Title: One Good Man
By: geekwriter
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Greg and Nick attend a conference in Greg's hometown of San Francisco.

He'd never been one for the city. Sure, Dallas had been huge, but in a sprawling, suburban way. Even Las Vegas was spread out once you left the strip, and its neighborhoods and abundance of open space let you forget how big the city actually was.

San Francisco wasn't like that. San Francisco was people on top of people, buildings narrow and tall smashed up against other buildings, just as narrow and just as tall, up and down every hill, as far as the eye could see. Not that he could see very far, because even though it was eleven o'clock, and even though it was June, the city was encased in fog.

Nick was disoriented by the fog, by the hills, by the sheer number of people on the streets. He was glad to be with Greg, to tell the truth, glad just to follow blindly as Greg talked a mile a minute, fitting so perfectly into the city that Nick was beginning to see him in a new light.

He'd always thought of Greg as a little weird, and he'd chalked it up to him being cooped up in the lab all day, maybe to years of inhaling God knows what chemicals day in and day out. But there, on the streets of San Francisco, Nick saw that what he'd perceived as weird was merely the stamp of Greg's hometown. Just like Nick's accent pegged him as a Texan, Greg's eccentricities and freedom placed him squarely at home in the most diverse city Nick had ever seen.

As Nick trudged after Greg, up and down the hills towards North Beach, they passed Chinese grandmothers carrying pale red plastic sacks full of unknown goods, teenagers wearing the baggiest jeans Nick had ever seen and tight day-glo tops accessorized with pacifiers, spiky Technicolor hair and, in one case, a gas mask painted light blue with glittery white clouds. A woman in a business suit walked quickly around a circle of hippies playing hacky -sack while waiting for the light to change, and Nick couldn't be exactly sure but he had a suspicion that the tall, beautiful black woman in the red dress was maybe not a woman at all.

Greg didn't seem fazed, didn't even flinch when a homeless guy jumped out of the bushes and yelled, "Raar!" like something out of a B-grade horror movie.

"Didn't scare me," was all Greg said, and he kept walking without missing a beat, continued on with his description of the blocks they were passing as if nothing strange had happened at all.

"Greggo," Nick said, struggling to keep up with Greg's quick pace. He was in shape, sure, but he'd never encountered anything like these hills before, never ending, just as soon as you were up and down one there was another one in front of you even steeper than the last. "Uh, Greggo, did a homeless guy just jump out of the bushes and growl at us?"

"Yeah," Greg said easily, turning and walking backwards up the hill, his hands resting casually in his pockets as he gazed at Nick.

"Why?"

"If they scare you, you're supposed to give them a dollar."

"What?"

Greg smiled an easy, relaxed grin. He was so at home in the city Nick could feel it radiating from his pores. "They jump out of the bushes to scare you, and if they succeed you're supposed to give them a dollar."

"You're supposed to pay guys for jumping out of the bushes and scaring you?"

Greg nodded and said, "Yeah," as if the whole idea was perfectly reasonable.

Nick whistled low between his teeth. If that was normal here, he didn't have to wonder why Greg came off as weird.

"What?" Greg asked, sensing that Nick was thinking something he didn't want to say.

Nick smiled to deflect the question. "I didn't know this conference was going to involve mountain climbing."

Greg laughed and turned back around, never breaking stride. "Don't worry," he said over his shoulder. "A few more steps and it's all downhill, I promise."

It was the first time Nick had ever heard that phrase used to indicate something good, and he had to admit that it sounded very good indeed.

When he'd told Greg he wanted to spend the morning sight seeing, he'd been thinking more about Fisherman's Wharf than tramping through the city's cool summer streets. When he broached the suggestion Greg had actually gasped.

"Blasphemy," Greg hissed. "You're never again to utter those words in my presence."

"What?" Nick had asked. "What's so bad about Fisherman's Wharf? It's on all the tourist maps."

Greg had snatched the map out of Nick's hands. "I forbid it," he said. "Fisherman's Wharf is nothing but a mall with sea lions. No self-respecting person goes to Fisherman's Wharf, Nick. Were I to be seen there I could never show my face in this city again."

Nick didn't mention that he hadn't expected Greg to come with him. It was his hometown, after all, and Nick had expected him to spend his first day there catching up with family and friends.

He didn't mind the company, though, and was a lot more comfortable following Greg than he would have been on his own with only a map to guide him, so he acquiesced and agreed to take Greg's tour of the city.

Which was how he found himself at the top of a hill that seemed far too steep for cars, let alone pedestrians, catching his breath and leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees.

"We'll take the bus back," Greg said. He didn't seem winded at all. "That's definitely an experience not to be missed. Ever been on a city bus during rush hour next to a crate of live chickens?"

Nick laughed and shook his head.

"Then, my friend, you have not lived."

"You sure you don't mind showing me around?" Nick asked. He'd asked before, but Greg had just shrugged the question off. "I mean, how long has it been since you've seen your folks, man? I thought for sure they'd be at the airport waiting to snatch you away for a lutefisk brunch."

Greg cringed. "That's another thing I don't ever want to hear you say again. Lutefisk." He shuddered as if recalling a particularly disturbing memory.

"I'm just saying that if the conference was in Dallas I'd have more family on me than the Osmonds."

Greg's eyes darkened for a moment, then he forced a smile. "Well, you know, they're busy. They're both at work. We'll have dinner sometime this week, I'm sure, but days are bad for them."

Nick yawned and straightened up. "Me, too, man. Shit. They can't have graveyard conferences for those of us who work nights?"

"I'm sure they'll have comment cards you can write the suggestion on," Greg said with a grin. "Come on. I'm starving and there's a little Korean place around the corner that serves kim pap so good you'll think you've died and gone to heaven. Just remember, soju may be served in shot glasses, but that doesn't mean you down it like a shot." He smiled his quirky, disarming smile. "Trust me. I learned that the hard way. I ended up half-naked on Turk Street engaged to a very large, very hairy man named Roscoe." He frowned. "At least, that's what my friends tell me. I don't really remember. Something about a bicycle chain, a merry-go-round, and maybe a bottle of peroxide...the whole night's really very fuzzy."

Nick laughed and started down the hill. "San Francisco's a very weird town, Greg."

Greg sighed a contented sigh as he fell in step with Nick. "Yeah. It's great, isn't it?"


**********


Nick settled onto a stool at the hotel bar and ordered a scotch on the rocks. He was usually a serious beer drinker, but he definitely needed something stiffer. That had been, without a doubt, the most boring, torturous, completely mind-numbing waste of four hours he'd ever spent. A speech on "The Criminalist as Citizen," followed by drawn out introductions of the conference's guest lecturers, ending with a droning, uninspiring speech about the increasing importance of criminalists in the post-9/11 world.

Not to mention that he'd have been half asleep even if the speeches had been interesting. And, of course, now that it was over and getting late he was suddenly awake. Because his body's clock was stubborn, and the sun going down had become his signal to wake up for so long he didn't know how to fight it.

It had been a long day with the flight in, checking into the hotel, going on Greg's walking tour, the conference registration, and the tedious introductory lectures, and what he wanted was to fall into bed and sleep. But his body didn't know that's what he wanted, and even as he downed his scotch he felt a surge of renewed energy.

"Hey," Greg said, sliding in next to him. "I know that this is my first conference and everything, but if this is the way things are going to continue, I think I'll skip the lectures and go to Fisherman's Wharf, instead."

"Blasphemer," Nick said, barely holding back his grin. "It's not usually that bad. I'm sure things will pick up tomorrow."

Greg nodded and swept his eyes over the room. He was so close that Nick could smell him, could feel the soft heat of his body.

"I'm heading to bed," Nick said, pulling away from Greg as nonchalantly as he could. "Coming?"

Greg smirked at him and raised his eyebrows. "Well, usually I insist on dinner first, or at least a drink."

The words startled him and he knew he should say something, anything, but he couldn't even begin to remember how to speak.

"Uh, that was a joke," Greg said, elbowing him playfully. "Calm down, Nick, I'm not gonna jump you in your sleep or anything."

"I, uh, yeah. Yeah, I know," Nick said. "I'm not worried, man." The thought of Greg jumping him in his sleep wasn't what worried him, what worried him was that for a minute he'd really thought about what it would be like to go to bed with the young lab tech.

"Uh," Greg said, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I hate to ask you this, man, but do you think you could maybe hold off on sleep for a couple hours? I'm really hitting it off with that fingerprint analyst from Des Moines, and, uh..."

Nick smiled and chuckled softly. "Yeah, man, that's cool. Give me ten minutes in the room and I'll be out of there. I think maybe I'll try my luck with the hottie from Miami."

"Ballistics chick?" Greg asked, nodding. "Very nice. Oh, here comes Teresa—"

"From Des Moines," Nick said.

"Right. See you later, buddy. Ten minutes?"

"All I need," Nick said. He made sure to keep smiling until he was in the elevator. He was glad he was the only one in it. He leaned back against the wall and rubbed his hands over his face. Greg? He could not be attracted to Greg. It was sleep deprivation doing it, he knew, and the fact that he hadn't gotten laid in two months.

Once he got to the room he washed his face and brushed his teeth. He changed out of his shirt and tie, tossed his dress slacks over the back of a chair and pulled on a pair of well-fitting Levis, instead. He slipped his feet into a comfortable pair of loafers and pulled on a tight black t-shirt.

As beautiful as Calleigh from Miami was, she wasn't who Nick was thinking about. Even if he had been interested, he wouldn't have insulted her by assuming she was the kind of woman who'd get involved with someone she'd just met at a professional conference.

No, he wasn't thinking about the ballistics expert at all as he checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He ran his hand over his hair, tousled it so it lost its preppy, professional appearance. He wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen, but he wasn't bad. He leaned in to inspect the wrinkles that had begun to form around his eyes and sighed. He couldn't remember when it had happened; he'd just noticed them one day with more than a little surprise. Sure, he was in his 30's, but when the hell had he gotten so old?

"Early thirties," he told himself. He shook his head and turned away from the mirror. That was as good at it was going to get.

He snagged his black leather jacket since he knew there'd be a chill in the air. Funny how cold it could be in June. He'd always assumed California was an eternally sunny paradise.

He knew where to go without looking at a map. He'd researched it on the internet in the weeks prior to the conference, committed the names and addresses of places he wanted to go to memory so that he wouldn't leave a paper trail that could expose him.

He felt more than a little embarrassed telling the cab driver where to take him, but the cabbie wasn't fazed in the least. Hell, it was San Francisco, and Nick knew he was hardly the first tourist to hit the gay bars.

He thought he maybe should be excited. After all, San Francisco was supposed to be the gay Mecca. He'd always wanted to go, maybe to check out Pride, definitely to get laid. And there he was, not at Pride but he knew getting laid was more than a possibility. Nick had never had trouble getting laid, no matter what city he was in, and he told himself that getting laid was all he needed.

The delusions of youth were long gone. Years of working in law enforcement, both as a cop and a CSI, made it very clear that his was not a profession that welcomed gay men with open arms. Sure, there were policies in place, and the party line was that the city of Las Vegas did not discriminate on the basis of race, color, religion, gender, national origin, age or handicap. Nick had been in law enforcement long enough to know that it was bullshit. Official policies weren't enough to change the minds of generations of personnel, and even if they had been, there was still no policy to prevent discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation.

He wouldn't ever be able to have a long-term relationship with anyone and keep his secret at the same time. Hell, digging up secrets was what CSI's did. It was his job or his personal life, and Nick had chosen his job. His only relationships were fleeting one-night stands where first names often weren't exchanged, let alone last names or phone numbers.

It suited him fine. His job didn't exactly leave much room for dating, anyway. When he needed a release he went out to a club or the baths. It was simple and efficient, and it worked.

Except Nick hadn't had sex with anyone in two months and though that's what he thought he'd be after once he got to the club, he realized that he wasn't interested. It felt good to dance, felt good to move his body to the beat in the dark, to feel other men's bodies brush and grind against his, but he had no desire to take it to the back room.

Wrinkles weren't the only thing his 30's had brought him. He was lonely. He was getting too old for one night stands and hand jobs in clubs' bathroom stalls. But he'd made his decision, and he knew he had to stand by it if he didn't want his professional life to crumble at his feet.

The men in the club all looked the same. They looked the same as the men he'd seen in the clubs in Dallas, and they looked the same as the men he'd seen in the clubs in Vegas. Beautiful, buff, walking proof that physical perfection was, indeed, possible.

Nick left the dance floor, and ordered a shot of tequila. That's what he'd always drunk during his wild college years. Get a few shots of tequila in him and good-old-boy Nick was forgotten and circuit-boy Nick was born.

He threw back the shot, turned and surveyed the club. It was a mass of writhing, beautiful men. He could watch them, find the most beautiful, take him to the back room and fuck his brains out, but he didn't want to. It was too much hassle.

He knew if anyone had told him a decade earlier that he'd find hot sex with gorgeous men boring he would have laughed his ass off. Now? Now he knew he could have an entire bottle of tequila and he'd still find the club and its patrons more annoying than arousing.

He took another cab back to the hotel. He'd been gone for a little over two hours, but he didn't know if that gave Greg enough time, so he sat in the hotel bar and nursed a beer. At least one of them was getting laid.

Finally, he decided to head back to the room a little before two am. He listened at the door before opening it, and when he did the room was dark.

From the dim light coming through the curtains Nick could see that Greg was alone, and asleep. He couldn't smell the tang of sex in the air, but he didn't know if it was because Greg had struck out or because one of the windows was cracked, letting in the noise of the street below and the cool night air.

Greg was in boxers and a t-shirt, the covers thrown to the side, and as Nick started to get undressed he paused to gaze at Greg's still form for a moment. He was stretched out on his stomach, one arm tucked beneath his chest at an awkward angle, the other arm thrown wide. His face was smashed against a pillow, which did nothing to mask the soft sound of his snore.

Nick grinned as he toed off his loafers. It was a sad state of affairs when he'd just gotten back from the hottest club in San Francisco and he still thought Greg Sanders was the most attractive man he'd seen all night. He was definitely off his game.

He shook his head, stripped down to his boxer briefs, and climbed into bed. It should have annoyed him, but the rhythmic sound of Greg snoring was endearing, and it lulled him to sleep.

Nick awoke with a bladder so full, it made him think of one of his brother Joe's more colorful sayings. Damn, man, I've gotta piss so bad I can taste it. Not that Nick could taste it, but he did have to piss, and piss bad.

He shivered as he threw the covers back. The air was cool on his skin and he felt goose bumps rise on his arms and the back of his neck as he tried the bathroom door. Thankfully, it wasn't locked and his eyes practically rolled back in his head as he began to release the ache in his bladder.

The bathroom was nice and warm, and once he was done Nick stretched his arms up and clasped them above his head, working out the kinks in his back. "How'd things go with Teresa?" he asked just before he flushed.

He heard a gasp from the other side of the shower curtain and the dull, echo-y thud of what he assumed was a shampoo bottle hitting the shower floor. "Jesus," Greg said, finally. "Give a guy a heart attack."

Nick chuckled. "Didn't mean to scare you. Just had to drain the lizard." A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. That was one of Joe's sayings, too. "So?"

"So what?" Greg asked. "I'm naked in here, you know."

"I didn't figure you showered with your clothes on. Damn, don't you have any brothers?"

"Only child. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Five brothers, one bathroom. If a guy's gotta go, man, who cares who's in the shower? It's not like I can see you or anything. Tell me about Teresa."

"Ah, I didn't like her that much. She had a mustache once you got up close, and her hair kind of smelled like cream of mushroom soup."

"She shot you down, huh?" Nick asked.

"Like a Messerschmitt. Are you just gonna stand there and talk all morning, because I'd like to get on with my shower and you're making me self-conscious."

"Sorry, man," Nick said. "Just don't take too long. I gotta take one, too."

"Yeah, yeah. Just shut the door behind you; you're letting out all the steam."

The room didn't seem quite so cold once he was out of the bathroom, but Nick still slid back under the covers. He reached for the remote with the intention of catching the morning news when the phone rang.

"Stokes," he said out of force of habit after he picked it up.

"I'm looking for Greg Sanders," a woman's smooth voice said. Maybe Greg hadn't struck out with Teresa that badly after all.

"Uh, he's in the shower right now," Nick explained. "Can I take a message?"

The woman sighed. "I'm just trying to figure out what his schedule is. This is Annika, by the way, his mother."

Nick grinned. "Oh, hey Mrs. Sanders."

"The last time I spoke with Greg he wasn't sure what the conference schedule would be like," she said. "Jeff and I would like to take him to dinner tonight. Do you know how late the presentations are going to run?"

"Well, ma'am," he said, letting his accent thicken the way he always did when talking to someone's parents, "I'd have to check to be sure, but I think most everything winds up by five, five thirty."

"Mmm, well that works much better with our schedules than what Greg said earlier. What did you say your name was again?"

"Nick. Nick Stokes."

"And you're his..." she paused, and Nick sensed that she was searching for the right word. "Partner?"

"Oh, no, ma'am," Nick said. "Just a fellow CSI. They don't partner us up like they do in the PD."

"Well, Jeff and I would be delighted for you to come along," she said. "We're always glad to meet Greg's friends."

And Nick would have begged off, would have said he didn't want to impose, but he was dying to meet Greg's parents and he knew the rest of the lab would be more than interested to hear about the couple that had spawned the fledgling CSI. "Well, that's right kind of you, ma'am," he said. "I'd just love that."

"Wonderful. Say, Sachi's at eight-thirty?"

"Sure." Nick said. He was about to say something else when he heard the line click. He looked at the phone for a moment before hanging it back up.

"What's wrong with your voice?" Greg asked as he emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam.

"What do you mean?"

"'Why, that's right kind of you, ma'am,'" Greg mocked him. "I'll just saddle up my horse and ride on over."

Nick laughed. "Yeah. Old habit. The deeper my accent, the more parents seem to like me. I don't even know I'm doing it anymore."

"Parents?" Greg asked as he rubbed a towel over his head vigorously to dry his hair. "Whose parents?"

"Yours," Nick said. "Well, your mom."

And if Nick hadn't been so surprised by the look on Greg's face he would have laughed. His eyes had popped wide and his jaw had dropped open in what Nick had always assumed was an expression only possible in cartoons. Greg sucked in a quick breath. "My mother?" he asked in a harsh whisper that was part disbelief and part accusation.

"Well, I..."

"How did you even get a hold of my mother?"

"I didn't," Nick said, not sure why he had to defend himself but feeling like he had to anyway. "She—she called here. You were in the shower. She invited us to dinner."

"Dinner?" Greg asked. "Both of us?"

Nick nodded.

Greg gripped the towel tight for a moment, before chucking it across the room. "Perfect," he snapped. "That's just fucking perfect."

Nick watched him stalk over to his suitcase but didn't say a word. He wasn't sure what to say.

"That's so like her," Greg muttered to himself as he yanked his suitcase open and dug through it. "So perfectly like her to just call, just call and just fucking invite us out to dinner."

"Uh, Greggo, something you wanna talk about?" Nick asked softly.

"No," Greg said, snatching up a rolled pair of socks. He straightened up and sighed. When he looked over at Nick his shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry," he said. He sat down on the end of his bed and started to pull his socks on. "I just...things with my parents are complicated."

"So I take it."

"She's just...I told her no and she just doesn't ever listen to me. She's always so convinced that whatever she thinks is right, never even considers what other people might want. She didn't even say goodbye before she hung up the phone, did she?"

Nick shook his head. "No."

"Typical. They both do it. They think saying goodbye is unnecessary, that hanging up the phone is a more efficient way of ending a phone call."

"If you don't wanna go I'll call her back and—"

"No," Greg cut him off. "No, it'll be fine. I just...I get worked up over nothing. Dinner will be fine. You'll probably love them."

"I'm not so sure anymore."

Greg shot him a wry grin. "Well, you can always tell everybody back at work that you've discovered the underlying reason that I'm the weirdest thing ever to hit the Vegas PD."

Nick felt guilt gnawing at his stomach all through his shower, all through breakfast, even through the morning's presentations. He tried to concentrate on new developments in geographical profiling, but instead he just felt like he'd made an unforgivable mistake. And for what? For accepting a dinner invitation?

He tried to apologize at lunch, but Greg waved him off. "Look, I'm sorry," Greg said. "I didn't mean to freak out like that. It's embarrassing, and for the sake of my pride, will you just forget it?"

Nick could hardly refuse to let a man keep his pride, so he swallowed his guilt and changed the subject, asking Greg how he liked the lecture on the possibility of finding a gene linked to criminal behavior.

By seven forty-five, though, Nick was really starting to regret accepting Mrs. Sander's dinner invitation, especially when Greg emerged from the bathroom with his shirt tucked in, his hair neatly combed and parted on one side.

"All right," he said. "Who are you and what did you do with Greg Sanders?"

"Ha ha," pod-person Greg said, checking his reflection in the mirror.

"I don't think I've ever seen you with your hair combed before."

"And the reason for that is because with my hair combed, I look like a dork," Greg shot back. He smoothed a hand over his hair. "Ready to go? Sachi's is only about a twenty-minute walk from here. Or we could take a cab."

"Walking's fine," Nick said.

On the walk there, Greg started up his narration of the city again, pointing out random things like a house where Janis Joplin had supposedly crashed once, the alley where he and his friends had been mugged by three drag queens with guns, and a corner where they'd once shot a scene for "Party of Five."

Nick pretended to be interested in the sites, but he was worried about Greg. Though he wouldn't exactly call them good friends, he knew enough about him to know that when he chattered on and on like that it meant he was nervous.

"That it?" Nick asked as he saw the sign for the restaurant across the street and down about half a block.

Greg nodded and rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans. He took a deep breath, as if to steady himself. "I should probably warn you," he said. "My parents are analysts."

"What, like stock analysts?"

Greg shook his head. "No. Psychoanalysts. Freudian."

"Your parents are shrinks?"

"Psychoanalysts," Greg said. "Believe me, it would be easier if they were shrinks. Then maybe they'd medicate themselves." He stopped walking as they neared the restaurant and took several deep breaths.

"You really didn't want to see them this trip, did you?" Nick asked, regretting the question the moment it was out of his mouth. He hadn't meant it to, but it sounded like an accusation.

"Look, I know it sounds terrible. I know it probably makes me a shitty son, but they freak me out. It's like I can't sneeze without it having to mean something, can't have a conversation with them without one or both of them digging into my brain." He gripped his head in his hands for emphasis.

"Careful. You're messing up your hair."

"Fuck my hair," Greg said. "I so wish I'd done a few shots back at the hotel bar."

"Well, we passed a liquor store a ways back if you wanna—"

"No," Greg said. "No. Might as well take the punishment like a man. Face it head on without the use of any chemical coping mechanisms, which is so not the way I usually handle things. When I come back for Christmas I get drunk on the plane and stay soused until I'm back in Vegas. It makes for about a week-long hangover, but it's so worth it."

"I...shit, Greg. If I'd known this I'd never had told your mom we'd come to dinner. It's just...you always talk so affectionately about Papa Olaf."

"Yeah, well, how can you not love an 83 year-old man who talks openly about his penile implants?"

Nick laughed. "Christ. And I thought I came from a screwed up family."

Greg sighed. "Everyone comes from a screwed up family. If we didn't, nobody'd ever leave home. Come on. I'll be fine, and if we're late I'm sure my parents will have some Freudian explanation for that that will probably deal with the penis, the vagina, shit, or, if we're lucky, a combination of all three."

"Sounds lucky," Nick said, following Greg across the street.

The restaurant was small and as soon as they walked in Greg sighed and fixed his eyes on a square table near the window. "Jeff," Greg said, walking towards the table, "Annika, good to see you."

And Nick would have asked why Greg called his parents by their first names, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"This is Nick," Greg said, pulling out a chair to sit down.

"Hey," Nick said, more than a little surprised that neither one of Greg's parents made any move to get up and hug their son. He sat down at the only empty spot left, between Annika and Greg, across from Greg's father, Jeff.

He was surprised, too, at the way they looked. Not that there was anything wrong with them, but they just seemed so...not Greg. Annika was pretty, but not beautiful, her dark hair pulled back in a simple ponytail at the nape of her neck. She wore a black sweater and no jewelry, no makeup. Jeff was even blander, if that was possible. Navy blue sweater, a round face with blonde hair, watery blue eyes, nearly invisibly pale eyebrows. Nick couldn't help but think that Jeff was an eyewitness's worst nightmare—there was nothing about him that caught your attention, no one detail that popped. And Greg definitely hadn't gotten his good looks from his father's side of the family.

"Jeff and I found the most adorable little antiques store today," Annika said, and once again Nick was startled but tried not to show it. No 'I haven't seen you in so long' or 'I'm so glad to see you,' just a story about an antiques shop that Nick was sure Greg could care less about.

The rest of dinner continued on in the same way. Jeff and Annika talked about their latest antiques acquisitions, Greg told them basic information about work, but the conversation never became anything more than small talk. It wasn't at all the way Nick was used to a family dinner being, but since he'd gotten Greg into the dinner in the first place, he figured the only thing he could do was help him out. He found that his smile and his thickest accent seemed to charm Greg's parents the same as anyone else's, no matter how aloof they were.

It seemed the very opposite from the "brain digging," Greg had mentioned earlier, though he had picked up the fact that Annika was a little pushy. She was the one who directed most of their mindless conversation, and neither Jeff nor Greg seemed inclined to stop her from doing it. In fact, Greg didn't do much talking at all, just answered the odd question one of his parents threw his way.

"Tell me, Nick," Annika said as the waiter brought four bowls of some ice cream whose flavor Nick couldn't quite identify. "What do your parents do?"

"Well, my father's a judge on the Texas State Supreme Court," Nick said, "and my mother's a public defender."

"Interesting," said Jeff. "Is your entire family involved in the judicial system?"

"Pretty much," Nick said. He thought the ice cream tasted a little like tea. "All my brothers and my sister went to law school, and that's what they expected me to do, too, I guess, but I felt more cut out for the other side of the system."

"How many brothers?" Annika asked.

"Five."

"Mmm." She nodded and rested her chin on her hand as she gazed at him. "And you felt the need to differentiate yourself from them. I assume you're the youngest."

"No analysis at the dinner table," Greg said, shooting his mother a dark look.

"It's all right," Nick said. He felt a little bit like they were digging at his brain, but it was better than the mind-numbing small talk "She's right, I did want to be different from them, be my own person. And I think I'm much better as a CSI than I ever would be in a courtroom."

"And why's that?" Jeff asked.

"Well, the courtroom is about flash, about flair, about trying to get people to come around to your way of thinking. Being a CSI is more straightforward. You collect and analyze the evidence, solve a puzzle. You don't have to convince anyone of anything, because the evidence does it for you."

"So you feel that you lack the persuasiveness a lawyer needs in order to be successful?" Annika asked.

Greg cleared his throat. "Let's move on to another topic of conversation."

Annika looked over at her son and sighed. "There's no need to get defensive, Greg." She looked at Nick and smiled warmly. "Greg tends to be overprotective of men he finds attractive," she explained.

And Nick started to wish that they'd go back to the small talk, because he suddenly had a very bad feeling about where the conversation was going.

"Are you lovers?" Annika asked.

"N-no," Nick stammered.

"You didn't seem to understand my question on the phone this morning, so I didn't think you were."

"Do you know many homosexuals?" Jeff asked brightly, as if the dinner conversation hadn't suddenly taken a turn into the Twilight Zone.

"Uh...a few," Nick said.

"The pathology is actually very interesting," Jeff said.

"It became personal when Greg came out to us," Annika said, glancing at Greg briefly, "but of course we were aware of it before that. You can't live in San Francisco for very long without becoming interested in the causes of homosexuality."

"What happens," Jeff said as he leaned in towards Nick, "is that the child becomes stunted during the anal stage, when the primary erotic activity is evacuation of the bowels."

Nick bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and just said, "Mmm-hmm."

"I mean, let's be honest here. It feels good to take a dump. Can we agree on that?"

Nick could see Greg slowly sliding down in his chair. "Uh," Nick said. "Well, I..."

"Of course it does." Jeff smiled and slapped his hand down on the tabletop. "Now, if the child becomes stunted during the anal stage of development, his primary focus for sexual pleasure will be the anus and he'll never move on to the penile stage."

"And," said Annika, "of course every boy is frightened of the vagina, since it represents the void from which he first entered the world and he's afraid that re-entering it will cause him to be sucked back into that void."

"Right," Nick drawled. Greg was so low in his chair that Nick was afraid he was going to slide off it onto the floor.

"So, being afraid of the vagina and being focused on the anus as the primary vehicle for erotic feelings combine to form the collection of behaviors that we term 'homosexuality,'" finished Jeff with a pleased smile.

Nick got the impression that Jeff expected him to applaud his stunning conclusion. It was the combination of the wine, lack of sleep, and the shame he felt radiating off Greg's body in waves that made him say, "Yeah, but what if he doesn't take it up the ass?"

"I don't follow," Annika said calmly, the question not offending her the way Nick had wanted it to.

"Well, I don't know for certain that Greg takes it up the ass," Nick said, much more calmly than he felt. "You're just assuming that he does because it fits your theories. Did you ever bother to ask him if he likes to take it up the ass?"

Greg let out a little squeak of laughter tinged with hysteria that Nick figured wasn't a good sign. He knew perfectly well that he wasn't wearing a watch, but he looked at his wrist anyway and said, "Aw, man, will you look at the time? We've gotta go, Greggo, get ready for that presentation tomorrow."

"Oh," said Annika pleasantly as Nick and Greg stood up, "Greg, you didn't mention you were giving a presentation at the conference."

Greg smiled weakly and seemed about to say something, but then changed his mind. "Uh, see you at Christmas," he said before hurrying out of the restaurant.

"What time is your presentation?" Annika asked and Nick just stared at her for a moment as he realized she had no idea what she'd just done to Greg and no idea that he and Nick were leaving because of it.

"It was, uh, nice to meet you," Nick said. He figured since they weren't big on goodbyes that he wouldn't bother.

He couldn't find Greg at first, then decided to follow the sounds of retching coming from behind a parked car a block away. He got there just as Greg was straightening back up.

"I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go get drunk," Nick said, "but I'm thinking maybe that's not such a good idea anymore."

Greg wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm all right," he said. "Just dry heaves. It happens sometime when I'm stressed. I'll be fine. And I would absolutely love to get drunk right now."

"Great," Nick clapped him on the back. "Lead the way, city boy."

They bought a bottle of Jack Daniel's at a small corner liquor store and passed it back and forth as they walked silently along the darkened streets. Greg surprised Nick by buying a pack of cigarettes, too, and when they got to the bottom of a hill where they were somewhat sheltered from the wind Greg lit one with shaky hands.

"Didn't know you smoked," Nick said, leaning back against a building.

"Old habit." Greg wrapped his arms around his waist and looked up and down the street. "Fuck. Where's a cab when you need one?"

"It's not so cold here," Nick said, patting the side of the building with his hand. "Less wind."

Greg leaned against the wall a few feet away from Nick.

They stood there silently for a while as Greg smoked. Finally, Nick said, "I think your parents need therapy."

Greg let out a choking laugh that let Nick know he was dangerously close to tears.

"I'm serious, G. I mean, there's screwed up and then there's screwed up. And I kind of suspect your father has a scat fetish."

Greg groaned and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. "You'll notice," he said, "that they conveniently forgot to mention the classic Freudian explanation for homosexuality."

"What's that?"

"Overly aggressive mother and a passive father. "

"They did fail to mention that, didn't they?"

"Well, if they did then they'd have to blame themselves. This way they can just blame me." Greg took a long drag on his cigarette, then flicked it into the gutter.

"You need more Jack?" Nick asked, holding up the bottle.

Greg shook his head. He closed his eyes and laughed softly. "Damn. The lab is going to have a field day with this."

"I'm not gonna tell anybody," Nick said softly, making sure the cap on the liquor bottle was tight before slipping it into his pocket. "I didn't know you were gay."

"I'm bi, actually. And it's not exactly the kind of thing I advertise at work."

"Yeah," Nick said, nodding slowly.

"And I do, by the way."

"Do what?"

"Like taking it up the ass."

Nick let out a slow breath as he gazed at Greg. He licked his lips and pushed away from the wall, turned so that he and Greg were just inches apart. He shouldn't be feeling it, he knew, but he was more aroused than he'd been in months. Just the thought of what it would be like to have Greg beneath him, panting, moaning...

"Are you gonna kick my ass, now?" Greg asked after Nick had stared at him for a long moment. "Because I know you're not normally a violent guy, but considering your background, you know, being from Texas and coming from a frat, I'm thinking that your first reaction to the fact that I like getting fucked is to kick my ass. And while I know that you've probably kicked more than one faggot's ass in your lifetime, I'm asking you to reconsider your gut reaction because I'm not really a big fan of pain. Or blood."

Nick reached up and placed one hand firmly on the wall next to Greg's head. He tried to tell himself that just because Greg liked it, it didn't mean that Greg necessarily wanted it from him. He didn't listen, though, couldn't think of anything except how close their bodies were.

Greg's breathing was shallow and his eyes were wide. "I...I know karate. I can't remember any of it right now, but it could easily come back to me any minute. And though I never made it past a green belt, I might accidentally be deadly."

"Shh," Nick whispered, reaching up to touch Greg's dark pink lips with his fingertips. "You talk too much. I'm not gonna hurt you." He slid his hands down Greg's chest, gripped his shirt in both hands and tugged it out of his waistband. He slipped his fingers beneath the hem and placed his hands against Greg's taut stomach.

Greg swallowed hard as he gazed into Nick's eyes. "You're gonna...oh."

"Yeah," Nick whispered. "Oh." He slid his hands over Greg's chest, brushed his hard nipples gently, then began to squeeze and twist.

Greg's neck arched back, exposing his tender throat as he let out a low groan.

Nick leaned and kissed Greg's throat, laved his tongue over his Adam's apple, bit down on the soft flesh where his neck met his shoulders.

Greg's arms came up around Nick's waist and pulled him forward until their bodies were pressed together and Nick growled as he felt Greg's erection rubbing against his own.

Their first kiss was hungry, searching. Nick slid Greg's lips apart with his tongue and was greeted with Greg's tongue against his own. He could taste whiskey and smoke and he thought maybe it was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

Greg slid his hands down, gripped Nick's ass and pulled him even closer, ground up against him and moaned into the kiss.

"This OK?" Nick asked breathlessly against Greg's cheek as he gripped Greg's slim hips in his hands, pressed him harder against the wall.

"Yeah," Greg said. His eyes were closed and he tipped his head forward, pressed his face into the crook of Nick's neck, let his tongue slip out to taste Nick's skin.

"Feeling any better?"

Greg nodded, then pulled his mouth away from Nick's neck. "This isn't just a manifestation of your hero complex, is it? Because as nice as this is, I've never really been a big fan of pity fucks, especially when I'm the one being pitied."

Nick shook his head slowly, grazed Greg's lips lightly with his own. "No pity here, I promise you." He slid his hand between their bodies and squeezed Greg's hard-on through his jeans.

Greg moaned and tipped his head back, giving Nick access to the sweet, tender flesh of his neck once more. He gave Greg's hard-on another squeeze, began to stroke it slowly.

"Nick," Greg gasped. "This might be San Francisco, but we'll still get arrested for indecent exposure if we don't take this somewhere private."

"Hotel?" Nick asked, grinding his hips slowly against Greg's.

"Yeah," Greg whispered. "And now I really wish we had a cab."

Nick took Greg's hand in his own and stepped back, gave Greg a little tug. "Come on. We'll make it."

The hurried through the dark streets, laughing and stopping to kiss and grope at one another more than once along the way.

By the time they got back to the room, Nick's face burned from the cold and his fingers were numb but he didn't care, couldn't think of anything but slamming Greg against the door and kissing him hard, feeling Greg's teeth sharp against his lip but not caring, using his tongue to coax Greg's mouth open and moaning as he felt Greg's tongue soft and hot against his own.

He slid Greg's shirt up, couldn't get Greg out of his clothes fast enough, couldn't get out of his own clothes nearly fast enough. They kissed and fumbled their way towards the bed, but Nick still felt like they were too far away. He grabbed Greg again, pulled him close, loving the feeling of his bare skin rubbing against Greg's bare skin.

"Jesus," Greg whispered as his fingers closed around Nick's throbbing erection. "You're big."

"Mmmm," Nick rocked against him slowly. "You like 'em big?"

Greg's voice was barely a whisper. "Yeah."

"I'm gonna fuck you," Nick whispered against Greg's ear. "I'm gonna fuck you slow, fuck you all night. You want that? You want me to fuck you until your eyes roll back in your head, until you're screaming cuz it feels so good, until you forget your own name?"

Greg's only response was a whimper, then, "Do you have a condom?"

Nick shoved him back onto the bed. "Yeah."

With condoms and lube in hand Nick climbed onto the bed, knelt between Greg's legs, lifted them and pressed Greg's knees against his shoulders. He dripped lube onto his fingers and slid them against Greg's pucker, and with the first bit of pressure Greg opened for him and he slid his fingers inside, slicking him up, getting him ready for what lay ahead.

Greg moaned, arched up against him, slid his hands beneath his thighs to hold his legs apart for Nick.

"This what you like? You like my fingers in your ass?" Nick asked in a low purr. He didn't know where it came from, the voice that came out of his mouth during sex, he just knew that when he was turned on he could say things that he'd be embarrassed to even think in a more rational state of mind.

Greg nodded and looked up at him, his breathing coming hard. "Yes," he whispered.

"You want more?"

Greg nodded again and moaned as Nick slid a third finger inside him. He rotated his wrist slowly and grinned when Greg whimpered and ground back against him.

"What else?" Nick asked. "What else do you want, huh?"

Greg whimpered again, stared up at him with pleading eyes.

"I need you to tell me, Greg. Tell me what you want."

Greg took a deep breath, then another. He shuddered as Nick's fingers brushed against his prostate. "Your cock," he said finally. He flicked his tongue out to wet his lips. "I want your cock inside me."

It was all Nick needed to hear. He ripped the condom packet open with his teeth, slid it over his dick with one hand, and in one smooth movement he pulled his fingers out of Greg's ass and replaced them with the head of his cock.

Greg groaned and wrapped his legs around Nick's hips, tried to pull him in deeper.

"Slow," Nick whispered, letting his hips slide forward with steady pressure.

"Now." Greg gripped Nick's shoulders hard. "All of it. Now."

"There's no hurry," Nick said.

Greg let out a half laugh, half sob and tossed his head back. "God," he groaned, drawing the word out like a sigh.

Nick inched into him slowly, feeling Greg open and spread for him, feeling the tight passage let him in without him having to force it. He stopped moving once he was all the way inside, gazed down into Greg's eyes. "You ready?" he asked.

"Yes." There was no hesitation in Greg's voice at all, so Nick began to move. He kept his strokes shallow at first, kept them slow, didn't know how much Greg could take or how he liked it.

Greg made it clear, though, when he gripped the hair at the back of Nick's head, yanked Nick's head down towards his and growled, "Fuck me, goddamnit."

Nick couldn't close his eyes, couldn't look away from Greg's face, his cheeks flushed pink, his lips parted, his neck arched back as he moaned every time Nick thrust into him. This was good. This was right. This was better than every anonymous fuck Nick had ever had, looking down into the eyes of a man he knew, a man he cared about. Aware of more than just his own pleasure this time, aware this time of the pleasure he was giving, pleasure that Greg was not shy about expressing, if his grunts and moans as he bucked up against Nick's body were anything to go by.

And he wanted to go slow. He knew he could, had done it enough times in the past that he knew he could prolong the pleasure, keep going until Greg was delirious, and though the thought of making the younger man lose his mind with pleasure was tempting, Nick couldn't fight how good it felt. He barely had enough control to keep from pinning Greg to the bed, collapsing on top of him, and pumping his hips like a jackrabbit until he came.

He was close. Had sex ever felt so good? Had anything ever been better than the way it felt to slide into Greg's body, to feel Greg's long legs wrapped around his waist?

Greg was close, too, he could feel it. He knew the signs, knew from the way Greg's breath was hitching in his chest, the way he was frantically trying to pull Nick even deeper inside him, the way his thighs trembled and flexed.

"Nick," Greg cried as he came, "Nick, Nick, oh God, Nick." And the sound of Greg's voice, the helpless, desperate way he called out Nick's name brought him over the edge. His climax was white hot, starting deep in the pit of his belly but spreading through him like wildfire, making him feel like he was coming apart, like when he collapsed it would be the end, because you couldn't exist after something that unbelievably good, could you?

Nick lay in a daze, not aware of just how he'd left Greg's body and ended up on his back, not sure of who'd pulled the covers back or when. He was just floating. His bones had melted, he could feel it, knew they were nothing but liquefied calcium under his skin.

He knew Greg was beside him, heard him say, "Wow."

"Mmm," was all he could manage before his eyes closed and he melted into sleep.

Nick groaned softly and stretched. His muscles were sore, his triceps and abs especially, and his eyes were itchy like they got every time he slept in his contacts. He felt the heat of another body in the bed and slid towards it as if by instinct. He pressed his chest against the sleeping man's back, slid an arm around his waist and placed his hand flat on the man's abdomen. Nick hummed contentedly in the back of his throat as he felt the man press back against him.

"What time is it?" Nick asked, his voice thick with sleep.

"Early, yet," Greg whispered, reaching back to slide his hand along Nick's thigh. "Go back to sleep."

Nick nuzzled his face against the back of Greg's neck and began to drift towards sleep. His eyelids fluttered open. Greg?

The night before came back to him in a dizzying rush. Meeting Greg's parents, getting a bottle of Jack, making out on a deserted street corner, hurrying back to the hotel so that they could...

Nick's cock began to lengthen and swell as he remembered the feeling of Greg's fingers in his hair, Greg's mouth against his mouth, Greg's legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

"Good morning to you, too," Greg murmured, grinding back against Nick's growing erection.

"Greg," Nick whispered.

Greg slid his hand over Nick's and pulled it up against his chest. "I had the weirdest dream. I was in this spelling bee, and everyone in the audience had spaghetti for heads. I was so hungry but I was trying not to think about it since if I tried to eat any of the spaghetti heads I'd get disqualified, and then when I got up to the mic I couldn't even remember how to spell gammahydroxybutyrate."

Nick laughed softly. "I wonder what the Freudian interpretation of that would be."

Greg groaned, then turned so that he and Nick were facing. He slid one leg up over Nick's hip and snuggled into Nick's arms, nuzzling his face into the space beneath Nick's chin. "No dream analysis allowed in bed," he said. "In fact," he yawned, "no analysis of any kind." He slid his fingers lazily through the hair on the back of Nick's head and sighed contentedly.

Nick couldn't deny how good it felt. He knew it wasn't smart, knew it would probably turn out to be one of the biggest mistakes he'd ever made, but it felt so damn good to hold Greg in his arms. He slid his hand up and down Greg's back, then realized that the oddly smooth patterns of skin he felt were burn scars. As he felt the scars against his fingertips, he wondered how he could have forgotten about them.

"Does it hurt?" he asked softly.

"A little sore." Greg's voice was groggy. "But I kind of like it. You were a little crazy there at the end."

Nick smiled into Greg's hair. "No, I...I meant your back."

"Oh. No. Doesn't hurt." He began to pepper Nick's neck with soft kisses. "It felt a little tight after the burns first healed, but it's fine now. And even though they look slightly Freddy Krueger, at least I got a good story out of it."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, come on. Explosions are cool. Not as cool as motorcycle accidents, maybe, but a close second."

Nick pulled back so he could see Greg's face. "Have you ever actually seen a motorcycle accident?"

"I'm not saying the accidents themselves are cool, I'm just saying that it's cool to be able to say you were in a motorcycle accident. Like Keanu Reeves."

