Title: Saved People
By: karachilovaa14
Summary: It's been four years since Greg's beating and the trial. The CSI team thought he was over it, but when Nick finds a check addressed to Marla James at Greg house, he realizes that what happened that night is far from over. Now, it's up to Nick to make sure Greg gets past the fear and the guilt. And maybe, when it's all over, there'll be something good waiting for both of them. Maybe, there is a light at the end of the tunnel after all.
Genre: Romance/Hurt-Comfort
Pairing: Nick/Greg. Slash. Don't like, don't read.
Spoilers: Major spoilers for "Fannysmackin'" and "Post Mortem". Minor spoilers for 'For Gedda', 'Meat Jekyll', 'Grave Danger'. This is set in season 11, so everything up till then is fair game.
Rating: T for language.
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI =(

***

Don't matter how much money you got, there's only two kinds of people: there's saved people and there's lost people.

Bob Dylan

Nick laughed at Greg's entirely inappropriate, and yet, hilariously funny joke. It felt like everything Greg said was funny. The two CSIs were enjoying a round of Call of Duty, some beer, and each other's company. Just as Greg was about to shoot Nick right in the ass, his phone rang, distracting him from the game. He was about to ignore his phone, when he noticed the caller ID and decided to take the call instead.

'It's mum,' he explained, putting the game on pause and disappearing into his bedroom to take the call. Nick stretched out on the couch and laughed to himself. Greg was the only thirty-five year old man he knew, who would put a video game on pause, just to talk to his obsessive and over-protective mother who called almost every day.

Nick stood, and decided to look around. Greg's apartment had changed a lot since he had last visited. The decor, which had previously been a bold jumble of red and black, was now a more toned down mix of quiet blues. Pictures lines the walls: one of Greg's parents, one of the team; of Greg kissing Sara on the cheek; another of him looking like a stud next to Catherine and Riley, though it was obvious that Greg was leaning closer to the latter. There was another picture of Grissom and Greg, the older man hitting Greg upside the head while perusing over his results, and another one of Greg and Warrick, battling it out on the Play Station.

The picture that really caught Nick's eye, however, was one of him and Greg. It had been taken the day Warrick had died. Nick and Greg were engaged in a crushing embrace. From where the picture was taken, only Greg's face was visible. His eyes were closed, and a look of obvious relief surrounded the grief that lined his face. And, although Nick's face was not visible, he already knew what his expression had been: blood-shot, teary eyes; pale face; his mouth turned downwards in a look of obvious distress, and underneath all of that, a look of hope. Hope and comfort and the thought that, maybe, his best friend hadn't just died; that maybe, his best friend was the young man locked in his embrace. And buried deep below that, so deep that even Nick didn't dare venture there, was the hope that the man in his arms wasn't just his best friend; the hope that maybe he was more than that.

Greg and Nick had both been angry at Catherine for taking the picture, and capturing a rare moment of vulnerability for both men. But it had been Catherine's first half-smile of the day, and in hindsight, Nick was glad she had taken the picture. It was a beautiful photograph, and it really captured his close friendship with Greg.

Finally tearing his eyes away from the photographs, Nick moved onto the bookshelf. He frowned as a small piece of paper on the shelf caught his attention. Looking closer, he realized it was a check. He didn't mean to pry, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he picked it up to take a closer look. Horror and disappointment coursed through him as he read the check.

The check was addressed to Marla James and Nick recognized Greg's familiar scrawl. Ten thousand dollars! What was Greg thinking? That he could pay off his guilt like it was a debt? Why was he feeling guilty anyway? What happened that night, four years ago, was over! Greg wasn't supposed to still feel bad about that. He was supposed to be over it. He was supposed to have realized that he was the hero, not the villain. He was supposed to have realized it was not his fault that Demetrius James was dead. He was not supposed to be writing a check to the James family, after a two point five million dollar payout.

He peered down the hall, into Greg's room, where he was still talking to his mother animatedly. Nick was suddenly reminded of another such conversation between the two Norwegians that had occurred the day after the beating.

Nick sat on a chair next to Greg's hospital bed. Anger was boiling in Nick's stomach, and guilt was burning through Greg's. They had just found out about Demetrius James' death, and had fallen into a not-quite-comfortable, not-quite-awkward silence. Just then Greg's phone rang, and the two men jumped, and stared into each other's eyes for a heartbeat. They were both rolling with emotion, and the pain behind their eyes was too much to bear; they had to look away.

Greg picked up his phone from his bedside table, lifting it to his ear.

"Hey mum," he said, his voice doing nothing to betray his anguish. Penetrating the smouldering silence that had previously encased the room, was Greg's mother's loud voice, echoing through the receiver.

"Hello Hojem," greeted his mother. "How are you? It feels as though we haven't spoken for ages!"

"You just called yesterday, Mama!" exclaimed Greg. To Nick's surprise he was feigning happiness well, considering the circumstances. Didn't Mrs. Sanders know what had happened? "And I'm fine. You should really stop worrying about me!"

Nick's jaw dropped, outrage and confusion tearing through him. Greg hadn't told his parents about what happened? And now he was lying through his teeth when he was obviously in pain, both physically and mentally?

