Title: Whatever's True
By: Caster
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG
A/N: Many thanks go out to Greg's Lab Assistant for this sneaky little plot bunny. It was her idea! Although this story has so much blatant potential for humor and R-ratings, I've never been able to go that route, so this fic is pretty much short, sweet, and to the point. I hope you enjoy it all the same. The song is by Ryan Cabrera and it's just so sugary; it yanked at my fluffy heart and I couldn't resist the temptation. Also, Hodges rules. Just thought I'd drop that in there. Please ignore all grammar and spelling inaccuracies. I've read this thing a million times and finally just had to post it!
Disclaimer: I never have and never will own CSI. But what I wouldn't give for the addy of those responsible for the split shift mess currently facing fans everywhere. Nick/Greg scenes are no more because of this tragic (if not completely idiotic) lack of better judgment. Someone start a petition! Surely CSI enthusiasts such as ourselves have a say-so in what happens to our favorite characters, right?
Summary: The question of what Nick would sacrifice to be with Greg was once a rocky one.

***

I won't talk
I won't breathe
I won't move till you finally see
That you belong with me

"Don't be embarrassed, Nick."

"It's work, G. Warrick'll call me on it in a second and won't let it drop 'til I tell him what girl I'm seeing."

"You could just tell him it's me."

It's hard to bear the way Greg smiles hopefully at him, as if he were placing all his trust and the whole of his heart in Nick's hands. And in a way, Nick supposed he was. But they had been over this a million times- they couldn't come out at work. It would be messy and complicated and everyone knew Nick was neither of those things.

"You know I can't, Greg."

"I know you won't. I can't understand why you're so ashamed."

There was whistle from the doorway and Nick realized he must have not heard anyone enter the locker rooms.

How far gone was he, anyway? So deep in his thoughts he'd been that he didn't hear footsteps echoing off the walls or voices carrying across the hallway towards him. He wished he had been paying more attention; he knew he had to hide it, but his common sense was practically non-existent and there seemed to be no reason for it to return now. Not when he needed it the most.

He turned quickly, hand hurriedly reaching out to cover his exposed neck and the bruise that stood stark against his flesh. The whistle had a tone of both curiosity and approval and Nick couldn't fight off the telltale blush creeping across his face.

He expected it to be Warrick or Bobby standing there, ready to give him a rough time of it. He knew those guys; he knew what they would ask and he was prepared for the inevitable. What girl was he seeing? How long had they been dating? Did she have a sister? Those two were predictable and Nick had his answers ready for the bombardment.

But it was neither.

It was, to Nick's genuine surprise, David Hodges.

At first, Nick couldn't speak. This certainly called for a change in tactics, because Hodges had never been known to kid around like Warrick or Bobby. No, he was a serious guy, not to mention blunt. If he wanted to know, he'd ask, and Nick had a bad feeling his "just some girl I met last night" story wasn't going to cut it this time.

"Oh. Hodges. What are you doing here?" The words came out stuttered and awkward, as if he wasn't really sure what to say. This alone made his discomfort and embarrassment even more obvious, but Nick had a feeling Hodges pretty much got the picture with or without the questionable dialogue.

Hodges gave Nick a curious look and leaned against the doorway, hands in his pockets, acting as if he had all the time in the world. "Looking for Warrick," the tech casually replied, as if having a conversation with a shirtless man he didn't even know that well was of the norm. "You seen him?"

"Not yet. I just pulled in for shift."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

Hodges didn't seem to be moving, didn't seem to be trying to get out of this unnerving situation. Nick stood still, hand glued to his neck even though he knew he'd eventually have to put a shirt on.

"So… do y'need anything else?" Nick asked, hesitantly.

"Hm. No, not really. Just wondering who attacked your neck with their lips."

A hundred different excuses piled up in his Nick's mind and he frantically grabbed at one, trying to be as tactful as possible instead of having the words fall out all at once. As expected, Hodges didn't put on a show. He merely pointed out the fact, no flourish required.

"Attack?" Nick asked, as gracefully as he could manage. "No one. It's just…"

"An enthusiastic girlfriend?"

"You could say that."

Hodges gave him a look, one that made Nick feel as if throwing dust in his eyes wasn't working.