"Motorcycle accidents turn people into hamburger, Greg."

"And hand grenades turn people into tomato soup. I know. I'm just saying that if I have to have scars, getting blown up makes for a better story than if I'd set my bong on fire."

"You know the PD does random drug tests."

"Of course I know. I get good overtime to process them. And I stopped smoking weed in tenth grade, so don't worry about it." He ran his thumb along Nick's lower lip. "You're such a cop sometimes."

"Just don't want you getting into any trouble," Nick whispered before kissing the tip of Greg's thumb.

"Mmm...how chivalrous of you," Greg murmured, tightening his leg around Nick's hip, drawing their bodies close together.

Nick moaned softly as he felt Greg's erection rub up against his own. "You sure you wanna start anything? We might be late for the morning lectures."

Greg lifted his head up to glance at the clock. "It's early," he said, planting kisses along Nick's jaw line. "We've got at least two hours."

Nick grinned and rolled Greg over onto his back, pinned his arms above his head. "Still might be late," he whispered, his breath hot against Greg's ear. Greg shivered, making Nick smile. "The ear, huh?" he asked softly.

Greg groaned and arched up against him as Nick began to suck on his earlobe.

"So beautiful," Nick murmured. "So, so beautiful..."

"You, too." Greg finally managed to pull his arms from Nick's grasp. He slid his hands up and down Nick's back, pulled him close, held him tight as their bodies rocked slowly together.

Nick moaned against Greg's neck as Greg slid his finger between Nick's ass cheeks and rubbed gently.

"Feel nice?" Greg asked.

"Yeah."

Greg slid out from under him, planted kisses along Nick's spine as his fingers continued their exploration. "You want me to fuck you?" Greg asked softly.

Nick pushed up on his elbows. "I don't usually..."

Greg smiled and pressed on Nick's shoulder. "Well, then, it's time to move outside your comfort zone." He leaned close and kissed the back of Nick's neck.

"Greg, really, I—"

"Shh," Greg murmured. "It's OK. I'm not going to do anything you won't like, I promise. Do you trust me?"

Nick took a deep breath and nodded as he felt one of Greg's hands caress his ass. "Yeah. I trust you."

Slowly, Greg kissed his way down Nick's muscular back. Nick closed his eyes and took a deep breath, let himself relax as Greg's mouth burned across his skin, as his fingers prodded and spread him open.

And, Jesus, that was Greg's tongue. That was Greg's tongue he felt against his asshole, hot and wet, lapping and circling around the tight pucker. He shuddered and couldn't help but arch up against him. Greg moaned in response, and Nick felt the hum all though his body. His breath was coming in unsteady jerks as Greg parted his ass cheeks with his hands so that he could have better access to Nick's hole.

He'd had it done to him before, of course, but it hadn't ever felt like that. It hadn't ever felt so intimate, so hot, so dirty in the best possible sense of the word.

Nick actually cried out as he felt Greg's tongue enter him and ease past the tight ring of muscle. His entire body shuddered and his mind must have short circuited because he couldn't think anything except, "More, more, more."

Then Greg replaced his tongue with a finger and Nick thought he might crawl out of his skin. Jesus. He'd never been that on edge, that turned on, not even the night before when he'd first slid his cock into Greg's willing hole.

"Feel good?" Greg asked softly, his breath warm against the skin of Nick's lower back.

Nick moaned and arched up against Greg's hand in response.

"You want more?"

He whimpered, nodded, and was rewarded with another finger and Greg's mouth on him again, his tongue tracing around the opening of Nick's pucker.

"Do you want it all?" Greg asked. He wasn't talking dirty like Nick had the night before, he was just asking. His voice was soft and as gentle as the fingers he was using to slowly fuck Nick's ass.

"Yes," Nick gasped. "God, Greg, need you inside me." He wanted to cry when he felt Greg's fingers leave him, wanted to beg for him to never stop. He heard the rustle of the condom, wrapper, though, knew what Greg was doing.

Greg positioned his body over Nick's, kissed the back of his neck. "Tell me if it hurts," he whispered. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

Nick nodded, reached back to grip Greg's head and pull him down for a sloppy, off-center kiss.

And when Greg entered him it was like fireworks were going off behind his eyelids. There was pain, yes, but he pushed back against it and didn't tell Greg to stop because it felt so good. Felt so amazing to be filled like that, to feel himself stretch and open for Greg's cock.

He pushed up onto his hands and knees, the better to receive Greg's slow, measured thrusts. Greg wrapped one arm around his chest and held him close. "Is it OK?" Greg asked.

Nick let out a half laugh, half moan and nodded. "So good. God, baby, you feel so good inside me."

Greg smiled and kissed the back of Nick's neck. "Just wanna make you feel good," he whispered.

Nick rocked back against him, meeting every one of Greg's thrusts. It was maddening, the slow, steady pace Greg had set. He could feel Greg's cock pulling out, nearly leaving him, then sliding back in, spreading him over and over again.

It wasn't the frantic sex Nick was used to. It wasn't the quick, anonymous "I'm gonna fuck your brains out" sex that he'd always had before.

Not that it wasn't good, because it was. It was toe-curling, sheet-twisting good. It's just that Greg fucked him so slowly, leisurely, as if they had all the time in the world, as if it were about more than just getting off.

And that's what got him, what turned him on and what terrified him at the same time—the knowledge that they weren't just fucking. It meant something, didn't it? It had to mean something. The way he felt, brand new and beautiful and invincible, that had to mean something.

He was almost surprised when he came. He'd been focusing on so much more than himself, had been focusing on the way Greg felt inside him, the soft sounds Greg was making, the way their bodies rocked together then apart, that he hadn't been concentrating on how close he was. He came hard, twisting the sheets in his hands, and Greg's mouth was on his back, kissing him, tasting his sweat, whispering, "That's good, baby, so good. Come on, baby, come for me."

When Greg came he could feel it, could feel the hot pulses inside him, filling the condom.

Nick collapsed down onto the mattress, Greg on top of him, and he reached back to stroke Greg's hair. He hated it when Greg pulled out of him. It was the only part that was really uncomfortable because he suddenly felt so empty.

"You're good at that," Nick said breathlessly as Greg stretched out beside him.

Greg smiled lazily. "Well, I am a man of many talents."

Nick let his eyes close. "What time is it?"

"We have a while before the alarm goes off. Sleep."

Nick nodded and was asleep before he could say anything else. When the alarm went off it was the most terrible sound he'd ever heard, and he groaned and pulled a pillow over his head.

"Come on, sleepy head," Greg said, pulling the pillow away. "If you get up I promise to wash your back."

Nick opened one eye and grunted a response.

"And I'll make you coffee, just the way you like it."

Nick pushed himself up off the bed and stumbled towards the bathroom. His body ached. His muscles were tight and sore. He wasn't a kid anymore, couldn't fuck the night away and wake up refreshed the next morning none the worse for wear.

The hot water and Greg's nimble fingers helped ease his aching muscles, but not even Greg's coffee could make him fully awake.

Once Nick was settled into the morning lecture he wished he'd had another cup of Greg's coffee, or four. His head began to tilt forward as he let his eyes close. He jerked his head back up and blinked his eyes a few times, stifled a yawn. He was paying attention. He was. The lecturer was talking about...double sided tape? He had no idea what she was talking about. He'd been dozing through most of the lecture, no matter how hard he tried to tell himself he was awake.

He looked at the clock. Another hour? He stifled another yawn. Another hour of a lecture he couldn't pay attention to sounded like torture. His back was starting to tighten up and ache, the room was too hot, and his ass had fallen asleep. Well, not all of his ass. He felt a pleasant throb each time he shifted in his seat, could still feel where Greg's cock had been..

Nick blushed and crossed his legs, even though no one was paying any attention to him or the hard-on growing in his pants.

He only had an hour. He could do an hour. An hour about...masking tape. She was talking about masking tape. Which made sense, because he remembered that the lecture was about how to lift prints from atypical surfaces, like the sticky side of a piece of tape.

He was paying attention to the lecture. Hell, he'd even take notes. He was concentrating on masking tape, and not thinking at all about the way Greg's tongue had felt in his ass. Greg's hot, warm tongue lapping against his asshole, sending shivers of ecstasy through every cell in his body.

No, he was definitely not thinking about the way Greg's breath had felt on the back of his neck, not thinking about the soft words he'd whispered as he slid his cock slowly inside Nick. He wasn't thinking about Greg's arms wrapped around his chest, or the dizzying sensation of being so full, stretched so wide and how amazingly delicious it had been. He wasn't thinking about how he'd never really enjoyed it before, not until Greg. He wasn't thinking about Greg doing it again.

He was paying attention to the lecture. He was listening. Really, he was. He was absolutely not thinking about finding the conference room Greg was in, dragging him away from the lecture about gene sequencing or whatever, taking him back up to the room and fucking his brains out. Nick was most definitely not thinking about that.

By the time the lecture was over Nick had managed to get his hard-on to go down, but he was pretty sure his balls were going to turn blue.

He wandered down the hall past the other convention rooms, supposedly making his way towards the buffet lunch in lecture hall 3, but really just looking for Greg.

He heard Greg's voice before he saw him and he headed towards Greg's bright tone as if guided by instinct.

"It was pretty basic," Greg was saying as Nick made his way through the crowd towards him. "Using epithelials from the surface of the lockbox, I just amplified three STR loci using a polymerase chain reaction. Oh, hey, Nick."

"Hey," Nick said, feeling a grin spread across his face.

"This is Nick Stokes, he works with me in Vegas. He's a CSI 3," Greg said. "Nick, this is Teresa Dample, she's a fingerprint tech from Des Moines."

Nick hadn't even paid any attention to the girl standing too close to Greg. When he turned and looked at her he realized she was the one Greg had been hoping to score with their first night. She was pretty enough, he guessed, but she did kind of have a mustache. And if she didn't take her hand off Greg's arm within the next three seconds Nick was going to have to remove it for her.

"Des Moines, huh?" Nick asked. "Are you friends with Trudy?"

Teresa shook her head. "Trudy...?"

"Greg's wife, Trudy. She's from Des Moines, isn't she Greg?"

Greg choked on his coffee.

"Careful there," Nick said, patting him on the back.

"I...should go find my friends," Teresa said.

Nick grinned at her and waved as Teresa walked away and Greg tried to calm his coughing spell.

"Trudy?" Greg asked. "You gave me a wife named Trudy?"

"First name I could think of."

"Yeah, but a wife? You couldn't have said she was just a girlfriend?"

Nick shrugged. "A girlfriend wouldn't have scared her off so fast."

Greg smirked, then shook his head as he walked towards the elevators. "Coming?" he asked, glancing behind him at Nick.

Nick grinned and nodded.

"So," Greg said once the elevator doors were closed. "Trudy."

"Could have been worse. I could have named her Ethel."

"I'm still curious as to why you gave me a wife at all."

"Oh, come on. That bitch was all over you."

Greg smirked and leaned back against the elevator wall. "Aw, yeah," he said, nodding.

"What?" Nick asked as the doors opened on their floor.

Greg just grinned. Nick noticed that he was actually strutting on his way to the room.

"What was all that about?" Nick asked as the hotel room door closed behind him.

Greg grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. "You were totally jealous."

Nick shrugged. "She just seemed to be hanging all over you. I did you a favor."

"Uh-huh. Because it has nothing to do with you wanting me all to yourself. Nothing to do with me completely rocking your world. Twice."

"Maybe a little bit of that last part," Nick said, reaching out to touch Greg's cheek.

"You're totally addicted, aren't you?" Greg asked.

"Now, I wouldn't say addicted," Nick murmured as he pulled Greg's body against his. "But, you know, it's kinda nice."

"Mmm. Kinda nice," Greg said as he slid his hands down to grip Nick's tight ass. "I'm kind of addicted to you, too."

Nick smiled as he pressed his cheek to Greg's.

"Never before in my entire life have I gotten turned on during a lecture on identifying separate DNA strands in a multiple donor sample," Greg said, kissing his way down Nick's chest. "I hope nobody saw that I was getting wood. They're gonna think I'm a pervert when really I was just thinking about you." He unfastened the button on Nick's pants and tugged the zipper down.

Nick clicked his tongue and shook his head. "I'm surprised at your unprofessional behavior, Sanders."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Sure you are," he said before parting his lips and taking Nick's cock into his mouth.

Nick groaned and braced his hands against Greg's shoulders to steady himself. Greg's mouth was so warm, so wet, his tongue so soft as it lapped against the underside of his cockhead, teasing the ultra-sensitive nerve endings there.

Greg wrapped his hand around the base of Nick's cock and stroked it as he concentrated on teasing and licking around the head. Nick shivered and moaned, gripped Greg's shoulders tight, had to fight every urge just to grab Greg's head in his hands and fuck his mouth, shove his cock down Greg's throat.

"You're killing me here," Nick gasped. "Jesus, Greg, don't tease me. Take it all."

Greg pulled his mouth off Nick's cock and stroked it against his cheek as he grinned. "You like?" he asked, licking a stripe from the base of Nick's cock to the tip.

Nick nodded, ran his fingers through Greg's hair. "Take it all."

Greg kissed the tip of Nick's cock, licked a drop of iridescent precum blossoming at the tip. He swirled his tongue around his cockhead, kissed it again, parted his lips to take just the first inch into his mouth.

"I mean it, Greg." Nick was panting. "God, just fucking suck it."

"All in due time," Greg whispered, kissing along the underside of Nick's erection, then sliding his tongue over Nick's balls.

Nick cried out in frustration and yanked Greg to his feet, clawed at his clothes, pulling them off as quickly as he could.

Greg gasped as Nick shoved him onto the bed. "Impatient, much?" he asked, trying to tease but unable to keep the lust out of his voice. He'd never had anyone that frantic for him before.

"You," Nick said as he peeled his shirt off, "are gonna see what happens to teases."

Greg smiled a giddy smile. "Am I gonna like it?"

Nick nodded as he stripped out of his pants. "Oh, yeah." He gripped Greg's ankle, pulled him down the bed, slid his hands up to Greg's hips and flipped him over.

Greg bit his lip and ground his hips against the mattress as Nick stroked the small of his back with one hand and reached for the condoms and lube with the other. He liked how strong Nick was, how forceful he could be. To him, that was one of the best parts about being with a guy, having someone whose strength matched his own.

"You ready?" Nick asked in a throaty voice that made Greg shudder.

"Yeah."

"Get on your hands and knees."

Greg pushed himself up, pressed back against the touch of Nick's hands on his ass.

Nick knelt between Greg's spread legs, ran his hand up, slid his fingers over the shiny pink skin that marred Greg's back. He leaned to kiss the scars gently, turned his head and rubbed them against his cheek.

"Nick," Greg whispered in a shaky voice.

"You're so beautiful," Nick murmured, rocking against him.

"Please," Greg whispered. "Please, Nick. Now."

He didn't hesitate, just rolled on the condom and slicked up with lube then entered Greg quickly.

Greg cried out and arched his head back.

"Yeah," Nick growled as he gripped Greg's slim hips in his hands. "Yeah, that's what teases get."

Greg whimpered as he started to press back into Nick's thrusts. "Gonna have to tease you more often," he panted.

"You like it like this? You like it when I just take you? Just shove my cock up your hot little ass?"

Greg nodded, gripped the sheets in his hands, collapsed down onto his elbows, resting his head against his forearms.

Nick's fingers were strong, holding Greg's hips so tight that he'd have fingertip shaped bruises there later. He held on tight, holding Greg still, pulling him back to meet each forceful thrust.

And he may not have been in his 20's anymore, but he could still fuck with the best of them. And three times in a 24 hour period was hardly his record, but then again he really wasn't in his 20's anymore.

He slid his arms around Greg's chest, pulled him up so that his own chest rubbed against Greg's back. "Love being inside of you," he whispered.

Greg groaned and arched his head back, giving Nick access to the smooth skin of his throat.

Nick slid his hand down Greg's taut stomach and gripped his cock tight. He stroked it slowly, timing it with the grinding thrusts of his hips, making Greg laugh and moan and shiver.

"I thought about you all morning," Nick murmured.

"Me, too."

"I couldn't think about anything but this, anything but having you in my arms again."

"I know." Greg's breath caught in his throat as Nick stroked his cock. "Jesus, Nick, if you don't stop that soon I'm gonna..."

"Gonna what?" Nick asked, continuing to slide his hand up and down Greg's erection. "You gonna come for me baby? That what you're gonna do?"

Greg nodded, then let out a strangled cry as he shot his load across the sheets, body going rigid, ass flexing convulsively around Nick's cock.

A few more thrusts and Nick was coming, too, and then they collapsed onto the bed, laughing and kissing, their sweaty, sticky bodies wrapped together.

"So," Greg whispered against Nick's shoulder, "what do you think this bed would look like if we shined the ALS on it?"

Nick laughed softly, rubbing the small of Greg's back with his fingers. "Never use the ALS in your hotel room, man. There are some things you just don't wanna know."

"Well, you know, if it's just ours..."

"Trust me. It's never just yours."

Greg smiled and nuzzled against Nick's warm skin. "So," he said again after they'd caught their breath. "Tell me more about Trudy. She's totally hot, right?"

Nick growled and pulled Greg close against him. "She's a total dog, a bitch on wheels, and she makes your life a living hell."

Greg sighed and draped his arm across Nick's chest. "Why'd I marry her, then?"

He slid his fingers through Greg's sweat damp hair. "Forget about Trudy, baby. She's in the past. It's just you and me, now."

Nick stretched out on the bed after his second shower of the day, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Greg was sitting on the edge of the bed flipping through a sheaf of paper stapled at the corner. Nick reached out and rubbed the small of his back lazily. "What you looking at?" he asked in a sleepy drawl.

"Schedule," Greg said. He frowned as he flipped another page. "There's really not much left," he said.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, yesterday they presented the paper on human variables contributing to the imprecision of air-displacement pipettes—which rocked, by the way—and this morning was the lecture on using a Y-STR triplex after autosomal multiplexes, which is by far the high point of the entire conference. This afternoon, though, what is there? Solubility of polylactide fiber? Come on. I read about that in a journal a year ago. Everybody knows you need to rely on solubility testing for PLA."

"It has the same melting point behavior and birefringence as rayon and polypropylene," Nick said, rolling to one side and propping himself up on his elbow.

"Exactly. Even you know that."

"Hey. Hair and fiber analysis is my specialty, you know."

Greg looked over at him sheepishly. "Yeah. Sorry. I got carried away. But my point is that everything I wanted to hear about has already been presented." He flopped down on the bed, either not aware or not caring that the towel around his waist had come undone. He looked over at Nick. "Which lecture are you going to?"

Nick yawned and closed his eyes. "I'm not," he mumbled.

"Can you do that?"

Nick opened one eye. "Do what?"

"Not go. I mean, isn't the point of attending a conference to actually attend the conference?

He yawned again and rolled onto his side, snuggling into the pillow. "I either sleep through it here or sleep through it down there," he said. "Either way, I'm not going to learn anything."

"Huh."

Nick opened one eye again. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Greg..."

"I'm just surprised, that's all. You never seemed to me like the kind of guy to cut class."

Nick closed his eyes. "It's not high school, Greg. They're not going to give us detention if we miss one lecture."

"Yeah, but this is my first conference. Sara said it was important to properly utilize my time here, to not let anything go to waste."

Nick sighed and rolled onto his back, then propped himself up on his elbows. "You're taking time-management advice from a woman whose only hobbies are overtime and listening to the police scanner?"

"Well, she does manage to pack a lot of work into every day."

"She's also heading straight towards burnout." He dropped back onto the bed. "You gotta take a break every once in a while. You've gotta know when you're too tired from three rounds of mind blowing sex in less than 24 hours to get up, get dressed, and sit through a lecture that you won't be able to focus on because you're just plum fucked out."

Greg slid over to press his face against Nick's shoulder. "Plum fucked out, huh? Is that a Texan phrase?"

Nick yawned. "Technically, it's 'plum tuckered out.' I took some liberties."

Greg kissed his shoulder gently. "Then go ahead and git you some shut eye, dagburnit."

Nick smiled sleepily.

"Think anybody'd mind if I went to the lecture called 'Corpse as Crime Scene?'"

"I don't see why they would. Like you said, the point of a conference is to actually attend the conference."

"Well, yeah, but I'm not a CSI. I thought maybe I was supposed to stick to the lab rat lectures."

"You're a part-time trainee. Might as well play both sides of the field."

Greg smirked. "Story of my life."

Nick opened his eyes sleepily. "What?"

He kissed Nick's forehead. "Nothing. Go to sleep."

Nick snuggled further into the sheets and sighed contentedly as he heard Greg shuffle around the room, getting dressed. He was asleep before Greg left the room and didn't awaken until he felt gentle fingers against his face.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," Greg whispered, planting feathery kisses along Nick's cheekbone.

Nick groaned and stretched, smiled up into Greg's eyes. "Hey."

"Hey yourself." Greg sat back and trailed his fingers down Nick's bare chest. "Were you asleep this whole time?"

"Guess I was." Nick stretched and propped himself up on his elbows. "Smells good. What is it?"

Greg grinned. "I ran over to a little Greek place down the way. I figured you'd be hungry. I got souvlaki, dolmathes, spanikopita..."

Nick smirked. "Don't you ever eat American food? Like...pizza? Or Chinese takeout?"

Greg laughed. "You're telling me Chinese takeout is American food?"

Nick shrugged. "You know what I mean."

"If we had another day I'd take you to Chinatown and get you roasted chicken feet. Now that's Chinese." He laughed at the face Nick made and patted his leg through the covers. "Come on, get up and eat. I'm taking you out tonight."

Nick pulled on a pair of jeans and sat at the room's small table as Greg set Styrofoam containers of food on its surface. "Where we going?" he asked, opening a container and studying its contents.

"Dolmathes," Greg said. "Lamb and rice wrapped in grape leaves with a lemon sauce."

"Uh-huh," Nick said.

Greg handed him a plastic fork. "Just eat it. They're good. And if you don't like them, that just means there's more for me."

Nick poked at one of the dark green bundles with his fork. "You never told me where we were going."

"I just figured you might like to see some San Francisco nightlife."

"I've already been to the clubs."

"Where'd you go?" Greg asked. "Castro Street?" He scoffed. "That's so not my scene. You'll see. This is real San Francisco, the stuff they don't put in the guidebooks."

Nick had taken a bite of the dolmathes, and he had to admit they were good. "We're not going to end up drunk and half naked, engaged to hairy men named Roscoe, are we?" he asked after swallowing.

Greg laughed. "Only if we're lucky."

They ate in comfortable silence. It was only towards the end of the meal that Nick was awake enough to think to ask Greg about his lectures. "How'd 'The Corpse as Crime Scene' go?"

Greg pursed his lips and toyed with his fork for a moment. "Well, I didn't vomit," he said.

Nick smiled.

"But I really wanted to."

"You get used to it," Nick said.

"I don't know. I think I'm always gonna want to vomit when I see the kind of mutilation they showed us in those slides. I don't care how long I do this—I'll never understand why people do things like that."

"We don't have to understand why" Nick said. "We answer who, what, where, and how. Leave the why to philosophers and priests. I just meant that you get used to the nausea. Just remember to breathe through your mouth and smile."

"Smile?"

"Suppresses the gag reflex."

Greg smirked. "Now, how have I been deep-throating all these years without knowing that?"

Nick smiled back at him. "I didn't know you could deep throat."

"Well, you never gave me the chance." He leaned forward and brushed his fingers along Nick's thigh. "You want a demonstration?"

Nick kissed him, sighing as he felt the other man's full lips against his own. "Later," he whispered against Greg's mouth. "I'm an old man, you know. I need time to recuperate."

Greg laughed at that. "Fine." He patted Nick's knee. "Get dressed."

"What should I wear?"

Greg looked at him for a long moment and bit his lower lip, then smiled a sly smile.

"What?"

"It should be illegal for you to wear clothes."

Nick blushed and ducked his head down.

"I'm not kidding. Although, you're pretty scandalous in just a pair of jeans. We're definitely going to have to cover you up tonight because you just look far too good the way you are right now." He unzipped his suitcase and started digging through it.

"Greg, I'm not wearing one of your zany shirts."

Greg looked over at him with a smirk. "Zany?"

Nick nodded. "Zany."

Greg looked back down at his suitcase. "How about...Marilyn Manson?"

"No."

"Rob Zombie?"

"No."

"The Circle Jerks?"

"Definitely not, Greg. I've got my own clothes."

Greg sighed. "It's just as well. You'd probably stretch 'em out with those hunky shoulders and biceps of yours. It's just..." he sighed and looked at Nick for a long moment.

"Just what?"

"You look like a cop."

Nick laughed. "What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong with that is that cops aren't exactly welcome where we're headed."

"I'm clean cut, Greg," Nick said, going over to his own suitcase and flipping back the top. "I always have been, always will be." He pulled out the black t-shirt he'd worn out to the clubs their first night there. "How's this?" he asked after pulling it on.

Greg looked at him, then licked his lips. "You, uh, you sure you don't want a demonstration of my deep throat technique?"

Nick laughed.

"I'm not kidding. You put on your glasses and I'm taking you by force, I swear to God."

"You like my glasses?" Nick asked. "I always thought they kinda made me look like a geek."

Greg crossed the room and slipped his arms around Nick's waist. "You're totally hot in your glasses," he whispered, brushing his nose against Nick's.

"You think so, huh?" Nick's voice had dropped to a husky drawl.

Greg nodded, then brushed their lips together. "Definitely," he whispered.

Nick parted his lips, let his tongue slip out to taste Greg's lips, then slip inside the other man's mouth. He slid his arms up Greg's back and pulled him close.

Greg moaned and gripped Nick's ass in his hands, started to rub against him.

"Later," Nick whispered, breaking the kiss. "Old man, remember?"

"You don't feel like an old man."

"Tell that to my aching muscles." He kissed Greg softly and reached up to caress his face. "Later. I promise."

Greg pulled away reluctantly. "OK, but I'm holding you to that promise."

Nick smiled and turned back to his suitcase to find a pair of socks. After pulling them on he stretched out on the bed to watch Greg get ready. He pulled on baggy, worn jeans, held up by what used to be an old GM station wagon seat belt. His green ringer t-shirt was faded and on the front was a distressed screen print of an owl and the words "Give a Hoot, Don't Pollute." Nick liked the way it fit Greg's slim frame—tight, but not too tight. Greg put on a necklace made of chain and a black leather wristband. The black zip-up sweater he pulled on had holes forming along the shoulder seams, and the cuffs were frayed and hung nearly to Greg's fingertips.

"I'll be ready in two seconds," Greg said as he headed towards the bathroom, tapping a pencil against his palm.

"I'm good," Nick told him. He sat up and stretched, found his shoes and slipped them on, then headed towards the bathroom to lean against the doorframe.

Greg was standing in front of the mirror, leaning forward with his head turned to the side. Both his hands were up near the eye closest to the mirror and Nick had to look at him for a moment before he realized that Greg was applying eyeliner.

Greg started to smudge the line with his middle finger when he noticed Nick standing in the doorway. He turned and smiled. "Ready," he said.

Nick was silent for a moment. "Blam," he said, finally.

"Is that good?"

Nick nodded. "I...uh, I never thought I'd like eyeliner on guys, but on you it's...blam."

Greg laughed and leaned back against the counter. "You want some?"

"I don't think so."

"Come on. Just a little bit."

Nick shook his head. "I don't think I'm quite the eyeliner type, Greggo."

Greg smiled and laid the eyeliner pencil down on the counter. "It's just as well. I really don't need you looking any hotter than you already do."

They left the hotel, but instead of getting a cab, Greg led Nick down the street to the bus stop.

"You gonna tell me where we're going?" Nick asked as Greg lounged against the side of the bus kiosk.

"Just a few places where I used to hang out," Greg said, shrugging. "Really low key."

Nick smirked. "Low key? You?"

"Fine. Low key compared to the bars on Castro. No strobe lights, no techno beats, no gym-bunnies flexing on the dance floor. Actually, no dance floor now that I think about it."

"Too bad, I was looking forward to grinding against you on the dance floor."

"Later," Greg said with a wink as the bus pulled up.

Nick wasn't exactly sure, since he hadn't completely gotten a grip on San Francisco's geography, but he was pretty sure they were heading in the direction of the Castro. Greg motioned for him to follow him off the bus before they got there, though, and when Nick looked around he realized they were in a run-down neighborhood, the walls of buildings covered with flyers and graffiti.

"Uh, are we gonna get mugged?" Nick asked as he followed Greg down the dark street.

Greg seemed to think about that for a moment. "It's always a possibility," he said. "But I doubt it. Come on. Moe's is just around the corner."

"Who's Moe?"

"It's a bar. When I was interning with the SFPD I used to come here practically every night."

"Why?" Nick asked. "Is it a popular hangout for known felons?"

Greg bumped his shoulder against Nick's. "No. Well, maybe. But we went there mainly because the beer's cheap and they don't water down their drinks."

Nick was about to reply to that when he heard a high-pitched squeal about half a block in front of them. When he looked up, he saw a girl with black and bright blue hair done up in crazy pigtails flapping her arms wildly as she ran straight towards them.

Instinctively, Nick reached for where his gun usually was, but he wasn't carrying. He couldn't, not in California, not when he wasn't working. He took a deep breath and was trying to figure out if he should take the girl down by tackling her or just hope for the best and let her run by when Greg stepped forward and opened his arms.

"Spider!" the girl cried, throwing her arms around Greg's neck. "Is it Christmas already?" She hugged him tightly and rocked him side to side.

Greg laughed and gave her a quick kiss on the mouth. "I'm just in town for a conference."

"You and your j-o-b," she said, bumping his hip with her own. "Aren't you ashamed to admit that you work for a living?" She smiled at Nick. "Who's your friend?"

"Oh, this is Nick," Greg said, reaching out to touch Nick's arm. "Nick, this is Tweet. We go way back."

"Nice to meet you, uh, Tweet," Nick said, offering her his hand.

"You, too," she said. As he shook her hand, Nick couldn't help but notice the track marks crawling up her arm.

"Oh, my God, Spider," she said. "Everybody's gonna totally shit when they find out you're in town. How long are you staying?"

Greg shrugged and made an apologetic face. "We fly out tomorrow."

She pouted for a moment and twirled a strand of electric blue hair around her finger. Nick noticed that some of her hair had dreadlocked and some hadn't. "Shit. Well, come on, anyway. We're all heading to Moe's to see Chase's band play."

"Chase is in a band?" Greg asked.

"The suck but, you know," she grinned and shrugged, then started down the street.

Greg slipped his arm around Nick's waist as they followed her. "Spider?" Nick asked in a whisper.

He smirked. "Long story."

They followed Tweet through a door painted with layers and layers of peeling black paint into a crowded, dimly lit bar that smelled of cigarette smoke, stale beer, and urine.

The band that occupied the small stage against the back wall did, indeed, suck. Nick thought the noise they were making sounded more like an industrial accident than music. He cringed at the smell, the crush of bodies against them as they followed Tweet through the bar, the fact that the so-called music was loud enough to make his eardrums bleed.

He couldn't hear what Tweet said to the table full of people, but it was obvious they know who Greg was because they smiled and said things he couldn't hear over the din of the band and scooted around to make room for them.

For some reason, Nick had always imagined Greg's friends would be science geeks, guys that sat around watching Star Trek and playing Magic: The Gathering on Saturday nights. He hadn't imagined multi-colored hair, multiple piercings, and track marks.

Nick ended up seated on the other end of the table from Greg, next to a girl with a shaved head and tattoos up and down her arms who was wearing a vintage evening gown with a strand of pearls.

"How do you know Spider?" the bald girl in the evening dress asked above the racket of Chase's band. Nick was sure he was going to end up with a migraine.

"We work together," Nick shouted back at her.

She laughed, though Nick didn't know what she thought was funny.

Nick sipped at the glass of beer somebody shoved in front of him and smiled as he watched Greg telling a story. He couldn't hear anything he was saying, but he knew the story had to be good because his face was animated and his hands gestured wildly in the air.

Chase's band stopped impersonating an industrial accident and started playing what sounded more like what happened when Nick got his radio mouthpiece too close to the speaker.

Greg was still talking, Tweet leaning close towards him, the guy on the other side of him laughing and shaking his head. Nick noticed that the guy had tattoos up the sides of his neck and enough holes in his face that Nick was pretty sure if you stuck a hose in his mouth he'd make a damn good lawn sprinkler.

Greg was telling the story of the lab explosion. Nick could tell, even though he couldn't hear a word. Greg gripped his hands tight in front of him as he talked, then suddenly flung them apart wide. He brought one hand back and moved it forward slowly, as if to illustrate the way he'd flown through the air. Then he slapped that hand flat on the table and shook his head. Nick saw that Tweet's eyes were wide and the scary pierced man had actually gasped.

He watched Tweet for a while. At first when he saw the track marks he'd assumed heroin, but he didn't know any junkie with as much energy as she had. She was fidgeting in her chair, twirling strands of hair round and round each finger, laughing with giddy joy at Greg's stories. Nick wondered what she was on, wondered if Greg knew she was high.

Mercifully, the band stopped playing about twenty minutes later, the front man saying, "Thanks. We're 'Lucifer's Anus' and you can see us here again tomorrow night."

Greg got up and came around to where Nick was sitting. "How you doing?" he asked as he slid into Nick's lap.

Nick felt a little strange. He hadn't ever had a guy sit on his lap in public before, but nobody around them seemed to think a thing of it. He slid his arms around Greg's waist. "I think my ears are bleeding."

"Aww," Greg said, turning Nick's head with his fingers and kissing his earlobe. "This one's fine," he said, nuzzling against Nick's ear.

"You keep kissing me like that and wiggling your ass around in my lap and you're going to have to demonstrate your technique right here, right now," Nick said, brushing his cheek against Greg's jaw.

"Promises, promises. Do you mind hanging out with my friends for a little while? It's just that I haven't seen them in forever and—"

"It's cool," Nick said, sliding his hand up and down Greg's leg. "They seem like nice people." And they did. The longer Nick sat and talked with them, the more he stopped seeing them as a group of pierced and tattooed freaks and started seeing them as just a group of friends.

The bald girl in the evening gown turned out to be named Jennie, and she taught yoga and vulva-appreciation classes. Nick didn't know what vulva-appreciation classes were, but he didn't ask. The scary tattooed guy was Roger, and once Nick could hear him speak he wasn't scary at all, considering that he had one of the gentlest voices he'd ever encountered. Roger was a professional piercer, and Nick smiled to suppress his gag reflex when Roger explained, in detail, just what was involved when piercing the head of your cock.

By one-thirty, the only people left at the table were Greg, Nick, and Tweet, who was bouncing in her chair, her words running together as she told them all about her day. Nick thought maybe she'd never stop talking, but she did—only because her pager went off. She snatched it up and stared at it for a moment, then looked up at Greg with a blissful smile. "That was Chase," she said. "He's back at home. You have to come with me and see him."

"Why didn't he come out after his set?" Greg asked.

Tweet shrugged and twirled a strand of hair. "He had stuff to do, I guess. But he's home now, so we should go see him. You haven't seen our new place, yet."

Nick sensed that Greg was reluctant to go, but he didn't want to say anything to him in front of Tweet. He followed Greg and Tweet out of the bar, and once they were outside Greg said, "You know, I don't think this is such a good idea."

She turned and looked at him, rushed to him and reached to touch his face. "Oh, come on," she whispered. "You're a party pooper. It's early!" She laughed at that. "When's the last time you got spun with us?" she asked in a whisper. "It's been, like, forever."

"Not long enough," Greg said dully.

"Oh, come on," Tweet said, gripping Greg's hands in hers. "Come on, come on, come on!" She giggled and jumped up and down. "It'll be like high school. You and me and Chase, spinning again just like old times."

Greg pursed his lips and Nick could see the dark look that crossed his face. "What about Marco?" he asked softly. "That's how it always was. You and me and Chase and Marco. Remember? Where's Marco tonight?"

Tweet let go of Greg's hands and took a step back. She took a deep breath and looked away from him, scratching compulsively at the side of her face. "Don't," she whispered. "Don't. Don't."

"Why don't we give Marco a call, huh? Why don't we ask him if he wants to get spun?"

Nick held his breath as he watched Tweet's features tense. Her mouth twitched and she started shaking her head.

"I just..." She tugged on a strand of hair, twirled it round and round her finger as she bounced on the balls of her feet. "You never hang out with us anymore. You didn't even come by last Christmas and I know you were home because my mom said she saw you."

"You know why I don't come by anymore," Greg whispered.

Nick looked away. He felt like he was peeping through somebody's window, listening to a conversation he had no right to hear.

"But you have to see Chase," her tone was insistent. "You can't not see Chase."

"Chase could have talked to me after his set. I know he saw me when he was on stage."

"He was...he was busy after," Tweet whispered.

"He was too busy trying to score to come talk to one of his oldest friends for five minutes," Greg said. "You know I can't do it anymore, Amy."

The fact that he used her real name seemed to startle her. She looked at him for a long moment, her lower lip trembling. Then she lurched forward and shoved Greg, hard, with both hands. "You're such a fucker!" she screamed, before turning to run.

Nick was tempted to run after her, but Greg put a hand on his arm. "Let her go," he said softly. He dug in his sweater pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. His hands weren't shaking as he lit one, but Nick could tell he was upset.

"You wanna talk about it?" Nick asked, reaching out to touch Greg's hair.

Greg leaned back against a streetlight and nodded. "We started by cooking it. Tweet and I. We were...I mean, we didn't use. Not at first. We were just these chemistry geeks, you know? Trying to make some extra cash. I was fifteen, didn't see anything wrong with it. I figured at least I knew what I was doing, that I was...I don't know. Providing a service. I figured people were going to do it anyway, and if I made it then it would be clean, unlike the bathtub shit other people made with fucking drain cleaner and battery acid." He ran his hand over his hair and sighed as he looked away. "And then, you know, one night I'm studying for finals and I'm falling asleep and the coffee's not working to keep me awake, so..." He shrugged. "I said I'd just do a little bit. Just that one time."

"And it spiraled out of control," Nick whispered.

Greg shook his head. "No. Not really. Not for me." He sighed and leaned back against the wall. "I know a really good all-night Vietnamese place a few blocks from here," he said. "You hungry?"

Nick shrugged. "I could eat."

"It was always just casual for me," Greg said as they started to walk. "It wasn't for Tweet. Did you see her arms?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"She started shooting up a few years ago. Says the high's better. We never used to slam it, just did bumps."

"You snorted it," Nick said.

Greg nodded. "And it was really clean. Shit. I was the one making it, after all." He smiled sadly. "I was so fucking lucky. So lucky. I thought I knew what I was doing, but you know how easy it is for meth labs to explode, how easy it is to asphyxiate on the fumes. For years I've thought about that, about how lucky I was, that I'd quit before I blew myself up." He looked over at Nick and shrugged. "Karma's a bitch, I guess. Got the scars on my back to prove it."

"You didn't bring that on yourself, Greg. It was an accident."

"That's what I tell myself, but it didn't feel like an accident. It felt like I got what I deserved."

Nick grabbed Greg's arm. "How can you say that? Everybody screws up, Greg. Everybody's done stuff they're not proud of. The important thing is that you moved on, that you changed."

Greg's eyes were dark. "Yeah," he whispered. "I moved on, but I left my friends behind."

"It's not your fault that Tweet's still using."

"Of course it is. I'm the one that talked her into trying it in the first place." He pulled away from Nick's grasp. "God, I'm starving."

"Greg..."

"Look, it's not a big deal, OK? It's just that I was pretending that everything was OK tonight, that we really were the way we used to be. But we're not, and it sucks, and I'll deal with it."

"Who's Marco?"

Greg flicked his cigarette butt into the street and took a deep breath. "I don't think I'm up for that story tonight. Come on. I'm craving a bowl of bun bo hue."

"Are you sure you don't wanna—"

"What? Talk about it?" Greg reached out and cupped his hand around the back of Nick's neck. "Yeah, I'm sure." He leaned in and for a soft kiss. "Haven't you ever done something you wished you could take back?" he asked, pressing his cheek to Nick's.

Nick smiled wryly. "You have no idea how much sometimes," he whispered, sliding his fingers through Greg's hair.

Greg pulled back and placed his hands on Nick's chest. "I love this town," he said. "I love this city more than I've ever loved anyplace else, but I couldn't stay."

Nick nodded. He didn't know if Greg would believe him, but he really did understand. He felt the same way about Dallas sometimes.

"And this is my last night here, until I get drunk for Christmas, anyway."

Nick laughed at that.

"So just let me enjoy it. I'll buy you Vietnamese food and tell you funny stories. If you're lucky, I'll tell you the one about waking up on top of Coit Tower."

"And if I'm unlucky?" Nick asked with a grin.

Greg shrugged and started to walk up the street. "Then you'll have to listen to me impersonate my parents all night long. My mother's theories about sexual attraction are extremely fascinating."

Nick cringed and laughed. "I'm not sure I want to know what they are."

"Well, if you don't behave, you'll get to hear that and more." Greg stopped, suddenly, and gripped Nick's arm. "Look," he whispered.

Nick froze, expecting to see a crime in progress or the foot of a corpse sticking out from behind a car. Instead all he saw were two old ladies walking up the hill, arm in arm.

"It's the twins," Greg whispered.

"Who are the twins?" Nick whispered back, not entirely sure at all why they were whispering.

"Nobody knows who they are, nobody knows where they go at night, they just appear out of nowhere, always walking arm in arm, always dressed alike. God, look at them. They're beautiful, aren't they?"

Nick watched the two old women across the street. They were dressed in matching leopard-print coats with matching black pillbox hats, a black feather curving around the side of each one. They wore black high-heeled shoes that looked like they were from the 40's, and each of them had a black fur stole wrapped around her neck.

He didn't know if he'd call them beautiful, exactly, but it was remarkable to see two old women dressed alike in fancy clothes, walking together along the streets of San Francisco at 2 o'clock in the morning. He could see how something like that would be beautiful to Greg.

"I haven't seen them in years," Greg whispered, sliding his hand down Nick's arm and lacing his fingers through Nick's. "Not since I was at Berkeley. I was afraid they were gone."

Nick looked at Greg and smiled, took in the expression of delight on Greg's face. "Maybe it's a sign," Nick said. He didn't know what made him say it, or what kind of sign it could be, but it felt like the right thing to say.

Greg beamed at that, and leaned in closer against him. "Yeah," he whispered. They stood silently on the corner, then, watching the twins make their way up the hill and finally disappear out of sight.

Nick squeezed Greg's fingers gently, then pulled him forward and they walked on in silence, hand in hand.

Nick gazed up at the ceiling and sighed. He wasn't sure what time it was, but from the angle of the light in the room, he guessed it was close to six am. He'd set the alarm for eight to give Greg time to sleep. Their plane didn't leave until one, but between packing, check out, and getting to the airport two hours early, Nick didn't want to take any chances.

Greg had fallen asleep shortly after they got back to the room some time after three. Nick hadn't slept. His body was back on its normal schedule and the dark of night meant that he was wide awake and ready to go.

Even though he was fully awake, he lay with Greg in one of the room's double beds, listening to Greg breathe. Greg's head rested on his chest, one arm wrapped around Nick's shoulder, his leg slung over Nick's hips. He had never been comfortable sleeping that close to someone, but with Greg it was nice. Maybe it was because he wasn't trying to sleep; he was just lying there, awake, holding Greg in his arms and listening to him breathe.

Meth. He'd never known anyone who did meth before. Not personally. Not that he knew of. And he knew Greg liked his stimulants, knew he had a coffee jones to rival the entire department, but the thought of him doing meth was something Nick couldn't quite wrap his head around. He just couldn't see it. Not Greg. Not his Greg.

