Seasons

"Du trenger ikke å gjøre dette." You don't have to do this.

"Jo, det gjør jeg, mamma." Yes, I do, mom, Greg said, and he managed to smile despite the lump in his throat - because he knew she was right, he didn't have to do this. He could let his parents stay, and it would be easy to do it because if he was honest with himself the thought of going through this without them scared him - but he wanted his life back, and if he was going to get it

(can you have it back, though? Can you really?)

he had to let them go home. He let his parents hug him one after the other, saw the tears in his mother's eyes and felt his throat tighten; he heard his father say that their flight was boarding, they'd have to go, and he watched them walk towards the security screen hand in hand - and it was the sight of this, more than anything else, that broke his heart.

"You okay?" a familiar voice said behind him. "Want to go grab a coffee? You look like you could use one."

"I'm fine," he said, the words clipped as he struggled with the emotion swirling in his head. "Can we just go? Please?"

*******

"Looks like that's done," Catherine said as the two of them left the courthouse. "Till he appeals, anyway," and she watched as her companion removed his tie and crammed it into his jacket pocket. "You want to grab some lunch before we go and see Greg?"

"Robin probably cooked," Nick said, manufacturing a smile even as his throat tightened involuntarily. "You know how she is."

"You're led around by your stomach," Catherine told him, and when a cell phone shrilled the two of them automatically reached into their pockets. "It's mine," she said. "Hello? Yes, it is," and Nick saw her eyebrows draw together. "What? Well, is she running a fever? It might just be - no, ma'am, I'll be there as soon as I can - yes, thank you," she said, snapping her cell closed again. "Nick, you're on your own today, Lindsey threw up at school and I have to go and collect her," and she began walking swiftly in the direction of her car. "I knew she shouldn't have had that fifth slice of pizza last night, but she wouldn't listen…"

"Cath, drive me as far as the lab, would you, so I can get my truck and go home?" Nick said, still keeping the artificial smile on his face. "Greg won't need anyone visiting him today, his folks just left to go back home -"

"That's why he will need someone there."

"He's got…"

"He needs a friend," Catherine interrupted, raising one eyebrow. "Anyone would think you were afraid to go and see him on your own," and she fished her car keys from her purse. "Call a cab and get your ass over there." She unlocked her car and got into the driver's seat without another word, her face creased with concern for her daughter - and then almost before he realized what was happening, Nick was alone in the parking lot with the thought that his colleague had been right.

He was afraid, but she would never have guessed the reason why.

*********

This was one symbol of how everything had changed; he'd always been able to just walk in to Greg's old building, because the lock on the lobby door had hardly ever worked, but now he was faced with a keypad and a video monitor. Taking a deep breath, he tapped in a series of numbers, and after a short pause a familiar voice said, "Hello?"

"It's me - uh - Nick," he said, hating how awkward he sounded as he looked into the tiny screen. "If this isn't a good time…"

"Get your butt in here," was the immediate response, followed by a short laugh, and then the sound of the buzzer echoed in his ears; he pulled the outer door open, his limbs unwilling to move at more than a snail's pace, and he crossed the spotlessly-carpeted lobby where a uniformed man eyed him as he passed on his way to the stairs. Two flights instead of the six he'd had to take previously, because the elevator in Greg's old building had worked just about as often as the lock on the lobby door, and then he was outside an immaculately-painted front door which was opened before he could ring the bell.

"Looking good, Nick."

"How is he?"

"You can ask him yourself in a minute," and Robin stepped aside to let him into the apartment. "On your own today?"

"Yeah," Nick replied. "Catherine was coming with me, but her daughter got sick at school."

"Well, take that jacket off - or aren't you stopping long enough?" and the expression that flickered in grey eyes heavily outlined in black gave Nick the uncomfortable feeling that Robin could tell exactly what he'd been thinking before he reached the apartment. "Greg! Someone here to see you!" she yelled along the hallway, and she turned back towards Nick as he was hanging his jacket over one of the hooks on the back of the door. "Come on into the kitchen, he won't be long."

***********

"I brought lunch, do you want some?" Robin asked. "It's gumbo, there's enough for three."

"That'd be good," Nick said as he sat at the kitchen table and watched the young woman with jet-black hair remove a Tupperware box from the fridge. "I didn't think you were supposed to cook as well as…"

"I'm not," Robin said, her lips quirking into a smile. "I think he'd just live on junk food if someone didn't, though," and she slid the container into the microwave. "Been in court today? Never saw you in a suit before."

"Yeah, I have," Nick said. "It was -" and then before he could say anything else he heard it - the soft mechanical whirring, the biggest sign of all that everything had changed, the sound that cut a little deeper into his heart every time he heard it - and he swallowed down the lump in his throat and pasted a smile on his face as he looked round to the kitchen doorway.

"Hey, G."

**************

"I'm gonna have to go," Robin said, pushing her chair back and rising to her feet. "My three o'clock's always on the phone to the office if I'm not there five minutes before I'm supposed to be - you need anything before I leave, Greg?"

"I'll be fine," was Greg's response. "Got Nick here, haven't I?" and while his smile didn't falter, there was something in his eyes for just a second that Nick had seen before - the same expression that had been in them when Greg had looked up at him from a bed in Desert Palms and whispered a handful of words laden with panicky breathlessness.

"I can't feel my legs, Nick…

"…sorry, what?" Nick asked, vaguely aware that words had been spoken in his direction. "Did you say something?"

"I said I'd see you soon, Nick," Robin said, an amused tone in her voice. "Does he always talk this much, Greg?" and she picked up the coat she'd left slung over one of the kitchen chairs. It was black, ankle-length and fastened down the front with a series of buckles; just about every piece of clothing Nick had seen her wearing beneath her lavender scrubs during the previous month seemed to be made by Tripp, and he'd often asked himself what Robin's older clients must make of this. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Same time, same place," Nick heard Greg say; moments later, the front door of the apartment opened and then closed again, and the two of them were alone for the first time since before Christmas. "Nick, you want some coffee?"

"That'd be good."

"No, stay there, I've got it," Greg said when Nick tried to get up, and the mechanical whirring echoed in the kitchen as he maneuvered his wheelchair away from the table.

Nick watched as a kettle was switched on and two mugs were produced from one of the cupboards, and he thought about how it used to be when he wound up at Greg's previous apartment after a shift. He'd invariably had to move clothes before he could sit on the couch, and he'd lost count of the number of times that Greg had needed to search the apartment for mugs that needed to be washed before the two of them could have coffee; making that coffee had meant negotiating the chaos of the kitchen, and more often than not one of them had needed to leave the apartment again because the only milk in the fridge was so far past its sell-by date that it had become a science project…

"How was court?" Greg asked, breaking the silence as he spooned instant coffee into the mugs. "Did they convict him?"

"Yeah, they did," Nick said, once he had taken a deep breath and composed himself. "Well, Catherine said it's done until the guy appeals, you know how it goes."

"You didn't want to come and see me on your own, did you?"

"What?" he said, startled. "No, I…"

"You can't even look at me when you speak to me," Greg said as he reached for the kettle. "Even when you come with one of the others you hardly say a word, it's like you can't wait to leave," and he set the kettle down on the counter again with more force than was necessary. "I've had mom and dad fussing over me, I've - Mack hasn't been to see me after that one time in the hospital," and as he heard the name of Greg's last boyfriend, Nick felt the knife twist a little deeper in his heart. "I said to myself, not Nick, Nick's the one person who's going to treat me like the old Greg, but you can't, can you?" Greg went on. "I'm still the same person, Nick, I thought you'd realize that."

"G, listen -"

"You should go," Greg said, and the smile that had been on his face had disappeared. "I'll be okay on my own."

"This is stupid…"

"No, I'll tell you what's stupid," was Greg's response, and he continued speaking as Nick sat stunned into speechlessness. "Stupid is some idiot who gets a Hummer for Christmas and hits the side of the cab I'm in the first time he takes it out, and he gets away with a broken wrist while I get to spend the rest of my life in this!" and he slammed a hand against the side of his wheelchair. "I can't keep my car, I have to get a specially adapted one if I want to drive now," he went on. "I can't go running with you after work any longer - wait a second, Nick, work? You think I'm ever gonna get out in the field now? No, I get to be the gimp in the lab from now on, don't I? People either make a fuss of me or they feel sorry for me, my boyfriend - well, I can forget about him," and Greg's voice became more strained with every word. "I have to use a catheter every time I want to take a piss, nothing works down there now - he'd be nuts to stick around, wouldn't he? And the last thing I want is to see my best friend sitting looking at me and feeling like he wants to be somewhere else!"

That isn't true, Nick said silently, and he thought about all the times he'd been to visit Greg in the hospital and in this apartment where everything was white and seemed almost exactly like the room at Desert Palms; he thought of all the things he'd wanted to say and hadn't been able to, because there'd always been somebody else there - and because it would have meant telling Greg something he'd kept to himself for years.

He felt the same way that he'd done for longer than he wanted to think about, and he still couldn't say it - not even now.

"Go home, Nick," Greg said, the words delivered in a near-whisper, and Nick shoved his chair back; he didn't speak, because he didn't trust his voice in this moment, and the few yards to the front door of the apartment seemed to stretch into miles.

