grissom had his fist raised to bang on the door again. He unhurriedly lowers it and nods calmly in greeting.

“Nick. May I come in?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Nick backs away, letting Grissom through, then shuts the door behind him. “What’s up?”

Grissom doesn’t respond directly. He gestures towards Nick’s taped ribs. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m supposed to be resting,” Nick says ungraciously.

“Well, I won’t keep you for long. I just wanted to give you these.”

Grissom hands Nick a paper bag, the kind they use for larger evidence. Nick looks into it curiously and sees five tapes.

“Wh-?” he starts to ask, then stops, because he suddenly knows exactly what they are. He stares dumbly into the bag, then up at Grissom, his face hot.

“I thought you’d prefer that others don’t see these,” Grissom says.

“I… A-aren’t they evidence?”

“Nothing probative. We’ve got enough on Crane. We don’t need these.”

Nick looks into the bag again, as if the tapes will somehow provide him with the answers to what he wants to know.

“The very last tape, the one everybody saw, was pretty short and you were always alone. Maybe Crane was starting to try and block out that there was somebody else in your life. Only Archy saw these, and he stopped once he realized. He brought them to me. He had to explain, so that I could agree to pull them from evidence.” Grissom’s voice is gentle.

“I… I don’t know what to say. Except… Thank you, Grissom.”

“You’re welcome.”

Grissom moves for the door, and instinctively Nick reaches out to stop him.

“Griss. These… These don’t change anything, do they?”

Grissom doesn’t answer immediately and his hesitation says it all for Nick. His fists ball on the bag, causing it to rustle.

“Only if you want them to,” Grissom says unexpectedly.

“I don’t,” Nick rushes to say, but he’s finding it hard to meet Grissom’s unwavering eyes.

“Why?” Grissom asks mildly. “I understand why you wouldn’t want anybody to see these, but the rest, who you are… Why?”

Nick shakes his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“You think so?” Grissom’s lips tilt in a grim half-smile, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “You think I don’t understand prejudice? Lack of acceptance?”

“No. I mean, yes, of course you do, but…”

“I’ve never seen you as a coward,” Grissom interrupts.

“Yeah? Well, I guess I am.” Nick tries to keep the bitterness out of his voice. For longer than he can remember he’s wanted Grissom to… well, to admire him. He guesses he can finally admit to that dream now that he knows he no longer has any hope of achieving it.

“No. I don’t think you are,” Grissom says firmly. “But maybe you care a little too much about what others think about you.” He shrugs. “Or what those you love may want for you.”

The insight surprises Nick and he gives a short uncomfortable laugh. “Yeah, well you know what they say: No man is an island.” He finds he can finally meet Grissom’s eyes, as another silence stretches between them. It’s not exactly uncomfortable, but he senses a growing tension between them and he waits. And waits.

Grissom seems to shake himself, breaking the mood. “No. No man is an island,” he says, almost in a rush, then looks at his watch. “It’s late. I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks?”

Grissom is almost at the door. “Yes. You’re on medical leave of absence.” He pauses, his hand on the door knob. “Aren’t you?”

“Oh, right. Sorry, for a second there… Sorry.” All of a sudden he feels exhausted. He waves his hand in a kind of vague goodbye, but he doesn’t really want to be alone. Correction: he doesn’t really want Grissom to leave. “In those tapes… Brian? I think we’re through.” He’s appalled with himself at the sudden confession, didn’t even know he was going to make it, but he feels oddly relieved as well.

“Do you? I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. I mean, it wasn’t very serious.”

“No,” Grissom agrees quietly, his hand still on the door knob, but he doesn’t look like he’s anxious to leave, only like he just forgot his hand there or, Nick realizes, like he’s trying to give Nick his space.

“I thought it was for a while. Serious, I mean. Brian was the first time…” His voice peters out. He has that tight pressure in his chest again, and he deliberately breathes in deeply in order to dispel it, even though he knows it will hurt his ribs. “I don’t…” he tries again, a bit breathlessly, but the pressure is choking his voice. He realizes he’s still hanging tightly onto the bag, and he loosens his fingers and lets it drop onto the floor in front of him, his eyes following its short trajectory.

He doesn’t hear Grissom move and he almost jumps when he feels Grissom’s warm hands on his bare shoulders, kneading the tight muscles there. He sighs and shuts his burning eyes, leaning a little into the rough massage, drawing comfort from the contact.

“It’ll be okay, Nick,” Grissom murmurs. “Give it some time. You’ve been through a lot. Crane…”

“It wasn’t about me,” Nick says desperately. “You said so. It wasn’t about me.”

“It wasn’t. That doesn’t mean it didn’t touch you.”

“It’s what you implied.”

Grissom’s hands still momentarily. “What I implied? No. You asked why you, as if you thought Crane choosing you was somehow your fault, and I tried to explain that it wasn’t.” He pauses, drops his hands and takes a step back, away from Nick. “How the hell could you think…” He stops, shutting his eyes, then exhales a short breath through his nose and shakes his head slightly. 

“I’m not that insensitive, you know,” he says finally, his voice tight, but Nick can clearly hear the underlying anger and hurt.

Confused as he is about his feelings, it still gives Nick a sudden sense of power to realize that he can hurt Grissom, even when he doesn’t mean to do so. It only lasts a split second; remorse quickly follows because he knows that Grissom isn’t insensitive. Hell, the fact that he’s here right now, and even more, the reason he’s here, prove it.

“I know. I guess I was a bit…” Nick shrugs, hoping Grissom will understand, and is relieved to see his expression soften a little. “I’m sorry.”

Grissom flicks a glance at his watch again. “It’s late. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Grissom. For bringing the tapes and everything,” Nick says awkwardly.

Grissom opens his mouth as if to say something, then nods and turns away to open the door. Instead of pulling it shut behind him once he’s outside, he turns around to look at Nick.

“Maslow’s Hierarchy isn’t strict, you know. One can achieve esteem and self-actualization without love or bonding. But it’s a pretty damn lonely way to go about it in the long term.”

“What are you saying?”

Grissom suddenly smiles. “You’re a bright guy, Nick. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Nick stares at the closed door for a while, before he realizes that he’s smiling as well. In fact, he’s got a big idiotic grin plastered all over his face. Bonding will do that to you, he thinks, and he laughs out loud, before the pain in his ribs reminds him that laughing maybe isn’t such a good idea. Smiling doesn’t hurt though. Not a bit.