Title: Not So Usual
Author: geekwriter
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Greg's not so usual.
A/N: Follows Absolutely Zero and Unfold.

"Hey, Sara," Greg said, motioning her towards his car. "Cover me."

"What are you wearing?" she asked with a laugh as she took in his leather pants, tight t-shirt, and spiked hair.

"I was out with some friends, thought I'd have time to change before work but, you know," he held up his pager. "So, here," he handed her a blanket. "Hold that up and cover me."

"I am not holding this up while you take your clothes off."

"You want to explain to Gris why I'm working a crime scene in leather pants?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head, holding the blanket up. "Fine. Just hurry. God, you reek of smoke."

"The bar was packed," he said as he shimmied out of his pants and hopped on one foot as he pulled them completely off. He snatched a pair of khakis out of his trunk and pulled them on. "Man, it's cold out here."

"You couldn't have changed in the bathroom?"

"What bathroom?"

"I'm pretty sure the bar had a bathroom. And what were you doing at a bar when you knew you had to work tonight?"

"Pot and the kettle," Greg said, peeling off his t-shirt.

"Voice of experience," Sara corrected.

"I wasn't drinking," he said. "I just haven't seen my friends in, like, a week, so they made me come out with them."

"They made you."

"They left several threatening messages on my machine, I'll have you know. Plus, I was supposed to go out with them last night but I just crashed."

"Right. The triple homicide. Warrick said you did good work on that."

Greg shrugged as he buttoned up his shirt.

"What? You don't think you did?"

"I don't know. It just…it feels kind of shitty. I wanna catch bad guys, not put away some woman who snapped because she had three kids under six, no support system, and no way to pay for the mental health care she needed."

"Tell me about it," Sara said as she pulled the blanket back and folded it quickly before dropping it in Greg's trunk next to his crime scene kit. "But it's not…it's never cut and dried. Everybody has their reasons."

"I guess so," Greg said as he grabbed his kit and shut his trunk.

"Just don't spend your time trying to figure the reasons out. That's for judges and juries, not us. Hey, hold this for a second."

Greg took her kit from her hand. "You know, if you want me to carry your crime scene kit all you have to do is ask. I am a gentleman, you know. Hey, hey, hey," he said as Sara licked her thumb and moved it towards his face. "What are you doing?"

"Eyeliner," she said, placing her thumb along his lower eyelid and drawing it across.

"That's so gross," he said as she licked her thumb again. "My mom does that."

"You want to explain to Grissom why you're working a crime scene in makeup?"

Greg sighed and looked up as she smeared her thumb along his eyelid again. "Just hurry up. God, now I'm gonna have your epithelials all over my face."

Sara smirked. "I thought you liked getting DNA on your face."

"OK, first of all I was drunk when I told you that, and second of all you promised that you'd never, ever bring it up again."

"No, I promised I'd never tell anyone else. It's kind of…endearing, actually. In a really sick way."

"And I didn't say I liked it, I said I didn't mind it."

"No, you said you liked it. You said you didn't mind the taste."

"No, I like the taste, I don't mind getting it on my face. God, why are we even talking about this?"

Sara laughed. "You brought it up."

"No I didn't! You're the one that went from spit to swimmers."

"Care to share what's so funny with the whole class?" Grissom asked coolly as Greg and Sara approached where he and Catherine were standing.

"Oh, we were just, uh…" Sara tugged on a strand of hair and looked away for a moment. "Um, yeah, so what's the 911?"

"Multiple DBs," Catherine said as she brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Warrick and Nicky are already inside."

"The two of you are going to work the perimeter," Grissom said. "I want every cigarette butt, every leaf that's out of place, every footprint, every scrap of trash. And the news vans should be pulling up soon. Greg?"

"Yes, sir?" Greg asked.

"Follow Sara's lead. I don't care who sticks a mic in your face, you don't say anything, not even 'no comment.' Understand?"

"Got it," Greg said. He looked over at Sara and she shrugged.

"Good. Cath and I will be inside. Call me if you find anything even remotely interesting."