********

Greg listened to the front door clicking shut, and it was only then that it dawned on him - this was the first time since the accident that he was alone. There'd been the ambulance, then the hospital with its endless parade of doctors and nurses and visitors who didn't have any idea what to say to him…but god, he'd seen the same look in the eyes of so many of these people, the look that said they were glad it wasn't them. His parents had flown in the day after he'd been admitted, his mother weeping steadily and his father white-faced; he'd held his own tears in check, though, even when the doctor had appeared at his bedside and he'd known just by the taut expression on the man's face that he was never going to walk again.

T 5 complete. That handful of letters defining the rest of his life, the term that looked so clinical on doctor's notes and the papers he'd had to sign for the insurance company of the man whose Hummer had hit the cab - the papers that had furnished him with the money to buy this apartment, to hire the nurse who came in every day, to make sure he would be secure for the rest of his life. But it also meant no chance of going out in the field, of fulfilling the ambition he'd had to do what Warrick and Catherine and everyone else on the team did. No running with Nick, no Friday and Saturday nights in the handful of bars and clubs where he wound down after a grueling week's work; but it was the memory of someone's hands on him, the warm boneless tangle of limbs on a morning when he didn't have to get up and start a shift, that was making his throat tighten now - because the idea that for the rest of his life he was going to be alone, trapped by a body that didn't work because of what someone else had done, made the years ahead of him seem endless.

And the one person he'd thought would understand how he felt had just left, because he'd told them to.

Grabbing one of the mugs, he flung it across the kitchen to shatter against the wall and send shards of red china flying everywhere. He stared at the coffee as it ran down the white tile, and then he let his head drop into his hands; and now that he was alone, when there was nobody to sit and tell him everything would be all right, he let the tears come.

*********

The sound of his cell ringing woke Nick from a fitful sleep, and he scrubbed the heel of one hand into each eye in turn as he swept the other across his nightstand in search of the phone. "Hello?" he mumbled, praying that it wasn't Grissom asking him to come in and work; he'd finished a double shift two hours before going to court, and the last thing he wanted was to see the inside of the lab again a second before he had to.

"Nick?"

"G?" he said, his eyes opening instantly despite his exhaustion. "Something wrong, man?"

"Did I wake you up?"

"Never mind that," he said, something knotting in his gut as he spoke. "Are you all right?"

"I can't sleep," was the answer. "It's been months since I've had to go to sleep without anyone else around, and I just - Nick, I'm sorry about what I said this afternoon, okay?"

"Shut up about this afternoon," he said quietly. "Do you want me to come over?"

********************

Nick stood in the kitchen doorway, looking at the fragments of red china on the floor and the rivulets of coffee that had dried on the wall, and then he turned towards Greg; the younger man had changed into grey sweatpants and a black T shirt bearing a logo that was too faded to be legible, the short sleeves of the shirt only half-hiding the scar that had been left on his right arm. A faint shadow of beard stood out on an unnaturally pale face, and there were dark pouches under his eyes; he opened his mouth as though he were about to speak, but closed it again when Nick shook his head.

"It's starting to look the way your old place used to," he said, seeing a smile wash across Greg's lips and then disappear as quickly as it had come. "I'll get it cleaned up, you go into the living room - did you eat supper?" and Greg's only response was to shake his head. "I'll make you something," he said, holding up a hand when Greg opened his mouth again. "Go on, I won't be long."

*************

Nick heated up some soup, decanting it into a pair of bowls which he carried into the living room; the two of them drank in silence, and it was only when they had both finished that Greg finally spoke. "I kick you out of my apartment, and then you're the only person I can think of to call in the middle of the night," he said, his voice quiet and colorless. "Pretty stupid, huh."

"No, man, it's not," Nick said, staring down at his hands. "I - uh - I don't want to be somewhere else, I just don't know what to say to you," and he sighed gently, knowing that if anything was true it was this. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do…"

"I'm still me, Nick, treat me the same way you did before this happened," was the response. "Everyone looks at me like they feel sorry for me," and Greg's voice faltered. "I don't want people feeling sorry for me, I want my life back," he managed to say, and then there was a choked sob that broke Nick's heart. He reached over the end of the couch, encountering no resistance when he put his arms carefully round his friend and let him cry; and he closed his eyes as he let his chin rest on Greg's bowed head, the secret he still kept now seeming like the highest barrier in the world.

A week of working nights had left him so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open, but even though he could have been in bed an hour since Nick was still awake. He could never settle if he had something on his mind, and he'd been this way ever since he was a kid; every so often his mother would re-tell the story of nights when she'd found him awake at two or three in the morning, fretting over a piece of homework that wasn't even due for another few days - and he would laugh dutifully along, with anyone else who was in earshot at the time, when she would smile and mimic his voice as it had sounded all those years ago. "But mom, I can't go to sleep till I get this right…"

But it wasn't the same this time, because he doubted that his mother would smile if she knew the reason he couldn't sleep now. He thought of all the times he'd wanted to tell her, wanted to put an end to the secret that had eaten him up for more than twenty years; but he'd never managed to do it, because however much he'd needed to talk to her, the fear that she would react in the way he knew his father would had forced him to keep silent…

Could he do this? Could he maintain the charade, no matter how much he wanted things to be different?

This isn't about what you want now, he told himself then, and before he could stop himself he'd flipped open his cell and dialled his parents' number.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Cisco."

"Pancho!" his father cried, pleasure evident in the single word. "How are you?"

"I'm good."

"You sound tired - still on nights?"

"Just finished a week of them," Nick said, his ears picking up the sound of a Dallas radio station at the other end of the phone; he pictured his father, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee, listening to the local news the way he always did before he left the ranch in the mornings. "Listen, I - well, I need a favour."

"What is it?"

"Well, I was wondering if I could bring someone up to the ranch," Nick said, quailing inwardly as he spoke - because he was virtually certain of what his father's reaction would be, and he wasn't disappointed.

"So that's why we haven't seen you up here in ages!" and the words were followed by a familiar chuckle. "Who have you been hiding from us?"

"No, it's nothing like that," Nick told his father, hoping fervently that he was keeping his voice even. "You remember Greg?"

"The young man who works with you in the lab," was the immediate response, reminding Nick once again of his father's scarily acute memory. "He was in an accident at Christmas, wasn't he? How is he doing?"

"I don't think he's doing too well," Nick replied, clenching his free hand so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. "He wants everyone to think he is, but he isn't," and he sighed quietly. "I'm sorry, I know it's a lot to ask, bringing some stranger out there, but I -"

"When were you thinking of setting this up?"

"I wanted to run it past you first," Nick said. "He's back in the lab, but only two days a week - he gets tired, you know?" and he swallowed hard before he went on speaking. "I don't think he's ready to be back at all yet, but hey - I'm not his shrink, what do I know about it? Ah, I'm sorry, Cisco, I wasn't going to unload on you this early in the morning."

"Will you stop apologising?" his father chided, but there was gruff affection in the words that made Nick's eyes sting. "You've always looked out for your friends, it's the way your mother and I raised you - when were you thinking of doing this?"

As soon as I talk Greg into it, Nick thought, but what he said aloud was, "Well, it doesn't really matter - I've got weeks of vacation time saved up, and Grissom keeps telling me I ought to take some of it…"

********

"You look half dead," Greg said when he opened the door to let Nick into his apartment late that afternoon. "Have you slept?"

"Yeah, I have," Nick told him, recalling the few hours of fitful sleep that had followed the call to his father. "It's just been a long week, you know?"

"Coffee?"

"That'd be good," he said, following Greg into the kitchen. "I was talking to my dad this morning - what?" he asked, as his ears picked up a chuckle. "What's so funny?"

"Well, I know why you're so tired now," Greg said, running water into a pitcher before pouring it into the coffee maker. "What was he after this time?"

"I called him, actually," Nick replied as he sat at the kitchen table. "I've been thinking about going out to the ranch for a week or two."

"Grissom's been on at you again, hasn't he?" A canister was removed from the freezer, and Greg spooned coffee into the filter. "How much vacation time do you have stashed, anyway? You never seem to do anything with it."

"I thought you might want to come out there with me."

"No."

"G, I -"

"No, Nick, okay? Just drop it," Greg said, and since he was turned in the opposite direction Nick couldn't see his face; neither of them spoke for a while, and eventually the silence was broken by a sigh from Greg that pulled at something inside Nick's chest. "Sorry, man, I didn't mean to snap," he said softly. "I talked to my dad this morning too," and he took two mugs from one of the cupboards. "He -"

"Hold on," Nick said, taking in the taut set of the younger man's upper body and guessing the reason for it. "Coffee first, and then you can fill me in."

********

"He was telling me about this house he and mom went to look at," Greg said, once the pot of coffee had been emptied. "Told me it's because neither of them are getting any younger, Nick, but I know that isn't what they were really looking at it for," and he stared down at the spotless surface of the table. "He said why didn't I go out there for a few days, have a look and tell them what I thought of it…"

"You think they're still trying to get you to move out there, don't you?"

