Title: What We Remember
By: Caster
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG
A/N: Although I didn't see Play With Fire, I've got the (somewhat correct) gist of things. This fic was a little spontaneous, so please forgive whatever odd bits of grammar or spelling or plot that may rear its ugly head.
Disclaimer: This is the part of every fic I don't like to write: the disclaimer. Having to admit I don't own any CSI character is very, very hard for me, as I'm sure it is for the millions of other pathetic crime show junkies like myself.
Summary: Greg remembers everything he could have lost after the explosion and decides to make his move.

***

I remember…

Things were normal at the lab now.

As normal as they would ever be again, which is all Greg could hope for these days. There were many, many things besides normalcy that he craved, but normalcy was actually within his grasp and he didn't want to press his luck. After all, he did survive an explosion and he would feel selfish to ask for anything more.

Everyone: Sara, Catherine, Warrick, Grissom- they walk on glass around him, as if he would shatter if they so much as breathed too hard. He wasn't frail or weak. He wanted to scream it and then write it all over the walls: Treat me like a normal person! Remember me, Greg Sanders? I still make bad jokes and wear ugly clothes. I'm the same guy you knew before the- and then his brain stops, because he can never finish his thoughts on the subject of exploding labs. He can hardly utter the word. Explosion. Say it, Greg. And if he was alone in the lab then sometimes he would try, but it would come out mumbled and indiscernible.

And then he'd give it up.

Nick is the only one who treats him like he did before, calling him nicknames and rolling his eyes at the terrible jokes Greg could come up with. He's the only one who tells it like is. He's the only one who really tries to get Greg involved in the case. He's the only one-

Nick.

Greg's thoughts always wander back to Nick Stokes.

He had known Nick for a long time, just as long as he's known the rest of the CSI team, but he and Nick had grown to be friends. They argued and joked and sometimes didn't have to talk at all- Nick would come dragging into the lab after a hard shift and Greg would pour him a decent cup of coffee, not asking, "How was your night?" because the answer was too hard to bear. Why talk about it? There was never any awkwardness in their silence.

Sometimes when Catherine comes in, she looks at the both of them and her mouth twists upward, forming a smile and, on good days, a huge grin. Greg doesn't ask why she smiles like that when she sees them together. It gives him hope, and he's too frightened of having his hopes crushed by reality to dig for the answer.

Greg pretends he doesn't hear the rumors around the water cooler, either. He tries to block out his own memories of Nick's frantic voice when the fume hood went off, sending everything straight to Hell. He does this so he won't be disappointed at the truth, when he discovers all he is to Nick is a friend and nothing else.

What do I remember?

Greg closes his eyes.

The lab is empty tonight.

He's already brewed up a fresh pot of coffee for Nick when comes crawling in.

Explosion.

He remembers working on the table the fume hood was on. He remembers thinking that something didn't seem right, but he wasn't allowed to dwell on it because suddenly, all that was in the room was orange and yellow and black, the color of fire and smoke. He remembers the floor and the glass.

He remembers voices.

He remembers going in and out of consciousness.

But most of all, he can remember Nick running into the room with Warrick chasing him, Nick yelling, "Greg! Greg, you have to move! Greg! God, please move!" The fire had been inching closer and Nick was fighting Warrick to get inside and at least get Greg out of harm's way, to somehow make sure he survived this.

Nick shimmered that night. He shimmered in the fire because the glass was on his shirt and in his skin, the wet blood reflecting the light off of the flames.

Greg vaguely remembers being lifted onto a stretcher by paramedics. He couldn't see much of anything, but he could hear the frantic yelling of firefighters.

He remembers that he couldn't stay awake.

The only thing he doesn't remember is passing out.

Some say Nick cried that night. Rumors. They're all rumors. Greg can't imagine anyone crying over him. He was just the freaky lab tech, the wannabe CSI with a bad taste in music and an even worse taste in clothes.

Greg drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter. He hated to think about it.

Giving another impatient look at the clock, he muttered to himself that Nick should be here by now. He always stops by before heading home, if for no other reason then a decent cup of coffee. The lab was lonely and quiet without their nightly banter.

Does it really matter what I remember?

That's just about when Warrick came shuffling in. Greg looked up and gave him a smile, Warrick returning it tiredly.

"Got anything for me?" asked Greg, almost hopeful that he might have something to do while he waited. "Fibers? Spatter? Scrapings?"

