Title: Walking on Sunshine
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Nick Stokes
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Spoilers for "Daddy's Little Girl".
References to some of my earlier fics.
Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me and I don't make money off of them

It's one of those perfect days.

The kind of day where the weather is just the right combination of sunny and cool and the traffic lights change to green as I drive up to them; the kind that makes me sing along with Katrina and the Waves, rather than switch stations. The kind that fills me with optimism, even though I don't really know why, because nothing's changed in my life since yesterday.

The kind of perfect I haven't felt since before I was kidnapped.

My perfect day ends abruptly, when I discover that I've met two of Sylvia Mullins' clients. And then in rapid succession that Grissom logged new evidence on my case without telling me and that he instructed Archie not to tell me either. Then, when I'm trying to figure exactly what I'm going to say to Grissom when I get him alone, he successfully pre-empts me, by calling me into his office for a supervisor talk and taking charge of the discussion.

I don't remember ever being this angry in my entire life. I'm generally not too worried about losing my temper now and then, but this time I'm seriously afraid of what I might say or do if I lose control. So instead, I lean back in my chair and smile, trying unsuccessfully to maintain calm eye contact with Grissom, to convince him that everything is fine. I can tell by the careful way Grissom picks his words that he knows there's a problem and it makes me even angrier that he just breezes by it.

I don't think the day can get much worse, until Kelly Gordon dies. I don't exactly feel sorry for her, but for a while she'd seemed an innocent victim to me and I thought maybe I could make things better for everybody, both her and me.

I drive home, replaying the discussion with Grissom over and over again, working myself into a temper. Not that it takes much work. I know him well enough to know he's going to show up at some point, so the doorbell doesn't surprise me. The only problem is that I still haven't decided how I want to play this. Oh, well, I'll wing it. It doesn't matter much anymore, anyway.

I open the door and stand back. Grissom hesitates for a second, then walks through and turns to face me. We stare at each other, the silence between us dragging out. He seems to be searching for words again and I don't want a repeat of earlier, so I come out swinging:

"What do you want?"

"Are you OK?"

"Fine," I answer, only this time I'm not pretending I really am.

"Why are you so angry?"

"I'm not."

"Nick – "

"Why are you here? Like you said, it's over."

For a split second, I think I see fear in Grissom's eyes, but it's gone too quickly for me to be really sure.

"It is over. They're dead. You don't have to deal with it any more."

"You're really unbelievable, you know that?" If I knew how to sound more contemptuous, I would.

"Nick, talk to me." Grissom sounds like he's pleading, but that can't be right, because Grissom never pleads. All the same, some of my anger subsides at his tone.

"What's the use? Even if I explain, you'll never change. Not in how you act and not in how you see me. Forget it. It's over."

"You make it sound like we're over," Grissom says lightly.

I take a deep breath. "We are."

"Why?" he asks sharply.

I shake my head tiredly. "Just drop it, Gil. We both know it can't work out. We gave it our best shot. Leave it at that."

"I don't agree with you."

"I don't give a shit!" I almost shout. I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. "It's how I feel," I continue more quietly. "And you'll just have to respect that."

Gil bows his head for a while, then looks up at me.

"OK. For what it's worth, I'm sorry," he says quietly.

"So am I."

"Yeah."

He doesn't look at me again. He doesn't say goodbye. He just walks out, shutting the door firmly behind him. I stare at the closed door, stunned by what's happened, even though I did it, my heart beating so hard I think I'm choking. Then I sink into the couch and bury my head in my hands. It's over and he's gone. At least I'm not crying. With my record, that's got to mean something.

It's the alarm clock that sets me off.

That fucking alarm clock. It took me 6 months to get used to it; until then it had me shooting upright out of deep sleep, my heart pounding. If I remembered to wind it or set it the night before, that is.

Actually the alarm clock should have been a red flag that things weren't going to work out between Grissom and me. My house was without electricity for a whole week. I couldn't make coffee, I couldn't listen to music, I couldn't even recharge my cell phone. Anybody else would have invited me to stay over. Grissom gave me a wind-up alarm clock, so I'd wake up in time for work. And when I said that if the situation were reversed I would have invited Gil over (in a very casual voice, because we'd only been sleeping with each other for a month at that point and I wasn't sure of him), Gil just blinked at me for a couple of seconds, then said: "Well, you're braver than I am." Whatever the hell that meant. On the 3rd night, I gave up thinking that Gil might take pity on my circumstances and moved in with Warrick.

And instead of throwing the alarm clock out of my bedroom, and Gil along with it, I'd kept it. I'd even grown fond of it. So now I sit holding it, sobs wracking me, wondering if I should return it. I don't want to, I've had it almost 3 years.

And I've been with Gil almost 3 years, but now I'm not.

Fuck Gil. Fuck him! Who the hell does he think he is, making decisions for me, hiding stuff from me? He has no right. None. But even though I'm trying, I can't get myself angry again and I can't make the grief go away.