"I know they are," Greg said, knotting his hands together as he spoke. "Well, mom is, and when it comes to me she always manages to talk dad round, you know?" Another silence followed, during which he picked at the quick of one of his fingernails, and his eyes were shadowed. "Why do you think I wanted to stay here for my rehab, Nick? Why do you think I haven't been back to visit them since all this happened?" he went on, his voice wavering as he went on speaking. "I love my folks, but I'm afraid if I go out there I won't come back." He let his head fall forward, his hands coming up to cover his face - and although this was done in complete silence it still cut into Nick's heart, deepening a wound that had been opened the day he'd received the phone call telling him about the accident.

It had been more than three months since that night when Greg had given in and wept, and if there'd been tears since then Nick hadn't been a witness to them. He'd seen the younger man overtaken by a fierce determination, a determination that had made him work out at the gym until his face was flushed and he was dripping sweat; he'd watched Greg in the lab, pushing himself to keep working even when the exhaustion that took hold far too soon put dark pouches beneath his eyes. The wisecracks had begun to come back, but to Nick it was as though Greg's body had been taken over by someone else…someone who might say and do what everyone expected, but who couldn't be the real Greg - because every so often the mask would slip, for just a second or two, and Nick would catch a glimpse of the Greg who'd whispered from a hospital bed that he couldn't feel his legs.

"Have you tried talking to her about it?"

"No," Greg said, finally raising his head. "It's been like this my whole life, man, the slightest thing - I'm all she's got, she's never really taken the cotton wool off, and now -" he broke off to gesture at the wheelchair, which now bore a sticker saying The Whole World's Going To Hell And I'm Driving The Bus "-now I'm in this she wants to suffocate me, you honestly think I can talk to her?" and he went back to picking at his fingernail again. "And you know what, Nick? When I think about what the rest of my life's gonna be like, it'd be easy to let her suffocate me, but it scares me too much to think that all I've got to look forward to is my parents fussing over me." He lowered his head again, letting out another deep, ragged sigh. "Damn, Nick, I don't know what's wrong with me today."

Nothing's wrong with you, Nick thought, you just need to stop carrying this by yourself, but what he said aloud was, "You wouldn't need to worry about that with my folks," and he waited for Greg to look at him before he went on speaking. "They don't suffocate anybody, there were too many of us at home for that," he said. "Mom would probably want to fatten you up, but -"

"- how long have the rest of you been trying to? I know," was the answer, accompanied by a feeble half-smile. "I just - your folks have never met me, Nick -"

"No, but you're a friend of mine, and that's good enough for them," Nick said, seeing something spark briefly in Greg's eyes. "Yeah, I sounded them out about it, that's why I called home this morning," he went on. "I think you need to get out of Vegas, G, even if all you do is sleep and eat when you get there, but I'm not going to push you into anything," and the need to unburden himself of the secret that lay over his heart like lead had never been stronger, but he swallowed it back the way he had done for so long now. "You think about it and let me know, okay?" he said, pushing his chair back. "Shall I make some more coffee?"

"I thought I'd order pizza," Greg said, once he'd glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. "Want to stay and share it, or have you got somewhere else you need to be?"

"No, I don't have anywhere else I need to be," Nick replied. "I signed my life over to Grissom when I started working for him, we all did," and the quip was rewarded by a smile - one that lasted mere seconds, but for these brief moments Nick saw the real Greg, and the weight over his heart was lifted.

********

"Nick's going to visit his folks in Dallas."

"Oh?"

"He asked if I wanted to go with him," Greg went on. "He thinks I need to get out of Vegas."

"I think you do too," Robin said matter-of-factly. "I don't know what you used to be like, but you're going to drop if you keep pushing yourself the way you are now," and she fixed black-rimmed eyes on him as she spoke. "If I was him I wouldn't ask you whether you wanted to go, I'd put you in a car and take you."

"Anything else you want to share?" Greg asked, raising a brow, but he was unable to prevent himself smiling, because the previous months had taught him that Robin would always say what was on her mind; she only came once a week now that Greg was more independent, and the visits had become more like meetings between old friends than patient and client.

"Just that you need to start separating your clothes before you wash them," was the response, and Robin held up a previously white T shirt that was now splotched with red. "Didn't your mom teach you anything?"

"She gave up on that," Greg told her. "And you don't have to do my laundry for me."

"Well, you can't go out wearing that, can you?" she said smartly. "So, when are you going out there?"

"I don't think I can," Greg said, propelling himself towards the fridge to get a drink. "You want a Coke?"

"I want you to stop changing the subject," Robin told him as she began pairing up socks. "Why don't you think you can?"

"Well, for one, their house…"

"Greg, even for you that's a weak excuse," and when he looked at her she was shaking her head. "His folks know about what happened, right? Then they'll know there are ways to work around it, won't they? You've got to get back out in the big bad world sometime."

"I'm back at work," he said, popping the tab on his can of Coke and trying to keep the defensiveness from his voice. "I go out…"

"With people from work," was the immediate answer. "You used to have a life outside work before the accident, didn't you? What's happened to it?"

"I don't need it," he said, swivelling away so she wouldn't see his face. "Can you see me going to a bar in this thing?"

"Other people manage it."

"There isn't any point, Robin," he told her. "Not in the kind of places I used to go to."

"You can't just shut that side of yourself off, you know," and Robin went on speaking even though he didn't look round. "You've still got feelings, Greg - what the hell did I say now?" she said when he was unable to hold back a snort of laughter despite the tightness in his throat.

"I never really worried about feelings," he said, staring at a spot on the kitchen wall as he spoke. "The guy I was with right before the accident? I'd been seeing him for just over a month, and that's pretty much the longest I was ever with anybody - it was just - look, can we talk about something else?"

"Not everybody's just after sex," was the answer, and when his head snapped round he saw crimson-slicked lips twitching into a smile. "This is me you're talking to here, Greg," Robin added. "I've been in your spare room, remember?" and he cringed inwardly at the memory of the afternoon shortly after he'd moved in when he hadn't been able to find one of his PlayStation games. "Try the box nearest the door in the spare room," he'd said when Robin had offered to help him look for it, and after several minutes of silence had elapsed he'd gone down the hall to find her looking into the black nylon bag where he'd kept his toy collection. "I think I opened the wrong box here," she'd told him, and after they'd looked at each other for a split second she'd burst out laughing. "You know what?" she said now. "If you and I batted for the same team, I'd go out with you."

"Why?"

"Because I like you," was the answer. "You're funny, you're a smartass…"

"People aren't going to see that, though, are they?" he said, once he'd taken a swig of Coke to buy himself time. "They'll just see this," and he nodded down at his wheelchair. "Only half of me works, I'm not going to be able to give a guy what he needs -"

"Stubborn, too," Robin said, rolling her eyes. "You're seriously going to shut yourself off the rest of your life?"

"I'm not going to keep looking for something I won't get, if that's what you mean," he told her. "You want to stay for lunch?"

"On one condition."

"What?"

"Call Nick and tell him you'll go to Dallas with him," and Robin held a hand up to silence Greg when he opened his mouth to speak. "Bake in the sun, eat some decent food, get some of this nonsense out of your head," she added, placing the heap of folded clothes in a basket. "People want to help you, Greg, stop trying to fight them off."

"I'll call him later," Greg told her, knowing instinctively that she wouldn't be satisfied with this answer - and when Robin folded her arms and set her mouth in a line, he knew he'd been right.

"You call him now."

**********

A week later

"You need to make a stop before we leave here?" Nick asked, stowing the keys in his pocket as the two of them moved away from the car rental counter; he'd fended off his parents' attempt to come to the airport, guessing that Greg wouldn't want any more "fuss" made than necessary. "Shall I get us some coffee for the journey?"

"That'd be good," Greg said, and the faint tone in which the words were delivered made Nick look at him closely; the younger man's face was pale and drawn, and he was squinting against the fluorescent lights.

"You okay, G?"

"Just a headache."

"You got your meds with you?" Nick asked, and the question was met with a nod. "Come on over here," and he pushed the luggage trolley in the direction of the nearby Starbucks outlet as Greg followed in his wake; fishing in his pocket for his wallet, he ordered two coffees, one of them with a double shot of espresso. He handed this one over, watching as Greg shook a couple of pills from a small plastic container and chased them down with some of the paper cup's contents. "Better?"

"The lights are too bright in here," Greg muttered, as though this sign of weakness was a source of embarrassment. "Which way do we go now?"

"Follow me," Nick said, mustering a smile, and he led the way towards the exit; he'd seen Greg in the grip of these headaches before, mostly while he'd been back at the lab following the accident - and while he was no analyst, Nick was fairly certain that the cause was not altogether physical.

And he wasn't sure that what he was doing was going to make things any better, because he wasn't a shrink who knew how to fix these things - but he had to try.

*************

He pulled the rented van up outside the ranch, the country music station dying abruptly as the engine was turned off, and then Nick turned to look at his passenger. Greg was asleep, his head tilted to one side, and a lock of hair had fallen across his forehead; Nick was seized by a compulsion to reach up and smooth it back, and as he clenched his fist against his thigh he felt a familiar ache wash through him.

"Nick?" Greg mumbled, groggy with sleep, and his eyes blinked several times before opening fully. "This it?"

"Yeah, we're here," Nick told him, slowly unclenching his hand again. "I'll go and get your wheels out," and he unfastened his seatbelt before opening the driver's side door. He vaulted out and moved to the back of the van, where he opened the door and lifted the wheelchair out; he pushed it round to the passenger side, making sure it was still switched to manual, and then he opened the passenger side door.