"I could say it," Hodges agreed, giving him a small shrug before turning to leave. "But I'm sure it wouldn't be true."

It was frightening how often that man was right.

You might think
I don't look
But deep inside in the corner of my mind
I'm attached to you

"I'm not ashamed. It's just…"

"Embarrassing?"

"Inappropriate."

"Okay, I'll grant you that. But what else is inappropriate?"

"What do you mean?"

"Kissing in public. Is that inappropriate?"

"It's unnecessary."

Greg rolled his eyes as he flopped onto the couch, extending his long legs over the seat and making himself comfortable. He often did this when he was deep in thought or party to an engaging debate, both of in which he was now partaking. "Okay," he began, obviously thinking his response through carefully. "Say this psycho had a gun to my head. After a tense negotiation, Brass finally cuffs the guy. I'm free, right? So would you pretend we're just friends even though I'm traumatized and I need my boyfriend to support me? Or would you tell everyone at work we're together?"

"That's an unrealistic circumstance, Greg."

"But would you?"

He felt obvious, like a fish out of water.

No one else was wearing a turtleneck and it would seem odd to even a petty observer that a resident of Nevada would own such an article of clothing. But Nick did own one and he wasn't among petty observers; he was among CSIs and detectives who were trained to find the hidden, so of course they would notice the glaringly obvious.

He pulled up to the scene in the Tahoe and tugged at the neck of the shirt self-consciously, praying to some far off God that Sara wasn't feeling particularly malicious today. All he needed tonight was for her to call him on his apparent fashion choice. She would guess and that would lead him down a long road of questions from a woman who could always read him like a book.

He grabbed his field kit and adjusted his hat, sliding out of the truck and heading towards the group of workers at the scene.

"Hey Brass," Nick greeted from behind the detective. He made his way next to him and cast a glance towards the workings of the night crew before asking, "What've we got?"

Brass turned and opened his mouth to reply. He got so far as to say "A John Doe with…" before he trailed off, catching sight of Nick's top and pausing a moment, giving the Texan a strange look. Finally, he continued. "Besides CSIs with weird tastes in shirts, a John Doe with two bullets to the head, execution style."

Nick let out a small laugh and shook his head. He had been caught, as he knew he would be. "Thanks for the fashion tip, man."

"Not a problem. Besides, I hear turtlenecks are making a comeback." Pause. "If you live in Alaska."

"It's all I had, okay? Everything else was piled up in the wash."

"I'm sure it was. You know why those things were invented, don't you?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll enlighten me."

"You bet I will. They're designed to hide things that people don't want seen. Tattoos or cuts or…"

"I get it. But I don't have a hickey, okay? Isn't that a little high-schoolish?" At least they had reached the point where Nick could deny the hickey existed, because unless Jim Brass was willing jump him and pull at the collar to see for himself, there was no way Nick was going to confess to anything. Ever.

"Not when you date guys who act as if they're still in the ninth grade."

Nick turned to give Brass a dubious look. "I'm sorry?" he asked, although he heard him correctly the first time. It was a futile attempt to feign ignorance, especially among detectives. Still, Nick knew he might look back on this conversation and ask himself why he didn't at least try to BS his way out of it.

Brass shrugged, as if they were talking about the weather. "Sara and Warrick don't notice. But most the time, I stand around here awkwardly for an hour or so, afraid to touch anything. I step too far to the left and I could be stepping on some sort of hidden evidence. Trust me, I have plenty of time to watch how you and Sanders fawn over each other while I stand perfectly still and ten feet away from the perimeter."

"We don't 'fawn'."

"Buddy up. Woo. Make mooneyes. Whatever you call it, that's what you do."

"And how would you know?"

"For starters, I'm not blind."

"So you're saying we're obvious?"

"I'm saying the shirt's obvious. And yes, to a man like me who doesn't carry around the special silver suitcase, you're obvious. But the rest of your friends are so into what they're doing that they wouldn't notice World War Three if it started in their own backyard."

"Great." Nick tried to smile; truthfully, Brass was taking it all in stride. He had been around the block more than a few times, Nick supposed. Guess he and Greg would be discovered sooner or later.