I trace a small crack on the face of the clock, from when I threw the clock across the room the day Gil stopped being my boss. The day he decided to change his sleep schedule, so that we could spend time together. I remember thinking that day that something would change between us, that we'd be more open with one another and in our relationship and that all our problems would be ironed out. Nothing happened at first, in fact it was more difficult. But finally things started changing, not very quickly, but they were. And then we ran out of time, because Walter Gordon decided to take revenge on a CSI and after that everything was different.

I don't really remember much of my time in the grave. My memories are odd and disjointed. I don't remember realizing that the fan and the light were connected, but I do remember shooting the light out. I don't remember protecting my ears and nose from the ants. I don't remember Warrick being the first person I saw or who spoke to me, even though everybody tells me he was. I remember the stifling heat and the pain and not being able to breathe. And I remember Gil. I know part of it was a dream, because Gil was in the box with me, lying next to me, holding me in his arms, and it was the only time I felt less scared. But part of it was real and I remember that.

I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Gil. He keeps on saving me. From the fate Walter Gordon had in store for me. From Amy Hendler (and that was the only time I ever saw Gil hold a gun as if he actually knew what to do with it). And if I hadn't managed Nigel Crane on my own, Gil would have probably saved me then as well, because he was the one who realized that they should watch Crane's last tape first, who sent Brass to help me.

How do you thank somebody for something like that, for your life? Well, that's easy: If you're Nick Stokes, you whine a lot and then you send him packing. And then you change your mind three or four times, you jerk him around, and then you send him packing again. And as a finishing touch, you blame him for everything.

"And he put up with it," I whisper in disbelief. "Why the fuck did he put up with it?"

I think I know why, I've always known, but it's only now, at this moment, holding Gil's alarm clock in my hands, feeling its steady ticking (sixty ticks a minute, like the beats of Gil's heart when he's lying asleep next to me) that I believe it with such absolute certainty, such conviction: Gil needs me. More than I will ever need Gil, or any other one person for that matter.

After that, everything starts dropping into place with such speed that instead of disconnected moments and facts, it seems like one fluid memory and it all makes sense: Gil compromising his integrity, putting everything he loved and worked for at risk, to have a relationship with a direct report. Almost always allowing me to set the pace in our relationship. Arguing, yes, but also a lot quicker to forgive than I was. Opening up to me in so many ways, allowing himself to be vulnerable, when it must have been killing him. Telling me that he didn't mind if I took advantage of him when he was weak.

I wonder how many more of Gil's boundaries I could have broken through if I'd believed the truth earlier on. I'm glad I didn't. I'm glad that Gil has always remained true to who he is and has never lost his personality, or his strength, or his sense of privacy, or his humour, or any of the hundreds of things that make him Gil. Because otherwise I'd feel a lot guiltier about what I'm going to do. And that's to take advantage of Gil's need for me one more time.

The blinds are drawn when I get to Gil's house. I stand at the door listening, but there are no sounds inside. Gil might be asleep, but I ring the doorbell anyway. Gil opens the door after a few minutes, but he doesn't move aside to let me in. He simply stands there, silent, waiting, his face a blank mask. There's no evidence to tell me my belief is correct, but I know it is. And it makes what I'm about to do both easier and scarier at the same time, because it's all up to me and because it make me responsible for Gil from now on.

And for the third time in one day, I haven't managed to prepare a speech, not even an introduction. So I wade in awkwardly, hoping the right words will come out.

"I'm sorry. I was angry and I was wrong."

I pause for a reaction from Gil, but there's nothing. Not the smallest flicker. At least he hasn't slammed the door shut yet, he seems to be listening.

"I know I take things out on you and I shouldn't, because there's nobody else I want to be with."

Still nothing and it's harder for me to continue. I still don't doubt what I believe, but maybe I'm going about it all wrong. Maybe it's just too late.

"And I know you said no commitments and one day at a time. But I can't deal with that. We were past that point, and I don't want to go back to that."

My voice is starting to crack a little and I have nothing left to say. And still Gil stands there, expressionless, leaning against the doorjamb, one hand holding door slightly open, as if he's politely waiting for a salesman to finish his pitch.

I look into his eyes, trying to understand what he's thinking, trying to communicate what I'm feeling. "Please, Gil," I whisper. "I love you. I want us to be together. Please say something."

"Okay," Gil says.

I'm not sure I've heard him correctly. "Okay?"

"Yes." Gil's voice is flat, but I finally start to see a reaction, first in his eyes, and then in his mouth, which is twitching at the corners.

"You'll take me back?" I ask.

"Nicky, I never gave you away," Gil says, and even though his voice sounds completely normal, I can see his back straighten, his shoulders lift, as if a big and heavy weight has been removed.

For a second I wonder who manipulated whom. Then it occurs to me that it doesn't make the least bit of difference, so long as we're both where we want to be.

As Gil finally backs into the house, opening the door wider, inviting me in, I'm distracted by a car, really a sound system on wheels, slowly cruising by, the radio blaring.

"And this one's for Sandra and Tony, who just got engaged, from her sister, with best wishes for a long and happy life together. 'Walking on Sunshine' by Katrina and the Waves!"

I smile and follow Gil inside, and he shuts the door behind me.