"So how are things in the lab, honey? Are you still at work?"

"Nah, I'm on my way home. Work's the same, really. The CSIs are still expecting results in half the time possible, and backlog is stationed permanently on my desk. But things are good. Nothing particularly draining."

CSIs expecting results? Backlog? Why was Greg speaking as though he wasn't a CSI himself? Why was he speaking as though he still worked in the lab?

Oh no, Greg. Nick thought disbelievingly. Please, tell me she knows you're a CSI and not a lab tech.

"That sounds like a lot of work, Greg. Are you sure you're getting enough sleep? You know I don't like your working hours-"

"Mum, I'm fine. Stop worrying about me."

Fine? Greg was far from fine. Anger stirred in Nick's chest. How could Greg be so stupid?

"No more lab explosions, right, honey?"

"No, ma. Nothing like that."

Nick listened, dumbstruck, as Greg and his mother continued talking. After convincing his mother that he was 'okay', Greg seemed less uneasy. He and mother continued speaking for some time, and Nick couldn't help but notice that Greg seemed to be getting more fatigued by the minute. His breathing was shallow, and his eyes were squeezed shut in obvious discomfort.

Greg laughed at something his mother had said, but it came out as a wheeze. "How's dad?" he breathed.

"Uh... He's just fine, honey," she reassured him. "But are you sure you're okay?" She had obviously picked up on the strain in his voice.

"Yeah, mum. I'm okay. It's just been... a long day," he said with a sigh.

Pity engulfed Nick like a cat, draping itself across his lap. Greg seemed torn painfully between not worrying his mother and unloading his problems onto her. It occurred to Nick that Greg was an exceptional son, and a surge of brotherly affection swept over Nick.

Greg's mother gasped in horror. "Oh, you poor thing! Well, I'd better go then, so you can get some sleep."

As if on cue, Greg's eyes began to droop shut. "Yeah," he said drowsily. "I think that's a good idea."

"Adjø, skatten min. Jeg elsker deg."

"I... I love you too, mama," Greg's voice hitched, and he closed his eyes against an onslaught of tears. "Jeg elsker deg."

"Greg, are you—"

It was too much for Nick. He leaned forward and snatched the phone up from Greg hand.

"Mrs. Sanders? My name is Nick Stokes. I work with your son."

Greg gripped Nick's wrist weakly, his eyes begging Nick to hang up the phone. He shook his head, anxiously. "Please, Nicky. Don't."

"Mrs. Sanders, everything that Greg just told you, it's, well, it's... bullshit, excuse my French." Greg's mother tried to speak, but Nick cut her off. "No, Ma'am. Please, you gotta listen to me. Greg doesn't work in the lab anymore. He's a CSI. And last night, Greg was hurt very badly. He's in the hospital."

Nick waited for Mrs. Sanders to reply, but she was stunned into silence. 'Ma'am, I think it's better if Greg tells you what happened last night."

Nick passed the phone to Greg who was shaking his head vehemently. But Nick pushed it up to his ear, forcing him to talk.

"Mama?" he said, his voice heavy with tears.

"I'm here, Greg." To Nick's surprise, Greg's mother was calm and collected, fully prepared to comfort her son, unlike after the lab explosion, when it was Greg comforting his mother.

"Mama, I-I can't tell you what happened. I..." Greg trailed off, shaking his head. Nick's heart dropped into his stomach. Had something happened in that alley that they didn't know about?

"Greg, you know you can tell me anything," his mother cooed softly.

"No, ma, no I can't. You won't... you won't love me anymore. How could you, after what I've done?"

Realization hit Nick like a rock. It wasn't that Greg didn't want to worry his mother, or that something humiliating had happened that he didn't want to talk about. Greg was afraid; afraid that his mother wouldn't love him anymore, because of what had happened to Demetrius James. Pity ate at Nick. How guilty must Greg feel if he thinks he's not worthy of his own mother's love? thought Nick, sorrowfully.

"Greg, don't you ever say that!" scolded Greg's mother passionately. "Don't you ever even imply that I would ever stop loving you! You know I'll always love you! Even if... even if you killed someone!"

"But I did, ma. I did..." he whispered.

Greg's mother was silent for a moment. Then she spoke quietly and tactfully. "Just tell me what happened, kjaere."

"I was on my way to a crime scene," Greg whimpered. "I was passing by an alley, when I saw this gang beating up a tourist. This was the third beating. They'd been going on all night. We were working the case."

Greg closed his eyes, reliving the incident. It was the first time he told anyone about that night. "I called dispatch, but I knew they wouldn't get there in time. I-I had to stop the beating...so I turned on my police sirens and drove into the alley. I thought I could scare them away. Most of them ran away, but...one guy, Demetrius James, he decided to stay. He picked up a rock, looked like he was gonna finish off the victim. But he turned around, and started running to-towards me instead." Greg inhaled deeply. "And I-I..."

Greg paused, shame and fear overwhelming him. Nick leaned in subconsciously, waiting with bated breath for Greg to continue. He had processed the scene, and read the Doctor's report. He knew about the bruises, and cuts; the broken bones, the concussion. But this was the first time he heard about the incident from Greg's perspective. Greg's mother didn't say a word, waiting patiently till her son was ready to continue.

