Title: Phases
By: geekwriter
pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Nick just wants to be normal, no matter the cost.

"Wait," Greg said, "you told them you'd do it?"

"It's just a week."

"And you agreed to it?" His hands were shaking but he didn't bother to stuff them in his pockets or hide them behind his back. He'd gotten used to them shaking when he was upset or scared or tense, and at the moment he was all three. "You just...you agreed to it?"

Nick sighed and leaned back against Greg's kitchen counter. "I knew you wouldn't understand."

"You're right," he snapped. "I don't understand. I don't understand how the hell you could agree to be brainwashed."

"It's not brainwashing."

"The fuck it's not!"

"They're my family, Greg. They love me."

Greg shook his head. "If they loved you, they'd accept you for who you are."

"They just want me to have a chance to be happy." He reached up and stroked Greg's cheek.

Greg pushed his hand away. "And you're not, now?" He wasn't going to cry.

"You don't..." Nick sighed and ran one hand over his buzzed hair. "You don't know what it's like, not having a choice," he said. "You could be with a woman if you wanted to."

"But I don't," Greg whispered. "I want to be with you."

"I don't have that choice," Nick told him. "I've never...I've never had a chance before. You can't know what it feels like. It's like...it's like I'm trapped."

He wasn't going to cry. He was not going to cry. "I make you feel trapped?" His voice was soft and broken.

"No. God, no, Greg, that's not what this is about."

"Then what is it about? God?"

"Don't..."

"You really think that if there is some sort of divine presence that it's an old man who hates faggots?"

"Just because you weren't raised-"

"Because I don't know what the hell I believe, but I know I don't believe that. I know what your parents are pushing, what that so-called rehabilitation group is pushing isn't divine. It's bullshit, Nick. It's hate and it's bullshit."

"I just want a chance."

"A chance to what?" Greg demanded. "A chance for someone to tell you that your shame and your self-hatred are justified?"

"A chance to be normal."

He hadn't thought anything could hurt that bad. Ever since Nick had told him about his family's desire for him to attempt Christian "sexuality healing," he thought it couldn't get any worse. He thought he'd never hurt more than he did when he realized that Nick intended to go through with it.

"You really are ashamed of us, aren't you?" Greg asked, the tears falling freely. "You really hate being in love with me."

"Greg, I..."

"Don't." Greg pulled back as Nick reached for him. "Don't you dare touch me."

"I do love you."

"Yeah." His voice was hollow. "You love me so much you're willing to do anything to cure yourself of it."

"You can't just give me this? You can't just let me have a chance?"

Greg shook his head. "It's not a chance, baby. It's a lie. It's a lie that's already hurt you so much. I can't stop you. If you really are so ashamed of yourself, ashamed of us, I can't stop you. But I can beg you, and I'm begging you, Nick. Please don't do this. Please don't let them hurt you even more than they already have."

Nick turned towards the front door as he heard a car horn. "That's my cab."

"You're leaving now?"

"Yeah."

"You drop this bomb on me and now you're just going?"

"I didn't know how to tell you."

Greg took a step back. "How long have you had this planned?" He thought back to the past few weeks, to Nick's distance and melancholy that he'd just attributed to the pressures of work.

"I knew you'd be upset. I thought it would be easier for both of us if I did it this way."

"Easier for you, you mean," Greg snapped.

Nick sighed and walked to the closet, opened it and pulled out his black rolling carry-on and Greg had to brace himself against the kitchen table to keep from falling. The bag had been there, just been there and packed and he hadn't even known it.

"It's just a week, G," Nick said softly.

"Don't come back." Greg didn't recognize the voice that came out of his mouth as his own.

Nick looked hurt, but not surprised.

"I mean it, Nick. If you do this, don't you ever come back. You hate us so much? Fine. We're through. You walk out that door and we're through."

"I'm sorry," was all Nick said before he left.

Greg managed to lower himself to the kitchen floor without falling even though all the strength had left his body. He was entirely numb except for the ache beneath his sternum that spread upward into his throat.

Breathe.

He took in a quick breath, then another. He didn't move. He didn't have to convince himself not to cry because the urge to cry was just gone. He'd gone past tears to pure disbelief. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. He thought maybe he was in shock.

