Title: If That’s Your Boyfriend (He Wasn’t Last Night)
By: rispacooper
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG

A/N: Because they so *are*

A very nice person got me a journal for Christmas. Which was lovely, but I don’t use journals normally, so I reconsidered, and decided to try to put it to (it’s one pleasurable) use with her in mind. So for a while now I’ve been scribbling away at odd moments, and CSI is a fandom we have in common.

So, erm, uh, not my usual sort of style at all, or at least that’s how it feels to me. I was trying for something different. And it’s in a new fandom, so…

Also, I just like Greg’s weird tendency to suddenly turn into this wannabe 1940’s detective noir style narrator. He’s done it on a few occasions on the show and it’s pretty amazing.

My apologies to the good people at Hostess. And to Me'shell Ndegeocello, whose song I took for my title.

There was only so much he could pretend to do here. Halfway out on a long, long, long drive to a crime scene, stopping for munchies, gas, and directions—the whole process didn’t take more than ten minutes, tops and Nick had already spent five talking to the convenience store’s only check-out girl…woman…cashier.

Greg had already peed—lesson learned the hard way, pee when and where you can—washed his hands, gassed up the Denali, glanced at the map. And there Nick was, smiling at the cashier over there in her mini-tee, with a crime scene—and Greg—waiting. Hours of collecting evidence, plus a few more hours driving there and back, and Nick was wasting time flirting with—Greg squinted at the nametag nearly hidden by her huge…ly bad taste in t-shirts—Carly.

Not that Nick really flirted. Not that he had to. Most women looked at Nick like it was a hot, hot day and he was triple-scoop hot fudge sundae with whipped cream and a cherry on top… Delicious, to sum it all up in one word; black jeans and white teeth and tanned skin over hard muscles and just that hint of a world outside Las Vegas in his manners. And when it he looked at it like that, Carly was just another hungry face in the crowd, looking for some sugar. No one out of the ordinary, so there was no reason Greg shouldn’t just go break it up so he and Nick could get on with the case. No reason at all, but he wasn’t moving.

Greg was hovering. And worse, he knew he was; the signs were all there, indisputable evidence of indecision, and just possibly, fear that he had thought he’d left behind him back in DNA/Trace. Restless feet, hands fiddling with a three-pack of Ho-Ho’s because the Mass Spec wasn’t there to fiddle with and he had to put them somewhere, his gaze sliding repeatedly over to the counter before sliding back to the undoubtedly tasty Hostess snack cakes in his sweaty palms. And if there wasn’t all of that, there was always the brief, confused stare Nick had aimed at him a few minutes ago, letting Greg know that he’d weirded out Nick once again.

Greg shrugged. At least there weren’t lives at stake this time.

Carly was laughing over there, and Greg reconsidered his Ho-Ho’s before glancing up. Nick was blushing, red spreading across his cheeks and neck, touching the tips of his ears, spreading down under his black shirt. Carly was loving that. Greg grinned a little too, especially when Nick shot him a tight look, too quick for Greg to read. And Greg really grinned at that, dropping the snacks no matter how tempting they were. Because this was about time for him to slide on up right next to Nick—he refused to call it creeping as he was definitely not Hodges—and embarrass him even more with just his very presence, embarrass him enough that Nick would clamp a hand to the back of his neck with a not-so playful promise of retaliation, or maybe lay his arm across Greg’s shoulders to steer them both outside.

But he didn’t even get one step because suddenly Nick wasn’t smiling anymore, even if Carly was. Nick was standing still, upset in a way he hadn’t been in months now. Greg could see the tension in his shoulders from where he stood, wondering how Carly couldn’t.

It had taken Greg a while, to figure out all the lines around Nick that were strictly Do Not Cross. But decoding mysteries was his job…his life. Carly…probably not, not that Greg wanted to make assumptions about convenience store floozies…cashiers…and what they did in their spare time. And anyway, at this particular moment, the general aura of barely controlled panic around Nick should have been obvious to a blind guy wearing headphones.

