Title: Losing Battle
Author: Lament
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Fandom: CSI
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine. Sigh.
Spoilers: "Weeping Willows"
Author's Notes: Thanks to shacky20 for the title, and for reading millions of drafts.
Summary: Nick Stokes walks into a bar...

***

"C'mon, G. You know what I can do with my tongue when I'm properly motivated."

Greg bites his bottom lip and glances toward the opening that leads from the locker room to the hallway. "Believe me," he chuckles. "I know. But Grissom can't spare me. Sara had court this morning, and she won't be in 'til later."

I lean closer and growl, "Just tell him you have an emergency. You never call off. He'll buy it."

Grinning, Greg shifts from one foot to the other. "I want to, Nicky. Believe me. But I can't."

Letting out a breath, I nod. "That's cool," I say. I knew it was a long shot, but I had to try. Ever since Greg and I got stuck on separate shifts, we've been fighting for some alone time together. And lately, we've been losing the battle. "So, I guess I'll crash and make sure I'm up when you get home this morning. I'll have breakfast ready about nine. Cool?"

Greg winces. "Actually, you can sleep in, Nicky. I sort of promised Sara I'd run to the mall with her after our shift. We figured we'd grab pancakes after."

I narrow my eyes. "You're going shopping with Sara? Why?"

Squirming in place, Greg says, "Our friend, Jenna, is getting married next Friday, and we're going to go together on a gift."

"Who's Jenna?" I ask.

Greg runs a hand through his shaggy hair. "She's a paramedic. Sara and Jenna are good friends. Sara introduced us while we were on that case with the old man and the staple gun. Her husband-to-be used to surf out in California." He gazes at me for a moment, as if he's trying to gauge the likelihood of me exploding on the spot. "So, we're getting them a gift."

"Okay," I say a little too quickly. "Whatever."

"I just can't get out of it," Greg says, placing a hand on my upper arm.

"I said whatever, man. It doesn't matter."

"Maybe I can call off tomorrow?"

I step away from Greg. "Maybe," I say. "I'm outta here."

I stalk down the hall, lost in thoughts, when Warrick falls into step beside me. "Hey, Nicky. Guess who has a date?"

I'm not in the mood for this. "You?"

"Yeah, me," he grins. "I'm taking her to that piano bar I was telling you about."

"Good for you, man," I say.

"How about you?" Warrick asks, patting me on the shoulder. "Nicky have plans?"

Damn. He would steer the conversation to me.

"Oh, yeah," I say.

About then, Catherine swoops up from behind us, and drapes her arms across our shoulders. "I could really use a drink. You wanna join me? I'm buying."

Warrick shakes his head. "I'd love a drink," he says. "I already made plans, though."

"You did?" Catherine asks, disappointment lacing her voice.

Warrick mutters something and races off for his date.

"All right," Catherine says, turning toward me.

Me? I just want to get out of this lab as fast as I can. "Raincheck," I say as I hurry toward the exit, "Raincheck."

Almost as soon as I get into my car, I regret that I blew Catherine off. She sounds like she's had the kind of day I've had. We could probably use each other's company. With one hand, I reach up and knead the sore muscles of my left shoulder. With my other hand, I fumble in the glove box for my cell phone. I figure I'll call Cath and tell her my plans changed, and I'd love to get a drink.

But on the other hand, I'm not sure how in the mood for company I am right now. Besides, we'd probably be sitting there for about five minutes before Catherine would say, "Y'okay, Nicky?" or "Wanna talk?" And let's just face it—I'm not in the mood to emote.

Nah. Better to spend the night sulking about G all by myself.

I drive to a little bar I know near my house. It's a mostly country and western redneck crowd, so I figure there's no chance I'll be running into Catherine. And it's near enough to my house that I can leave my car and walk home if I drink too much.

The second I walk in, I'm greeted by a gust of cigarette smoke and sawdust. I cover my mouth as I walk past a table filled with loud, old, hacking men. When I reach the bar, I slide onto a stool and order a beer. It's probably best to forgo the mixed drinks tonight.

I reach over and hook my finger onto a bowl of peanuts and drag it toward me. Peanuts, beer, smoke, country music…Dad would be proud.

I'm there about an hour, and I'm feeling pretty tipsy, when a slightly familiar, not-bad-to-look-at woman plunks onto the stool beside me. She looks me up and down, her eyes glazed with alcohol. "Nick Stokes, right?"

I nod, as my brain tries to put a name with the newly-arrived woman's face. After a few seconds, I say, "That's me…It's Becca, isn't it?"