He reached for the phone with the vague notion of calling 911, though he had no idea what for. He didn't call 911. Instead, he called Nick's cell phone. It went to voicemail immediately and Greg was silent for a moment, unable to speak.

"I didn't mean it," he whispered finally. He was starting to cry again, the reality sinking in. "Please come home, baby. Please come back. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it. I'll be here. I'll be here for you, OK? I'll be here, I promise, just come home."

**********

It had been a lot calmer than he'd expected. There had been no recriminations, no one telling him that he was a pervert and destined for hell, no one screaming about abominations to the Lord.

Instead, all Nick had encountered was kindness and understanding from a room full of men who looked like him, talked like him, were just as concerned with being a good Christian as he was. Their stories were his stories.

I always knew there was something wrong with me.

I prayed to God every night to help me change.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop myself from wanting other men.

I was so afraid.

He cried during the first meeting and no one thought it was proof of weakness. Instead the group leader just handed him the box of tissues he'd stashed under his chair like he knew at least one of the men would break down during the group.

He wasn't the only one who cried, either. In fact, most of the men cried at least once during the day, including the group leader, the man they all wanted to be like, the man who had found heterosexuality through salvation.

He warned them that it wasn't possible for everyone. He told them that their desires weren't sinful, but acting on those desires was. He told them point blank that if they couldn't fall in love with a woman and get married that they'd have to live a life of celibacy. He didn't make any false promises.

That's when Nick had started to cry, because that's when he finally knew on more than just an intellectual level that his life with Greg was over. That's when he actually felt the weight of everything he was giving up. He didn't have a choice; he knew that. He was only doing what he had to do, but it ripped him apart.

And when he shared his pain, when he told them how much it hurt to turn his back on the only person he'd ever loved, more than one of them cried with him.

"I'm so sorry," the group leader had whispered, placing his hand gently on Nick's shoulder as he handed him the box of tissues. "I know you're suffering, but like the Bible says, God never gives us more than we can bear."

That was the thought he clung to. That was what he was telling himself as he sat at his parents kitchen table, eating dinner alone with them, the room seeming oddly empty and lonely like it had been when his sisters had started leaving, one by one, for college. He didn't think he'd sat at that table alone with them since he'd been a senior in high school, and it burned that even fifteen years later his thoughts were mostly the same.

I can be normal if I just try hard enough. If I just work hard enough I can leave this sin behind.

The only difference, now, was that he was no longer terrified that his parents would find out the truth. Now, they already knew.

"Now, you know Lupe made this just for you," his mother said, referring to the chiles rellenos they were having for dinner. "She'll be very upset when she finds out you didn't like it."

"Oh, no, ma'am, it's great," Nick said, tapping his fork against the stem of the chile that lay across his plate. "And I'll be sure to tell her so."

"But you're not eating it."

"I'm just not very hungry."

"Leave the boy alone, Susan," his father said tersely. "He's...got a lot on his mind."

She sighed and reached over to squeeze Nick's hand. "Oh, sweetie," she said. "I know this is tough for you, but you have to know how proud of you I am. How proud both of us are that you're willing to face up to this, willing to stand up and do what needs to be done."

Nick just nodded, the few bites of chile relleno he'd taken sitting heavy in his stomach.

"Harlan, tell him," his mother said.

"We are," his father said. "We are very proud of you, Nick."

The words were ones Nick had wanted to hear his entire life. And his father's voice was sincere, but he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the table in front of him.

Nick wondered how long it would take before his father could look him in the eye again. He wondered how many years he'd have to wait until he was no longer a source of shame.

The second day was much like the first. They prayed. They shared their stories. They prayed some more. In the afternoon they sang hymns with straight couples, both "natural" and "repaired" and he couldn't say why, but it was humiliating. He hated it, hated sitting there side by side with the people he was supposed to envy, the people he was supposed to be like, while he sang words to God that made him realize how little he actually thought of who he was.

When he got home, all he wanted to do was shower the day off of him and to sleep, but his mother had other plans.

"We're meeting the Lamotts for dinner," she said brightly.

"Have fun," Nick told her.

"Oh, honey," she said, "you're coming with us."

Nick sighed.

"They're dying to see you. Now run upstairs and put on something suitable. We're meeting them at the club in half an hour."

