Title: Don Quixote
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Nick Stokes
Warning: PG
Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me and I don't make money off of them
Summary: Gil reconsiders his course. (Sequel to Setback)

There are no secrets at CSI. It might take a little time for the news to reach some, especially those fuming a rental car for prints in an isolated garage, but eventually someone will make sure even they are caught up. It's Greg who breaks the story to Nick, his excitement barely contained. The problem, Nick thinks, is that Greg not only wants to deliver the news that Grissom asked for a transfer out of graveyard and was refused, he also wants to discuss it at length.

"So why do you think he asked for a transfer?"

Nick shrugs. It's all he's been doing for the past 10 minutes: shrugging, shaking his head and grunting, but Greg isn't the least bit discouraged.

"Man, was Grissom pissed off!" Greg repeats for about the sixth time.

"Greg, do you want to finish this up for me? Just lift all the prints you find."

Nick stalks out of the garage before Greg actually responds. He hears Greg mutter something about a full moon, but he doesn't turn back.

A quick check discloses that Gil isn't in his office, but then Nick didn't really think he'd be there. With an hour to go until shift ends, the whole place is buzzing with speculation about Grissom. Several try to involve Nick in their conversations. In the end he returns to the garage; at least Greg doesn't really seem to expect any answers to his comments.

It's a long hour; Nick's had longer ones, but this one is right up there. Ordinarily, lifting prints is a soothing process for Nick, rote actions requiring just enough concentration to stop him from thinking, but today he doesn't have the patience for this type of painstaking work. A number of people stop by the garage to gossip, convinced that because they're on Grissom's team, Greg and Nick had to have known something. Catherine, Warrick and Sara are working a case together out near McCarran, and Nick wonders if they've heard anything yet, what they're thinking if they have.

It's overcast and oppressively hot when Nick leaves the building, thunder rumbling in the distance. He calls Gil from his car phone once he pulls out of the parking lot. Gil answers almost immediately, but his voice is thick with sleep.

"You heard from Ecklie."

"Yes, I did," Gil says.

"Your transfer request wasn't approved."

"No, it wasn't," Gil agrees.

Gil sounds like he's discussing the weather or something equally unimportant to him and that worries Nick. What happened to the furious man Greg described meeting in the hallway? Granted it's been over three hours since then and Gil is generally calm, but this is too calm, even for him. Several scenarios run through Nick's head, ranging from Gil having resigned (but would the grapevine have missed such a development?) to Gil having found an excuse to once again back away from Nick. Nick hates them all.

"Are you at home? I want to come over."

Gil doesn't respond for a long while. Nick's stopped at a red light, listening so intently for an answer, that he doesn't notice when the light changes. A silver SUV overtakes him, the driver honking and flipping him the bird. Nick returns the compliment. There's still no reaction from Gil and Nick starts to wonder if he's still there.

"Gil?"

"I'm home," Gil says finally, then hangs up. That will have to do as an invitation, Nick thinks grimly.

Gil looks pretty awful when he opens the door for Nick. His face is flushed and he's squinting a little, as if the gray day is too bright for him.

"Gil, are you OK?"

Gil nods and steps back, opening the door a bit wider for Nick to come in. Nick walks into the gloomy entranceway. He's been to Gil's house a number of times, but suddenly, all he can remember is the last time and his mouth goes dry.

Gil shuts the door and leans against it, crossing his arms across his chest and staring at Nick with heavy eyes. Nick sticks his hands in his pockets, balling them into fists, and takes a step back to put some distance between them. He wonders what to say.

When Greg told Nick what had happened, Nick's very first reaction had been relief; Gil's grand gesture had been rejected, the pressure had lifted. They were free to continue their normal lives and could take things as slowly or as quickly as they wanted to. Nick wouldn't have to worry about Gil having given up something that he might later regret. He wants to tell Gil that what happened is for the best, but it seems somehow disloyal.

"Did you know Dostoyevsky once called 'Don Quixote' the saddest book ever written?" Gil asks suddenly.

Nick shakes his head, searching Gil's eyes, trying to understand.

"He said it was the 'story of disillusionment'," Gil says slowly. "It turns out I have been rather naïve, perhaps even Quixotic, in my professional life."

"What did Ecklie say to you, Gil?"

"Nothing but the truth, Nick. Nothing but the truth."

Gil smiles, but it's cold and insincere.

"And the truth shall set me free," he adds and abruptly straightens up from the door, cups Nick's face in his hands and kisses him hard on the mouth.

Nick recoils. He wasn't expecting this and Gil's mouth tastes sour, stale. He pulls Gil's hands from his face and almost shoves him away. Gil backs down immediately, turning away and running his hand through his hair.

"Sorry," he mutters.

"Gil, what did Ecklie say?" Nick asks again.

He tentatively reaches out and puts his hand on Gil's shoulder, trying to apologize for his previous reaction. Gil reaches up and lightly clasps Nick's wrist.

"I moved too fast in going to Ecklie, didn't I?" Gil asks. "I was ...premature."

Nick feels sudden laughter bubbling up and he coughs in an attempt to disguise it. Then he sees Gil's lips quirk and he laughs out loud.

"A little," he says. "First you talk about us finding our way and then you're pushing us along at 200 miles per hour. Let's see what we've got first."

Gil has started running his fingers lightly from Nick's wrist to his elbow and back again. It's a tender gesture, despite the fact that he doesn't seem aware he's doing it. Nick feels a curling heat starting low in his belly.

"There's a good chance this will get serious," Gil says, his voice oddly formal.

Nick is not about to waste another opportunity. "A very good chance," he agrees huskily.

"At that point we'll have to think about what to do about work."

"Let's get to that point first, Gil," Nick says softly.

For the first time it occurs to Nick how vulnerable Gil - self-assured, knowledgeable, smart, experienced, confident Gil - can be. Just like the foolishly brave Don Quixote, he seems to have no idea that sometimes he's just rushing thoughtlessly ahead, fighting windmills, clinging to ideals that the rest of the world has discarded as unimportant.

Nick takes Gil's hand, kisses the palm and then presses it against his cheek.

"Let's get to that point first," he repeats more firmly. "Until then, let's just take it as it comes and not worry. OK?" He kisses Gil's palm again. Gil sweeps his thumb against Nick's cheekbone.

"All right," Gil says. He takes a deep breath and as he exhales, he smiles and says with more conviction "OK."

"OK," Nick repeats tenderly and he moves in closer. "OK."

He knows Gil's scruples and misgivings will return tomorrow or the day after, maybe even next week, but until then, Gil and he will be OK. For now, it's enough.