Title: Tonight, Not Again
Author: geekwriter
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: Pants (or Kenneth if you're prudish)
Summary: It's the middle of the night as far as he's concerned.
A/N: As always, apologies to Jason Mraz for the title.

Previous story in series - Not So Unusal.

Nick woke with a start. His heart was pounding and his breath rang heavy in his ears. It didn't help that he had no idea where he was. The room was pitch black and his bed was tiny. He tried to stretch out and ended up rolling off the bed and landing with a thud on the floor.

He was trying to untwist the blanket around him when he realized that he must still be at Greg's, that he must have fallen asleep on the couch. That explained the total darkness—Greg may not have unpacked, but Nick wasn't surprised that he'd already put up blackout curtains.

His heart was still pounding, though. Something had woken him up. There was dim green light coming from the display on the DVD player. It was a little after ten o'clock in the morning—the middle of the night as far as he and Greg were concerned.

He hadn't been dreaming; something else had woken him. He didn't have to wonder what it was for long, though, when a shaft of light suddenly appeared in the hallway and he saw Greg, shaky and pale, racing towards the bathroom.

Nick freed himself from the afghan Greg had placed over him. It was the one his grandmother had crocheted for him—an ugly mix of brown and orange and green that Greg loved as fiercely as he loved his grandmother. He took the time to lay the afghan gently on the tiny loveseat he'd fallen asleep on before heading towards the bathroom.

He could hear Greg throwing up, but he wasn't surprised. He'd already known that's what the dash to the bathroom had been about. He already knew that's what happened when Greg's dreams were really bad, when the panic took hold.

He didn't say anything as he pushed the bathroom door open. Greg was kneeling in front of the toilet; he reached up and hit the lever as Nick turned the tap on and ran a washcloth beneath the water.

Nick knelt next to him, pressed the damp washcloth to the back of his neck, wiped the sweat off his forehead.

"You don't have to," Greg said. It was obvious to Nick that it took all his energy to even speak.

"I know I don't. I want to."

Greg just nodded. His hands were shaking worse than Nick had ever seen them. He took a deep breath and leaned back, turned and let himself fall so that his back was against the tub.

Nick unfolded the washcloth, folded it again, drew it gently across Greg's forehead and cheeks. "Do you need your meds?"

Greg shook his head.

"Look at me."

Greg lifted his eyes to meet Nick's. "I'll be OK."

He didn't look OK, but Nick didn't argue with him, he just said, "You keep hyperventilating and I'll make you breathe into a paper bag."

Greg's sharp, quick breaths continued.

"You know I'm not bluffing."

Greg nodded and placed his hands flat on his thighs just below the hem of his boxers as he tried to steady his breath.

"I'm getting the bag."

"I'm fine," Greg gasped.

"Bullshit somebody else, Sanders. I ain't buying."

Greg glared at him and Nick tried not to smile. Implying that Greg couldn't do something on his own was always a good way to get him to do it.

"That's more like it," Nick said as Greg's breathing began to slow. "Now, close your eyes."

Greg shook his head. His eyes were still wide and full of fear.

"You're still breathing from the upper chest. Close your eyes."

Greg reached out with a trembling hand, and Nick took it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and Nick was glad to see his stomach rise instead of his shoulders.

"Good," Nick said softly. "That's good. Now another."

Greg took another deep breath from his diaphragm.

"What are you feeling?"

"I'm going to die."

"That's what you're thinking. What are you feeling? You know the list, pick an emotion from it."

"Anxiety."

"Anything else?"

"Fear. I'm going to die, Nick."

"No, you're not. Breathe." He squeezed Greg's hand reassuringly. "Talk to me."

"Anger."

"Good."

Greg's mouth quirked into a smile. "You sound like my therapist."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment. Keep talking."

"Happiness." Greg's eyes fluttered open. "I'm glad you're here."

Nick nodded. "That was a bad one, huh?"

"You say that like it's over." His breath caught in his throat, but Nick watched him straighten his back, concentrate on breathing deeply.