"Will do," Sara said, nodding. She took her kit from Greg and waited for Grissom and Catherine to pass under the crime scene tape before she followed.

"What was all that about?" Greg whispered to her as he followed her up the sidewalk. He stopped suddenly when he saw the sign on the side of the house. "Shit," he whispered.

Sara followed his gaze to the sign, just barely illuminated in the fading sunlight. Mother Goose Daycare. "Damnit," she said, shaking her head as she set her kit down and knelt to open it. "I hate it when it's kids."
----------

"Hey," Nick said as he walked into the room where Greg was sorting through several bags of yard debris.

Greg glanced up at him. "Hey."

"Find anything good?"

Greg shrugged as he examined a leaf for a moment, then placed it on the far end of the table in a pile with the rest of the leaves he hadn't found anything interesting on. "A couple old cigarette butts and a soda can that I sent over to Mia. An Incredible Hulk action figure, a Barbie head, part of a receipt that I think is from a gas station. I don't know if it's probative."

"You send it to QD?"

"Yeah."

"I take it the glitter didn't come from the scene," Nick said as he touched his fingers to the small sparkle in Greg's hair.

Greg grinned and shrugged. "I went out—"

"Went out with your friends," Nick finished. "Where to? Lost Boys? Chain? The Tower?"

"A new place Ethan found. Potion." Greg ducked his head down and sorted through several elm twigs.

Nick nodded. He'd never heard of it, but that didn't surprise him. "So…you went out with Ethan?"

"Among other people, yes."

"Are you, uh, are you guys seeing each other now?"

Greg sighed as he looked through a mass of ivy. "He's just my friend, Nick. Not that it's any of your business."

"I know. I know it's not. It's just that you guys always seemed—"

"We're not," Greg snapped. "We never were. You know that."

"I'm not…I wasn't accusing you of anything. I just wonder about your life is all." He sighed. "I'm going about this all wrong."

"Going about what all wrong?"

"I just came in here to ask if you wanted to get lunch with me."

Greg was silent for a moment. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I was hoping we could talk."

"Nothing to talk about."

"I told my mom."

Greg looked up at him sharply. "You told your mom…what? The truth?"

Nick nodded.

"Shit. When?"

"This afternoon."

"Are you OK?"

Nick let out a shaky breath. "Yeah. I think so. It hasn't really had time to sink in, but the world didn't end."

Greg smiled. "Told you it wouldn't." He cleared his throat and looked back at the table of leaves as Sara came into the room.

"Jacqui got a hit off the soda can," Sara said. "Fingerprints match a blackjack dealer at the palms."

"Awesome," Greg said. "Just let me finish this up and—"

"I can do it," Nick said.

Greg glanced up at him.

"I don't have anything else to do until I get the autopsy reports back from David," Nick told him. "I'd just be sitting in the break room listening to Warrick crack his knuckles."

"OK," Greg said. "OK, cool. Um, thanks."

"Not a problem," Nick said as he reached for the box of latex gloves. He pretended not to notice the way Greg and Sara tipped their heads together and whispered as they walked away down the hall, pretended not to notice their hushed laughter.

He started sorting through the leaves, wondering if Sara knew. Greg always said he hadn't told her, and Nick believed him, but she wasn't stupid. He tried to decide if he wanted her to know or not. She obviously hadn't held it against Greg when he'd come out to her—they'd become better friends if anything.

Nick always assumed that if he told anyone at work, it would be Catherine. But now Catherine was his boss and definitely not the same, easygoing Cath he'd known before her promotion. No, now if he told anyone it would be Sara. It would be easy to tell her, even. Greg said she'd always teased him about his mystery boyfriend, Nick could just admit that it had been him.

He stood up straight and shook his head. He was getting carried away. Just because he'd told his mother the truth didn't mean he had to tell the entire world. He and Sara weren't even good friends, not like she and Greg were. He had no reason to tell her. No reason at all.