"I panicked. The only thought that was going through my head was: 'I don't wanna die'. I-I couldn't think. And I did something really bad, Mama. Really, really bad."

Greg's lower lip trembled, and he bit back tears. When he didn't continue, his mother gently urged him. "What is it Greg? What happened?"

"I-I accelerated. I hit him with my car," Greg choked. "Mama..." he moaned."Oh Mama... He died in the hospital. I killed him. And he was just a kid... I'm sorry, Mama. I'm sorry I let you down. How can you ever forgive me?"

"Oh, Greg," his mother said sorrowfully. "How can you ever think that you've done anything but make me proud? You didn't kill anyone last night; you saved a man's life! What happened to Demetrius James, wasn't your fault! It was his fault that he got involved with that terrible mob!" she spat. "And, you! My poor boy! You're lying in a hospital bed because of the terribly rash decision of that hideous gang!" It seemed to occur to Greg's mother that she still didn't know how Greg was hurt. "Did they hurt you Greg? Why are you in the hospital?"

"After I hit him, the mob came back. They-they shattered my window; pulled me out of the car. I don't r-remember much after that. Just the pain. They beat me pr-pretty bad," Greg breathed. "The doc won't let me look in the mirror. Says I won't like what I see."

Greg let out a strangled moan and continued. "It hurts, Mama. It hurts a lot."

Greg could no longer stop the tears. His back rose in staccato bursts, and sobs wracked his body, aggravating his pain. Greg's mother sang sweetly to him in Norwegian, trying to calm him. Nick felt tears prick his own eyes.

"God, I'm such a wuss," said Greg, stealing a look at Nick and rubbing his eyes furiously.

It suddenly occurred to Nick that he was eavesdropping on a very private conversation between Greg and his mother, and that his presence was making Greg obviously uncomfortable. It pained Nick to think that Greg wasn't comfortable around him, but he understood that it was time for him to leave. He stood, and gave Greg's hand one last squeeze. Greg had stopped crying, and looked up at him sheepishly. Mrs. Sanders continued to sing, and leaning close to Greg's ear, Nick whispered: "You're not a wuss, Greg. You're the bravest person I've ever met." Greg gripped Nick's wrist as he pulled away, and looked up at him. Greg didn't trust his voice, and hoped that his eyes conveyed the deep gratitude he felt towards Nick.

"You're gonna be okay, G," said Nick with a smile, and slipped out of the room. Greg's mother arrived in Las Vegas the next day, and didn't leave Greg's bedside until the day he was released from the hospital.

Nick was drawn out of his daydream when he heard Greg saying goodbye to his mother. Nick turned around, check still in his hand, fully prepared to confront Greg about what might be the stupidest mistake of his life. Greg walked into the room, smiling to himself. His smile disappeared when he saw Nick holding the check to Mrs. James.

"What the fuck are you doing?" growled Greg, when he saw what was in Nick's hand.

Nick look a deep breath, but suddenly everything he was going to say flew out the window. He stood for a moment, his mouth open. Staring deep into Greg's angry, and yet, surprisingly beautiful (not that Nick would ever admit to thinking that) eyes, Nick uttered a quiet and emphatic 'Fuck'.

Don't fear, If you hear
A foriegn sound to your ear
It's alright Ma
I'm only sighing

It's Alright Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)

"What the fuck, Nick?" exclaimed Greg angrily. "I can't believe you!" he screeched. "You come tomy house, you look through my stuff, you invade my privacy, you...UGH." Greg let out a primal, scream. Nick blinked, not expecting this kind of reaction. "Aren't you even going to apologise?"

Gathering his resolve, Nick took a bold step forward. "I'm not sorry, Greg."

Greg stared at him, too dumbstruck to voice his exasperation. He couldn't believe Nick's audacity. Greg shook his head angrily, and started making his way to the kitchen. He wanted a beer to calm himself down, before he said something he would regret.

When Greg started to walk away, Nick reached out and grasped his wrist tightly. He tugged sharply at Greg's hand, causing him to spin around and stumble forward, almost crashing into Nick's chest. Greg could smell a scent that was completely and uniquely Nick—a musty combination of sweat and Armani Code and something else which he couldn't quite place. It made his head spin, and he struggled to maintain his anger.

Nick could feel the heat radiating from Greg's body, and could smell his cinnamon breath. He stared into Greg's surprised eyes, and forced himself not to moan out loud. He tightened his grip on Greg's wrist, as a thousand emotions swept over him like a wave. Fighting his instincts to kiss the man in front of him, he vented his anger instead.

"I'm not sorry," hissed Nick, "Because this is probably the stupidest thing you have ever done!" Nick held up the check in front of Greg's face. Greg reached up with his free hand to snatch the check from Nick's hand, but Nick grabbed his other wrist too. Greg's eyes widened in shock, and he tried to break free of Nick's hold. But Nick held tight, lifting Greg's hands up to shoulder level and jerking him violently. Greg stopped struggling and stared at Nick, something akin to fear surging through him.

