Title: With the One You Love
Author: podga
Pairing: Nick/OMC, Gil/Nick
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: CSI and its characters do not belong to me. I write and post for fun only.
Summary: Sequel to Spot, Spot, Spot. Series 5

I was twenty-four before I finally admitted to myself that sheer obstinacy would not get me everything I wanted in life. Willing things, wishing them, wanting them with all my heart; it counted for a lot, but at the end of the day, some things just weren’t going to happen. Ben taught me that lesson. He was a lot kinder than he might have been, and for reasons I understand now but didn’t then, his kindness hurt me more than if he’d simply been dismissive or even cruel.

From then on, I took my cue from the Steven Stills song: since I couldn’t be with the one I loved, I started to love the ones I was with. It was undemanding and, for the most part, a lot of fun. Work hard, play hard. Then it all slowly became boring, or maybe simply too exhausting for me to be able to keep up. I decided to concentrate on work rather than play.

I always found a certain irony in the fact that I reached this decision a few months after arriving in what is probably the ultimate party city in the US. Then again, my work wasn’t about the partying, but its aftermath, in all its sad and sordid variations.

 

I wasn’t too impressed by Nick Stokes when I first met him. Physically attracted, yes, definitely, but not too impressed. He brought out the mothering instinct in Catherine. Hell, he brought out the mothering instinct in me. And that annoyed me. I wanted team members I could count on, mature adults that knew a thing or two about life, not a charming jock who probably considered his fraternity hazing as the most difficult and life-altering challenge he’d ever faced.

On the other hand, his track record was impeccable. And in case after case after case he did the job, and did it well. In some ways he was still very young and naive, but in others in he had an insightful maturity that at first surprised me and that very soon afterwards I came to rely on. Whether they admit it or not, every teacher has his favorite student, and Nick became mine. Not that I’d ever admit it.

I’ve never been a believer in ‘big’ moments. There are some in every life, but what’s always counted for me is the journey, the small daily events and choices that build on one another and that, for better or worse, define the path of our lives. And yet, I can remember the exact moment when I realized that what I felt for Nick went far deeper than simple affection.

I’d like to say that my only emotion when I saw Amy Hendler pointing a gun at Nick was fear for his life. There was fear, and probably terror is a better word. But not only for Nick. In that first split second, I knew that if something happened to him, my life would never be the same again. Selfish? Yes. But then, the first stages of love are always selfish and there’s very little point in pretending otherwise.

I thought I’d get over it. God knows I tried hard enough. When I couldn’t distance myself from him, I worked on ways to make him distance himself from me. But he was always underfoot, almost coming back for more, seemingly impervious to anything I could dish out. The only thing Nick seemed to care about was my opinion of his professional abilities and for a while I even played that card.

What made it harder is that he had nobody in his life. If he'd had, I might have been able to quash that ridiculous but stubborn hope that one day things might change between us. Ridiculous, because there was too much separating us: age, hierarchy, background, interests. Me being me. His sexual orientation.

Still, strong emotions can rarely be sustained for an indefinite period. Gradually what I felt for Nick went deeper and turned into something a little less selfish, and I found I could spend time with him again. I could be his mentor, even his friend if he needed one.

 

I’d never seen Archie look as nervous as he did when he brought Nigel Crane’s tapes to my office. He was almost stammering when he told me that he thought these tapes should be excluded from evidence. At that point, I was too blinded by my anger to perceive that we had enough on Crane without tapes; I wanted to nail him, and the more evidence the better, so at first I refused.

“These are the tapes from Nick’s house,” Archie said, as if that explained everything.

“So?”

“Well, uh, Grissom, see…” Archie swallowed hard. “He’s not alone.”

For a long time I’d woken up every day half-expecting to hear something of the sort, almost wishing for it. Nevertheless, it still came as a shock, and it made me slow, stupid.

“So?” I repeated, not knowing what else to say.