He'd lost count of how many times he'd done this over the preceding months, but it never hurt him any less - Greg's arm snaking round his neck, the muscles taut because working out had increased the younger man's upper body strength like Nick wouldn't have believed, and then the warm dead weight that never failed to break his heart as he lifted Greg down and into the wheelchair. He swallowed the pain, though, the way he'd become so used to doing, and he heard himself asking Greg how his headache was; there was an answer of better, and as he moved towards the house he caught sight of the wide piece of wood that had been laid against the porch steps to create a makeshift ramp. "Right behind you," he said to Greg, and the two of them made their way in the direction of the sloping piece of wood; stepping behind the wheelchair, he watched it move slowly up the ramp, and out of the corner of his eye he got a glimpse of a curtain twitching in one of the second floor windows.

The moment both of them were up on the porch, the front door opened, and the tightness around Nick's heart loosened when he came face to face with his mother; he stepped forward, a grin spreading across his face, and he was drawn into her arms for a hug that lasted a long time before the two of them broke apart again. "Good to see you, mom," he said, stepping to one side. "This is Greg."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Greg said, extending a hand. "Thank you for -"

"No, there won't be any of that," Nick's mother interrupted as she shook Greg's hand. "You call me Jillian - how was your journey?"

"It was good," Greg said, taking in the friendly smile and the face patterned with soft wrinkles. "Thank you."

"Well, come on inside, I'll show you where your room is," was the answer. "Nick's going to bring the bags in, aren't you, Nick? You follow me, Greg."

********

"I hope this is going to be all right for you," Nick's mother said. "It's been a storage room for years, so I had a reason to sort through some junk when Nick told me you were coming."

"It'll be fine," Greg told her, taking in the yellow walls that were dotted with black and white photos. A double bed, the frame made from dark wood, stood by the window that looked out over the wide expanse of back yard; the only other piece of furniture in the room was a small dresser, made from the same wood as the bed, which looked as though it could easily have been an antique. "This was a storage room?"

"Well, it was a study and then a bedroom before it was storage," was the answer. "My mom lived here for nearly ten years before she passed away," and there was a gentle sadness in Jillian's eyes. "She had arthritis, about as badly as someone can have it, so we put a bathroom in on this floor and then she didn't have to climb any stairs. The bathroom's just along the hall," she went on, pointing to the left of the doorway, "and if you have any trouble managing, you let us know." There was a short silence as he was studied by kind eyes that were so like Nick's, and then Jillian sat down on the edge of the bed. "Now, my son's told me not to fuss over you or give you the third degree, Greg, so I'm not going to," she said, a smile hovering on her lips. "I'll tell you what I've told every friend he's ever brought here since he was little - this is your home while you're here, and you shout if you need anything, okay?" and he nodded. "Well, Nick's father ought to be home in an hour or so, and then we'll have supper - do you eat steak?"

"He eats anything," a voice said from the doorway, and Nick walked in with a bag in each hand. "You're not interrogating him, are you, mom?"

"No, I'm not," Jillian said good-naturedly, rising to her feet. "You told me not to, didn't you? Come and start the barbecue for me, Nick, you know I can never manage to do it the way you and your dad do it."

"G? You okay?"

"I'm fine," he said. "You go help your mom, I just need a few minutes."

"Come on in the kitchen when you're ready, we'll have a beer," was the response, and Greg watched as Nick and his mother left the room. Once the door had closed behind them, he manoeuvred his wheelchair across the room until he was next to the bed; setting his hands on the edge of the mattress, he hauled himself onto the bed - something which had been hard for him to do months previously, but which a combination of working out and the nagging of countless physiotherapists had made much easier - and rolled until he was lying at its centre. He stared up at the ceiling, half-hypnotized by the fan that circled there, his ears picking up indistinct voices outside the window; just a few minutes, he was telling himself, because the journey had tired him out more than he'd thought it would. He closed his eyes, turned his head to let it rest in the crook of his arm, and the world slipped further and further away - and by the time footsteps echoed in the hall and Nick rapped gently on the bedroom door, Greg was asleep.

**********

This was how he spent his first few days at the ranch - drifting in and out of sleep, mostly in the chair out on the deck that seemed to catch the sun for most of the day. Whenever he woke, there was someone in the house to feed him; if Nick was the only other person there it was always some sort of sandwich, but if Jillian was around Greg found himself stuffed so full of food he could barely move.

"You're going to too much trouble," he told Nick's mother one afternoon as he sat at the kitchen table; Nick had gone riding after Greg had assured him that he'd be fine by himself, and after several hours sleeping out on the deck he'd come indoors in search of something to eat.

"It's no trouble," was the answer. "Your nurse told me you lived on junk unless someone made you eat properly -"

"You spoke to Robin?"

"Nick had her call me before you flew out," Jillian said, and she opened the oven to remove something in a covered dish. "He thought there might be things you'd need while you were here," and her eyes twinkled. "She's quite a character, by the sound of it."

"Well, she's part Cajun," Greg said, his mouth watering at the smell of whatever was in the dish as the lid was lifted. "I don't know how many people I interviewed before I found her, but she's been great - hasn't let me get away with anything."

"Is she pretty too?" Nick's mother asked, raising a brow, but before Greg could come up with an answer the phone rang; he watched her cross the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron before she removed the phone from its bracket on the wall. "Hello?" she said, and her face lit up at once. "Meg! How are you, sweetheart? How are those gorgeous grandchildren of mine? Do you know we have your little brother here?" and she reached into one of the cupboards with her free hand to remove a plate. "He's here for another four days, he's got someone from work with him - well, why don't you all come up on Saturday? We could have a barbecue - all right, you speak to Russ when he gets home tonight and then call me. Yes, darling, I love you too." She hung up and began spooning out what looked like stew, stopping only when the plate was full; she carried it to the table and put it in front of Greg, before pulling a chair up to the table and sitting down. "That was Nick's sister," she said. "The one that's closest to him in age, and you wouldn't believe how the two of them tormented each other," and another smile touched her lips. "How's that stew?"

"It's good," he said around a mouthful of food, and he swallowed it before he went on speaking. "I'm gonna have to be rolled home in a barrel if you keep feeding me like this," and when Jillian laughed, he found himself joining in - the sound almost surprising him, because it had been so long since it had happened.

*********

Three days later

"Good morning, Greg."

"Hello, sir," Greg replied as he propelled himself into the kitchen; he hadn't seen a great deal of Nick's father during the week and a half that he and Nick had been at the ranch, but he'd always been smartly dressed, and the sight of Judge Stokes in jeans and a flannel shirt now was somewhat surprising.

"You'll have coffee with me, won't you?" and when Greg nodded, he watched as a second mug was removed from one of the kitchen cupboards. "You're up early today."

"I always used to be up at the crack of dawn," Greg said. "I think it was because working nights really scr - messes your body clock up, you know?" and there was a nod as a mug was slid across the kitchen table. "Ever since I had my accident, though, all I seem to want to do is sleep."

"That'll stop eventually," was the answer. "Have you enjoyed yourself here? I know we haven't seen much of each other -"

"Yes, I have, sir," Greg said, and he honestly meant it. Almost two weeks of eating and sleeping and lying in the sun until he'd started to tan; there'd been no work, no doctors, no dragon-like physios prodding him to keep going - but there had been Nick, who'd gone into in the garage and dragged out a bench and some weights that were dusty from lack of use. He'd set them up on the deck, and every afternoon he'd placed a beer there as well - just out of Greg's reach - which he'd refused to hand over until Greg had exercised for at least half an hour; there had been a steady stream of banter, the kind the two of them used to exchange at the lab before, and the half hour of weightlifting had passed more quickly than he would have believed. For the first time since Christmas Day, the strain he'd been labouring under was relaxing; left to his own devices for hours on end, but knowing that Nick and his parents were never far away, he'd felt the threads of his being - although they were still taut - slowly starting to knit themselves back together.

********

A horn sounded outside, and Nick sprang from his seat at the kitchen table before running out into the hall. Greg followed in his wake, manoeuvring himself through the front door and remaining on the porch as a sleek black car pulled up next to the rental van; a tall, dark-haired woman got out of the passenger side and moved back to open one of the rear doors. Immediately, there were cries of, "Uncle Nick! Uncle Nick!" and two boys spilled out, racing towards Nick and climbing up him as though he were a tree; the woman leaned into the back seat of the car, emerging moments later carrying a baby over her left hip. She was followed by the car's driver, a red-haired man who wore a polo shirt together with a pair of jeans that were so new they still had creases in them; by now, Nick had one of the boys hanging onto each arm, and the group walked up onto the front porch just as Nick's parents emerged through the front door. Greg hung back, watching as hugs and enthusiastic greetings were exchanged, and then he became aware that the smaller of the two boys was looking at him; he wiggled the fingers of his left hand and smiled, and this prompted the boy to step closer. "What's your name?"

"I'm Rob," the little boy said, his eyes alight with curiosity. "What happened to y - ow!"

"Shut up, stupid," muttered the older boy, who had just delivered a sharp kick to his little brother's ankle. "Dad told you we're not s'posed to ask him that -"

"Hey, my name's Greg, not him," Greg said. "You're Paul, aren't you?" and his question was answered by a nod. "Your dad really tell you not to ask me?"

