Title: Maybe, Baby
By: cynevie
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Summary: One of them will break. It's just a matter of time, and who first. Spoilers for Grave Danger. Additional warning since this is my first try at N/G angst which promises to be a borderline crap-fest. part of challenge for ngchallenge@livejournal.

***

He sits in front of their cupboard and inhales the scent of washing powder, fabric softener, and mothballs. Greg's side of the cupboard is a riot of colors, textures, and emotions. It is the oddest thing for him, but it has never failed to ground him, that he is still here despite feeling like he is slowly losing his mind.

He hears Greg walking towards him, all shampoo and soap and aftershave. He feels Greg sit behind him. He feels Greg's forehead against his back, warm and heavy and reassuring. He hears Greg whispering, and the words melt together through the fabric against his skin, swirling in the air, and they sound like a very long sigh put together. He sees Greg's fingers interlaced across his belly, sees the long sleeves and the black fabric. He traces the angry red lines swirling against the darkest black he has ever seen.

Greg expresses his feelings with the clothes he wears, even more so than he does in speech or gesture.

And Greg is crying, because Nick can't. Greg's tears hot against his back, soaking his shirt and onto his skin. It runs deep, almost as if it tries too hard to seep through his pores and infiltrate his blood vessels. Nick concentrates on the black and red fabric, on the fingers pressed against his stomach, on the tears burning trails on his back. He sees the black of Greg's desperation, unable to see what is going on in Nick's head, unable to help, watching helplessly as Nick spirals down into his own little madness. And Greg's frustration, because Greg tries very hard not to be dragged along.

Talk to me, Nick, Greg would say to him as they lay next to each other in bed. Together in bed, but they might be a million miles apart and still be closer. Greg would plead for him to let him in, and Greg would cry, because Nick couldn't. Greg would wear his softest and warmest wools because they could no longer touch each other, could no longer warm each other. A madman tore them apart, a little box in a dark place.

We have to go to work, Greg whispers against his back. Because work takes his mind off things. He turns around to watch Greg sit up. Greg who is pale and broken, like he is.

Nick sits back down, and presses his back against the cool wood of the cupboard. There is a shirt folded on Greg's bedside table - a shirt of all the colors there can ever be, a shirt Greg hopes to wear one day, again.

---

We'll talk later, Nick promises. But Greg nods slightly and smiles bitterly. And Nick can't kid himself that he's going to talk. It is a litany that he repeats every day, and another promise that he will break. Nick will find himself sitting in front of the cupboard again, and Greg will dress himself in the plainer and darker clothes. It will continue day after day, until maybe one of them breaks.

***

Huh. Just my fucking luck today, Greg thinks as the paramedics wheels him into the ambulance, and for the second time today he hitches a ride with strangers. The paramedic closest to him, Truehouse, fiddles with his IV, and the other one, Morris, is doing whatever she is doing. Great ass, by the way. These are strangers, he knows them by their last name and by how they look.

They are strangers, a name to go with a face, who cares about sick people on a professional basis. Greg is sure that there's a line somewhere in the Hippocratic creed that says treat all patients like they are dead, or something. Perfectly professional, ignoring all Greg's come-ons and winks. Then again, Greg thinks, he probably looks like a dead person. He feels like he's dead, or should be dead.

Nick is a stranger too, nowadays. A name to go with a face. The man who happens to sleep next to him in bed, who happens to live with him, and the man who happens to drive him into work today because Greg's shit of a car died the other night. Nick is a stranger. Greg knows that somehow Nick still cares for him - like crying softly in the bathroom or staying silently awake when he's supposed to be asleep, trying to keep Greg from noticing. But bullshit anyway, and Nick knows Greg knows. And if that makes Nick feels shittier, then Greg is halfway content, because Greg feels like shit too.