Warrick shook his head. "Nah. Just stopping to see if Nick was here."

"Nick? He hasn't come in yet. He might be in the locker room or something."

Warrick shook his head before taking a seat on a barstool across from Greg. "He always comes here before leaving. Everyone knows that."

Greg fought down a small blush. Why did Nick come to the lab every night anyway? Was it the coffee? Conversation? …Greg? Greg never liked to reflect on it- his chest would fill with the likelihood of all the possible reasons Nick stopped in every night, and then his common sense would kick in, whispering to him that there wasn't a chance in Hell that anyone nearly as great as Nick Stokes could fall in love with him. Greg was messy and eccentric and listens to his music too loudly. Nick was clean and rational and sort of quiet. They could never work.

"Everyone knows that, huh?" Greg echoed, pretending to clean up some microscope slides, not looking at the older man. "Guess I missed the memo."

Warrick was quiet for a moment before saying, "Sanders, man, your shift ends in five minutes and we don't have anything for you tonight. You can head home."

Warrick Brown was an intelligent man, but his "You can head home" comment had more than just one meaning. He wasn't a co-worker concerned that his DNA tech wasn't getting enough sleep… he was a co-worker curious to see if Greg would take the advice or wait around a little longer for Nick.

Greg gave him a crooked smile. "I'm in no hurry. Besides, a frozen TV dinner and reruns of Elmidate are all I have waiting at home."

"Yeah? Me too. No girlfriends or anything. Doesn't matter what they say, the bachelor life sucks big time."

"Totally."

"No girl likes our hours."

"Agreed."

"You really can head home."

"I know I can."

"He tried to save you that night."

Greg stopped short for a moment, the conversation suddenly not making any sense. It took only a millisecond to catch on before he knew what Warrick was talking about. The thing Greg can never say. Explosion.

"He did?" Greg asked, very softly, afraid his voice might break and completely give him away. "That night, I thought I saw him walking. I mean…

"He was walking, man. You're weren't delusional."

"I was afraid he had gotten caught as well," Greg replied trying to rationalize this conversation.

"He did, a little. Just some glass."

"Oh."

"I was there. He fell backwards when the hood went off and then got right back up to find you."

Greg tried to laugh, closing his eyes and willing whatever nausea clamoring around in his gut to go away. "No hesitation?"

"I couldn't keep him down. I kept telling him that he might have broken something or hurt his head. He got right up anyway, even though he had glass everywhere. In his hands and back."

"Does this story have a point, Warrick?"

Warrick gave him a steady look. "He got up and headed straight towards the lab. Where you were."

Greg was still. He closed his eyes.

"Warrick…"

"He kept calling to you. He kept begging me to let him inside to make sure you were okay or to at least get you out of the path of fire."

Greg clenched his jaw. Warrick didn't stop. He fixed Greg with a pair of translucent green eyes, hard as steel.

"When the ambulance came, he was sobbing. When he said we had to follow you, I told him he was bleeding all over the place and needed help. When you were finally rushed off to the ER, all he could do was sit and let the paramedics clean him up. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

"No," Greg snapped, flexing his fingers, trying not to ball his hands into fists.

"You were out cold for two days at the hospital. He took time off and spent the night there twice. When you woke up, he was there, wasn't he?"

Greg didn't respond, but Warrick already knew the answer.

Warrick leaned closer. "He thinks that when he looks at you, he isn't obvious."

Greg shook his head. "What are you trying to say, Warrick? Spell it out for me." He said it quietly, the unrestrained gnawing hopes beginning to race through his veins and eat through his bones. Was Nick Stokes, along with normalcy, something obtainable?

"He loves you, dude. Are you blind?"

Greg let out a high laugh, nervous and a little frenzied. Warrick's words felt like heaven to his ears. "I'm a little crazy, but you know that. Why are you telling me this, huh?"

"Watching your best friend fade into nothing is hard to deal with. I just want him to be happy. He's thirty-four now and still doesn't have anyone."

"But why would he want-''

That's exactly when Nick walked in. Well, dragged in, like usual. He smiled at the both of them, exhaustion heavy in his eyes. Exhaustion and something else: love, worry, and when he looked at Greg, a little bit of sorrow. Sorrow because he carries around his love quietly, and everyone knows that love is a heavy burden when not shared with another.

Warrick stood up. "Hey man."