"Why now?" grilled Nick, taking another step into Greg's personal space, so that their faces were inches apart. "Why are you sending them a fucking check, now, four years after it happened? Why the sudden guilt Greg? If you've been okay for the last four years, then why now?"

Disappointment surged through Greg, stronger than his anger and his shock, and that strange feeling of almost-longing he felt whenever he was around Nick. He was disappointed, because even after all this time Nick just didn't get it. "But I wasn't okay. I'm not okay. And you never noticed! No matter how hard I tried to make you," choked out Greg vulnerably. "I was never okay! I had nightmares all the time. And all I could see were his eyes. Staring at me. All the time."

Nick was shocked at Greg's words, and his grip on Greg's wrists loosened. Greg pulled away, and made his way into the kitchen. Nick followed hesitantly, and found Greg sitting on the countertop, a beer bottle in his hand. Nick stood in front of the younger man, and placed his hands heavily on Greg's thighs. "Why didn't you ask me?" murmured Nick gently. "If you wanted my help, why didn't just ask me?"

"Because it's not that easy. It's not so easy admitting that I'm on the verge of losing it, when you came out of that coffin, covered in bite marks, but fucking a-okay!" vented Greg. "It's not so easy being Boy Wonder to your Batman!"

"Greg, I... I didn't know you felt that way..." Nick trailed off. He half-turned away, not wanting Greg to see that he was hurt."

Greg sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't mean to say it, and he realized that just a second too late. "I didn't mean it," said Greg firmly. "I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry...I-"

Nick turned back to Greg and smiled weakly. "It's okay, Greg. Just... why'd ya write her the check?" asked Nick in a voice that was begging Greg to say he was never going to send it.

"I've been sending her money since the Drops case, when Aaron James was suspected for murder. Marla James came into the lab, and starting yelling at me about how I owe her," Greg paused. Nick was looking at him with a mix of disappointment and annoyance on his face. Greg rushed to clarify. "I don't. I don't owe her anything. I know that." Nick nodded slowly and firmly in approval. "I know that, in theory. But it doesn't help me sleep at night."

"So I started writing her checks. I've got a lot of money saved up so it isn't really a problem. I just mail 'em to her house. She knows it's me sending them, but frankly, I don't think she cares about anything but the money."

"Greg," lectured Nick, struggling to keep his voice level. "If she takes this to the media, you're gonna look like the bad guy again. And those vultures will be all over you. You don't have to send this, ya know? After the payout, I don't she needs any of your money."

"I'm not doing this because I think she needs it," corrected Greg emphatically. "I'm doing it because I need it! I just...I don't know...I just," Greg looked up at Nick like a lost little boy. "I just need something to remind me that I'm one of the good guys," he breathed.

Nick felt his heart break for his friend. He felt helpless, and angry with himself for not realizing how much his friend was hurting.

Greg laughed humourlessly, and ran his hand over his face. "Look at me!" he said with another forced laugh. "I'm a mess...And it's been what? Four fucking years?" he shook his head tiredly. "I'm just being melodramatic. I'm sorry, Nick. Y-you should probably leave" Greg jumped off the counter and tried to make his escape. His cheeks flushed red, and he inwardly chastised himself for admitting everything to Nick. He needed to get away.

"Greg," said Nick, following his friend into the living room. "Greg, wait." Greg stopped, but didn't turn around. He didn't want Nick to see the unshed tears in his eyes. More than anything, he just wanted this all to go away. He didn't want Nick to see him like this. "Let's just sit down and talk about this, okay? Let's just calm down and talk about this without this... thing between us."

None of them knew exactly what this 'thing' was, but they both knew it was there, pulsating around them, through them, over them, and under them. It was a tension that that been building up between them for the better part of eleven years. It was a little dance they performed around each other. A game they played.

But that's not what they needed. Greg needed Nick to go away, and Nick needed Greg to want him to stay. Greg needed a friend, and Nick needed to be that friend, even though the only thing he really wanted to do was kiss Greg. And then kiss him again, and again and again.

Nick stopped. He stopped moving, stopped talking, stopped thinking. Because that was the first time he had ever admitted that to himself, and... Did Greg want it too?

"Nick?" Now Greg was looking at him like he was the one who needed someone to talk to.

"I'm fine," said Nick with a hurried smile. Get yourself together, Stokes, Nick chastised himself. Now's not the time for a personal crisis, even if you just admitted to yourself that you're gay and pining after Greg fucking Sanders.

Greg gave him a strange look and then sat down on the couch. Nick followed suit, sitting just a little closer than he probably should have.

Greg stared straight ahead; he couldn't look at Nick. "I hate being like this, so... weak," he spat out the word like it disgusted him. "That's why I didn't say anything about, well, about any of this. I didn't want to disappoint you." Greg closed his eyes against the sting of tears. God, could he be any more of a wuss?