He sighed and nuzzled his face against Greg's hair. His Greg. The thought terrified him, elated him, made him want to laugh and cry and scream at the top of his lungs.

He'd been so careful for so many years. He'd never gotten involved, had never let his guard down, never even let himself consider the thought of a long-term relationship.

But there he was, somehow, holding a man he'd known for years but had only truly known for less than two days. Christ. He rubbed Greg's bare back gently, slid his fingers over the smooth scars. He was...what? Falling in love?

He shut his eyes tight as he realized that he might be. It was a definite possibility if things kept going the way they had been. Only two days, and already he thought of Greg as his, thought of himself as Greg's.

He wished he had someone to talk to, but this was something he'd never really confided to anyone. Joe, the oldest of his brothers, was the only one he'd ever told the truth, and it wasn't like they'd had a heart-to-heart about it.

They'd been at the shooting range, his family's version of male bonding.

"Hey, Nick," Joe had said. "Don't get me wrong or nothin', but I gotta ask this."

Nick, who had just finished unloading his clip into the paper target, knew what was coming. He couldn't say why, but he knew exactly what Joe was going to ask him. "What's up, Joe?" he'd asked, trying his hardest to keep his voice steady.

"I, uh, not to pry or nothin', but, uh, are you...you know?" He wobbled his hand from side to side. "That way?"

Nick sniffed as he ejected his clip. "Yup," he said. He reached for the box of shells and started loading them into the clip slowly. He didn't look up at Joe.

"And, uh, you're sure about that?"

"I'm sure," Nick had replied.

That had been it. Joe had just nodded. Nick didn't ask how Joe knew and Joe hadn't offered to explain. They went back to shooting targets like nothing had happened. That had been five years earlier, and they hadn't spoken of it since. To the best of Nick's knowledge, Joe hadn't said anything to anyone else, not even his wife, Rita, who constantly hinted that it was time for Nick to find a nice girl and settle down.

No, it wasn't like he could call Joe up to chat about it. What would he say? "You see, my whole life I've just been having anonymous sex with random guys, but now I'm starting to have feelings for a guy I work with, and I'm pretty sure he feels the same way and I'm freaking out." He didn't think it was a phone call Joe would appreciate, even if he had wanted to call him, which he didn't.

He should have known what it was the second he met Tweet. He should have seen the signs—her jitters, her inability to sit still, the tracks on her arms, the scabs on her face that she'd covered with heavy makeup. He'd been working in law enforcement long enough that should have seen it all and it should have immediately added up to equal meth addict, but it hadn't. Because she was Greg's friend and he hadn't wanted to think Greg could go way back with a tweaker. He wondered if that's where she'd gotten her name, remembered the chirping noise she'd made as she first ran at them, the way she flapped her arms almost like wings. Tweak wasn't far from Tweet. He could see easily if that was how she'd gotten her name.

"Stop thinking so loud," Greg mumbled, nuzzling his face against Nick's chest.

Nick laughed softly. "What?"

"You're thinking too loud. You woke me up."

"Well, unless you're psychic I don't see how you can know whether or not I'm thinking at all."

Greg lifted his head up and gazed at Nick with heavy eyes. He yawned and wet his lips with his tongue. "I'm not psychic. Doesn't change the fact that you're thinking at the top of your lungs."

Nick grinned and stroked Greg's back. "Are you talking in your sleep or are you serious?"

Greg dropped his head back onto Nick's chest. "I'm serious," he said through another yawn. "You're wondering if I'm still using. You're wondering if that's why I am the way I am."

"No," Nick said softly. "I know you're not using."

"How?"

"I'd be able to tell."

"No, actually, you wouldn't. You never knew before."

Nick tensed. "What do you mean? Greg, when did you stop?"

"For good? About a year ago."

Nick sat up, and Greg rolled onto his back. "Wait...that was...Jesus, Greg."

"I wasn't an addict or anything. It wasn't hard to quit."

"But the drug tests—"

"I've got degrees in chemistry from Stanford and Berkeley, Nick. You think I don't know how to beat a drug test?"

"But...the evidence. Christ. Everything you processed, if anybody found out...defense attorneys would have a field day."

"I never came to work spun," Greg said simply. "I only did it once or twice a month, if that, only when I had at least a day to crash after I came down."

Nick swung his legs over the side of the bed and raked his fingers through his hair.

Greg sighed and reached out to touch Nick's back. "I knew it would upset you if I told you the truth, but I don't want to lie. Not to you."

Nick took a deep breath, then another. "Were you cooking it?" he asked, afraid of the answer.

"No."

"Don't lie to me. Were you working with us, working with the cops, and running a meth lab on the side?"

"No."

Nick turned to look at him, his mouth in a tight line. "Swear to me."

"I swear," Greg whispered. "I cooked for less than a year, and that was in high school. My heart wasn't in it, and I'd heard too many horror stories. Cooking takes up a lot of time, and it's not just the fumes that can kill you. People will do crazy shit for meth, and the first time I got a gun pulled on me I swore to God I was out of the scene. I swear to you, Nick, that's the truth."

Nick reached out to touch Greg's cheek. "Why, man? How could you keep doing it? How could you do something like that when you knew, when you'd seen what it did to people?"

"For the rush," he said. "Not that I ever did much. I did it maybe twice at Stanford. More at Berkeley. Being back here, being around Tweet and Chase and Marco...that was their thing, you know? When I was around them it was always there, and I ended up doing more than I should have. It's one of the reasons I left."

"But you said yourself you were still using in Vegas."

Greg shrugged. "I didn't for a long time. But then I started dating this girl, and she was into P&P—party and pleasure—so I started it again. I started doing it when we had sex, and then even after we broke up I did it a few times a month when I went out. I know it's stupid, Nick, you have to believe that I do know how stupid I was, but I thought it was harmless. I justified it to myself by saying that it was just like coffee, only in concentrated form."

"Coffee doesn't kill people. People don't kill other people over a single coffee bean."

"I know. I know I was wrong, and I wish I could take it back. I wish I'd never even heard of meth, but I can't change the past." He stroked Nick's arm. "I wish to God that I could."

Nick leaned down to kiss him. "Promise me you won't ever use again."

"You don't need to make me promise, Nick. I've already promised myself."

"Because if anything ever happened to you..." Nick didn't even know what to say. It overwhelmed him, the sudden fear that arose when he thought of Greg getting hurt.

"I won't, baby," Greg murmured, running his fingers along Nick's jaw. "I promise you."

Nick pulled Greg towards him until they were lying on their sides, facing each other, looking into each other's eyes.

"I know it's weird," Nick whispered. "I know this is happening really fast, but I'm crazy about you."

Greg smiled. "I'm crazy about you, too. You know what the weirdest part is?"

"What?"

"The weirdest part is how not-weird it is. How normal it feels. How easy it is to be with you, no awkwardness, no morning after panic."

Nick touched his forehead to Greg's, shut his eyes. Greg was right. It felt like they'd been together for years, he was that comfortable, and he also had the excitement of it being brand new. He didn't know what he'd do now if he lost Greg, even though he'd only just found him. "If anything happened to you," he whispered. "If you did anything like that again—"

"I won't," Greg cut him off. He pulled away from Nick and sighed. "And it's not because I suddenly got religion or anything like that. It's not because I realized that it was morally wrong. I wish I had. I wish that I'd paid attention to the million things that were wrong with it, that I'd stopped being able to justify it to myself, but I didn't. The reason I stopped is because I'm scared. No sudden attack of conscience, just me being scared and selfish and fucked up."

"Baby," Nick murmured, reaching out to touch Greg's face.

"Don't." Greg pushed his hand away. "Don't touch me like that."

Nick sucked in a sharp breath. "What's wrong?"

Greg got out of bed and walked towards the window. The curtains were drawn but he stood in front of it as if he were gazing outside. "I'm not a good person, Nick," he whispered.

"What are you talking about? Of course you are."

"A year ago last April, I took some time off."

Nick nodded. He didn't remember Greg being gone, but he didn't keep track of anyone's vacation time.

"Papa Olaf was having surgery, an angioplasty, so I flew out to take care of him the first week he was recovering. He did really well, came through it like it was nothing, so when he told me that he was fine and that I should take a night off to see my friends, I did." He wrapped his arms around his waist and dropped his head. "I'd seen them in December, and they were doing fine then, but when I got to their place...Tweet and Marco and Chase were living in this fucking dive—no heat, no electricity, the plumbing backed up, the place was just filthy. It smelled so bad, Nick, and they were so fucked up. They didn't have any money. I sent them money all the time, every month, but they could never make it last.

"Tweet had a plan. God, she was so excited. She said they'd make enough money to pay me back." He laughed softly. "She had no idea how much money I'd actually given them over the years. The way she was talking, you'd have thought they'd only borrowed a few hundred dollars instead of thousands. Not that I was expecting any of it back. I took care of them, you know? I didn't expect them to pay me back, but Tweet kept talking about her plan. She was going to start cooking again, and she'd make enough money to get them a good place, to pay me back, to have everything they ever wanted. She had everything set up, had just gotten the red phosphorous she needed that night and she was going to cook...I couldn't let her, Nick. You have to understand that. She was fucking spun, out of her head, I couldn't let her handle those chemicals."

"You cooked it for them," Nick said softly.

Greg nodded. "She would have blown herself up," he whispered. "She would have spilled the ammonia, burned herself, gone blind. So many things can go wrong. I cooked it, made sure the place was ventilated, made sure the shit was clean, pure."

"Jesus, Greg."

"I know," he snapped. "I know, OK? You don't have to lecture me because I know it was wrong. I know I shouldn't have done it. Every time I wake up I pray that it was just a bad dream, that I didn't kill my best friend."

Nick took a deep breath. "Marco."

"I knew something was wrong the second the needle hit his vein. He started to drool, to foam at the mouth. I panicked and called 911. Tweet was hysterical, screaming at me to hang up the phone, that the cops would come and they couldn't have the cops come. I was so fucking scared. I saw my entire life crumble in front of my eyes. Here, Marco was OD-ing and I was thinking about how I was going to lose my job, about how I didn't want to go to jail." He wiped at his face with the back of his hand and Nick could see that he was crying. "Chase and Tweet grabbed the rest of the stuff and ran. I stayed with him until I heard the sirens."

Nick got out of the bed, came up behind Greg and placed his hands on Greg's shoulders. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Greg's body tensed. "That's it? I tell you that I'm a murderer and all you say is that you're sorry?"

"You're not a murderer."

"Of course I am. You know as well as I do that if it had happened in Vegas, if it was one of our cases we'd go after the cook for making shit that was too pure."

"No. Manufacture of a schedule I substance, possession with intent to distribute, but not murder." He kissed the back of Greg's neck gently. "It's not your fault."

Greg pulled away from him, whirled around. "How can you say that? I made meth, Nick, and it killed someone. How is that not my fault?"

"You didn't put the needle in his vein. You didn't make him use. He would have used whether you cooked it or not. And if you'd let Tweet cook...all three of them could be dead."

Greg rubbed his trembling hands over his face. "I tell myself that. I tell myself that every day, but I don't believe it. I'm the one who started it. Sure, Tweet cooked with me in the beginning, but I was the first one to use. I was the one who told them what a great high it was, how it made you feel invincible, how you could study for hours and not get tired. Everything's my fault. Marco's dead, and Tweet and Chase aren't really alive, and it's because of me."

Nick reached up, cupped Greg's face in his hands. "Look at me, baby," he whispered. "You fucked up. You did. You did things you shouldn't have, and it's good that you take responsibility for that. But they have to take responsibility, too. You can't take it all on yourself. You're not responsible for turning them into addicts—they went down that road without you."

Greg looked at him for a long moment, tears welling up in his eyes. "How can you even look at me now that you know the truth?"

"Because I love you." The words were out of his mouth before he could think about them, but once he said it he knew it was true.

Greg's eyes widened and he took a step back. "You...you what?" It wasn't until that moment that Nick realized Greg was as scared as he was.

"I love you."

Greg closed his eyes and tears began to roll down his cheeks.

"Shh, baby," Nick murmured, pulling Greg into his arms. "Hush, baby, it's all right. It's all right. You don't have to cry."

Greg let out a choking sob and placed his shaking hands against Nick's back.

He held Greg close, stroked his hair, murmured soft words. Greg clung to him until he stopped crying, then turned his head up and pressed his mouth to Nick's. Nick was unprepared for the eagerness of Greg's kisses, but he returned them in kind. He felt Greg's hand's grip his hips tight and moaned as Greg began to rock their bodies together.

"Baby," Nick whispered as they parted for air.

Greg silenced him with another kiss and pulled them towards the bed.

He knew what to do without asking, knew what Greg wanted, maybe even what Greg needed. He stretched out over Greg's naked body, kissed him, caressed him, slid his hand between Greg's legs to stroke his cock, fondle his balls.

Greg reached down and grasped Nick's wrist, brought it up to his mouth and Nick shuddered as Greg wrapped his lips around his fingers and sucked gently. He slid his fingers between Greg's lips, then pulled them out, reached down, and pressed his spit-slick fingers against Greg's asshole.

Greg arched his head back and let his eyes flutter closed as Nick's fingers pressed into him, opened him.

Nick kissed Greg's neck, bit lightly at the smooth flesh, worked his fingers into Greg's body and hooked them forward, smiling as he hit just the right spot and Greg cried out and twisted the sheets in his hands.

"Please," Greg panted.

"Shhh," Nick whispered. He reached for the condoms, knelt between Greg's legs and slicked one on. He slid into Greg slowly, groaning at the hot, delicious pleasure around his cock.

Greg wound his legs around Nick's waist, reached up to hold onto Nick's shoulders.

"Feels so good to be inside you," Nick said softly, gazing down at Greg's face. He kissed Greg's forehead, his eyelids, pressed their cheeks together. "Never knew how perfect it could be until I was inside you."

Greg whimpered and tightened his grip on Nick shoulders. He rocked his hips up, meeting every thrust.

"Look at me," Nick whispered. "Baby, open your eyes and look at me."

Greg did. He opened his eyes, damp with unshed tears and reached up to touch Nick's face. He gasped, arched his neck and groaned as Nick pumped his hips in a slow steady rhythm, but he didn't look away. His dark eyes were locked with Nick's, and he stifled another groan. His touch was so light against Nick's skin that Nick sensed it more than felt it. "Love you," Greg whispered. "Love you, love you." His voice was desperate, pleading. "Love you so much, Nicky. Always have."

Nick brought his mouth down over Greg's, not to silence him but to capture those words as surely as he captured the kiss. If he'd been thinking straight he would have run. There were too many potential complications, too much to lose, but he wasn't going to run. He'd never had love before and he wasn't giving it up, not for anything.

When Nick turned the key in the ignition, his car filled with the sound of "Thank God I'm a Country Boy," and he was a little glad that Greg declined his offer of a ride home because he was pretty sure he didn't want Greg to know that he listened to John Denver.

And of course Greg didn't need a ride, of course he'd driven his own car to the airport, but part of Nick was disappointed and a little worried because if Greg drove himself home then it meant that the next time they'd see each other was at work, and Nick wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do with that. He didn't know how he'd feel when he saw Greg back in the lab like nothing had happened, if he'd be able to keep his mind on work, if he'd feel too embarrassed to look Greg in the eye.

Part of him wondered if coming home would break the spell, if just leaving the foggy rain soaked streets of San Francisco would somehow break the bond between them, if the hot sun of the desert would somehow burn away everything they'd said, everything they'd done. But on the drive home he found himself singing along to "Annie's Song," blissfully belting out, "Come let me love you, let me give my life to you, let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms," and he knew just a change of venue wasn't going to be enough to stop whatever crazy thing it was that they'd started.

Jesus. What had they started? Not only was it the first relationship he'd had in over a decade that lasted longer than a few hours, not only was he getting involved with a guy he worked with, he was getting involved with Greg. Greg, who apparently had the power to make Nick sing along to sappy love songs without caring what the other drivers on the road thought of him. Beautiful Greg, whose cheerful facade hid demons Nick hadn't even come close to suspecting.

He'd always assumed that he knew Greg. They'd worked together for years at a job that virtually guaranteed that you got to know the people you worked with. It wasn't just the hours, though that was definitely a factor. It was that no one else could ever understand what they did, what they went through, why they worked crazy hours and double shifts and gave up so much for what people on the outside assumed was just a job.

When Nick dreamed, he frequently dreamed of dead bodies, of murder, suicide, industrial accidents. He dreamed of love affairs gone wrong and children turning on their parents and people who were willing to take a human life for the smallest little thing. They weren't nightmares, they were just dreams. The images didn't scare him because being surrounded by death didn't scare him. It was unfortunate, but it was routine, something he saw every day. Most people couldn't understand it even if they tried. The only people who understood were the other people that did it, and that kind of understanding generated strong friendships.

And Greg might not have seen as much as Nick had, but he'd dealt with it all before in the lab. Nick thought that Greg was one of the people that understood him, that they'd been friends. He hadn't expected Greg to have so many secrets.

He'd seen Greg as a geek. Not that Nick wasn't a geek, but he hid it well and had developed other hobbies after getting his ass kicked nearly every day of middle school.

He'd always assumed that the mentions of surfing, rock climbing, scuba diving had been nothing but Greg's overactive imagination. He'd always assumed that when Greg hinted about whatever girl he was dating that he was either exaggerating or downright lying. He'd always assumed Greg's thinly veiled references to unusual sexual practices were just proof of Greg's own sexual frustration. Because Greg was a science geek, and no way was he getting better and wilder sex than Nick.

Only, Greg probably had been. He'd probably been telling the truth every time. Beautiful blondes, liquid latex, who knew what else he'd done?

And then I started dating this girl, and she was into P&P—party and pleasure—so I started it again. I started doing it when we had sex.

Nick tried to push the idea out of his head, Greg getting high before having sex with some random woman. Greg snorting meth in order to, what? Heighten his sensitivity? Prolong his stamina? Nick remembered reading somewhere that the initial rush of meth created a sensation equal to something like ten orgasms.

As much as it should have, it wasn't the meth that disturbed Nick about the scenario. He knew he should be uncomfortable that for years Greg had been getting high without anyone in the lab ever suspecting the truth. He knew he should be upset that someone he thought he knew had repeatedly and unabashedly broken the law, but that wasn't what bothered him the most. What bothered him was that Greg had done it for sex with someone else.

And the question had been on the tip of his tongue, but he'd never asked it. "Was it better than with me?"

He barely slept, even though the sun was high in the sky. Around six he gave up trying to sleep entirely and went through his mail, listened to the few messages he'd gotten on his answering machine during his three-day absence.

Three days? It had only been three days? His life before San Francisco seemed distant and hazy, like he'd been gone years instead of just a few days. He suspected that the reason he hadn't been able to sleep was because he hadn't had Greg snoring softly beside him.

Driving in to work he had a knot in his stomach the likes of which he hadn't felt since his first day at the Vegas crime lab. What if everyone could tell? Christ, what if Greg talked? He'd never told Greg how important it was for him to keep his private life private, had just assumed Greg knew, but what if he didn't? What if when he walked into work the secretaries giggled as he went past and whispered behind his back? What if Sara looked at him differently and Warrick stopped trusting him and...?

He took a deep breath before turning off his engine. Greg wasn't going to talk about it. It wasn't like he didn't know how to keep a secret. It wasn't like he didn't have secrets of his own.

He asked for his messages at the front desk out of habit. He only had one. It was a slip of paper folded in half and stapled once. Nick pulled it open as he headed towards the break room. It was unsigned, but he knew who it was from. In Greg's erratic scrawl was just one word: breathe.

He smiled as he tucked the note into his pocket.

"Somebody looks well rested," Sara said, looking up from her mug of coffee. "How was the conference? Was it fun? What did you learn?"

"Hold up," Nick said. "Let me get my coffee before you interrogate me."

"It's Greg's coffee," Sara said, cradling the mug in her hands. "I never knew how much I loved it until I had to drink Hodges' coffee for three days." She took a sip and a blissful smile spread across her features. "I love Greg's coffee."

Nick grinned as he poured himself a mug. He didn't mention that he'd had Greg's coffee on a regular basis for the past few days, among other things. Greg's coffee tasted just as good as it had in San Francisco, though it didn't taste nearly as good as his kisses.

Grissom breezed into the room not a moment later to hand out their assignments. Nick got sent out on a home invasion, the wife found beaten, strangled, and possibly sexually assaulted. It was an involved scene, stretching from the backyard all the way to the second story of the house, so Nick didn't have to worry about bumping into Greg for most of the shift.

Around five in the morning he knew he couldn't put it off any longer and he headed towards Greg's lab to get the results of the samples taken from the vic's sheets.

"You didn't happen to find a dog at the scene, did you?" Greg asked, not looking up from the microscope he was staring down.

Nick paused, startled. He didn't know how Greg even knew it was him. "Uh, yeah," he said. "Black lab in the backyard. We figure the perp cut its throat to keep it from barking."

"Maybe," Greg said, sliding back on a rolling stool and swiveling to face Nick. "Maybe not. Stick your nose down the scope."

Nick looked down the microscope. He knew it was impossible, but he was sure he could feel Greg's warmth radiating across the room and all through him. "It's semen," he said.

"Ah, yes, but what kind of semen?"

Nick looked up at him. "It's freaky semen?"

"Not in and of itself, but context is everything. Seeing that it was scraped off a set of 600-thread count sheets, yes, it's freaky. Damn freaky."

"Greg," Nick said with an exasperated sigh.

"When someone's really ugly you say they're a...?"

"Dog," Nick said. He sucked in a sharp breath. "Dog? That's...that's dog...stuff?"

Greg nodded. "I ran it through just to be sure. It's canine all right. Mixed with human vaginal secretions."

Nick shuddered and had to fight the bile rising in his throat. "Jee-zus."

"Maybe the husband came home to find out his wife was having an affair...with his best friend."

Nick shuddered again. "This is no time for jokes, Greg. That kind of thing is just wrong." He couldn't help imagining it, and it made him feel like he needed to scrub out the inside of his skull with a brillo pad.

"I take it from your reaction that you won't want to do it doggy style any time soon," Greg said, a smile playing over his lips.

Nick felt the blush begin in his neck, could actually feel the heat as it spread up through his cheeks and to the tips of his ears.

"Did you get the message I left you?" Greg asked softly. "Now might be a good time to do that."

Nick took a deep breath, then another. When he looked up at Greg the heat spread through his body not because of embarrassment, but because he couldn't help picturing Greg on his hands and knees, back arched, sweat dripping down his spine...

Greg's eyes locked with Nick's, and Nick could tell from the way he moistened his lips with his tongue, from the expression in his eyes that Greg was imagining it, too.

Greg looked away first. He looked down at a sheaf of papers and moved to straighten them. "Why don't we have breakfast later?" he asked, his voice low and slightly husky. "We can...talk."

Nick nodded. Talk. Yeah, they should definitely talk.

Which was how he found himself in Greg's apartment later that morning, though talking was the last thing on his mind.

He grabbed Greg as soon as the front door closed, kissed him fiercely as he tugged and pulled at Greg's clothes. He wrapped his arms around Greg's shoulders and pulled his body close, parted his lips, slipped his tongue into Greg's mouth, frantically kissing and nipping and tasting him.

He pressed forward against Greg's body, slammed him against the wall. His hands slid beneath Greg's shirt, feeling smooth, taut skin and hardened nipples.

"Oh, God," Greg whispered as Nick's fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. If he was startled by Nick's sudden arousal he didn't show it.

He yanked Greg's shirt open, popping the last few buttons, slid it down over slim, muscled shoulders, dipped his head to kiss Greg's chin, the hollow where his throat met his jaw, down his collarbone, down across his chest pausing to flick his tongue over a nipple. Greg's fingers slid through his hair as Nick dropped to his knees, kissed Greg's flat stomach, leaned to mouth Greg's cock through his jeans.

His hands were actually trembling as he unbuttoned Greg's jeans, yanked down the zipper, tugged them down along with Greg's boxer-briefs and he groaned, actually groaned with relief as his lips closed around Greg's cock.

He swirled his tongue around the head of Greg's cock, dipped the tip of his tongue into the slit to tease out the salty-sour precum. He started his strokes slowly, teasing, making Greg cry out and shudder as Nick slid his mouth the whole way, burying his nose in Greg's pubes. He continued the slow, teasing strokes, continued to take Greg into his throat every few times.

"Please," Greg whispered. "Jesus, Nick, please." His fingers gripped Nick's hair tighter and he began to thrust his hips forward.

Nick's fingers were strong on Greg's hips and he pressed him back against the wall, holding him in place. "Shhh, baby," Nick whispered after pulling off his cock. He licked from the base to the tip like a lollipop. "Just let me do it."

"Nick, God, I want to...I need to..."

"You will," Nick whispered, tipping his head up so he could look into Greg's eyes. He didn't break eye contact as he parted his lips, took Greg into his mouth again, began to suck him harder, faster.

He slicked a finger with spit and when he slid his hand between Greg's legs, Greg moved his feet further apart to give Nick better access. He tugged at Nick's hair and whimpered as Nick began to finger fuck his ass. He ground his hips forward to slide as much of his cock into Nick's mouth as he could. He ground his hips back to feel Nick's fingers spreading him, filling him, stroking him in just the right spot.

"Nick," he whispered. "I'm gonna...right now I'm gonna..."

Nick either didn't hear Greg's warning or he didn't care. He felt Greg's cock pulse and tasted the bitter cream fill his mouth and he swallowed quickly, swallowed it all, kept sucking until Greg was completely spent. He kept his fingers in Greg's ass, stroking and twisting them slowly. He looked up into Greg's amazed eyes. "Bedroom?" he asked.

"I..." Greg shook his head, unable to think.

Nick stood and slowly slid his fingers out of Greg's ass. "Bedroom," he whispered against Greg's cheek. "Unless you want me to fuck you right here, pressed against the wall."

Greg kissed him, parted his lips, moaned into his mouth, and for a moment Nick thought he wanted to get fucked against the wall, until he whispered, "Bedroom. Down the hall. This way."

They kissed and stumbled their way to the bedroom, pulling clothes away clumsily and not caring where they fell. Greg climbed across the bed and slid open a drawer on his bedside table for condoms and lube, and Nick knelt at the end of the bed, his fist wrapped around his dripping cock, stroking it slowly as he eyed Greg's tight ass.

"God," Nick said as his eyes traveled up and down Greg's naked body. "God, I'm gonna fuck you so good. Get on your knees. I wanna fuck you from behind."

Greg placed the condom packet and the bottle of lube on the bedspread next to Nick's knee, then turned and knelt, propped up on his elbows, his head hanging down against his forearms.

Nick ripped the condom wrapper open, smoothed the latex sheath on. He dripped lube onto his fingers and rubbed it over his cock. He was about to lube up Greg's asshole but instead he leaned down and pressed his tongue against the tight little pucker. Greg gasped and ground back against him.

Nick spread Greg's cheeks with his hands, pressed his face right in there, his tongue licking and swirling and eventually dipping in, and Greg moaned something Nick couldn't quite hear but it sounded like, "Don't stop."

Nick had no intention of stopping. He breathed in Greg's musky scent, reached around to grip Greg's cock and wasn't surprised to find that he was getting hard again; he was still in his 20's, after all.

He fucked Greg with his tongue, felt his pucker tighten and relax, felt it every time Greg shuddered. He licked and sucked until he couldn't stand it, until he had to be inside of that hot little ass. He dripped lube onto his fingers, worked his fingers into Greg's ass and Greg was moaning, rocking back against Nick's fingers, a sheen of sweat covering his back and arms.

"You want me to fuck you, Greggo?" Nick asked, his voice a growl.

"Yes."

"Say it. Tell me what you want." The dirty sex voice was back from wherever it hid when he wasn't horny and ready to fuck. "I wanna hear you beg me for it." He rubbed the tip of his cock against Greg's asshole, pulled back every time Greg arched back against him.

"Please," Greg's voice was strangled. "Please, Nick, Jesus. Fuck me."

"You want it?" Nick asked.

"Yes."

"You need it?"

"God, yes."

"Say it. Tell me you need it."

"I need you to fuck me. God, I need your cock in me so bad."

Nick groaned as he pressed against Greg's asshole, not thrusting forward, just pressing firmly until Greg opened for him and he slid inside, slid up to the hilt, and Greg gasped and jerked his head up. Nick slid his hands up and down Greg's smooth back, gripped his hips as he began to pump slowly, letting Greg get used to the sensation.

"Harder," Greg moaned. "Fuck me hard, Nick, please."

"I will, baby," Nick purred. "Be patient."

"Now."

"Hold on."

"Now, God, please, now."

Nick smacked his ass lightly. "Greedy boy," he whispered.

Greg laughed at that. "Yeah," he panted. "So give it to me."

Nick's hips picked up speed, instead of just grinding into him he was thrusting hard, and every time Greg gasped or cried out he felt the thrill of it all through him.

Soon they were just fucking each other hard, bodies slamming together, bed springs squeaking, headboard pounding against the wall over and over and over again. It seemed to last forever, but forever wasn't long enough because Nick didn't ever want to come, didn't ever want to stop, didn't ever want to be anywhere but in that bed with Greg, bodies humping and bucking together as if they were one organism.

It couldn't last. He knew it couldn't last as much as he wanted it to. He felt Greg getting close, could tell by the noises he was making and his quaking thighs. He slid his hand around to Greg's chest, pulled him up, pulled him up so that his chest was to Greg's back and he was kissing and licking the back of Greg's neck, tasting his sweat, biting at the tender flesh. His hand slid down Greg's torso, gripped his hard cock in his hand and stroked it in time to his thrusts and soon Greg arched his neck back, pressing his head against Nick's shoulder, arms gripping Nick's thighs as he came.

Nick felt the tremors begin around his cock, the muscles spasm and contract like they were trying to pull him in even deeper. He wrapped his arms around Greg's chest, held him tight, so tight, his hips thrusting of their own accord. He was so close. He was so close and he heard Greg grunt and whisper, "Yeah, give it to me. Give it to me. Shoot your load inside me, Nicky."

His arms crushed Greg against his chest as his hips jerked and the surge of electricity spread from his balls through his entire body and his cock swelled, tingled, then began to pulse shot after shot. He knew he was screaming, knew he was making a strangled cry of pleasure and pain but he didn't care, couldn't even hear it. There was nothing else in the world, nothing but his body and Greg's body and he was coming so hard, coming harder than he ever had.

They collapsed onto the bed, sweaty and sticky and gasping for breath. Greg whimpered when Nick pulled out of him, then rolled onto his back. Nick tossed the condom in the general direction of the wastebasket and collapsed next to Greg.

"Yeah," Greg whispered after a few moments. "I feel like that was a very productive talk."

Nick laughed and turned, pulling Greg's body against his. "Shower?" he asked.

Greg shrugged. "I don't mind being sticky and sweaty if you don't." He nuzzled his face against Nick's chest. "I thought for sure you were going to break up with me."

Nick lifted his head up to look at him. "What?"

"Just...the way you were avoiding me tonight. I thought you'd changed your mind."

"I wasn't avoiding you."

"You kind of were, actually, but it's OK. I know why."

Nick sighed.

"It's weird for me, too," Greg said. "I don't know how I'm supposed to act around you."

"We just act like we always did before."

"The flirting and everything?" Greg asked.

"What flirting?"

Greg laughed. "Our flirting."

"We never flirted."

"We did so flirt. We flirted every time you were in my lab."

Nick frowned. "How come I never knew we were flirting?"

"I don't know. I was practically throwing myself at you. I figured you just weren't interested."

Nick sighed. "I guess I'm not very good at flirting."

"Oh, I beg to differ. You were a great flirt."

Nick thought about that for a moment. "I've never really done this," he said softly. "Dated anybody."

"Dated a guy, or...?"

"Anybody," Nick whispered. "I just...you know. Tricked, I guess. Had one-night stands."

"That's really sad," Greg said, reaching up to stroke Nick's chin. "And lucky you, you start dating and you get stuck with me."

Nick stroked Greg's hair and squeezed him tightly for a moment. "I am lucky," he whispered.

Greg laughed ruefully. "Right. You get stuck with a basket case meth head and you're lucky."

"You're not a basket case," Nick whispered, "and you're not a meth head."

"You're sure you don't want to break up with me?" Greg asked. "Because if you're going to do it I'd appreciate it if you did it right now and got it over with."

"Not gonna break up with you. I love you."

Greg was silent for a moment. "And when you stop?"

"Stop what? Loving you?" Nick brushed his lips across Greg's forehead. "Never gonna happen."

Greg nodded and lay his head on Nick's chest. He didn't say anything else, but Nick knew he didn't believe it. He didn't know how to make Greg believe it, but it was true.

When Nick awoke, the room was diffused with pale blue-green light. At first he thought it was from his alarm clock, but as he sat up he realized that he wasn't in his own bed and there wasn't an alarm clock in sight.

He was at Greg's. He remembered that now, though Greg wasn't in bed with him. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, then squinted towards the source of the room's only light.

He was surprised when he saw where the light was coming from. A large saltwater aquarium bubbled softly, brightly colored fish swimming back and forth around large pieces of coral reef.

He got up and stood in front of the aquarium, watched as a hermit crab with bright red legs made its way across the sandy bottom. Long tentacles of a translucent white sea anemone drifted in the water's current, and a red and white striped shrimp ran its claws along its antennae, furiously cleaning them over and over again.

He'd never pictured Greg as the aquarium type, but he was quickly learning that the majority of his assumptions about Greg had been wrong. He wandered towards the bedroom door and opened it, found his boxer briefs in a tangle with his pants just outside the door in the hall and pulled them on. He yawned and stretched as he headed down the hallway.

He hadn't expected Greg's apartment to look anything like it did. He'd expected ratty furniture and clothes strewn everywhere, crusty dishes piled high in the sink. Instead, the place was tastefully furnished with framed pictures on the wall, the entire place infused with the calming glow of light coming from an aquarium even larger than the one in Greg's bedroom that served as a sort of wall between the kitchen and the living room.

Nick stared at the giant aquarium for a long time, watched yellow tangs move in slow circles and clownfish dart in and out of sea anemones.

"Peaceful, isn't it?" Greg's voice startled him.

When he turned, he saw Greg sitting at a desk along the far side of the living room, a book open in front of him, illuminated only by the light of a small desk lamp that shone down upon it like a spotlight.

"Yeah," Nick said, turning back to look at the fish. "It's...expensive."

"Ah, not so bad. And I make good money, you know," Greg said, and Nick couldn't decide if he sounded amused or annoyed. "I probably make more than you."

Nick looked over his shoulder at Greg and grinned. "Do not."

"Considering the fact that entry-level DNA techs start out making 12 grand more a year than entry-level CSIs, it's a definite possibility."

"12 grand?" Nick asked. "But that's—"

"46 thousand a year," Greg said. "Base."

Nick could help but gape at him. "Wait a minute. You started out making 46 grand a year?"

Greg nodded. "The big money's in the lab, you know."

"So you're the highest paid person at CSI and I didn't even know it?"

Greg laughed. "Hardly. Latent print analysts make a little more than DNA techs, but the real money's in ballistics. I can't be exactly sure, of course, but if Vegas pays him a competitive wage I figure Bobby pulls down something like 75K."

Nick let out a low whistle. "I'm in the wrong line of work."

Greg smiled at him. "It's not about the money."

"You really make 46 grand a year?"

Greg laughed. "No."

Nick sighed. He knew Greg had been pulling his leg.

"I started out at 46 grand a year. I've had raises since then. Plus bonuses and overtime." He laughed when he saw the look on Nick's face. "What? You feeling insecure now that you know I make more money than you do?"

"No," Nick said. "Of course not."

"Hmmm, I'm not convinced. It bothers you that I could be your Sugar Daddy, doesn't it?"

Nick laughed and crossed the room so he could slide his fingers through Greg's hair. "No."

"Of course it does. Come on, call me Daddy."

Nick kissed him. "You're insane."

"You love it."

Nick looked around the dark apartment, then stood up straight. "Jesus, what time is it?"

Greg looked over at the clock. "A little after one."

"Gris is gonna have our balls," Nick cried. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"One pm, Nick," Greg said. "It's the middle of the afternoon."

Nick looked around again. "It's pitch dark."

"Blackout curtains," Greg explained. He leaned forward and pulled the corner of one back, flooding the room with bright yellow light before letting it fall back into place. "They help with soundproofing, too."

Nick reached forward and pulled back the curtain for a moment as if testing the theory for himself. Why hadn't he ever thought of blackout curtains? "Oh," he said. "Well, what are you doing up?"

"Trying not to barf." Greg held up the book he was reading, 'The Color Atlas of Sexual Assault.' "I have a quiz tomorrow and I thought I'd get some studying in." He looked at the book for a long moment. "And now I don't think I'll ever eat again. Ever."

Nick reached out and leafed through a few pages, then winced. "What class is this for?"

"Investigation and Documentation of Physical Trauma," Greg told him. "And I thought the stab wound pictures were gross." He ran his thumb up and down the book's spine. "Do you think I'm pathetic for wanting to be a CSI? Everybody keeps telling me I should stay in the lab, and most of the time I think they're full of shit, that they have no idea what I'm capable of, but when I look at things like this..." He sighed and looked away.

"Yeah." Nick sat on the couch and rubbed out a crick in his neck. "My first year in Dallas we had this sexual assault taskforce come in, they gave lectures, outlined procedure, really made sure the PD was up to date. A few of us were handpicked to get even more intensive training when it came to responding to scenes of sexual assault. It was mostly women, but a few guys."

"You were one of them?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah. I never knew there was so much to know about rape. I just thought it was some guy with an impulse control problem that I'd be more than happy to lock away forever. But we really got into it, into the different kinds of offenders, the ones who did it for power, the ones who did it to express their anger, the ones who did it because they liked inflicting pain. We watched...God." He rubbed at his closed eyes with his fingertips. "In order to understand these guys, we watched a videotape one of them had taken during the crime."

"Jesus," Greg whispered.

"It was brutal. Talk about never wanting to eat again. I didn't think that knot would ever come out of my stomach. Afterwards I asked Detective McGuinness—she'd been one of my instructors at the academy—I asked her why they showed it to us, what it was supposed to teach us that we couldn't learn any other way."

"What did she say?"

"She said she had no idea what the task force expected us to learn, but she knew that she always learned a lot from videos like that. Not the video itself, but the response of the people who watched it. She said the ones who made jokes about it after were the ones she was going to keep her eye on, and the ones that came out green around the gills were the ones she could trust."

Greg just looked at him for a long moment. "So it was just a test?" he asked finally.

"No. McGuinness wasn't on the task force; she didn't have anything to do with showing us the video. But she made me realize that feeling sick, being disgusted, it wasn't something to be ashamed of. It doesn't have anything to do with being a real man or any of that macho bullshit." He leaned forward and took Greg's hand in his. "Don't worry that you're not cut out for the job because the shit people do to each other gets to you. It gets to all of us. I mean, have you seen what happens to Sara during a rape investigation?"

Greg nodded.

"And I've been known to punch a wall or a door on more than one occasion. Even fractured my hand once."

"I remember," Greg said. "That was my first month at the lab."

"I'd worry about you not being cut out for the job if you weren't disgusted by pictures like that," he said, tapping the cover of the book. "It's going to get to you, but you have to find a way to get past it. You have to find a way to put that aside and get the job done."

"And if I can't?"

"You will." Nick tugged on his hand. "Come here."

Greg smiled and got up, then settled against Nick on the couch. He slid his arms around Nick's neck. "You're just talkin' sweet to me so I won't be too cranky for sex later."

Nick laughed and kissed him. "No. No, I mean it." He stretched out on the couch, moved so that Greg could lean against him. He wrapped his arms around Greg's shoulders and nuzzled his face into his hair. "I could fall asleep here," he whispered.

Greg nodded. "I sleep out here a lot. I like to watch my anthias."

"Your what?"

Greg sighed and slid his hand across Nick's chest. "I've got a school of pink square anthias. They're the ones right there."

"Hey," Nick said. "They really do have pink squares on 'em."

Greg nodded sleepily. "They've got good personalities," he said with a yawn.

"I didn't know fish had personalities."

Greg yawned again. "They do. My gobi's shy."

"Your what?"

"Mmmm." Greg opened his eyes and looked at the tank for a while. "There, in the corner near the brain coral. With the orange spots. He's shy. He's starting to get more confidence, though, which is nice. He doesn't have anything to be ashamed of."

Nick laughed. "You have a fish with low self esteem?"

"Well, you know, he's kind of plain. I think he feels bad that he's not as brightly colored as the rest of the fish. But he's starting to realize that he does an important job and that's helping him come out of his shell. So to speak. He doesn't actually have a shell."

Nick smiled and shook his head.

"Am I dreaming?" Greg asked after a long silence.

"What?"

"Are we really doing this? Is this real?"

"Yeah." Nick rubbed his back. "It's real."

"I keep holding my breath, afraid somebody's going to pinch me and I'll wake up."

Nick pinched his arm gently. "Still here," he whispered. He shifted on the couch, sighed as Greg's weight settled against him. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

"I just...I showed you my cards, Nick. I showed you everything I had and you're still here, and it doesn't make any sense."

"Why?"

"Because you're supposed to run. You're supposed to see what I am and you're supposed to want to get as far away from me as you possibly can."

"Do you want me to run?" Nick asked softly.

"No." Greg pressed his cheek against Nick's chest. "God, no."

"Good. Because I'm not going anywhere." He slid his fingers through Greg's hair and sighed. "You didn't show me anything terrible, baby. All I saw was a kid who fucked up, who made a huge mistake and who regrets it every day of his life."

"I do," Greg whispered.

"You think you're the only guy who's ever fucked up? The only woman I've ever been with died a few hours after I slept with her."

"That wasn't your fault."

"Maybe. But it still feels too close to be coincidence. Like maybe she'd still be alive if I hadn't taken her home that night, if I hadn't stuck my nose into her business and pissed off her pimp."

Greg rubbed his chest in small, lazy circles. "I didn't know you felt that way."

"I've never told anybody before."

"Guess that means this is real, then, if you're telling me your darkest secrets."

"It is real," Nick said. "And that's hardly my darkest secret."

"What is?"

Nick pursed his lips. Shh, Nicky, don't be scared. It feels good when I touch you there, doesn't it? Don't you like playing grown-up with me?

"It's OK," Greg whispered. "You don't have to tell me."

"I will. Someday. Just..."

Greg nodded and sighed contentedly. "I know. I wasn't expecting you to just come out and tell me, anyway. That's what relationships are for, you know? Getting to know the other person, learning to open up and trust."

"I wouldn't know."

"You really never dated anybody?"

"Girls. In high school, a little in college. Nothing serious. Just, you know, what I was supposed to do. It never lasted more than a few dates."

"And you only slept with one woman?"

Nick nodded. "I figured I should try it."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Did you like it?"

Nick thought for a moment. "It was all right. She knew I was gay. She said it was a turn on." He stroked Greg's back and sighed. "She was just...she was so easy to be with. No lies, no pretending. I've thought about it, about what would happen if she hadn't died, if we would have dated."

"Do you think you would have?"

He shook his head. "No. I mean, it was fine. Good, even, but she was...a woman. Breasts are weird."

Greg laughed softly. "Mmmm. Breasts are nice. Girls are nice."

"You don't think they're...odd? Just poking out like that where it's supposed to be flat?"

"Men's chests are supposed to be flat, Nick. Women are supposed to have breasts and, I must say, God really outdid himself the day he designed them."

"I never figured you for a breast man."

Greg shrugged. "I wouldn't say it's my main focus, but I appreciate a nice rack as much as the next guy."

Nick nuzzled his face against Greg's hair. "If you like women," he whispered, "why this? Don't you want to be normal?"

Greg pushed himself up and straddled Nick's hips, sat back on his thighs. "Define normal," he said.