"Hey."

"Heading home?"

Nick shook his head. "I'll stick around for a little while. We picked up some extra fibers at the scene. It's probably nothing, but I'll feel better knowing where they came from."

Warrick accepted the excuse with a little smile, because he saw it coming from a mile away. "Sounds good. See you tomorrow then?"

"Do I have a choice?" asked Nick lightly, taking Warrick's place at the stool.

Warrick turned to give Greg a look, unbeknownst to the dark haired Texan. Make your move, he seemed to say. He deserves to be happy.

Warrick stood still a few seconds before turning and leaving the lab, the doors swinging in his wake.

The two men were quiet.

"Coffee?" asked Greg, finally. "I just finished a fresh pot."

Nick smiled at him. "Sure. That would be great."

Greg went along his business of pouring and adding two creamers, two sugars, just the way Nick liked it. He could feel the other man watching him and his skin felt prickly.

He turned and gave him a big smile, handing the mug over to Nick. Nick took it appreciatively.

"So. You have those fiber samples?" Greg asked.

Nick merely nodded, taking out some plastic bags from his jacket pocket. "Just three."

Their hands brushed when Greg took the bags. Nick looked away, almost ashamed, and Greg felt his face begin to heat.

Nick took another gulp before rising from his spot. "I better get going."

"Going?" Greg asked, as if he had never heard of such a thing. "You've only been here a few seconds."

"I'm off shift."

"So am I. You always stay longer."

"It was a rough night."

"You can tell me about it."

"You don't want to know."

"Would it make you feel better if you talked about it?"

Nick shrugged, looking away again. Greg came around the counter and pushed him over to the stool again, forcing him to sit. "If it makes you feel even the slightest bit better, then I want to know about it."

"Greg…"

"We can bounce theories off of each other. Tell me."

Nick smiled again, but it held no happiness. It was melancholy and Greg just wanted to kiss him breathless, right in the middle of the DNA lab, regardless of the glass walls that surrounded them.

"We found a guy named Alan Servick in a dumpster today. He was twenty-six, a full adult. Someone slipped arsenic in his soda. He died a month after telling his parents he was gay."

Greg felt Nick's pain and nodded for him to continue as he began running the fibers.

"We think it might be his neighbor who saw him kiss his boyfriend on their porch. That was a bad idea. This guy was a former KKK member and hated Alan with a passion."

"That's motive. Any opportunity?"

"We're looking into it. But it's… it's Alan's parents, man. He took care of them. Sent them to a good retirement village, visited them every weekend like clockwork, didn't just leave them for dead, y'know? I told them that their son had died and the mom just said, "He deserved it." They hated their own son because he was gay. I just… I couldn't believe it. It made me sick."

Greg gave Nick a thoughtful look. "He came out just a month ago, right? They're probably still in shock. They love him and they're grieving, but I think all they know how to do right now is hate him. They'll realize how messed up they acted in the first place. I'm sure they'll come around."

Nick looked doubtful. "Yeah. Maybe."

Another silence.

"Greg, I don't want to put all this stuff on you. There's nothing you can do and it's not one of the most uplifting conversations you can have."

"You shouldn't have to carry this stuff around by yourself. I want to hear it. Do you… do you carry anything else like that? Is there something else you want to say? I'm all ears."

Nick looked tempted. He held his cup of coffee, looking up at the younger man with weary brown eyes.

I remember he used to be younger.

It was true. Nick was older than Greg recalled him once being. The Texan had laugh lines and tired eyes and he moved just a little bit slower than he used to. He was still brilliant and kind and, in Greg's opinion, the most beautiful man to ever walk the Earth. He remembered when he saw Nick for the very first time. It was on his first day in the lab and Greg had been staring at the door, waiting for his assignment, wanting so desperately to prove himself.

Nick had walked in behind Grissom.

And the moment Greg spotted him, he somehow knew that there would never be anyone else.

Greg waited for Nick to respond to his question. In the end, he was disappointed that Nick didn't confess, but not surprised.

"No, man. There's nothing more I need to say. What about you? How was your day?"

"Mine?" asked Greg, hoping to lighten Nick's day in any way possible. "Well, the printer frizzed out and we're going to have to buy a new one and hook up to the network again, which is always a nightmare. Oh, Kaitlyn's sister had her baby- you know Kaitlyn? Trace?"