He was too tired to argue with her. She was impossible to argue with, anyway. Arguing with a lawyer was like starting a fight with a heavyweight champ; even if they went easy on you, you didn't stand a chance.

He'd known they'd go out to dinner at least once, so he'd thought to pack a suit and tie. He stripped out of his jeans and t-shirt, shook his pants to release any wrinkles and as he did a bright yellow piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Nick stared at it for a moment before he bent to retrieve it.

He should have thought to check his pockets when he'd packed. Over a month earlier, Greg had been stuck home with a bad cold and had gotten bored. He'd used up almost an entire pad of sticky notes, covered them with silly little drawings or coupons for kisses and back rubs, lists of things he loved about Nick, funny quotes, favorite memories. He'd hidden them all around the apartment-in the refrigerator, the medicine cabinet, stuck in Nick's ornithology books, folded into tiny origami cranes and dropped into Nick's cereal boxes. He'd put some in the pockets of Nick's jackets, stuck some on the backs of Nick's ties, in his shoes, even hid a few within the stacks of his underwear. And now Nick was looking at a bright yellow sticky note in Greg's handwriting. Four of them, actually, stuck one on top of the other, on each one a different stanza of a poem Nick had read to him once.

Maybe nothingness is to be without your presence,
without you moving, slicing the noon
like a blue flower, without you walking
later through the fog and the cobbles,

without the light you carry in your hand,
golden, which maybe others will not see,
which maybe no one knew was growing
like the red beginnings of a rose.

In short, without your presence: without your coming
suddenly, incitingly, to know my life,
gust of a rosebush, wheat of wind:

since then I am because you are,
since then you are, I am, we are,
and through love I will be, you will be, we'll be.

Nick crumpled up the sticky notes but didn't drop them, just held them in his hand. What a load of bullshit it was, the idea that God would never give you more than you could bear.

**********

Greg was asleep in their bed in a position Nick found him in a lot: surrounded by books and notebooks and pages of things printed off the computer. He always had studied too hard.

Nick pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and placed it on the edge of the dresser. He shrugged his jacket off his shoulders and loosened his tie, slipped it off and tossed it over the back of a chair.

When he turned around, he saw that Greg was awake. He'd pushed himself up onto his elbows and was gazing at Nick with sleepy, half-open eyes.

"Hey," Nick said softly. "I'm back."

"Graduate early?" Greg's dark brown eyes seemed bigger for some reason, more childlike, but his voice was bitter. "I see you didn't drink the Kool Aid."

"Greg," Nick said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Here to pick up your stuff?"

He wanted to stroke Greg's cheek, twine his fingers through Greg's hair and kiss him until all the hurt was gone. Instead, he ran his fingers over the cover of the Bible next to Greg's notebook. "First Corinthians, chapter ten, verse thirteen."

Greg scowled and snatched up the Bible, still groggy and grumpy with lack of sleep. "No fucked up interpretations of my Bible," he snapped. "You go play the self-hatred game with your own."

"Just look it up," Nick pleaded. "It's one of the chapters towards the end, you just find-"

"I know how to read a Bible," he said, shooting Nick a dark look. "I was confirmed, you know."

"You were?"

Greg nodded as he flipped open the Bible's cover. "And I've had this since I was a kid."

Nick looked at the inscription inside the cover. This Bible was presented to Gregory Sigmund Hojem Sanders on the 9th day of September 1984, by the Gethsemane Lutheran Church, San Gabriel, California. There were two signatures after the inscription, names Nick didn't recognize but he knew they were probably the signatures of the church's head and associate pastors.

Greg turned the Bible over and thumbed through it until he found the chapter he was looking for. "Just because I don't believe it, doesn't mean I don't know what it's about," he said, turning each page carefully. "I went to church with my grandparents practically every Sunday of my life."

"I didn't know that," Nick said.

Greg shrugged. "What's the verse, again?"

"Thirteen."

Greg scanned the verse before he read it aloud. "'No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your strength, but with the temptation will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.'" He sighed. "So, what? I'm the temptation and your precious exgay program is the way of escape?"

Nick shook his head. "That's what they told us. I mean, that's a huge verse in the movement, which they interpret to mean that no matter what our temptation, we can find refuge in God."

"I thought they didn't allow interpretation. I thought you had to take the Bible literally."