Greg knows that Nick still cares for him, because Nick took a bullet for Greg. But Greg is blaming Nick anyway. Nick took a bullet for Greg, but it didn't stop Greg getting shot the second time round. And all this shouldn't have happened if they weren't arguing, over small things. Small things that turned into big things because nerves were frayed and patience ran thin. Grissom would have shot them himself if they weren't shot already.

And now Grissom is two CSI short, just when Vegas crime rate is on 'fucking great' levels. Greg bets his limited edition LPs that Grissom will tear them a new one once he and Nick recovers from their bullet wounds.

Nick and Greg. Shot. Not exactly the 'in sickness and health, till death do us part' that Greg had in mind. Nick promised that they'd sit down and talk about this problem Nick's been having and about letting Greg in. That's not going to happen.

---

Greg wakes up in the hospital. He likes hospitals, because it smells like his lab, and he feels at home. Home used to smell like Nick's buffalo wings and Greg's coffee. The really great coffee that Greg keeps at home and not share with the million other people in the breakroom. Home used to smell like that organic fabric softener that his aunt sends him and post-coital delights. But all of those reminds him of the nice things that he used to share with Nick, a reminder of what he might have lost.

Work takes his mind off things. The lab coat his defense against the world, and as long as he wears it, Nick is neatly compartmentalized. Nick the colleague, the consummate professional who treats all like they are dead is easier to contend with than Nick the lover. Who is, by the way, sleeping next to him.

Nick. Greg whispers. But Nick is either asleep or faking sleep. Nick, wake up... But Nick doesn't even move a muscle. Greg is happy because Nick is finally sleeping soundly. But Greg wants to wake him up, he wants to throw the bedpan at Nick and wake him up. Nick needs to wake up and talk. Because Nick thinks that by keeping quiet the problems will tide over and everything will go back to normal.

But Greg doesn't believe it, because whatever is killing Nick from the inside is killing Greg too.

"You're awake?" the nurse surprised him.

"Wha'?"

"You are awake," the male nurse said. Well, duh. Greg wants to say, but he's tired and bone-weary and the good stuff isn't fully out of his system yet. But he wonders whether when he sleeps it will be the last, and he wonders whether he'll wake up. Because he's tired and he doesn't know whether he can go through this again.

"Yeah."

The handsome hunk of a nurse smiles, fiddles with the lines leading into various parts of his body, and pats his good shoulder. "We gave your clothes to your colleagues outside. I think they have designs on it."

"Okay." There will be a bullet hole. And there's a big possibility that it will make its way to the lab as evidence. Cut into pieces. And it's his favorite mourning shirt too.

Greg looks at Nick who is still sleeping. The nurse prattles in the background and Greg ignores him. Greg looks at Nick and wills him to wake up. Greg wants Nick to wake up, to talk; for them to resolve this problem. Because Greg is running out of mourning clothes, and because this can't continue forever.

But Greg knows it is futile. They will talk some day. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after. Maybe never. But until then Nick will continue on his private suffering and Greg will buy more mourning clothes. This will continue to happen day after day, until Greg has no more money left, until retail therapy won't appease his depression, or until maybe one of them breaks.

***

Greg tries. He really does, and Nick wants to give up pretending and wake up. But waking up means facing up to reality and he's not sure whether he's ready to do it yet. Not because he's afraid, Nick tries to tell himself, but he's not so sure about the outcome. The last thing he needs is uncertainty and a future without form. Nick hears Greg trying to wake him up, and Nick knows that Greg would have slapped him awake if he could. But Greg is confined to the hospital bed, just like Nick.

"Nick," Greg's voice is hoarse from calling out. "Please, you can't sleep forever, you know. You've gotta wake up sometime." Greg is insistent, and Nick gives him that. Greg is one of the most bullheaded person Nick has ever met. Not that it's immediately apparent. But it is there, underneath the 'devil-may-care' attitude Greg often displays. And Greg's putting it into good use too. Nick knows Greg is not going to stop until Nick wakes up. Greg will call out until he has no voice left, and even then Nick knows that Greg will still find a way to try and get Nick to talk.

"Nick, come on. I know you're awake."