"I..." Nick sighed. "I can't help it, Greg. I've tried to want women, and I can't do it. I have to be this way, but you could be in a normal relationship. You could live a normal life."

"Once again, define normal."

"You know what I mean."

"I've never been ashamed of loving men," Greg whispered, cradling Nick's face in his hands. "Yeah, I could date women the rest of my life and no one would ever have to know that I also dig guys. But to be silent about my sexuality would be to deny who I am on a fundamental level, and I'm not willing to do that."

"You never wanted to be straight?"

Greg shook his head. "If I was, I wouldn't be here with you now. I wouldn't give that up for anything." He leaned forward and kissed Nick gently. "Would you?"

Nick slid his arms around Greg's waist and pulled him close. "Let's go back to bed," he whispered.

They slept in the cool aquatic darkness of Greg's bed, arms and legs tangled together in peaceful dreams. When he woke, Nick felt like he'd never had sleep that deep before in his entire life. He stretched and reached for Greg, but Greg wasn't beside him. He rolled onto his side and smiled as he saw Greg, boxers hanging on his slim hips as he stood in front of the aquarium, dropping in bits of something dark and leafy and green.

"Seaweed?" Nick asked, propping his head up on one hand.

Greg turned and smiled at him. "Romaine lettuce. I boil it first to break down the cellulose." He laughed as a deep purple tang darted out to nibble at a piece of lettuce drifting through the water. "Yeah," he said softly, "that's what I thought. She's a drama queen," he explained to Nick. "Mrs. Palmbach was afraid she was sick because she wasn't eating well and was nipping at the other fish. I think she just missed me."

Nick grinned as he sat up. "So you have a gobi with low self esteem and a..."

"Emperor tang," Greg said.

"And an Emperor tang who throws temper tantrums when you're gone. Any other neurotic fish you need to tell me about."

Greg rolled his eyes. "How much time have you got?"

Their shower started out innocently enough, with Nick thinking of nothing more than washing Greg's back, and chest, and maybe his ass while he was at it. It ended with him pinned against the shower wall while he and Greg exchanged lazy kisses, soapy cocks sliding together, his fingers twisted in Greg's hair as they ground their way towards orgasm.

"Need to borrow a shirt?" Greg asked with a grin as they dressed, pulling one of his loudest shirts from the closet and holding it up against Nick's chest.

Nick smiled and shook his head. "It's a cardinal rule of crime scene investigation, Greg," he said, kissing his nose. "Always keep a change of clothes in your car."

Greg smirked at him. "Hmm. So you're always prepared in case you spend the night with a genius who has far superior fashion sense than you do?"

"No, so you're prepared in case you end up covered in human soup."

Greg winced and pushed Nick away. "Talk about ruining the mood."

"Sorry, G." Nick kissed him quickly. "See you at work?"

Greg nodded. "As long as you don't avoid me again."

Nick reached out and brushed his fingers over Greg's lips, moaned as Greg closed his mouth around his fingers and sucked them gently. "For the sake of our jobs, I may have to."

Greg pretended to pout for a moment, then gave in. "Fine. As long as you come back here again tomorrow morning."

"I've only got one change of clothes."

"Are you asking me to come home with you?" Greg asked, sliding his arms around Nick's waist. "Because, you know, I usually play hard to get but if you really want, I'll make an exception."

Nick nodded as he slid his fingers through Greg's damp hair. "Oh, I really want," he whispered, before leaning down for one last kiss.

"This," Greg said firmly, "has got to be the most disturbing thing I have ever seen."

"What?" Nick asked, looking up from the newspaper he was flipping through.

"This!" Greg cried, stepping back so that Nick could see his own pantry.

Nick looked at it. It just looked like a fully stocked pantry to him. "What's wrong with it?"

Greg gaped at him. "What's wrong with it is that you've got enough food to feed an army and yet no food that anybody would ever want to eat." Greg sighed as he looked back into the small closet. "Energy bars? Protein powder?" He snatched a box off the shelf. "Whole wheat pasta?"

"I can make you an omelet or something," Nick said, starting to get up.

Greg waved him down. "I suppose Wheaties will have to do. Where's your sugar?"

"Right there."

Greg looked up and down the pantry shelves. "Where?"

"There, next to the teabags."

Greg slowly picked up the box of small blue packets. He looked down at it for a moment, then looked up at Nick with horrified eyes. "Artificial sweetener?" he hissed. He shook his head. "You're a sick, sick man, Nick Stokes."

Nick smiled at him. "You're still a little kid when it comes to your eating habits, aren't you?"

Greg set the box of fake sugar back on the pantry shelf. "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."

"One of these days your metabolism is going to slow down and you'll be sorry you never learned to eat right."

Greg looked at him for a long moment. "It's weird," he said, "it looked like you were speaking, but the voice coming out of your mouth was my grandmother's."

Nick laughed. "She must be a smart woman."

"Well, I had to get it from somewhere." He swung Nick's pantry door closed. "I'll just grab a cheeseburger on the way to class."

"Or you could study for your quiz some more and not eat at all," Nick said with a grin.

Greg came over to the kitchen table and pushed Nick's chair back, straddled his lap. "Well, if I did that I might end up passing out in the lab due to exhaustion." He tipped his head down and pressed his mouth to Nick's. "You did put me through quite a workout this morning," he whispered.

Nick slid his hands over Greg's thighs and gripped his hips. He leaned up and caught Greg's mouth with his own, teased his lips apart and slid his tongue into Greg's warm mouth. His tongue touched Greg's, slid over it as Greg's tongue stretched into his own mouth, moaned into the kiss as Greg braced his hands on the back of Nick's chair and began to slowly rock his hips.

Greg broke the kiss, tipped his head so that his forehead pressed against Nick's. "You're going to make me late for class."

Nick grinned. "Me? I'm pretty sure you started it."

Greg sighed. "And, sadly, I'm going to have to be the one to stop it." He stood up and ran one hand through Nick's hair. "I'll see you later, all right?"

Nick captured Greg's hand in his own and pulled it down to kiss the palm quickly. "Later," he said.

He sat there for a few minutes after Greg left, flipping through the sports page. He was just about to clear the table when his phone began to ring.

Nick snatched up the ringing cell phone. "Stokes," he said, balancing the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he picked up his breakfast dishes and carried them to the sink.

"I...Nick?" Grissom sounded confused.

"Yeah, I'm here," Nick said. "Can you hear me? Hold on, the signal's stronger on the other side of my place."

"No, I can hear you," Grissom said. "The signal's fine, I just...I was looking for Greg."

Nick took the phone in his hand, then switched it to the other ear as he stood up straight. His heart was slamming against his ribcage. "Why would I know where he is? Why don't you call him?"

"I just did, and you answered," Grissom said.

Nick pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a quick second. It looked similar to his phone, but it wasn't the same. "Oh," he said, his mind flying forward, racing for an answer. "We, uh, we must have mixed them up at work or something. Maybe you should call my cell, see if you can get a hold of him that way." He forced himself to laugh and prayed that it didn't sound fake.

"Oh," Grissom seemed satisfied enough with his answer. "Good idea. See you tonight, Nick."

"Yeah," he said before he snapped Greg's phone shut. "Fuck," he whispered, taking a deep breath and setting the phone on the counter. He braced his hands on the counter and leaned forward, closing his eyes, trying to catch his breath.

It hadn't been that bad. He'd come up with a lie pretty quick, and Grissom had believed him, hadn't he? Sure, he had a kind of creepy uncanny thing going on sometimes, but it's not like he had any reason to think Nick would lie to him. He and Greg could have easily switched phones by accident.

He jumped as his own cell phone began to ring. He followed the sound to its source and pulled the phone out of his jacket pocket. He dropped it onto the couch as it rang again.

Answer it. Just answer it and laugh and say that you must have stolen Greg's phone because you thought it was yours. No, he won't believe that. He'll know Greg was here and he'll want to know why and you can't lie for shit—not when asked a direct question, anyway. Just answer it and say that Greg stopped by for pizza and videogames. No, because you would have told him that before if it was true. But he thinks Greg has your phone, and Greg always answers his phone—unless he's in class. Maybe Grissom will just think that Greg turned the phone off before he went into class...

Nick took another deep breath as the phone stopped ringing. Finally, he picked it up and looked at the missed call log. Grissom had been calling from his home number, not the lab. That was good, right? That meant that it wasn't a work emergency it was just a...personal call?

He wanted to laugh. Add the fact that Grissom called Greg from home to the list of things Nick never would have suspected. And for what? To chat? To talk about...science? Chess? Those were the only things Nick knew they had in common, and he couldn't see Grissom picking up the phone just to have a friendly chat with Greg about chess moves or the latest advances in biochemistry.

He wanted to cry, too, because he couldn't remember feeling that scared in a very long time. And for what? Answering a cell phone that wasn't his? It was hardly a crime. Even if Grissom did know the truth, which he didn't—couldn't—it wasn't like it was something Nick would get fired for.

He sat down on the couch and rubbed his face in his hands. Not that he wanted Grissom to know, but he knew the man wouldn't fire him for it. Grissom didn't care about their personal lives as long as it didn't affect their work—and even when it did he stood by his people. He rewarded their loyalty to him with unshakeable loyalty of his own. After all, he hadn't given up on Catherine when she couldn't break her cocaine habit, hadn't given up on Warrick when his gambling got so bad it cost another CSI her life.

He didn't give up on me when most everyone else thought I was a murderer.

He smiled as he remembered Kristy. It had been long enough that the pain was more of a sweet sadness. Funny, beautiful Kristy, who had tossed her head back and laughed when he finally confessed to her that he'd only gotten blowjobs from women before. He remembered the way she leaned across the couch and kissed him, laughed softly as he remembered her offering to get her strap-on in order to make him feel more comfortable. He'd laughed, then, too, and told her no, if he was going to be with a woman he wanted to do it right.

Grissom had been confused and maybe a little disappointed, but he hadn't turned his back on Nick. And maybe he'd be confused and disappointed if he knew the real truth—the whole truth—but Nick had gotten to the point where Grissom's disappointment didn't crush him the way it had in the beginning.

But that was a moot point. Grissom wasn't going to be disappointed in him because Grissom wouldn't ever know.

Greg thought the whole phone mix-up thing was funny when Nick caught him out in the parking lot.

"Stopped my heart," Nick said. "I thought I was going to pass out for a second."

Greg laughed and took his phone from Nick's hand. "You're strung a little too tight, I think," he said, and Nick could tell that Greg wanted to kiss him.

He wanted to kiss Greg, too, but the parking lot outside the lab was hardly the place for it, so they satisfied themselves with meaningful looks before they headed inside.

It wasn't a very eventful night. He continued processing the evidence from the black lab crime scene from two nights earlier, and when the cops brought in the results of their latest warrant, Nick stared at the box full of videotapes and knew, whatever it was, he didn't want to see what was on those tapes. Not if he ever wanted to be able to look at a black lab again without getting nauseous.

"Hey," he said, knocking on the open door to the DNA lab. "You busy?"

Greg shrugged. "No more than usual." There wasn't any music playing for once, but that didn't stop him from dancing as he adjusted the comparison microscope. "You?"

"PD just brought in more evidence from the doggie case," Nick said. "Videotapes. Lots of them."

Greg stopped dancing and looked at him. "They're not...home movies, are they?"

"I have a bad feeling they are," he said. "And I've always liked dogs, but not like that."

Greg laughed. "So pawn it off on Archie. He's having a slow night, and he is the A/V guy."

Nick thought about it for a moment. "I don't know if I can..."

"Oh, come on, just ask if he wants assisting credit on the case and after he agrees, which he will, then you break the news that he gets to do the shit work. That's what you always do to me."

Nick smirked. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"No, no, looking at each tear in about fifty thousand matchbooks is my idea of a good time. Really. And this way, you'll be delegating responsibility, proving that you're cut out for a supervisory position."

"You're just sweet talking me so I won't be cranky later," Nick whispered.

"Maybe. But what's the purpose of having a position of authority if you can't make the people under you do the dirty work? When's the last time you saw Grissom trudging through the sewer system for eight hours? Come to think of it, when's the last time you trudged through the sewer system for eight hours?"

"Point taken." Nick laughed as Greg boogied across the lab. "You're in a good mood," he said.

Greg grinned at him. "You have no idea how good."

"Any particular reason?" Nick asked softly. "Besides the fact that this time Archie has to do the dirty work instead of you?"

"Yes," Greg said, tapping his hands rhythmically on the counter top to a beat only he could hear. "But it's a secret."

He couldn't help but laugh again. "What kind of secret?"

"Can't tell you," Greg said, breezing past him with a microscope slide in each hand.

"Can't or won't?" Nick asked with a grin as he watched Greg fit each slide onto the comparison microscope.

Greg scrunched his face up as he pretended to think for a moment. "Technically? Won't. It's not like I'm physically unable to tell you, but if I did tell you it wouldn't be a secret anymore."

"I thought you told me all your secrets," Nick said in a low voice as he shot Greg what he knew was one of his most seductive looks.

Greg returned Nick's look with one of his own. "Not all of them," he whispered. "A boy's got to have some surprises left in him."

Nick licked his lips and took a deep breath. "You have no idea what I'm gonna do to you after I get you home."

Greg tried to suppress a smile but couldn't. "Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea of what's going to..." He sat up straight. "Wait, I can't."

Nick gaped at him.

"It's not that I don't want to," Greg's voice resumed its seductive tone, "because I do. I mean, I really, really do."

"Me, too."

"I have, um, an appointment. At eight o'clock."

"Come by after?" Nick asked, vaguely aware that the question made him sound slightly desperate.

"Yeah." Greg nodded. "Yeah, definitely."

When Nick got home he changed his sheets. He considered just leaving the covers on the floor since that's where they'd end up, anyway, but after a few minutes of indecision he made the bed, arranged the pillows, smoothed down the dark blue comforter. He set condoms and lube on his bedside table, then decided that it was kind of tacky and put them in the top drawer, instead.

He straightened up the living room, then decided that it looked too clean and he messed it up a little bit, moving things around on the coffee table so that they weren't perfectly aligned at right angles, toeing off his shoes by the couch and letting them lay in what he hoped looked like a casual heap.

When he looked at the clock it was only seven-thirty. He sighed and sat down on the couch. He turned on the TV and watched but didn't really hear the morning news. He stretched out on the couch and flipped through the channels, finally settling on something about the frilled lizards of Australia. He tried to keep his eyes open, but they closed against his will. He slept.

It was nearly eleven when he awoke with a start. Someone was knocking on his front door, an incessant trill of quick knocks and raps.

"Coming," he said, pushing himself up off the couch. He was groggy and he yawned as he headed towards the door. "Greg, stop it, I'm coming." He yanked the door open and Greg dropped both his hands. "Trying to give me a heart attack?" he asked.

"No, trying to wake you up," Greg said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him with his foot. "Hey, sleepy head," he said, reaching up to smooth Nick's hair down. He shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and let it drop by the front door.

"Hey, you," Nick smiled a sleepy smile and wrapped his arms around Greg's waist, pulling him close.

Greg sighed into the kiss, then nuzzled his face into the crook where Nick's jaw met his neck. "God, you smell good," he whispered.

Nick smiled. He'd just been thinking the same thing about Greg, who smelled like a combination of cinnamon, soap, and warm skin. There was something else beneath that, too, a scent he couldn't define as anything other than Greg, and it was that part that made him groan as he breathed in, that made his cock begin to swell.

"Sorry I'm late," Greg said as he ran his hands up Nick's back.

Nick shrugged. "You're not late. It's not like we ever decided on a time when you'd get here."

"I ran home to change and pick a few things up, to check on the fish."

"How's your gobi?"

"He was stirring up sand like a pro when I left him." He lifted his head and kissed Nick again quickly. "I need to make coffee."

"I thought you hated my coffee," Nick said. He yawned, then tipped his head to the side to stretch out his neck.

"I do." Greg pulled away and unzipped his backpack, then pulled out a bag of Blue Hawaiian.

"You're never gonna sleep if you drink that stuff," Nick said as Greg walked past him towards the kitchen.

"You'd be surprised," Greg called over his shoulder. "A cup of this stuff is like warm milk to me—puts me right out. It takes at least three cups to get me going."

"All that caffeine's bad for your heart."

Greg stuck his head out of Nick's kitchen. "Decaf is the devil, Nick. The sooner you realize that the happier you'll be."

Nick grinned, then leaned down to pick up Greg's backpack from where it had fallen onto its side. As he lifted it up to set it against the wall, a small plastic baggie fell out of it and hit the floor.

Nick squatted down and picked up the baggie. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and stared at the pale brown crystals inside. He hefted it in his hand. Half a pound at least, and that wasn't cheap.

I make good money, you know.

"Jesus," he whispered. He swallowed hard, looked over towards his kitchen door and could hear Greg humming something while he banged around making coffee.

There had to be another explanation. Greg wouldn't, he couldn't...

I started doing it when we had sex.

Was that what he had planned? His secret? His surprise? He wanted to get spun before they had sex? Nick remembered what he'd read, remembered the fact that the initial rush felt as good as ten orgasms. But there was a lot in the baggie—too much for just a few lines before sex. Too much for anyone to have at one time. Unless he's cooking it. The thought came unbidden. He tried to push it away. Greg wouldn't, not after everything that had happened. He'd promised.

"So," Greg's voice startled him, "I was thinking that maybe next week sometime we could head out to Grapevine Canyon, do some hiking...Nick?"

Nick stood up from where he'd been squatting on the floor. He looked at Greg for just a moment, couldn't bear to look at him any longer.

"I..." Greg took a step back. He laughed and Nick realized that he was beginning to be able to differentiate Greg's real laughs from the laughs he forced to cover his nerves. "I mean, it's not like we'd be taking a vacation together or anything," he said. "Just, you know, a day of hiking, breathing in the fresh air. But if you think it's too soon for us to do stuff like that—"

"Jesus, Greg," Nick said. "How could you?"

Greg looked around for a moment. "What? I...I just thought we could..." His voice trailed off as he spotted the baggie in Nick's hand.

"You promised me," Nick whispered.

Greg took a deep breath and didn't say anything. Nick noticed that his hands had started to shake.

"Is it the stress of work plus trying to get CSI certification? I know it's hard, I know how tired you can get, but this...it's not worth it."

He laughed again. "You think...? Fuck you, Nick."

"Look, if you haven't starting using again, if your appointment this morning was just to get this...we can work through it. We can."

"I use it all the time," Greg's voice was hollow. "Every day."

Nick sighed. "Even at work?"

"Especially at work. Can't get through a shift without it."

"God, Greg. Why didn't you just tell me? I can help."

Greg let out a choked laugh. "You can help?" he asked. He laughed again, and the sound of it chilled Nick to the bone. "You can help me with this. My addiction."

"Just let me try. I care about you, Greg. I...I love you."

"Oh," Greg snapped, "I can see that. You're such a fucking hero, Nick. So noble, taking in wounded strays and nursing them back to health."

"It's not about that. It's about you and me, and how we need to be honest with each other. I'll help you through this, Greg. I will."

Greg gripped his hair in his hands and turned and screamed, actually screamed, his voice full of more frustration and rage than Nick thought possible. Nick started towards him but stopped as Greg began to kick at the closet door. He screamed and slammed his fist into it over and over again.

Nick was frozen, watching Greg punch and kick at the door. His breath hitched in his chest. "Greg, what are you on?" he asked in a tense whisper.

"You wanna know what I'm on?" Greg asked, his voice breaking on the last word. "You wanna know what I'm fucking on?" He raked his fingers through his hair, stalked towards Nick. "You wanna know what's got me so fucked up, Nick?" he demanded.

"Look, man, I just wanna help you," Nick said, holding his hands out in a gesture of peace.

Greg laughed, a sick choking laugh that made Nick cringe. "Of course you do. Of course you do. You've gotta save me, right Nick? You've gotta be the hero swooping in to save the day."

"I told you it's not like that. I care about you and I—"

"The hell you do." Greg's voice was harsh. "This?" He snatched the baggie out of Nick's hand. "This is my drug of choice, Nick. Bravo. You've really got the makings of a crack investigator."

"Just talk to me, G."

Greg shook his head. "I'm done talking to you. You don't listen. Why should you? People lie, right? Right?"

"Greg, I'm not the enemy here. We can get you help."

Greg's hands were trembling. "What? Rehab? Twelve step meetings?"

"Anything, anything that will help."

"Yeah, well, that's not going to work because there's no rehab to help me get over falling in love with you!" On the last word he threw the baggie at Nick's head, and he had to duck to keep it from hitting him.

Nick stood up slowly, watching as if in a dream as Greg snatched up the baggie, grabbed his backpack and fled the condo.

He was shaking. His entire body was shaking. He closed his eyes and put his hands over his face as if that would steady him.

He concentrated on breathing. OK. That had gone horribly wrong. He'd approached it the wrong way. He should have thought it out before confronting Greg, should have figured out the best way to talk to him. He shouldn't have let his disapproval show. He should have tried to remain neutral.

He sank to the ground and pulled his knees up to his chest. He'd believed Greg so completely when he said he was clean, had believed his every word. And Greg had lied, yes, but Nick still loved him. His heart actually ached, a sharp stab of pain that radiated through his chest, down to his knees, down to his fingertips.

On the carpet against the wall were several translucent brown crystals that had fallen out of the baggie when it hit the wall. Nick took a deep breath. The first step in helping Greg would be to find out exactly what it was he was using. Then, after he knew, he'd find a way to get through to him.

He got a clean sheet of computer paper and laid it on the ground. He transferred the crystals onto the middle of the paper using a tweezers. He folded the paper in half, folded it in thirds, then folded it in half again. He sealed the open end of the bindle with scotch tape and set it on the kitchen table. On the counter, the coffeepot with Greg's Blue Hawaiian had finished brewing.

He drank the entire pot while he sat at the kitchen table and thought. It wasn't like he was going to get any sleep, anyway.

As soon as he got in to work he tried to head towards trace, but Archie cut him off at the pass.

"I, uh, I watched all 32 hours of those videotapes," Archie said to Nick, looking decidedly green around the gills. "It definitely wasn't a surprise to the husband, since he was involved in the, uh, the action, too."

Nick cringed. "What is wrong with people?"

"After watching those tapes?" Archie asked. "My answer is a lot. Do you wanna see my notes?"

"Yeah," Nick said. "Yeah, I'll meet you in the A/V lab in just a sec. I have to drop something off at trace."

Archie nodded and headed back towards his lab.

"Oh, Archie," Nick said.

Archie looked back at him. "Yeah?"

"I know that was a crap job to give you, but you did a good job."

Archie managed a shaky smile. "All in a day's work," he said.

When Nick walked into trace, Hodges was flipping through a copy of "People" and muttering something under his breath.

"Hey," Nick said. "How's it going?"

Hodges looked up at him for a moment, then looked back at his magazine and flipped a page. "What are you here to accuse me of now?"

"Nothing, man," Nick said softly. "I just, uh, do you know what 'off the record' means?"

Hodges looked up at him with bored eyes. "What?"

"I need you to do something for me, but we can't tell anybody about it."

Hodges looked back down at his magazine. "Let me guess, your supplier ran out of steroids and you need me to synthesize you some, quick."

"What? No. Look, I need you to analyze something for me."

Hodges looked back up, mildly interested. "What sort of something?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't need you." He pulled the bindle out of his pocket and placed it on the counter. "Can you figure out what this is for me?"

"Of course," Hodges said. "But what about your little buddy?" He cast his eyes towards Greg's lab. "I thought you CSIs always went to him for this sort of thing."

Nick nodded. "I'd rather have you on this one," he said softly. "So, can you do it?"

"Do I get overtime?"

"No."

Hodges sighed and picked up the bindle. "I guess I can do it. It's a slow night. But you owe me."

Nick nodded. "I know. Thank you."

Nick listened to Archie explain the notes he'd taken of the doggie porn home videos, but Archie's words didn't really stick in his head.

He sought out Jaqui and listened to her explain that the prints on the knife used to slit the dogs throat weren't the husband's or the wife's, but there was a partial match to a radical animal rights activist whose prints had made it into AFIS after he planted a bomb in the regional headquarters of a fast food chain.

He debated back and forth with Catherine for a while, trying to figure out why, if the murder had been the result of an enraged animal rights activist, the wife had bought it in a spectacularly gruesome way while the husband had emerged without a scratch on him. And how had the activist even known about Mr. and Mrs. Parson's unusual sexual proclivities? And why would he kill the dog? Wouldn't he have wanted to save it?

Finally, he headed back to trace. He held his breath as he passed Greg's lab, but it was empty and he let the breath go.

When he walked into trace, Hodges was leafing through the same copy of "People" he'd been looking at hours before.

"Did you do it yet?" Nick asked.

"Do what?" Hodges asked, not looking up at him.

"You know, that favor I asked you earlier."

"Oh." Hodges looked over at the printout on the edge of the counter. "The results are right there."

Nick picked the sheet up and looked at it for a moment. "This is just a graph."

Hodges sighed. "Well, I don't expect you to know how to read it." He snatched the paper from Nick's hand. "C twelve, H twenty-two, O eleven."

"C twelve...what is that?"

"Sucrose," Hodges said. "Unrefined, in this case. Remarkably pure. I didn't find any trace chemical elements in it at all."

"Wait," Nick said. "Sucrose? That...that's sugar."

"Raw sugar," Hodges said. "It's supposedly superior to refined white sugar in taste and quality. You should ask Sanders about it."

Nick sucked in a sharp breath. "What does Greg have to do with this?"

"He keeps a stash in the break room," Hodges said. "Puts it in his coffee. So, about that favor you owe me..."

Nick didn't take the time to listen, he just turned and hurried out of trace towards the DNA lab. He had to find Greg.

Greg stayed in the lab most of the night. He didn't pop across the hall to chat with Archie, didn't bug Jacqui in the fingerprint lab, didn't even hang out in the break room to drink coffee and flirt with Sara.

He just stayed in his lab, his safe, secure, little lab. His own tiny world where the only reactions were chemical, where everything could be properly categorized, where he had total control.

He knew Nick would avoid the lab at all costs and he was thankful for that.

Nick. Fucking perfect Nick. He'd never screwed up in his life. Not really. He just pretended that he understood because it enhanced his whole nice guy routine.

What did he see when he looked at Greg? He didn't see his full ride to Stanford, didn't see that he'd been Phi Beta Kappa, had graduated in three years with highest honors, top of his class. He didn't see the Master's from Berkeley, didn't see that Greg had beat out other biochemists with decades of experience for a spot in one of the nation's best crime labs—second only to the lab at the FBI.

And the way Nick had been shocked to find out he actually made a decent salary. He was one of the best DNA analysts in the country and Nick had expected him to make minimum wage? And he didn't just do DNA either—hair, fiber, pollen, glass, soil, dust, if it was there he'd find it and he'd identify it. He could have bitched about it since there was nothing about trace analysis in his job description but he didn't. He liked the chase, liked the variety it gave him, liked learning new things nearly every night, getting better with every shift.

Nick probably had no idea how good he actually was. Like the rest of the CSIs, all Nick cared about were the results Greg gave them. They didn't care that he was top in his field, that at the conference people had actually known who he was before he met them, that he was having a paper published in the Journal of Forensic Science. He probably had no idea how prestigious that was, no idea how much it meant, not only for Greg but also for the reputation of the entire lab.

Of course, Nick didn't actually know he was having a paper published in the Journal of Forensic Science. He'd never gotten around to spilling his secret before Nick accused him of being a lying druggie.

That's what Nick saw—poor little Greg. Poor little Greg, his parents are crazy. Poor little Greg, he used to be a drug addict. Poor little Greg, he carries the guilt of his best friend's death on his shoulders. His scarred shoulders. His karmically scarred shoulders. Poor little Greg got blown up but he didn't die, he's just deformed. Ugly scars on the outside to match the ugly scars on the inside.

His hands shook as he set up the test tubes needed to extract DNA from the ends of the cigarette butts Warrick had given him. He pressed his palms flat against the countertop. They didn't shake when he pressed them against something. They didn't shake when he clenched them into fists.

But he had to work, and in order to work he needed them to stop shaking because he wasn't sure he could even hold the bottle of proteinase K solution, let alone measure it precisely into each test tube along with the detergent and salt necessary to extract DNA.

Nick wouldn't even know where to begin if he had to amplify DNA using a PCR. He probably didn't even know what PCR stood for.

He had to stop thinking about Nick because if he kept thinking about Nick, his hands wouldn't ever stop shaking.

He'd been hoping for too much, hadn't he? It was too much to believe that Nick, gorgeous fucking Nick who he'd been in love with for years, could actually feel something for him. Something other than pity. Something other than the need to save yet another lost soul.

He'd seen Nick sneak over to trace at the beginning of shift. He'd known perfectly well what Hodges was doing when he came in and pretended to be nonchalant as he used the GCMS. He'd been tempted to say, "It's sugar, all right? Tell him it's just fucking sugar because the stuff he has tastes like the lab smells." But that would ruin Nick's fun, wouldn't it? Or maybe it would ruin his fun; he wasn't quite sure, because as much as he hated knowing how little Nick actually thought of him, he wished he could be there to see the look on Nick's perfect face when he found out he was wrong.

That's what he was thinking about when Grissom came by and said, "Come see me when you get a minute."

He wanted to laugh. With his hands the way they were he had nothing but time. He didn't laugh, though, he just nodded and pretended that he was absorbed in something having to do with work.

"Come on you bitch," he whispered to his trembling right hand as he dripped proteinase K into a test tube. It was slow going, but he did it, and he set the thermal cycler running before he left the lab.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked, knocking on Grissom's partially open door.

Grissom looked up from his paperwork and took off his glasses. "Yes, Greg. Come in." He motioned with his pen for Greg to shut the door.

He took his hand out of his pocket to shut the door behind him and he knew it was a mistake the moment he turned around. Grissom's head was cocked to the side and his eyebrows were furrowed in what Greg called his "Shh, I'm cogitating," look.

"They haven't been doing that ever since the explosion, have they?" Grissom asked. He didn't need to ask what Grissom meant.

Greg shook his head quickly. "No. The shaking stopped a few days after you noticed it the first time."

"But they're shaking again."

He sighed and forced a smile. "Yeah. It started this morning."

Grissom frowned.

"It'll stop," Greg said. Fuck. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to cry over Nick and he definitely wasn't going to cry in front of Grissom. "It did before, just like you said." He forced a smile.

"But if it's intermittent and ongoing it might be—"

"It's not nerve damage," Greg said. "Trust me. The doctors ran every test possible. Besides, they haven't done this in months. It's just, you know, stress."

"You're not worried about the paper, are you?" Grissom asked. "Because I have to say, I expect it to be very well received. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Have you considered presenting your findings at the next meeting of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences?"

And he should have been elated. He should have been jumping for joy that Grissom was even suggesting it, but he couldn't really feel anything at the moment. Except, of course, for the shaking of his hands.

"That would be awesome," Greg said, and he knew his voice didn't mirror his words. He knew he sounded like he was speaking at a funeral.

"Do you want to..." Grissom paused, and Greg knew he was searching for the right words, "talk about it?"

Greg shook his head and Grissom looked relieved. Then Greg found himself talking anyway. "You remember the day I nearly got blown up and had to spend almost an entire week in the hospital with second degree burns?"

Grissom smiled a curious half smile. "Of course I do, Greg."

"Yeah. That would be a good day compared to this."

Grissom was silent for a moment and Greg suspected he was trying his hardest to think of what the most compassionate thing to say was. "Maybe you should take a personal day."

Greg shook his head. "No. I need to work. I'll go home if I feel like I'm going to drop something caustic or if this gets so bad it affects my work, but until then I'd like to stay right here."

Grissom nodded and Greg knew he understood.

"I've got tomorrow off, anyway, so..." He started to turn towards the door. "It'll stop before I get back."

"Greg," Grissom said as Greg started to leave. "If you do need to talk..."

"I'll find Catherine," Greg finished the sentence for him. He smiled, a real smile that time, though small. "I'll live," he said.

"I don't doubt that."

He was feeling like he might actually survive, too, until he walked into his lab and found Nick standing there, staring at the thermal cycler.

"That's a 30,000 dollar piece of equipment," Greg said. "Don't touch it."

Nick turned around sharply. "I wasn't."

Greg knew that Nick hadn't touched it, but it was his lab and therefore his thermal cycler and he didn't want Nick anywhere near it.

"I talked to Hodges," Nick whispered.

Greg nodded and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. "I know."

"Greg, I'm so sorry. Jesus. I know what you must be thinking right now and—"

"No, you don't." His voice was harsher than he expected, but he didn't mind. He liked the way it made Nick flinch.

"Why didn't you just tell me?"

Greg shrugged. "Why didn't you just ask?"

Nick didn't have an answer for that. He bit his lower lip and looked down at the floor and Greg felt bitter triumph flare in his chest for just a moment when he realized that Nick was ashamed.

"Do you have anything for me?" Greg asked.

Nick sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Greg, I don't even know where to start."

"Blood, fingernail scrapings, swabs of potential biological fluid," Greg said. "That's where people usually start."

"I'm not talking about work," Nick snapped, though Greg noticed that he kept his voice quiet enough that it wouldn't carry out into the hall. He kept one eye on the glass walls that surround them to see who might be watching.

"I'm busy, Nick," Greg said, and it was true even if he wouldn't start working again until Nick left. Working meant taking his hands out of his pockets and even though they were clenched in fists he knew when he took them out they would continue to shake.

"We need to talk about this." Nick's voice was pleading, even meek. It made Greg want to punch him, because he wasn't allowed to make Greg feel sorry for him.

"I think you said all you needed to yesterday."

"I know I was wrong and I'm so—"

"You know the thing about the horse and the zebra?" Greg asked, and Nick furrowed his brow. "If you hear hoof beats, look for a horse, not a zebra. Look for the most likely thing, the most obvious thing first."

"I've heard that," Nick said.

"You do that," Greg told him. "You do that every day of your life. You see a hanging and you think suicide first, only think murder after you've ruled suicide out."

Nick nodded. "Yeah."

"But when you saw my sugar, your first thought was that I was using again. Never mind that I'd promised you, that I'd promised myself. Never mind that sugar doesn't even fucking look like meth. You were so eager to find a zebra you didn't even consider the horse."

"Greg, I..."

"That says more to me than any empty apology you can make. Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do and I'd like to get back to it."

Nick took a shaky breath, and Greg had to look away from him because in his eyes were wet crescents of tears and Greg could not see him cry. He didn't know what would happen if he did, but he knew he couldn't see it, not if he wanted to make it through his shift without losing control of more than just his hands.

He couldn't risk losing control. It wasn't just that rumors would run rampant about exactly what kind of relationship he and Nick had; it wasn't just that he didn't need people poking their noses into his business. He couldn't risk losing control because if he was ever going to make it out of the lab he had to prove to everyone, from Grissom to the temp at the front desk, that he did not fall apart in stressful situations. He could handle challenges and things not going his way. He would search through sewers and dig through piles of matchbooks and do every shit job anyone threw at him. He would work long hours and let people tell him he should stay in the lab and suffer dirty looks from lab techs who thought he was a traitor and CSIs who thought he was pathetic. He would keep working and he wouldn't ever give up because if he had to spend the rest of his life in his tiny, safe little lab he was sure he'd suffocate without even knowing it and turn into one of the walking dead.

When Greg finally looked up Nick was gone, and that was fine because his hands had started shaking again even though they were still in his pockets.

**********

The patio next to Greg's was wild, nearly overgrown with large terra cotta pots of everything from pansies to cucumber vines. The pots edged off the cement patio onto the red rock around it, and some of them had even made their way onto his patio, which he didn't mind since he never used it, anyway.

"Good morning, Mrs. Palmbach," he said. He couldn't see her, but he knew she was there somewhere. She always was.

A tiny elfin head popped up from behind a particularly bushy tomato plant. "You're home early," she remarked, brushing dirt off the front of her overalls. "Not much murder last night, I take."

He shook his head as he leaned against his front door. "No, not much."

"That's always good to hear. You work too much overtime as it is." She made her way around the tomato plant and past the rosemary to inspect her strawberry pots. "You tell your friend with the insects that the ladybugs you brought me did the trick. No more aphids."

"I'll tell him," he said.

"Now, what's your little article about again?" Mrs. Palmbach asked as she straightened up to her full height of nearly five feet. "I was talking to my sister, Lucille, she's the one who lives in Florida. I was talking to Lucille and I was telling her that the nice boy who has me feed his fish when he's gone was going to have an article published in a magazine, but I couldn't tell her what the name of it was because I didn't know. I told her I'd ask you the next time I saw you."

"Genetic analysis of amplified DNA with immobilized sequence-specific oligonucleotide probes," Greg said quietly.

Mrs. Palmbach thought about that for a moment. "Not a very catchy title, now, is it?"

He smiled and shook his head. "No, no it's not."

"I suppose it has to do with your robots and laser beams," she said.

He grinned at her. He'd never quite been able to explain that science didn't automatically equal robots and lasers. "Yeah," he said. "Something like that."

"Now I saw this program on the TV," Mrs. Palmbach started, "about, oh, whatchamacallit. Those doohickeys that they say they're going to be able to install in our brains pretty soon so if we want to read a book we just scan it like at the grocery store and whoomf! We've already read it. Now..."

Greg was exhausted. All he wanted to do was go inside and collapse on his bed and sleep for the next three days, but he listened to Mrs. Palmbach anyway because she fed his fish for free. She gave him fresh herbs from her garden. She always noticed when he had a new haircut. She was completely unperturbed by the fact that he had both "lady friends" and "gentleman callers."

He listened to Mrs. Palmbach go on about brain implants and mind control chips because he thought it was really shitty that her kids never came to visit even though they only lived in Salt Lake. He told her what he knew about nanotechnology and how the brain was far too complex for them to just scan information into it, because once when he'd had the flu she brought him a bowl of the worst chicken soup he'd ever tasted, but she'd brought it to him and that was what mattered.

He stayed and talked with Mrs. Palmbach because as long as he was talking to her he didn't have to think about Nick, and as long as he didn't think about Nick he could keep his hands mostly steady. As long as he could keep his hands mostly steady he could believe that he wasn't losing his mind.

When he finally got inside he didn't bother turning the lights on. He had his aquarium lights set up on timers so that they switched from moonlight, to dawn, to day automatically. It was enough light to see by as he kicked his shoes off next to the door and headed towards the kitchen. He flipped his coffee pot on—he always filled it with water and grounds before he left so it would be ready to go when he got home. He stared at the pot and didn't wait for it to finish brewing before he poured himself a cup.

He flipped open his tin of sugar and stuck a spoon in it, but the spoon didn't even make it to his coffee before his trembling hand spilled the sugar across the counter and at the sight of the scattered brown crystals Greg let out the sob that he'd been holding in for nearly a day.

He sank to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest and cried. He tried to stop. He didn't want to cry for Nick, for his own naivety, for his desperate hope that what they had was real and would last, but he couldn't stop no matter how hard he tried.

He didn't want to cry and he didn't want to feel the pain that washed over him so he pulled himself up and dug in his cabinet for the Xanax he'd gotten after his hands started shaking the first time. He had 23 left, had only taken seven before, even when cold sweats and terror woke him up at night at the memory of the explosion that flung him through the glass wall as easily as if both the wall and him had been made of paper.

He shook two of the small oval pills into his palm, popped them into his mouth, swallowed them with a mouthful of coffee, no sugar.

He headed back into the living room, pulled the blanket off the back of his armchair and snuggled beneath it on the couch. He stretched out, trying not to think of anything, and he watched his mated pair of coral banded shrimp clean each other as he nodded off to sleep.

His limbs were heavy, almost as heavy as his head and he knew somewhere in his hazy mind that someone was knocking on his door but he didn't care. Everyone knew he worked nights so whoever was knocking was probably a salesman or a Jehovah's Witness. He rolled onto his other side without even opening his eyes and let himself drift back into sleep.

In the slow, stubborn world of his dream the ringing of his telephone became a bird chirping at his window, the knocking at the door became a monkey playing drums.

He jerked awake at the first touch of a hand to his shoulder, though, and sat upright on the couch, the adrenaline pumping through his veins enough to counteract the Xanax for the moment.

He looked up at Nick and thought he was still dreaming until he saw Mrs. Palmbach, a shadow in the door silhouetted by the bright light of day. She was holding his keys in her hand and she peered in at him as she shifted from foot to foot.

"Scared the shit out of me," he muttered.

"Your friend kept knocking but you didn't answer," Mrs. Palmbach said. She took a step inside. "You didn't answer when he tried your phone, and then I tried to call and you didn't answer for me and he kept knocking and I was worried. You didn't seem quite yourself this morning, and I thought maybe you'd slipped in the shower or fallen while working on one of your aquariums. I didn't know if I should use the key or not, but I was worried so I did. I hope you're not angry."

"I didn't mean to scare you, Mrs. Palmbach," he said, rubbing his forehead. "I took a Xanax before I went to sleep."

Mrs. Palmbach seemed relieved by the explanation. "He was in an explosion," she half-whispered to Nick.

Nick nodded. "Yes, ma'am, I know."

And Greg would have thrown him out, would have physically shoved him out if that's what it took but Mrs. Palmbach was there so all he did was assure her that he was OK and that he wasn't mad at her for letting Nick in, that she'd done the right thing and yes, of course he wanted some of her cherry tomatoes as soon as they were ripe.

"She's nice," Nick said after Mrs. Palmbach left.

"So, you thought I'd offed myself?" Greg asked as he headed towards the kitchen. He was still groggy. He needed coffee.

"No," Nick said.

"Whoa," Greg said as the floor tilted under his feet. He reached for the back of a chair and gripped it tight and he let Nick steady him and lower him into the chair before he batted Nick's hands away. His legs were heavy and tingling and his arms felt like gravity was ten times as strong on them as anything else.

"I didn't know you took Xanax," Nick said softly.

"You don't know a whole hell of a lot, do you?" Greg reached forward and pulled a long, narrow paper bag open, pulled out a fat bottle of pills. "I take these, too," he said, lobbing the bottle in Nick's general direction. "Since you're so interested in the drugs I take."

Nick looked down at the bottle of pills in his hand, touched the label gently.

"Three hundred milligrams of Effexor," Greg said. "That's four a day. Lucky we've got a decent insurance plan, huh?"

"These are new," Nick said softly.

"Yeah. That's where I went yesterday morning, to see my shrink and get my prescription renewed." He laughed and couldn't keep his eyes from closing, his head from dropping forward. He jerked his head back up and tried to fix his gaze on Nick. "So you were right. I did go on a drug run."

"Let me get you into bed," Nick whispered.

"Taking advantage of the mentally imbalanced, now?"

"These are just antidepressants, Greg. They don't mean you're mentally imbalanced. Everybody takes them nowadays."

"Even you?"

Nick shook his head.

"Of course you don't."

"Let me at least get you back on the couch," Nick whispered.

"I don't need any help." Greg stood up and concentrated on walking, braced his hand on the wall as he headed towards his room. He noted that his hand wasn't shaking and even thought he knew it was just a result of the anti-anxiety pills it was nice.

He stumbled, though, and Nick caught him, and he was too tired and too synthetically calm to care.

"I was scared," Nick whispered as he helped Greg into bed. "But not that you'd tried to hurt yourself. I was scared that you were on the other side of the door and you were never going to open up. I was scared that nothing I did would ever get you to open up to me again. I love you, Greg, you have to believe me."

Greg let Nick pull his shirt off and flopped back down onto the bed after Nick had pulled over his head and off his arms. He thought he should maybe be pissed that Nick was taking off his pants, but he wasn't. And it wasn't like Nick hadn't seen it before, anyway.

Nick tucked him into bed and ran his fingers over Greg's cheek. "I'm so sorry, baby. I don't know how I'll make it up to you but I will. I promise you I will, no matter what it takes."