Greg had combed through the pile of leaves and yard debris well. The only other thing Nick found was a tiny scrap of foil that had writing on it, the partial word, "tiln" in yellow block letters and below that "olpid" in a small blue print. He sent it over to Hodges, went through the leaves one last painstaking time, then headed to the locker room for quarters so he could buy a bag of corn chips from the vending machine.

Nick paused as he opened his locker, then smiled. He picked up the sheet of paper that had been neatly folded and tucked next to his keys. He unfolded the note slowly and read it.

Canyon Crest Apartments, #423. Come by after shift if you want to talk.

He smiled. He'd never been able to figure out how Greg had been able to break into his locker so easily. He'd always pretended that it bothered him, but it never had. Greg knew it, too, knew Nick didn't mind it at all, knew he'd secretly enjoyed the little love notes Greg would slip him. Not that the note was a love note, but at least it was something. At least Greg was willing to talk.

**********

Greg stood in the middle of his living room and looked around with an increasing feeling of dread. When he'd left the note telling Nick to come over, he hadn't realized how completely disgusting his apartment was.

Well, maybe disgusting was taking it too far. There wasn't mold growing anywhere, no dirty dishes or old socks lying around, but it was far from neat. He still had stacks of cardboard boxes in every room that he'd only partially unpacked. His CDs were spread out in a circle around his computer chair and his wastebasket was overflowing with soda cans and empty cups of instant ramen.

"Fuck," he hissed as he heard a knock at his front door. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. OK, I…" he ran to his wastebasket, looked around quickly for a trash bag, then cursed again when he realize he hadn't been to the store to buy any.

The knock at his door came again and he took a deep breath, then ran his fingers through his hair and smoothed his shirt down as he hurried to the front door. He adopted his most casual pose, took another deep breath, then opened the door. He slumped and sighed when he saw who it was. "You can't be here," he said.

Ethan pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head and walked past Greg into the apartment. "Nice to see you, too. Jesus. Are you ever going to unpack?"

"I haven't really had time."

"Well, go get dressed."

Greg looked down at his jeans and t-shirt, then back up at Ethan.

"It's a beautiful day. A bunch of us are going up to Lake Mead, maybe rent a boat, whatever."

"Well, have fun."

"Come on, man," Ethan said. "You never do stuff with us anymore."

"I went out with you last night."

"You went home early."

"I got paged into work."

Ethan rolled his eyes.

"Sorry. Next time some psycho decides to kill little kids I'll make sure it doesn't inconvenience your party plans," Greg said.

"Little kids?" Ethan asked, wrinkling his nose. "God, your job is so depressing."

Greg shrugged. "It can be. Now, will you go?"

"No way. Not only did you ditch us last night, your job is horrific. You need a break. It'll be fun. Don't you remember what fun is?"

"Don't you remember what sleep is?"

"You can sleep in the car. You can sleep on the beach. You're so pale. I'm worried about you."

"No, Ethan, I…I've got stuff I have to do."

"Stuff?"

"Responsibilities," Greg said. "You know, not all of us can just blow off work whenever we feel like going to the beach."

Ethan sighed and rolled his eyes. "Honestly, you're almost as boring as Nick."

Greg shifted and looked away from him.

"No. No, you're not."

"Not what?"

"You're getting back together with him?" Ethan asked. "Is he coming over? Is that why you're so anxious to get rid of me?"

Greg sighed.

"No," Ethan said. "No way."

"I'm not getting back together with him."

"Because you were seriously fucked up last time."

"I know, OK? We're just going to talk."

"I don't know if I can bear to watch you go through that again."

"I'm not going to go through anything, OK? He just needs to talk about some stuff."

"He can't talk to the guy you caught blowing him on your couch?"

Greg tried not to flinch.

"I mean it, baby. I was really scared last time. I'd never seen you like that before, and you're not even close to being back to normal." He reached out and rubbed Greg's shoulders. "You don't need his bullshit. Blow him off and come with us. You need to remember how to laugh."

"I can't just blow him off. I said I'd be here."

"I don't care. He's toxic."

"You don't know him."