"The worst is over," Nick said. "You haven't had one like this in a long time."

Greg looked away from him, pulled his hand away.

"How many?"

Greg shrugged. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Even with how long and lanky he was, Nick thought he looked so small. He wanted to pull Greg into his arms but he didn't.

"A lot?" Nick asked.

Greg shrugged again. "A few."

"Have you told your doctor?"

"Oh, yeah, I have plenty of time to schedule an appointment in between testifying in court, working a quadruple, and scraping babies off the carpet."

Nick bit back the urge to tell Greg not to snap at him. At least if he was irritated he was distracted from the panic.

"I can't do this job, can I?" Greg asked softly.

"Of course you can."

"No, I can't. I should just take a research position and get it over with."

"You don't want to spend the rest of your life in a lab, let alone a research lab."

"Yeah, I know, but if I don't do that I either stay in the DNA lab and get blown up for good next time, or I do this. I see this. I see what happens when people turn little kids into corpses, into nothing, into meat and bone. I can't—"

"Shhh," Nick whispered. "It's bad right now. I know it is. I've been there. We've all been there. First the triple homicide with the kids in the bathtub, and now this without a break in between? Of course it's getting to you. That doesn't mean you can't do the job, it just means you have to work on letting it go when you're off the clock."

"I don't think I can."

"For someone with an IQ off the charts you're pretty dumb sometimes, man. Of course you can. When in your life have you ever backed down from a challenge?"

"First time for everything." Greg ran his hands over his face, then slid his hand down his chest and pulled his sweat-damp t-shirt away from his skin. "God, you think I'd be dehydrated by now with as much as I've been breaking into the cold sweats."

Nick stood up and picked Greg's toothbrush up off the edge of the sink. He turned on the tap, ran the toothbrush under the water, spread toothpaste across the bristles, then ran it under the water again. He considered the last step to be unnecessary, but that's the way Greg did it—he insisted that the toothpaste had to be wet, too.

"Come on," Nick said. "You know brushing your teeth will make you feel better."

Greg looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't. He stood shakily, had to brace one hand on the sink, but Nick didn't try to help him. He'd just get his hand slapped away if he tried. Greg didn't mind it when Nick took care of him, but he hated being coddled. Nick only knew the difference between the two things because of experience; a lot of times the line wasn't clear to him until Greg drew it.

"I'll get you a dry shirt."

"You don't have to."

"Bedroom's just down the hall, right?"

Greg just nodded, then began to brush his teeth.

Greg's bedroom was small, crowded with cardboard boxes along two walls. The only furniture was a box spring and mattress on the floor and a plastic crate turned on its side and used as a makeshift nightstand. Nick sat on the edge of Greg's bed, reached his hand out to touch the dark blue sheets that were damp with Greg's sweat. He turned a picked up an amber bottle from the nightstand, held it in his palm as he read the information on it.

It wasn't the old, battered prescription bottle that Nick was used to, with a peeling label and old pills turning to powder in the bottom. This bottle was new—had been filled only two weeks before according to the date beneath the…Nick pursed his lips. Greg had obviously seen his doctor some time, since she'd switched him from Valium to Xanax. Nick wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

When he heard the water running in the bathroom, Nick realized Greg must be rinsing and that he'd wonder what had taken Nick so long. He set the bottle back down and stood quickly, looking around for another t-shirt to bring Greg.

He found an open box half full of clothes and dug through it before he found one of Greg's favorite shirts. It was light blue and extremely soft, since it had been washed so many times. It had the logo of Greg's high school chess club on the front, "Sanders" across the back in iron-on letters. Nick grinned as he headed towards the bathroom. He'd never once seen Greg wear the t-shirt in public, but he wore it nearly every time he got sick or wanted to mope around the house.

When he walked into the bathroom, Greg was bracing himself up on the edge of the sink and breathing quick and shallow.

"Hey," Nick murmured. "I leave you alone for five minutes and you let your guard down?"