Nick had his hands flat on the countertop, pressing a little, but enough to make his biceps flex, visible just at the edge of the sleeves of his black t-shirt. He stared at his hands and took a deep breath before he raised his head to look back at Carly, who was still talking softly. Too quietly for a place like this, and Greg dropped his head but kept on watching them through his bangs. Because that…girl…was talking low on purpose and she’d upset Nick, also probably on purpose. And it took a thing like that to get his feet moving in an actual direction, to propel him forward like someone had sparked a jetpack behind him, and hovering was so far in his past it had dust on it.

Snatching the crinkly bag of snack cakes, Greg put on his biggest smile, rocking to muzak Tony Orlando and Dawn as he strolled easily up to the counter and tossed the Ho-Ho’s down between the two of them.

Nick jerked, as though maybe he’d forgotten all about Greg—which was displeasing—meeting his eyes and then looking away. Greg flashed him some pearly whites anyway, then turned to face the skank-queen of the Kwik-Go.

“This, plus two Cokes.” He put two fingers up, in case maybe she couldn’t count in addition to not getting the hint. Then he stretched and grabbed the cans from the fridge. When he turned back, her wide, green eyes were focused on him.

Greg used to love green-eyed girls. This one made him want to say something immature that he’d outgrown years ago, whatever the rest of the lab thought, or maybe babble the way he still did sometimes around Grissom, because her gaze swept up and down his body from his sneakers to the streaked ends of his hair and not in a sexy, alluring way.

When he didn’t react to her supposed charm, her mouth curved in that way that women’s mouths always did when they knew something, or thought they did. It had unsettled lesser men, but Greg had worked with Sara and Catherine for years now and didn’t so much as didn’t crack a smile. After a while she looked back at Nick, one eyebrow raised.

Nick still wasn’t looking up, and Greg pondered asking if Nick was thinking about taking up smoking since he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the old peeling Camel sticker on the counter’s surface.

“How much?” It was a normal question. Not rude at all. But Carly scrunched her nose and dragged her attention back to him, poking at the register.

“I’ll get it.” Nick cleared his throat and spoke just as Greg handed over his ten. He put his hand out over Greg’s before Greg could say anything, and then he froze, holding it there while Greg just watched him frown at the girl he’d been smiling at a minute ago, the slight wince as Nick absolutely refused to turn to look at Greg. He just worked his jaw and scowled and starting talking to Greg while seriously avoiding any actual eye contact. He pulled back his hand too, just left Greg hanging there.

“I’ll wait in the car.” He was already turning, heading out the door into the heat, waves rising up around him that made Greg dizzy just to see, but Nick didn’t even pause to droop like most people did to feel the sun beating down on them, the sand and cement sizzling under their feet. Black shirt or not, there was no change in the straight lines of his back, the calm, sauntering walk that he had worked hard at relearning after everything, trying to act like everything was okay. Which was so obviously a lie.

Greg spun back to see Carly shaking her head after Nick with a sadness he didn’t believe for a second. The door chimed after Nick before she transferred her gaze to Greg.

Warrick could really pull off the whole speaking softly while making people think twice thing. Greg knew that personally, he failed at intimidation. He glared anyway, holding out his hands silently for his change and considering what he could have said, if he’d known exactly what she’d said to Nick. And of course Carly the Cashier didn’t volunteer anything; she just shrugged and handed the bills to him, her hand hovering over his for a moment, her lips curving.

Greg snatched his hand back.

He hurried out of the heat into the Denali a minute later, setting down the Cokes, buckling his seatbelt, adjusting his shades, talking the whole time. He could hear himself distantly, going on about the nutritional content of Hostess products, if any, their long shelf life, how empty calories were outweighed by the emotional pleasure derived from a little bit of cream-filled nostalgia. It was an embarrassing mechanism left over from high school, but he didn’t stop, because Nick had his shades on, and his driving gloves to touch the hot steering column, and was just sitting in the driver’s seat not saying anything. He didn’t even have the AC on, and it was literally a desert out there.

He started the car the second Greg snapped his seatbelt closed, headed back onto the mostly empty highway.

“Brought you a Coke,” Greg offered, cutting off his own spiel mid-sentence. The cans were already dripping with icy condensation and Greg considered pressing his to his face. Or maybe Nick’s face, which was still a little red, but not from the heat which didn’t seem to bother Nick at all. Greg on the other hand was already sweating, most likely because he’d chosen a long-sleeved white shirt to start his shift, trying to go for a more professional look only to be punished for it today with this assignment.