---

"Come on! I know you're awake!" Greg pushed Nick off the bed and onto the hardwood floor below. And if Greg's shrill voice didn't wake him up, the sharp knock to the upside of his head made sure he did.

Greg had dragged him out to the California,away from Vegas ("Beaches, Nick. Not bitches," Greg told him). Greg had successfully blackmailed one of his buddies to lend them the beach hut for the weekend. He swore that Nick would learn how to surf like a good and proper surfer-dude boyfriend. Warrick, bless his gambling heart, had a book on whether Nick'd survive the experience, on how soon Grissom would need to make a preemptive hire, and how many.

"Come on!" Greg pulled at his arm, and Nick could feel his joints yielding. Maybe if he could fake a sprain... "The waves're perfect!"

But Greg was so radiant like that, as Nick watched Greg potter around the room trying to find Nick's brand new wetsuit. The morning sun filtered through the window and tiny specks of dust floated around like tiny specks of illuminated gold. Greg let out a small grunt as he ripped the shrink wrap off and extricated the suit. Nick smiled as Greg 'hah'-ed under his breath.

"What are you smiling at?" Greg said, as he threw the suit at his face. "Quick!" Greg chuckled to himself as he bounded out of the room.

---

Nick remembers the better days, when life is uncomplicated. He remember the days when every crime can be treated as a scientific excursion of law enforcement. It is always easy to analyze a crime, when it is not inflicted upon oneself. And now, he is flat on his back in a room painted white, sandwiched between white sheets, and a throbbing gun wound. Nick is a crime scene personified. Twice over, in fact.

"Damnit!" Greg exclaims. Nick can hear a fist being slammed into the mattress, and small curse from Greg's lips. "The rate I'm going, it's easier to get a rock to talk than getting you to fucking wake up and smell the damn antiseptic."

There is a stony silence in the room, as Nick listens to Greg trying to control his breathing. Nick knows that sound, because he's heard it a lot of times before. The sound Greg makes when he tries to hold tears and frustration at bay. The clock on the far wall ticks patiently, detached and unerring. And Nick can only try and keep his breathing level and his eyes closed. He isn't quite ready. Not yet. Not when he's still analyzing himself.

The door creaks softly and he can hear Greg clearing his throat.

"Good morning, Mr Sanders." Nick hears the nurse and the small trolley being pushed across the floor. "Here's your breakfast. And your friend's, too. He's not awake yet, is he?"

"Thanks," Greg answers, and offers nothing more.

"Oh! What do we have here?" the nurse murmurs. Nick thinks that the nurse sounds like one of his elderly neighbor. The one who treats eveybody under the age of twenty as her grandchild. "Your IV's came off. And you're bleeding, you poor boy. I thought you know better than to yank the IV."

Nick feels guilty because he knows exactly why Greg is bleeding. And Greg is under no illusion of who should take the blame. There is a hint of venom and resignation as Greg sighs and tells the nurse to "ask rockface over there."

---

"Over there!" Greg shouted above the roar of crashing waves. They dragged their tired bodies and surf boards over across the sand and toward what Nick thought as a fairly odd rock formation.

"Isn't this fun?!" Greg sighed as they collapsed onto the sand below them.

"Huh. I ache in places I never knew existed," Nick huffed and stared at the overhanging rock above his head and hoped that it wouldn't just fall over his head.

"But it's fun, right?!" Greg asked, as he turned to his side and propped his head on one arm.

"Like high-adrenalin suicide," Nick said.

The sun dipped lower, and Nick watched the skies turned red, orange, and magenta. The rocks around them turned a slight blue-grey hue and their shadows danced on the sand, disturbed by the wind.

"I like these rocks," Greg said. "They're old, you know. 'Been here for ages."

And Nick could only squirm deeper into the sand and let the sounds carry him. He felt the most calming fatigue. His eyelids grew heavy and everything around him blurred into mahogany-tinted shadows on his pupils. He listened to the sea and to Greg's voice, uncharacteristically melancholic.