"Greg..." Nick trailed off. He was at a loss for words. How could he explain to this amazing man that all he had ever done was make him proud? "Greg...after I was kidnapped," Nick struggled. It was still hard to talk about. He could still remember the ants, the glass closing in on him. His breath hitched; and Greg thought he was the one who was weak? "I wasn't okay. I know that's what you think, and I'm so, so sorry that it made you feel so... depressed." This was harder than he thought. Tears stung his eyes, and he was so angry, because all he ever wanted to do was make Greg happy, and here he was making him feel bad about himself. "But I was far from okay. I couldn't step into an interrogation room because it made me feel trapped; I had nightmares every single night, and the bugs...they were everywhere." Nick stole a glance at Greg, who was watching him with compassionate eyes. "I may have seemed calm and collected, but the truth is the second I left the lab every night I broke down in the car. I know just how bad it can get if you keep it all inside, G." Nick paused and looked into Greg's eyes. He hesitantly placed his hand over Greg's next to him on the couch. He looked down at their hands for a moment; they looked so good together, and Greg's slender fingers were so soft under his. He smiled when Greg's twisted his hand underneath Nick's and entwined their fingers together. "Greg, it's okay to be scared. And it's okay to be sad. You have nothing to be ashamed of," Nick smiled at Greg sadly. He cupped Greg's face in his hand, and rested his thumb on the smooth skin between Greg's soulful eyes and amazingly straight nose. God, he was so beautiful. "And you have everything to be proud of."

Nick was so close, and if just leaned forward their lips would touch and he could taste Greg just like he'd always wanted. But Nick pulled away at the last minute, because he just couldn't do it; not when Greg still looked so sad, and not when Nick didn't even know if Greg felt the same way. He couldn't complicate things now (even though everything was already so complicated), not when Greg still wasn't okay; not when he still looked so fucking sad.

"It's okay to be scared, G, but it's not okay to be writing Marla James checks," Nick said as gently as he could. He hated the crestfallen look on Greg's face, but he knew he had to sort this out with Greg before he did anything else. "It could backfire on you any second, G, you know that!" Nick realized how patronizing he sounded one second and one annoyed look from Greg too late. He backtracked. "Look Greg, I know that you've heard this a dozen times from a dozen people, but... hear it from me. And believe it." Nick squeezed Greg's hand, and Greg looked up at him from behind shy eyelashes. "You don't need to send Mrs. James money to be one of the good guys. I know you feel bad about Demetrius James' death, but try and remember why you turned into the alley in the first place; to save a man's life. And you did save a man's life. If I were to call up Stanley Tanner right now, he'd be doin' nothin' but singin' your praises," Nick continued, unconsciously accentuating his words. Nick gripped Greg's chin gently and turned his head so that he was forced to look into Nick's eyes. There was a tug at Nick's heartstrings when he saw the anguish in Greg's eyes. "Come on, G. You've gotta know that it wasn't your fault that kid died. It wasn't anyone's fault except his own. He got involved with Cole Tritt, and he decided that beatin' people up was fun! And he decided not to run away. Not you. This isn't your fault, it's his."

"I'm not a good person, Nick," Greg murmured, his eyes downcast and his voice heavy with emotion.

"Yes, you are, Greg." said Nick, brisling with frustration. He stood abruptly, knowing he needed to keep his cool for Greg's sake, but not knowing how. He heard the couch groan as Greg got up too, and felt Greg's hands on his shoulders. Nick raked his fingers through his hair, and ignored how good Greg's hands felt on his arms as he tried to calm Nick down.

"Nick, please," Greg pleaded, his voice still containing some semblance of calm, even though he felt just the opposite.

"Shut the fuck up, Greg," growled Nick, making Greg wince. Nick turned around to face Greg and shrugged off Greg's hands, instead holding on to Greg's shoulders in a patronizing grip. He squeezed hard, his fingers digging into Greg's neck, because he was in fucking control.

"Now, you listen to me and you listen good," Nick seethed, his hands planted firmly on Greg's shoulders, holding him in place, as Nick's fiery eyes burned into Greg's. "You are a good person. You are a good person because you put flowers on Demetrius James' grave every week. You are a good person because you call your mother every other day. You're a good person because you spend your nights workin' for the law and for justice. You're a good person because you donate hundreds of dollars to the Desert Palms burn ward every month. You're a good person because you play ball with Warrick's kid every couple of weeks. You're a good person because you still go out for coffee with Jason Morley's father once a month. You're a good person because even after eleven years on the job you aren't immune to death. You still leave work every night with a little piece of your heart torn out. You're a good person because..." Nick faltered. What was he supposed to say? You're a good person because you've been my best friend for years, and now I think I'm falling in love with you...? He couldn't—he wouldn't—say it. Not now, when he could jeopardize eleven years of friendship in a matter of minutes; not now when he had convinced himself that he'd rather face the pain of unrequited love than risk his friendship with Greg, even if that meant he couldn't kiss him and touch him and love him and be with him forever and ever.

"You're a good person because... because you're Greg. You're sweet, sweet Greggo, and you're..." Nick didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to tell Greg that he loved him without really telling Greg that he loved him. So he said the only thing that came to mind; the only thing that ever came to mind when Nick was around Greg and found himself suddenly speechless. "Because you're so fucking beautiful."