She grins. "You remember me. Surprising."

"The thing is," I say, leaning forward. "I'm not sure where I remember you from." Holding up an empty bottle of beer, I say, "Of course, I've had a few of these."

Becca scoots her body forward. Raising her voice above the Hank Jr. song that just came on the jukebox, she says, "Day shift. DNA. I covered for Mia when she was out of town."

I point at her, as though her words carry startling significance. "DNA. I like DNA. I used to like DNA."

Narrowing her eyes, she giggles, "You like DNA?"

"I used to like DNA," I say. Shrugging, I shake my head and laugh. "I don't know. That doesn't make any sense."

"I think you're a little drunk," she grins.

"I'm workin' on it." I wave the bartender over. "Hey, we'll have another beer and one of those thingies there that Becca's drinking."

Becca smiles. "Well thank you, sir."

I laugh, but I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because no one ever calls me, "sir."

After a couple minutes, the bartender returns with our drinks. Becca picks her up her glass, takes a sip, and then plunks it down onto the bar, splashing vodka and orange juice all over the counter.

She looks at me and grins. "Oops," she says.

"Oops," I say, laughing. Leaning forward, I say, "You're making a mess, Becca."

"I'm usually very neat," she says.

"Well, it's good to be neat since you work with evidence."

Becca stares at me for a few seconds, and then she bursts out laughing.

I narrow my eyes. "What's so funny?"

She shakes her head. "I have no idea, Nicky-boy."

I take a sip of beer, and then a sudden thought occurs to me. "I hope I'm not on call," I say.

Becca grins. "That would be bad." After a few seconds, she squeezes the fingers of my left hand and asks, "So why the bender? Bad case?"

I glare, not at Becca, but at life in general. After a few seconds, I wave my hand. "I'd tell you, but it'd sound like the lyrics to a country song."

"What?" Becca grins. "You have your heart broken?"

"Shattered," I say, mentally picturing Greg ambling through the mall with Sara. "You think someone cares, and then you find out they don't."

She pats my arm. "You got shot down," she says.

"Yeah, I sure did," I nod, popping a cashew into my mouth.

Jutting out her bottom lip, she says, "Poor, Nick. Well, I won't shoot you down."

An hour or two or three or five later, I rub my eyes savagely, trying to fight off the hazy thickness that's been creeping up on me.

Becca places a hand on my shoulder and whispers, "I've probably had enough."

"I haven't," I protest. And I haven't. I want to drink until the image of Sara laughing at one of Greg's joke is cast out of my mind.

Becca dips her index finger into her drink, then she reaches up and draws a line on my bottom lip. I sit frozen, almost in awe at her audacity. Then, almost without warning, Becca slips her finger into my mouth.

"Maybe we should take your drinking binge back to your place," she says into my ear.

Uh-oh.

I'm sure that when morning hits, I'll be questioning the wisdom of this decision. But right now, sitting on my couch with Becca, two half-empty bottles of beer, and two more on deck seems like a good idea.

"So," Becca says, scooting her body closer to me.

I shift a little, trying to create some physical distance between me and Becca. "So," I say.

"Have you met Stacy?" Becca asks, tracing the veins on my hand with her index finger. "Trace? Morning shift?"

"Uh-uh," I say, shaking my head.

Becca scoots closer, and I can smell the vodka and orange juice on her breath. She lays one hand on my thigh, causing me to flinch slightly. "Stacy and I were talking yesterday," Becca says, "About how hot you are."

I let out a short laugh. "That's nice," I say. I glance down at Becca's hand on my thigh. It feels so alien sitting there. It's not like I didn't know this was inevitable. Even in my current drunken haze, I knew exactly why I was bringing Becca back to my place. But now that she's here, the reality of the situation is starting to hit me.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea, Becca," I whisper.

She looks at me, amusement ghosting across her face. "Why? We don't work the same shift. And it's not like you're seeing anyone."

I take Becca's hand in mine and remove it from my thigh. "I am, actually."

She giggles. "Oh, come on, Nicky. The lab has the best gossip chain. Everyone says you're celibate."

"I'm not celibate." I say. I clear my throat, in a vain attempt to cover the fact that my voice just raised two octaves.

Nuzzling my ear, she whispers, "Prove it." With her right hand, Becca cups my chin, her thumb gently caressing my cheek. When I don't protest, she slides her left hand up my shirt and starts tracing a pattern up my spine.

I close my eyes. God, this does feel good. And don't I deserve to feel good for a while?