Nick’s jaw was still clenched, which was a sign of serious storms brewing in the Nick Stokes thought-processes, but he eventually nodded slightly to acknowledge the drink.

“Caffeine never hurt anybody, right?” Greg went on after another pause, not once taking his eyes off Nick. No point in asking what Skeezerella had said, not yet, if ever. Nick would spill it later if he wanted to. Maybe she’d just recognized him from all the news reports. It had happened before.

Greg sighed deliberately, leaving his study of Nick to observe his impulse buy. He couldn’t save the Ho-Ho’s, they’d melt in the car, and he was sort of hungry. But he winced as he tore them open, the crinkling package way too loud in the quiet, echoing SUV. He popped the first one in his mouth whole and felt his grin returning, as much as it could with his cheeks sticking out.

“Mmmsgoowanone?” He shook the bag to echo his question, since Nick probably hadn’t heard him around his mouthful of warm chocolate.

Nothing. No response at all. Not even a, ‘No thanks, Greggo’ and Nick was always polite.

The Ho-Ho in his mouth was suddenly hard to swallow. Greg forced it down and reached over to pop the top on his Coke. He slurped, watching Nick and the road, though Nick wasn’t speeding. Of course he wasn’t. Nick was a careful guy, leaning in close to double check DNA results over Greg’s shoulder.

Outside the Denali it was just miles of desert and distant mountains, brown, little shrubs that Nick probably knew the names of, twisted cacti shaped like people.

Greg burped, blinking in surprise. He felt Nick’s eyes on him at that, imagined the playful eyeroll and bounced forward for another sip of soda.

He’d left chocolate fingerprints on the can and discreetly checked to see if he’d left any anywhere else. The upholstery looked clean, but he stuck his fingers in his mouth anyway, sucking away all traces of smooth, sticky chocolate because he hadn’t thought to grab any napkins and Nick wasn’t just a careful guy, but a seriously neat-freak clean one as well.

He raised his head just in time to see Nick turning back to face the road, like his eyes had never left it. Greg licked his lips, tasting salty sweat and sweet chocolate, and Nick reached out and flicked on the air conditioning.

“Haven’t you had enough sugar already?” Nick’s first words in what felt like hours, as soft as the whirr of air from the vent Greg had immediately aimed at his face. Greg grinned over at him, even if he was being teased, and even if Nick was attempting a kind of obvious diversion.

“No such thing,” he denied instantly and reached for Ho-Ho number two.

Number Two was to be savored. Greg slowly peeled away sections of chocolate, unwrapping the tight roll one layer of soft cake at a time, licking off the sweet cream in between each bite. He popped the last bit in his mouth right as Nick spoke again, and how Nick knew that he couldn’t say, because he looked like he was only watching the road.

“Seriously.” Nick’s voice rasped, but he didn’t reach for his soda or for one the bottles of water they’d brought from the lab, tucked behind the armrest. He flipped the direction on the central air vent between them, pointing it at Greg. “That can’t be good for you.” Nick was in full mother-hen mode; his hands were wrapped tight on the steering wheel, yet he was worrying about Greg almost worse than his actual mom did.

“Sounds like someone has forgotten the value of a Hostess snake cake,” Greg snapped back and was rewarded when Nick glanced at him again.

“No way.”

“Yes way.” The über geeky reply seemed to please Nick. Greg nodded. “It will change your life, my friend.”

He must have tripped over some of Nick’s yellow tape, though he couldn’t think of how, because Nick just coughed and stared straight ahead, like watching shrubs go by was vital to his well-being. Greg sighed deliberately, again.

“Do you want your Coke or not?” he asked his window, grateful Catherine wasn’t there to call him on his tone. If she had been, he would have asked her, honestly, what could Carly back there have said that was worth this level of Nick freakout? And Nick was freaking out over there. No scopes necessary to reach that conclusion.

Another long, heavy sigh filled the Denali, and a frown flicked across Greg’s face as he realized it wasn’t his.

“Look, G, whatever you heard…”

“She upset you.” It was very, very rude to interrupt. Greg did it anyway, because Nick since the incident—no one had ever named it and Greg wasn’t going to be the first—didn’t hesitate like he used to. And even though Greg kind of missed the slow stammers and all the outrageous disbelief at the kinkier side of human behavior, he wasn’t too happy to see it all back like this.