"Yeah, when I was little, I wanted to be like the rocks. 'Cuz they're old, you know. Been around longer than humans. And that's cool in my book. Live long, live strong, that kinda thing. But now I don't want to be a rock so much anymore, because rocks fade, erosion and all. Yeah. Rocks might be around for ages, but they'll disappear one day, turn into sand and whatnot. So, now I want to be the sea. Because the sea is strong. Stronger than the rock and 's been 'round these parts longer than rocks, and 'll still be here even when the rocks disappear." Greg paused and poked at Nick's ribs. "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?"

Nick could only grunt and tried to shake himself into coherency. "Huh? Something about rocks and seas?"

And Greg laughed and lifted himself of the ground. Greg nudged Nick's side and slid underneath one arm. He rested his head over Nick's heart and snuggled deeper.

Nick could hear Greg's breathing, rising above the waves. Nick could feel Greg's lingering touches, skimming over his wetsuit. Nick could hear Greg's voice reverberating across tired muscles and flowing through his veins.

Greg chuckled and said, "Yeah. Rocks and seas. Remember that, Nicky baby. I'm the sea." Greg traced small, lazy circles on Nick's stomach. "I'll always be there for you, stronger than anything you've ever seen. And if you need me to chip away at any problems, however hard it seems at first, I'm your man. 'Cuz I'm the sea. Well. I want to be like the sea."

"And you can trust me that I'll be a real sea one day," Greg said as he lifted his head to look into Nick's eyes, "And you'll be the shore I'll always return to."

---

The nurse leaves and the door clicks behind her, and Nick gathers his courage to peel his eyes open. He feels the grit that makes his eyelids stick together, crackles. He can hear his voice crackle, barely a whisper.

"Greg?"





If the sun or the moon should give way to doubt, they would immediately go out. One swallow doesn't make a summer, but tomorrow has to start somewhere.

***

Greg senses Nick's stirring rather than hearing or seeing it. He turns his head, just in time to see Nick's lips moving and a sound floating across the short space of floor and air between them.

"Hey," Greg greets Nick who seems to have a hard time peeling his eyes open.

"Greg," Nick blinks once, twice, and a third time and Greg chuckles. To watch Nick battle sleepiness is one of his favorite pastime. Greg doesn't do it very often (beaten to the alarm clock by Nick, most of the time). But that makes him appreciate how special such occasions are.

"Yeah. Welcome back to the land of living," Greg says, and winces when he sounds like a frog with laryngitis.

"Been back for a while now. Just... uh..." Nick replies, "you know. I don't know what..."

"I know," Greg tells him, and points at the food trolley next to Nick's bed. "Wanna eat? Food's actually quite good." Greg knows that Nick isn't ready yet, might never be ready yet and he wonders when Nick will talk, if at all. Isn't this getting old? Greg thinks. Nick is eyeing the food warily. Nick eyes everything warily these days, even Greg, and Greg doesn't even know what he's done wrong to earn it.

Greg waits for Nick to make some sort of gesture, a movement, or make a noise of some kind. Greg needs something to anchor his words to, because he needs to have a conversation to get rid of the oppressive silence he's been since he woke up. Greg thinks that he'll be able to take any scrap of hope of conversation that Nick is willing to give him.

It may be the weather (that usually works), but Greg thinks that they're not going to talk about the weather, because they haven't seen the outside world yet. The curtains are drawn shut in an anally-retentive way, not even allowing a single shaft of light through. So, maybe not the weather then. It could be raining hell-fire out there and they wouldn't know.

Maybe they'll talk about hospital food. But that too seems unlikely as Nick pushes the food trolley aside with a small snort of disgust. Nick leans back down and sighs. Greg waits a little bit more, and decides.

"Okay. I'll bite," Greg says and Nick turns to face him.

"Bite what?" Nick is distracted, Greg knows. This isn't Nick playing along some 'knock-knock' game. This isn't Nick. Is he?