"I hate you," Greg whispered. He smiled a sleepy smile when he saw the look on Nick's face, when he knew Nick believed him. In the peaceful haze of the Xanax he could admit that sometimes, just sometimes, it felt good to cause pain.

Nick was kissing him. Nick's warm, strong mouth was over his, teasing his lips open, tasting his mouth and taking everything Greg could give, his kisses and his moans and his hands frantic in Nick's short hair, down his muscled back to his ass, that tight perfect ass that made him quiver just to think about.

And then he was kneeling, taking Nick's cock in his mouth and the taste and the smell and the sensation as Nick gripped his hair tight and thrust his hips, fucked Greg's willing mouth, shoved his cock right down Greg's throat. And, Christ, he didn't think he'd ever get tired of Nick's strength, the way he could just grab him and position him any way he wanted, the way he could meet Greg's strength with his own and hold on to him so tight that small finger-tip shaped bruises formed on his arms and his shoulders and his hips.

He wanted it, needed it, he was kissing Nick again and grinding against him, trying to grind up against him, he knew Nick was right there, so close, but he couldn't reach him, couldn't touch him, needed to feel Nick's body against his own but he was so far away and—

He woke up arching against nothing but air. He reached down between his legs and he was so hard it only took a few strokes before he was coming, drops of cum landing on his stomach, his chest, even in his hair.

His entire body was sticky with sweat and the sheets were damp against his skin. It was one in the morning. He'd slept for far too long. He pushed himself up, the bedroom completely dark since the aquarium light had switched from day to dusk to moonlight, but he didn't need to see to stumble into the bathroom and turn on the shower.

The light hurt his eyes but the cool water felt amazing on his skin and he stood under its spray for a few minutes, still wobbly from climax and groggy from the aftereffects of the Xanax.

He was naked when he stepped out of the bathroom, and he felt around in the dark for his closet light and switched it on before pulling on a clean pair of boxers and a worn t-shirt that said "Never Lick the Spoon."

He opened his bedroom door and shuffled down the hall, scratching the back of his neck where his scars sometimes itched. He hated the slightly hungover feeling Xanax gave him, which was one of the reasons he didn't like to take it. His hands weren't shaking but he didn't know if it was because he was better or if there was some of the drug left in his system.

"Hey," came a soft voice from the darkness of the living room.

Greg gasped and fumbled for the hall light and when he saw Nick sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa he said, "Jesus! Don't you know not to sneak up on people like that?"

"Since I was sitting here first," Nick said, "technically, you snuck up on me."

"I could have shot you, you know."

"You don't carry a gun, Greg."

"No, but I own one."

"Guess you've got as good a reason as anybody to stick a gun in my face," Nick said as Greg headed towards the kitchen. Then, "You own a gun?"

"I kind of have to be weapons certified if I want to get into the field full time."

Nick didn't say anything as Greg dumped out the pot of cold coffee, rinsed it, threw away the filter and used grounds.

"Are you a good shot?" Nick asked finally.

"I'm a great shot," Greg said. "Surprised?"

Nick shook his head. "No. You're good at everything you do."

Greg filled the coffee pot with fresh grounds and cold water, then switched it on. He brushed the sugar off the counter into his hand and dropped it in the sink. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you."

"Shouldn't you be at work?"

"I switched nights with Warrick. He didn't mind. He prefers Saturdays off, anyway."

Greg watched the coffee brew, poured himself a cup when the pot was half full. He made a big show of dumping two spoonfuls of sugar into it and he hoped it made Nick feel like shit.

"Coffee?" he asked Nick before taking a swig.

Nick shook his head. "I've been sitting here since you fell asleep," he said softly, "thinking. I didn't want to leave because I knew you wouldn't let me in again."

Greg didn't argue with him, just took another sip of coffee. He could feel a slight tremor in his left hand, but it wasn't bad. It wasn't noticeable to anyone but himself. He doubted the coffee would help. "You've been sitting in the dark for..." he looked at the clock. "Fifteen hours?" Something about that made him feel strangely giddy.

"I slept some. And it didn't get dark until eleven. I think the light in your aquarium burned out."

"I have it on a timer. It's supposed to do that."

"Your neighbor lady came by around six, wanted to see how you were. She fed the fish and brought over baby cucumbers. They're in the fridge."

"Did she feed the ones in my room, too?"

Nick nodded. "I checked on you first to make sure you hadn't thrown the covers off or anything. She asked if I was your young man."

"What did you tell her?"

"That I hoped to be." He looked down at his hands. "I don't blame you for hating me." His voice was choked with tears.

"I don't hate you."

Nick looked up and the expression in his eyes was hopeful even though tears were dripping down his cheeks.

"I want to hate you. I wish I did hate you. I'm pissed as hell, but I don't hate you."

"Can you forgive me?"

Greg looked at him for a long moment. Nick was gorgeous, there was no doubt about that. He was a good lover, an amazing kisser, his words tender and honey sweet. Sweet until he chose to turn them to vinegar and use them to sting.

"I don't know," Greg admitted.

"I made a mistake."

"You accused me of being a liar. You questioned my devotion to my job, my trustworthiness as a scientist, my whole fucking worth, Nick. You made it clear that you don't think very much of me. You never did."

"That's not true."

"You could have asked me. I would have been pissed, sure, but not like this. I could have forgiven you if you'd just asked."

Nick sniffed back his tears, then sighed shakily. "I'm no good at this. I'm not good at anything new, anything I haven't done before or seen before. I don't know why I didn't ask you except that maybe there's a part of me that's scared of the things you did in the past, that's scared of the fact that you're not the guy I thought you were."

Greg set his mug down on the counter hard enough to slosh coffee over the side.

"Not in a bad way," Nick said quickly. "That's not what I meant. It's just...I had you in this box in my head, and then you just demolished everything I thought I knew. You weren't supposed to be this great guy that I fell in love with. You weren't supposed to be amazing in bed or do all those things you talked about—latex and surfing and hot sex with beautiful blondes. You were just supposed to be this nerdy guy in the lab that I never really looked at very long, that spent his days off playing chess or going to Star Trek conventions, that didn't know what I was doing when I flirted with him."

"So you did know you were flirting." Greg hated the little thrill that blossomed in the pit of his stomach at the thought.

"Of course I knew I was flirting. Not in any serious way, just as, you know, something to do. I didn't know you were flirting back."

"You thought I was nerdy?"

"Until I really looked at you."

Greg sighed, crossed the room, sat on the floor next to Nick and leaned back against the couch. "Just so you know, Hodges broke after less than five hours."

"He told you I asked him to analyze something off the record?"

"No. He told Archie, who told Bobby, who told Doc Robbins, who told David, who told Sara hoping to impress her, who told Catherine, who told Jacqui, who told me. But I already knew, since he used the mass spec to analyze it and hunched his shoulders as if protecting government secrets any time I came within five feet. If you need something done off the record, you don't go to Hodges."

"So the entire lab knows," Nick said.

"By now day shift probably knows, too. And anybody who was off last night."

Nick rubbed his hands over his face. "Do they know why?"

"Bobby thinks it has something to do with your fear of carbs and Jacqui thinks you're afraid you're being poisoned by the baristas at Spirit Café."

"And everybody else?"

Greg shrugged. "I don't know. That's all Jacqui told me. I think Hodges suspects something, though. I'm pretty sure he knows that I use that kind of sugar, and the fact that you went to him instead of me didn't help."

Nick let out a soft laugh that let Greg know he didn't think any of it was funny. "So we're fucked."

"No. It's all speculation. Besides, it's not like we're together anymore."

Nick took another shaky breath. "You won't give me another chance?"

"I don't know if I can." Greg felt the ache build in the back of his throat and he tried to swallow it, but the tears spilled over anyway. He closed his eyes when Nick touched his face and he didn't want to, but he leaned into Nick's caress.

"Whatever it takes I'll do it," Nick whispered, sliding his fingers through Greg's hair. "I'll be here for as long it takes you to trust me again."

Greg tilted his head up. "Just kiss me."

Nick's mouth was hot, his lips gentle, his fingers stroking Greg's cheeks and his neck, tracing along the edges of the scars that emerged past the collar of his shirt.

His tears mingled with Nick's as he pressed their cheeks together. "Why can't I just hate you?" he whispered, reaching up to slide his fingers through Nick's hair.

Nick didn't answer, just shifted so that his arm was around Greg's shoulders.

"This would be easier if I didn't love you so damn much."

"Then I'm glad it's not easy." Nick pulled back and gazed into Greg's eyes. He brushed Greg's lower lip with his thumb. "Where do we go from here?"

"We try again, I guess. I can't guarantee anything. I can't say that I'll ever completely forgive you."

"All I need is a chance."

Greg smiled. He loved that about Nick, that optimist streak in him that wouldn't die no matter how much cruelty and evil he saw. He believed the best in everyone. Everyone but Greg.

"What?" Nick asked, and Greg knew he must have given something away in his eyes.

"What would you have done?" he asked softly. "If it had been drugs. If I had been lying to you, using, making every shred of evidence I handled useless? What were you going to do?"

"Help you," Nick said as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

"How?"

"Greg, why does this even matter?"

"I just want to know. Would you have gone to Grissom?"

"No. Only as a last resort. Only if I couldn't do it on my own."

"How would you have gotten me to stop?"

Nick shrugged. "I don't know. I would have talked to you, I guess."

"And if I wouldn't stop?"

"I'd just keep loving you, keep trying."

"Love can't save people, Nick," Greg said. "Love doesn't solve anything." He pulled away from Nick's embrace and stood up, rifled through his desk drawers and finally returned with a photograph. "Here," he said softly, handing it to Nick.

Nick looked down at the picture of Greg and a pretty blonde girl. "You're young," Nick said with a grin.

"That was my senior year of high school. Look at the girl. Do you know her?"

Nick shook his head. "No. She's pretty, though."

"Beautiful," Greg said.

Nick nodded. Beautiful was a fair assessment of the girl leaning against Greg in the photograph, her hand on his shoulder, his arm around her waist. She had sharp green eyes and long blonde hair. She was wearing a tank top that showed off her tanned shoulders and jeans that hugged her slim, curvy body.

"That's Tweet."

Nick looked up at Greg quickly, then back down at the photograph. He didn't know how to reconcile her pink cheeks and lively eyes with the pale, gaunt woman he'd met in San Francisco, even if he mentally replaced the photograph girl's shiny blonde locks with Tweet's dirty half-dreadlocked pigtails.

"Most people called her Amy then," Greg said, sitting back down next to Nick. "I was the only person who called her Tweet. Short for Tweety-Bird, her favorite cartoon character."

Nick smiled slightly. "I thought it had something to do with tweaking."

Greg shook his head. "I was in love with her my entire life."

"She was your girlfriend?"

"No. She was Marco's girl. She was always Marco's girl, ever since we were kids. I was just her best friend." He took the picture from Nick's hand and gazed at it for a long time. "I thought it was romantic. Saving her. I helped her kick a hundred times in college. She disappeared once, and her parents suspected she was in New York so I went after her. Took me months, but I found her. And I got her clean and brought her home. Every time I thought she'd finally see me, but she never did. Every time she went back to Marco and no matter how hard they tried to stay clean they didn't. I couldn't save her, Nick, no matter how much I loved her."

"What are you trying to tell me?"

Greg shrugged. "I don't know. That I don't need saving. That you couldn't save me even if I did."

"I don't want to save you," Nick whispered. "That's not what this is about."

"Then what is it about?"

Nick sighed and looked down at his hands. "I'm lost," he whispered. "I'm tired of the bars, of anonymous sex, of not having anyone who knows who I am. I want more, didn't even know how much I wanted until I kissed you. I always thought it was either work or love, and I chose work. It was all right. It wasn't always great, but it was all right. Until you, I didn't know what I was missing and I know I can't go back to that life."

He looked up into Greg's eyes, cupped Greg's cheek in his hand. "You're wrong, you know. About love not being able to save people. Because I'm pretty sure you saved me."

Greg's hand was trembling when he reached out, but it wasn't the bad anxious trembling he'd had in the lab. He gripped Nick's shoulder and closed his eyes, leaned forward so their faces were less than an inch apart. "How do you do that?" he demanded, though his voice was a shaky whisper.

"Do what?" Nick asked, sliding his thumb across the curve of Greg's ear.

"Break me into a million pieces with only the words you say."

"I...I don't mean to," Nick stammered.

Greg shook his head and pulled Nick close and kissed him over and over again, kissed his mouth and his cheeks and his eyelids. "It's not a bad thing," Greg whispered as he breathed in Nick's scent, breathed in Nick's breath. "It scares the shit out of me, though, the way you can say things like that."

"Why?"

"Because I want to believe you."

"Then believe me."

Greg nodded and nuzzled his face into his favorite spot, the spot right where Nick's neck met his jaw, and he clung to Nick as he cried. The tears were all right, though. They were tears of relief and happiness and only a little fear. Nick cried, too, and they held each other even after the tears had stopped, even after their cheeks had dried, even after the lights of the aquarium switched from moonlight, to dawn, to day.

Greg opened one eye when he realized he wasn't dreaming the twang in his ears. He lifted his head up and could see Nick in the bathroom brushing his teeth. He didn't know exactly when Nick had started leaving his toothbrush; it had just appeared sometime in the weeks following their fight.

That's how Greg thought of it, as their fight, because he didn't want to think of it as the time Nick didn't have faith in him or the time he hurt Nick on purpose. Thinking of it as a fight made it easier to get over, because every couple fought and, as the toothbrush that just seemed to magically appear in his bathroom indicated, that's what they'd become—a couple.

The toothbrush had been a welcome addition. So had the clothes Nick had started leaving over, the drawer space Greg cleaned out for him, the box of artificial sugar packets that appeared next to Greg's raw sugar that they Did Not Talk About.

Not Talking was something they were good at in odd ways. They were totally honest when it came to what was going on between them, and their fight was something they just sort of talked around, but when it came to the past it became clear that Nick wasn't going to open up. Greg didn't know if the Not Talking was permanent or just until he earned Nick's trust. He didn't ask. It wasn't like it really mattered. He was pretty sure it didn't matter. Mostly sure, anyway.

The toothbrush had been welcome. The clothes had been welcome, even the fake sugar and healthy cereal and the soymilk in his fridge had been welcome. What wasn't welcome, however, was Nick's taste in music and the fact that he liked to listen to it when he woke up.

"Who's this?" Greg asked, his voice thick with sleep.

Nick turned and smiled around his toothbrush. "Garth Brooks, man," he said as if Greg should have known.

The name was familiar to him, but he couldn't tell Garth from Clint from Tim from Kenny. He thought maybe he should try to compromise with Johnny Cash. A guy who did Nine Inch Nails covers couldn't be all bad.

"It's killing you, isn't it?" Nick asked with a little smirk as he walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. And, damn, did the man ever know how to wear a pair of boxer briefs. His skin was warm when Greg reached out to stroke his thigh.

"What?" Greg feigned ignorance.

"The music. It's driving you crazy."

"No," Greg said too quickly. "It's just that I—" *hate* "—don't listen to much country."

"You can change it," Nick said, raking his fingers through Greg's messy hair.

"It's fine. It's kind of catchy." Which was true, since he'd realized with horror a few days earlier that as he processed evidence he'd been humming a song about fishing in the dark.

Nick laughed and reached for his CD case, dropped it on the bed next to Greg and got up to pull on his sweatpants. That was another thing Nick always wanted to do in the mornings—run. And, fine, so it was really late afternoon, not morning, but for all intents and purposes it was the same thing. Greg didn't know how anybody could want to work out right after waking up. It wasn't like surfing where you slept on the beach and got up at dawn to catch the best waves. There was nothing fun about running, and Greg tried his best to do it only when chased.

He flipped through Nick's CD case without expecting to find anything he knew, let alone liked. He paused on the second to last page, however, and looked up sharply. "You've been holding out on me," he said, sliding the CD from its sleeve.

Nick sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks. "Oh," he said, blushing a little when he saw the CD Greg had in his hand. "That's so old. I used to have it on tape, you know, and I saw it on CD so I just thought...it's kind of stupid."

Greg gaped at him. "Are you crazy? This right here is the pinnacle of your entire CD collection. This gives me hope that we may actually have a musical common ground." He quickly leaned over to stop the CD player and switched out Nick's country whoever that had been playing. He tossed it at Nick, put in the new CD, and grinned as he hit play.

Greg jumped up as the music started and threw the goat with both hands as Axl Rose started the haunting scream that began Guns N' Roses' "Welcome to the Jungle."

Nick laughed as Greg jumped up and down on the bed naked, banging his head to the beat. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to jump on the bed?" he asked as Greg flopped down, then propped himself up on one elbow.

"No. But she did teach me that the name Guns N' Roses is symbolic of the male's desire to penetrate the flesh of a woman's vagina, the rose, with his bullet-like dick, i.e. his gun."

Nick snorted. "Yeah. Never mind. Stupid question."

"Wanna know what she thought 'the jungle' actually signified?"

Nick leaned down to kiss him. "Definitely not."

Nick tasted minty. Greg was sure he had morning breath, but since Nick didn't seem to mind he wasn't going to bring it up.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked as Nick pulled away.

"For a run," Nick said, smoothing his hand over Greg's bed head.

"Uh-uh. Stay here with me."

Nick shot him an indulgent smile. "Some of us actually like to take care of our bodies."

Greg smiled back up at him. "I love taking care of your body. And I'm pretty damn good at it, if I do say so myself."

Nick stroked Greg's hair one more time before standing up. "You're great at it," he said. "But I'm still going for a run."

Greg scowled and watched Nick as he pulled a t-shirt on.

"Now, you're sure you don't want to come wi—" Nick said as he turned around. He didn't have time to finish his sentence, however, before he caught just a flash of Greg out of the corner of his eye and the room suddenly spun at a crazy angle.

Nick's body tensed as he tried to figure out exactly how he'd gone from standing next to the closet to laying on his back across the foot of Greg's bed. With Greg on top of him, nonetheless.

"Did you just flip me?" he asked Greg, who was leaning over him so close their noses touched.

Greg smirked just before he leaned in for a kiss. "Told you I knew karate." He could feel Nick's laugh resonate against his lips.

"So, you're just gonna throw me on the bed every time you wanna have sex?" he asked as he grinned up into Greg's deep brown eyes.

"Well," Greg shrugged, "I will if you're into it." He slid one hand beneath Nick's t-shirt and began to stroke his stomach.

"Greg..." Nick said.

Greg just leaned to kiss Nick's neck, fastened his lips to that tender spot just where his jaw met his neck and when Nick whimpered and arched up against him he had to smile.

"You don't play fair," Nick murmured as Greg licked and nibbled his way down Nick's neck.

"Who's playing?" Greg asked as he pushed Nick's t-shirt up. He kissed his collarbones, his sternum, flicked his tongue against a nipple. "I'm extremely serious when it comes to taking care of your body."

He kissed Nick's stomach again, pressed his cheek against the firm muscles as his fingers smoothed and stroked Nick's skin. When he got to the waist of Nick's sweatpants, Nick lifted his hips to let Greg slide them and his boxer briefs down.

Then his lips were against Nick's cock, his tongue slipping between his lips to taste it and it was perfect, the heat of it as it filled his mouth, the way he could feel Nick's pulse against his tongue. He started slowly, applying light suction as he slid his taut lips up and down Nick's shaft. He loved the silky-soft hardness of it, the vein that lightening bolted along the side, Nick's fat cockhead that began to drip precum as he gripped the base in his hand and stroked in time with his mouth.

He kept one hand on Nick's cock, his fingers forming a tight "O" just below the ring of his lips. He used his other hand to stroke Nick's balls, squeeze them gently and pull ever so slightly, the way Nick liked. It got a gasp out of Nick and he started up a stream of words that sent a shiver down Greg's spine.

"That's it baby so good you suck me so good fuck I need you so good make me wanna god baby need to fuck that pretty mouth such a pretty mouth feels so good..."

He kept his hand on Nick's cock, stroking slowly as he slid his tongue down the shaft and began to lick Nick's balls, getting them slick with spit before he sucked one, then the other into his mouth. His tongue slid over them as he rolled them in his mouth, and he pulled his head up just a bit, just for that little bit of pressure that made Nick gasp again and arch his neck back and reach down to grip Greg's head in his hands.

He didn't mind it when Nick held his head, since he didn't try to guide him, just stroked his hair and caressed his face with urgent, trembling fingers.

"Need it baby you know what I want you know come on and need to feel that pretty mouth on me need to fuck your face baby come on and suck it suck me so good baby please..."

Greg let Nick's balls slide out of his mouth and nuzzled lower, pressed Nick's legs apart and when the tip of his tongue pressed hard against the smooth skin behind Nick's balls, Nick arched his head back and groaned and his fingers twisted painfully tight in Greg's hair. Greg didn't mind.

He felt Nick's hand on his wrist and looked up to see what the matter was. Nick tugged on his wrist and Greg slid up over him and Nick pulled Greg's hand to his mouth, wrapped his lips around Greg's index and middle fingers and slid them in and out, slicking them with his spit.

Greg grinned a smutty grin at him and reached down, placed his fingers against Nick's asshole and pressed slowly against it until Nick opened for him and he could slide inside. He dipped his head back down, took Nick's cock into his mouth once more and moaned at the salty-sour taste of precum that greeted him. He increased his pace, twisting his head as he bobbed up and down, letting his tongue swirl and slide and find all those places that make Nick shudder and gasp. He twisted his fingers slowly inside the velvet heat of Nick's ass, curled them forward and pressed his fingertips against the hard knot of Nick's prostate. He smiled around Nick's cock as Nick whimpered. Greg loved the desperate, vulnerable noises he could coax out of him.

He opened his mouth, breathed in against the back of his throat as he flattened his tongue, and then he was sliding even further down Nick's cock, sliding until his nose was nestled against Nick's public hair, until he could feel the head of Nick's cock in his throat. He held it there, swallowed once, twice, pulled up and applied pressure and suction with his lips again as Nick's fingers clawed desperately at his shoulders.

"Oh, God," Nick gasped as Greg took him into his throat again. "Oh, fuck." He couldn't do anything but shudder, grip Greg's shoulders, press his head back hard into the mattress. When he felt Greg's throat muscles constrict around the head of his cock again as he swallowed, when at the same time Greg's fingers were sliding in and out of him massaging his prostate with every stroke, he let out one final groan and his body tensed and he squeezed Greg's shoulder so tight when he came that he left a bruise.

Greg felt Nick's first pulse on his tongue first, felt it shoot down Nick's cock, over his lips, across his tongue, then finally down his throat. He held it like that for as long as he could, until he had to pull back and gasp for breath and as he did, the last of Nick's load splashed against his lips, his cheek, his chin.

"You got me," he said with a grin as he slid up Nick's body. Nick reached up and gripped the back of his head, pulled him down for a fierce kiss, lapping up his own cum with an eager tongue.

He lay his body over Nick's and all it took was Nick's obvious pleasure at sharing the taste of his cum and a few thrusts of his hips before he came between them, coating his and Nick's stomachs with salty cream.

Nick held him tight, so he just relaxed against Nick's body, kissed his sweat-slick neck, collapsed over him.

"Am I crushing you?" he asked softly a few minutes later.

Nick shook his head as he slid his fingers lazily through the hair at the back of Greg's head. "No. It feels nice."

Greg nodded, but eventually slid off him and stretched out to cool his body. "That's my idea of a good workout," he said, sliding his fingers through Nick's.

"Mmm," was Nick's only reply.

"You still gonna go for that run?"

Nick laughed softly. "No. Asshole."

"What did I do?" Greg asked innocently, trying not to grin.

"You know damn well you don't play fair."

"Hey, sex is great cardio," Greg told him. "Although, cum is kind of fattening."

Nick snorted and looked over at him. "Do I even want to know how you know that?"

"Well, you know, digestion is a chemical reaction. In college one of our labs was to figure out the average calories per gram of stuff like chocolate, grapes, olive oil, marshmallows..."

"So you used your cum as a sample?" Nick asked.

Greg shrugged. "Well, yes and no. It wasn't my cum, but I was the one to collect the sample and carry out the analysis."

"Do I wanna know whose cum it was?"

"My lab partner's." Greg sat up. "Jeremy Hiller. Blonde, blue eyes, corn-fed Iowa farm boy..." He sighed. "Yeah, that was a great lab." He gazed at nothing for a moment as if remembering a pleasant memory, then he turned and patted Nick's leg. "Race you to the shower."

"What do I get if I win?" Nick asked as he propped himself up on his elbows.

"You get to wash my back."

"And if I lose?"

Greg thought about that for a moment. "You still get to wash my back."

"Then wake me up in 20 minutes. And don't start without me."

Greg leaned down to kiss him gently. "I won't."

It took them nearly 45 minutes to shower since Nick couldn't keep his arms from around Greg's waist or his tongue out of Greg's mouth.

"What's with you?" Greg asked, thoroughly pleased at the whole situation and really not caring if they ended up late to work.

"Must be all the endorphins," Nick said, holding him tight beneath the shower's spray. "I'm crazy in love with you, you know," he whispered.

Greg's smile was the kind that spread across his entire face, making the skin beneath his eyes crinkle. "I love you, too."

Half a pot of coffee and a 30-minute drive later he was in the lab parking lot. He parked a few spots away from Nick's Tahoe and when he walked in and saw Nick talking to Warrick he greeted both of them as if he hadn't just seen Nick half an hour earlier.

He looked around for Grissom as he made his way to the lab, hoping to corner the man and talk him into letting Greg work a case. Any hopes he had of getting out into the field that night were quickly dashed when he saw the sheer volume of work that dayshift's craptacular new tech had left for him.

"God," Greg sighed as he surveyed the list of evidence he had to process, "am I the only one who works around here?"

"Yes." Hodges' dry voice said from behind him. He passed Greg, sipping a cup of coffee and holding a newspaper in the other hand. "You're the one that does all the work and the rest of us just ride your golden coattails."

Greg shook his head and rolled his eyes, biting back the urge to return Hodge's insult with one of his own. If he was going to be trapped in the lab all night, the last thing he needed was to start a fight.

"Nothing to it but to do it," he said to himself as he slipped his blue lab coat on and reached for the box of latex gloves. Hopefully he could get most of it done before nightshift started bringing him their evidence to process.

His hopes were once again unfounded, however, when twenty minutes into shift one of the coroner's assistants came in bearing blood samples, fingernail clippings, and trace hairs removed from the body.

"Jesus," Jacqui said as she leaned against the door a few hours later. "I never thought it would happen, but it has."

Greg looked up from his microscope quickly. The sugar rumors had died down eventually, but he could feel Hodges staring at him sometimes like he knew something he wasn't supposed to know. He and Nick kept their distance at work, but when he saw Jacqui's smug expression he couldn't help but wonder if she'd figured it out. "What?" he asked, trying to sound innocent.

"You," she said, "listening to music I actually like."

He grinned. "Yeah. GN'R, man, they're classic. It's Ni—" he cut himself off and coughed. "Uh, it's new. The CD, I mean. I used to have it on tape."

"You and me both," Jacqui said with a sigh. "I can't listen to 'Patience' without wanting to raise a lighter in the air."

He smiled at her. "Please don't. Everything I got from Warrick is covered in cyanoacrylate, and while it's dry and probably not giving off fumes, I'm not so much into taking chances anymore."

Jacqui frowned and came further into the lab. "Super glue? Nobody told me. I've been sitting over there with nothing to do for half an hour."

"I don't think Warrick was the one to fume it," Greg said. "He wanted me to run trace on it to see what the coating was."

Jacqui pushed Greg away from the microscope and looked down at the ballpoint pen he'd been inspecting. "I see ridge detail."

"Yeah. I was just about to let you know."

"At least three partials. They're tiny, but if it's the same print I'm sure I can match them up," she said as she snapped on a pair of latex gloves and gently took the pen off the microscope's stage.

Greg grinned as he watched her head back to her own lab, muttering to herself as she looked at the pen. He loved how focused she got when she was on the chase. Sometimes he wished he could be as satisfied in the lab as all the other techs seemed to be, especially on nights when he had nothing but routine analysis from start to finish.

He took his gloves off and tossed them in the trash, rubbed the back of his neck as he pushed his rolling chair over to the table of evidence that was quickly starting to overflow. He pulled on a new pair of gloves and reached for a manila envelope labeled in Sara's chicken scratch.

Inside were several tubes containing cotton swabs of blood. He yawned as he spread them out on his counter and slid his chair over to another counter where he retrieved a sterile pair of scissors and a test tube stand.

"Hey, G," Nick said from behind him. "What do you have for me?"

Greg set the scissors and stand next to Sara's samples and propelled his chair over to the cabinet where he kept the proteinase K. "Nothing yet," he said, sliding back over to his main workstation. He looked up at Nick and smiled. His brain was fried and it was nice to see Nick. He rarely came into the lab anymore, especially when Hodges was working just down the hall. "Haven't even looked at it yet."

"I gave you those samples three hours ago!"

Greg was silent for a long moment. He was used to CSIs insisting that their case had to be his priority, but they didn't usually yell at him. Nick had never yelled at him before. "I'm backed up," he said. "Your case is next in line, but I have to get these swabs replicating first."

"Screw those swabs," Nick snapped. He snatched them up off the counter without even bothering to put on a pair of gloves.

"Hey," Greg cried, reaching out for them. "Don't, you'll break the chain of possession or, worse, contaminate them."

Nick tossed the tubes onto the evidence table and grabbed a bundle wrapped in druggist's paper. "You'll do it now," he snapped. "Don't take a break until you've got the results."

Greg raised his eyebrows as Nick stalked out of the lab. Normally he would have put the bundle back and retrieved the swabs from Sara's case, continuing in the first come first served order that was standard protocol. There'd been something in Nick's eyes however, an edge to his voice that Greg hadn't ever heard before.

"What was that?" Jacqui asked, scuttling into the lab and looking over her shoulder to make sure that Nick was far enough down the hall not to hear her.

Greg sighed and shrugged, then used a scalpel to slit open the red tape that held the bundle closed. He spread the paper out on the counter first, then unfolded the pink t-shirt inside. "Map of Hawaii," he said.

"Huh?" Jacqui asked.

"Semen stain," Greg said. "One large island, smaller islands radiating outward."

"That's fucked up," Jacqui said. "You know I'm never going to be able to think about Hawaii again without that association."

"Oh, come on," he said as he reached for a packet of sterile swabs. "Maps of Hawaii aren't necessarily a bad thing."

She smirked. "You'd know. So, who is he?"

His eyes flickered up for a moment as he reached for a bottle of sterile water to moisten the end of the swab. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you're obviously dating somebody new, and when it's a girl you can't shut up about it. Who's the new guy that's making you walk around with moony eyes all the time and sing country songs?"

Greg tried to suppress his smile. "You heard that, huh?"

"Oh, yeah."

"He's just a guy," he said as he rubbed the swab over the largest of the islands.

"Country music, Greg."

"Fine. He's a guy I really like," he said, smearing the sample across a microscope slide.

"Uh-huh. So, is it serious?"

"Don't you have a ballpoint to analyze?" He gently placed a thin square of glass over the sample and mounted the slide beneath the microscope lens.

"AFIS is running the print right now."

He looked up at her. "You work fast."

Jacqui smiled and shrugged. "I have a gift. What can I say? So, do I know him?"

"Nope."

She sighed. "Well, come on. You have to give me something Bobby and I can dish about."

Greg pretended to think for a moment. "Well, he's a little older than me—"

"How much older?"

"A few years. It's not like it's an April-September thing. He looks amazing in boxer briefs, and he's a talker."

Jacqui grinned. "I love talkers."

"You need a boyfriend."

"You wanna share yours?" she teased.

"He doesn't swing that way," Greg said. "Sorry. That enough to tide you and Bobby over for a while?"

"It'll do for today."

"And, hey," he said as she started to leave the lab. He lowered his voice to a near-whisper. "Not that you ever would, but try not to let Hodges find out about it, OK? He's been giving me the stink eye for weeks now, just waiting for something he can use against me."

Jacqui glanced in the direction of Hodges' lab. "Do you think he'd use you being bi against you?" she asked. "I mean, I always thought he was a little...gay."

Greg shuddered. "Oh, that's a visual I did not need. I don't know what he is and I don't care. You know he wants my job."

Jacqui rolled her eyes. "Like he's going to get it."

"I know, but he thinks he's better than I am and I don't want him being, well, himself if he finds out about me."

"Gotcha," Jacqui said. "Good luck with Hawaii."

"Good luck getting a hit off AFIS."

"It's not luck, kid," she said with a grin as she left the lab. "It's pure skill."

Greg looked down the 'scope and frowned. "Huh," he said as he looked at the sample.

He slid back over to the shirt, used a fresh blade to scrape a bit of crust off the edge of one the stains and placed it on a slide. He put a drop of water on it, waited a moment, then placed a slide cover over it. He switched out the slides and studied the second sample.

"That's funny," he said to himself as Sara walked into the lab.

"Where are my results?" she asked.

"Nowhere, yet. You're next in line." He slid his chair back over towards the shirt again and cut out a small sample of stained fabric with the scissors. He used a forceps to lift it and place it in a test tube.

"Greg, this case is important," she said as he immersed the sample in sterile water and slid it into the centrifuge.

"They're all important," he said as he set the centrifuge running.

"I'm serious, Greg. If you're going to just spend your shift goofing off—"

He looked up at her with a glance so sharp it made her stop in the middle of her sentence.

"What part of what I'm doing looks like goofing off to you?" he snapped. "Until I grow a second set of arms, I can only work so fast. Not to mention that I've got the overflow from dayshift, Covello took the time to come by and personally let me know that he's keeping an eye on my work involving the McGruder case, and Nick's been possessed by the spirit of Grissom on a bad day. You're next in line, that's the best I can do, and if you keep coming in here and interrupting me it's going to take even longer, so stop wasting my time and when I'm finished, I'll page you."

Sara raised her palms towards him as she backed towards the door. "OK. Don't need to chew my head off."

He frowned as he took another sample of the stain so that he could run a PCR. The centrifuge stopped whirring just as he'd finished treating the sample with the enzyme needed to break down its proteins.

He took the sample from the centrifuge, grabbed a test kit out of one of the cabinets, and measured out a bit of the sample liquid to place in the kit's receiving well. He watched as three vertical lines appeared in the test kit's window. "Very interesting," he said as he set it aside.

He processed the rest of the evidence from Nick's crime scene. There wasn't much: mouth swabs from three known donors, a single hair, and a smear of something red that definitely wasn't blood.

He'd gotten through Sara's blood samples, Catherine's fingernail scrapings, the stomach contents of a beetle Grissom had collected, and was just starting to make a dent in the dayshift overflow when Nick stormed into the lab.

"Hey," Greg said nervously. Nick was not in a good mood, he could feel it all the way across the lab. "I, uh, I paged you an hour ago."

"Just tell me what you've got," Nick said.

Greg suspected that it was definitely not the time to make a presentation. "Stains on the shirt didn't have any swimmers," he said. "But I ran a p30, they're definitely semen stains, just no sperm."

"God damn it!" Nick snapped, and Greg jumped back when he punched the counter.

"Uh..." Greg continued, watching Nick pace back and forth out of the corner of his eye. "Even without sperm I managed to get DNA from epithelials. It's a positive match to the first swab, uh," he looked down at his notes.

"Jacob Ellerson," Nick said.

Greg nodded. "Yeah. And there was a follicle tag on the hair, matches to swab number two—"

"Rebecca Post." Nick's voice was soft but it made Greg shiver. He didn't know anybody was capable of being that angry and that calm at the same time.

"Also, there was saliva mixed with the lipstick—that's what the red smear was, by the way—with enough epithelials to make a match, also to Rebecca Post."

Nick nodded, his shoulders slumped. Greg thought he looked defeated. "Nick," he whispered. He wasn't sure what he was going to say. "Are you all right?"

Nick took a deep breath and shook his head quickly, as if to clear it. "That bitch is going down," he hissed before turning on his heel and stalking away. Greg watched him get halfway down the hall before he remembered to close his mouth.

"What do you have for me?" Catherine asked brightly as she breezed into the lab.

Greg stared at the hall for a moment. He couldn't see Nick anymore, but he continued to watch where he'd been. Then he snapped his focus to Catherine. "Uh, which one was yours again?" he asked.

She blew out a quick puff of hair to brush a strand of hair off her face. "Scrapings, Greg. Dead girl found in a dumpster behind the Bellagio. Ring any bells?"

"Oh," Greg said. "Yeah. DNA under her nails is not hers and still unidentified. No match in CODIS."

Catherine sighed and frowned, then looked at him for a moment. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine," he said. "It's Nick I'm worried about." He regretted saying it for a moment, but then he figured that even if he and Nick had only been friends he still would have been worried about Nick's reaction.

Catherine wrinkled her nose, then pursed her lips. "I told Gris not to give him that case. You know how he is with child murder."

"I know how you all are with child murder," Greg said. "This is different. This was...I just told him that the semen sample didn't contain any sperm and he punched the desk."

Catherine's eyes went wide, but Greg suspected it wasn't because of Nick's reaction. The lack of sperm meant something, he just didn't know what. He'd thought it was interesting, but it wasn't like vasectomies were all that uncommon. "Oh, God," Catherine said, heading for the door. "Oh, Nicky."

And Greg wanted to call after her and ask what the hell was going on, but Grissom was heading down the hall with an intent look on his face and Greg knew he was coming to see if Greg had been able to get any human DNA out of his beetle's stomach.

He was halfway through his presentation to Grissom when it hit him; men with vasectomies weren't the only ones who produced semen without sperm. Pre-pubescent boys didn't produce sperm, either.

Greg pulled his silver Jetta into his parking spot, then sighed and leaned his head forward to rest against the steering wheel. It was nearly noon and he was surprised he hadn't fallen asleep on the drive home.

He'd stayed late at the lab, purportedly to finish up with the dayshift overflow. He'd also wanted to be there when Nick got back, but Nick never got back.

He was edgy, keeping his eyes on the hallway, watching for Nick while at the same time processing three pieces of evidence for each one Benson, the dayshift tech, processed. The more he waited, the more Nick didn't return and when he caved and tried Nick's cell phone it went immediately to voicemail. He paged Nick a little after that, but Nick never called him back.

Around eleven-thirty, he'd sought out Benson in the break room, slapped his can of soda out of his hand and demanded to know if Benson was incompetent or just lazy, since that was already his third break of the day. He let Benson, and anyone else within ear shot, know that he was fucking sick of doing everything the dayshift tech didn't bother getting around to on top of his own workload. He may have said something to the effect that even though Benson had 15 years on him, he still processed like a first year intern. He may have also mentioned that if Benson continued with his current habit of remaining immobile most of the shift, he was certain to be mistaken for a test dummy—something that Greg wouldn't mind since at least Benson would actually be useful when Greg had to test the velocity of blood spatter resulting from a swift kick to the head.

He felt shitty for saying it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. It didn't help when Benson cornered him in the locker room, nearly in tears, and asked what Greg expected him to do.

"Just your job, man," Greg said wearily. "Just do your job so I can do mine, all right?"

He was halfway home when he remembered that his Techniques of Biological Evidence Collection class had been at nine. He was too tired to care, and it wasn't like he'd never handled a biological sample before. Hell, if he kept missing classes all he'd do was handle biological samples for the rest of his life.

Finally, he got out of his car and locked it behind him as he shuffled towards his front door. He stopped when he saw Nick sitting on his front porch, his back against the sliding glass door.

"Hey," Greg said softly.

Nick looked up at him and squinted in the sunlight. "Hey."

"You been waiting long?"

Nick shrugged. "I knew you had class this morning. It's OK."

"You could have gotten Mrs. Palmbach to let you in."

"I didn't want to bother her. Besides, it's kind of nice out here. The view's not bad."

Greg sat down next to him and sighed. From where they were sitting he could just barely see the tip of the Eiffel Tower at Paris, Las Vegas.

"How was class?"

"Missed it."

"What? Why?" Nick sounded concerned.

"Work. I finished up all the overflow, then screamed at Benson and pretty much physically assaulted him in the break room."

"You hit him?"

Greg shook his head. "His soda can. It was grape. That stain's not ever coming out of his shirt, I can tell you."

"I'll see you your can of grape soda and raise you one brick wall," Nick said, raising his hand. He'd had it tucked against his waist so Greg hadn't seen it before.

"What did you do?" Greg asked breathlessly as he surveyed Nick's swollen and bruised knuckles, his bandaged hand.

"It was either punch the wall or punch a woman," Nick said softly, his eyes fierce. "I've never hit a woman, never will. Not even one like her. So I punched the wall."

"Baby," Greg whispered, reaching up to touch his face.

"They won't be able to put a cast on it until the swelling goes down."

"You broke it?"

Nick shook his head. "Not really. Hairline fracture. I've had them before."

Greg nuzzled against him. "Come on, let's get you into bed. You've had a rough night."

"You, too," Nick said as Greg pulled away and stood up. "I'm sorry I yelled at you like that."

"I knew it wasn't personal," Greg said, helping him up.

"I still shouldn't have snapped."

Greg shrugged. "It happens. You should have heard the things I said to Benson. I was far worse." He smoothed Nick's hair down before digging in his pocket for his keys. "We're going to have to get you your own set," Greg said as he unlocked the door. He tensed for a moment, thinking maybe he'd gone too far by offering Nick his own set of keys.

Nick rubbed Greg's back with his left hand as he followed him inside. "That would be nice," he said before kissing the back of Greg's neck.

When he turned to shut the door, Greg caught a glimpse of Mrs. Palmbach behind her hibiscus bush, pretending that she hadn't just eavesdropped on their entire conversation.

"You OK?" Greg asked softly, reaching for Nick in the blue twilight of the living room.

Nick shook his head. "No." He wrapped his arms around Greg's waist, buried his face in Greg's shoulder.

"You wanna talk about it?"

He shook his head again and took a shaky breath. "I'm so tired," he whispered.

Greg rubbed Nick's back in slow circles. "I know," he murmured. "I know you are." He held Nick for a few minutes, breathed in his scent. "Come on," he said finally. "Let's get you into bed."

Nick followed him into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed wearing everything, including his shoes.

Greg knelt next to him and undressed him carefully, making sure he didn't hurt Nick's injured hand. He pulled his own clothes off, then slid into bed. They curled their bodies together, not in their usual tangle but instead with Nick's head on Greg's chest, his right hand resting across Greg's ribs.

He was almost surprised at how easy it was to fall asleep. All he had to do was close his eyes.

When he woke up he was cold, and he knew it was because he'd become accustomed to the heat that radiated from Nick's body next to his every night. He opened his eyes and lifted his head and saw that Nick was still there, but he was sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the wall.

"You going running?" Greg asked sleepily as he reached out to touch Nick's hip through his sweatpants.

Nick shook his head.

He pushed himself up and leaned to kiss Nick's bare shoulder. "You're cold," he murmured, his lips brushing against Nick's air-cooled skin. "Come back to bed."

"They're so young," Nick whispered. He sounded weary and Greg wondered if he'd slept at all. "They're all so young. So small. I look at them and they're just...I don't know how they carry around something that heavy when they're so small. How do they not break under the load?"

Greg sighed and laid his cheek against Nick's shoulder. "Kids are tough. They have to be, I think. With the stuff this job has shown me, the way so many adults treat them like they're not fully human, they have to be tough. They just do whatever they can to survive."

"Jacob Ellerson didn't survive."

Greg nodded. "That woman killed him?"

"She was his teacher. His sixth grade teacher and she...and when he wanted it to stop, when he told her to stop she killed him. He just wanted a normal life. He just wanted it to stop and she killed him for it."

Greg didn't know what to say so he just rubbed Nick's back gently.