His voice must have revealed something, been angrier than he’d intended, because he felt the truck slow down, like Nick had relaxed, just a fraction. Which was just as strange as Nick freaking out in the first place, since Greg had just opened the whole cans of worms up for discussion, pointed out the big elephant in the room, done any other metaphor that didn’t really make sense when he thought about it. Beans had been spilled, and Nick was slouching into his seat a little and breathing easier. To think everyone thought Greg was the weird one.

“Greg.” His thoughts, curving into a beautifully twisted helix, stopped abruptly, the design falling to nothing when he turned back to look across at Nick.

Nick was considering telling him.

Greg hummed something sort of triumphant and banged softly two or three times on his armrest were Nick couldn’t see it, but kept his mouth shut with an effort that no one would appreciate, except possibly Nick. For a moment he thought about telling Nick, just to see if it would get a laugh.

It didn’t matter if Nick didn’t tell him—well it did, to Nick—but it mostly just felt good to know that Nick wanted to trust him with something. Him, Greg Sanders. Dorky ex-lab tech and newbie CSI. However, a laugh might be just what Nick needed now.

He opened his mouth but Nick cut him off before he got a chance to say anything.

“She asked if…” One of Nick’s hands came off the wheel to rub at the back of his neck, and Greg watched the graceful, blunt fingers try to massage away tension and fear, blinking when Nick kept talking. He made himself look up. “She thought that we…that you…that you were my boyfriend.”


…………..


The crime scene looked cut and dry—and no, that wasn’t one of Grissom’s puns. That would be lame and not exactly the kind of thing Greg wanted to pick up from Grissom, genius though the man undeniably was. It was just that a dismembered, desiccated corpse left under a water tower in an old mining ghost town, in a desert, miles from anywhere…it just fit that description.

A trooper had found him—it—and called it in last night. It—he—could have been out here for days with the wind blowing all the evidence away. Which made things more difficult, evidence gathering-wise, but Greg still had a lot to learn and Nick was thorough and never minded teaching him.

Greg scowled and adjusted his sunglasses to stare at the setting sun. No sign of Nick yet, off taking a last look around while Greg was supposed to be packing up the truck.

“…Gonna walk the perimeter one last time.” His back turned, Greg hadn’t even known Nick was there until Nick had spoken. He’d twisted around to look up but Nick had already been facing away from him, hands clenched at his sides. “Good job out here.” The praise had been nice to hear, but Nick had been standing several feet away, frowning behind his sunglasses.

He’d been gone for at least an hour now.

“That you were my boyfriend.” It wouldn’t stop. It was cut and looped in his brain, of course it was. That unbelievable statement expressed in a rough, rich voice, followed by the short laugh, the fake, nervous laugh that Greg had known was fake; because when Nick really smiled, he did it with his whole face. His eyes, his mouth, a flash of teeth. Genuine and solid and real and just…Nick.

Greg exhaled, pushing aside the memory and scratching absently at his arms until it stung. Then he had to look around quickly for Nick in case he’d been seen.

Of course Nick carried around sunscreen in his vest. And of course he’d taken one look at Greg after two hours out here collecting dirt samples and bagging hairs and started shaking his head. Unlike Greg, puffing in the heat and dripping with sweat, Nick’s skin had been practically shimmering as he’d wiped faint traces of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and laughed softly.

A nice laugh that time. A real laugh, but Greg had still glowered and flipped him off—he hadn’t gotten his base tan yet and his people were Norwegian—stalking toward the Denali for a break. Nick—still chuckling—had followed him over and handed him the tube, pulling it from a hidden pocket like Batman.

Greg had taken it—he wasn’t an idiot even if he’d felt like one—just grabbing it and smearing it all over every inch of exposed skin he could find. It had even been cold somehow. The burning and the freckles and the skin cancer, he hadn’t hesitated at all to voice his complaints about those, and about how Nick might have shared his sunblock earlier, with Nick just watching him and smiling, murmuring something about how he’d learned to carry it with him, and so maybe Greg had smiled back after a while because he had to, with Nick sharing a joke with him like that.