"No one'll hear it from me," Brass assured, as if reading the Texan's mind. "I can't say the same for the shirt."

Nick sighed. "Thanks, man."

"Don't mention it."

And true to his word, Jim Brass never told a soul.

I'm weak
It's true
Cause I'm afraid to know the answers
Do you want me too?
Cause my heart keeps falling faster

"What would you do for me?"

"What do you mean?"

Greg grinned. "What would you do to prove your undying love for me? Write a song? Buy flowers? Hey, you could be like one of those guys in chick flicks and stop me during a wedding or something dramatic like that."

"You never stop thinking, do you?"

"You're avoiding the question. What would you do to prove your love to me?"

It was a question Greg sometimes pestered him with, but lately it's been off the scale. Nick would jump out of a helicopter or climb a mountain to prove his affection, but that's not the point Greg was trying to make. He wanted people to know about them. And how could Nick blame him? They were a couple and it was only natural to not want to hide it from the world.

He loved Greg. He always had and he always will, no matter what insane thing the man did next. Still, couldn't Greg see that this was much more complicated than just "telling them?"

I've waited all my life to cross this line
To the only thing that's true
So I will not hide
It's time to try anything to be with you

"You love me, don't you?" The question was soft, almost worried. Nick looked up from his book to see Greg was still sprawled out on their couch, looking up at the ceiling with a frown on his face. "I know we kid around about it, but you'd tell them if it really mattered to me, right?"

"G…"

There was a look on Greg's face that Nick had never seen before. For once, Greg was dead serious and Nick felt a small bout of panic begin to grow in his gut.

"I want to tell them, Nick. I love you and I want them to know."

It had been a hell of a long shift.

First the John Doe and then the prostitute in the alley and then there was always the club manager who was shot in some God-forsaken turf war three hours ago. Drugs, sex, turf. How idiotic and stupid and wasteful. He used to think he could never be surprised anymore; he used to try and not be pained by the selfish things people did. But it slowly began to dawn on him, like it did the rest of the CSIs, that people would always do stupid things to one another and that was why he had no life. He was too busy piecing together someone else's.

He used to be pretty unhappy.

Until he met Greg.

Nick trudged down the hall, holding numerous print tapes and various pieces of evidence found at the scene within his grasp. His mind was on autopilot; if he wasn't thinking about he and Greg's conversation earlier that afternoon, he was avoiding Hodges like the plague. But now it was inescapable: he had evidence and it had to be processes, ASAP.

He cast a wary glance through the glass walls of the trace lab where Hodges was hunched over a microscope and dozens of machines surrounded him, blinking and beeping in a language only he could understand. The tech was alone, as always. At least Greg could amuse his fellow co-workers and easily socialize with the rest of them; Hodges, however, was a different story. The lab was all he seemed to really have.

Nick almost felt bad for him.

It reminded him of Greg when the younger man first began his career there and why he fell head over heels in the first place.

With a deep breath, Nick entered the lab to speak to man who was so rarely wrong.

All my life I've waited
This is true

"I'm going to tell them." His voice was matter of fact and he gave Nick a wary glance. "Today. I think it's time we got through this."

"Greg," Nick began, turning the page of his book too forcefully and almost ripping it, "No one has to know. It's not like it's killing us to be discreet."

"It's killing me, Nick."

"Sweetie, let's talk about this. Telling them could change everything."

"What's so wrong with change?"

"Our jobs? Our friends? Do you really want to risk all that?"

"I'd risk anything to be with you. I thought you knew that."

Nick swallowed. The panic was getting worse, morphing into dread and making him feel sick. "I do. It's just…"

"Oh." The tone of Greg's voice, the dead smile on his lips could only mean disaster. "I get it. You just won't risk anything for me."

Hodges looked up from his scope slides, giving Nick a small, rare smile. "You look like you just swallowed a cup of straight pins, Stokes."

"You get funnier every time I see you, Hodges."

"Great, we've gotten past the necessary chitchat. You come bearing evidence?"

"Sure do. Gris wants it ASAP," Nick replied, shaking his head at Hodges's straightforward attitude. He placed the bags on the lab counter and Hodges took them, his gloved hands beginning to sort through what seemed to be the most important to the least useful.