Nick saw Greg's legs bend at the knees, and slid his hands down Greg's arm to rest at his elbows, supporting his friend, because that was all he wanted to do for the rest of his life. Greg's shaking hands clutched at Nick's waist, his fingers bunching up Nick's t-shirt in his fists. Greg opened his mouth to speak, but he choked on his words. Nick saw little crescents of tears lining Greg's eyes, as he dropped his head onto Nick's shoulder. Nick traced a hand up Greg's back and threaded it through his hair. Greg clasped Nick's hand tightly, while his other hand continued to grip Nick's hip like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Nick nuzzled his head into Greg's hair, inhaling the sharp lemony scent. He smoothed his hand over Greg's back, and trailed his fingers over the thin shirt covering the scars he could feel spread over Greg's back like a scrawled signature. Greg's back rose and fell steadily, despite the tears that Nick felt wet on his neck.

Barely a minute later, Greg lifted his head off Nick's shoulder, and turned away in embarrassment. Nick felt the lack of contact intensely, and squeezed Greg's hand tightly, needing the comfort as much as Greg did. Greg's blushed, and Nick smiled gently, turned Greg's face so that they were looking each other in the eye. Until now, Nick had never seen Greg cry, even though Greg had seen him cry many times. It was almost poetic that, even when crying, Greg looked so beautiful: his face was unmarked by his tears—his nose wasn't stuffy, his eyes weren't red; there weren't even any tears streaks on his face. There was just a light shimmer around his eyes, and a glassy reflection in them. His eyelashes clumped together, making them look thicker as they obscured his eyes as though trying to hide his tears. But Nick didn't want Greg to feel as though he had to hide his pain; he didn't want Greg to feel ashamed.

Greg took a few shaky breaths, and rubbed at his eyes furiously. But the harder he tried to erase any trace of his tears, the more he felt like crying. His face distorted and his stomach clenched painfully. Tears gathered in his eyes again, his fingers rubbing them away before they had a chance to fall. Frustrated, Greg covered his face with his hands, hating himself for being so fucking weak.

Nick reached up and gently pried Greg's hands from his face. "I'm sorry," choked Greg, his voice heavy with tears.

Nick rested his forehead lightly against Greg's, and Greg leaned into the touch. "Don't be," he murmured. "You don't have to be embarrassed about crying. There's nothing shameful about showin' how you feel," Nick ran his hands up and down Greg's arms like he was trying to warm him up. "You were wound way too tight anyway."

"You're just sayin' that 'cause you grew up with four sisters who coddled you and dressed you up like a girl," Greg snorted, and Nick knew that if he was kidding around he was one the road to recovery. Nick grinned, and saw his smile echoed in Greg's eyes.

The stayed like that for a long time, with satisfied half-smiles on their faces, while sharing chaste and bashful touches. Their foreheads were still pressed together, Greg's sweaty curls pressed up against Nick's smooth skin, and their hands ghosted across each other's arms hesitantly. Nick could still feel a tension in Greg's shoulders, something which he now realized, had been building up for a while.

Nick hesitated, and then tentatively slid his arms around Greg's slim waist, and pulled Greg closer, so that his entire body was pressed against Greg's, skin dancing fretfully against skin. Greg tensed again, pleasure mixing with pain until his chest ached and his body pulsed with arousal. The same stress and tension he was feeling before had returned full-force, riling him up and wiring him all over again. But now, it felt unimaginable good.

Greg shimmied closer still, and pressed his wet cheek against Nick, smiling faintly as Nick leaned into the touch. Greg felt as though he could stay like that forever, pressed up against Nick, as they touched and comforted in chaste ways that could be explained away as 'just friends' if they needed too; not that either of them did need to. But that didn't take away Nick's fear that if he confessed his not-quite-but-maybe love for Greg, he would lose his best friend and it didn't take away Greg's doubt where Nick's sexuality was concerned. So it was innocent and restrained touches until Greg felt a strange and overwhelming stirring in his chest, and risking everything, he let his lips crash against Nick's with a violent passion.

Greg's hands were everywhere—in Nick's hair, under his shirt, in the pockets of his jeans, smoothed over his back, pressed up against his chest, scratching at his neck, leaving finger-shaped bruises on his hips. Nick tempered Greg's almost violent energy with static and powerful concentration. His hands were planted firmly on either side of Greg's face and he focused all his energy on his tongue inside Greg's mouth.

They pulled away, their breathing shallow and fast, and yet still containing a sense of calm that neither of them had felt for a long time. "See," breathed Nick. "You're okay now." Nick's thumb fluttered across Greg's cheekbone. He smiled naughtily. "Now, let's take this to the bedroom."

But Greg stiffened and pulled away, looking livid. "'You're okay now?'" he repeated incredulously. "Nick, I don't want this to be just some pity fuck okay? I'm not someone who you need to save to feel good about yourself! I don't want to do this if I'm just going to be another notch in your bedpost of heroism."

"Greg," drawled Nick, with voice laced with concern. He entwined his fingers with Greg's gingerly, and inwardly sighed with relief when he didn't pull away. "I know that you're not some damsel in distress, G. You're not... you're not Kristy Hopkins," Nick swallowed heavily, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down uncertainly as he blinked away stray tears. Kristy's death was one of those things he could never think about without crying. It was right up there with the babysitter incident which he forced himself to never ever think about. "And this, this thing between us, it isn't about me saving you. It's about me being there for you when you need me to, 'cause i know that you will be there when I need you to. Because I know that you have been there when I needed you."

