Title: The Two of Them
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: Both prequel and small sequel to "Just Two Guys Having Breakfast".
A/N: I was overwhelmed not only by the number of you who responded to my request, but by the kind words so many of you shared with me. I was not expecting anything of the sort and it was truly a great gift!

So this is dedicated to all of you, with my heartfelt gratitude. And to two wonderful actors, who have provided us with some great moments to both enjoy and, though they probably never intended it in quite this way, build upon!

It had always been the two of them. Sara and Nick. Nick and Sara. For a long time both had drawn Gil equally, and for many of the same reasons, even as he'd tried to keep his distance from them both. There had even been a couple of months, right at the beginning, when he'd thought the two of them might link up. It would have been a relief. But perhaps the competition between them had been too strong to allow other feelings, and they'd never quite clicked.

Later Gil came to understand how very different they were. They were both strong, but Nick's strength was natural, a comfortable part of him, while Sara's seemed to stem from a sense of desperation, as if she always had her back to the wall. Nick was competitive, because he liked to win; Sara, because she hated losing. They both sought his approval, but Nick didn't seem to need it in quite the same way Sara did. If he criticized them, Nick was more apt to become annoyed and fight back; Sara seemed to perceive it as a personal rejection intended to wound her.

Gil had had many relationships over the years, earlier in his life with men, then mostly with women. Some had been driven by passion and had quickly petered out, others had transformed from friendship into something more and then something less again. Only once had he wanted something more permanent, but it hadn't been reciprocated, and they'd both quietly moved on. Sometime in his forties, being alone had started feeling not only natural, but a state to be preserved and protected.

If he had a type he was attracted to, Nick fit it better, but finally it had been Sara's need that had seduced Gil. It had happened slowly, a string of seemingly unrelated moments, offhand remarks, and small acts of kindness (although he'd never consciously thought of them as such), that had bound them tightly together. There were several times when he'd wanted to call a halt to everything, but by then he knew he'd made an implicit promise to her. And besides, he loved her. Perhaps not in the way she wanted or needed, but to walk away would have been cruel and he couldn't do it.

A decision not to leave isn't the same as a decision to stay, and he sensed that Sara understood this even before he did. He didn't want her to be unhappy and he readily agreed to her diffident suggestions of things that would evidence his commitment: first moving in together, then, despite their crazy schedules, picking up a dog from the local pound. The daily domestic routines helped to mask the fact that, other than work, they really didn't have much else to share. Even the sex seemed forced after a while, initiated less by desire and more by a sense of obligation.

He only refused her one thing, and that was to come out in the open with their relationship. It was a source of friction between them, especially because he wouldn't explain why. But what could he say? That it was a small act of self-preservation, or that he needed this escape route, even if he would ultimately never choose to use it? That he didn't want his friends knowing about their relationship, because they knew him too well to accept that it was right, and would perhaps succeed in talking him out of it?

Things might have never changed. They might have ground on and on, neither happy nor unhappy, avoiding any hard decisions that they might later regret. Simply co-existing, like so many other couples do. It wasn't great, but it wasn't so bad. Perhaps at some point she'd realize that it wasn't what she wanted, and she'd be the one to leave.

But then she was abducted, and there was no further grace period. To continue hiding their relationship seemed like the ultimate betrayal towards her, especially when Gil was convinced that she wouldn't come out of this alive. He hadn't felt the same way when Nick was taken, even though the situation had seemed a lot more hopeless then because it had been so random, and he knew why: Sara had reasons to give up, and he had given her a big share of those reasons. Whatever happened, he was responsible for her, and he couldn't sit on the fence any longer.

His decision made, things should have been better between them. And for a brief while they seemed to be. The relief of finding her, the thoughts of what had been avoided, were enough to carry him through the next few weeks. He even asked her to marry him, and he felt genuinely happy and excited when she accepted. Except that as she started making plans for the marriage, he started feeling increasingly trapped. He didn't want this. Any of it. He didn't want to discuss wedding invitations. He didn't want her showing up at his crime scenes, unless it was part of her job. He tried to attribute his feelings to normal, pre-wedding jitters, but deep down he knew that what they were about to do was fundamentally wrong, both for Sara and for him.

He hid behind the job, working double shifts, even a few triples. He escaped to New York on the flimsiest of excuses, as if the FBI didn't have their own forensic scientists and needed him to help them out with analyzing evidence. He tried not to be cold with Sara, but when he was with her, he couldn't seem to help himself. He was turning into the kind of man he despised, too cowardly to face up to the consequences of his own actions and omissions, and felt both resentful and guilty. There were no longer any right options, only ones that were less wrong, and of those he couldn't tell which was which.

Finally she left. The letter she left him implied that it wasn't for ever, at least not as far as she was concerned, but even though he hadn't known she'd leave, he knew she wouldn't be back. For a while he tried to keep Hank, but in the end had to acknowledge that he couldn't take care of him alone, and placed an ad in the paper.

He's surprised by the grief he feels whenever he walks into the empty house. Everybody at work seems to assume he's heartbroken at Sara's departure, but that isn't it. He doesn't really miss Sara. He misses what he sees he might have had, if he'd been with the right person, what he told himself for over a decade that he wasn't willing to make compromises for.

When he looks at himself in the mirror, he sees the slackening of his jaw and he wishes he hadn't shaved his beard, even if it had always been a pain in the ass to maintain. For the first time he feels old and broken down. He's run out of time to make anything right.

Gil hadn't intended to take Nick up on his invitation. Over the years he consciously and painstakingly built a wall between the two of them. It was never very strong; every so often the whole thing would come crashing down, like when Nick hugged him before he left on his sabbatical, and he'd have to start all over again. His only defense lies in keeping his distance, especially these days, when he's apt to get maudlin about might-have-beens, when all his decisions lie behind him and only their repercussions remain for the future.

Still, an hour and ten minutes after Nick left his office, he found himself driving by Frank's, which is nowhere between the lab and home. It was only a test; Nick wouldn't be there and he wouldn't be disappointed about it. And then he saw Nick's truck in the parking lot, and his heart went into overdrive. After that he could have no more driven on than he could have stopped breathing. There's no fool like a self-deluding old fool.

"Did you have any pets as a kid?" Nick asks him.

"An ant farm."

Nick smiles. "No, Griss. Pets. Animals, or I guess in your case I'll also accept insects, with names."

"Yes, I realize that. My ants all had a name."

Nick sits back and tilts his head disbelievingly.

"How many ants?"

"About forty."

"And you knew all forty ants' names?"

"Sure."

"OK, name 'em. As many as you remember," Nick challenges.

"Joe."

"That's all you remember? Joe?" Nick asks after a few seconds.

"They were all named Joe," Gil explains. He's always liked seeing Nick struggling to remain serious when it's so obvious that he wants to smile.

"They were all named Joe," Nick repeats.

"Well, it's not like I could tell them apart anyway."

Nick finally gives up the fight and starts laughing. "What, not even the females from the males?"

"I was only seven at the time," Gil says humbly and Nick laughs harder and for the first time in weeks, maybe in months, Gil is truly at peace with the present, and something hiding deep and clenched inside his heart starts to relax.