Nick shook his head. "Sorry. Never met her. Is she new?"

"A little. Anyway, she's taking off, so everything comes to me. Know what else? I was in the kitchen and there was this spider on the sink. It was circling around this fly at a million miles a minute and this fly was struggling, trying to get its wings going, you know? So I sort of flicked the spider away and the fly just sat there, looking at me. It was so weird. Then it flew off, happy as a clam. But there's this question bugging me now and… what?"

Nick was smiling up at him, this time genuinely amused. "It's just you. Only you or Grissom would bother to save a fly from an evil spider's web."

"I can be the fly hero. DNA tech by day, rescuing innocent flies by night. Do you think I'd look good in a cape?"

"What if I said no?"

Greg grinned and shrugged. "I'd wear one anyway."

"I know you would." He took a moment to look at him, then, "That's good."

"What is? The fly?"

"The way you look at life. And yeah, the fly was a good part. I wish we could flick killers away from people like spiders from flies. It would make my job a hell of a lot easier."

Greg smiled back, sympathetic and understanding. "I know."

Nick finished his coffee and set down his cup. He nodded towards Greg's hands, changing the subject. "How are they?"

"These guys? Ready to go. They only shake sometimes, when I'm nervous. Doctors say it's a stress reaction." Greg held up his hands a flexed his fingers, sporting a huge grin as he did so. "Practically brand new."

"That's great, dude. After the explosion, I didn't know what to do with myself. I bought you all this stuff but you wouldn't wake up, so…"

Nick looked away, realizing what he just said. He pretended to fool with his jacket, not meeting Greg's eyes. He looked mortified for mentioning the explosion around its main victim.

Greg took a dramatic step back, hoping to lighten Nick's nervousness somehow. "You bought me presents and didn't tell me? I'm awake now, aren't I? I want a bag stuffed full of goodies in this lab tomorrow, waiting on me before shift. CDs, movies, and books are all acceptable. Gourmet food is optional, but you'll score major brownie points if I find some Starbursts."

Nick laughed. "I see you're not afraid of being direct."

Greg grinned and shrugged. "I know what I want."

"Yeah? Anything under ten bucks?"

"I know something that's completely free."

"Care to tell me what it is?"

Greg was about to reply before he was interrupted by a small beep- the fibers had been analyzed. He grabbed the printout, his mind half occupied by what he would have said if he hadn't been disrupted.

"Your fibers were a cashmere sweater," Greg said, looking at Nick. "Violet. The cheap kind."

Nick looked curious, finally getting up to stand next to Greg and observe the colored DNA printout. Greg tried not to faint at their closeness.

"Violet cashmere sweater?" Nick asked, apparently oblivious to Greg's jelly knees. "Servick's boss had one. But we couldn't put her in the car with the timeline we had."

"You said you think the neighbor did it?" Greg managed to ask.

"Yeah."

"The neighbor was there to alibi that the boss was at work, right? What's the boss's name again?"

"Heather Brattman."

"So Heather said that the neighbor called from his house to order some music. The phone records show that they were both where they said they were, right?"

"Yeah."

"But," began Greg, lifting a finger and a brilliant light beginning to shine in his eyes (Nick thought he looked gorgeous when he did that) "She had just enough time to slip some arsenic in Servick's drink, jump in his car, and dump the body in the back alleyway. By taking his car, no one can positively say that she left the building if her car was always in the parking lot."

"They lied for each other, even though they had never met before in their lives," whispered Nick, closing his eyes and shaking his head in realization. "No wonder we couldn't place her in our timeline. The neighbor hated him for his homosexuality and she hated Servick because he wouldn't be with her. Either way, they both killed him because he was-''

"You might want to call Brass," Greg interrupted, getting a glimpse of Nick's fear and hating what he saw. If he could somehow make Nick unafraid…

Nick nodded and flipped on his cell, dialing Brass quickly, speaking evenly. "Yeah, in the driver's seat… no… yes… yeah, Greg ran it- are you kidding? He's the only one I trust with this stuff… Violet, she was wearing it when we brought her in- enough? Great. See you tomorrow."

Nick snapped it shut and turned. "He's gonna go pick her up. Thanks for staying late. You might have solved this case."

Greg grinned crookedly and shrugged. "I always stay late. You know that."

Nick returned the smile. "I do, a little." Pause. Greg suddenly realized that their goodbyes were the only awkward part. "Need a lift home?" asked Nick.