Greg shook his head with a barking laugh. "No, no I wasn't. I mean, after you were kidnapped I-"

"You lingered in the background whenever the team visited me at the hospital, because you weren't sure whether I wanted you there. But I did want you there, 'cause you lingered in the background of my mind too. But... I know you cared, 'cause the nurses told me you were the one who dropped by with take-out every day, and came and left while I was still asleep. And that you called to check on the progress of my recovery every night before work. I know that you cared Greg; you were just scared to show it."

"Well, I shouldn't have been so caught up in my own problems. I should have been there, and I wasn't."

Nick shrugged. 'I could have used you there, sure. But, I know you meant well. And, hell, you were the only one who supported me with my theory on Cassie Bride, so who am I to complain?"

Greg nodded with a faint smile, as they both moved back to the couch. "Well, you were right. She was alive." Greg looked at Nick for a long time, and then finally added. "You know, I really admired you for believing that she was still alive. I mean, when the doctor told me that Tara Mathews was going to make it, I couldn't help but think, what's the point? Why's she bothering to fight it, when she's going to be in unimaginable pain later, and... and all those scars," he finished, his last words muffled by a deep sigh. "For you to be come out of that coffin when you were that close to being dead, and to still believe that she could survive all that. I mean, that kind of blind hope, it... it's gotta take a lot of courage."

"Well, sometimes you've just gotta have faith," replied Nick. "Giving me that faith... that's the one thing that I will never ever stop thanking my family for."

Greg laughed. "Yeah, well, my hippy mum, and workaholic dad didn't really give me that now did they?"

"Hey," Nick mock-scolded. "Don't be ungrateful. Your parents are wonderful."

"Yeah, yeah, you don't have to remind me of the fact, okay? I'm the one who humours my mum by talking to her every day-"

"Every other day."

"Yeah yeah, whatever."

"Come on, G. I mean, my parents don't care the way yours do. They love me, sure, but they never really show it. The relationship you have with your mum is very special, Greg."

"What you call special, I call over the top. At least your mum doesn't talk to you about your sex life, or tell you about how proud she was when she found the aftermath of your first wet dream all over your bed sheets."

"You're crazy, you know that, G?" said Nick with a laugh as he stood up and made his way to the shelf to turn off the play station.

"Yeah well, that's another thing you should thank my mother for," remarked Greg cryptically.

Nick just shook his head and laughed as he was drawn once again to the photographs lining the walls that he was looking at earlier. He picked up the picture of Greg and himself and looked at it closely. He smiled when he felt Greg creep up behind him and slide his arms around Nick's waist, resting his head on Nick's shoulder.

"I love this picture," Greg murmured. Nick could feel Greg breath whisper across his ear and his voice vibrate in his chest. Never before had he felt so connected to someone. "Do you-"

"Yeah, I remember," said Nick. How could I forget?

"See, this is what I mean," declared Nick after a moment of peaceful silence. "This is what I mean about you being there for me when I need you," he pointed meaningfully at the picture before hanging it back on the wall. He turned around in Greg's arms and hummed in satisfaction when Greg placed an open-mouthed kiss on his neck. "Greg, this isn't about me saving you. This is about you saving me. This is about us saving each other."

Greg smiled contentedly, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against Nick's. "Then let's be saved people together."

Nick nodded and licked his lips nervously. Greg sure sounded like he wanted a long-term relationship but Nick just had to be sure. "Greg, I don't want this to be a onetime thing. If you don't want to be in an exclusive relationship-"

"Shh..." whispered Greg, silencing Nick with a kiss. "I want it too. I want you. Forever."

Greg pulled away with a naughty smirk. He reached around Nick and opened one of the drawers, pulling out a digital camera.

"Greg, what are you doing?" asked Nick, confusion etched on his face as he was pushed away by Greg.

Greg hummed dismissively and fiddled around with the camera before placing it on the shelf with its lens facing the two men. Greg turned back to Nick and threw himself at him, kissing him with ferocious passion. Nick grinned against Greg's mouth, all thoughts of the camera forgotten—that is, until Nick was blinded by a light that seemed to bright to be the flash of a camera.

"What the hell?" exclaimed Nick, pulling away from Greg and rubbing his eyes.

"I set the timer," explained Greg excitedly. He picked up the camera and showed it to Nick, shimmying behind the older man and peering over his shoulder as he too studied the picture. "See," he said, mesmerized by the beautiful candid "This mean's forever, this picture. It means that we're forever. Savin' the world by savin' each other. Forever."

"Yeah," breathed Nick with a smile. "Saved people."

"But now it's not just the two of you," said fifteen year old Madeline, after her father had finished telling her the story of how he and Greg had fallen in love. "Now it's the three of us. Now we're all saved people."

"Yeah," said Nick, shifting on the couch. He wrapped his arms around his daughter and pulled her close so that her back leaned against his chest. "And now it's you doin' the savin'. If you hadn't come into our lives when you did, I don't know what we would have done." He squeezed her tighter and buried his face in her sweet-smelling hair.