Ethan crossed his arms over his chest. "I know you showed up at my place drunk at 3 in the morning, crying so hard I couldn't understand a word you were saying. I know I couldn't get you out of bed for two days. I know what happened the last time he fucked you up. I know enough."

"He's not a bad guy, Ethan. He screwed up, but he's not a villain. He's my friend."

"No, I'm your friend. He's your ex-boyfriend and I don't see why you have to talk to him about anything."

"Because he doesn't have anyone else to talk to."

Ethan raised his eyebrows. "Whose fault is that?"

Greg sighed and closed his eyes. "Can we not fight about this? You don't have to worry, all right? We're not getting back together."

"Pinky swear?"

Greg rolled his eyes.

"I mean it." Ethan held his hand up, his pinky finger crooked out.

Greg hooked his pinky through Ethan's. "Pinky swear. Now will you go? I kind of want this place to look habitable before he gets here."

Ethan looked around at the stacks of cardboard boxes. "Good luck."

Greg heard a knock on his front door, then Nick's voice. "Greg? You know you shouldn't leave your front door open."

"Fuck," Greg whispered beneath his breath.

"Honestly, Greg," Ethan said loudly. "You leave your front door open and there's no telling what kind of people could just walk in."

"Be nice," Greg hissed.

Nick stopped in the hallway as he saw Greg and Ethan. "Hey," he said softly. "I…if this is a bad time…"

"As a matter of fact—" Ethan started.

"Ethan was just leaving," Greg said. "Weren't you?"

"No."

Greg poked him in the back, urging him towards the door.

"Sunshine," Ethan said as Greg propelled him forward. "The beach, fruity drinks with far too much alcohol in them, not to mention fun. Fun, Greg, remember?"

"Vaguely. Now go." He smiled apologetically at Nick as they passed him.

"Life is more than scraping dead kids off the carpet," Ethan said as Greg pushed him outside.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said quickly before shutting his front door. He looked at it for a moment, then locked it. "Sorry about that," he said as he turned around to face Nick.

"He doesn't like me much, does he?" Nick asked.

"Not very much, no."

Nick nodded and looked around. "I, uh…I like your place."

"I haven't really had time to unpack."

"Well, yeah, you've been really busy lately."

"Yeah," Greg said. He scuffed his toe along the carpet. "I…uh, come in. I'd show you around, but there's really not much to see. Kitchen, living room, bedroom's through there. The patio's nice, though. I've got a choice view of the dumpsters."

Nick smiled uneasily. "Well, it doesn't really matter. You're at work all the time, anyway."

Greg nodded. "And, you know, it's not really that bad considering that I had to get it on such short notice." He cleared his throat and looked away from Nick, suddenly. "Not that…I'm just…do you want to sit down? I don't have much furniture, but I do have chairs."

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. How'd it go with the blackjack dealer?"

Greg looked at Nick for a moment before he realized what Nick was talking about. "Oh, God, it was awful," he said with a soft laugh. "His print was on the can because his daughter was one of the kids at the daycare center."

"Did she…was she…?"

"He was Mackenzie Pierce's father," Greg said. "She had her mom's last name, not his. That's why we didn't make the connection right away."

Nick let out a soft puff of air. "I just came from her autopsy."

Greg nodded. "Yeah. He was pretty broken up. But he did confirm that he packed the soda in her backpack yesterday, so…I didn't even know they had daycares that were open at night."

Nick shrugged. "The town's awake 24-7. People on the night shift have to put their kids somewhere when they're at work."

"I guess. I just…all those kids. Why shoot all those kids? They were sleeping. They were fast asleep and—"

"Greg…"

"I know, I know, we're the how, not the why. I shouldn't be shocked anymore, should I? I mean, you get used to eventually, right?"

"No. You never get used to it."

"I can't decide if that's a good thing or not."

"It's a good thing," Nick told him.

They were still standing in the middle of the living room. Greg moved back and gestured towards his couch—a battered loveseat he'd gotten at Goodwill. "Hey, sit down already. You want something to drink? Coffee? Soda?"

"I'm fine," Nick said as he sat on the edge of the sofa. "Are you? I mean, how have your dreams been?"

