Title: The Thing About Life
Author: podga

Pairing: Gil Grissom/Nick Stokes
Rating: PG-13
Warning: None
Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me and I don't make money off of them
Summary: Nick makes a choice. Sequel to Comfortably Numb and If I Give My Heart To You.

I've done a lot of thinking over the past weeks.

The thing about life is that you never have as many choices as you think. You don't get to choose how or when you're born and most of us don't get to choose how or when we're going to die. Studies on identical twins growing up separately show that your character is mostly hard-wired, so you don't get to choose that, although you can tweak it here or there. So what do you get to choose? The shirt you're going to wear every day. Your haircut. Whether you're going to go to the gym or for a beer after work. The rest of your choices, the important stuff? Just reactions to things thrown at you. And sometimes they turn out OK and you congratulate yourself and sometimes they don't and you blame yourself, but deep down you know it's all just luck of the draw.

It's not a theory I'd discuss with Cisco; he's a firm believer that people shape their own fates. If you study hard enough, you can overcome a lack of talent or interest in a particular subject. If you work hard at it hard enough, you can play football. Doesn't mean you'll get chosen for the first string, because you're not really that good, but you can wear a uniform and warm the bench for 3 years in high school and say you tried. If you decide to ignore your parents' advice and admonitions, and go to Las Vegas and become a criminalist, well, then you're asking for it. "Only fools learn from their own mistakes, Nick," he once said to me.

So what kind of fool does that make me? Because if I'm learning something even from my own mistakes, I'm not really sure what that is. I just fumble along, hoping what I'm doing is right. I'm not trying to shape my fate so much as avoid the worst cards in the deck.

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I lie alone on Gil's bed in the dark, quiet bedroom, and I feel good. Granted I'd feel better if it weren't for the fact that I'm thirsty and that my hangover hasn't quite gone away, but with what's been going on lately, that's minor stuff. I don't remember a lot of what happened last night and I'm not really sure how Gil found me at the bar – oh, yeah, I remember going there and ordering the first couple of drinks, but not much else after that – and now I'm here and it feels …right.

When I was at the hospital, Gil only came to see me once. I woke up and he was there, sitting on a chair next to my bed. "Can I get you anything?" he asked me. Not "How are you feeling?" or "Glad you're back" or any of the other things people said to me during those days and afterwards. He didn't burst into tears, like Catherine, or look worried like Warrick. Of course I know Gil and I know his feelings ran deeper than any of the others', but I also knew there and then that he couldn't deal with them. How would he deal with mine? We didn't talk much during his visit and after a short while he left.

I'm not quite sure when I decided that we couldn't just pick up again where we'd left off, that it was better if we just stopped. We'd never had the easiest of relationships and I was often left wanting more. More sharing, more consideration, more promises. If Gil truly loved me, wouldn't he change for me? If I truly loved him, would I be so aware, and sometimes resentful, of all the compromises I was making? Christ, after so much time together, we still had to invite each other over to our homes. Forget about living together.

I know that a large part of the problems was just caused by circumstances: the fact that I reported to him, the nature of our work, that neither of us has made the decision to come out to anybody we know. We kept our relationship hidden, with everything that meant. Add to that the differences in our characters and our expectations, and it was tough going most of the time. But I could cope. After what happened, though, I didn't think I had the strength any more. And since nothing was going to change (and Gil's question at the hospital, as well as his behaviour towards me afterwards clearly demonstrated that) I didn't even want to make the effort.

I miss him though. I miss arguing with him and hearing his interpretation of things and hugging him and watching TV with him. I miss his arms around me and his deadpan expression when he's teasing me. I miss having sex with him. I miss having him in my life. I miss loving him.

I think I'm better now, last night's bender notwithstanding. I can cope again. It's time I stopped hiding away and being afraid. It's time I got back that part of life that makes me feel whole, even with all its problems.

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I get up and take a shower. "My" towel is still hanging in the bathroom and I wonder if Gil put it there last night or if he always has it there. Either way, I consider it a sign that I might be doing the right thing. Back in the bedroom, I put on my jeans, but my shirt stinks. I take one of Gil's T-shirts, even though I'm not sure I have the right to open his drawers and wear his clothes without his permission any more.

Gil is sitting on the couch, listening to a song collection from the 50's. I lean against the door jamb, folding my arms against my chest. He doesn't seem to be aware of me, so I can just stare at him, remember every detail of his profile, the way his hair curls over his ear and at the back of his neck, the spot at his temple where his skin is so smooth and soft. I didn't think that I'd ever do so again. I want to go over to him, but I'm afraid that the moment he or I speak, we'll say the wrong thing . So I just stand here and listen to the music and let myself feel everything I used to feel before.

I must make a sound, because suddenly he turns his head and I'm looking into his eyes.

"Hi," he says softly.

"Hi."

We stare at each other and I recognize what I'm seeing in Gil's eyes. I wonder how I didn't see it over the past weeks, because now I know that it was there all the time. Gil has been dealing with his feelings, and with mine, all along. I just didn't realize it.

"Would you like some coffee? I can make some," he says in a rush, standing up.

I nod and follow him into the kitchen. He's fumbling with the coffee filter, trying to unfold it, and I notice that his hands are shaking. I walk over to him and cover them with my own, stilling them. He looks down at our hands, then up at me.

I don't know how to say what I want to tell him, but he helps me, meets me halfway.

"Are you back?" he asks gruffly.

"Yes, Gil. I am. I'm back."

He closes his eyes briefly, takes a deep breath, then nods. "Good."

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The thing about life is that it often whacks the hell out of you and knocks you on your ass. But if you manage to stand up again, sometimes it even gives you what you need. You just have to realize it and choose to accept what you're being offered.