"It's a sneaky bastard. Slipped past my defenses," Greg said. He was trying to be upbeat, but Nick heard the fear in his voice.

He stepped forward and rubbed the small of Greg's back. "It's just an aftershock. Breathe through it."

"Fuck breathing."

"Fine. Hold your breath. See if I c—"

Greg turned and wrapped his arms around Nick's waist, pressed his face to his chest.

Nick took a deep breath and hesitated before putting his arms around Greg's shoulders. "Breathe."

"I hate breathing."

Nick smiled. If Greg could bitch at him, it wasn't that bad. He rubbed Greg's back gently, let his cheek rest against the top of Greg's head. He closed his eyes, felt the ache of longing, the pain of holding Greg so close and still being so far away.

Greg took a shaky breath, shivered a little bit.

"You're doing good," Nick murmured, turning so that his nose was nestled into the soft spikes of Greg's hair.

"I hate it when you say that."

"No, you don't."

Greg shook his head. "No, I don't." He hummed softly as he relaxed against Nick's chest. They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other, swaying gently as Greg's breathing slowed.

"Knew you could do it," Nick whispered as he smoothed the tense muscles in Greg's back.

Greg looked up at him and Nick lifted his hand, suddenly aware of what it must seem like. "I wasn't…" he whispered.

"I know," Greg said quickly.

"I mean, it's not like I was thinking that we'd—"

"We could."

Nick took a deep breath.

"I mean, if you want to," Greg whispered. "It wouldn't be…we could just…"

"I don't want to—"

Greg pulled back and looked away from him. "Oh. That's cool. I mean—"

"Greg," Nick said softly. "I don't want to take advantage. That's all." He placed his hand back where it had been and stroked Greg's skin through his t-shirt.

Greg looked up at him through thick black eyelashes and, damn, Nick had never been able to resist Greg's bedroom eyes. "I'm a big boy, Nick," he said as he leaned further into Nick's embrace. "I can take care of myself."

Nick couldn't say anything in response because Greg's mouth was against his, his tongue cool and tasting of mint.

After a moment Greg pulled back a fraction of an inch. Their lips were still touching. "Come to bed," he whispered.

Nick nodded. "Yes."

"Yeah?" Greg sounded almost surprised.

Nick slid his hands up until his fingers were in Greg's hair. "Yeah," he whispered.

They stumbled a bit on the way to Greg's bedroom, but the steps of their dance were familiar and came back to Nick quickly. He skimmed Greg's shirt up and let it fall to the floor, kissed him hard as he cradled Greg's head in his hands.

"Too many," Greg murmured between kisses, which was his way of telling Nick to get naked. He tugged at the sleeve of Nick's shirt. "Off."

Nick didn't argue with him and was nearly undressed when his legs hit the edge of the bed, Greg's forward momentum knocking him off balance. They landed on the bed still kissing and groping, Greg tugging Nick's pants and boxer briefs off impatiently, then shucking his own boxers.

"Fuck," Greg whispered as their bodies lined up.

Nick groaned in agreement and arched up against him, his hands sliding over the flat planes and soft curves of skin he'd missed so much. He tipped his head down, then brought it up so their mouths were together again, and he held Greg close, kissed him frantic and sloppy, whimpered into his mouth.

Greg nodded and pressed his face against Nick's neck, sucked on the spot that drove Nick insane, the angle where his neck and shoulder met. He gripped Greg's hips hard and ground up against him. Greg shuddered and clung to Nick's shoulders, rocked desperately back against him, and when Nick felt the first pulse of wet heat against his stomach he was coming, too, holding Greg tight, his cries matching Greg's soft moans.

It took him a few minutes to catch his breath, and then he laughed softly and reached up to stroke Greg's hair. "Missed that," he whispered.

When Greg didn't respond Nick tipped his head and grinned when he saw that Greg was fast asleep. He shifted slightly so the majority of Greg's weight was on the bed instead of his chest, then reached out to turn off the light.

Next story in series - No Doubling Back