"So, are you going to tell me the story of when you decided to adopt me?" asked Maddie, inquisitively.

"Maybe another time," said Nick with a laugh. He was getting too old for this. "Why don't you ask Greg instead?"

Maddie hummed in agreement and the pair sat in silence for a moment. Maddie looked down at the picture frame in her lap. It held a beautiful picture of her parents, kissing passionately. It was the same one Nick had just told her about. She leaned forward and put the picture on the coffee table in front of the couch. She would return it to its place on the wall later, in between the picture of Greg and Nick embracing each other in the locker room, and one taken on the day they had first adopted Maddie. Maddie loved these pictures; they were all a part of her, connected by multitudes of stories of her life, both before and after she was born.

There were other pictures too, of her pseudo aunts and uncles; the people who her parents still referred to as 'the team' even though most of them, including her parents, no longer worked at CSI. There was Aunt Sara, and Mr. Grissom, who visited from California at Christmas time. There was Mr. Vartann and Catherine, who Maddie wasn't allowed to call her aunt, even though she didn't think Catherine could ignore her old age for any longer. There was Mr. Brass, and Uncle Warrick, whom she had never met, but knew was very close to both her parents. She accompanied her parents to his grave every month, and somehow that made her feel at least a little like she had known him. Then there was Aunt Riley, beautiful even at forty seven. She was a strange one, Maddie pondered. She only visited from St. Louis during holiday season, and was always butting heads with Catherine. In fact, she didn't seem to get along with any of the CSIs except for Greg, who she still flirted with, even though he was married to Nick and she had been dating a quirky cop from St. Louis for as long as Maddie could remember. But Maddie liked Aunt Riley; she was more like an elusive older sister. She reminded Maddie of Penny Lane from Almost Famous.

"Daddy?" she asked Nick. He hummed sleepily and she continued. "Why didn't you tell me the story of when you and Greg got together before? I've asked you so many times, so why did you wait so long to tell me?"

"Wasn't my idea," answered Nick sleepily. "Greggo didn't want to tell you about Demetrius James until you were old enough to judge for yourself whether Greg was guilty or innocent. You know how he gets."

"He didn't do anything wrong!" retorted Maddie indignantly. "He has nothing to feel guilty about."

"Yeah," agreed Nick. "Everyone seems to know that 'cept for Greg."

Maddie paused, and then realization hit her. "So is that why Daddy always goes to the graveyard once a year? To visit Demetrius James' grave." Nick nodded. "Why don't we go with him?"

"He says he needs to do it alone. You know how he is. He's a very private person."

"Well obviously it wasn't Nana who taught him to be like that," quirked Maddie. Nick rolled his eyes; Maddie was as bad as Greg when it came to teasing Mrs. Sanders. "Is Daddy going to be okay?" Maddie asked, sobering up.

"Yeah," said Nick with a encouraging smile. "He's going to be just fine. It's been a long time, and Greg's come a long way since then."

They heard a key turn in the door, and they knew Greg was home from the graveyard. They stood, and Maddie rushed to the door, crashing against Greg and hugging him tight.

"Hey Maddie," said Greg with a smile. His eyes met Nick's over Maddie's shoulder, with a look that seemed to say It's okay. I'm going to be fine.

"Daddy," said Maddie soberly. "Papa told me about Demetrius James. And... and I don't care. I love you anyway."

Greg laughed. "I know you do, honey. And I don't want you to worry about Demetrius James. I'm okay, now."

"Then why do you still visit his grave?" said Maddie, tears gathering in her eyes. "Why are you still upset about it? Daddy!"

"Shh..." hushed Greg, gently. "Don't cry." He stood, draping his arm across Maddie's shoulders as she wrapped her arms around his waist. "Actually," he continued, staring straight into Nick's eyes. "I didn't go to the graveyard today. I went to the pet store, to pick up that dog you asked for, Mads. We should probably get him from the car."

His demands weren't met though, as both Nick and Maddie hugged him tightly, immobilizing him. Maddie pulled away quickly, rushing to the car to meet the dog. Nick held Greg tight, rocking him gently. It was the first time since Demetrius James had died that Greg hadn't visited his grave on his death anniversary, and Nick knew that Greg had finally moved on. "Oh Greg," he whispered into Greg's ear. "I'm so proud of you."

He pulled away to look Greg in the eye, his own filling with tears. They kissed adoringly, exploring familiar territory with as much passion as they had when they first got together.

"Cut it out guys!" Maddie said indignantly from the doorway. "I want to Papa to come see the dog so we can decide on a name. I think we should call him Ripley."

"Ripley's a great name," Nick said warmly, pulling away from Greg. They exchanged meaningful looks, and Maddie rolled her eyes. As if she didn't know what her parents would be doing later that night.

They walked out of the house, hand in hand. Greg opened the boot of the SUV and Ripley jumped out, the large Labrador almost toppling him over. Greg fished out a camera from his backpack in the car, and Nick, Greg and Maddie posed with their new family member. A new picture was going to be joining the others on their wall. And, Maddie realized excitedly, that a new picture meant a new story.

When the evening shadows and the stars appear
And there is no one there to dry your tears
I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love

Make You Feel My Love, Bob Dylan