I'm sure Greg feels pretty good when he's with Sara. Otherwise, why would he blow me off? Why would he choose her over me?

Swallowing, I lean forward and press my lips to hers, allowing all the pain and anger and depression of the day to pour into that one action.

Encouraged, Becca pulls me closer and deepens the kiss.

All at once, I feel myself fall forward into a dark void. My heart starts to pound like crazy, and my lungs strain for breath. I can feel the muscles in my shoulders start to tighten, so much so I think they might snap. And my brain, my brain starts to scream, What are you doing? This would kill Greg.

"Wait," I mumble into Becca's mouth. I place my hands on her shoulders and start to push her away.

But before I have a chance, I hear the door slam behind me.

"What are you doing?" I hear Greg say.

"Greg, I…" My voice trails off. What can I say?

"What are you doing?" Greg repeats. He takes a step toward the sofa and glares venom at Becca.

Becca glances at me, waiting, I guess, for an explanation.

"You better go," I say, patting her on the shoulder. "Call a cab, okay?"

Nodding, Becca stands up and staggers toward the door. She stops about halfway there and turns back to me. "I'm sorry," she mouths, and then she hurries out the door.

"What the hell was that?" Greg snaps.

I stand up fast, but the alcohol in my system gets the better of me, and I fall back into a sitting position on the couch. "Greg, nothing happened. I swear."

Greg throws his keys onto the ground with a flourish. "So, you weren't just in a liplock with her? I imagined that? Huh."

I bury my face in my hands. "Nothing would have happened. She started kissing me, Greg. And you know what? It felt pretty good." I shouldn't feel bad, considering Greg blew me off. I really shouldn't. "What are you doing here anyway?" I say, "It's too early for you to be home."

"I had to change my clothes, all right?" Greg snarls. "What? Were you timing it, so you could sleep with her and not get caught?"

"I wouldn't have slept with her," I shout, forcing my body into a standing position. "How can you even think that?"

Greg laughs bitterly. "Because she had her tongue down your throat? Come on, Nick! You were hot and heavy."

"Well, you know what?" I say, taking a step toward him. "It felt good. Do you know how long it's been since I've felt like someone wanted me?"

"Oh, don't give me that," Greg shouts. "We have a great sex life."

I walk away from him. "This isn't about sex, Greg! She wanted me. She found me attractive. She couldn't keep her hands off me. Me and you? Sex is a habit."

Greg stares at me. "You never complained before."

"How can I?" I spit. "You're always with Sara!"

"Okay, wait," Greg says, shaking his head. "This is about Sara, now?"

I pick up a throw pillow off the sofa and pitch it violently across the living room. "You blew me off so you could be with Sara."

Greg throws his hands up. "You are such a whiner. I can't believe we're having this argument."

Well, that hurt like hell. I feel like I've been sucker punched.

Licking my lips, I say, "I'm a whiner because I want to spend time with my boyfriend?"

Greg turns his back to me. "I work with Sara, Nick. I didn't ask to be on separate shifts."

"No one forces you to spend all the extra time with Sara."

Spinning back to face me, Greg says, "I'm going to the mall with her. Call the presses."

"Yeah," I say, "And last week, you stopped for breakfast. And the week before that, you went to a movie."

He points at me. "You were at work when we went to the movie."

I glower at him for a long moment. "The point is, Greg, she gets more time with you than I do. Now you're picking out wedding—"

He cuts me off. "Oh, please, we talked about—"

"—gifts," I say, raising my voice above his. "You're picking out wedding gifts together, Greg."

"We talked about that," he says. "I had a commitment."

"With Sara," I say. "When do I get to spend time with you? I want to know."

Greg takes a step forward. "You know what, Nick?" Greg shouts. "You're trying to make this all about me! Well, you know? I wasn't the guy making out with some chick from a bar while his boyfriend was at work."

"No," I snap, punching the back of the sofa. "But if Sara gave the chance, I'm guessing you would."

Greg stares at me. "Screw you," growls.

"In your dreams," I say.

For several long moments, Greg and I stand there and let our words hang in the air. Finally, Greg shoots me a toxic look and silently stalks out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

***

This is the first time I've seen Nick in nine days. Actually, that's not true. I did see him five days ago. He was standing in the hall talking to Warrick. Like a coward, I stayed out of sight—which is kind of what I'm doing right now—until Nick slapped Warrick on the shoulder and walked out the door.

Currently, Nick is standing in front of his locker, massaging the back of his neck. He probably slept on the couch last night. He always wakes up with a kink in his neck if he sleeps on the couch.

