Title: Do You Remember?
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: CSI and its characters do not belong to me. I write and post for fun only.

“Do you remember the first time we met? I don’t, not the details. I remember Brass bringing you to my office and introducing you, but I was in the middle of something so I wasn’t paying too much attention. You had to re-introduce yourself when we bumped into each other in the break room, because I’d already forgotten your name and they hadn’t issued you a name tag yet. You were pretty quiet at first; I thought Catherine was going to eat you for breakfast. Either that or take you under her wing and mother you to death.

 

“What about our first date? Do you remember that? I know you weren’t aware it was a date and I never told you this before, so maybe it doesn’t qualify as such in your mind. I remember everything about that afternoon. I remember waiting in the lobby of the multiplex for you and feeling a little queasy and telling myself it was from the smell of the popcorn. I remember how you walked through the doors and looked around for me, and that you were wearing a short-sleeved LVPD T-shirt that had seen better days and faded button-fly jeans. I remember how the occasional brush of our bare arms seemed to set a thousand butterflies loose in my stomach. I remember feeling like I was fourteen years old again, from my sweating palms to my uncontrollable hard on.

 

“Do you remember the first time we kissed? You must, even though we were both drunk, and the kiss was more accidental than intentional. Not that I hadn’t wanted to kiss you; I had, desperately, for months. We were celebrating Warrick’s birthday and somebody suggested tequila slammers at that point of the evening when you’re drunk enough to believe that getting even drunker is a great idea. You know now that I’m a pretty morose drunk, but you didn’t know it at the time, and you started worrying about me. You asked me if I wanted to share a cab drive home and when we arrived at my house, you decided I needed help getting to my front door. I declined, you insisted and we kept on and on, until the cabbie had had enough and swung around. You stay put, he said grimly, pointing at you, and then, pointing at me, and you kiss him goodnight and then get the fuck out of my cab. So I did. Do you remember?

 

“It was 108 degrees the day we made love for the first time, remember that? We were going to meet that evening, but we ran into each other as we were both coming off double shifts. Catherine and I had caught that case with the baby we initially thought had been accidentally left in the car, and what were you working on? It had something to do with two kids drowning out at Lake Mead, didn’t it? You told me you were beat and I asked you if you wanted to take a rain check. You just shrugged at first. We were at our cars, in fact I’d already opened the door when you turned to me and suggested that I come over to your house right then. Share a cold beer, you said, just hang out, because you were too wired to sleep. Did you make the first move or did I? You’d think I’d remember how we ended up in bed together, but I don’t, not really. I do remember how you whispered my name when you lay naked against me for the first time, and the taste of your mouth. And your scent. Did you know your scent changes when you’re aroused? I get hard when I remember it, even right here, right now.

 

“Do you remember what you answered when I first told you that I love you? I’ll never forget it. That’s nice, Gil. Can you pass me the salt? you said. Granted, I could have probably picked a better time and place than breakfast at Frank’s, but that’s when I finally managed to get the words out. I couldn’t believe how flippant you were being about it and boy, did that piss me off. I got up so quickly my chair tipped over and I walked out without picking it up. You caught up with me at my car and grabbed me from behind wrapping your arms around me so that my own were trapped against my body, pulling me back against your chest, whispering apologies into my ear, as I struggled to free myself without being too obvious about it and hissed at you to stop making a scene. Later you told me you didn’t know why you’d said what you did, that it was just some weird knee-jerk reaction. Jerk is right, I muttered, but I understood. We knew we loved each other; openly acknowledging it, however, was like a call to move things forward to a whole different level, one neither of us knew if we were really ready for. I forgave you three days later, when you told me you loved me in the break room and then solemnly handed me a packet of salt. Do you know I still carry it in my wallet? Of course you do.”

 

“God, don’t you ever shut up?” Nick grumbles. His voice is so weak that I barely hear him.

I jump up and bend over him. He hasn’t opened his eyes and his eyelids are so swollen that I wonder if he even can.

“Nick? How are you feeling?”

“Like I fell in nest of fire ants,” he mumbles. “What time is it?”

I glance up at the clock on the wall.

“Four in the afternoon. Can I get you something? Are you thirsty?”

He seems to consider that for a while, then finally nods and I hold a cup with a straw to his lips. He raises his hand and rests his fingertips lightly against the back of my hand, as if to steady the cup.

“How long have I been out of it?” he asks after a while.

“Three days. They’ve kept you sedated to lessen your discomfort.”

“Uh huh,” he says, but in that tone of voice he uses when he’s only pretending to understand something. I have to remind myself that he’s still half asleep, that it’s going to take him a while to come up to speed again.

“When did you get here?” he asks suddenly.

“I followed the ambulance to the hospital.”

He opens his eyes slightly, trying to focus on me.

“You’ve been here three days?”

“They said somebody should stay with you to keep you company. To talk to you so that you know we’re here, that you’re with us.”

“And you’ve been talking all this time?”

“Most of it.”

He closes his eyes again and sighs a little.

“Talk to me some more,” he says drowsily.

I sit down on the chair again, and cover his hand with mine.

“Sure. What do you want me to talk about?”

“Us. How happy we are together,” he says simply.

I can’t speak immediately and I sit there, squeezing his hand so that he’ll know I’m still with him and in order to draw strength from him. I won’t cry, not in front of him. He’s safe, and he’s here with me, where he belongs.

 

“Remember how it was pouring the day we moved in together?”