"Yes," Paul said. "He said you wouldn't want people asking you a bunch of questions -"

"Won't take me long to tell you," he said. "I was in a taxi going to the airport at Christmas, and someone drove into the side of it."

"Were they drunk?" Rob asked, the gap caused by a missing front tooth clearly visible. "Our dad's a lawyer, he could sue their ass off -"

"Robert Cole!" his mother interrupted, a horrified expression on her face. "Where on earth did you learn that word?"

"He said it," Rob told her, a smug grin curving his lips as he pointed at his older brother before turning back to Greg. "Well, was he?"

"No, kiddo, he wasn't," Greg said, his voice even despite the lump that was forming in his throat. "He just had a car he didn't know how to drive properly, that's all," and he reached up to shake Nick's sister's hand. "You must be Meg," he said. "It's good to meet you."

"Hey, Greg," Meg replied, squeezing his hand, and as dark eyes travelled over his face he saw her smile exactly the same way Nick did. "Sorry if these two are bothering you -" but before he could tell her they weren't, Jillian was saying something about lemonade in the back yard. Paul ran ahead, his uncle in tow, and everyone else started to make their way through the house behind them; Greg brought up the rear, and as he wheeled himself into the kitchen he saw that Rob was holding the door wide open for him.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," the little boy replied. "Have you got a big brother?"

"Nope," Greg said. "No brothers, no sisters."

"You're lucky," Rob told him, glancing balefully at his older brother who was roughhousing on the grass with Nick. "You get your mom and dad all to yourself that way. Do you want me to bring you some lemonade?"

"I'd like that," Greg said, and when he smiled he saw Rob's eyes light up. "Thank you."

**********

He emerged from the bathroom and moved along the hall to the kitchen, where the table was covered with the remnants of the salads and desserts that had accompanied the barbecue; Meg stood at the counter, removing something from the microwave, and when she saw him she smiled. "Just making up another bottle for Gracie," she said. "She's getting fussy, it's pretty close to her bedtime," and she screwed the top onto the bottle before testing the temperature of the contents on her inner wrist. "You coming?" she asked, and when Greg nodded she led the way outside. The sky had turned a dull red, and Judge Stokes had lit several torches that were dotted around the edge of the deck; Rob and Paul were throwing a football around on the grass, while the adults were all sitting on the deck.

"Here, give her to me."

"I got it," Nick replied, stretching a hand out for the bottle, and his voice dropped to a barely audible volume. "There you are, sweet pea," he murmured, and the fretful whimpering from the baby in his lap was silenced at once. "That's better, isn't it? You were just hungry." Meg's husband said something about Greg having to tell everyone in Vegas about this, and there was general laughter before the conversation resumed - but if Greg said anything, he wasn't aware of it. He looked across the deck, saw Nick's head bowed low over his niece, and he was filled with a hollow, empty ache that made his throat tighten; he turned his head, looked out at the fields beyond the back yard, but behind his eyes he could still see the smile on Nick's face and the way he looked at the baby in his arms.

Who's ever going to look at you that way now?

He thought of the afternoon when he'd surfaced from a drug-induced sleep in his room at Desert Palms and seen Mack standing by the bed, still in his LVPD uniform; they might only have been seeing each other for a little over a month, it might only have been about sex, but his heart had leapt in his chest - because this man was a piece of his normal life, not the life where he had tubes sticking in him everywhere and he'd been told he'd probably never walk again. He'd managed to stretch an arm out, and Mack had taken his hand; but Greg's lover had talked to him as though he didn't really know what to say, and he'd never looked him straight in the eye - and when Greg had watched that blue-clad figure leave the room a scant twenty minutes later, he'd known it was for the last time.

"Greg?"

"Huh?" he said as a hand touched his arm, and he turned his head to see Jillian looking at him.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he told her. "I have a headache, that's all," and he hoped she'd believe the lie, but at this moment he didn't really care. "I get them sometimes, it's no big deal."

"You need me to fetch you something?"

"I'll take care of it," he said, forcing a smile that hurt every muscle in his face; he backed up and turned round, headed through the kitchen door and took a route he'd taken hundreds of times since he'd been here. Conversation and laughter wafted in through the open kitchen door, following him and becoming distant before it stopped entirely when he closed his bedroom door behind him without turning on the light.

He wheeled himself over to the bed and then stopped, his eyes accustoming themselves to the near-darkness; the drapes weren't shut all the way, allowing in a little light from the lit torches outside. Lowering his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his right thumb and forefinger - pinched hard - and the inexplicable tears in his eyes were cleared, but the empty ache still filled his chest…

…and he didn't know how long he'd been sitting there when the door clicked open, light from the hallway edging into the room.

"G?"

"Go back out there," he said, not turning round. "I just need a minute, I'm fine," and the door closed again, but Nick was still there; footsteps crossed the room, and when he sat on the edge of the bed the springs in the mattress whined gently.

"You're not fine," Nick said quietly. "Talk to me."

"I can't," Greg said, staring down at his hands, and he meant it, because the things he'd been thinking as he sat in this darkened room were frightening him. He'd tried to think of how it would be when he returned to Vegas in two days' time and the security he'd felt over the past two weeks was gone; he'd tried to tell himself he was feeling like this now because he'd be going back to a place where he'd be reminded of everything he was no longer able to do, and in a way this was true, but it wasn't all of it…because his mind had always returned to the tenderness in Nick's eyes as he'd looked at the baby in his arms, and a little voice had said you want him to look that way at you.

"Shall I tell you something?" Nick said then, breaking the silence. "I wish you'd stop thinking you've got to do this on your own," and something in the way the words were spoken made tiny hairs rise on the back of Greg's Neck. "I'm not just doing this because I'm a friend, G, I - I think about you," he went on, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I've been thinking about you for a long time."

"Why?" Greg said, forcing the single word from a dry mouth as he thought once again of the moment when he'd watched Mack leave the hospital room. "Nobody's going to think about me like that now."

"You're still the same person here," Nick croaked, placing a hand on Greg's chest, and the sudden contact made Greg feel as though his heart was going to stop. "I know what I'd have to give up, dad's never going to let me back here again, but I don't care - all you've got to do is -"

"Nick?" Jillian's voice, coming from the kitchen. "Where are you? Meg and Russ are getting ready to leave."

"Stay there," Nick whispered, and then he pulled in a shaky breath. "Coming," he called aloud, and the bedsprings squeaked again before he crossed the room swiftly. "I was checking on Greg, he's asleep," he said in the hall, and then the door closed, muffling whatever else he was saying. Greg remained motionless in the dark, his hands knotted in his lap, still feeling sensation in the spot on his chest where he'd been touched moments before; tears brimmed in his eyes, spilled unchecked down his cheeks, but the hollow emptiness inside him was gone.

The formerly pristine surface of his fridge door was almost two-thirds covered with magnets; after Catherine's daughter had come to visit along with her mother months since and left the first one, bought from Circus Circus, everyone else who'd been to the apartment since then seemed to have added something to the collection. They ranged from amusement park souvenirs to Bart Simpson ones that had recently been given away by a local fast food chain; there was also the one Robin had bought from Hot Topic, showing a dachshund silhouette and a four leaf clover along with the words "My Wiener Is Lucky", which Greg shoved into his pocket whenever Catherine brought Lindsay over. But his attention was drawn to a small yellow magnet, bearing the logo of the pizza place four blocks over, which anchored a piece of paper to the fridge door; scribbled on this paper, using a stub of pencil which had been all Nick could find earlier that morning, was a handful of letters and numbers.

"US Air 392, 1.15 p.m Thursday."

That's two days away, a little voice said inside his head. What did you let him go for?

"He's only been gone six hours, and look at you," Robin said behind him. "What the hell are you gonna be like when he comes back?"

"He might not come back," he replied, finally voicing the fear he'd been holding inside him - even from Nick - for days now. "Why did I tell him to go out there?"

"I don't think he'd have done it if he hadn't wanted to, Spike," was the answer; when the use of the pet name she'd given him months ago because of his hair didn't produce a smile, she moved close enough for him to pick up the scent of the perfume she always wore. "When are you back in the lab again?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Well, you're not staying here by yourself till then and getting all wound up," she told him with her customary bluntness. "Come to the shoot with me," and she raised an eyebrow as he opened his mouth to speak. "And don't you dare say you can't."

**********

Nick sat in the front passenger seat of the car, staring out at scenery that was as familiar to him as breathing; he thought of all the times when the sight of the landmarks scattered along the journey to the home where he'd grown up had made him smile, but he wasn't smiling now.

Could be the last time I do this.

"Stop that," his sister told him, and it was only then that he realized he must have spoken the words aloud; the car stopped at a light, and he felt her right hand cover his left. "You're not in this on your own."

"You telling me everything's going to be all right, Meg?" he said, his voice tense. "You think dad's just going to be fine with it and we'll all live happily ever after?"

"No," was the answer, and Meg squeezed his hand. "I'm not telling you everything's going to be all right, but you can't dance around this any longer," and when he turned towards her he found her looking straight at him. "After everything Greg's been through, he doesn't need to feel like he's something you're ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed of him," he said, the sudden fierceness in his voice surprising him. "I'm just - well, I'm afraid, okay?"