I, meanwhile, am standing just inside the shower room, hoping Nick doesn't notice me. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to bring my clothes in here with me. At least I'm spared the indignity of hiding back here dripping wet and in the buff.

After a few seconds, Nick tugs his jacket out of the locker, tosses it over his shoulder, and then sits down on the bench with a thud.

I'm such a coward. I should just go out there and tell Nick I want to talk things out. It's been over a week since I slammed out the door after catching him in a lip lock with Becca Miles from days. In that time, I've tried to put myself in Nick's place, tried to imagine what must've been going through his mind after I blew him off to spend time Sara. To be honest, though, I still don't know what to say to him. Maybe the pain is just too raw. For both of us.

Biting my bottom lip, I walk back into the shower room and climb into a dry stall. I hang my water-drenched towel over the top of the stall and lean against the chipped-paint surface with a thud. Clearing my throat, I brush the ball of my hand over my bare stomach, trying to catch the rogue droplets of water of that are trickling into the waistband of my jeans.

Closing my eyes tightly, I replay my last words to Nick, and his to me. "Screw you," I shouted, so pissed off that I wanted to explode. And Nick, Nick glared at me with more venom than I'd ever seen in his eyes. "In your dreams," he snapped. There we were…two grown men, supposedly in love. So what do we do? We shoot to kill. And as soon as we were both mortally wounded, I bolted out of the house like some overgrown, hormonal teenager.

Letting my body slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the cement floor of the shower stall, I let out a staggered breath. What have I done? What in the hell have I done? My head feels suddenly heavy, so I let it fall onto my knees.

I know how damn sensitive Nick is. And I know how damn hard he's been trying to make this thing between the two of us work. Nick doesn't do casual. He never has. Knowing Nick, he would've tried to make an honest woman out of Kristy Hopkins if she'd lived.

Blinking my eyes tight, I struggle to stave off the tears I know are coming. I clasp my hands against the back of my head and draw my knees closer to my chest. With a final hitch of my breath, I give in to the flood.

Nick's the crier in our relationship, not me. Big things make him cry. Little things make him cry. I swear, he cried during Shrek 2. In all the time Nick and I have known each other, though, I think he's seen me cry one time, and that was after I was blown across my lab. It's not that I don't cry. I do. I just make sure no one's around when I do it.

With a sense of abandon, I let myself sob for a while. Feels good, if I'm being honest. I've needed to let go for a while. I cry for me. I cry for Nick. I cry for our relationship. I cry for whatever happened to Ecklie to make him the kind of sour bastard who would split up our team.

After a few minutes. I hear someone coming, so I bite my bottom lip and try to silence the sobs.

Poking her head around the stall, Sara says, "Knock knock. Are you decent? 'Course, I've already seen it all."

I look up at Sara and blink several times. "Huh?"

Sara gazes at me for a moment, and then squats down beside me. "Hey, you okay, Greg?"

I nod.

Smiling, Sara says, "I've been looking for you. I wondered if maybe you drowned back here."

"Only in self-pity," I say, letting out a sharp laugh.

She squeezes my shoulder. With her index finger, Sara brushes at my tear-stained face. "Want to share?"

I shake my head.

"Greg," she says, depositing herself Indian style onto the floor. "Come on. What's going on?"

Closing my eyes, I ask, "Is Nick out there?"

Sara shakes her head. "He wasn't there when I came in. Why? You two have a fight?"

Laughing out of grief-induced insanity, I say, "Yeah. Yeah, we had a fight."

"What about?"

Swallowing, I look at Sara and wonder what she'd say if I told her the truth. Nick and I don't think anyone knows about us yet. We've worked pretty damn hard to keep our relationship quiet. Working around Neanderthals like Vartann and Cavaliere, we just figure it's easier. After we started getting serious, though, we did talk at length about telling our friends. We'd think they'd be all right with it, but we just never cranked up the nerve.

Well, Nick's already pissed at me. I might as well add outing him to Sara to the list.

Taking a breath, I say, "I walked in on Nick kissing Becca from the day shift."

Narrowing her eyes, Sara says, "Okay. So, you have a thing for Becca now?"

"No," I grimace. "She's a skank."

"Greg," Sara says, smacking me on the shoulder. "That's mean."

Rubbing my eyes, I say, "Well, it's true."

Sara lets out a breath. "Okay, well," she says "Nick may not have the best taste—"

Suddenly offended, I blurt, "I think he has fine taste, thank you."