“Here.” And then Nick had squeezed some lotion onto his hand and reached around to smooth it into the back Greg’s neck, just under the collar of his shirt where he hadn’t even thought about trying to reach. And Nick’s fingers were hot and firm and slippery with cool lotion, rubbing small, deep circles under his shirt, peeling the soaked fabric from his skin to reach further down.

There was a sigh in his ear, the only breeze he’d felt all day outside of air conditioning, stirring his hair, the fanned out brown and blonde that Nick had ruffed up back in Vegas after taking one look at Greg’s serious, flat style. Greg had let him, shivering at unbearable heat at his back, close at his back, feeling Nick’s hand slow down, feeling it stop. He’d swallowed dryly, going still.

“That you were my boyfriend”

Nick was going to be even more embarrassed, he’d been trying to help like he always did and Greg kept ruining it for him.

Greg’s feet had had him moving forward, twitching at the slow burn and sweet relief, the sun already punishing him for being so stupid as he’d left Nick behind him in the shadow of the Denali.

It had been his turn to laugh and shrug and not make eye contact—the last part easy with his shades on, the light glaring around the sides to make his eyes water. “Got to get back to my dirt.” He’d finished rubbing in the sunscreen himself, slapping at his neck until the skin tingled.

Nick’s eyes had been on him as he’d walked away. He could always feel Nick’s eyes on him, Nick’s constant concern. His worry. Before the hole, and the box, it had been there. After, now it was still there, only stronger somehow. Survival and trauma and something like that were the kinds of things a psychiatrist might have said. Torture, that’s what Greg would have said.

What the hell did Nick think was going to happen anyway? Greg shoved a case full of dirt samples into place with more force than he needed. There was a mountain of evidence already stacked in the back, and he knew without asking just by looking at the pile, that they were both hoping some of it would actually turn out to be useful in solving this case. It was not the initial crime scene, judging from the lack of blood, and nature had destroyed most of the evidence before they’d even arrived.

The sky was turning orange, flaming reds around the mountain tops in colors that scientists were never going to be able to artificially reproduce. Greg turned to watch just as Nick’s silhouette appeared at one end of the town’s abandoned street. The coroner had gone with the body hours ago, the trooper shortly after. It was just going to be the two of them to watch the sun go down.

“That you were my boyfriend.”

Greg shook his head and leaned back against the bumper, shifting for no reason, fingers stroking across the name printed on his vest in big, obvious letters, moving up to brush away the flat line of bangs slashed across his face that didn’t hide anything.

Nick was still coming up, getting closer. Greg turned sideways to watch him, dropping his hands to the carefully arranged contents of the truck. He really needed to adjust his kit he’d already stowed away. Right. And people would believe this, why?

“Hey,” Nick called out, grinning and breathless like he’d been running and not heading steadily and slowly in Greg’s direction, his stride easy.

“Hey.” Greg jerked his gaze up, surprised to find Nick’s face open. He looked incredibly pleased with himself and he didn’t care who saw it. He looked…like someone who’d solved the case.

Greg swallowed particles of sand stuck in his throat, something more than a little painful and just the kind of thing he needed to snap him back to the moment. If Nick had solved the case it was awesome, for the victim, for Nick, and because otherwise the ride back might have been Awkward with a capital ‘A’. And awkwardness was not something he wanted in his friendship with Nick, and Nick definitely didn’t need it either. So Nick acting like they were normal and good again was definitely awesome.

He wasn’t the first guy to lie to himself and he wouldn’t be the last. A man needed only time to convince himself of anything, as Grissom might say, and they had hours to go until the lights of Vegas would shine back on them.

Nick stopped in front of him and Greg looked down to slip his sunglasses into his vest pocket. Nick had a fat evidence bag in one hand, which was obviously the reason for all the smiles.

“What is that?” Nick seemed incredibly pleased Greg had noticed, beaming even more, his whole face radiating happiness and excitement, and Greg knew, despite everything, that he was starting to grin back.

“Just a man’s shirt, covered in dried blood and wrapped around a small hacksaw. I found it under some old porch that was falling apart.” His shook his head once, most likely at the stupidity of the killer—the guy had not been thinking clearly—and Greg met his gaze.