"You should have seen him, Greg. Lying there on that cold steel while the doc opened him up. He was so small. I just stared at him and all I could think about was how small he was, how she'd taken that little boy and used him to..." He choked back a sob and Greg slid his fingers through his hair, whispered to him that it was all right.

"I try," Nick whispered. "I try so hard."

"I know," Greg said, though he didn't. He wasn't going to ask. The explanation could wait until later. "I know you do."

"I just stared at him. He was so small. I can't believe I was ever so small."

Greg slid towards the edge of the bed so that he could touch Nick's face, look into his eyes.

Nick couldn't look at him, had to look away. "I thought...I thought that as I got bigger it would go away, that it wouldn't be so hard to carry. I thought when I was big that everything would be OK. But it got bigger, too, and heavier every day. Sometimes I don't know if I can make it, if I can carry it anymore without breaking under the weight of it."

And as Greg pulled Nick into his arms his face twisted with pain. It hurt, hurt in his chest and the back of his throat and down to the base of his spine. His beautiful Nick, his perfect Nick hiding all that pain. "I'll take it," he murmured, rocking Nick gently. "Give me half and we'll carry it together."

Nick let out a sob as his fingers dug into the skin of Greg's back.

"You're carrying half of my burden," Greg whispered. "It's only fair that I carry half of yours."

"I never told anybody," he said. "I told Catherine a few years ago, but only because I had to, because I was starting to crack and she could see it."

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Greg said softly. "But if you want to talk, you can tell me anything. You know that, don't you?"

"I didn't think anyone would believe me," Nick said. "Not that it happened, I knew they'd probably believe that it happened, but they wouldn't believe I hadn't wanted it. Because she was pretty and everyone liked her. She'd never babysat for me before, but her family had moved from Houston the year before and everybody in the neighborhood knew she was popular and had guys falling all over themselves for her. Who'd believe I hadn't wanted it? Who'd believe that I hated it, that it made me sick inside?"

Greg stroked Nick's neck gently. "I believe you."

"It's what boys are supposed to want, right? You're supposed to want it, and if you say you don't you're lying."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

Nick pulled away from him and wiped at his cheeks, tried to dry his eyes. "I was on the floor. I was drawing, and she walked by and stood over me, watching. She asked if I was looking up her skirt, and she laughed when I said no. She asked me why not and I said I didn't care what color her underpants were. She sat on the floor next to me and asked if I thought she was pretty. She was, so I told her so. My grandfather taught me never to lie. She asked if I wanted to kiss her and I said no and she laughed again. She asked if I was queer. I didn't know what it meant. I was nine. I don't think I'd even heard the word before, but I could tell it was a bad thing so I said no. She said she had a special game to play but we had to go upstairs to play it. I followed her upstairs to my room. I went with her. She didn't make me."

"You didn't know what she was going to do."

"She took her clothes off and said I had to take mine off, too. I didn't want to but she called me a chicken, called me a fraidy cat. She touched me everywhere, made me touch her places, use my mouth on her. When I started to cry she said I was a sissy and she grabbed me, she grabbed my dick and she said if I didn't stop crying that one day it would shrivel up and shrink inside me and I'd turn into a girl."

Greg let out a slow breath. "Jesus, baby."

"When she was done she laughed at me, told me I cried like a little girl. She asked if my friends knew what a crybaby I was. I felt so ashamed. And dirty, just filthy. I took my bath and I turned the water up so hot and I scrubbed at my skin so hard and the feeling wouldn't go away. For months afterwards my mom joked that she had the only third grader in the world that actually wanted to take a bath. She never knew why, never knew I couldn't get clean no matter what I did."

"Oh, my baby," Greg murmured. "Oh, my sweet baby. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault." Nick's voice was flat.

"It's not yours, either." Greg took Nick's chin in his hand and turned his head so he could look into Nick's eyes. "You know that, don't you? That's it's not your fault?"

Nick nodded. "Intellectually, I guess, but—"

"You were a child, Nick. Younger even than the little boy you saw on the slab today. How were you supposed to be able to fight her?"

"It's not like she forced me. It's not like she threatened to hurt me."

"Yes, she did. Can you name one thing more terrifying to a nine year-old than being called names? Sissy, crybaby, queer, girl, chicken...Jesus. She might as well have held a gun to your head. She knew exactly what weapons to use to make you do what she wanted."

Nick sniffed. "Sometimes, I think..." He looked away and took a shaky breath.

"Sometimes you think what?" Greg asked, stroking the short hair at the nape of Nick's neck.

"That she made me this way. That if she hadn't...then maybe I'd be normal."

Greg kissed Nick's shoulder. "Define normal."

"Normal," Nick snapped. "You know, like other people. Not like this, not like..." He shook his head.

"Not like what?" Greg asked. "Not like you and me, you mean?"

"I didn't say that."

"You don't have to." He looked down at his hands. "It breaks my heart to know that you think we're abnormal, that you're ashamed of what we've got."

Nick looked over quickly. "No, Greg, I'm not—"

"Because falling in love with you was the easiest, most natural thing I've ever done in my life, and it happened in an instant. Did you know that? Did you know that I fell in love with you the first time I saw you?"

Nick shook his head. "I'm not ashamed of us, baby."

Greg nodded and leaned to kiss him. "It was my second day of work," he whispered, "and I was nervous, edgy. I didn't know if I could handle being so far from the ocean, my friends, everything I'd always known. And I was thinking about whether or not I could cut it on my own when you walked in. You and Warrick were arguing over a bet, and you were laughing and your smile just killed me. I felt it right in my gut, down to my knees. And I thought, 'I'm going to be in love with him for the rest of my life.'" He smiled. "And I was right."

"I don't know what I'd do without you, how I'd survive this without you. If we hadn't...if I had to face this case alone..."

"You don't have to face anything alone. Not anymore."

Nick nodded and slid the fingers of his left hand through Greg's, held them tight.

"I don't know if I can fix this," Greg whispered, "If I can fix what she did to you, if I can take away any of the pain but I'm going to try and it starts with this: you have nothing, absolutely nothing to be ashamed of."

"I could have stopped her."

"No."

"She didn't hold me down, didn't rough me up. She was just a teenage girl."

"And you were a child. Do you know what a nine year-old boy looks like standing next to a seventeen year-old girl? You didn't have a chance. She made sure you didn't have a chance. The shame's on her, Nick. None of it's yours."

"I feel like it's still inside of me. All that blackness. All that dirt."

"No, baby. You were never dirty. That was her twisting your head, making you think that there was something wrong with you."

"Maybe it was already there," Nick whispered. "Maybe I was already bad and she could just see it is all."

"No." Greg didn't know when he'd started crying but he could feel the tears hot on his cheeks. "It wasn't you. You said it yourself—we'll never know why people do what they do. Maybe somebody hurt her when she was a kid and she didn't know how to break the cycle. Maybe she was just fucked up. But it was never you."

"You don't know that. You can't know that."

"Yes I can." He threaded his fingers through Nick's hair. "You're a good man. I know that to be true. Look at what you do for a living—you spend your entire life helping other people. Look at the way you treated me when you found out about my past. You didn't run. You didn't push me away."

"But the sugar, Greg, I..."

It was the first time they'd really talked about it since it had happened, and as Nick said it Greg realized he wasn't angry anymore, not at all. "That doesn't matter now," he said. "You were scared and overreacted and I was scared so I overreacted back. It's called a fight, and every couple has them. We got through it, that's all that matters."

"I didn't want to think it, but it all seemed so fast. I thought it had to be too good to be true."

Greg smiled and tipped his forehead against Nick's. "I know. If you hadn't freaked out, then I would have over something just as small. It was bound to happen. What matters is that we didn't give up."

Nick nodded and leaned into Greg's embrace, let Greg lean him back and lay him on the bed. They became their usual tangle of arms and legs, foreheads pressed together, breathing slowed as they touched and caressed each other's face, shoulders, chest.

"I wonder," Nick whispered, "I know it's...I know that's not how it's supposed to work, but I still wonder if I'd like women if it hadn't happened."

"Did you like girls before?"

"I was nine. I thought they had cooties."

"I don't know about you," Greg whispered, "but when I look back at my life, even back into my childhood, I can see that I was always bi. I can see that I had crushes on boys and girls even in elementary school. I was in love with Roger, my first grade teacher."

"You called your teacher by his first name?"

"It was a progressive school," Greg said. "San Francisco, remember?"

Nick smiled.

"I didn't know what it was then, but as soon as I realized I was bi, it all made sense. The way my heart would race every time I saw him, the way I wanted to be close to him all the time, how jealous I was when he paid more attention to anyone else in the class. There were other crushes, too. Billy Pak was my best friend in fourth grade, and when I'd go for sleepovers we'd snuggle close together and hold hands. It wasn't sexual, just, you know, love."

Nick smiled slightly. "I thought you were in love with Tweet."

"I was. But I loved Billy, too. I just didn't know it until later. Don't you have anything like that, any memories that only made sense once you realized you were gay?"

"Well, I was pretty obsessed with Bo Duke. I told my mom once that I was going to marry him. She told me that boys didn't marry other boys, and I said that I had to marry him because otherwise he wouldn't let me drive the General Lee."

"We're born this way, Nick," Greg whispered. "And, fine, so I'm obviously biased in favor of DNA, but even if I knew nothing about genetics I'd still know it was true. Gender doesn't matter to me when I fall in love, and I was born like this. Why? Who knows? Maybe I was born to fall in love with you."

Nick took a shaky breath. "I know what you mean, now," he whispered, his voice thick with tears. "I know what you mean about being broken into a million pieces by just the words someone says."

Greg trailed his fingers along Nick's cheekbone. "I didn't mean to."

"It's OK. You were right about that, too. It's not bad at all."

They held each other for a long time, and Greg thought Nick had fallen asleep until he spoke again. "I spent so much time holding that in that I started to think if I told anyone the world would end."

"Did it?"

Nick shook his head. "No. I'm...I don't know how I feel. Relieved and shaky and fucked up. Not good, but better anyway. I think."

"If you feel like going for broke you can come to therapy with me on Tuesday."

"Let me guess, the General Lee symbolizes the penis."

Greg laughed softly. "It's not that kind of therapy."

"It doesn't feel weird?" Nick asked. "Telling a stranger all your personal business?"

"Well, my parents did start sending me to analysis when I was five, so I'm kind of used to it."

Nick laughed and slid his fingers through Greg's hair. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right. My analyst wasn't insane like they are. And I quit for a long time, stopped going when I was in high school and didn't start again until last year."

"Does it help?"

Greg nodded. "Yeah. They don't expect you to open up right away, you know. They give you time to trust them. And it's not like talking to a friend or anything because they're totally objective. You can tell them anything, good or bad, without having to worry about their reaction. You don't have to worry about how to phrase things so that nobody's feelings get hurt. And when else do you ever get the chance to just talk about yourself for an hour?"

"I never thought about it like that, I guess. I'm still not sure, though."

"You don't have to come with me, but despite my parents I think it's helpful. I could give you some names and you can call them if you ever feel like it's something you want to do. Or, you know, she doesn't usually work over the phone but I'm sure Annika would love to start analysis with you."

Nick laughed. "I don't know. I'm more partial to Jeff's theories of anal pleasure."

"Oh, God," Greg groaned. "I was always afraid to go into his office. I was afraid I'd accidentally run across some scat fetish magazines or something."

"Did you?"

"No. Thank God. But he does smoke on the toilet."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he smokes when he's...you know. Releasing his bowels."

"Oh my God."

"He doesn't think we know, but those are two very specific smells and I decided a long time ago that I'm just going to stay in denial about the whole thing and not ever wonder what the connection between them is."

"I think that's a good idea," Nick said. "Not that I'm a big fan of putting five year olds into therapy, but I think with your parents, you probably needed it."

"Yeah. That's probably the only reason I never pipe bombed my high school."

"You could make a pipe bomb when you were in high school?"

Greg scoffed. "You know how simple they are. An eight year old could do it. I was far more complex than that."

"Well, you were running a meth lab at fifteen. I suppose that's some sort of twisted proof that you were a child genius."

Greg tweaked his nipple. "Asshole. And I was a child genius. Hell, I'm an adult genius, only nobody notices because I'm not socially inept."

"Do I hear a little bitterness in your voice? A little resentment towards a certain introverted entomologist?"

"Nah. Gris is cool, and people will acknowledge my brilliance eventually."

"Not to mention your modesty."

Greg kissed him quickly. "Yeah. That, too. Although..."

"What?"

"Well, I always kind of wondered, and since we're on the subject..."

"Fine, Greg, I acknowledge that you're brilliant."

"Well, that's good, but that's not what I was going to ask." Greg propped himself up on his elbow and peered down at Nick for a moment. "Did you guys ever...you know. Hook up?"

"What?" Nick asked.

"You know, was there ever, like, a thing going on between the two of you?"

"Me and Grissom?" Nick demanded, sitting up.

"You don't have to tell me, I just always thought that maybe..."

"No," Nick said. "No way, man. Are you serious?"

"Well, it would explain a lot of things."

Nick laughed. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Tension, I guess. Older man jilted by his hot young lover..."

"You're insane."

"So there was never, like, a quick blow job in the parking lot or one night of unrestrained passion?"

"I can't believe you're even suggesting that. No. Nothing."

"Hmmm. Well, I still think he has the hots for you."

Nick snorted. "He has the hots for Sara."

"Jacqui and I were talking about that, and we don't think so. He used to have the hots for Sara, but we decided that now he's either madly in love with you, Warrick, or Catherine."

"Oh, you narrowed it down to three of us, did you?"

"Yeah."

"Lab techs have way too much time on their hands."

"Yeah, well, when you can run autosomal multiplexes in your sleep, you've got a lot of time to observe what's going on around you. It's not like what I do is that challenging, mentally."

"Says the genius."

Greg laughed and snuggled against him. "Take the sample, run the test. Take another sample, run another test. Take another sample, run a different test. It's boring, which is why we bounce theories off each other. Otherwise, we'd lose our minds."

"You definitely need more time in the field."

"You wanna tell Grissom that? I mean, if he's not still sore about you breaking his heart and all." He laughed and tried to squirm away when Nick began to tickle him. "OK, fine. Fine, I give. Uncle! You and Gris never had an affair!"

"Damn right we didn't," Nick said. He placed soft, feathery kisses along the curve of Greg's ear. "You think I'd risk my job for anybody else but you?"

"Mmmm." Greg shivered as Nick's lips closed around his earlobe. He curled his fingers around the back of Nick's neck. "You'd better not."

Nick stood silently with his arms crossed, gazing through the one-way glass between the observation room where he stood and the interview room where Rebecca Post was sitting alone at a table.

She was small and delicate, beautiful even in a prison-issue jumpsuit with no makeup on. She raked her fingers through her hair, then laid her hands in her lap as she took a deep breath and stared at the door.

He was tired. He should have been at home. He'd spent the entire night writing up his reports and double-checking all the evidence against her, reading and rereading the coroner's report, tox screen, DNA results, making sure each piece of evidence was properly tagged, that it had been properly collected and photographed, that not a single glitch would get in the way of admissibility of evidence. He should have been asleep in bed with Greg, but instead he was there, watching her through the mirror as she waited for him. She'd asked for him personally.

And it wasn't enough that her very existence had caused him to crack a bone in his hand the day before. It wasn't enough that she had given Jacob Ellerson an overdose of Valium during their final tryst. It wasn't enough that the case brought back memories that Nick couldn't bury no matter how hard he tried. She wanted to see him. Him, of all people.

"Why me?" Nick asked finally.

"I don't know," Brass told him. "But she said that she won't talk to anyone else, just you "

Nick frowned and watched her for another minute. "Will it help?" he asked.

Brass shrugged. "It won't be a formal confession, of course, but the videotape will be admissible. If you get her to talk about what she did with the Ellerson boy, that coupled with the physical evidence will at least be enough to convict her for sexual assault if not murder."

"And he's under 14," Nick said, "so the DA's thinking if they can get her on the sexual assault charges that he won't prosecute for his murder?"

"I don't know," Brass said. "She'd get life with possibility of parole after 10 years. That's too soon. If they go after her for murder she could get the death penalty. Whether the DA goes for that or not is all politics and I don't even pretend to understand it."

Nick nodded, then turned when he heard a familiar click of high heels on the floor. "Hey, Cath," he said softly.

"Catherine," Brass said. "I didn't know you were working this case, too."

Catherine shrugged and smiled wryly. "I'm off the clock, here in an unofficial capacity," she said. "Making sure Nick doesn't break his other hand. The lab can't afford to have him out of commission."

"I didn't break it," Nick said. "It's a hairline fracture, if that."

"Boxer's fracture," Brass said. "Snapped the bone right below the third knuckle on the little finger, right?"

"You know your osteology," Catherine said.

Brass shook his head. "Nah. I've just punched a few walls in my time."

Nick looked back through the one-way glass to where Rebecca post was fidgeting in her chair. "Might as well get it over with," he said. "See what I can get out of her."

"Careful, Nicky," Brass said. "The woman's a nut—thinks she's irresistible like Cleopatra or something. Tried to convince a guard this morning to let her go in exchange for oral sex."

"Sad," Catherine said, wrinkling her nose.

Nick shook his head as he walked into the hall. He heard Catherine's footsteps behind him and turned before he got to the interview room door.

"Nicky," Catherine said softly. "I'll take this if you need me to."

He shook his head and forced a weak smile. "Thanks, Cath, but I'll be OK."

She chewed on her lower lip and he saw her eyes flicker down towards his hand.

"I lost it yesterday," he said. "I'm not going to pretend I didn't. But I'm..." he swallowed hard. "I need to do this."

"OK," she said, and he was grateful that the sorrow in her eyes was born of compassion, not pity. He couldn't have taken pity, not then, not from her.

He took a deep breath to steady himself and pushed the interview room door open.

"Mrs. Post," he said as he entered the room.

She looked up with pretty green eyes and tucked a strand of chocolate brown hair behind her ear with delicate fingers. When she saw him she smiled and sighed with relief. "I was afraid you weren't going to come," she said softly.

He nodded. "Mrs. Post, have you been apprised of your rights? Since you are under arrest, you don't have to talk to anyone. You can have a lawyer with you if—"

"They read me my rights," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "It's all right. I don't need a lawyer."

He nodded again and took a seat across the table from her. "Mrs. Post, I feel I should let you know that I'm considered by the court to be an expert witness. Anything you tell me will be made available to law enforcement and the district attorney's—"

She laughed, a bright, ringing laugh that echoed through the interview room.

"Mrs. Post?"

"Call me Rebecca," she said. "Mrs. Post is my mother-in-law's name." She grinned as she leaned across the table towards him, then rolled her eyes. "Do you have a mother-in-law?"

"No."

"Count yourself lucky," she whispered.

He realized that the closest thing he had to a mother-in-law was Annika, and he had to swallow a nervous laugh. He couldn't afford to let Mrs. Post push him off balance.

"Mrs. Post, I'm afraid I don't understand the purpose of this meeting."

"Rebecca," she said.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

She laid her chin in her hand and gazed at him for a moment. "I felt it, you know," she said. "I could tell right away. I could see it when you looked at me yesterday."

Nick leaned back in his chair.

"You understand," she whispered. "You know I didn't do anything to hurt Jacob."

"Ma'am," he said, "you do realize that I work for the crime lab, don't you? I'm the one who collected the evidence that resulted in your arrest."

She laughed again. "Oh, I'm ma'am now, am I?"

"If you didn't hurt Jacob Ellerson, how do you explain his semen stains on your shirt? How do you explain the fact that we recovered your saliva and lipstick from his genitals?"

Her smile was so pretty it startled him. "We made love," she said. "I've never denied that. But I never hurt him. I couldn't. I loved him."

He was silent for a moment as he breathed deeply. "Mrs. Post," he said, "what you did to Jacob Ellerson was not making love. What you did is a class A felony and carries a mandatory sentence of life in prison."

She looked startled, then laughed again. "You're talking like I'm a criminal," she said. "But I didn't do anything but teach him how to be a man. I never did anything he didn't like."

He bit back the urge to argue with her. He could feel bile rising hot in the back of his throat. "Mrs. Post," he whispered, "Jacob was 11 years old. That means he was legally unable to give consent. Also, in Nevada any sexual contact between teachers and their students is considered a serious breach of trust and, regardless if the child is 7 or 17, it is automatically a class A felony. You're going to jail for life."

Her laugh was nervous that time. "But...I know you understand. I saw it when you looked at me yesterday. I could tell that you remember what it's like to be a boy, to be curious, to want a beautiful woman to teach you, to show you that there's nothing to be afraid of when it comes to pleasure." She reached across the table to touch his hand.

Nick pushed his chair back quickly. "This interview is over," he said, not looking at her as he fumbled with the door handle. She was still objecting as the door closed behind him.

"Nicky," Catherine's voice was soft. She'd watched the entire thing from the observation room.

He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. He couldn't catch his breath.

Her fingers were cool and soft as she lightly brushed his temple. She chewed on her lower lip. "You wanna get a beer?"

He laughed and nodded. "Yeah. I would love a beer."

**********

"Pancakes and beer," Catherine said, raising her beer bottle by the neck.

"Breakfast of champions," Nick said, clinking his bottle against hers.

"Breakfast of nightshifts the world over," she said before raising the bottle to her lips.

Nick took a long draw on the beer and sighed as he set it down. "How's Lindsey?" he asked as he dug into his whole-wheat pancakes.

Catherine sighed and stabbed at a blueberry that threatened to roll off her plate. "She has a boyfriend."

Nick nearly choked on the bite he was chewing. "What?" he demanded once he could speak.

"I know," she said, raising her hands. "I know. But she was very serious when she told me. His name is Dakota and apparently he asked her to go with him during a game of kickball."

"Go where?"

Catherine rolled her eyes. "It's just an expression. Basically, if you're going with someone you're dating them."

"You let her go on dates with this punk?" Nick asked. "What, does he pick her up on his razor scooter?"

She laughed. "They don't really do anything. They don't even talk outside of school as far as I know."

"So basically they just say they're going together and that makes them boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"Apparently," Catherine said.

Nick frowned. "I still don't like it. What's this Dakota punk's last name?"

"I..." she looked over his shoulder and waved at someone, motioned them over.

Nick followed her gaze and saw Jacqui making her way towards them.

"Bobby bailed," Jacqui said as she slid in next to Catherine. "Something about the baby having a fever, yadda yadda. I remember those days, when it didn't take a massive head wound or amputation to make me drive the kids to the ER."

Catherine laughed and shook her head. "Did I tell you Lindsey has a boyfriend?" she asked.

Nick's phone started to ring, and he checked the caller ID before answering. "Hey," he said softly, angling his body away from Catherine and Jacqui.

"Hey, you," Greg's voice was soft. "What's up? You still working?"

"Nah," he said. "Having breakfast."

"By yourself?"

"No," Nick said. "No, with a couple people from work."

"Mmm," Greg said, and Nick could hear the amusement in his voice. "Warrick?"

"Nope."

"Catherine?"

"Yeah."

"Sara?"

"Nope."

"Gris?" Greg asked. "Is he making moony eyes at you over his eggs?"

"No, no, and you're going down for that crack."

"I go down on your crack all the time."

Nick laughed.

"I was just going to head to bed," Greg said. "I wanted to know if I should leave a key out for you or if you're gonna crash at your place today."

"Oh," Nick said, "right. I think I'll just crash at home. You know, I'm kinda forgetting what the my place even looks like."

"OK. I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah," Nick whispered. "It's nice to hear your voice, though."

"Tough shift?"

"Yeah."

"I heard that woman wanted to talk to you. You OK?"

"Yeah," Nick said, toying with the saltshaker. "Yeah, I'm OK. Just tired."

"Well, get some rest and I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah."

"Love you," Greg said.

"Me, too," Nick said.

"What? You're not going to say it back?" Greg teased.

"I did."

"You did not. You said 'me, too' which is not the same thing at all. Maybe I should teach you Norwegian and then we can talk in code."

"You speak Norwegian?"

"The stuff you don't know about me could fill a book. Jeg elsker deg. Say it."

"What?" he laughed. "Those weren't real words."

"Jeg elsker deg," Greg repeated.

Nick sighed. Greg wasn't going to let it go unless he said it. "Yag eska dag," he said quickly.

"Your pronunciation's horrible. We'll have to work on that."

"Mind telling me what I just said?"

"You told me you loved me. Sort of. The pronunciation was really off."

"We'll work on it," Nick said.

"Yeah," Greg said, then whispered "jeg skal passe pa deg."

Nick laughed. "What?"

"Nothing. I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah," Nick said before flipping his phone shut. When he turned back towards the table both Catherine and Jacqui were gazing at him with amused expressions. "What?" he asked.

"Haven't slept at home in a while, huh?" Catherine asked. "Forgotten what your place looks like?"

Nick gritted his teeth and shoved his fork into his pancakes as he tried to ignore their teasing grins.

"Let me guess," Jacqui said. "Model? Actress?"

"Flight attendant," Catherine said.

"I'll have you know I'm dating a scientist," Nick said. "And that's all you're getting."

"And she speaks Norwegian," Catherine said. "A blonde of many talents."

"How do you know she's blonde?" he asked.

"Aren't all Norwegians blonde?"

"No, and we're changing the subject."

"Oh, come on, Nicky," Cath said. "Tell us her name at least."

"No. Changing the subject. I don't need you two nosing into my private life."

"Fine," Jacqui said. "You're no fun but we'll change the subject."

"Thank you," Nick said.

"I've had this song in my head for days," Jacqui told him. "I think it's country. You listen to country music, don't you?"

Nick nodded and took a swig of beer. "All the time."

"I can just remember a few lines of the chorus," she said. "Something about lying on our backs and watching the stars where the cool grass grows."

"Oh," he said. "That's 'Fishing in the Dark' by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. It's one of my favorites."

Jacqui's smile was brilliant. "Thanks, Nick. It was driving me crazy not knowing."

**********

Nick didn't know any of his neighbors, so he didn't bother greeting them as they rushed off to work or class and he yawned, on his way to bed.

His condo smelled musty, which made sense since he hadn't been there in over a week. He turned down the air conditioning and stretched his arms over his head as he headed to his bathroom. He brushed his teeth and took out his contacts and he heard Rebecca Post's voice in his head.

I saw it when you looked at me yesterday.

He reached for his glasses and felt around for them for a moment before he remembered that they were on the counter in Greg's bathroom, not his. He wasn't that blind without them, so he squinted and walked into the bedroom and pulled his clothes off. He was so tired that he just let them lay where they fell.

He climbed into bed and squinted again. The sunlight edged around his blinds, making stripes across his pillow. He really needed to invest in blackout curtains. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.

I felt it, you know. I could tell right away.

The bed was too hot. He kicked the covers off and pulled a pillow over his face to block out the sunlight. He needed to turn the air down even more. Maybe he could tack towels over his windows. It wouldn't be perfect, but it would help at least.

I didn't do anything but teach him how to be a man.

He jumped out of bed and wrapped his arms around his waist as he paced back and forth. He was exhausted so he should just sleep. He should lie down and sleep and he'd feel better when he woke up.

I know you understand...I saw it...I could tell...

He'd sleep on the couch. He could just lie on the couch and watch the fish until he fell asleep. The gobi was really expanding his territory, had gotten brave enough to sift through the sand all over the tank, and one of the cleaner shrimp had set up a cleaning station right in the front of the tank. From the couch, he'd have a perfect view as it cleaned each fish that swam up to it.

He was in his living room before he remembered that the fish weren't his, they were Greg's. He didn't have anything in his living room to watch except for the TV, and he didn't want to watch TV.

"Hey," Greg's voice was husky when he answered the phone.

"Did I wake you?" Nick asked.

"It's OK," Greg said. "Are you coming over?"

Nick smiled. "If it's OK."

"It's OK," Greg said. "I left a key out for you. It's underneath the pot of chives."

"How'd you know I'd come over?"

"Didn't." Greg's voice was sexy when he was half asleep. "Just hoped. I hate sleeping alone."

"Me too, baby," Nick whispered. "I'll be over soon as I can."

Nick grinned and stretched, then ran his hand down his abs to grip his cock. He squeezed it, slid his other hand up his chest to play with his nipples, then rolled to the side to reach for Greg.

He touched bare sheets, reached further and touched bare sheets, reached further and touched the edge of the bed. He pushed out a sigh and lifted his head. The door was open and light was coming from down the hall where he could hear Greg moving around and the occasional splash of water.

"Of course you have to feed the fish," Nick grumbled as he pushed himself out of bed. He wasn't entirely comfortable walking around naked, but Greg always did, and considering what he was in the mood for, it would make things much more convenient.

Greg had set up a small tank next to his desk. It was empty except for water and whatever it was Greg was pouring out of a measuring cup into the water. He was, indeed, naked, and Nick eyed his tight ass for a moment before crossing the room.

"Hey," Nick whispered, coming up behind him. "Don't you know you're supposed to stay in bed so when I wake up horny you're there for me to rub up against?"

Greg laughed and leaned back into Nick's embrace. "Sorry. I couldn't sleep and I just wanted to get the tank ready."

Nick kissed Greg's shoulder, then looked at the 15 gallon tank he was mixing with a flat wooden stick. "You're getting more fish?" he asked.

"Growing my own seaweed," Greg said, turning his head to catch a quick kiss. "It's far superior to the terrestrial greens I've been feeding them, but the cost is prohibitive and you never know if the stuff you ordered came from clean tanks or some polluted coastline. So I ordered some baby plants and in less than a month we should be good to go."

Nick slid his hands up and down Greg's bare chest. "What are you mixing in? Fertilizer?"

"Salt," Greg said. "Well, a salt mixture formulated to mimic the combination of nutrients in the ocean. It's the same stuff I use in the tanks."

"Instant Ocean," Nick read off the bag next to the small aquarium. "Hmm. Reminds me of that time I got Sea Monkeys as a kid."

"I loved my Sea Monkeys," Greg said. "I had a serious Sea Monkey colony going on."

"I was disappointed that they weren't actual monkeys and none of them were wearing crowns or playing baseball. I forgot about 'em and they died."

Greg turned and slipped his arms around Nick's shoulders. "Remind me never to let you feed my fish when I'm gone."

"Where you going without me?" Nick asked.

"You never know. I might present my paper at the next meeting of AAFS."

Nick grinned and rolled his eyes. "You're turning into a little Grissom."

"Hmm. So that's why you find me so attractive."

Nick swatted Greg's ass. "Careful. You keep that joke up and you might be sorry."

"If you think spanking me is going to be a punishment, you're wrong," Greg whispered in his ear.

"Oh, you want me to be rough with you, huh?" Nick asked as he rubbed his cock against Greg's.

"Wrestle you for it," Greg said with a grin.

"Wrestle me for what?"

"Who gets to be on top," Greg said. "First one pinned has to do whatever the other one wants."

Nick laughed. "Come on, do you really think you can—"

Greg dipped his hand into the empty fish tank and splashed seawater on Nick's face, then tackled him and slammed his shoulders to the floor.

"You cheated," Nick said, laughing as he wiped water off his face.

"I couldn't have cheated," Greg said. "We didn't set up any rules. No rules to break, no cheating." He kissed Nick and smacked his lips together when he pulled away. "Mmm. Salty."

Nick arched up against Greg and slid his hands down his back to grip his ass. "Fine," he said. "You win this time. But that's only because you're cute when you cheat."

"No rules, remember?" Greg asked as he got up.

"Hey." Nick reached out for him. "Where you going?"

"Not far," Greg said, walking into the kitchen. He opened one of the drawers and pulled out a couple of thin flour-sack towels.

"What?" Nick asked as Greg began to twist one of the towels. "You're going to rattail me?"

Greg grinned and shook his head. "No. I'm not into that much pain with my pleasure." He moved behind Nick and pushed him up onto his knees, gently ran his hands down Nick's arms and pulled them behind his back.

Nick took a deep breath as Greg pressed his wrists together, palms facing, and began to wrap the towel around them and up his arms.

"You can tell me to stop at any time," Greg whispered, kissing the back of Nick's neck as he tied off the first towel.

Nick nodded and licked his lips, let his eyes close as he took another deep, shaky breath. Greg's fingers were quick as he deftly bound Nick's wrists and forearms with yet another kitchen towel. "You've done this a lot?" he asked softly.

"Some," Greg said. "Does it feel OK?"

Nick pulled on the bonds. He couldn't get free but they didn't pinch or dig into his skin anywhere. "Yeah," he said.

"If you start to tingle, let me know."

"OK," Nick whispered.

Greg stood and pressed on Nick's shoulders, moved him until he was facing the couch on his knees, his legs slightly spread, his wrists bound tightly against the small of his back.

Greg leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Don't move."

Nick nodded and swallowed hard. He heard Greg's footsteps on the carpet and thought he was heading down the hall, but he didn't turn his head to check. He felt a little lightheaded, but in the good way, in the way that resulted from all the blood in his brain rushing down to fill his cock.

He didn't know if he should feel turned on or a little silly. He was definitely turned on, though, and the more turned on he got the less silly he felt.

He shuddered as he felt Greg kneel down next to him.

"Look at that," Greg said with a grin, reaching to grasp Nick's fully hard cock. "You like this, huh?"

"Nobody's ever tied me up before," Nick admitted shyly. He tipped his head back and groaned as Greg started to stroke him.

"Well, guess what, Superman," Greg whispered. "Tonight's your night off. You don't get to be in control. All you can do is give in and let me make you feel good."

"You always make me feel good," Nick said, shivering as one of Greg's hands stroked down his thigh and the other one continued to work his cock.

"Yeah, but you don't usually just lay back and take it," Greg said before leaning to take one of Nick's nipples in his mouth.

Nick bit his lower lip and arched his neck back. He struggled against his bonds. He wanted to grip the back of Greg's head and hold it there, wanted to flip Greg over and shove his tongue in his mouth and make him cry out as he slid his fingers into Greg's ass.

He shivered as Greg trailed his tongue to the other nipple and flicked it lightly. He kissed Nick's chest, up to his collarbone, kissed the strong curve of his shoulder and down his arm. Nick stretched his fingers out as Greg moved around behind him, groping blindly for Greg's cock. When he finally managed to touch it, Greg moved away and he groaned.

"I told you," Greg said, planting a kiss in the hollow between Nick's shoulder blades. "You're supposed to focus on your pleasure, not mine."

"But I like touching your cock," Nick whispered.

"But you don't get to decide what happens." Greg pressed on his shoulders, bend him forward until his chest was flat on the couch. "That's the fun of it," he said, sliding his hands up and down Nick's thighs.

Nick closed his eyes, his head turned to one side. His stomach was tight, full of nervous anticipation as Greg continued to kiss his arms and back, as Greg's fingers gently stroked his skin. "Greg," he moaned.

"Shh," Greg said, reaching forward to slide his fingers through Nick's hair. He slid his hand down Nick's back, over his bound arms, to the front to caress Nick's tight abs. He ran his tongue down Nick's arm, kissed his elbow, kissed his way across the tightly knotted towels that bound his hands together, kissed his wrists, his hands, his fingers.

Nick gasped as Greg's warm mouth closed around his fingers. Greg's hands were on his hips, stroking, squeezing, but never touching his cock. He struggled to break free. He needed Greg's mouth on his cock, needed to feel the soft wet heat of Greg's tongue against him, Greg's lips tight around his shaft.

Greg pulled his mouth off Nick's fingers and laughed softly at Nick's obvious desperation. He kissed each finger in turn and Nick couldn't catch his breath, didn't know how he was going to do it but if he didn't get free and shove his cock down Greg's throat he was going to go insane.

Then he lifted his head up quickly and cried out and, OK, that was good, too, because Greg's hot tongue was against his hole, teasing and licking his pucker.

"Fuck," he groaned. "Oh, God, baby."

Greg hummed contentedly, and Nick felt the vibration all through him and he was lightheaded again, arching against Greg's tongue and making soft mewling sounds and he wanted to...he needed to...

"Greg," he panted. "Greg, please."

Greg continued to tease him, to slide his tongue around his hole, to let just the tip of it slip inside.

He cried out in frustration, pushed back but Greg's hands were holding him tight and his cock was throbbing in the air, no matter what he did he couldn't get it to rub against anything, couldn't break free and touch it, couldn't make Greg touch it. It was just hard, so hard, felt so good the way Greg was kissing and licking his ass, felt so good the way his nipples rubbed against the fabric of the couch, felt so good to just let go, just let go and give up, just give it up and let Greg take control of him, let Greg lead the way, let Greg make him feel so fucking good.

He sobbed and pressed his cheek hard against the couch cushion, his body shaking as he finally gave in, as his mind finally let go and stopped trying to take control.

Every nerve was on fire when Greg touched him. Every flick of Greg's tongue traveled through his entire body, from his nipples to his cock to his toes. When Greg's tongue left him it was like the world stopped, like there was nothing except the pounding in his temples and the air he was holding in his lungs, waiting, just waiting, couldn't do anything except wait for what Greg would do next, couldn't do anything but give in to what Greg wanted.

When he felt Greg's cock press against his hole he smiled and whimpered and his eyes rolled back in his head as Greg stretched and filled him. Now nothing existed except his asshole, he was nothing except that sensitive ring of muscle that squeezed against Greg's perfect cock, nothing except the fingertip sized spots of skin on his hips where Greg gripped him, nothing except the circle of nerves and muscle on his shoulder where Greg's teeth sank in.

Greg's thrusts were slow but forceful, sliding Nick's chest over the couch cushion every time he slammed in, pulling back slowly, so slowly, almost pulling out before he slammed forward again and made Nick's body jerk, his nipples scrape against the nubby fabric of the couch, his cock twitch and drip every time the head of Greg's cock slid against his prostate.

He moaned wordlessly, cried out every time Greg thrust into him, felt the ache in his arms, the burning in his biceps as he struggled over and over again to get his wrists free.

"You like it?" Greg asked in a wicked purr as he leaned to kiss Nick's shoulders, his back, his neck. He flicked his tongue against Nick's earlobe. "You like it like this, baby?"

"Yes," Nick whispered.

"Does it make you hard knowing you can't touch me?"

"So hard," he moaned. "God, Greg, my cock...please..."

"Does it make you hard knowing you can't stop me, that you have to just lay there and get fucked as long and as hard as I want?"

Nick moaned and arched his head back, ground his hips back against Greg with every thrust.

"Tell me," Greg whispered. "Tell me if it makes you hard knowing that you belong to me."

"Yes," Nick panted. "God, yes."

Greg's hips picked up speed, each thrust a little harder than the last, his balls slapping against Nick's ass as he gripped one hip for support and tugged on the ties around Nick's wrists just to hear Nick moan against the pressure on his arms.

Nick let his body go limp against the couch, stopped trying to get free since he knew he never would, closed his eyes and cried out each time Greg slammed into him. Every time Greg pulled back it was like waiting for the world to start again, and every time it did every nerve in his body pulsed and sparked and his cock throbbed and his nipples throbbed and if he hadn't been kneeling with half his body across the couch he would have fainted because the blood was rushing so quickly through his head. He could feel it buzzing in his ears every time Greg's hips collided with his, and embers flickered into sparks behind his closed eyelids and he was dizzy, so dizzy, such an amazing rush inside his head and his body was on fire and if he didn't...if he didn't soon...

He came so hard that he lost his sight, lost his sense of hearing, of taste, of smell, couldn't do anything but feel it, feel his balls churning and his come shooting through him, pulsing through his cock and out the tip and, God, was that him screaming? It couldn't be, though, because he was crying, he was actually crying and as his senses returned his body continued to shake and hot tears slipped down his cheeks as he felt Greg's fingers working at the knots that bound his arms.

"You really pulled these tight, baby," Greg murmured, kissing Nick's shoulder. "Good thing I didn't use silk or we'd never get you untied."

Once Nick's arms were free he sat up, sat back on his heels then turned so that he was in Greg's arms and he shivered and he cried. "I don't know what's wrong with me," he whispered. "I'm fine. I'm just...I don't know why I'm crying."

Greg stroked his hair gently and kissed his damp cheeks. "It's just an emotional release," he whispered. "Don't even worry about it. When you give up control like that, your body takes over and it does things sometimes that you don't understand. It's OK, baby. It's all right."

Finally Nick caught his breath and he tipped his head up and he kissed Greg hungrily. "That," he whispered as he brought his hand up to touch Greg's face, "was so hot."

Greg laughed softly and kissed him back.

"You tie a lot of people up?" Nick asked, stroking Greg's lower lip with his thumb.

Greg shook his head. "No. But I thought maybe you needed to let go. Thought it might be fun."

"It was," Nick said. "How long did you have that planned?"

Greg shrugged. "I don't know. A couple weeks. The time didn't seem right until today, though." He sighed and leaned against Nick, then eyed his couch. "I'm so going to need to get that steam cleaned."

Nick turned to look at the cum stain spattered across the bottom of the couch. "It's your fault."

"Mmm." Greg closed his eyes and they leaned together for a moment before he pulled away and stood up. "Come on," he said, offering Nick his hand. "The alarm's going to go off soon but we can sneak ten more minutes of sleep if we hurry back to bed."

Nick groaned but let Greg pull him up anyway, and when they collapsed into bed, even the ache in his arms felt good.

**********

"So," Greg said as he leaned his head against the window of the Tahoe and gazed out at the bright stars in the desert sky. "How'd you talk Grissom into letting me come out with you?"

"Didn't," Nick said. "He just told me to take you along."

"I'm not going to have to crawl through a sewer, am I?"

"I don't think they have sewers way out here," Nick said. "It'll be a septic tank if anything."

"Great," Greg said. "Where the hell is way out here, anyway? Aren't we supposed to work in Vegas?"

Nick laughed. "In our dreams. We get sent everywhere, you know that."

"I guess," Greg said. "I just didn't expect it to take so long to get there."

"It's only been 45 minutes."

"Only." Greg toyed with the radio for a moment. "There aren't even any radio stations out here."

"I've got some CDs," Nick offered.

Greg shook his head. "No. How much further?"

"Why? Need me to pull over so you can use the bathroom?"

"Very funny."

"It's about 25 more miles to the convenience store."

"Aren't convenience stores supposed to be convenient?" Greg asked. "What's convenient out here? And who would bother to rob a place out here, anyway?"

"Maybe somebody passing through," Nick said, "maybe a local, who knows?" Nick frowned as he caught sight of a flashing light in the rearview mirror. "Where'd that car come from?"

"Are we getting pulled over?" Greg asked, twisting around in his seat.

"That's a strobe light on the dash," Nick said. "What the hell?"

"Maybe it's the new Disco Series cruiser," Greg said.

"That's no cruiser." Nick pulled the Tahoe over to the side of the road. "Let's find out what this joker's up to."

"Uh...shouldn't we call Brass?" Greg asked.

"You do that," Nick said, keeping his eyes on the figure approaching the Tahoe. His hand slid down to his holster and he popped open the strap, slid off the safety. "Tell him we've got a 425 and possible 11-112 and give our location while I see what this guy wants."

"Four twenty-five, eleven one twelve," Greg mumbled to himself as he pulled out his cell phone. "Four twenty-five, eleven one twelve..."

Nick opened the door and stepped out of the Tahoe, letting his windbreaker fall closed and cover his gun. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked the man approaching him.

"Just stay inside the vehicle, sir," said the man. Nick couldn't see his face because he was backlit by his car's headlights, but his uniform looked like a Halloween costume. The material was thin and it hung awkwardly, as if it had been inexpertly stitched together.

"Right," Nick said. "Can I see some identification?"

The man stopped a few feet from him and Nick could see that he was young—too young, eighteen or nineteen at the most. "That's the kind of question I ask you," he snapped, "not the other way around. Now get back in your vehicle and put your hands on the wheel where I can see them."

