Title: But If You Try Sometimes...
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Nick Stokes
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Very slight spoiler for Season 6 "Gum Drops"
Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me and I don't make money off of them
Summary: Nick picks Gil up from the airport. Oh, and somebody meddles a bit.

It's almost midnight when they land at McCarran. Gil waits tiredly in his seat, while people all around him jump up, take their things down from the overhead compartments and try to stake out a couple of square inches of standing space in the aisle. The only reason he always asks for a window seat is so that he isn't forced to stand up as well in the rush to go nowhere. One of these days he's going to include business travel as a term before agreeing to speak or lecture anywhere. While he waits for the airplane door to open and the aisle to clear a bit, he turns on his phone. It buzzes, indicating a received message. From Nick. He's almost reluctant to open and read it, but finally he does, his heart beating rapidly.

Waiting for you at passenger pick-up.

Suddenly he's up as well, fighting for his own space in the aisle, wishing he hadn't checked his suitcase in.

---------------

Nick is standing by his truck, his hands in his pockets. He's scanning the crowds coming out of the doors and when he sees Gil, he breaks into a smile. He raises one hand in a half-wave.

"Hi, Gil."

"Nick."

Nick meets Gil at the back of the truck and takes his suitcase from him, his fingers brushing briefly against Gil's. He places the suitcase in the trunk, then closes the door and smiles again.

"Good flight?"

"Not bad," Gil shrugs. "Shall we go?"

He briefly regrets his terse reply, which wipes away Nick's smile. But he's too tired to really care. Somewhere between the plane, the baggage carrousel and the exit, his elation at the thought of seeing Nick disappeared, and now he's just exhausted.

"Uh, sure. That's what I'm here for."

---------------

Gil jerks awake at the touch of cool fingers on his cheek. He's confused about where he is for a second, then he sits up straight and rubs his face, pretending not to have noticed Nick's caress.

"We're here," Nick says and Gil gets ready to open the door, then freezes when he realizes that they haven't stopped outside his house, but outside Nick's. He turns slowly to look at Nick, waiting silently for an explanation. He can't make out Nick's expression in the weak light of a streetlamp, but he can see him square his shoulders slightly.

"I need to talk to you," Nick says.

"I'm tired Nick. It's been a long week and I want to get home. Can't this wait?"

"No, it can't. Will you come in?"

"No."

"Fine. We'll just talk here then," Nick responds firmly.

Part of Gil wants to get out of the truck and start walking home. The only thing stopping him, beside his tiredness, is that the gesture would seem a bit too dramatic, even ridiculous, in a man of his age.

"I was pretty pissed at you, when you sent me to Pioche."

Gil heaves a sigh. Nothing new there. "Why?"

"Because you were going to be at the Body Farm this week and not making the assignments. I thought you were just trying to get me out of harm's way. You probably thought it was going to be a walk in the park. Hell, you didn't even assign any backup, until I phoned in my first report to Catherine."

Gil shakes his head. Actually he had been trying to do just what Nick thought he was. Then, when the case turned out to be potentially dangerous, emotionally if not physically, he'd spent three days wondering how he could pull Nick out again, instead of concentrating on his lectures. But he's damned if he's going to admit any of that.

"Is that all? Can I go home now?"

"No, that's not all." Nick's Texas accent is a bit stronger than usual, a sign he's either unusually relaxed or stressed. Gil doubts it's the former.

"Gil, are you always going to try and protect me?"

Gil sits for a second, possible answers running through his head. In the end, he decides to be honest, let this conversation go wherever it goes.

"I guess so."

"Because I'm weak." It's not a question.

"No," he replies immediately and firmly.

He feels Nick's fingertips trace along his cheek and wishes he'd accepted the invitation to go into the house, where he'd have been able to put more distance between them. Where he'd have been able to see Nick's expression, maybe understand a little bit better what Nick is thinking.

"OK then," Nick says.

They sit in the darkness. It's quiet except for the steady drone of traffic that carries from the highway in the still air, an occasional clicking as the engine parts continue to settle.

"You did well in Pioche," Gil says, uncomfortable with letting the silence drag on. "You saved that little girl's life. Everybody else had given up on her."

"Yes," Nick agrees. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. "I guess that's the trouble with this job. We get so used to recovering bodies, we don't think of saving people." He pauses. "Sara said that."

"You think of saving people. That's why I sent you to Pioche." He doesn't think it's a complete lie, there'd been no bodies found when the call came in. Maybe the reason was somewhere there in his subconscious.

"Partly," Nick corrects.

"Partly," Gil agrees.

"Gil, we've never talked about it. How did you feel when..." Nick stops and Gil can hear him swallow. "Were you thinking you were going to recover a body?"

The question strikes Gil like a blow. He hasn't wanted to think about those days. He doesn't want to do so now. A lump forms in his throat, making it hard for him to speak, to breathe even.

"Sometimes," he says thickly and he can't continue.

"I never really thought how it must have been for you. I didn't realize. I'm sorry, Gil."

Gil nods mechanically.

"That's what I wanted to say, I guess. I'll drive you home now," Nick says quietly.

Gil nods again.

They don't say anything more until they reach Gil's house. They climb out of the truck and meet at the back, where Nick pulls out Gil's suitcase and hands it to him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Gil," Nick says.

"Don't go," Gil blurts out. The lump is still in his throat and his jaw is aching. He's grateful Nick can't make out his expression. He stands there, gripping his suitcase so tightly his hand hurts, waiting for Nick to answer.