"I'm trying to apologize, Greg."

Greg scoffed. "You're making amends? This is some sort of 12-step program? Cocksuckers Anonymous?"

Nick ignored that. "They also interpret the verse to mean that God will never give you more than you can bear."

"Tell that to the suicide I had to scrape off the sidewalk last night."

"That's exactly what I mean," Nick said, reaching out to grab Greg's hand. "I can't bear life without you, Greg. I can't. And if I believe what the Bible says, then it's not God who wants me to give you up. The stuff that I can't bear, having to live without you, that's not coming from Him. That's coming from people, not God, from my family and the church and they're wrong. I know that now. Because I'd rather die than live without you and I know that's not what God wants for me."

Greg looked at him for a long moment. "OK, you're totally not allowed to put in references to God when you say romantic things to me, because I can't decide whether to be touched or creeped out."

"Does that mean you forgive me?"

"I don't know," he admitted.

Nick smiled wryly. "Guess I'm gonna be sleeping in the couch for a long time."

"No, you're not sleeping on the couch, you're sleeping right next to me where I can hold on to you." Greg crawled across the papers scattered on the bed and settled himself in Nick's arms. He pressed his face against Nick's neck. "I'm still really pissed at you, you know."

"I know," Nick said, stroking his hair.

"Probably pissed in ways I'm not even aware of and we're going to couple's counseling because that was seriously fucked up, the way you just walked out on me like that. I'm trying not to hate you for it because I know that your parents are truly masters of the guilt trip and the mindfuck, and I know you really were doing what you thought was best but, dude, if you ever, ever pull a stunt like that again I'm going to kill you." He pulled back and looked into Nick's eyes. "I mean that, too, I will literally kill you. And I know how to hide the body and dispose of any evidence so that no one will ever find you and no one will ever know it was me."

Nick wanted to laugh, but Greg didn't look like he was kidding. At all.

"I want this to work, Nick, I do, but I'm so fucked up right now I don't know what's going to happen. I'm so pissed at you and I don't know if I can trust you. I want to, but it's going to be a long time until I'm not expecting you to walk out again."

"I know," Nick whispered. "I know, and I'm so sorry. I don't know what I can do to make it up to you."

"Neither do I, but we'll figure it out. Therapy will help."

Nick sighed.

"Therapy, Nick." Greg gripped the back of his neck firmly. "You and me, together, talking shit out because I don't think we can survive another secret like this. You had this planned for weeks and you didn't say a word."

He closed his eyes and tilted his head forward until it touched Greg's. "I thought if I ignored it, maybe it would just go away."

"What would go away?"

"The nagging suspicion in the back of my mind that maybe my parents were right, maybe I did need to give it a try."

"If you would have talked about it, I would have made sure it went away."

Nick shook his head. "No. I'm glad I went. I regret the way I left, but I am glad I did. Looking at myself that honestly...it really put things in perspective for me. I'd probably still feel like God hated me if I hadn't gone."

Greg grinned at him. "Not at all an uncommon reaction," he said, pulling away from Nick and twisting so that he could reach one of the stack of papers on the bed. "A lot of people give the exgay movement credit for helping them come to terms with their sexuality."

Nick looked down at the pages Greg handed him. They'd been printed off the computer and paper-clipped together. They were articles with titles like, "How Reparative Therapy Made me See that God Loves Gays," and "Ex-exgay; The Spirit of Christ in Action."

"You printed these all out for me?" Nick asked.

"No, I just thought it would be some fun, light reading," Greg said. "Of course I printed them out for you. Who else would I print them out for?"

Nick looked at the rest of the pages scattered around the bed. They were all about Christian acceptance and celebration of homosexuality. The notes Greg had taken all dealt with Bible verses and the accurate interpretations of them in a socio-cultural context.

"Just because I was furious with you didn't mean I was giving up without a fight." Greg stroked his fingers down Nick's cheek. "I was preparing for a serious battle of words, but you kind of caught me unprepared and napping."

"Probably a good thing I had the epiphany on my own then, huh?" Nick asked.

"I would have done my best to cram one down your throat if you hadn't."

"I don't think that's how epiphanies work."

Greg yawned and started to unbutton Nick's shirt. "Details. Sleep with me, k? I know you're still on vacation, but I have to work tonight and I don't wanna sleep if you're not next to me."

