Title: New Life
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: CSI and its characters do not belong to me. I write and post for fun only.
Summary: Some background and a sequel to “Don't Come Back”. Gil’s POV.

“When are you leaving?”

“Sometime before Thanksgiving. Classes start right after New Year and I need to prepare my lectures. Look for a place to stay.”

“Uh huh.”

“Why don’t you take some days off and come with me? We could spend Thanksgiving together.”

“Visit Ellis Island and the Empire State building? I don’t think so. I doubt I could get the time off, anyway.”

“Nick. I don’t want this to be goodbye.”

Nick shrugged. “Doesn’t look like we have much choice, does it?” he asked coldly.

“Are you angry?”

“Do I sound angry?”

Gil hesitated. “No. You sound like you don’t care.”

“There you have it, then.”

“I tried, Nick. You know I tried.” And he had. But the longer Nick and he were together, the more difficult it became to read Nick. It seemed like once Gil stopped fighting them, Nick started, and there was nothing Gil could do to change that. Every time Gil thought they were growing closer, Nick would pull back, and Gil could never figure out why that was, so he couldn’t fix it. Eventually he came to understand that Nick didn’t actually want to take things any further, but that he also didn’t want to hurt Gil’s feelings by saying so. It was going to have to be up to Gil to break them up.

Nick’s expression softened. “I know.”

For a split second Gil thought he saw regret in Nick’s eyes. I don’t have to go, he wanted to say. We can try again. But then Nick turned away and the moment was lost.

“You’ve never really fought for anything, have you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Catherine sighed. “Nothing. Forget it.”

For about a second he considered doing so. He had enough on his plate without trying to decipher Catherine’s enigmatic statements. But the unfairness of the question irritated him.

“I’ve fought for everything I have.”

She shook her head. “No. You just let things happen to you and if you don’t like them, you walk away.”

“That’s horseshit.”

“Is it? Tell me one thing you fought for. One.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you. After all these years, you should know me better.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Anyway, good luck in New York. Send us a postcard.” She turned on her heel and walked out of his office, mumbling something. Gil could have sworn that it was “But you won’t.”

And she turned out to be right about that. He hadn’t.

His last few days in Vegas, Gil stayed in a hotel. He’d already sold his place and the movers were storing his stuff until he found an apartment in New York. Hank had found a new home with a retired sergeant from the LVPD. All Gil’s goodbyes, such as they were, had already been said. He’d even attended his going-away party, which turned out to be every bit as strained as he’d always imagined it would be. Nick had been working a case and hadn’t been there, which was maybe for the best.

On his last night, he toyed with the idea of driving over to Calville Bay for some fried calamari, but he couldn’t work up the energy or the appetite. In truth, he wished he was already on his way to New York. At least he’d be doing something, instead of lying on his bed in his underwear, watching TV and waiting for morning to come.

The phone rang and he picked it up, half-convinced that it was another guest ringing the wrong room.

“Dr. Grissom? There’s a Mr. Nick Stokes here to see you.”

“Who?” he blurted.

“Mr. Nick Stokes,” the receptionist repeated. “May I send him up?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He hurriedly pulled on his clothes and then stood by the door anxiously, his heart slamming against his chest, trying to quash all the little fantasies springing up as to why Nick was there. It seemed to take forever until Nick knocked. Gil had to wipe his palm in order to turn the knob and pull the door open.

“Hey, Gil,” Nick said, smiling a little.

“Hey.”

It was only when Nick raised his eyebrows questioningly that Gil remember to back away from the entrance so that Nick could come in.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your send-off.”

Gil shrugged. “No problem.”

“I wanted to be there. I just couldn’t get away.”

“No problem,” Gil repeated awkwardly. “I understand.”

Nick took a deep breath. “So, I guess this is it, then.”

“Yeah.”

“Gil… I just wanted to thank you—”

“Stop it, Nick,” Gil interrupted harshly. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want Nick treating him as if there had never been anything between them.

Nick shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said after a while, and Gil didn’t know if he was apologizing for the past moment or for everything else. Either way, it was clear that Nick had come to say goodbye.

When Nick hugged him, he didn’t return the embrace. He just stood there, until Nick let him go and walked out of the room. Until it was too late.

Distance and time have a way of healing things. It took a while before Gil got used to his new life, a lot longer before he started enjoying it. One hot and muggy Sunday afternoon in August, while walking in the deserted city, he realized that he wasn’t responsible for anybody but himself, and it felt good. Not having to deal with the aftermath of violence, cruelty, neglect or just plain stupidity on a daily basis felt even better. Looking back, he couldn’t understand how he’d let himself get sucked into that previous life, how he’d ignored how miserable he’d been.