"I know," Meg replied softly, placing both hands on the steering wheel again as the light finally changed. "You know what, though? You have to do this, Nicky, for both of you."

*********

Having been admonished by the shaven-headed photographer to stay out of the way and don't touch anything, Greg sat in a corner that was euphemistically termed the "VIP area" although it didn't look any different to the rest of the club; breathing in stale cigarette smoke and trying to tell himself he hadn't heard about someone being stabbed to death here, he watched as lighting and props were set up on and around the dance floor to the accompaniment of near-deafening music from the DJ booth. Robin had disappeared to change, but there were other girls here too; they would appear every so often, in varying stages of undress, to negotiate with the photographer before retreating again - and every so often, when he caught them glancing at him and giggling, he was forced to smile.

"What do you think, Spike?" a familiar voice asked, and he turned in its direction. Robin's diminutive figure had been raised six inches off the ground by black high-heeled Mary Janes; she was wearing a red latex dress, corset-laced in black at the waist, the neckline low enough for the Love Never Dies tattoo on her left breast to be clearly visible. Her hair was fastened back in two high pigtails, her normally understated makeup replaced by heavily-applied red and black eye shadow together with blood red lipstick; a small silver ring was set in the middle of her lower lip, and a slender black leather collar had been fastened round her throat.

"Can you even breathe in that dress?" he asked, and when she threw back her head and laughed he saw a stud flash in her tongue. "What did I say?"

"God, you sound like my mom," she said affectionately, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "You want me to grab you a Coke before I get started?"

"That'd be good," he said, and as she turned away he saw that the dress was cut low enough in the back to display a cluster of musical notes etched at the base of her spine; he watched her walk towards a nearby table that held an open cooler, and his right hand slipped into the pocket of his jeans where he kept his cell. Nick was probably at the ranch by now, his phone turned off, but all Greg needed to do was hear him speak when the voicemail picked up…

"Greg!" Robin called out, and when he raised his head she was grinning at him. "Get that phone out one more time and I'm taking it away from you - catch!" and she sent a can of Coke arcing through the air; he raised a hand and caught it, managing to return her smile as he did so, and for a moment or two the tightness in his chest was loosened.

**********

Rob and Paul were on the front porch of the ranch before their mother's car had even come to a halt, and they raced towards Nick as he climbed out of the passenger seat; he swept Rob up into his arms, tickling him until he screamed, and saw Paul shake his head in mock resignation. "Who's going to bring my luggage in for me?" he asked as he put his younger nephew down again, setting in motion a regular feature of his visits - and then, as the two boys began squabbling over who was going to carry the suitcase, he looked up over their heads and saw his mother watching him from the half-open front door. He walked towards her, seeing her face light up the way it always did, and the hug he was drawn into lasted a long time; when the two of them broke apart, his mother raised an eyebrow for a second or two before the enquiring expression on her face was replaced by her customary smile.

"Come on in," she said, leading the way into the house. "Your dad won't be home for another hour or so yet - did they feed you on the plane, or have you got room for a sandwich? We had ham for lunch yesterday, there's still plenty in the fridge."

"A sandwich would be great," he told his mother, following her towards the kitchen. He sat at the table as she began taking things from the fridge, listened to her talking and managed to throw in a few comments of his own; and all the while he was committing this mundane scene to memory, making sure he could hold onto it - because he was terribly afraid that, less than a day from now, everything would have changed.

**************

Once the calendar shoot was over, someone had suggested going to get something to eat - and so now, at almost nine o'clock, Greg was part of the group that had taken over one end of the Mexican restaurant two blocks away from the club where the photos had been taken. Piped mariachi music blared from overhead speakers, something which would normally have ensured that he stayed as far away from the place as he could; but at least while he was surrounded by people, he wasn't thinking about going home alone.

"You want some of these?" a voice said as a half-empty plate of nachos was set on the table, and he looked up to see one of the other models sliding into the empty seat next to him. "You're the CSI, right?"

"The lab rat," he corrected her around a mouthful of food. "I'm Greg."

"I'm Miss November, but you can call me Emily," was the answer from the redhead with tattoos that covered both her arms. "What happened to you?"

"Car wreck," he said matter-of-factly, and he saw her nod in the same casual manner; over the preceding months, it had become easier for him to talk about the accident - as though, following what had been whispered to him on his last night in Dallas

(I wish you'd stop thinking you've got to do this on your own)

he'd turned a corner and realized that people were still seeing him for who he really was rather than what he'd become.

"Ever done any modeling work?"

"Me?" he said, slightly startled, and he glanced around to be certain she'd been talking to him. "Have you seen the way my ears stick out?"

"You've got nice eyes," was the answer, as Emily leaned closer. "I was looking at them this afternoon -"

"Listen, lady," Robin said with a grin, turning round from her seat at the next table, "just because you play for both sides, doesn't mean everyone does, so stop coming onto him."

"Oh, shit, you're gay?" Emily asked, a rueful smile appearing on her face when the question was met with a nod. "Figures," she went on, and scattered laughter broke out from the others. "All the cute guys usually are," and her cheeks turned slightly pink as she ran a hand through her hair. "No offence meant, okay?"

"None taken," he said, reaching for his margarita and taking a sip before he went on speaking. "I'm just…" and he gestured at his wheelchair. "I'm just not used to being hit on now, that's all."

"You're not getting out enough, then," Emily said with a grin. "You seeing anybody?"

"I'm - well, it's too early to say yet," he said, still managing to smile. "We're trying to work it out, you know?" then he thought of how far away Nick was, how they might not be able to work it out, and he swallowed hard before he spoke again. "Can I get you another drink?"

************

The room Nick sat in now had been "his" since he came home from the hospital as an infant. Pastel blue paint with a teddy bear border had given way to navy and white striped wallpaper with shelves to display all the sporting trophies he'd won at school; the striped wallpaper had been replaced by cream-colored paint long since, and the only relic of his childhood was a Dallas Cowboys pennant bought for him during one of the first games he'd attended with his father. He sat on the edge of his bed and stared at this pennant now, the sight of it bringing a lump to his throat; eventually, drawing in a deep breath, he got up and made his way downstairs.

The ranch was quiet, Meg and her husband having taken their two boys out bowling following a supper that Nick had done little more than pick at; Grace was asleep in the room next to Nick's, in the crib that had been used by him and all his sisters, and as he passed the half-open doorway he caught a glimpse of the colored shadows cast on the ceiling by her nightlight. Come with us, Meg had said as her excited sons were hustled into the car by their father - but she hadn't seemed surprised when he'd shaken his head, and she'd hugged him hard before following the rest of her family out of the front door.

As he reached the foot of the stairs, Nick could smell coffee, and he made his way into the kitchen to find his mother putting away the last of the dinner dishes; she turned round at the sound of footsteps, her eyes lighting up and a fond smile spreading across her face, and Nick's breath caught in his throat. "I thought you might have gone with the others," she said as she took a mug from the cupboard. "You didn't eat much supper - do you want some dessert? There's half a coffee cake left, I only made it yesterday."

"No, mom, I'm fine," Nick managed to say, pulling a chair away from the kitchen table and sitting down; he watched as his mother poured coffee, adding cream and sugar the way she'd done for him so many times. He took the mug as she slid it across the table, saw concern etching tiny lines into her forehead even as she smiled at him; he knew that even now he could explain everything away and be believed, something that had happened more times and with more people than he cared to remember…

No, mom, I'm not seeing her again - I've got to think of college, I don't really have time for a girlfriend right now.

No, dad, I'm not bringing anyone with me for Christmas - work's been crazy for months, I just want to relax.

I don't think we ought to see each other any more - no, it isn't anything you've done…

"I need to talk to you, mom," he said, the words escaping his lips before he could stop them. "You and dad - can you get him in here? Please?"

************

"You're quiet," Robin said as they turned onto the road leading to Greg's apartment building, and she chuckled softly. "Hope Emily didn't freak you out."

"No, she didn't," Greg said, somehow succeeding to smile as he spoke. "I probably ought to be flattered, right?" and he fell silent while the van was guided into the parking lot in front of the building; it was a black Dodge Grand Caravan, bought six weeks previously, but he still hadn't summoned up the courage to learn to drive it himself. I'm not going to chauffeur you for ever, Nick had said one evening after work, and thinking about this now made Greg squeeze his eyes shut - because that had been the night when Nick had finally summoned up the courage to kiss him, and ever since then that memory had lodged itself in his heart.

Why did you tell him to go out there?

"Greg?"

"Sorry, what?" he said, realizing that they'd come to a halt. "I shouldn't have stayed out so late, I'm tired -"

"It's going to be okay, you know."

"You don't know that," he said quietly while Robin began the process of lowering him to the ground. "You don't know how his dad is."

"What was it you said to me once?" she asked him, and the ramp hummed softly as he descended. "Nobody was going to see you for what you were? He does, doesn't he?" and when he nodded silently, not trusting his voice, she smiled. "He's a lot stronger than you think he is, Spike, you just need to have a bit more faith in him - you want me to come in with you?"

"No, I'm fine," he said. "Thank you for tonight," he added, and he found himself able to smile. "I liked your friends."