Sara stares at me for a long moment, kind of the way Grissom would stare at a new bug lying tacked behind a glass case. Finally, she throws her hands up. "Greg, what are we talking about?"

Rubbing at a wet spot on my jeans, I fight the sudden urge to bolt out of the room. Summoning up what's left of my nerve, I blurt, "Nick and I are seeing each other. He got jealous about something, and so he wound up swapping spit with Becca."

After a moment, Sara says, "Wow. That's a lot of new information, Greg. How long have you two been seeing each other?"

"Two years," I mutter.

"Two years?" Sara moves over and plunks herself down next to me. "Why am I only hearing about this now?"

"It's just easier," I say, waving the question away. "It's probably over now anyway."

"Because you caught him cheating on you?"

"Well, he wasn't really cheating on me," I say, a little more harshly than I plan.

"You said he was kissing Becca."

"Please," I snap. "He wouldn't have slept with her."

Sara's sitting so close right now that I can feel the heat emanating off her skin. Biting my bottom lip, I shift my body away from hers.

Gazing at me for a moment, Sara runs her fingers through her hair. "Well, if you're not upset with him for kissing Becca, then what's up?"

I look up at the ceiling, checkered with mint green paint and spackle. Weird. Swallowing, I whisper, "Nick thinks I spend too much time with you."

She cocks her head at me. "What?"

Still not brave enough for eye contact, I continue to study the garish paint job on the ceiling. "Yeah, but whatever," I say. "Doesn't matter."

"It does to him, apparently," Sara says.

I lay my head back against the wall, and glance at Sara. "It's this damn shift split," I say. "We never get any time together, and I think he feels like I'm going to get bored with him or something." I rub my knuckle against the knee of my jeans. "But that's not even close to being true."

"When did things get rocky between you two?" Sara asks.

I shrug. "It finally hit a head about a week an a half ago." Shaking my head, I say, "But you know Nick. He's probably been bottling this up for a while." Swallowing, I take a deep breath, and then I blurt, "He thinks I have a thing for you."

Sara flashes a brief grin. "A thing? You and me?"

I roll my eyes. "Come on. It's not that preposterous, Sara. I mean, I don't." I wince and then add, "Sorry."

Smiling, Sara says, "Don't be. Did you tell Nick that?"

"I tried," I say, sitting up straighter. "I think I was screaming at him at the time, though."

Sara squeezes the fingers on my right hand. "Probably not the best way to calm his fears."

"No, probably not," I say.

"You want me to talk to him for you?" Sara asks.

I gaze at her for a moment. My God, I'm so tempted to just let her clean up some of the damage before I go to Nick. Shaking my head, I say, "No. No, I need to suck it up and face this by myself."

It feels weird to have to knock Nick's door. A little over a week ago, it was our door. I hadn't officially moved in or anything. But for all intents and purposes, this was the place I called home. I lean against the doorframe and wait for Nick to open the door. With my luck, though, he knows it's me, and he's waiting me out. I lay my hand across the doorknob, flirting for a moment with just pulling out my key and letting myself in. But the last time I did that…

Shaking my head, I take a step backward.

I'm about to go back to my car when the door finally swings open. Nick stands just inside the house, his thumb hooked through a belt loop in his blue jeans. He's clad in a white t-shirt, sleep-rumpled hair, and bare feet. He looks beautiful.

"G," Nick says, staring down at the floor.

"Hey, Nick," I says, hugging my arms across my chest in an effort to fight off the chill that's just swept over me. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah," Nick mumbles, his eyes still focused on the floor. "Just get off?"

"Yeah," I say, stepping into the house. I glance around the room, almost as if I expect it to be drastically different than it was nine days ago. "So, I, uh…wanted to talk about last week."

Licking his lips, Nick nods and turns slightly away from me. "Shoot."

Part of me wants to walk up to Nick, wrap my arms around his waist, and lay my head against his shoulder. In fact, I'm almost starving for the contact. But if I push Nick too early, he may shut down. So instead, I stay where I'm at. "Nicky," I say. "I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry."

"Mmm."

I run my hand through my hair. "I love you, Nicky, and…I didn't mean to take you for granted."

Nick still has his back to me, but I can see the tension in his shoulders ebb slightly. So at least I know he's listening to me.

"Nick," I say, chancing a step toward him. "Turn around so I can see you." When Nick doesn't answer, I take a couple more steps until I'm directly behind him. With my right thumb, I caress his upper arm. It's a small gesture, but I think we both need the physical connection. Nick doesn't pull away, so I keep it up, slowly stroking the skin just under the sleeve of his t-shirt.