“The smoking gun. Nice.” More than a clue. The clue. Someone’s last moments, all neatly and beautifully encoded inside the horror of bloodstains. “I hope he was wearing that shirt at the time.” Out here, he would have been sweating. A lot. Getting a DNA sample should be as quick as Hodges getting shot down by the new girl.

Nick held onto his prize for a moment longer, then set the bag carefully down next to Greg’s kit, making room for his own a moment later and pausing with his hand on the top. He was still smiling a little, shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t even have looked under there, if I hadn’t noticing something totally out of place in a town like this. But there it was, clear as day.” Nick had left his sunscreen in the truck, with was probably the reason for the traces of dusky red on his face now. He was practically smirking, and Greg felt his heart rate pick up because he wasn’t ashamed to admit that Nick was freaking him out a little.

“What?” The sun was going down, slivering fire around them. Nick slid back into easy motion, tossing Greg a knowing look as he removed his own sunglasses, pulling his camera from around his neck, checking it carefully before stowing it.

“A Ho-Ho wrapper.” Nick finished, eyes like burning coal for a way too brief second, and then was gone, walking around to the Denali’s side door while Greg was still staring at him.


…………….


He was left to scowl at his own pile of convenience store garbage for a while after that, because Nick hadn’t said much else since then. He’d just gotten in the truck, buckling up while Greg had spurred himself back into motion, closing the trunk and side doors.

A wrinkled ball of once-delicious goo was all that was left of that third, forgotten Hostess treat, the chocolate melted hours ago, stuck partly to the side of two cans of warm, flat Coke. Greg twisted his face in disgust no matter how hungry he was and darted a look over at Nick, at his bare hands, loose and easy on the wheel. He turned his head, listening to the occasional contented hum, snatches of some country song escaping Nick’s mouth every few moments like the humming wasn’t enough.

There were a few stars in the sky, the silver light of the moon shining from somewhere Greg couldn’t see. It was a nice night, or it should have been, even exhausted and wearing a shirt that reeked of dried sweat. The Denali was quiet, aside from Nick’s almost singing. No radio. No whirr of the air conditioning now that the air outside had cooled. Just Nick’s thick, rumbling voice, which, even though Nick couldn’t really sing, was weirdly soothing.

Greg rolled his tense shoulders, which refused to be soothed. A moment later he was daring another look over, wishing he hadn’t pushed his bangs aside even if Nick wasn’t paying any attention to him.

Now there was the image of a man who liked what was on his mind, and Greg dropped his head with a silent sigh. He left his chin on his chest and slouched down, blinking to notice the tiny partial print he must have left on the glove compartment earlier during his chocolate binge. It had somehow escaped his notice, just proving what a complete and total failure today had been for Greg in the detecting things department. He made a face at it.

A Ho-Ho bag left at a crime scene, covered in prints. That was all it reminded him of now.
“…As nice as the ones you left all over the car,” Nick had added from the driver's seat, one eyebrow up, like he knew something now too, or thought he did.

Greg barely resisted telling him he’d only left one print in the car. Nick would have probably pointed out three more. Nick would probably have told him how She would have noticed them too.

How Nick could possibly want to see Carly the Cashier again, Greg could not understand. There were many, many things to appreciate about many types of girls, but this particular dame…skirt…girl…she wasn’t nice. And there was an underappreciated genius this rather brilliant conclusion, like so many of Greg’s more amazing qualities. Like all his contributions today, forgotten, ignored, and laughed at. He crossed his arms and directed another glare at his snack-cake remnants, which, now that he thought about it, had been his breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

“You think she might have seen our killer,” he asked without really asking, unsmiling, after the billionth mile of twisted cacti in the headlights and happy Nick humming. He was supposed to be pretending to excited about Nick’s epiphany, the possible link to the bad guy. He was too tired and too sweaty and way too hungry to really even try. Nick could just go ahead and think he was being immature. Perhaps he was being immature, but he was allowed to be.

Nick just nodded like he’d been sitting there waiting for Greg to finally say something. Greg bit his tongue. It hurt, just like he’d expected it to. That education hadn’t been for nothing.

“Probably not too many people come out this way. And she was…”

“Yeah?” Greg demanded shortly, his chin up even if he was looking out the window and not at Nick. He should have bitten down harder on his tongue. It was the fastest healing organ in the body, it could handle it.