Greg wished he did. "Nah. My car's waiting outside."

"Okay then. I guess I'll see you tomorrow.''

"Sounds like a plan," Greg replied, wishing he were braver. He wanted to say something so badly… but if he did, it was always possible that Warrick was wrong about Nick's feelings. Greg's big mouth could ruin everything. Their jobs, Nick's reputation- the mere thought of the zillions of outcomes made Greg a wreck. If he didn't think about it, if he could just get home…

Only then did Greg notice the worried look Nick was giving him. What? Was their something on his face? Jacket? Did he say something without realizing it?

"Greg, your hands…"

Greg looked down. They were trembling. Please no. He wished that he could calm himself down, because if Nick caught on, there would certainly be trouble. Greg flexed his fingers, clenched his hands.

"They- they haven't done this in months, I swear."

"It's nothing to worry about. I'm not gonna go tell Grissom about it, G."

"It happens when I'm a little tired, too."

"You don't have to explain it. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Grissom saw it once. I was so scared I would lose my job."

Nick walked over to him, past the counter and his usual perch. The proximity made Greg's stomach do cartwheels but he tried not to make it obvious.

"Here," said Nick, holding out his hands.

"What?"

"Give me your hands, man. You gotta calm down."

Greg hesitantly stretched his arms towards the taller man, allowing Nick to take Greg's quivering hands in his own.

"What are you so nervous about that you would start shaking like this?"

Nick's hands were warm and slightly rough. He squeezed them slightly, and for a moment Greg felt like the safest person on Earth, as if he could never be hurt when Nick touched him.

I remember fire and smoke and Nick.

"Greg?"

I remember glass and hospital beds and Nick.

"Greg, are you sure you don't want me to drive you home? You look really out of it."

I remember yelling and crying and Nick's voice.

I remember Nick.

"The explosion," whispered Greg, and Nick's surprised. Greg confided in him once that it hurt too much to think about it, much less talk about what had happened.

I remember all the things I could've lost.

"Greg, please tell me what's going on." Nick's voice sounded more that just a little worried. He was panicked about Greg and Greg knew it.

The only thing worse than rejection is never knowing at all.

I might have never known.

I still have a chance.

I remember…

And suddenly, it doesn't matter what Greg remembers. Because all that he's ever been searching for is standing right in front of him, looking at him with a mix of concern and unease and absolute adoration.

Greg leans in and destroys the space between them, connecting their lips for the first time.

At first, Nick doesn't move. Greg prays to God that it's shock and not repulsion, and for once his prayers are answered.

Nick kisses him back.

It's slow and very, very sweet, because both had been waiting to do this for a long time and it seemed like such a shame to get into a flurry and then –bam- that's the end of it. They were older now, things were different and they weren't sex driven teenagers anymore. They knew what was valuable and what wasn't.

"Greg, are you sure-?" Nick began, breaking away for one moment to think about what they were getting into. After all, this was Nick and rationalizing was somehow buried within his genes.

"I've been sure for years," Greg whispers back. "What about you?"

Nick can only nod. "I have too."

"Perfect," Greg whispers.

They kiss again.
…

The next morning Greg walks into the lab, practically floating. Warrick gives him a look but doesn't ask, and Greg thinks that maybe the stupid grin on his face is giving it away.

Somehow, he doesn't care.

Because there's a bag on the counter where Nick always sits after shift, and Greg instantly knows what it is. Like a child, he eagerly begins digging through its contents. All the things Nick had bought when Greg wouldn't wake up in the hospital after the explosion.

Explosion. Explosion. Explosionexplosionexplosion. It was so easy to say now.

Coldplay and Theory of a Dead Man and a box of Lucky Charms (Greg's favorite cereal of all time) with a pack of Starbursts tucked to the side. Odd movies, weird books, things he would buy for himself that Nick already knew he liked.

But the best present was the note stuck to the side of the bag, scrawled on computer paper with a cheap pen- it was practically art to Greg.

Can we have breakfast after shift? My place. You supply the coffee.

Greg grins.

There are a lot of things he remembers.

And when Nick and Greg grow old together and lose their hair and get wrinkles, they'll both forget a few things. That's what age does.

But age isn't love. Memory isn't love. Time isn't love. Looks aren't love.

Nick is love.

And that's all Greg would ever need, and all he would ever remember.

FIN.