"Yeah," Nick said, shaking his head. "That's not gonna happen, kid. Why don't you just—"

As soon as the kid's hand moved towards his hip Nick had his gun out, cocked, and pointed at the kid's head. And he felt bad about it, he did, because he knew the awful feeling of looking down the barrel of a gun, but when it was either pull his gun or get a gun pulled on him, he didn't really have to think about it. "I don't wanna shoot you, kid," he said to the young man who had immediately thrown his hands up and was staring, frozen, at the end of Nick's gun, "and you don't wanna get shot. So why don't you just place your hands on the side of the car where I can see 'em?"

The kid turned slowly and placed his hands on the back windows of the Tahoe.

"Sheriff's on his way," Greg said, leaning across the seat so that just his head protruded from the driver's side door. He looked at the kid and tipped his chin at him. "Hey," he said conversationally.

"Hey," the kid said back, his voice miserable.

"Kinda sucks pulling over law enforcement when you're trying to impersonate an officer, huh?" Greg asked, and Nick couldn't help but grin as he shouldered his weapon and started to pat the kid down.

"You want these?" Greg asked, handing Nick a pair of gloves.

"Thanks," Nick said, snapping them on before removing the weapon in the kid's plastic belt holster. He tried to eject the clip but the gun didn't have any moving parts. He tipped it down and leaned closer to inspect it in the light from the kid's headlights. He aimed it away from them and pulled the trigger, sending an arc of water through the air.

"Water pistol," Nick said as he pulled a plastic baggie out of the kid's pocket. It had a damp cloth inside it. Nick was guessing it was paint or glue, some kind of inhalant. He tossed the baggie to Greg who put it in a shiny new paint can that he labeled with a permanent marker.

"If you'd have gotten your hand on this weapon and pulled it out," Nick said, "I would have shot you. It's what I'm trained to do. You could have gotten killed over a stupid prank and a water pistol."

The kid sighed and sniffed, and he looked like he was trying not to cry.

Nick sighed, too, and opened the back driver's side door. "Get in and sit down," he said. "What did you think you were doing, anyway?"

"I don't have to talk to you," the kid said.

"No, you don't, but if I can tell the cops that this is just part of a prank or hazing or something they're going to go a lot easier on you."

"Wait," the kid said, looking from Nick to Greg, who had gotten out and opened the Tahoe's back doors and was rooting through the equipment searching for something. "You guys aren't real cops?"

"Crime scene investigators," Greg said, glancing up at him. "Hey, Nick, paper or plastic?"

"Never use plastic with weapons," Nick said. "Always paper or cardboard, you want it to breathe so it doesn't get humid, doesn't start growing anything that could interfere with GSR recovery or any other potential trace evidence."

"Even when it's a squirt gun?"

He shrugged. "It's good practice. Grab one of those Evi-Paq boxes, the handgun size. Yeah, right there. And one of the plastic flexi-cuffs, that's how you secure the gun in the box."

"I hate these things," Greg said as he tapped the thin plastic tie against his palm. "They're such a pain in the ass, like when you buy something and you can't get it off. I bought a pair of scissors once, had one of these on it, and I couldn't get it off because I needed another pair of scissors to cut it." He took the water pistol from Nick and placed it in the small cardboard box, slid the plastic cuff through two holes in the bottom of the box.

"Good," Nick said. "Under the trigger, right, so if it shifts during transport, the tie won't compress it and either cause it to go off or ruin fingerprint evidence."

"If you guys aren't cops you can't hold me here," the kid snapped, moving to stand up.

"Sit down, Sparky," Nick said, holding his hand up. "The cops will be here soon enough."

"This is, like, kidnapping or something," the kid said. "Illegal holding."

"I think that's football," Greg said. "Or maybe it's hockey. Nick?"

"We've got every right to keep you here until the PD arrives," Nick told him.

"We have badges and guns," Greg piped up as he meticulously labeled the box containing the water pistol. "Real ones."

"You don't have a gun," the kid said.

Greg shrugged, unfazed by the kid's harsh tone. "I'm highly trained in martial arts. I don't need a gun."

The kid looked from Nick to Greg, then back again.

Nick fought hard to keep a straight face, then nodded. "He's tough," he told the kid. "He can flip you before you even know he's there."

"Can I search the car?" Greg asked, snapping off his gloves and bagging them before sliding on a new pair. He sounded as eager as a teenager asking his dad if he could go to the next Eminem concert.

"You can't search my car," the kid whined. "You need a warrant. I watch TV, I know my rights."

"Ever heard of probable cause?" Nick asked.

Greg grinned and reached for his kit.

"Hey," Nick told him. "Just the flashlight. Look, but don't touch." The petulant look on Greg's face almost made him laugh, but he managed not to.

"How do you know one of my friends isn't in the car, huh?" the kid demanded. "He could blow your head off if you get too close."

"Because if there was anybody else in that car, they would have peeled out by now," Nick told him. "Look but don't touch," he called to Greg.

He gasped as the kid's foot connected squarely with his rib cage. Or, rather, he tried to gasp but his lungs felt compressed and it took a few seconds before he could breathe again. During that time, the kid fumbled for Nick's gun, but he was smaller and slower than Nick, and he just ended up face down on the gravel with Nick's knee in his back and Nick's gun pointed at the back of his head.

"Now why'd you have to do that?" Nick asked, panting. "We were just sitting around having a nice conversation, and you had to kick me in the gut." He looked up when he saw a flash of something in his peripheral vision. "Thanks," he said, holstering his gun before taking the flexi-cuff Greg was offering. He used it to cuff the kid's hands behind his back and hauled him up by his arms.

When he looked at Greg again, he was blushing. Nick could tell even in the partially illuminated dark of the rural street. Nick wondered why for just a moment, before he realized that he'd had his arms bound behind his back just a few hours earlier. His entire body flushed at the memory. He tried to think of something to distract both of them. "Why'd I pull him up even though he was more secure on the ground?" he asked.

"Uh..." Greg licked his lips and Nick thought it should be against the rules for Greg to lick his lips while on shift because damn if it didn't start him thinking dirty thoughts. "Positional asphyxiation," he said. "If you'd have kept your knee on his back, you would have pushed all the air out of his lungs in three or four minutes."

"Right," Nick said. "Good. Now go see what it is that Sparky here doesn't want us to find," Nick said as he shoved the kid back into the Tahoe. This time he kept his hand on his gun. "Remember not to touch anything."

Greg nodded, and held his flashlight up next to his head in a fist as he approached the car. He shined the light in the driver's side window first, then walked slowly along the side of the car. He stopped as the beam of light hit the car's back window and he stayed there, unmoving, for a long time.

"Greg?" Nick asked, his free hand pressed against his ribs. "What do you got?"

Greg cleared his throat, then shook his head. He took a step away from the car and turned towards Nick. "Uh," he said, his voice shaky, "I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure we've got a 419." He looked back at the car. "Is it still 419 when there's more than one, or is it 419s?"

"Why?" Nick asked. "How many have we got?"

"Um, I'm not quite sure, but there are at least..." He walked towards the car again and shone the light through the back window. "Um, at least three. I think."

"What do you mean you think?"

"It's kind of hard to tell. They're kind of...disassembled."

"Dismembered bodies?" Nick asked.

"Well, pieces of dismembered bodies," Greg said. "There's a hand, and a foot, and I think I see two heads and, oh, God." Greg turned away from the car quickly. Just as Nick saw the flash of headlights from the sheriff's car over the next rise, Greg dropped to his knees and began to vomit.

"So, the kid lost his lunch, huh?" Brass asked as he kicked gravel over the pile of Greg's vomit. He looked into the car's back window and cringed. "Not that I blame him. Hey, I'm not contaminating evidence or anything by covering this up, am I?"

"No," Nick said as he squatted down to inspect the car's grille. He'd opened the front door cautiously and turned off the engine and the lights. The iron scent of blood was overwhelming, coupled with the stench of excrement and decay. Brass had actually breathed a sigh of relief when Nick shut the door again.

"Christ all-freakin-mighty," Brass said as he inspected the car. "You think a teenager did this?"

Nick shrugged. "He knew it was there, that's for sure. Couldn't be anywhere near this car and not know."

"Should I go see if the kid's all right?" Brass asked.

Nick had sent Greg back to the Tahoe to get the cameras ready. He looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Nah. I'll do it. And don't make a big deal about it, OK?"

"I won't say a word," Brass said. "This is his first scene, right?"

"First murder," Nick said. "First time he was the one to discover the bodies. First dismemberment. I know I blew chunks my first scene like this." He stood up and stretched his out the ache in his arms.

"I probably did, too," Brass admitted. "But it's been so many decades..." he laughed ruefully and shook his head.

Nick headed back towards the Tahoe where Greg was making sure the cameras had film. "You all right?" he asked softly.

"Embarrassed, but otherwise unharmed," Greg said, sliding one of the cameras into its case.

"No need to be," Nick whispered, opening his collection kit and checking its contents. "Nobody saw it but me."

"Brass saw it."

"Brass doesn't care."

"The state trooper saw it before he took that kid away."

"Maybe not. And even if he did, you still don't have anything to be embarrassed about. Everyone throws up at least once."

"Even you?" Greg looked over at him sharply.

Nick smiled at him and nodded. "Yeah. Even me. Especially with something like that." He picked up a camera. "How are your one-to-ones?"

Greg shrugged. "Good, but not great."

"Let's practice, then. We got nothing but time until the coroner shows up."

Greg nodded and turned, leaning back against the Tahoe as he gazed at the car Brass was standing as far away from as possible. "Would it be completely inappropriate to tell you that you're really hot when you turn all cop like you did tonight?"

Nick laughed. "What?"

"I'm just saying that you look good when you pull a gun." He frowned. "It's weird. I never really saw the sex appeal of guns until tonight. Well, you know, except for on 'Charlie's Angels,' but that was really more about Farrah Fawcett running in high heels with no bra. And I guess it wasn't so much the gun that was hot as you being all commanding and in charge."

Nick grinned and shook his head. "Come on, help me set up the lights."

Greg sighed and looked at the car again.

"You can stay here if you want," Nick said softly.

"Don't coddle me," Greg snapped. He set his mouth in a tight line and headed towards the car with a determined stride.

Nick sighed and grabbed his lighting equipment before following Greg towards the scene. He shouldn't have suggested that Greg stay behind, he knew that. He had to act like a coworker, not like a concerned boyfriend. The job was tough, but he had to give Greg the chance to get through it on his own. He had to fight the urge to protect him when protecting him also meant holding him back.

He showed Greg how to set the lights up for good scene illumination and chattered about the basics of good one-to-one crime scene photographs as he explained to Greg what pictures to take from what angles and why.

They'd just finished up the midrange photos when the coroner's van pulled up.

"Hey," David said, hopping out of the van and snapping on latex gloves as he walked towards them. "What do we have?"

"It's kinda hard to explain," Nick said. "You're just gonna have to see for yourself."

"Really?" David said. "Anybody touch the bodies? Paramedics, first officer on the scene—"

"No," Greg said. "I was the first on the scene and I didn't get any closer than looking through the windows. We didn't call for paramedics."

"Why not?" David asked. "If you didn't open the car how could you be sure they were dead?"

Nick rolled his eyes and gestured to the car door. "After you," he said. He opened the back door and swung it open slowly.

David looked into the backseat for a moment, his face blank. "Well," he said. "That explains why you didn't call paramedics."

"God, that reeks," Brass said, lifting a cloth handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth.

"It is a bit piquant, isn't it?" David asked. "Well, they're dead. I'd do a liver temp, but I wouldn't know where to find the liver."

"There," Greg said, shining his flashlight on a chunk of something. "Is that liver?"

David gazed at it for a moment. "Kidney," he said. "I think. Not that it matters. Doing a liver temp on a liver removed from the body would be pointless. Besides, from the smell I'd say they've been dead long enough to come to room temperature. Rough estimate, five to seven days." He cocked his head and squinted into the back of the car. "Shine the light there, if you would," he said.

Greg shined his flashlight where David wanted it but didn't look. Instead, he looked away, a grimace on his face as he shifted from foot to foot.

"I've never actually seen one of those before," David said. "I mean, except in photographs, of course."

And Nick actually had to bite his tongue to keep from making a very, very bad joke.

"Jack the Ripper removed the genitalia of his victims," David said. "As did several other serial sexual killers, but I've never come across an actual excised vulva before."

And Nick squinted his eyes shut because he wanted to make another very bad joke, because when things were that gruesome you had to either laugh or lose your mind.

Greg let out a nervous laugh, though, and soon Brass was chuckling and Nick opened his eyes and smiled and he knew he shouldn't laugh. None of them should laugh. It was so far from funny, it was millions of miles away from funny but sometimes laughing was the only thing you could do in the face of something so supremely fucked up.

"Come across a vulva," David said. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Hilarious. One of you Three Stooges want to start processing so I can get this back to the morgue?"

"Yeah," Nick said, lifting his camera to take the initial close-ups without scale markers or placards. He took all the photographs he could from the side of the car nearest the road, then moved around to the other side where Greg was still standing with his flashlight illuminating the back seat, his head tipped to one side.

"What do you got, kid?" Brass asked.

Nick looked up at Greg and was going to say something comforting, but when he saw Greg's expression he saw that Greg wasn't upset or sick. He was thinking.

"Greggo?" he asked softly.

"It's a shrine," Greg said. "It's not just...I thought it was just, you know, body parts thrown back there for whatever reason, but look at the way they're arranged." He shone his flashlight across the seat slowly from left to right as he spoke. "A hand, a right hand, the hand that would be closest to the door if you were sitting in the seat. A head almost nestled in place, facing forward like he wants it to be able to see where it's going. A foot with toes towards the front of the car. Female genitals just this side of the center. Why?"

Nick shrugged. "I told you, Greg, we don't—"

Greg flicked the flashlight up to hit the car's rearview mirror. "So he can look at it while he's driving."

Nick let out a slow breath. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, because you can't see the whole backseat in the rearview, the front seats are in the way. But he made sure to put that where he could see it."

"A souvenir, maybe," Greg said. "To remind him of something? The piece of kidney right next to it. And then the two feet. They're not...I could be wrong, of course, but I don't think they're from the same person. They're, what? Three sizes apart?"

"My guess is four," David piped up.

"Pointing forward again," Greg said.

"And side by side, as if they belong together," Nick said. "As if they could start walking? And the next head, also facing forward."

"The placement of the hands is curious," David said. "The fingers pointing towards the back of the car this time? And at angles, like they're...strangling the second head."

"I'm gonna have nightmares," Brass sighed. "Could you guys hurry it along?"

"Get good photos of that kidney piece," David said. "I want to look at it as soon as you're done."

Greg and Nick finished taking close-ups, both with and without scale markers. Nick slung his camera to the side as David reached for the piece of internal organ.

"Well," David said, "I'm pretty sure this is kidney, however..."

Nick leaned over his shoulder and looked at it. "Is that...?"

"What?" Greg asked, coming around the side of the car to see what Nick and David were looking at.

"Definitely bite impressions," David said. "Not to mention, this kidney's been cooked."

"I, uh, I'm gonna go see if there's any noise on the radio," Brass said, "see if they found out who owns this car, yet."

"Good idea," Nick said, suppressing a smirk. "Hey, Greg, run and get the casting equipment while I get pictures of this."

Once they'd collected all the evidence they could and made a quick sketch of the car and its contents, David and an assistant removed the human remains and all that was left was to wait for auto detail to come for the car.

"David," Brass called, stepping out of the car as David finished loading the last of the remains into the van. "Don't go anywhere. Highway patrol went to the home of the registered owner of the car, one Pete Werner. They're requesting a coroner and the crime lab." He sighed. "I'm guessing it's not pretty. They said to bring barf bags and holy water if we've got it."

"Barf bags," Greg said. "See? I told you they saw."

Nick waved the comment away. "What the location?"

"About eight miles due east," Brass said, pointing behind him.

"This is within his comfort zone," Nick said, looking up and down the darkened road. "He knew it would be safe for him here. I haven't seen any cars up and down this road the whole time we've been on it, have you?"

Greg shook his head. "No, none, I..." He paled visibly. "Wait. You're saying that we were...we were supposed to be this guy's next victims?"

Nick was surprised that Greg hadn't assumed that from the start, but then again he hadn't come face to face with psychopaths as many times as Nick had.

"I'll wait for auto detail," Brass said. "You guys go ahead. Troopers have cleared the scene and taped it off already." He gave them directions and Nick and Greg packed everything back into the Tahoe then pulled out, David following in the coroner's van.

Greg was silent the first few miles. Finally, what he said was, "Zodiac Killer."

"Pardon me?" Nick asked.

"I grew up in Pacific Heights," Greg said. "The Zodiac Killer shot a cabbie on the corner of Washington and Cherry, not two miles from my house. I was probably eleven or twelve when I found out. It was...we used to sneak out and go to the corner and wait until midnight, see if he'd show. See if the ghost of the cabbie would appear. He never did, of course, but it scared the shit out of me. It was the first time I ever really paid attention to serial killers. I couldn't sleep for weeks, thinking that something like that could happen so close to where I lived. Do you think...do you think that's what this kid is?"

Nick shrugged. "Best not to expect anything. Just let the scene tell you what's going on."

Greg nodded and stared out the window. He sighed miserably.

"Pogo the Clown," Nick said softly.

Greg looked at him.

"John Wayne Gacey," Nick said. "He dressed up as Pogo the Clown to entertain at kids' birthday parties. He was the first serial killer I ever heard of. My brother told me all about him when I was seven or eight years old. I still hate clowns."

Greg nodded and reached out to squeeze Nick's thigh. Nick could see from the expression on his face that Greg knew Nick didn't hate clowns—he was terrified of clowns.

Then he caught sight of the flashing lights of state cruisers and took a deep breath as he turned down the long gravel driveway leading to a ranch-style house.

He and Greg hopped out of the Tahoe and flashed their badges. "Stokes and Sanders," Nick said. "Crime lab. What do we have?"

He thought the green cast to the middle-aged troopers face wasn't a good sign. "Pete and Carol Werner," he said. "They've lived here about 20 years, kept mostly to themselves. Two kids, Amanda, 14, and Jason, 20. I, uh, I don't remember seeing them in town for the past month or so, but that's not unusual. They used to belong to the Baptist church, but they left the congregation a few years ago, now the only time they come into town is for supplies. They home schooled the girl."

"And the son?" Nick asked as he lifted the crime scene tape and ducked under it.

"Home schooled him to, until he was 17 or so. He worked at the feed store for about a year after that, but Tippy—he's the one owns the store—Tippy fired him after he started coming in late all the time, mouthing off to customers, that sort of thing. Showed up drunk once, and that was the last straw. That was two years ago, don't think he's worked since."

"Is Jason the suspect in custody?" Greg asked.

The trooper nodded. "Yeah. Mike, uh, Officer Fenton, he took him to the substation for questioning. You know that already, though, since you're the ones detained him in the first place." He stopped once they got to the front door. "You might want to prepare yourselves for a minute 'fore you go in. Eddie, Officer King, his stomach's still not quite settled from it all."

Nick glanced over to where a trooper was on his knees next to the bushes on the far side of the crime scene tape. He had his arms wrapped around his waist and he was whispering something softly to himself that Nick thought was a prayer.

"Rookie," the trooper whispered. "Never even seen a body before. He's a good kid, though, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't razz him for it."

"Everybody throws up at least once on the job," Greg said, setting his kit down. He put on gloves and handed both Nick and the officer a pair.

"Uh," the trooper said, eyeing the gloves. "I think I'll stay out here, brief the coroner on what we got."

Greg nodded and put the gloves back.

Nick opened the front door slowly and stepped into something out of a psychotic's nightmare. The first room they entered was the living room, and the walls were covered in intricate writing in what he knew had to be blood. A woman's head was stuck on a coat rack next to the couch, wavy blonde hair hanging around it. Hanging from the ceiling was a mobile of fingers, toes, ears, and what Nick thought was probably a pair of lips. He took several preliminary photographs of the room, the head, and the grotesque mobile.

There was a notebook on the coffee table with "KEEP OUT: PRIVATE!!!" in thick black letters on the cover. Greg took a picture, then squatted down next to the coffee table and opened it carefully. "The Adventures of Jason Werner: Executioner," he read aloud from the front page. He let the cover fall shut.

They hugged the wall as they headed into the kitchen. There was a frying pan on the stove and the room smelled faintly of cooked meat. Nick grimaced when he thought of the cooked kidney from the car seat, but raised his camera anyway.

Greg pulled the refrigerator door open and let out a long, slow breath before taking a picture.

"What?" Nick asked.

"Breasts," Greg said.

"Please tell me you mean chicken breasts," Nick said.

Greg shook his head and shut the refrigerator door. "Human. Three of them."

"Where's the fourth?"

"I have a feeling we don't want to know."

Nick nodded and they moved out of the kitchen, back into the living room, then down the hall towards the bedrooms. Nick paused to read some of the writing on the wall. "The day has come the day is here the rivers run with blood and I am finally free."

"Poetic," Greg said sarcastically. The first room was obviously the girl's—Amanda. It was decorated in pale pink and blue with child-like angels playing on clouds on the wallpaper. There was a vanity table with a silver plated hairbrush and mirror on it, a tube of flavored lip-gloss, and a white leather Bible.

Nick slid open her closet door a foot or two and shone his flashlight inside. "No jeans," he said to Greg. "No pants at all. Just dresses and long skirts."

"Maybe it was a religious thing," Greg said. "One of my chem lab partners in college didn't wear pants because her religion frowned on it."

"And she was a scientist?" Nick asked.

Greg shrugged. "Yeah. I think her family really encouraged her, too. It wasn't like she was oppressed or anything, she just felt that wearing skirts was the right thing to do."

"Weird," said Nick.

"Says the man who eats Spam," Greg said.

"What?"

"You think I don't notice? I know that smell. I know you eat Spam in secret."

Nick laughed and blushed. "Well, it is Spam Lite."

"Eating in secret's a warning sign, Stokes. You might have an eating disorder."

"I just knew you'd make fun of me for it, and sometimes I just want a Spamwich."

Greg rolled his eyes as they continued their preliminary walk-through. The second bedroom was the parents'. It was as neat as the girls'. Nothing seemed out of place except for a slight coating of dust on the dark furniture.

"I knew I smelled something," Greg said thickly as he glanced into the bathroom. He stepped back into the hall and let Nick see the blood-spattered walls, the bloody hacksaw and other assorted tools lying next to the tub. In the tub was a man's torso, arms removed just below the shoulders, head gone, legs removed at the knee. He was also missing his genitals.

"Father, maybe?" Nick asked as he raised his camera.

Greg nodded. "Yeah, maybe."

The last room was Jason Werner's. Like Nick had expected, it seemed to be the center of operations. There was minimal blood spatter, but the lower half of a woman's torso lay in the bed. After photographing it, Nick pulled the sheet up.

"Missing her, uh, girl parts?" Greg asked.

Nick shook his head. "No, just one breast."

"Guess we found number four."

"Guess we did," Nick said. "And, uh, I'm pretty sure we're going to have to swab her for biological evidence."

Greg clenched his teeth. "Great." He sighed. "You think that's Amanda?"

"I don't know. Seems the right age."

"He kills his sister and has sex with her dismembered corpse," Greg said. "Guess those lessons of Christian charity really sunk in." He looked around the room, at the drawings and writings tacked on every wall. "The sheer volume of writing is kind of staggering," he said. "Look at all those." He shined his flashlight on a stack of spiral notebooks similar to the one they'd found on the coffee table. "There's got to be, what? Twenty of them? And I bet they're full."

"Serial killers don't just become that way overnight," Nick said. "There are years of fantasy and half-hearted attempts before they actually begin to kill."

"Yeah," Greg said. He frowned, then, and shone his light on something under the bed. "And look," he said. "He kept Mom as a spare."

Nick squatted down and shook his head as he saw another woman's body beneath the bed. "Wait," he said. "Two heads in the car, male and female, one head in the living room, and one head still connected to a female body...that's four, not three."

"So Mom, Dad, and Sis weren't his only victims," Greg said.

Nick nodded and sighed.

"Nick," Greg said sharply.

"Hmm?"

"Nick, that's not a body."

"What?" Nick asked.

Greg lunged forward and grabbed the woman's arm to pull her from beneath the bed, and Nick was about to snap at him for contaminating evidence when he saw what Greg had seen. The woman wasn't decapitated, or dismembered, though she had been mutilated. The woman was bound, her arms tied against her sides, her legs wrapped together with coils of coarse rope. The woman's eyes were open and they glinted with terror as she looked frantically from Greg to Nick, then back again.

Nick sprung to his feet and ran down the hall. "David!" he shouted. "David, hurry! We've got one still alive!"

He'd been horrified at first. When he first saw what was in the back seat of Jason Werner's car he'd been fucking terrified. He didn't even know he was throwing up until he was on his knees, and he was too shaky at that point to give a shit. All he could think was, This isn't a movie. Those aren't props. This is real. This is real.

It was as real as it got. Heads, hands, feet, and...it was the last part that had made him vomit. How could somebody carve that out? How could anybody do that? Heads and hands he almost understood, but that? The softest, sweetest, most amazing part of a woman's body and somebody had cut it out? Greg didn't care that the woman was dead, it was wrong. It was so far past wrong he didn't even have a word for it.

Then as he shone the flashlight on it for David, he had to look again. He didn't want to look, didn't want to see such graphic proof of what human beings were capable of doing to each other. But he'd had to look, had to see it again, had to confirm that it hadn't been a trick of the light, hadn't been his overactive imagination, because he couldn't believe it was real even after seeing it with his own eyes.

And as he looked, as his eyes traced each body part in the car he became calm. He felt it happening, felt his heart rate slow, knew his brain had stopped screaming that it was wrong, that it wasn't real, and he just accepted it. It was real. It was right there. And he was OK. He was OK because he had to be OK. He had to find out what had happened and if that meant facing the fact that some kid had human heads and genitalia in the back seat of his car, fine. He could handle it. He could do it. And once his mind had calmed, the arrangement clicked and when he realized why the kid had placed the vulva where he had, he wasn't horrified. It was just like, "Oh, so that's why." Nothing huge and scary and terrifying, just evidence. Just something to analyze, a piece of the puzzle.

The knowledge that he and Nick were supposed to have been next rocked him, though. It shook his calm and for a few minutes he was back where he'd been before: scared out of his mind and wondering why he had ever, ever wanted out of the lab. The lab was secure. The lab was safe. Then he'd felt the slight itch of his scars against the collar of his shirt and he knew nowhere was safe. That only made it worse and he thought maybe he'd throw up again, especially when Brass let them know there was more. He didn't want to go. Every neuron in his brain was screaming for him not to get in the Tahoe with Nick, not to go to the next crime scene because if he was scared then, he definitely didn't want to see what state troopers thought they needed holy water for.

He remembered the Zodiac Killer. Never caught. Still out there somewhere, alive or dead. Nobody'd ever know who he was, and once he'd walked the very streets Greg walked most of his life. The Zodiac Killer never got him, though. He'd sat up nights in a cold sweat, two decades after Zodiac's kill on Washington and Cherry, absolutely positive that if he dared to close his eyes he'd be next.

The fear pulsed through him, so hot in his veins that he wanted to scream at Nick to stop the car, to fucking stop the car because were they crazy? They were going to a serial killer's lair on purpose? What was wrong with them? The fear bubbled up in him so high and then, in an instant, it was gone. It wasn't the same calm as before. It was more than that. He wasn't calm, he was detached. It was like he was watching a movie. He was in the movie, sure, but it wasn't real. He was just watching it happen from inside. He didn't even know if he could make himself move, but he tried, and the words that came out were, "Zodiac killer."

He'd stayed detached the whole time. Oh, hey, look at that, some guy strung up a bunch of fingers as decoration. And is that a human head stuck on a coat rack? How interesting. Oh, look, he's got breasts on a plate covered in Saran wrap. Geez, all that writing on the walls sure is kooky. What's that smell? Oh, look, dead guy. And somebody took off the dead guy's dick. Crikey. Guy's been fucking his dead sister? Definitely got to remember to write that one down.

He felt almost giddy, watching it from outside himself. He was in control, but none of it touched him. He could react and do his job and it didn't touch him and that felt so fucking good, because he'd been so afraid that he'd fail.

Then he saw her. He saw her move and the fear rushed back and his first thought was that it was a trap. It was a trap and everybody was in on it and he and Nick were next and...

He saw her eyes, saw her rapid shallow breaths and she was so scared. She was so, so scared and he was, too, so he reached out for her and didn't even hear it when Nick started shouting for David, started shouting for the troopers to call for air rescue.

The woman had green eyes and light brown hair matted with blood and she was naked. She was bound with rope and she had knife marks across her arms and legs and chest. She was so scared she was shaking, and he realized that she was scared of him. He fumbled with his ID card and pulled it out.

"It's OK," he said. "It's OK, miss, it's OK. My name's Greg, I'm with the crime lab. You're OK. Nobody's going to hurt you anymore."

She either didn't believe him or couldn't process his words because she was still terrified.

"I'm going to take my knife out," he said, "but I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to cut the rope, OK? I'm going to cut the rope and get you lose and my friend David will be here soon. He's a doctor and he'll help you."

She cringed when he pulled his utility knife out of his back pocket and flipped it open. She whimpered and tried to wriggle away from him and he didn't grab her, just grabbed the ropes and slid the knife beneath them and sawed the rope until it snapped. He did the same with the rope around her legs and as soon as she was free she scampered backwards away from him until she hit the side of the bed. She pulled her knees to her chest and rocked slowly and she never took her eyes off him, never looked away from him and she was shaking and naked and...

"Shit," Greg said. "You must be freezing." He quickly undid the button-down he'd thrown on over his favorite Clash t-shirt when Grissom had told him he was going out in the field. He leaned forward, holding it out, stretching his arm as far as it would go and she snatched it from him finally and pulled it on. "My name's Greg," he whispered. "The cops are outside. A doctor's on his way. You're safe."

She yelped when David came running into the room, followed by Nick.

"It's OK," Greg said. "That's David, he's a doctor and he's here to help you. The other guy is Nick; he's a crime scene investigator. Nobody's going to hurt you, I promise."

David knelt down next to her but when he reached for her she screamed and he jerked back.

"What's wrong with her?" Nick asked softly.

"Nothing," Greg said. "She's just scared. It's OK. Here, I'll even give you this." He held his knife out towards her. "Nobody's going to hurt you, OK? Take this. You can keep it."

She eyed his knife for a long moment, then snatched it from him. Her eyes were locked on him and Greg thought that if he made eye contact he could get through to her, but she wasn't staring at him, really, she was staring at his shirt.

"You just gave a hysterical woman a knife?" David demanded, looking back at him with an incredulous expression.

Greg glanced down at his shirt, then ran his hand over it. "You like the Clash?" he asked her. "What's your favorite album? I know it's a little cliché, but I like 'London Calling' best."

"Me, too," she whispered.

"Yeah? What's your favorite song?"

"Lost in the Supermarket." She swallowed hard.

"Good song," he said, nodding. "I like 'London Calling,' of course, and 'Revolution Rock,' but I have to say my favorite on that album is 'I'm Not Down.' Kinda funny, huh? How it fits with your situation. You've been beat up, but you're not down, are you?"

She shook her head.

"No. Of course you're not. You're not giving up, are you?"

She shook her head again.

"This is my friend David. He has terrible taste in music, but he's a great doctor. Will you let him take care of you?"

She eyed David for a moment, then nodded.

"Tell her not to stab me," David said.

"Don't stab him. He may listen to Kenny G, but other than that he's a good guy."

"Kenny G is relaxing," David said.

"Kenny G is the spawn of Satan," Greg corrected, and he smiled with relief when the woman sort of smiled at that. "You're OK," he told her.

"I'm OK?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. You're OK. What's your name?"

"Tara," she said.

"I told you already, I know, but I'm Greg, and this is David and Nick. There are cops outside and paramedics are on their way."

"Did you get him?" she asked in a whisper.

"Yes, ma'am," Nick said. "We got him."

She dropped her head down and she started to cry.

Once David had determined that she was all right to stand he got her out of the house and into the Tahoe, since the last place she needed to be was in a coroner's van.

Greg felt the weight of what just happened hit him and he leaned forward, hands on his knees.

"You gonna be sick?" Nick asked softly.

Greg shook his head. "I might pass out, though."

Nick quickly set his kit behind Greg and tugged on his arm. "Sit down."

Greg sat down on the evidence kit and placed his elbows on his knees, let his head hang down. Nick squatted down in front of him and stroked his hair. "You were amazing," Nick whispered. "You were so good with her."

"I was just flying by the seat of my pants, running on pure adrenaline."

"Yeah," Nick whispered, kissing the top of Greg's head gently. "That's what we all do when something like this happens."

Greg lifted his head up and looked around the room. It was real, but he wasn't scared. He wasn't detached, either. He didn't feel much of anything, and he thought maybe his senses had been so overloaded that he'd blown some kind of emotional fuse. "What do we do now?" he asked. "Where do we start?"

"We call Grissom."

He hadn't been expecting that. He'd been expecting Nick to instruct him in procedure. "We what? Nick, this is our crime scene. We found it."

Nick nodded. "Yeah, we did. But look around you. This place needs a hell of a lot more than one CSI."

"But I'm here, too!"

"I know. But you're a trainee and even if you were a CSI 3 I'd still call Grissom, because we need every pair of hands the lab's got. This room alone is going to take at least a day to process, not to mention the bathroom, the living room—just the writing on the walls is going to take hours. There are so many body parts and so much blood and this case is going to be under so much media scrutiny that it would be stupid not to call in everyone we've got."

Greg nodded. Nick was right. Of course Nick was right. He picked up his camera and headed out of the house so that they could set up for the exterior photographs.

The Life Flight helicopter got there fifteen minutes later to take Tara to Desert Palm. Fifteen minutes after that another helicopter arrived, bearing the insignia of the LVPD.

Greg held his hand up to shield his eyes from the light and the wind as the helicopter started to land. It was surreal, standing there with his camera, taking pictures of a crime scene as a police helicopter landed. It was nothing he'd ever experienced before and the lights and the noise and the wind added to the moment's strange appeal. It was a moment he'd always remember; he knew that. The contents of the house might fade in his memory, but he'd never forget the moment the helicopter landed and the door slid open and Warrick jumped out with the grace of a panther. He held his hand out to help Catherine down and her hair whipped around her head as she and Warrick bent low to avoid the worst of the blade-generated wind. Then Grissom appeared out of the helicopter and yanked the door shut and the three of them were walking together in stride, evidence kits in their hands, and they were walking towards him, towards Greg, because this time he was the one who know what was going on.

"How many bodies?" Catherine asked as they approached him.

"That's the wrong question," he said. "The right question is how many body parts?"

Grissom's mouth twitched. "All right, Greg. How many body parts?"

"A lot. Head in the living room, torsos in the bathroom and one bedroom, fingers, toes, and other assorted appendages hanging from strings in the living room, and three breasts in the refrigerator. On a blue plate and covered in Saran wrap. That was just our preliminary walk through. We got kind of distracted when we realized one of the victims was still alive."

"We heard," Warrick said. "Sara's on her way to Desert Palm to collect physical evidence. You think she's going to be OK?"

"Physically?" Greg asked. "Yes. Psychologically, well, you make up your own minds once you see what's inside. Nick's in there now doing midrange shots and I just finished up the exterior." He removed the camera strap from around his neck and started towards the Tahoe. "Oh," he said, turning around, "there's also that." He clicked his flashlight on and aimed at the ground near the side of the house.

"Cellar doors," said Grissom.

"Yeah. I couldn't quite convince the trooper to clear the scene for me, so I haven't been down there."

"We could have more survivors down there," Catherine snapped, hurrying towards the doors with her hand on her gun.

"I knocked," Greg said. "And shouted to see if anybody would answer, but I didn't hear anything."

"Why won't the trooper clear the scene?" Warrick asked, setting his kit down next to the Tahoe's front end and squatting down in front of it.

"He said he thought he should wait until backup arrived," Greg said. "But I think he just doesn't want to know what's down there. Not that I blame him. Is she going down there alone?" he asked as Catherine yanked the cellar door open.

"Damn it," Warrick said. "No, she's not." He stood up hurried after her.

Grissom was with the state trooper, speaking quickly, and though Greg couldn't hear what he was saying, he was pretty sure Grissom was pissed. He knew Grissom's pissed off expressions well enough to recognize them even when aimed at somebody else.

When Catherine and Warrick emerged from the cellar shaking their heads to let him know nothing was down there, he put on a fresh pair of gloves, then headed into the house. "Backup's here," he called, looking in the living room and then the kitchen for Nick. "Hey, Nick?"

"Bathroom," Nick called.

Greg walked down the hall and stopped behind Nick, who was taking pictures of the blood on the bathroom sink.

"Cath and Warrick and Grissom are here," Greg said.

Nick nodded. "Yeah. I figured that's what the helicopter was. Too soon for news choppers."

"Do you think they'll actually show up? The media, I mean?"

Nick looked at him and laughed. "You really are new to this, aren't you? This is prime time right here. People can't get enough of stuff this twisted."

"Yeah, but it's not like anybody knows about it. It's not like there are neighbors to call the newspaper or anything."

"There's always someone," Nick said with a sigh. "Dispatch, trooper, prison guard, somebody. Somebody always calls the media. No, this won't be a secret for long."

The news choppers arrived shortly after dawn, vans not long after that. Grissom had already had Greg set up a perimeter around the house so that the news vans couldn't get within 100 yards of it. They designated Officer King as the scene security officer, a post he liked since it meant he could stay away from the house that still made him mutter The Lord's Prayer every time he glanced at it.

Greg worked the evidence log. He knew Grissom would throw him out of the crime scene eventually, and he had. He tried not to be resentful. He knew he didn't have the experience or knowledge to work a scene that complex, and having one person doing nothing but log evidence helped the CSIs a lot. He still wished he could be inside, though, be where the action was, actually work the case from start to finish.

He'd helped, though. He'd seen that Tara was alive when the troopers had missed it—if they'd even been that far into the house at all. He'd done a hell of a lot considering that he was just a part-time trainee.

He helped the newly-arriving dayshift put up awnings from the front door to where the vehicles were parked so that the news cameras couldn't get a view of the evidence from the ground or the air.

He wanted to stay, but he understood when Grissom told him to ride back to the lab with David. There was a lot of analysis to be done, and done well, and who was going to do it? Benson? Hodges? No, Greg knew it wasn't a slight when Grissom sent him back to the lab, but he felt a twinge of bitterness nonetheless.

He had to sit in the middle of the bench seat between David and his assistant, Carl, but he didn't really mind that. What he did mind was the soft rock David had on the stereo system and the fact that he wanted to talk about Sara. He kept asking Greg if Sara ever talked about him, if Sara ever mentioned him just in passing, if he thought Sara was dating anybody new.

"We just came from the most fucked up crime scene since 'Silence of the Lambs' and you want to talk about girls?" Greg asked.

David seemed to think about that as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "We can talk about evisceration if you'd rather."

And he was serious; talking about disembowelment was actually something he considered to be an OK topic of conversation. Greg switched off the soft rock and crossed his arms over his chest, and David must have gotten the hint because they spent the rest of the ride in silence.

He would have enjoyed the awed looks he got back at the lab if he hadn't had such a mountain of evidence to process. He would have enjoyed the fact that this time he'd made the other lab rats proud, but he knew that even with Benson, Hodges, and Tracy the dayshift trace tech helping out, he was in for a hell of a long day.

He'd never worked with Tracy before, but she was chipper and efficient and didn't mind it at all when he told her what to process and in what order. Hodges was tired and cranky, but he didn't make any snide remarks, just got to work. Even Benson turned out to be a damn good DNA analyst when he wanted to be, though Greg didn't know if it was the pressure of the case that spurred him to work or the threat of Greg reaming him out again.

He and Benson slid around each other in the lab on their rolling chairs, centrifuging samples and staining the resultant pellets with Nuclear Fast Red and picroindigocarmine.

"I got Christmas," Benson said as he looked at the first slide. It meant the sample contained sperm, since the heads stained red and the tails stained blue-green.

"Christmas here, too," Greg said, looking at his slide and setting it aside for further analysis.

As they studied each sample under the microscope, they bantered back and forth.

"Santa Claus," Benson said.

"Rudolph over here," said Greg.

"Jingle bells," said Benson.

"This one's got about 17 wise men," Greg said.

They eventually ran out of Christmas metaphors and Greg couldn't help but wonder how bright Jason Werner's room had lit up under the ALS. "Have you ever in your life gotten so many semen samples from one crime scene?" Greg asked, looking up from what had to be his 30th slide.

"Once," Benson said. "But that was in the early 80's and the crime scene was also a bath house."

Greg laughed. "Interesting."

"That was before DNA, of course," Benson said, "but we estimated there were something like 100 different donors."

"Yikes," Greg said. He was about to look at his last slide when Jacqui came running in.

"Hurry up," she said. "You're going to be on TV."

"I'm what?" Greg asked.

"Just come on!" She grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him down the hall to the break room.

The room was packed considering that all of dayshift and most of nightshift were working. They cleared a path for him, though, so he could see the TV from a good angle.

"There was a teaser," Jacqui said, "showing your picture and Nick's saying that we should stay tuned for breaking news."

Greg yawned and rubbed his eyes. "What kind of breaking news?"

Jacqui shrugged, then took a deep breath as the news started.

"This is national news," Greg whispered to her. Jacqui shushed him.

"We have more information today on the gruesome discovery of a grisly murder site in the Nevada desert," the female newscaster said. "It seems that Jason Werner, dubbed The Executioner, was attempting to impersonate a police officer when he mistakenly pulled over members of the Las Vegas crime lab. Nicholas Stokes, a former Dallas police officer and current Vegas crime scene investigator, and Gregory Sanders, an expert in the field of DNA, were on their way to investigate a convenience store robbery in the tiny town of Dunville when Werner attempted to pull them over. It is believed that he intended for the occupants of the car to be his next victims, no matter who they were. In the frenzied writings released to the media, Werner repeatedly stressed the necessity of choosing victims at random in order to confuse law enforcement."

"They released his notebooks to the press?" Greg demanded.

"Shut up," Jacqui hissed.

"It is believed that by impersonating an officer, Werner was able to pull over and subdue 21 year-old Tara Meadows, a senior at Northern Arizona University, who was driving through Dunville on the way to her family's vacation house near Lake Mead. He apparently thought his next abduction would go just as smoothly, but the finely honed instincts of Investigators Stokes and Sanders foiled his plan. They managed to disarm and detain him until he could be taken into police custody."

"Finely honed instincts?" Jacqui asked with a snort.

Greg shushed her.

"Little is known about the actual contents of Werner's vehicle or home except for the fact that both contain multiple body parts, most likely belonging to his parents, Pete and Carol Werner, and his 14 year-old sister, Amanda. However, we have exclusive footage giving us insight into the men who managed to thwart the plans of such a monstrous fiend."

Greg bit his lip when he saw Mrs. Palmbach appear on the screen, surrounded by her jungle of plants.

"Oh, Greg's a good boy," she said to someone off camera. "Always works so hard, and he's so smart. He just had an article published, and I bought a copy of the magazine it was in. Had to special order it, you know, since it's not the type of thing they carry at the Safeway. Oh, I can't even begin to tell you what it was about but I've got it here," she held up the Journal of Forensic Sciences. "And the title of it is..." she looked down at the journal and scanned the contents. "'Genetic Analysis of Amplified DNA with Immobilized Sequence-Specific Oligonucleotide Probes.'" She laughed. "Now, doesn't that beat all?"

Mrs. Palmbach cocked her head as she listened to the person off camera ask a question.

"Nick?" she asked. "Oh, Nick is just the most polite man you'll ever meet. Always calls me ma'am and always asks if I need any help around the place. In fact, just yesterday morning he helped me rearrange all my pots, even the really heavy ones, and that was after a full night's work. They work all night, you know, solving murders, and they put in far too much overtime. When they get home, sometimes they look like they can barely drag themselves to the door. But they're just wonderful boys, a lovely couple, and I'm very proud of them for catching that monster."