“She is an observant girl.” Nick said that like it ought to mean something to Greg, directing a heavy, warning look at him that Greg could feel pressing on his skull. A few hours earlier it would not have been a stretch to say Nick wouldn’t have minded never laying eyes on Carly again. Now it was like he was on his way to the Oracle from the Matrix and he couldn’t wait for some cookies.

Greg snorted, mumbling something about that that Nick did not need to hear. Nick paused for only a second as though he’d heard it anyway, then just starting humming something new, something that sounded like what they pumped into elevators, even smiling some more which Greg noticed because he had to glance over at the abrupt change in melody. Nick was smiling like a dumb guy in love. Like a sap who didn’t care who knew it.

Greg turned his head back around slowly, keeping his gaze on Nick and not moving it. He was staring openly, he knew he was, because Nick was tapping the dash and moving his legs and glancing over at Greg and practically singing, and there wasn’t a single line of yellow tape to be seen. Not one sign of DO NOT CROSS, which was really strange, even if half the time just seeing that tape up made Greg want to tear through it to get to the other side. Even if most of the time, he did it anyway, because a degree couldn’t teach him everything.

Now there was nothing to tear through, nothing to step carefully around and wait to get rebuffed, pushed away by the scruff of his neck with Nick whispering feverishly in his ear about distance. And that just seemed a little extreme even for possibly solving the case because of Greg’s bad taste in snack food. And more than unnecessary for a dime-store cashier with bad manners even with her huge…mini t-shirt. Nick really was the weirdest person Greg knew. It was incredibly unfair.

“Have you eaten anything at all today besides those things?” Nick waved a hand to indicate Greg’s little ball of trash, obviously aware of the answer because he kept talking. “I heard your stomach growling earlier, and I know what you get like without a regular food supply.” He actually leaned to the side a little, toward Greg, and winked. Winked. Greg felt a little hum of his own, down near his stomach. “The whole lab knows, Greg.”

Greg opened his mouth, scowling, but Nick glanced over at him, his eyes warm and wide and friendly and just a little too knowing. And there was something strange going on here, and if he had a minute away from the humming and the smell of Ho-Ho’s baked inside a hot car, he might be able to figure it out. But after all their hours out here Nick had apparently decided that Greg didn’t get any more time for puzzles today. He cleared his throat, speaking again and still giving Greg these up and down glances, like he suddenly didn’t know the meaning of distance. “When we get back to town… I’m thinking waffles…”

“…My treat,” he added a couple of seconds after Greg finally remembered to blink. They went out to eat after work all the time, sometimes with the group, sometimes just the two of them. Nick must be really hungry too, being that insistent about waffles. After all, Greg realized, he had turned down the last Ho-Ho and Greg hadn’t seen him eat anything today either.

His stomach rumbled just as Nick turned his attention back to the road, and the sound was loud enough that there was no way he could pretend he wasn’t hungry. Not that he even really want to try. He had no more patience for decoding today, and no more interest in trying to deny the glaringly obvious. The truth was…the truth was he wanted waffles more than anything in the world and had since forever. He wanted waffles more than he wanted ice cream and definitely more than he wanted Ho-Ho’s, which he was never eating again. He wanted tasty, thick, warm sweet bread, dripping in syrup and whipped cream. He wanted strong, bitter dark roast coffee. And Nick. Greg twitched; his face—and the rest of him—hot as he looked away.

“A good, full breakfast might perk you up.” Greg twitched again to hear the teasing note in Nick’s voice, to know that Nick that he wasn’t being perky enough. He closed his eyes briefly, facing the window so Nick couldn’t see. “And not drenched in syrup and whipped cream either, you’ve had too much sugar as it is.”

Health advice from the man who was going to cover his waffles in butter. Real butter, Greg knew from experience, from a hundred shared meals after work. It was Nick’s only known vice; he could never resist it. He made little noises when he ate it, closing his eyes, licking his lips before stealing Greg’s coffee. Greg thought about all of that, opening his eyes and swinging his head back toward Nick, even if he didn’t look at anything other than two cans of soda and a mushy Ho-Ho.

His skin itched. Nick’s lotion was in his pocket now, but he wasn’t about to amuse Nick anymore by rubbing on more. He closed his mouth tight and left his skin to burn. Because if Nick thought he was just going to keep on saying and doing things like that and nobody else was going to comment then he was delusional in ways that…rivaled other seriously delusional people, and Greg was too tired to think of something Phillip Marlow would say.