"Grissom wants everything ASAP. I'd have to change the laws of space and time to pull it off."

"I'm sure you eat space-time continuum shifts for breakfast."

"It's nice to know Sanders isn't the only comic around these parts," Hodges replied. Nick felt himself grow pale at the name. At Nick's silence, Hodges looked up from his work to see a somewhat broken man standing in the middle of his lab.

"I'm sorry, but I thought Nick Stokes was just here. Who are you?" he asked. Nick rolled his eyes at his sarcastic tone before finding a seat and sinking into it. His feet hurt, his head hurt, and he was far too exhausted to even consider walking the hundred feet it would take to get to the break room.

"Speaking of which," the tech continued, beginning to sort out several fibers and not bothering to look up, "How are you and Sanders doing? Not that I care, but you seem out of sorts and Grissom hates that. When Grissom's upset then we all suffer."

"What, you know about us too?" Nick asked, looking up and briefly wondering what he had control over anymore. He and Greg certainly couldn't seem to have your basic, run of the mill secret relationship without being evident to everyone but themselves.

Hodges rolled his eyes. "Considering I have a keen grasp of the obvious, yes."

Nick rubbed his eyes. "Do you think anyone else…?"

"I'm not exactly the guy you should come to for romantic advice, Stokes. However, I'm curious as to what you're fighting about."

Nick thought the day he would be discussing his relationships with David Hodges was the day he'd be building snow forts in Hell. But life was unpredictable and he'd long since learned to take it as it came, one day at a time.

Nick sighed and shook his head at the memory of their earlier argument. "He…" Nick began, trying to formulate the appropriate words to properly explain his dilemma. "He wants me to… come out at work. So we won't have to hide anymore."

"Ah. That sounds like something Sanders would want."

"Gee, that's helpful."

Hodges held up a hand to indicate he wasn't finished. "Sanders and I never agree on anything. As a matter of fact, I think he should've been put in a padded room a long time ago. However, he might have a valid point."

"I know he does. I'm just…"

"Scared out of your mind?"

"Wary of the reactions," Nick supplied. "He might get hurt because of this, you know?"

"No, I don't know. But I can imagine."

"So you think I should do it?"

"In my very unprofessional and inexperienced opinion regarding gay relationships, yes. I think you should. But if it blows up in your face, don't come blaming it on me. You're the one who obviously thinks Sanders is worth the mess you're putting yourself through."

"Hodges, it's almost like you have a heart."

"It's not a heart, Nick. It's a lifetime of studying human beings and calculating the right things to say during various situations."

"Uh-huh. I bet it'll grow three sizes next Christmas and you'll have an uncanny ability to lift sleds containing stolen property with the strength of ten men."

"You certainly know The Grinch too well for comfort."

Nick smiled and shrugged. "It's Greg's favorite."

"So you're going to do it? Because I can only take so much sulking until I poison you with some chemicals I have stored in a cabinet somewhere."

Nick smiled, but it was nervous, uncertain. Outside, they could see raindrops starting to fall even though it rarely rained in Nevada this time of year.

You don't know
What you do
Every time you walk into the room
I'm afraid to move

"You know that's not true. I'm just trying to be sensible."

"I get that, Nick. Hey, how about this? I can make our situation a lot easier for the both of us."

Nick took a slow breath. "And how do you plan to do that, Greg?" It was an unnecessary question. The answer was already fully understood. He was just waiting for the sickle to drop and everything to fall apart.

"Until you can set your priorities straight, there's no more 'we.' I love you, but I can't do this hiding thing anymore."

"Sweetie-''

Greg shook his head. His eyes were suspiciously bright. "Call me when you're finally proud of us."

Ten hours later, Nick was staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom, actually considering Hodges's words. The ceiling fan lazily cast shadows from light streaming in from his open windows; he couldn't sleep even if he wanted to. The other half of his bed was empty and somehow that was just wrong. Greg was supposed to be there with him and he couldn't sleep without the familiar presence. Every time he subconsciously moved to look at his boyfriend, there would be nothing but empty space staring back and Nick knew there was no one to blame except himself.