"They liked you too," Robin told him. "We'll have to do it again, and next time you can bring Nick with you, okay?" She leaned down to hug him, and as she straightened up again she ruffled his hair. "You get some sleep, and I'll see you tomorrow."

********

He sat in front of the TV, changing channels but focusing on none of them, knowing that he should sleep but not wanting to. He thought of all the nights there had been lately, nights when it had become harder and harder for Nick to leave - nights when they'd told each other things they'd never told anyone else, nights when he'd begun to realize that what he needed now had been with him for a lot longer than he'd realized.

He thought of the way the corners of Nick's eyes crinkled when he really smiled, the way breath would warm his lips before they kissed - and with every one of these kisses, the realization that Nick could decide that he valued his father's love more than the still-fragile bond that was being formed between the two of them cut a little deeper into Greg's heart.

Why did you tell him to go out there?

Sighing gently, he turned off the TV and made his way out of the room; a short while later he was in bed, staring up at the ceiling and thinking of the nights that Nick had stayed here. Not in this bed, not yet, and Greg knew why; Nick had slept on the couch, a wall separating them, but the knowledge that he wasn't alone had been enough to comfort Greg. Now, though, the apartment felt emptier than it had done the day he'd moved in - and as he forced his eyes to close, Greg couldn't help thinking it was his fault.

*********

"What did you just tell us?"

"Bill…"

"Who's put this idea in your head, Nicholas?" Nick's father asked, ignoring his wife - no Cisco now, no affection, and Nick's hands tightened around a mug of coffee that had gone cold long since. "If you hadn't gone to live in Vegas -"

"I knew I was gay before I went to Vegas," Nick said quietly. "It's one of the reasons I took the job when they offered it to me," and he saw a muscle twitch below his father's left eye. "I knew I couldn't be what I wanted to be as long as I lived here."

"You don't want this," was the answer. "You can't want this - you've brought women here, for God's sake, we've met them -"

"I did that because I knew it's what you wanted," was the answer. "Do you know how long I've been trying to tell you about this?" and Nick forced his hands away from his mug, knotting them together on the table. "I knew what you'd say, but I've found someone who makes me happy, and he doesn't deserve to have me lying about what I am."

"What you are is a Stokes man, Nicholas, and Stokes men don't behave like this," his father said, and then something dawned in his eyes. "Is this about the young man you brought out here in August? Greg?"

"Yes, it is," Nick replied, forcing the words past dry lips; his gut was slowly turning to ice at the realization that his father had made the connection this quickly, and he knew the point of no return had been reached. "He makes me happy, dad, he understands me, and…"

"You brought someone like that into my house?"

"Our house," Nick's mother said quietly. "Our house, Bill."

"I'll take care of this, Jillian," was the answer. "You'd better make plans to leave in the morning, Nicholas, before your nephews are awake."

"We'll drive him to the airport," a voice said, and when Nick looked round his sister was standing in the kitchen doorway; somehow she had known what he was going to do, had come back, and he didn't think he'd ever been so glad to see anyone in his life. "Are you afraid they'll catch something from him?"

"Did you know about this, Margaret?"

"I've been trying to get him to tell you for years," Meg said, taking a few steps towards the group at the kitchen table, "but he hasn't - you know why? Because he was afraid of what you'd say."

"Because he knows it's something I won't tolerate," Nick's father replied, his lips set in a thin line. "And if you're willing to have your children exposed to this type of behavior…"

"How dare you, dad? He loves them like they're his own!" and Meg's voice cracked as she continued speaking. "Do you think Nicky's a child molester now, just because you've found out he's gay? He would die before he hurt my kids -"

"I was nine," Nick said in the silence that followed, his eyes fixed on his parents and his voice a near-whisper as his composure hung by a thread. "Just about the same age Paul is, and you and mom went to see West Side Story," because even now, he could still remember every detail of the night he'd only ever talked about to one other person in more than twenty years. "Jenny couldn't baby-sit because she had - she had cheerleading practice, so you rang round and found someone else," and in his mind he saw that long-ago Nick, lying in bed wearing blue pajamas and hearing the bedroom door creaking slowly open. "I was nearly asleep, and she came in my room and pulled the covers back…" He heard a soft inrush of breath, saw his mother's left hand fly up to cover her mouth, but somehow he managed to keep going. "She touched me and I couldn't move, I wanted to tell her to stop but I couldn't make myself speak - she said it was a secret, and I shouldn't tell anyone because they wouldn't believe me or they'd say I must have wanted her to do it," and he blinked rapidly as his vision blurred. "I felt sick, I felt dirty, I just lay there waiting for you to come home…"

"Nick -"

"No, mom, let me finish," he said. "I thought what if she was right? What if they don't believe me? What if they think I did want her to do it? I knew you guys would be ashamed of me if you thought I did that, so I just kept quiet and lived with it." He clenched one hand into a fist, the pain of his nails digging into his skin furnishing him with the will to continue. "You know when I knew I had to come up and tell you about Greg? It was after I told him about this and he didn't see me any differently," and his mind was suddenly filled with the memory of that night three weeks since - when he had lain on the couch with his head in Greg's lap, crying as though he would never stop while a hand combed through his hair and a slightly unsteady voice said it's okay, Nicky over and over. "I never told any of the girls I went out with why I don't like someone lying behind me in bed or touching me when I'm asleep -" He paused, sucked in a deep breath, forced himself to keep speaking before he lost his nerve. "I always said when I found someone I cared about, someone I wanted to be with, someone I knew wouldn't turn their back on me for something that wasn't my fault, then I'd tell them - but it didn't feel right no matter how many girls I went out with! Didn't you ever wonder why you never saw any of them more than once?" and he was unable to take his eyes off his parents' faces. "Meg figured it out, she asked me if I was having thoughts about guys, and that was back when I was seventeen - she said I should just tell you, she said it wasn't right to go through my whole life being something I'm not, but I couldn't!"

"We'll find you someone to talk to," Nick's father said, his face and voice like that of a stranger. "A therapist, someone who knows about these things -"

"What things?" Nick asked. "What happened when I was a kid? Or me being gay?" and he saw the muscle twitch below his father's eye again. "Talking to someone isn't going to change that, dad." He pushed his chair back, stood up on legs that barely had any strength left in them. "I've been hiding things most of my life, and I'm tired of doing it," he said. "I still love you, I still want you to be proud of me, but if you're not then I've got people who care about me and I'll manage." He turned and walked out of the kitchen, hearing someone begin to cry behind him but not knowing who, and the ascent to the second floor seemed to take forever; eventually, he closed the door behind him and sat on his bed, hands clasped between his knees to stop them shaking, and the handful of hours between the ranch and Vegas stretched into eternity as he recalled a conversation that had taken place the night he'd decided to fly out here. I'll understand if you can't, Greg had said. I don't want you to choose between us, but your folks need to know…

********

Wednesday, 5 a.m

"What have you got for me, Greg?"

"Neither of the samples matched the boyfriend," he answered, pivoting round to face the speaker. "Nothing on the fingernail scrapings, but I did get a hit through CODIS on the vaginal swab," and he saw Warrick raise an enquiring eyebrow. "Mike Tennant, thirty four, got out of jail three weeks ago for robbery…"

"And? C'mon, Greg, it's been a long night."

"Bunch of priors for rape."

"I'll get Brass to haul him in, find out who else was there with him," Warrick said, pinching the top of his nose and sighing the way he always did when a case got to him - something that didn't happen often, but Greg knew his colleague had found it hard to deal with the victim's screaming toddler being discovered next to her mother's body. "Thanks, man."

"Any time."

"Breakfast?" Warrick asked over his shoulder as he turned to leave the room. "Or have you got to get home?" and in the few moments of silence that followed Greg thought of what "home" was going to be like for the next day and a half.

"No, I haven't," he said. "Breakfast would be good."

********

6.15 a.m

Through the half-open bedroom window, he heard the sound of his father's car starting up; he listened as the noise of the engine became more and more distant, and when he was unable to make it out any longer Nick pushed the covers back. Forgoing a shower for fear of waking anyone, he put on the clothes he'd laid out the night before; he placed his pajama bottoms in his suitcase before zipping it up, and once he'd done this he made his way out of the room.

He was tip-toeing soundlessly towards the stairs when a groggy, fretful whimper made him turn his head in the direction of the room next to his. Grace had pulled herself upright and was clinging to the crib rails for support, drool covering her chin and her eyes swimming with tears; stepping into his niece's room, he picked her up and made a slow journey downstairs with her draped across his left hip.

"Ssh, sweet pea," he murmured as they entered the kitchen and an agitated "um um um" echoed in the otherwise silent room; he took a clean dishcloth from the drawer next to the sink, giving it to Grace while he opened the freezer door with his free hand and retrieved a handful of ice cubes. Wrapping them awkwardly in one end of the cloth, he walked across the kitchen and opened the door leading out onto the deck; he lowered himself carefully into one of the chairs, settling Grace in his lap before giving her the cloth-covered ice. He watched her cram as much of it into her mouth as she could, chewing on it while her eyes began to close again; five minutes later she was sound asleep, the front of her pink one-piece outfit soaked with water, and when the cloth was plucked from between her lips she didn't stir.