Archie didn’t try to answer that. He set the tapes on my desk and backed away. “Just…” He gestured uncertainly, then shook his head and walked out.

Later I lied to Nick, said that only Archie had seen the tapes. I’d seen them as well. Not all, but enough to understand that at least one of the obstacles I’d thought stood between us didn’t. Not that it made any difference any more, because I saw how Nick was with this unknown man, how he seemed to let his guard down and become someone softer, more vulnerable. I wanted to believe Nick when he told me that he and this Brian were through, but he wasn’t very convincing.

I wondered pointlessly if it would have been easier if Nick had been with a woman; probably not, but as it was I couldn’t help thinking that I might have had a chance myself if I’d only been more aware or less defensive. The same way you keep touching a sore spot hoping that it won’t hurt even though you know it still does, I went over conversations and moments, looking for different interpretations, wondering if there were times when I’d been too blind to see Nick perhaps reaching out to me. It was presumptuous of me (simply because Nick was with this Brian didn’t mean he’d ever been interested in me) and served no good purpose, but I did it nevertheless, and tied myself in knots thinking of how he’d taken care of me that Black Friday and of his gentle teasing, and of how often my behavior towards him had been contemptible.

 

He’s following a path created by blood drops, meandering back and forth, occasionally squatting down to take a closer look. Warrick set down the markers and took photos earlier; Nick doesn’t really have any business out here, he’s supposed to be working in the area where the body was found. I watch him quietly and wonder what he’s thinking.

He’s finally close enough to me that he can acknowledge my presence without raising his voice.

“Hey, Grissom.”

I nod at him. He seems to hesitate, then walks up to me.

“I should really talk to you about this back at the lab, but that offer of time off, does it still stand?”

I want to tell him that it doesn’t, because I don’t want him going off on his own. I want him here, with me.

“I don’t know,” I prevaricate. “When were you thinking?”

He looks away, back towards the way he came and shrugs. “Next week? I just need a couple of days.”

“I have to check.”

“Right. Of course,” he says hurriedly. “If there’s a problem don’t worry about it. I just thought I’d ask.”

Will we ever be able to speak, he and I? Will he ever see me as something other than his boss? Will I ever see myself as something else?

“Nick.”

He looks at me.

“It should be okay. I just wish…”  No, I can’t say it. He’s already refused my offer over and over again.

“Wish what?” he asks.

I clear my throat.

“That you’d talk to me. If I can help, I mean. That you’d let me help.”

He tilts his head a little.

“How could you help?”

I’m on my guard, expecting anything from anger to irony to doubt, but he’s just asking a question, his brown eyes soft, as if he knows the answer but is willing to give me a chance to figure it out by myself.

It’s my turn to look away. By being there for you, I want to say. By supporting you. By loving you. Only it’s not the kind of thing you say very easily.

“They tell me I’m a pretty good listener when I want to be. And I rarely interfere. If you just want to talk to someone, I mean.”

He seems to consider that for a few seconds. “I could use a friend,” he says finally, smiling a little.

“Then I’m your man,” I say, smiling back at him, feeling an almost tangible connection with him that is concealed under the lightness in both our voices.

“Well,” he says, and gives a short laugh. “Okay.” He laughs again, and rubs the back of his neck. “Okay,” he repeats, clearly embarrassed and wanting to put some distance between us.

“Are you through inside?” I ask, and our brief connection must still be holding, because I can see that for once he doesn’t interpret my question as a reprimand or an indication of what he should be doing, but as my consciously offering him the chance he wants to escape.

“No. I just needed to come out a bit, get a different perspective. I’ll go back inside now.”

“Okay.”

He walks back towards the house, following the same meandering path he used before. He squats again, then leans forward on one hand so that he can look back at me without losing his balance.

“Maybe we can grab some breakfast after shift ends?”

I nod and he turns back to the evidence. I watch him for a little longer, then I hear somebody calling me, and I look away.