Pieces of their conversation floated around in his mind. He remembered Greg's voice, the way he looked when he turned to leave Nick's apartment. He could vividly recall the first moment he met Greg; the crazy hair and wild shirts and loud music. He could recollect how his heart nearly stopped beating when he first learned of the explosion; he still knew of the pride he felt when Greg made Level 1 CSI. The first time Greg nervously asked him out. Their first kiss. That first morning Nick woke up to find Greg sleeping beside him. The first time he realized he was genuinely happy.

He considered Brass's easy acceptance of it, Hodges's snarky support of them. He briefly wondered what Grissom or Sara would say and whether Catherine would treat them any differently. Whether Warrick would still want to hang out on the weekends. Whether this would somehow get back to his family; one way or another, by a grapevine he couldn't cut.

But life without Greg wasn't really life at all. Life without Greg was miserable and lonely and predictable. And Nick was tired of being those things; for once, he had to stand up to everything he had ever known, tear it all down, and start fresh no matter the consequences. He still had a chance and he wouldn't waste it.

Tonight was supposed to be his night off.

He got up and began to get ready for work.

I'm weak
It's true
I'm just scared to know the ending
Do you see me too?
Do you even know you met me?

He was drenched in the downpour. It was an odd and unfamiliar feeling, because Nevada never had downpours. It was desert, after all, and it only got cold when the sun set and people were safe in their homes. It hardly ever rained.

But Nick was too tired, too sad to really care about the weather. His hair glistened with rain drops, his clothes were heavy with water and when he went through the crime lab doors, flowers now battered by the ruthless storm, he didn't care he was dripping all over the clean, white, stark floors.

At that one moment, all he cared about was Greg.

People stared when he began down the halls. They gazed through the glass walls before throwing each worried looks, pausing in their work, their minds observing and analyzing what they were witnessing. Was that Nick Stokes? Nick, the man who was never so weary looking as he was now? In most circumstances before this, he would have cared what they thought. He would have adjusted; hurried towards the men's room to dry off and become the charming Texan he could usually be.

But God, he was tired and for once, he wasn't worried with what others thought. Let them stare. Let them gossip. Let them do whatever they wanted, but they'd better stay out of his way while they did it.

What would you do for me, Nick?

Past three lab rooms and two hallways, he found them. They were sitting around a table in the break room and he could see Greg and Sara and Catherine; Grissom and Warrick and Jim Brass, all discussing something that was probably vitally important to a case too horrible for words. In the corner sat David Hodges, because as much as the man struggled with it, he couldn't seem to fit in anywhere with any particular group and he had made his home in the corner every day during his break. People just sort of knew it was Hodges's Corner and only newbies tried to claim it as theirs before Hodges put them in their place.

Nick ignored his natural reaction to jerk away from a situation like this. If he didn't accomplish this one thing, he'd be where he was to begin with and he loved Greg far too much to mess up twice.

So he pushed the doors open.

They looked up to see him walking towards them and Sara opened her mouth to comment on his current drenched state, but changed her mind when she spotted the flowers. In all honestly, they weren't really flowers anymore. They were stems surrounded by wet cellophane, sticking to them and making it look as if he'd just dunked them in an ocean.

She and Catherine exchanged looks, their woman's intuition starting to kick into full gear. The men seemed slightly puzzled although Brass more or less smiled into his coffee cup; he wasn't blind and, according to him, had plenty of time to understand what was going on before it even happened. Catherine looked back at Nick, who finally stopped a few feet away from their circle.

"Hey Nicky. I thought you had tonight off," she said casually, sending a small smile his way. Everyone knew he did, but they were hoping to be at least a little tactful when inquiring to his being there.

He merely nodded; looked at the flowers uncertainly before searching for his voice. He met Greg's eyes and found it.

"What would it take?" he asked, and Greg gave him a look that was a mix between curiosity and hope. But his eyes were guarded and Nick could tell Greg didn't want himself to be disappointed when the man he loved chickened out. Again.

"What would you want me to do to prove it?" he clarified, and Greg's eyes widened to the size of saucers.

A moment passed and for a terrifying second, Nick thought Greg wouldn't speak; even worse, walk out. But if Nick was putting on the brave face, Greg would as well. After all, this was exactly what he wanted and it felt like euphoria to know Nick would do this for him.

