Title: Rate of Decay
By: nixa_jane
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Rating: PG
Summary: They'd had this argument so many times that these days it was like it had been choreographed.

It was just a stupid thing, of course, because they usually were. It had probably happened a hundred times before without him ever saying a thing, and about twenty times when he had that he could recall off the top of his head. It used to be worse and he could remember those times even clearer, back when Nick studied carefully every assignment he was given like it was a test—back when he was accused daily of playing favorites with Sara and constantly overcompensating for his relationship with him.

Those times were worse, really, but things add up, what with a whimper and not a bang and all that. It could be, for example, something as simple as going out to dinner with a colleague when he was supposed to go out with the one he was in love with instead—and then Nick had sat waiting for an hour before he decided he wasn't going to show, only to see him having drinks with someone else at the bar on his way out.

He had left a message for Nick that he wasn't going to be able to make it, it wasn't as though he had forgotten him and Nick wasn't petty, Grissom knew—he usually let misunderstandings like that slide with an easy smile a good natured 'whatever.' It didn't change that everyone had a breaking point, and looking back, Grissom didn't know how he had missed how close Nick was to his.

And now he was packing, and not meeting his eyes, and he wouldn't speak no matter how many times Grissom said his name.

"Where are you going?" Grissom asked, and he had asked so many times already he had lost count, but his persistence was worth it, because Nick finally paused, his hands stilling next to the zipper of his shoulder bag after having just pulled it closed.

"I do have my own place," he said tensely, as though he thought Grissom might have actually forgotten. "We need some time apart, Grissom. Don't act like we don't—pretending never gets us anywhere."

Grissom didn't pretend, and he didn't understand what Nick was trying to say. If anything, Grissom knew he had a bad habit of being too honest for his own good. Grissom stepped up beside him, pulled the bag from his hands, and looked Nick directly in his eyes—but Nick still would not raise his, and that worried him more than anything.

"When has walking away ever gotten us anywhere?" he asked quietly, sure he had him with that, but Nick wasn't smiling with reluctant agreement, he was taking his bag back—just pulling it from his tightly clenching hands like it had been snagged on something, and he had an urgent need to get it free.

"You could say the same thing about sticking around," he said quietly. "This isn't some tantrum you can just rationalize away or something." Nick finally met his eyes, and Grissom was startled to see there wasn't really any anger left. "I'm not doing this to get back at you or because I'm jealous—I just…I need space, alright?"

"This is a little extreme, if you want space—"

"It isn't extreme," Nick snapped. "It's what I need. You never understand—" Nick broke off halfway through the thought, and shook his head ruefully before backing up. "Look, I'm not doing this now. I'm just not."

He was pushing past him now and heading towards the door, and Grissom wanted to tell him to stop acting so melodramatic, but he already knew Nick would only respond by demanding he stop being patronizing—both of them would be right in their accusations. They'd had this argument so many times that these days it was like it had been choreographed.

Only this time Nick wasn't playing his part, because it looked like he was actually going to leave. "We can talk," Grissom said calmly, pleased his voice didn't sound as desperate as he felt. "I want to understand, Nick, I really do."

Nick grabbed the doorknob tensely, but he paused when Grissom spoke. He glanced over his shoulder briefly. "I can't do this anymore, Gil. I'm sick of it. Go be with Sara. Go be with Sophia—be alone for the rest of your goddamn life, I don't care."

Grissom placed his hand on the door, holding it shut. "That isn't true."

"I honestly don't think it matters," Nick whispered, and then he pushed Grissom's hand away and went out the door.