Nick smiled and let Greg remove his shirt. He stood up, then, and helped Greg gather the books and papers and stack them on the floor next to the bed before he shucked off his pants and turned off the lights before he climbed beneath the covers.

It felt so good to hold Greg again that he wanted to cry. When he did start to cry, Greg just kissed him gently and stroked his hair and said, "See? That's what you get for being a stupid asshole."

Nick laughed against Greg's mouth and kissed him back, his tears mingling with the taste of Greg's lips.

At dinner with the Lamott's the night before, Nick had forced himself to smile and be charming as Dr. and Mrs. Lamott went on and on about their new daughter-in-law and how happy she made their son.

"We just want you to be happy like that," his mother had said once they got home, turning to look at him with kind, pitying eyes. "Happy like David's happy now that he's found Elise. One day you'll find someone you can be with forever and you'll see how much better that is than a life that's just an unending series of loveless encounters."

"Loveless?" Nick had asked. Did she really think he was loveless? Did she really think that all he did was have casual sex with men he didn't care about? Even after he'd told her the truth about Greg, she still thought he slept around?

"Real love," she'd said, squeezing his hand. "True love is so much more than just sex. It's like..." She blushed a little bit. "It starts to feel like you didn't even exist until you met them. That's all I want for you, honey, a chance to have something like your father and I have."

Nick swallowed hard. "Is that really all you want?"

"Of course." Her smile had been genuine.

Nick hadn't been able to get to the airport fast enough. He listened to his mother insisting that she hadn't meant it like that, that she wanted him to have a chance to be with a woman and start a family and live a Godly life.

She had been crying as she pulled his clothes out of his suitcase as quickly as he could pack them. In the end, he just gave up. He hadn't brought anything that couldn't be replaced, and when his cab came she'd been screaming at his father to talk some sense into Nick, and his father had given him one very dark look, shaken his head, and locked himself away in his study.

Nick left his parents' house with nothing but his wallet in his pocket and the clothes on his back, but it didn't matter. Everything he needed was back in Las Vegas, and his wallet was the only thing he needed to get him there.

It was funny, how quickly it had hit him, how quickly he'd realized that God didn't have anything to do with his mother's plans to cure him. He supposed that was how epiphanies worked, but he'd never had one before.

"Uh, Nick," Greg said, his face pressed against Nick's bare chest. "You know I love it when you hold me but, seriously, you're going to have to relax a little bit or I'm going to be a victim of positional asphyxiation."

Nick hadn't realized how tight he'd been holding Greg against him until he let go and could feel the ache in his arms. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Nah, it's OK. I'm kind of flattered you want to hold me tight enough to liquefy my internal organs." Greg shifted until he found a more comfortable position with his head on Nick's shoulder.

Nick nuzzled his face against Greg's hair and stroked the back of his neck gently with one hand while the other hand slid down Greg's body and pulled his thigh over Nick's hips.

Greg sighed contentedly. "Love you," he murmured sleepily.

"I love you too," Nick grinned, "Gregory Sigmund Hojem Sanders."

Greg sighed again. "Somehow, I knew you were going to bring that up eventually."

"Now, the Hojem I knew about," Nick said against Greg's hair. "But Sigmund?"

"Shut up."

"Did your parents name you after Freud?"

"It's Norwegian, OK?"

"Can I call you Siggie?"

"I'm starting to rethink that whole couch thing."

"You seem to have issues with your middle name. Is this something we're going to have to talk about in therapy?"

Greg lifted his head up, and even though it was dark Nick could feel his glare. "The couch, and no blowjobs for a month."

Nick slid his hand lazily up and down Greg's thigh. "All right, I'll drop it."

Greg snuggled back up against him. "Good."

Nick was silent for a moment as he stroked Greg's skin and breathed in his scent. "Siggie," he said. "It kind of suits you."

Greg's fingers slid up Nick's chest to find his nipple and pinch it. Hard.

Nick laughed as he slapped Greg's hand away. "Ouch, man. You nearly took it off."

"Wuss," Greg mumbled. "But call me Siggie again and I'll cause you real pain."

Nick smiled against Greg's warm scalp and wrapped his arms around him and closed his eyes. His prayer that night was short and simple. Dear God, thank you, amen.