"You're doing it," he replied, his voice catching in his throat. "This is all you have to do."

Nick smiled before taking a long breath and turning towards the rest of the crew. Even Grissom, who could wrap his mind around almost everything, who had a philosophy or quote for every situation, was looking at them both as if they were a pair of his treasured bugs to be observed.

"All right then," Nick began, looking down at the floor, wondering what to say before looking back and realizing he'd been reciting this speech the moment he laid eyes on Greg six years ago. All he had to do was say it. Form words, verbalize, articulate.

"Greg and I are dating." The words came out strangely strong, not weak and small as he first feared they would be. It was a matter of fact tone and why shouldn't it be? It was the truth, after all. "We've been dating for three years. Hell, we live together now. You're lucky because you can escape his terrible taste in music-''

"You're the one who listens to Garth Brooks," Greg interrupted, but Nick ignored this with some semblance of amusement.

"-but I have to listen to it all the time. Before you ask, no, this won't affect our working relationship. And before you ask, yes, he's been very patient with me. We've been hiding for three years and he finally laid down the law, so this is me trying to win him back." Nick smiled again, shaking his head and covering his face with his hand when a bright pink started to spread across his face. "Hopefully it's working."

"Oh, it's working all right," Greg calmly replied. "Just keep talking."

Nick rolled his eyes but his body somehow relaxed at the words, because this wasn't for naught. If he could get Greg back, he'd do this a million times over.

Nick took another breath and spoke once more, quieter this time. There were dozens of thoughts racing through his mind at an impossible speed, but he wasn't really concentrating on them. He was in the here and now, doing what Greg asked of him because, in the end, Nick knew he'd always do whatever the other man wanted.

"I love him. And he wanted you to know. I want you to know. So I just… hope you accept this, because it's really… it's really important to us. We're no different than we were, y'know? We're just… happier." He took a quick look towards Greg. "Right?"

Greg smiled and in his eyes, Nick could see that he was.

"You bet we're happier," he said, rising from his chair, looking more beautiful that Nick could ever remember him being.

"Good."

Greg took the flowers and gave him a kiss, even in front of their somewhat stricken audience and for once, Nick didn't shrink away at the show of public affection.

"Thank you," he whispered, his hot breath tickling Nick's ear. Nick couldn't fight off the smile that grew upon his lips at this familiar feeling, one that always came with Greg. Safety, affection, pride.

"I'm forgiven?"

"Completely," Greg replied, and turned to give the rest of the room's occupants a bright smile, one that could only be described as genuinely happy. "Now if you'll excuse us," he said, snaking his right arm around the Texan's waist, "I'm going to con Nick into going back home. He hasn't gotten any sleep since the Baker case."

"You're the one who insists on stopping by Wal-Mart to grocery shop at three in the morning. How can I ever get any sleep when you're always banging around in the kitchen?"

"Hey, if you didn't drink that skim milk crap and just buy two percent like the rest of us, we wouldn't have this problem."

"Says the man who lives on Trix and Lucky Charms."

They turned and made their way out of the break room, Greg's arm still twined around his lover, boyfriend, soul mate. "Hey, that stuff happens to be good for you. And what would you know about good taste anyway? All that Texas steak is really…"

Their voices faded as the door closed behind them. Their playful banter was a strange contrast to the stone silence of the break room. Catherine exchanged another look with Sara, as if asking How did we ever miss that? Grissom seemed somewhat perplexed, Warrick a little stunned, and Jim Brass almost pleased. Hodges looked over his paper, watching as they processed the news in their own way. After a long pause, Warrick opened his mouth to say something and was interrupted by Hodges himself. He honestly hadn't meant to speak; CSIs didn't usually listen to techs outside of DNA and trace anyway. Most the time, it was a futile battle.

"You're CSIs," he said from his corner, looking back at his paper. "You look for material things. Evidence, hairs, DNA. You also look for whatever's true. And that," he continued, jerking his thumb to the retreating backs of the now harmonized couple, "Is true."

After all, he was rarely wrong.

I've waited all my life to cross this line
To the only thing that's true
So I will not hide
It's time to try anything to be with you.

All my life I've waited, this is true.

FIN.