Title: Secret Heart: Gil
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: CSI and its characters do not belong to me. I write and post for fun only.
Summary: Gil's side to the events of Secret Heart.

He lied, of course. It hadn't been easy. Stupid, yes. Grossly irresponsible, definitely. Rash. Idiotic. Foolish, reprehensible, inexcusable, unethical, profoundly immoral. Unforgivable. But not easy.

There were no extenuating circumstances. He can't plead temporary insanity, or even a momentary lapse in judgment. He can't say for sure that he did it out of love for Nick. Just about the only thing he can claim is that it hadn't been premeditated, at least not at first.

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It's only months, sometimes even years later that Gil recognizes turning points in his life. He's never gone to bed thinking that this was it, this was the day that something happened, that, for better or worse, things will never be the same again. The day Brass introduced Nick to the team, after work Gil went for breakfast with Catherine and Warrick, like he'd done countless times before, then went home and finished a book before going to sleep. He doesn't remember if he said anything more than a couple of words of conventional welcome to Nick that day. He doesn't remember if he shook Nick's hand, though he must have, or if he'd thought that Nick was attractive (though he must have). What he knows is this: when he looks for that moment when he fell in love with Nick, he can only remember days and instances when he was in love, and those days and instances go all the way back to when he met Nick, that very first day. It makes no sense, but he simply doesn't remember not loving Nick.

Knowing something doesn't mean accepting it. He didn't want to be in love in Nick. He didn't want to be that sad, middle-aged guy who suddenly discovers that everything that he's built for himself isn't enough, who thinks he needs someone else to feel complete, who mistakes physical attraction for something more. He's not that guy. He's made his choices and he likes his life. So mostly he fought his feelings and Nick right along with them. He consciously looked for Nick's faults, or for those aspects of Nick's personality that irritated him: Nick's insecurities, his obvious need for somebody else's approval, his way of seeing the world in absolutes, his discomfort at any behavior that lies slightly outside the norms. It didn't really work; too often he found himself forgetting all their differences and relaxing in Nick's company, or worse, actually seeking it out.

Sometimes he wondered if a relationship between them might be possible. Then he reminded himself that Nick was his subordinate, fifteen years younger, and straight.

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Gil first noticed the T-shirt, because it didn't fit in. Everything else in Martin White's tidy gym bag was clean and fresh-smelling; two more T-shirts, one pair of shorts, one pair of socks, all neatly folded and packed along with a pair of sneakers in a cloth sack and a small toiletry kit. The shirt was rolled into a tight wad and stuffed in the same sack as the sneakers. He tried to shake it out, but the material was stuck together in several places and eventually he had to smooth it out on the workbench. He immediately recognized the dried semen for what it was, and then noticed the Dallas Crime Lab emblem. He knew what he was going to find when he turned the T-shirt over, because he'd seen it several times over the past three years. All the same, he briefly averted his eyes as he flipped the shirt over, putting off the moment; it's one thing to know and an entirely different one to know.

It didn't take him very long to put two and two together, especially given Nick's sudden absence. I never knew him at all, Gil thought, and he wasn't so much surprised by the fact that Nick had had an encounter with a man, although he was surprised by that as well, as by the fact that he had done so with a married man. Gil stared down at the faded letters spelling Nick's name, feeling as if he was trying to make sense of some foreign language, where the words looked and sounded familiar, but actually meant something completely different than what he expected them to.

He slowly folded the shirt and put it in an evidence bag. He took a pen to fill out the tag, like he'd done thousands of times before, but this time he paused. Nick was not part of White's death. How do you know? a voice whispered at the back of his mind. There might be some connection, even if he had nothing to do with it. No. No, the shirt was just a red herring; it would side-track the investigation and absorb the energies of the lab in speculation and gossip that would lead nowhere. Nick shouldn't be subjected to that again. To remove it was wrong, but to leave it even more so. He put the pen down, then picked it up again. He couldn't do this. He'd always trusted the evidence, always, and he couldn't just make it disappear when he didn't like where it was leading. But this wasn't evidence; it was simply a personal effect found in a gym bag. It meant nothing more. Sometimes a cigar was just a cigar.

In the end he didn't log the shirt in. He completed a brief report stating that there was nothing evidentiary in the gym bag and that it should be returned along with the rest of the Whites' personal effects. And for perhaps the first time in his life, when he went to bed, he knew: this had been the day that had changed everything for him.

At first, he resolved not to say anything to Nick. It would serve absolutely no purpose to do so. Later he wished that he'd stuck to that resolution, that his temper hadn't gotten the better of him, but by then was too late.

It started out innocuously enough, a chance meeting with Nick right at the entrance of the lab, a polite inquiry regarding his health. Gil didn't really have much of a choice about directing Nick to process the rest of the evidence from the crime scene; Nick was still assigned to the White case and simply pulling him off without having something of higher priority to give him might have given rise to questions. His anger seemed to erupt out of nowhere, triggered in equal parts by the way Nick turned his back on him and by his own guilty conscience. Even as the words were coming out of his mouth, he knew he was being petty and vindictive, but he couldn't stop himself. He suddenly wanted Nick to know that he had compromised his principles and his whole professional career for him and he wanted Nick to somehow share in the responsibility of that decision, even though he had had no part in it.