"OK."

A wave of weakness rushes over Gil at Nick's quiet agreement. He's finding it harder and harder to keep his breathing steady. He tries to clear his throat, but no sound comes out. Something's coming at him like a runaway train and there's nothing he can do to stop it, he can't fight it any longer.

Nick has to take the keys from him and open the door, because his own hand is shaking too much. He stands uncertainly inside the entranceway, still holding his suitcase, until Nick takes it from him and sets it down. They haven't turned on any lights and Gil more senses than sees Nick step in front of him. He feels Nick's warm hands clasp his neck, his thumbs stroking Gil's jaw. Nick's lips press against his own.

"Nick," he says, and it's more a sob than anything, and his hands are on Nick's belt but he's not sure if he's pulling him closer or trying to push him away.

Nick presses his forehead against his own.

"Sshhh. It's OK, Gil." He kisses Gil again, his mouth open, his tongue licking along Gil's closed lips. "It's OK," he murmurs again, his breath hot in Gil's mouth as Gil finally parts his lips.

---------------

He wakes up, aware that something isn't quite right. He's lying on the edge of the bed, facing the wall. He rolls over carefully and sees Nick's tousled dark head on the pillow next to his. His heart kicks in his ribcage. He rolls back onto his side facing away from Nick, taking stock, trying to decide how he feels about last night, about waking up with Nick in his bed, but he can't seem to string two coherent thoughts together. His head hurts, his eyes are swollen and he's sore in places he hasn't been sore in for several months. He's pretty sure he's made a big mistake, but he can't do anything about it until Nick wakes up, so he simply lies there. He tenses when he feels Nick move behind him.

"Hey, Gil," Nick murmurs sleepily, his fingers briefly caressing Gil from his nape down to the middle of his back before withdrawing again.

Reluctantly Gil rolls onto his back and looks up at Nick, who's propped up on one elbow.

"You look like crap," Nick smiles briefly, but his eyes quickly turn serious and he simply stares down at Gil.

They reach a temporary stalemate, both waiting for the other to speak first. Gil's heart is thudding heavily and he counts off the beats in his head. When he reaches sixty, he's going to get up, go make coffee and try to get on with his life again.

At fifty-seven, Nick finally breaks the stalemate, leaning down to kiss Gil gently on the side of the mouth. Gil closes his eyes and focuses on the feel of Nick's lips. He's convinced it's a goodbye kiss.

"What's for breakfast?" Nick whispers and Gil's breath catches in a rush of elation.

"Not much. Just coffee."

"You want to go to Gus'?"

"Sure."

All through breakfast, at the diner they hadn't been to in so long, they're careful with each other, avoiding topics that are too personal. Gil isn't sure how long this respite will last, so he tries to enjoy the moment, while imprinting every detail of Nick's face, his smiling eyes, his mobile mouth, the small mole on his cheek. He senses that Nick is doing the same.

When they finally walk outside again, the sun is high in the sky and the heat is oppressive, making it feel more like July than late October.

"Back home, right?" Nick asks, but Gil shakes his head.

"McCarran. I need to pick up the Merc from long-term parking."

"What?" he asks after a few seconds of Nick gaping at him.

"You drove to the airport?"

"I always do. You know that."

Nick shakes his head, his mouth pulling up at the corners. "Brass told me he gave you a ride." He continues to look at Gil, his smile fading slowly. "You still came with me."

"Yes."

Nick looks away, seeming to concentrate on something in the distance, fumbling in his shirt pocket for his sunglasses. Gil reaches out and stops his hand. He doesn't want Nick covering his eyes.

"I'm not going to ask for anything," he says slowly. "And I'm not going to promise anything. It's your lead, but I can't promise I'll always be able to follow it."

"No commitments," Nick says.

"No commitments," Gil confirms. "On either side."

Nick thinks about it for a few moments. "We're not really that type," he muses.

"I know," Gil agrees.

"You're sure that's the way you want to go?"

"No. But I don't really see any other way."

Nick inhales deeply. "OK." He frees his hand, which is still in Gil's grasp, puts on his sunglasses and then climbs into the truck, starting the engine as Gil walks to other side and gets in.

When they reach McCarran, Nick pulls up behind Gil's car, shifts into park and reaches over to grip Gil's wrist.

"Is it OK if I say I love you?" he asks.

"It's not always enough," Gil says.

"I know. But is it OK?"

Gil shrugs and climbs out. He walks around the front of the truck and stands next to Nick's window, waiting for Nick to roll it down. When Nick does so, he reaches in and puts his hand on Nick's shoulder, his fingers curling around Nick's neck.

"No," he says softly. "Give us some time to figure all this out again. One way or another."

Nick tilts his head to rub his cheek against Gil's wrist, and Gil reaches in with his other hand as well, cupping the back of Nick's head and turning it so that he can reach Nick's lips.

"See you later, Nick," he murmurs against Nick's lips and he feels Nick's mouth smile against his.

---------------

The Mercedes is like an oven and he immediately starts sweating, his damp shirt steaming against the hot leather seat. The air conditioning is vintage, just like the rest of the car, only slightly cooling the interior as he drives the opposite direction from home, into the desert. The only concession he's made is to install a CD-player and he turns the volume up and up, while Mick Jagger and the London Bach Choir belt out "You Can't Always Get What You Want," until he can't think, until the highway shimmering in the hot sun, the cacti blurring as he speeds by them, and the music pounding in his ears are the only things there are.