Greg closed his eyes and shook his head. That was very, very bad.

"What's going on?" Grissom's stern voice came from the hallway. "Why aren't you working?"

"Some old lady called Nick and Greg gay on national TV," said Ginny, the daytime A/V specialist.

Grissom frowned. "What?"

Jacqui forced a laugh. "Geez, Greg, you told me your neighbor lady was batty, but where'd she come up with that one? Talk about crazy."

Greg didn't know what to say to that, so he ignored it. "We've got a leak," he told Grissom. "The media knows more about the Werner case than I do, and I was there."

Grissom sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His evidence kit was still in the other hand, proof that he had just returned from the scene. "Yeah. I got a call from Doc Robbins about half an hour ago, seems they're missing several fingers and a toe. He thinks Carl might have taken them. Things like that go for a lot of money to murder junkies."

"Oooh," Ginny said, jumping down from her perch on the counter. "I'll go online and see if I can find any information on souvenirs from the crime scene already up for grabs."

Grissom nodded. "The rest of you, too," he said. "Back to work. We don't deal in rumor and innuendo, we deal in facts. Bring me the facts, people, hard evidence."

Greg was thankful when everybody scattered. Sometimes Grissom's imposing tone was a very good thing. He didn't make eye contact with anyone on the way back to his lab.

"Interesting newscast," Hodges said as he leaned against the door.

Greg sighed but didn't look up at him. "Don't you have any work to do?" he asked.

"I'm on break," Hodges said. "Your neighbor seemed very sweet."

"I'm sure she is," Grissom said from behind him, "but since she's not part of the Werner case I don't see why we're discussing her."

"Uh, boss," Hodges said, standing up straight. "I was just—"

"No breaks," Grissom cut him off.

"Of course, sir," said Hodges, scurrying off to trace.

"Greg?" Grissom asked.

Greg looked up at him and swallowed hard. He was starting to feel detached again. "Yeah, Gris?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

"Come to my office when you finish up with that. We need to talk."

After they finished identifying which samples had sperm in them and which samples didn't, Greg and Benson set to work on identifying the donors of each one.

It wasn't like he was purposefully ignoring Grissom. After all, besides the semen samples, there was blood to identify from the car, the living room walls, the bathroom, and Jason Werner's bedroom. There was the tissue on each of the tools found at the scene. There were samples taken from each body part that he had to type so that they knew which part belonged to which person. There were the known samples—hair with an attached root from Amanda Werner's silver plated hairbrush, Mr. Werner's razor, Mrs. Werner's loofah, a mouth swab from Tara Meadows. There was all the physical evidence collected from Tara's rape kit. Controls from the two troopers who'd been in the house, since they weren't in the computer like every other lab employee. He had a lot to do, and soon it had been an hour since Grissom had asked to see him, then three hours, then six. He was past the point of lying to Grissom and saying he'd gotten sidetracked, he knew that. Now the only thing to do was pretend he forgot, even if that was a bald-faced lie.

"Hey, what dNTP do you use when you do a PCR?" Benson asked.

"Cytosine," Greg said.

"Yeah? I like tyrosine best, myself. You use taq polymerase?"

"Yeah," he said, sliding his chair over to the chemical cabinet. "Usually about one unit per reaction, but sometimes as many as two."

"Dimethysulfoxide?" Benson asked, looking at the bottle that Greg had just taken from the cabinet.

"To increase the reaction efficiency," Greg said, surprised that Benson had to ask.

"I know, I just figured you for a betane kind of guy."

Greg grinned and shrugged. "I'm old school."

"When I started, I used to use bovine serum albumin, but I like dimethysulfoxide best, too." Benson turned as the printer spit out another sample result. "Match to Jason Werner," he said.

Greg nodded. All the semen samples had matched to Jason Werner, not that it was much of a surprise. A lot of the blood ended up being his, too, and the result Benson had just pulled off the printer had been from epithelials scraped from beneath the fingernails of one of the hands in the backseat of his car.

"You still at it?" Jacqui asked from the doorway.

Greg looked over at her and smiled a weary smile. "Yeah." He saw her purse over her shoulder, her keys in her hand. "Taking off?"

She yawned and nodded. "Thought I'd at least try to get a few hours of sleep. Not that I can ever sleep after dark, but..." she shrugged. "Walk me to my car?"

"Uh," he said. "I'm kind of busy." She'd never asked him to do that before and he wasn't sure he wanted to know why she was asking then.

"Bullshit. All you have to do is stick those things in the thermal cycler, hit a button, and the polymerase chain reaction takes care of itself."

He gaped at her for a moment.

"What? You thought I was just another pretty face? I pay attention. Come on, I hate walking out to my car in the dark. I'd ask Bobby, but he gets more scared than I do."

Greg laughed and slid back on his chair. "Yeah, OK," he said. He yawned and stretched. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Almost midnight. Ecklie's in a tizzy, trying to send everybody on nightshift home since the city doesn't want to pay overtime for more than double shifts."

"And you listened to him?" Greg asked as he tossed his gloves and took his lab coat off, hanging it on a hook near the chemical cabinets.

She shrugged as they started down the hall. "Grissom told me to sleep for a few hours before I came back. You look like you could use a few hours, yourself."

He shook his head, but couldn't keep from yawning. "I've only been up a little over 24 hours."

"Only," she said, giving the woman working the front desk a little wave.

Warrick and Nick entered just as Greg was leaving the building with Jacqui. He and Nick glanced at each other for just a second, and Greg could see that Nick knew people were talking. Then they looked away from each other and kept on walking as if they hadn't just had a full conversation in the space of one second. In that second Greg heard that Nick wanted to keep everything quiet, to deny the rumors, and Greg told him that denial worked just fine for him.

"Where you parked?" he asked.

"That way," she said, jerking her head towards the north lot as she dug in her purse.

"I thought you quit," he said as she pulled out a cigarette.

"I keep a pack in case of emergencies," she said. "You need one?"

"Oh, hell yes," he said. He took the lighter from her hand and lit her cigarette for her, and she smirked at him for it. "Habit," he said. "I know perfectly well you'd shove my head through a wall if I ever hit on you."

She laughed. "Damn straight."

He sighed and closed his eyes as the nicotine hit his system. One of the good things about not smoking much was how good it felt every time he finally did.

"I already knew," she said softly as they walked to her car.

"You did?" He didn't have to ask what she was talking about.

She nodded. "Country music," she said.

He just nodded and flicked his ash. So much for denial. Total denial, anyway. He still wasn't about to admit it to anyone who didn't already know he was bi.

"You could have told me, you know."

"I know," he said. "And if it was just me, I would have."

They got to her Accord and she leaned against the side of it as she finished her cigarette. "The lab's split about 50-50 on who believes it and who doesn't."

"Who does believe it?" he asked.

"Nightshift. Not that anybody's trying to convince the people who don't believe it that it's true."

He laughed softly and nodded. "Bobby taking bets?"

"Yeah. 5 to 1 Covallo comes down on Grissom for it. 10 to 1 that one of you transfers to dayshift. 20 to 1 that one of you gets fired and 50 to one..."

"Both of us get fired," he said.

She looked away from him and nodded. "We've already agreed that we'll stage a walkout if anybody gets fired," she said. "Everybody's agreed, even a bunch of people from dayshift."

Greg sighed. "It's stupid for anybody else to risk their job because of me."

"Hey, labrats have to stick together. We have to take care of our own because nobody else is going to do it. Besides, that's no reason to fire anybody."

Greg sighed. "Except for the fact that if people don't trust us, if the cops don't trust us, if every time he's in court trying to give testimony the defense team's jumping all over his personal life...well, you can't really do the job if nobody's willing to work with you."

"It won't come to that," she said.

He hated to admit it, but he had to. "It might. It would hardly be the first time it happened to someone."

"That's so much bullshit," Jacqui snapped. She gritted her teeth and Greg reached out to touch her arm when he saw that she actually had tears in her eyes.

"Hey," he whispered, rubbing her upper arm. "It's going to be OK. I mean, nobody gives a shit about Bobby, right?"

She took a deep breath and nodded. She dropped her cigarette and stubbed it out with her toe. "Oh, come here you little freak," she said, pulling him into a hug.

Greg smiled and hugged her back. "You definitely need some sleep," he said, tipping his head down so that his cheek was against her hair.

She nodded, then gave him a tight squeeze before pulling back. Greg was about to drop his arms when she moved towards him and tilted her head up, pulling him against her.

"I know this is wrong, but you have to trust me," she whispered.

"What?" he asked as he started to pull back. She was holding him really close.

"Do you trust me?"

"Jacqui, I..."

"Because you really have to kiss me right now. It's not a romantic thing, but you have to. You have to kiss me like I was Nick wearing nothing but a smile."

"What?" he asked. He would have asked more, but Jacqui's mouth was over his and he dropped his cigarette and placed his hands on her shoulders so that he could push her away.

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and Jacqui sprang back. "Oh, gosh," she said to whomever it was standing so close behind Greg he could hear them breathing. "This is embarrassing," she said. She ran a hand over her hair and giggled and Greg was still too surprised to do anything but stare at her. "Um, I'll talk to you later, OK hon?" she asked softly, laying her hand on his arm before she got into her car.

The person was still standing behind Greg, and he watched Jacqui pull out of her parking spot and drive away before he turned.

"The girl at the front desk said I could find you out here," Covallo said. "Though, I have to say that isn't exactly what I expected to see."

Greg nodded and tried to keep from breaking into a grin. God bless Jacqui. "I, uh...Director Covallo," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I was just...we were just..."

Covello actually laughed as he clapped Greg on the shoulder. "Trust me, Sanders, nobody's going to care that you're dipping your pen in that particular office ink." He sighed. "Takes a load off my mind, that's for sure."

Greg tipped his head to the side, trying to decide exactly how dumb he should actually play it. "Why? Oh, that whole thing with Mrs. Palmbach?"

"Who?"

"My neighbor," Greg said. "On TV. She's sweet, but she's a little," he made a circle in the air next to his ear.

"Good to know," Covello said.

"You were looking for me?" Greg asked as they walked back towards the lab.

"Grissom's refused to let me talk to you for hours, now, said you were too busy."

"Swamped," Greg said. "I mean, you would not believe how many samples I've run." He felt almost giddy. He couldn't believe Covello had actually bought that kiss, since he'd hardly been passionate about it. He was glad he'd been too shocked to shove Jacqui away the second her lips touched his. "Well, you know how crazy everything is right now. You've probably got everybody from the chief to the mayor to the governor breathing down your neck."

"Not to mention a councilman or two," Covallo said, nodding as they walked back inside. "You got blown up a year ago, didn't you?"

Greg nodded. "Yeah. I'm OK, though. Well, I mean I do have some pretty nasty scars, but the damage was just superficial." He knew it was time for him to shut up, but whatever perverse part of his brain that made him keep talking at the wrong time was running at full steam.

"The department appreciates the fact that you didn't sue for damages," Covallo said.

"Actually, I think I signed a waver saying I wouldn't when I first got my job here, since I work with volatile chemicals every day. Not that I would have sued even if I hadn't. I mean, accidents happen. And everything was covered by insurance, anyway. It's a really good insurance plan, actually. I was talking to my friend Kate—she works for some accounting firm downtown, I forget which one—and she said that on her insurance plan she can't even choose her own doctor. Plus, she doesn't get eye or dental."

"You always talk this much?" Covallo asked.

"Yes, he does," Grissom said as he walked down the hall towards him. "I thought I made it clear that you weren't to interrupt my staff."

"And I thought I made it clear that if you wouldn't provide them to me I'd get them myself."

Greg looked from one man to the other, and backed up slowly. "I, uh, I have to go run a swab," he said, turning to hurry back to the lab.

"Greg, my office," Grissom snapped. "Now."

"Yes, sir," Greg said, ducking his head as he walked past Covallo and Grissom, still engaged in their staring contest.

He was surprised to see Nick sitting in one of the chairs against the wall, his head tipped back and his eyes closed. "Hey," he whispered, closing Grissom's office door softly.

Nick opened his eyes and Greg didn't think he'd ever seen him look so tired. "Hey," he said. He closed his eyes again and sighed. "I told Gris the truth. Covallo's coming down on him, hard, and if somebody's going to take the fall for this it might as well be me."

"The fall for what?" Greg asked. "You were amazing, Nick. I wouldn't have known that he wasn't a cop. I would be scattered body parts and assorted snacks if he'd pulled me over without you there."

"Yeah, well, apparently there are quite a few higher-ups who are concerned that instead of reflecting well on the LVPD, groups are going to use this as an opportunity to slam them for not providing for protection against discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation in their official policies."

"What?"

"We've become high profile, Greg, for whatever stupid reason. The public's response to this case is so intense that people want to know everything from the contents of Amanda Werner's jewelry box to the favorite bands of the troopers who found the house to what you and I eat for breakfast." He sighed. "The city doesn't want us to become...I don't know. Icons, I guess. Faces people can use to further their cause. And to be perfectly honest, that's the last thing I want, too."

"Wait," Greg said. "You're saying that there are groups, like gay and lesbian groups, who are using us as their poster children?"

Nick sighed. "I don't know. I don't think it's happened yet, but that's what they're afraid of. They're afraid of the investigation being overshadowed by any sort of publicity. You know how hot this issue is, Greg. Hell, my father's already heard one gay marriage case this summer and who knows when he's going to hear the next?"

"Well," Greg said. "There's only one solution."

Nick sighed. "I know. And I loved this damn job, too."

"Not quitting," Greg said. "Denial. Complete and utter denial."

Nick looked up at him with surprise. "What?"

"We deny it. I'm sure if anybody actually does start making a big deal about it, I can convince Mrs. Palmbach to make a statement saying that she misspoke, that she didn't mean couple, she meant partners, like work partners."

"I thought you said you weren't willing to deny a fundamental part of yourself."

"To the people I care about," Greg said. "But fuck the rest of the world." He reached out and stroked Nick's cheek. "I'm nobody's poster child, baby. I've got enough issues of my own to be taking on anybody else's."

Nick laughed softly and reached up to grasp Greg's hand. "You and me both."

"Besides, I think Covallo's going to report back that the city and the PD don't have anything to worry about."

"Why's that?"

"Because he saw me kissing Jacqui in the parking lot."

Nick raised his eyebrows.

"Well, actually, she kissed me. It wasn't romantic or anything. She's probably scrubbing her lips with bleach right now. I walked her out to her car, and she must have seen him coming because she grabbed me and started kissing me. Covallo thinks I'm dating her."

Nick sighed and tipped his head down, closing his eyes. "So I didn't have to tell Grissom."

"How'd he take it?"

"You know how hard he is to read. He just—" Nick stopped talking when the office door opened, and Greg sat in the chair next to Nick's.

Grissom closed the door behind him and sighed. "All right," he said, walking over to his desk and sitting down. "Director Covallo no longer seems concerned about negative publicity, so...go home."

"Are we fired?" Greg asked, feeling the bottom of his stomach drop out.

"Have I ever fired anyone?" Grissom asked wearily.

"Not that I know of," Greg admitted.

"Then why would I start now?" He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have enough to worry about with the Werner case to waste my time with politics, so whatever it was that you did, Greg, thank you. Now go home and get some sleep. I'm going to need you back here around seven or so to relieve days before their double shift becomes a triple. And good work. Both of you. This could have been a much bigger disaster than it already is if Jason Werner had gotten away or if Tara Meadows hadn't been found as quickly as she was. So go home and sleep and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thanks, Gris," Nick said, getting up.

"Greg, if I could have a moment before you go," Grissom said.

Greg had started to stand, but he sat back down, then looked over his shoulder at Nick.

"I'll be in the locker room," Nick told him.

Greg fidgeted in his chair as Nick left and he watched Grissom, who was gazing blankly at a stack of papers on his desk.

"Grissom?" Greg asked after a few moments of silence.

"You know why I couldn't let you work the primary scene," Grissom said.

Greg nodded. "I haven't been fully trained, I don't know procedure, it could be messy in court if defense challenged the evidence based on my lack of experience."

Grissom nodded. "I do want you to know that it's not about you. Both Nick and David told me how good you were at both scenes and with the Meadows girl. Her injuries were severe, and a delay of just a few minutes could have taken her from bad to much worse."

Greg nodded. He was too tired and too full of sadness about what Tara had gone through to feel proud of himself.

"What I wanted to tell you earlier..." Grissom cleared his throat. "It doesn't matter how many years you've been at this job," he said, "scenes like the Werner house are never easy to let go of. I just...I want you to know that the city provides counselors if you ever need to talk. The other CSIs know that—I just wanted to make sure you knew it, too."

"Thanks," Greg said softly, "but I—"

"I know you don't think you'll need it, but you will. We all will."

"I know. I was just going to tell you that I already have a therapist."

"That's good," Grissom said softly. "See you tomorrow."

Greg got up and headed towards the door. "Tomorrow. Oh, and Gris?"

Grissom looked up at him.

"Thanks. For keeping Covallo off my back when you thought he wanted to crucify me. It means a lot."

Grissom just nodded and looked down at the file on his desk as Greg left.

"You need to change?" Nick asked as Greg entered the locker room.

Greg shook his head. "I just need to go home."

"I'll drive," Nick said. "You look exhausted."

"You, too. You're sure you don't want to go back to your place? Just to keep the rumors at bay?"

Nick thought about that for a moment, then shook his head. "No. I'd rather go home, and that's with you."

Nick set his mouth in a tight line as he leaned back against the wall in the small observation room. He'd never seen so many people want to watch a suspect interrogation before, but then again he'd never dealt with a suspect like Jason Werner before. There was a row of chairs in front of the one-way glass and he could have taken one of them since he and Brass had been two of the first to arrive, but he just leaned back against the wall and that's where he stayed.

He'd only been asked to observe as a courtesy, he knew. He'd only been asked since he'd been the one lucky—or unlucky—enough to come across Werner and bring him in.

"Kid would look almost normal if he didn't have those horns growing out of his head," Brass said, flicking a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.

Nick made a noise that could be interpreted either as a laugh or a sigh. Even he didn't know which one it really was.

Jason Werner did look normal. Completely normal. Nick hated that about suspects—there was some part of him that still felt like psychopaths should stick out somehow, be easily identifiable. Sure, he was wearing a bright orange jumpsuit, handcuffs, and his ankles had been chained together and cuffed to his chair, but other than that? Completely average.

Blonde hair a little too long, plain face that was close to handsome, stunning blue eyes. He was just a kid, a nineteen year-old kid and as long as Nick lived he'd never understand what it was that made some people into monsters. He didn't deal in motive, since it was all psychological, all conjecture, but he couldn't help wondering: why this kid? What had gone so horribly wrong?

Greg had been invited, too, but an hour before they were supposed to leave he'd claimed he was too tired and just needed to sleep. Nick hadn't argued with him. He hadn't gotten much sleep, Nick knew, and he knew it was only partly because of the sheer volume of things Greg'd had to analyze from the Werner scene over the past few days. Greg had nightmares every time he fell asleep, nightmares he claimed not to remember when he woke up. Hell, maybe he actually didn't remember them, since Nick had never known him to hide from his emotions, and maybe that was part of the problem.

Nick figured he'd have a nightmare or two eventually. It was bound to happen when you saw things like that, so he didn't worry about it and he knew when he did have his nightmares that they wouldn't be nearly as bad as Greg's. He was good at turning off his emotions, good at compartmentalizing everything, good at walking away from work unscathed. Hell, he was good at it even when it wasn't about work. He could be the good son when he went back to Texas to see his family, he could be the horny stud on the dance floor, he could be the reliable employee at the lab, and his roles never mixed.

Greg hadn't ever learned to do that because he'd never had to hide who he was. It made Nick a little sad to realize that if Greg wanted to make it as a CSI he'd have to learn. Terrible things happened, people did things to each other that the devil hadn't even imagined, and it was their job to figure out the details. No one would last even a year doing that unless they figured out how to lock the horrors away in a vault in the back of their mind. From the outside, Nick knew the CSIs looked uncaring, unfeeling; it seemed wrong the way they could walk through a bloody scene and not recoil at the violence. It wasn't that they didn't feel it, they just had to tuck those emotions away and do their jobs. When he started the job he'd been hiding things from other people and from himself for so long that it was like second nature. He'd never say it out loud, but he almost hoped Greg wouldn't be able to make it as a CSI, because he was scared of what would happen if Greg learned to turn off his heart.

Nick had been staring down at his shoes as they waited for the interview to begin. As soon as the door to the interrogation room opened he glanced up. The woman who entered was small, and he thought it was funny that he'd expected her to be some sort of massive giant. She was a profiler, not a wrestler, and it wasn't her physical size that mattered.

"Jason," she said as she took a seat. She was wearing a black pantsuit with conservative pearl earrings, her hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. "I'm Special Agent Deaver." She nodded at the man who walked in just moments behind her. He was wearing a black suit and a grim expression. "This is Special Agent Rose, we're with the FBI."

Jason Werner smirked at that, and Nick rolled his eyes. He'd read enough of Werner's notebooks to know that the kid had wanted to become the most infamous serial killer of all time and that ending up on the FBI's Most Wanted List was one of his goals. He was probably tickled pink that the PD had called in the Feds for help.

Not that Nick minded FBI involvement. He actually hadn't heard a single grumble within the entire police force about it, which was rare. But nobody wanted to even look at Werner, let alone talk to the twisted little punk, so handing him off to the Feds had been an easy decision to make. They were more equipped to handle psychopaths like Werner, anyway.

"Jason," Special Agent Deaver said, "do you know what you're accused of?"

Jason Werner smiled at that, grinned as big as life, and Nick couldn't help but shudder at how disturbing it was to see how proud of himself Werner was.

"I know what I am," Werner said, the grin still on his face. "I'm the most twisted serial killer you've ever met."

Special Agent Deaver seemed less than impressed. Her expression remained impassive. "Well, actually you're accused of being a spree killer, Jason. A serial killer rests between kills, which you didn't."

Nick felt a sick twist of pleasure at the way Werner's smile faltered.

"I didn't have time," Werner snapped. "Those fucking faggots ruined everything."

Nick swallowed hard. He didn't know if Werner had actually heard about his relationship with Greg or if he was just using the word in a generally derogatory way.

"That fucking cop, man," Werner snapped. "Him and his gun, like that made him so fucking special. All the while talking to the other one like I was some kind of experiment, some kind of example. This is how you pack a gun for evidence, this is why you don't hold a suspect on the ground." He sneered. "He probably talks like that when he's fucking his girlfriend. This is how you stroke my dick, this is how you rub your tits. You know how guys like that are."

Special Agent Deaver shrugged. "I haven't had the chance to meet either one of the men who apprehended you," she said simply. "Let's talk more about you."

"I'm a badass, baby," Werner said, leaning across the table as much as his restraints would let him. "If those faggots hadn't caught me I'd be the most evil fucker the world has ever seen. I was born bad, baby, and I'm ready and willing to live up to my birthright."

Nick rolled his eyes. He'd read the exact same thing in Werner's notebooks and he didn't think Special Agent Deaver would get anything else out of him, at least not during their first interview.

"I'm gonna go," he whispered to Brass. "The kid's just jerking off and I've been up for eighteen hours."

Brass nodded at him. "See you tonight."

Nick felt good about leaving as he walked into the hall. It seems the observation room was packed to capacity, and by leaving he made it possible for another one of the cops waiting in the hall to go in and watch.

"He saying anything good?" some uniformed officer Nick didn't know asked as he headed down the hall.

Nick shook his head. "Just the same thing he's been saying to anyone who'll listen. Born bad, all that stuff. She's good, though, the FBI profiler. If you can get in or watch the tape later, I'd pay more attention to her than him. She seems like she knows how to conduct a hell of an interview."

"Cool," the young cop said. "Thanks."

Nick ran his hand over his hair and yawned as he headed out into the bright sunlight. The sun felt good on his skin and he turned his face up towards it and stretched before climbing into his truck and driving home.

When he got in, Greg was sitting in the middle of the living room in just his boxers, surrounded by sheets and sheets of notebook paper. Some of them were full; some contained only a line or two. He watched as Greg intently scribbled something on the notebook in his lap, ripped the sheet out of its spiral binding, and looked around him until he found the pile he wanted to place it in.

"What are you doing?" Nick asked.

Greg looked up at him and grinned that sweet, goofy grin that still made Nick's stomach flip. "Didn't hear you come in," he said.

"Looks like you're busy."

Greg nodded and looked back at the piles of paper around him. "I'm compartmentalizing."

Nick laughed softly. "You're what?"

"Compartmentalizing. You know, dividing things into separate categories."

"I know what the word means," Nick said, toeing off his shoes and walking into the living room. He sat down on the outer edge of Greg's ring of paper. "But I'm pretty sure it's generally done internally."

Greg shrugged as he flipped through one of the piles. "I like to have all my data easily accessible."

"Your data."

"Yeah. You know, my thoughts and emotions. See, I've made three basic categories: things not to think about at work, things not to think about at home, and things never to let myself dwell on no matter where I am. And there are subcategories within each larger category."

Nick picked up the closest sheet of paper and looked at it for a moment. "How hot Nick looks in his CSI vest," he read.

"That's something not to think about at work," Greg said. "And it's in the subcategory of sexual distraction."

Nick grinned and lay the paper back down on the pile he'd picked it up from. "And how, exactly, is this supposed to work?"

"Well," Greg said, "that pile is going to stay here, obviously. Now these piles," he gestured to the stacks of paper to his right, "I'm going to put in a binder and take to work and leave them in my locker."

"And those?" Nick asked, reaching for the pile of paper behind Greg and to his left. He read the single sentence on the top page. The look in Tara Meadows' eyes when she thought I wanted to hurt her.

Greg took the stack of paper from Nick's hand. "These I'm going to burn." He frowned. "Which would be easier if I had a fireplace. Maybe I'll shred them, instead."

"Well, that's—"

"I know it's kind of stupid," Greg said, setting the papers back where they'd been before Nick picked them up. "I know that this isn't really how you're supposed to compartmentalize things, but I figured a symbolic gesture would be a good start."

"I think it's brilliant," Nick said, leaning across the circle of paper surrounding Greg to kiss him.

"You're messing up my piles."

"So? You work well surrounded by chaos." Nick slid his fingers through Greg's hair. He kissed Greg over and over again, kissed him and pulled him close and leaned forward until Greg was on his back and Nick was settled comfortably over him.

Greg smiled up at him and ran his fingers through Nick's hair. "Well, I am a genius," he said.

"Absolutely brilliant," Nick murmured.

"A gifted intellectual, even."

Nick laughed softly as he brushed his lips against Greg's cheek. "Don't forget modest."

"Yeah, that too." Greg slid his hands up and down Nick's back, wrapped one leg over Nick's thighs. "Oh, this is so not the time to mention this, but if I don't I'll forget. Your mom called."

Nick pushed himself up on his hands. "She called here?"

"Yeah. Have you returned any of her calls since the whole Werner thing broke?"

Nick sat up and shook his head. "No."

Greg reached up and gripped Nick's shirt in his hand. "I knew I shouldn't have mentioned it. Get back down here."

Nick shook his head and stood up, then reached down to pull Greg to his feet. "Bedroom," he whispered.

Greg smiled at him, that goofy, sexy smile again and it sent a stab of electricity through his belly and made his knees weak. He took Nick's hand in his and led him down the hall into the bedroom.

Nick saw that the sheets were rumpled, the comforter thrown back and half-off the bed. "Bad dream?" he asked softly as he wrapped his arms around Greg's waist.

Greg shrugged, then nodded.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Nothing to talk about. I can't ever remember them, just remember flashes and the fact that when I wake up I'm terrified."

Nick kissed him gently. "You're safe, you know. With me."

Greg nodded. "I know." He tugged Nick's shirt out of his waistband. "You're wearing far too many clothes."

Nick grinned and shoved Greg back so that he landed on the bed—their bed. Greg looked beautiful and debauched as he sprawled out on the bed, his hard on tenting up his boxers. "Take 'em off," Nick said as he started to unbutton his shirt.

"You gonna give me a show?" Greg asked with a gleam in his eyes.

"If you're lucky. Take 'em off. I want you naked."

Greg took a deep breath as he lifted his hips to push his boxers down. He slid them down his thighs, his hard cock slapping against his taut abs as he did so. He kicked his boxers off, pushed himself up the bed so he was leaning back against the pillows, watching with heavy eyes as Nick slowly unbuttoned his shirt and opened it, letting it fall off his shoulders and down his arms.

"Touch yourself," Nick whispered.

Greg swallowed hard.

"Stroke your cock. I want to watch you."

Greg's eyelids fluttered closed as he slid one hand down his stomach, wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock. He squeezed gently and moaned softly in the back of his throat.

"Not like that," Nick said as he popped open the button on his pants. "Do it like you would if I wasn't here."

Greg opened his eyes and looked at Nick for a long moment. His cheeks were beginning to flush pink, and Nick loved how the flush spread down from his cheeks to his chest, loved how Greg's entire body reacted when he was turned on.

"Jerk off for me," Nick told him. "I wanna see how you do it."

Greg nodded and wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. His hand began to slide up and down his cock in earnest and he took a shaky breath as he let his eyes close again. He spread his legs to give Nick a better view and slid his free hand over his abs and up his chest. He brushed his fingers over one nipple, then the other. His other hand was stroking his cock purposefully, not slow, really, but at a measured, unhurried pace.

"You look so hot like that," Nick groaned as he unfastened his pants and pushed them down. He stepped out of them, left his pants and his socks in a pile at the foot of the bed. He walked around the side of the bed, never taking his eyes off Greg.

Greg slid his hand back down his stomach, down his hip. He stroked his thighs, squeezed his balls for a moment, slid his hand back up to his chest to play with his nipples again.

"What do you think about?" Nick asked as he sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out to touch Greg's hip but stopped himself and placed his hand on the sheet instead. "What do you think about when you're touching yourself?"

Greg opened his eyes, heavy with lust, as he slid his hand up his chest, up his neck, up to his mouth. He parted his lips and slid two fingers in and began to suck on them.

Nick took a deep breath, his eyes locked on Greg's full, swollen lips as they wrapped around his fingers, as he slid his fingers between them at the same tempo he used to stroke his cock. He pulled his fingers out of his mouth and reached down, bent his legs so he could push up with his feet and lift his hips. He spread his legs and lifted his hips and arched his head back as he pressed his fingers against his asshole, groaned and smiled as he slid them inside.

Nick felt his breath catch in the back of his throat as Greg began to fuck himself on his fingers.

"I think about you," Greg whispered, his voice rough with desire. He slid his fingers in and out of his ass slowly, grinding his hips against them as he continued to stroke his cock. "I think about you fucking me. I think about the way your cock feels heavy on my tongue."

"God," Nick whispered, not even aware that he'd said anything. He took a deep breath and slid his own hands over his body, his lips parted as he breathed heavily through his mouth.

"I think about..." Greg's voice broke as he slid his fingers even deeper inside himself. "I think about the way you kiss my scars when you fuck me from behind. I think about the way you bite my neck when you come."

Nick couldn't stop himself from reaching out to touch Greg's stomach. His skin was warm and flushed and Nick could feel the muscles contracting beneath his touch.

"Oh, God," Greg moaned, arching his hips up, pressing his head back against the pillows.

"Put another finger in," Nick told him.

Greg nodded, pulled his fingers out, slid three back in. He whimpered and turned his head to press it hard to the side.

"You're so beautiful like that," Nick murmured. "You're so beautiful when you're hard, so beautiful when you touch yourself."

"Nick," Greg whispered. "I want you. I want you inside me."

Nick shook his head slowly. It was killing him not to grab Greg, not to shove his legs up, press his knees to his shoulders and slide inside him, but he wanted to watch as Greg brought himself off. Just the idea sent delicious shivers all through him.

"Bring yourself off for me," Nick told him.

"I need you inside me."

"You'll get me. But I wanna watch you come first." Nick wrapped his fingers around his own cock, didn't stroke it, just squeezed it to help relieve the painful ache. "You're so hot when you fuck yourself like that."

Greg breath was ragged as he continued to stroke his cock. He began to slam his fingers into his ass, twisted and crooked them up to hit his prostate. He was making desperate noises low in his throat and he tossed his head from side to side. "God, Nick," he gasped. "Oh, God, fuck me. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me..."

Nick couldn't believe how beautiful Greg was like that, how amazingly sexy it was to watch him pleasure himself.

Greg was whispering a long string of words, not saying anything to Nick, really, just whispering to himself as he brought himself closer and closer to climax.

"Jesus, Nicky, oh God, oh fuck me like that, just like that, God so good so fucking good, fuck me hard, fuck me like a little whore, fuck me just like that, God, your cock's so good, so good, fuck me, God, need you to fuck me, fuck me, fuck me..."

Greg grunted and arched his back as he came. The noises he made were completely unselfconscious, his desperate whimpers and cries as he shot ribbons of cum up across his belly, his chest.

Nick leaned and licked a large splash of cum that stretched along the side of Greg's neck. He found Greg's mouth and kissed him, Greg's lips parting as his tongue hungrily searching out his own taste in Nick's mouth.

"More," Greg gasped as Nick pulled back.

Nick grinned as he pushed one of Greg's knees up to his shoulder so he could move between his legs. "Greedy boy," he murmured before licking up another glob and savoring its salty-sour taste before he pressed his lips to Greg's to share it with him.

He didn't even have to look to find the condoms and lube, just reached up and they were there where he knew they would be. He continued to kiss Greg deeply as he slid the condom down his length, as he lubed up his cock and then slid a couple of lube-slick fingers into Greg's ass.

"Gonna fuck you now, baby," he murmured against Greg's mouth. "You want that?"

"Yes," Greg gasped.

Nick smiled as he leaned up, settled himself on his knees and held his cock in his hand, sliding the head of it back and forth over Greg's asshole.

"God, do it," Greg moaned.

"Like a little whore, huh?" Nick asked with a grin.

Greg's blush was visible even over the sex flush that darkened the skin from his belly to his cheeks. His eyes closed as he smiled shyly.

"You're mine," Nick said as he pressed his hips forward, groaned as Greg opened for him and he slid inside.

"Yes," Greg panted.

"Look at me."

Greg struggled to open his eyes, but he managed to look up at Nick, his expression unguarded and full of love.

"You're mine," Nick said again.

"Yes," Greg said, still looking up into Nick's eyes.

"And I'm yours."

Greg smiled a happy, heavy-eyed smile. "Yeah." He reached up to touch Nick's face, traced his fingertips along his cheekbone down to his mouth.

Nick kissed Greg's fingertips. He began to thrust slowly and Greg whimpered but didn't look away.

"Need you," Nick panted.

"Need you, too," Greg whispered, reaching up to grip Nick's hair in his hand.

"Need to be inside you, need to be with you, need you next to me when I sleep." He stretched out over Greg's body as he continued his steady thrusts into Greg's body. Their mouths were together but they weren't kissing so much as they were sharing one other's breath. "Love you so much, baby."

Greg finally let his eyes close. He slid his hand down to caress the back of Nick's neck as his other hand felt up the tense muscles in Nick's arm and shoulder. "Love you, too."

"Can't even tell you how much," Nick gasped. "Can't even tell you how much I love you, how much I need you, how you make me feel."

Greg opened his eyes again and smiled gently up at Nick. He wrapped his legs around Nick's waist and pressed his fingers against Nick's mouth. "Shh," he murmured. "It's all right. I know, Nicky. You don't have to say it. I know."

Nick closed his eyes, kissed Greg's fingers, felt like he was going to cry. So much ugliness in the world, so much cruelty, so much hate, and in the midst of it all he'd found a refuge, had found love and beauty and Greg, found Greg most of all.

He tipped his head down and pressed his face against Greg's neck, dropped down onto his elbows so that their bodies were pressed together, shivered as he felt Greg's legs tighten around his waist, Greg's arms tighten around his shoulders and hold him so close.

His eyes were closed as his hips continued to pump, his cock sliding in and out of Greg's tight, hot asshole, sending shivers all through him. His eyes were closed and he thought of Greg walking confidently through the streets of San Francisco, Greg laughing as they made love, Greg's intense concentration as he performed intricate operations in the lab, Greg with piles of paper around him as he attempted to compartmentalize his life, but mostly just of Greg at that moment. Mostly just Greg with his arms and legs wrapped tight around him, Greg kissing his ear and his temple and his cheek, Greg's fingers digging tight into his skin, Greg making soft noises in the back of his throat every time he slid into him.

He came hard, crying out against Greg's sweat damp skin, felt like he was being split into a million pieces and then coming together again in a crash, felt like if Greg wasn't clinging to him so hard he might break apart. He collapsed over Greg's body and felt Greg's hands gentle in his hair and against his back, Greg whispering soft, reassuring words to him and it was only then that he realized that he was crying.

He kissed Greg's neck, his jaw, kissed his mouth over and over again. He felt Greg's fingers in his hair, stroking his temples and his neck, felt Greg kiss him back over and over again. He shuddered as he pulled out of Greg's body, and Greg whimpered softly and they wrapped their bodies together and clung to each other as Nick's tears slowed and Greg continued to kiss and hold and caress him.

"I don't know what that was," Nick whispered, his breath hot against the skin of Greg's cheek.

"It just happens sometimes," Greg murmured.

"I thought you said it only happens when you get tied up."

Greg shook his head and ran his fingers through Nick's hair. "It happens when you let go, when you let your body take over instead of your mind."

Nick shivered and took a deep breath, squeezed Greg tight. "Does this mean I'm gonna cry every time we make love?"

Greg shrugged. "I don't know. Probably not, but if you do it's OK." He pulled back a little bit and stroked his thumb over Nick's cheekbone. "It's kind of romantic."

Nick smiled at him, moved forward to kiss him. "I do love you, you know."

Greg smiled back and sighed contentedly. "I know. I love you, too."

"I was thinking today, when I was watching that kid—Jason Werner. I was thinking of the way we punish ourselves and how pointless it is."

Greg didn't say anything, but his eyebrows dipped down a bit.

"You said to me once that you weren't a good person."

Greg looked away, his eyes darkening. "Nick, I—"

"No, listen to me. You said to me that you weren't a good person, and you meant it, you believed it. And I feel the same way. I feel like there's something wrong with me, like there's been something wrong with me my whole life. Like I'm flawed in some way, like that's what made Alison do what she did to me. That was her name. Alison."

"The babysitter," Greg whispered.

Nick nodded. "I thought she could see something, that she could tell that I was...wrong. That I was bad. And when...when I talked to Rebecca Post, the woman who killed Jacob Ellerson—"

"I remember who she is," Greg said.

"She said she could see it. She said she could tell I'd understand. That's why she wanted to talk to me. She said she could see that I knew—"

"Jesus," Greg sighed. "Nicky, she's a psychopath. She didn't see anything except the fact that you're an attractive man with a killer smile. She probably saw you glaring at her and mistook it for lust."

"I know," Nick said. "Logically, I know that. Logically, I know that there's not something intrinsically wrong with me that she could see, that Alison could see, that everybody else who's ever hurt me could see. Logically, I know I wasn't born bad. That's what Jason Werner said, you know. That he was born bad."

"Maybe he was."

Nick sighed. "I don't know. Maybe he was, maybe something happened to make him the way he is. We'll never know."

"That's a job for philosophers and priests," Greg murmured.

Nick smiled softly. "Do you remember everything I say?"

"I remember everything everyone says. It's both a gift and a curse."

Nick slid his fingers through Greg's hair still damp with sweat. "What did you get on your SAT's?"

"1600."

"Jesus."

"And I got a 36 on my ACT's. And a 2400 on the GRE."

Nick groaned and rolled his eyes.

"I took the MCAT just for fun. Got a—"

Nick kissed him hard. "Shut up."

Greg sighed and smiled a contented smile.

"My point was that both of us feel like we're flawed, like we're not good people, and it's bullshit."

"Nicky, feeling like it was your fault that you were abused is different than knowing—"

"Shut up," Nick said again. "You're not a murderer."

"But—"

"You fucked up. You fucked up royally. I'm not going to say you didn't, but it doesn't make you a bad person. Look at you. You spend your entire life solving crimes—"

"You, too."

"Shut up." Nick kissed him again. "I'm talking here."

"Sorry."

"You should be." Nick pressed his mouth to Greg's, slipped his tongue between Greg's lips and moaned softly as Greg's fingers tightened in his hair.

"I thought you were talking," Greg whispered as Nick pulled away.

Nick tipped his head down and rested it against Greg's shoulder. "You spend your whole life working at a job solving crimes when you could make a hell of a lot more money in private research—"

"It's not about the money."

"I know it's not. You're nicer to Mrs. Palmbach than her own children are."

"Well, she's a sweetheart, and her kids are assholes, anyway—"

"Greg."

"Shut up?"

"Yeah. If you were really a bad person, you wouldn't spend your whole life being kind to people. If you were really a bad person you wouldn't care so much about justice. If you were really a bad person, you wouldn't beat yourself up for the mistakes you've made in life."

"You know, you don't have to talk sweet to me to get me into bed. I'm pretty much a sure thing."

Nick smiled and nipped lightly at Greg's neck. "I'm serious, baby. You're a good man. You really are."

Greg sighed and settled deeper into Nick's arms. "You, too. You're probably the most honest, decent man I've ever met."

"That's just because you've never met my grandfather."

"I have a suspicion that I won't want to fuck your grandfather."

Nick laughed. "I hope not."

"Although, if he has a big cock.."

Nick pinched Greg's nipple hard. "Not another word about my grandfather."

"You know, pinching my nipples? Not so much a punishment." He slung his leg over Nick's hip and pulled their bodies tighter together. He stroked the hair on Nick's temple as they gazed into each other's eyes from just inches away. "I was serious, too, you know. About you being honest and decent."

Nick closed his eyes and nuzzled his face closer to Greg's. "Don't forget my killer smile."

Greg laughed and twisted his fingers through Nick's hair. "I couldn't forget that. Or your big cock."

"My Texas charm."

"Yeah, that's nice, too, but I really like your big cock."

Nick sighed sleepily. "I like yours, too."

"You like my Texas charm?" Greg asked with a grin.

"No. Your cock."

"Oh. Well, that makes much more sense."

They were silent for a long time. "You're supposed to call your mom," Greg said.

"Shut up. Ruining the mood," Nick mumbled.

"Sorry. I couldn't remember if I'd told you she wanted you to call her back."

"Later," Nick whispered. He drew his shoulders in. "Cold."

Greg reached down blindly with one hand, hooking the edge of the comforter with his foot and lifting it enough that he could grab it. He pulled it up over them and smoothed it down behind Nick's back and over his shoulders. "Better?"

"Mmm," Nick said, nodding. "Love you."

"Love you, too," Greg whispered. He closed his eyes and let himself drift in Nick's embrace and soon dropped off into a blissfully dreamless sleep.



The End

--------------------------------------------


Hon, I love to go to parties,
And I like to have a good time,
But it begins to pale after a while,
Honey, and I start looking to find

One good man.
Don't you know, I've been searching, yes I have.
One good man ain't much,
Honey, ain't much, it's only everything.

I don't want much out of life.
I never wanted a mansion in the sun.
I just want to find someone sincere,
Who treats me like he talks.

One good man,
Honey, don't you know that I've been looking.
One good man ain't much,
Hon, it ain't much, it's only everything.

Some girls they want to collect their men,
They wear 'em like notches on a gun.
Oh, honey, but I know better than that.
I know that a woman only needs one.

One good man,
Oh, baby don't you know I've been looking.
One good man, it ain't much, no, no.
Honey, it ain't much, it's only every little thing,
Everything, everything.

--"One Good Man" by Janis Joplin

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