“So we are dating after all,” he remarked at last, his voice too high and then just flat, his joke falling to the floor where it belonged.

The interior of the Denali was quiet, had been quiet for a while now, and Nick must have stopped humming a few minutes ago, probably even before Greg had made his feeble attempt at humor. Somehow he didn’t think a short laugh was going to work this time. If he looked over, Nick was going to be tense again, clenching his jaw closed to hold back any angry words, because Nick didn’t like to say things in anger. So the tape was going to go up again, for Greg’s own good, or so Nick would tell himself, and the Awkward would be back, and there wouldn’t be any waffles for a long, long time.

“I mean…” Greg surged up until the seatbelt strap across his chest yanked him back, reaching out in a gesture that he hoped explained and dismissed everything without him actually having to say anything more.

“Yeah…” Nick breathed the word over Greg’s halted explanation, stopping it short. “…If you don’t mind, Greggo.”

There were several answers to that jumped forward in Greg’s mind, spinning around until the centrifugal force left him short of breath and more than a little confused. He really was a very smart guy, a genius even, whatever certain jealous and psychotic techs in the lab might say, but his brain must have melted out there in the heat. Whatever the correct response was—if Nick really meant that, had really just said that—his mouth wasn’t spitting it out, and it was suddenly very difficult to make himself look at the person sitting next to him.

Nick. He was sitting next to Nick, and he reeked, and he was sunburned, and his stomach was growling. Nick had solved the case. Nick smelled like sweat too. Nick was fidgeting, his leg twitching. These were all facts. Facts considered in the right order led to correct conclusions. At least they were supposed to.

His hands came up. They fell back down. His feet shifted on the floor, and he crossed his arms again only to uncross them. He’d only been this frozen once or twice before in his life. He knew he was hesitating for no real reason, he knew it, and Nick knew it too.

And that did it, made him look over to study the curl of Nick’s fingers at the edge of the steering wheel, the muscles of his bare arms, the broad, tense shoulders. He kept on looking up, and Nick glanced at him just as his eyes reached his face. He wasn’t doing anything he didn’t normally do, but something in his expression made Nick push out a breath and smile. A real smile, the kind that started slow at his eyes and only finished at his mouth.

“I don’t.” Greg answered finally, blinking to hear himself and sending his gaze back to the funky cacti in the headlights. “…Mind, that is.” He was pretty sure he was grinning, if only because that’s what he usually did when Nick smiled at him like that. Which wasn’t just possibly everything, it was everything. And even a sap could smile when he’d solved something this big. “But I’m getting whipped cream.”

Nick opened his mouth, doubtless about to say something about calories.

“Whipped cream is not about nutritional content, Nick.” Greg cleared his throat and interrupted even if it was rude, because he was right. “Whipped cream is all about the emotional benefits.”

“Emotional benefits…” Nick’s voice, when he answered after a long pause, was skeptical and encouraging at the same time; because he might know Greg had the solution, but maybe he still wanted it drawn out for him. Which was normal and actually, just fine with Greg, and so Greg leaned to the side, just a little.

“Properly utilized whipped topping will change your life.”

With a sideways glance through his eyelashes he could see the color spreading across Nick’s cheeks to his ears, down the back of his neck until he looked as sunburned as Greg. He licked his lips.

“Oh really?” And that was the kind of dare that would have gotten Nick into all sorts of trouble back Greg’s old lab, even with a dry erase board safely between them.

Greg leaned over a little more—well, a lot more—even though he didn’t have any pretense for it, letting their arms brush at the elbow, splaying his fingers lightly over Nick’s forearm, at his wrist. He didn’t pretend to do anything but enjoy the feel of the soft hair along Nick’s arm, the hot, shifting muscle as Nick held himself still. Then he slid his fingers forward slowly, keeping his eyes on the road in front of them. Miles more of dust and shrubs and mountains he couldn’t see anymore until they reached town. Hours to go.

“That you were my boyfriend.”

Greg blinked, then his lips curved up into a smile. She solved puzzles after all.

“But when we get to the Kwik-Go, I’m doing the talking.”