It only took him about three minutes to regret his actions. From where he was standing, leaning against his desk, he couldn't see Nick's face, but he saw how Nick's hands clenched on the evidence bag and how his shoulders hunched over, and he wished he'd left well enough alone. Looking down at Nick's bent head, his anger evaporated and turned to remorse when Nick quoted what he himself had said so long ago. When you're innocent you keep your mouth shut. And then, when Nick tried to return the shirt, Gil realized that he'd succeeded in his efforts and he's pushed Nick so far away that it no longer occurred to Nick that Gil might be willing to help or support him. It hurt, a dull, yet insistent ache that turned sharp when Nick actually appeared grateful, as if Gil had done him some great favor.

Gil certainly hadn't factored the FBI into any of his plans, insofar as he actually had a plan and wasn't reacting to events he hadn't expected, in a manner completely unlike him. With newfound insight into Nick's reactions, he was appalled at the realization that Nick seemed about to spin out of control at the involvement of the Feds. Suddenly it all boiled down to one simple imperative: keep Nick safe. So he handed the case over to Culpepper after checking that there were no obvious omissions in their own investigation, and he disengaged the team. He didn't want to know anything more, but Culpepper apparently decided that one professional courtesy deserved another, and he kept contacting Gil, providing updates and the details that the FBI could release. At least Gil hadn't harmed the case by removing the T-shirt and that should have made him feel better, but it didn't, not by a long shot.

Afterwards, things slowly returned to normal in the sense that everybody was back to their daily routines, taking new cases, getting on with the job and, in Gil's case, trying to put the past firmly behind him, where it belonged. Everything was different, he thought, but nothing could change. He now knew that he was capable of tampering with evidence, and that Nick was capable of loving a man, but both facts were irrelevant, because Gil still had to do the work he loved, even if he had tainted it, and he still couldn't be with Nick. According to the Proverbs, he who covers his sins shall not prosper, but whoever confesses and forsakes them shall have mercy. The only person Gil could confess to was Nick, and he wasn't prepared to do that, because the only small solace he could find in the whole situation was the fact that Nick thought that Gil had done something for him and that he might turn to him again for help in the future. He couldn't imagine how he had ever thought that he didn't want Nick counting on him.

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When he was ten or eleven years old, Gil accepted a dare to dive off the highest platform at the local pool. The memory still stands out so clear and sharp that he can almost smell the chlorine; standing at the edge, shaking with nerves and cold, almost sobbing, too scared to move forward, too proud to retreat. Finally he just closed his eyes and stepped into the void and as terrified as he was through the long drop, he was also relieved. The choice had been made and it was no longer in his hands. It hurt like a bitch when he hit the water and when he emerged to the surface, still stunned by the impact and fighting to breathe, he realized that it had all been for nothing. It had taken him so long to jump that the older kids that had dared him had lost interest and hadn't even seen him do it.

Sitting beside Nick he remembers that day. Telling Nick that he loved him had been like stepping off that platform again. He no longer saw any alternative and was almost relieved to finally lay out everything in the open for better or worse. He knew what to expect, so he tried to suppress every expectation. Even so, he didn't tell Nick the whole truth, and the issue of their being even was something that had occurred to him almost two weeks later and certainly not at the time he'd removed the T-shirt from evidence, but what he admitted was more than enough. He tries to prepare for the impact, but Nick's reactions leave him confused and vulnerable, because they stir a hope that stubbornly persists, despite his refusal to acknowledge it.

As he walks away from the truck, he's not sure if he's still falling or if he's already hit the water and it was a lot less painful than he'd imagined. It feels like both at the same time. He's halfway to his door when he hears the truck start and he turns back. Nick has one elbow leaning on the open window and the wrist of his other arm is resting on the steering wheel, and he's looking at Gil. When their eyes meet, Nick smiles slowly, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners, and he tilts his head slightly, his expression unguarded and tender, and Gil's heart seems to stop for a second, then starts beating slowly, almost painfully.

"Grissom, if you need a ride back to work tonight, just give me a call," Nick says quietly, then gives a small wave and drives off. Gil watches the truck until it turns a corner and is no longer visible. It's only then that he realizes that he's smiling as well.

A/N: A large portion of this fic was originally part of Secret Heart, but those of you who read my fics with any regularity will have noticed by now that I almost never write 2 PoVs in the same story and the reason is simple: I suck at it. But in presenting only Nick's side of events, I "lost" important aspects of Gil's character. And then, of course, I needed to make a decision on whether I would re-write the entire story or try to tie the pieces I'd taken out of Secret Heart into a cohesive fic which, if not stand-alone, could act as a sequel. I opted for the latter (and I think about four sentences actually survived intact) and I hope it works, but please let me know if it doesn't. As always, I truly appreciate your feedback!