"You, hopefully," Greg baits and earns a scowl from Nick. "Like's that ever going to happen," Greg amends, "at least not in the near future. Come to think of it, we haven't been doing anything fun for quite a while."

"Yes we have," Nick counters. "We went to that pizza place you liked just a week ago. And there's the club, and the jazz lounge, and that porn store that you adore."

"We went, Nick. Going does not mean having fun. In fact, it is anything but fun."

"I seem to remember you scarfing down the biggest pizza they can offer," Nick ventures.

"Yeah, 'cause you wouldn't eat! I finished it all because you wouldn't eat. Couldn't eat. No waste of food and all that! And I don't even like that topping!" Greg remembers ordering the biggest pizza with Nick's favorite topping as a last ditch effort to get Nick to cheer up. His Tante Else told him once that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. That didn't work, obviously.

"And what about at the club, Greg? You seem to have a good time there." And Greg thinks that Nick has lost his mind, or maybe Greg has lost his grip over reality. Over Nick.

"A good time? You call being groped by half the club, a good time?"

"I know what I saw, Greg." And Greg thinks if Nick is going to blame him on this one too.

"What did you see? Did you see me fried out of my mind because it's the first time in so many years that I have no choice but to fall back on psychotropic substances again? Or did you see me touching other people because I can't touch you anymore? Because you wouldn't let me touch you? What do you want me to say? I'm sorry I touch boys under your nose?" Greg won't cry, because he's done enough crying over the past weeks, but damn it. " 'Cause I'm sayin' it now. I'm sorry."

Nick looks at him, but his eyes give nothing away, and Greg doesn't know what else to say. Fuck! "And I didn't even like them. Too young. I was barely this side of paedophilia."

Greg wants Nick to react, but so far his prayers have been falling back to earth. "You know, Gris pulled me aside the other day. Asked me what is wrong with you. Asked me to fix you. 'Cause they're afraid to ask you."

I know Nick is strong, Grissom told him. But we don't want to pressure him too much.

"They're afraid to ask you, 'cause they're afraid you're going to snap and go crazy. Your lady shrink told them to act normal but carefully. Apparently the emphasis is more on 'careful' than on 'normal'." And they think that Greg can fix Nick. "Well, you're not the only one going crazy. I might just pip you to the post on that one." Greg sighs in frustration, but there is a lone twitch just above Nick's eyebrow, and Greg can see blue veins snaking and pulsating up Nick's neck. The ones he likes to lick when they're having fun in bed.

Which might never happen anymore, because Greg opens mouth and lets foot in. Greg thinks he should be more patient than this, because Greg knows how hard it can be. Greg thinks he needs to apologize to Nick. Greg hopes that Nick will forgive him.

"Am I crowding you, Nick?" Because Greg knows what it feels like to have people hovering around him like a hummingbird. Because Greg wants to hear from Nick and make sure that he gets the message loud and clear. He is tired with whatifs and hopes and dreams, and needs to be told.

And Nick looks at him with so much compassion, that makes his heart clench a little bit more. Nick looks at him with so much care and tenderness, like Greg's the one who is suffering the aftermath of a terrible ordeal. And that knowledge is crushing.

"I should've said something," Nick tells him in a measured tone, low and deep and soothing.

"I should've been more patient," Greg counters.

"You have been patient," Nick smiles and Greg thinks that maybe there's something left for him to take away. "Because in that short span of time I... You know, at first I was quietly confident that you'd come and find me. That I trust in you and the others to come and find me, and I keep telling myself that. I laid still on my back and listened to the silence and told myself that. But..." Nick chuckles sadly, and Greg wants to tell him to stop talking, because talking hurts Nick and Greg's done enough damage, but Nick wants to talk and Greg can only hope that they'll both emerge from this alive.