Through it all, he missed Nick. Mostly it felt like a dull ache, but sometimes, when he wasn’t careful, it turned into a sharp pain. Too often he’d see somebody on the street that he’d mistake for Nick and in that brief moment before realizing his error, he’d feel a burst of joy. More and more he began to think of contacting Nick again. He could send an e-mail and Nick could answer or not. He must have composed fifty notes, but they never ended up right, either saying too much, or too little, or the wrong thing entirely, so he never sent them.

And then, one afternoon, he realized that this time he wasn’t mistaken: this time, the dark-haired man standing in front of the library really was Nick.

Finally, finally, Nick kisses him. It starts out gentle, almost hesitant, but as he responds, the kiss turns hard and hungry. He arches up against Nick, trying to free his arms, but Nick tightens his grip and lowers his head to kiss Gil’s throat. Gil moans and arches up against Nick again.

Nick lifts his head. His pupils are dilated and there’s a flush burning along his cheekbones. He lets go of Gil’s arms and braces himself against the couch, trying to get up. Gil grabs hold of Nick’s hips, pinning Nick’s body to his own.

“No,” he mutters. “No.”

“Gil, we need to stop,” Nick says hoarsely.

“Fuck that,” Gil says roughly. “We haven’t even started.”

He twists his body, so that Nick and he roll off the couch onto the floor and now it’s Gil that’s on top and in control. He grinds his hips into Nick’s and Nick bucks up against him. Almost violently Gil kisses Nick again, one hand tangling in Nick’s hair so that Nick can’t move his head, his other blindly searching for Nick’s belt, undoing the buckle. He can’t tell if Nick is fighting him or helping him, and he doesn’t care. He undoes Nick’s waistband and shoves his hand underneath, feeling Nick’s warm belly against his palm.

“Don’t tell me to stop,” he groans against Nick’s mouth and kisses him again, and he feels Nick’s hands slide under his shirt and on the bare skin of his back.

“You’ve changed,” Nick says, threading his fingers through Gil’s hair and tugging lightly at a damp curl.

“Have I?” Gil asks drowsily. He rubs his cheek against Nick’s shoulder and kisses the small hollow formed by Nick’s clavicle.

“Your ass is skinnier.”

Gil smiles. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Maybe. It still feels good, though.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome.”

Gil props himself up on his elbow and looks down at Nick, trying to read his expression.

“Nicky, you won’t regret this, will you?”

“Depends on how the carpet burn on my knees will feel tomorrow,” Nick says lightly, but his eyes avoid Gil’s.

“I’m serious.”

“I don’t want to have a serious discussion right now. Just let it be.”

He doesn’t want to let it be, but he knows better than to push Nick, so he changes the subject.

“I have to get up early tomorrow. Nine o’clock class.”

“I guess you’d better go to bed then.”

“Yeah.” He hesitates for a second. “Come with me?”

Nick sits up and scoots around until his back is against the couch. “I’m not really tired yet. I think I’ll just watch some TV.”

“OK.” Gil stands up and walks to the bedroom. “If you’re asleep tomorrow, I won’t wake you before I leave. There’s a spare key in the top desk drawer in your room, if you want to go out before I come back.”

“Thanks.”

Gil lies on his bed, a cold knot of fear at the pit of his stomach. He knows he blew it, probably repeatedly. He rolls over and thumps his pillow, trying to get more comfortable. Out of habit, he didn’t close the bedroom door, and he can see the flickering shadows and hear the muted sound of the TV in the living room. He falls asleep wondering what Nick is thinking about.

Like always, he wakes up a few seconds before the radio clicks on and lies with his eyes closed, trying to hang onto a dream of Nick being there with him. He only realizes it’s not a dream when he feels the bed move and hears Nick mutter “Turn that fucking thing off.” He complies and rolls over to find Nick blearily staring at him.

“Good morning,” he says cautiously.

“Have you ever actually tried sleeping on the pull-out sofa bed?” Nick asks him in an aggrieved tone.

“Uh, no, I can’t say that I have.”

“It’s a fucking torture instrument.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They look at each other and Gil can’t help the grin pulling at his mouth.

“It’s not funny.”

Gil laughs. “No, I guess not.”

Nick closes his eyes and after looking at him for a while longer, Gil reluctantly gets up.

“Hey, Gil?”

“Yes?”

“What time are you through with classes?”

“Around noon.”

“Maybe we can grab lunch together?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Nick’s eyes are still closed. “Have you been to Ellis Island yet?”

“No.”

“OK, good,” Nick mumbles, drifting back into sleep.

After classes that morning, his students will comment that Dr. Grissom was uncommonly cheerful.