Footsteps creaked behind him, and Nick turned to see his brother-in-law standing in the doorway; he started to get up, his left arm braced securely around his niece, but Russ shot him a quizzical look before shaking his head. "Thought I'd find you out here," he said, sitting in the chair next to Nick's. "Poor baby, she's been cutting teeth for a week, I don't think Meg or I have slept for more than three hours at a time," and a fond smile curved his lips as he reached to stroke his daughter's hair. "Are you okay, Nick?"

"I shouldn't have done it," Nick replied, looking down at the sleeping child in his lap; he recalled the previous evening, lying in bed and hearing his nephews' excited voices as they returned from the bowling alley, their father hushing them and saying they could tell Uncle Nick about it tomorrow…"Not while you guys were here."

"I'm glad we were here," Russ said quietly. "I can't imagine what it would have been like to do that by yourself," and he shifted his chair slightly so that the two of them were facing each other. "Did you call the airline yet?"

"Their office opens at eight, I'll take care of it then."

"Come back to Fort Worth with us today," was the answer. "Stay the night, Meg and the kids can drive you to the airport tomorrow morning."

"Russ…"

"The kids would like it, and so would we," was his brother-in-law's immediate response. "We don't get to see enough of you as it is, and if Bill thinks that being gay makes you a bad person that's his loss," and as Nick closed his eyes he felt a hand rest on his arm. "You're godfather to our three guys, man, did you honestly think we'd cut you off?"

"Daddy?"

"Hey, big guy," Russ said, smiling as he placed an arm round his youngest son. "How come you're up so early?"

"I could hear you guys talking through the window," Rob said, his face creased with sudden concern. "Why's Uncle Nick crying, daddy?"

"Do you remember the guy who was here when we stayed here this summer? The one with the wheelchair?"

"Greg?" Rob said, not taking his eyes off Nick's face. "He was cool, daddy, he told us all these cheats for our PS2 games."

"Well, kiddo, your Uncle Nick and Greg like each other the same way your mom and I like each other, and grandpa Bill isn't real happy about it."

"Like a boyfriend?"

"Pretty much like that," Russ said, and his son shrugged with the matter-of-fact acceptance of a small child. "You know what?"

"What?"

"I think your Uncle Nick would probably like a hug," Rob's father said, and a moment later arms were wound round Nick's neck so tightly he could hardly breathe; he let his chin rest on sleep-tousled hair, his eyes meeting his brother-in-law's, and after a long time he summoned the strength to speak.

"I'll come back with you if the offer's still open."

"Is Uncle Nick coming to our house, daddy?"

"Just for tonight, kiddo."

"Yay!" Rob crowed, letting go of Nick and grinning from ear to ear. "Can he sleep in my room?"

********

Back in the bedroom, following a breakfast he'd hardly touched, he sat looking out of the window at a view that was one of his earliest childhood memories. Outside the door, he could make out his sister's voice as she directed her family's preparations for the imminent departure, telling Russ to get Gracie's things out of the fridge and admonishing her sons to remember all their game cartridges because grandma isn't going to mail them like she did last time; there had been so many other visits when he'd joked about this, asking Meg if she oughtn't to have been a drill sergeant instead of a lawyer, but this time he couldn't make himself do it.

"Nick?" a voice said behind him, and when he didn't answer he heard the bedroom door click shut; seconds later the bed creaked, and although he didn't look round his nostrils could pick up the Chanel no. 5 he'd breathed in since he'd been an infant.

"I'm sorry," he said, and it was all he could manage to say before something stung the backs of his eyes; he squeezed them shut, sucking in a deep breath, and when one of his hands was clasped he hung onto it tightly. "I'm sorry, mom…"

"Look at me, Nicky." The same endearment she'd always used, and when he forced his head up he saw shadows beneath his mother's eyes that told him she hadn't slept any more than he had - but there was something in those eyes that made his breath catch in his throat, and the words he spoke were forced from a dry mouth.

"Did you know?"

"I had an idea," his mother told him, folding her hands over his. "I used to tell myself you just hadn't found the right girl, but I think that was because I knew how your dad would react if he ever found out - then I saw you with Greg this summer, and that's when I knew."

"He didn't know how I felt," Nick said quietly. "Not till right before we left to go back to Vegas."

"You were happy, though, I could see that much," was the answer. "He means a lot to you, doesn't he?"

"He has for a long time," Nick said softly. "I was just too afraid he'd laugh his ass off if I said anything, but then that last night we were here - he said he thought nobody was ever going to want him because of what happened to him, and I had to tell him it wasn't true," and he tore his eyes away from his mother's face to look out of the window again. "He knows everything, mom, and none of it makes any difference - I've hurt you, and I'm sorry, but…"

"The only thing that hurts me is you keeping all this in for so long," his mother said. "There's a difference between being strong and stopping yourself from being happy," and she waited until Nick was looking at her before she spoke again. "Your dad and I aren't always going to be here, Nicky, you have to make your own life," she said, and a gentle smile touched her lips. "It isn't that far to Vegas."

"Mom -"

"You're still my son, and I'm not going to lose you over this," was the response, and before either of them could say anything else the door burst open.

"Are you ready, Uncle Nick? Mommy said for you to hurry up or we'll go without you!"

********

"Where's Uncle Nick gonna sit?"

"Next to Grace and one of you guys," Russ told Paul. "I've folded the spare seat down where we put the bags, and one of you can use that."

"I want to sit next to Uncle Nick!" Rob piped up. "Please, daddy?"

"No, I'm the oldest, stupid, I get to!"

"Both of you quit it," Nick said. "Rob can sit next to me, we'll stop for McDonalds on the way, and then the two of you can switch places," and he watched Rob stick his tongue out at his older brother before climbing into the back of the car. He turned towards the house and saw his mother coming down the steps; closing the distance between them, he wrapped his arms round her and hung onto her tightly for a long time before the two of them broke apart.

"Will you ring me?" his mother asked, framing his face with her hands. "As soon as you're back in Vegas?"

"I will, mom," he said, his voice slightly unsteady, and he leaned forward for another hug. He heard a whispered command to look after Greg, heard himself say that he would, and then he turned away; moments later he was in the car, fastening his seatbelt as Grace tugged at his hair, and then he was craning his neck round to look at his mother standing in front of the house as the car moved down the driveway.

********

Thursday, 8 a.m

"How come Uncle Nick's plane has to leave so early?" Rob said, his voice scratchy. "I'm tired."

"If you'd gone to sleep when I told you to, mister, you wouldn't be so cranky," Meg retorted as she guided the car into a space in front of Departures. "You're going to bed early tonight."

"Mo-om!"

"You mind me, now," Meg told her youngest son as she killed the engine and climbed out. "Paul, are you going to help Uncle Nick get his suitcase out?" and she watched as Paul unbuckled his seatbelt and scrambled out of the car. "You all set there, little brother?"

"I told you to stop calling me that about twenty years ago," Nick said, but he was smiling as he got out of the passenger seat. "You be good for your momma, sweet pea," he told Grace, leaning into the back seat and planting a kiss on her forehead. "'Bye, kiddo," he said, reaching to ruffle Rob's hair, and he straightened up just as Paul lugged the suitcase onto the sidewalk. "Thanks, Meg," he told his sister, wrapping his arms round her and hugging her tightly.

"Any time," his sister told him, blinking rapidly, once the two of them had pulled apart. "You call me, okay?"

"I will," he said. "Soon as I get back." He lifted his suitcase, hugged Paul with his free arm, and watched as his sister and her son got back into their car; he kept watching until it disappeared from his field of vision, and then he turned in the direction of the automatic doors that would mark the start of his journey home.

********

Greg had been awake for most of the night, finally falling asleep at around five o'clock in the morning; he awoke to the sun high on the bedroom wall, the beginnings of a headache pulsing at his temples and the sound of the front door opening.

"Take this," he says, placing something in Nick's hand - a key, its brand-new sheen catching the light, attached to a black leather fob. "Mi casa, and all that," but both of them know that this means much more…

"Nick?" he called out, pushing himself up against the pillows and shifting to the edge of the bed. "That you?" and moments later a figure stood in the bedroom doorway. A suitcase dropped to the floor, and Nick walked unsteadily across the room; by the time he dropped to his knees next to the bed, reaching to wrap his arms round Greg's waist, both of them were crying - but as Greg leaned down awkwardly to curve a hand round the back of Nick's head, he knew they were tears of relief.

*********

Six months later

"Can't we stay up a bit longer?"

"It's almost midnight now," Nick said with a grin, unhooking the control pads from the PlayStation despite groans from Rob and Paul. "You two get to sleep, and Greg's going to take us all out for breakfast tomorrow."

"Can we get pancakes?"

"Whatever you want, if you'll go to sleep," Nick answered, leaning down to tuck the throw around his nephews as they lay on the couch. "'Night, guys," and he turned off the light as he left the room.

"Nice bargaining tactics," Greg said with a grin as Nick closed the bedroom door. "You'd be a lousy hostage negotiator."

"You were the one letting them play Silent Hill till they got nightmares last time they slept over," Nick retorted, climbing into bed and turning off the light. He shifted until he was lying against Greg's side, smiling when a kiss was planted on top of his head, and he fell asleep with the slow thump of his lover's heart echoing in his ears.

FIN