Greg grinned and shrugged. "You know me. It's not a good night unless I have at least one dream about being blown through a wall."

"Greg…"

"Laugh, Nick. It was a joke."

"Yeah," Nick whispered.

"What about you, man?" Greg asked. The only other chair he had was his computer chair, which was on the other side of the room. He thought it would be too obvious if he pulled it over so he settled with sitting on the loveseat next to Nick. "Your mom, huh?"

Nick nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah."

"How did it happen? Did you just tell her?"

"Sort of. She was going on and on about me finding a girl. You know how she gets."

"Badgering you to move back to Texas, settle down, and produce some grandkids," Greg said.

"Exactly. And I just…I snapped. I was already feeling like shit, and she was just making it worse and I just said it."

"And? Did she already know? Cuz, you know when I came out to my mom she said she'd suspected it since I was 15."

Nick shook his head. "Yeah, I know. I don't think…I don't know if she suspected or not, but she definitely wasn't expecting me to say it."

"What did she say?"

"That she wished I hadn't told her." Nick's eyes were closed and he swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry."

"I was so afraid of telling her, you know?"

"I know you were."

"I was so afraid of it, and it wasn't anything. She didn't even want to talk about it—doesn't ever want to talk about it. Par for the course, I guess. She doesn't ever want to talk about anything that she doesn't have total control of. She only wants me to say what she wants to hear."

Greg reached out and rubbed Nick's shoulder. "It's OK," he whispered.

"She doesn't even…she doesn't give a damn about me."

"That's not true."

"It is. She only cares about what things look like on the outside. She only cares about what people will say. She doesn't care about me, about who I am. Neither one of them does."

Greg bit his lower lip, not sure if he should ask or not. "Did you…I mean, did you talk to your dad?"

"No." Nick's voice was thick and his eyes were closed. His breaths were short and shallow, the way they always were when he was trying not to cry.

"Is she going to tell him?"

Nick shrugged. Greg knew he didn't want to talk because he was so close to tears. No matter how many times Greg had told him it was all right to cry, Nick never really believed it.

"They love you," Greg said.

Nick shook his head.

"Yes they do. They just…they've just got their own shit to deal with. They're fucked up, so they show their love in fucked up ways. Do you think your mom would ride you so hard about coming back to Texas if she didn't love you? She misses you; she doesn't know how to say it."

"She just wants me where she can keep her eye on me. She just wants to be able to keep me under her thumb."

"No."

"You don't know what they're like. You don't know what it was like in that house," Nick whispered. His voice was trembling and he choked back a sob.

"Shhh," Greg whispered, pulling Nick into his arms. He stroked Nick's hair gently. "It's all right. It's all right, Nick. It's OK. Just let it out."

Nick shook his head and Greg could feel the tension in his shoulders, could feel Nick fighting the tears with everything he had. "I can't."

"You're safe with me. You know that."

"God, I fucked up so bad," Nick whispered.

"Shhh." He rubbed Nick's back in slow circles.

"Why don't you hate me?"

"I just don't, that's all."

Nick pulled back. "But I—"

Greg lifted his hand and place his fingers against Nick's mouth. "I know, OK? Maybe I hated you a little bit at first, but I don't now."

"I miss you so much." Nick tipped his head down and rested his forehead against Greg's shoulder.

Greg threaded his fingers through Nick's, gazed at the way their hands looked together on his lap.

"Why can't we start over? If you don't hate me, if you forgive me, then why—"

"You know the answer to that."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't," Greg murmured. He shifted position so that Nick could lay against his chest. He slid his fingers through Nick's hair and it all felt so familiar that it made his chest ache. "It's OK, Nicky," he whispered as Nick finally gave in and began to cry. "It's all going to be OK."

Greg tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling as he held Nick close, stroked his hair and back and reassured him again and again that it was all right. He waited until Nick had exhausted himself, until he'd literally cried himself to sleep, before tipping his head back down, pressing his cheek against Nick's hair. "I miss you, too."

Next part of series - Tonight, Not Again