"...But funny how emotions progressed," Nick continues and Greg doesn't know where they're going. "From confidence to desperation. Fear is a frightful thing, and it eats from the inside. And for the first time there's a mortal fear. Then there's resignation. I told myself to accept it, if this is fate. People die in different ways, I told myself, and it so happened that I was about to die like that. And then there's indifference, like I didn't care anymore. Because I thought I've got nothing to lose anymore." But then they came and rescued him.

Because now Nick has to live with the memory of what it was like to die. "It's weird, huh? I should really be thankful that I'm still alive. But I made this decision, you know, like handing over my life and accept death. And have it thrown back at me. Like it's not sufficient offering, or something." Because Greg knows that Nick is proud of who he is, and Nick is aware of what he is worth. To be rejected like that, Greg thinks. And Greg wants to cross the small space between them and touch Nick and tell him that everything is all right. But Greg isn't sure what is right and what is wrong, because he's been very wrong.

Nick inhales loudly, shoulders slumped, face pale, gaunt and weary. Greg wants to tell Nick to stop talking because Greg knows how mentally draining it can be. But Nick beats him to speech, "But, it's not about 'insufficient offering' anymore." Nick smiles at Greg and Greg thinks that he should know what this means, but he doesn't.

Nick must've seen the confusion in Greg's face and laughs tiredly, "I realize that it's not about 'insufficient suffering'. But most importantly, it's not my life to give away anymore."

"What do you mean?" Because Greg is useless when it comes to deep, philosophizing conversations.

"My life is not mine to give away anymore, 'cause you own half of it." Nick tells him and smiles. And Greg falls in love all over again.

"What?" I'm hallucinating, Greg thinks.

Nick chuckles, "You heard right. You own half of my life. It's right there on the lease. It's a joint ownership."

"What lease?" Greg answers. Confused, puzzled, bewildered. "Never heard about it. How come I've never seen it?"

"It's the lease of my life, Greg. It's signed and sealed, and legal tender in the afterworld. I think, that's probably why they send me back. 'Cause you haven't signed the release form yet."

"Okay," Greg looks at Nick and thinks that he might be dreaming, or maybe Nick's finally lost it. "Okay, let's just say there's this lease, how come I've never seen it, can't remember signing it, and where is it?"

"It's in my heart, and I signed it over to you the day I fell in love with you."

Greg stares at Nick for what feels like the longest time and laughs. "I love you, too. I wish I'm not hooked up to all these tubes and wires so I can hug you..."

And Nick laughs with him, laughs out so loud until he cries his first tears since that day. "I can wait."

---

They watch the ceiling together. Nurses came and went, friends from work came and went, and they're finally left alone.

"Greg," Nick calls.

"Yeah?"

"Did you know what I was thinking before I woke up this morning?" Nick asks, eyes still firmly fixed to the ceiling.

"No, I don't. As much as I love you, I haven't quite find out how to establish a psychic link with you yet."

"I was thinking about the sea."

"I was supposed to be the sea for you." Greg feels inadequate. He is supposed to be strong for Nick, because he promised to. Greg thinks how easy it is to make promises when the world seems all right. Greg wonders how many times he's broken his promises. "I'm not a very good sea, am I?"

"No, you're not," Nick tells him. "But you said yourself, you're still learning. And I am your shore, remember?"

"Yeah."

"You learn to be a good sea, and I'll learn to be a good shore," Nick replies. "I'll learn to open up to you and not shut you out whenever you come to me."

"And I'll learn to step back and not crowd you so much." Greg feels the need to smile.

"But promise you'll come back to me."

"No rock is going to stop me, that's for sure," Greg chuckles. "I told you once, and I'll tell you again. You're the shore I'll always come back to. 'Cause we're destined to be together, forever."

"Forever," Nick repeats. "Forever. Yeah, I like that."

And Greg knows that there's going to be a lot of talking to come yet, before they can go back to normal again. Only that Greg doesn't believe they'll ever be normal again. But then again, who needs normal, when they can have forever.




That nothing grows on, but time still goes on. And through each life of misery, everybody's got a hold on hope. It's the last thing that's holding me.

***