After a few seconds, Nick slowly turns toward me. His cheeks are red, and his eyes are a little glassy. It's all I can do not to wrap him in a vice grip of hug right now.

"Why are you apologizing to me?" Nick asks, his voice faltering for a moment. "I shouldn't have brought her home, Greg. I shouldn't have even gone there." He clears his throat and reaches up to wipe the tear that's escaped from his eye. "I was just lonely."

"I know, baby," I say. "You tried to tell me that. You did. I just didn't want to hear you."

"It's my fault, Greg," Nick says, shaking his head. He lays his hand on his chest. "I'm the one who went out and got hammered. I'm the one who put myself into a situation I knew was wrong."

Trust Nick to blame himself.

Taking one of Nick's hands in mine, I say, "Well, I was pissed about that, Nick, yeah. And I had good reason." I lift his hand up and kiss his knuckles. "But I don't know that I wouldn't have done the same thing."

Nick doesn't say anything for a long time. Instead, he clamps down on his bottom lip and glances up at the ceiling. Finally, he clears his throat and says, "I don't know if this matters, but I wouldn't have slept with her. I was trying to get her off me when you came in."

Almost against my will, I grin at the thought of Nick trying to detach himself from Becca, who has quite a reputation, if Archie is to be believed.

Nick narrows his eyes. "What's so funny?"

Wiping the smile off my face, I kiss the palm of his hand. "Nothing," I say. Leaning forward to kiss his cheek, I ask. "Can we go sit down?"

Nodding, Nick plods into the kitchen and seats himself at the table. Okay, I was sort of hoping for the couch, but at least we're talking.

Lowering my body into a chair across from Nick, I let out a breath. So now what? I snatch the salt shaker off the table and start turning it around in my hands. I've never paid much attention to this thing before, but as it turns out, there's has a little picture of Texas engraved onto the front of the shaker. Kind of cheesy, if you think about it.

"Greg," Nick says, leaning forward. "We gonna talk?"

"Yeah," I say, depositing the shaker back onto the kitchen table. "Yeah, let's talk."

"What do you want to talk about?"

I stare at him. "I'm not sure," I say. "I guess I was sort of hoping that we'd sit down, and suddenly, everything would be okay."

"It doesn't work that way, G."

Shifting in my chair, I say, "No, I guess not. So…what do we do?"

Nick releases a breath and shakes his head. "I don't know."

***

Author's Notes: This chapter is Nick's POV.

My parents once told me that a solid relationship takes constant and fearless effort. It's something you have to build and fortify, or it'll all come crumbling to the ground. When I was a teenager, I thought they were just being dramatic. But now, sitting across the kitchen table from the shaggy-haired love of my life, I'm starting to understand what they were talking about.

"Nick," Greg says, leaning forward. "I don't know how to fix this." The last couple of words come out as a kind of strangled

cry. He gazes at me for a moment, and then he slumps back in his chair with a thud.

Clearing my throat, I rub the sleep and lingering tears out my eyes. "I don't know either, man," I say. "Greg, look, I was an idiot. I admit that."

"Can we just not assign blame?" Greg says, letting out a breath. "I was wrong. You were wrong. So how do we make it right?"

I sit up straighter. "Well, we just have to work through some things, G."

"How, Nick?" He runs his fingers through his hair. "What do you need from me to make this work? I can't undo the shift split."

"G," I say. "The shift split is an inconvenience. It pisses me off, but it's there."

"It would be hell of a lot easier if we were on the same shift."

Shaking my head, I say, "Y'know, Greg, my parents worked crazy hours. Half the time, they'd go more than a day without sitting down for a meal together. But they were committed to making their relationship work, and they did it. They've been married longer than I've been alive." Closing my eyes, I let out a dry laugh. "Maybe that's the problem."

Greg raises his eyebrows. "What? That we're not married?"

"No," I say. Licking my lips, I struggle to find the right words. Finally, I continue, "Sometimes, I feel like we're just playing at this relationship."

"This isn't a game," Greg almost snaps. He looks as serious as I've ever seen him.

I nod. "Well, sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who's putting any effort into making it work."

"Nick," Greg says, shifting his chair. "I'm trying."

I snatch a pencil from the table and start flicking my thumb along the almost-worn-away eraser. "Then why do I feel like it's all me, Greg?" I ask. "Why am I the one who gets up and tries to have breakfast ready for you when you get home? And why am I the one who gets blown off because you want to go out with Sara?"

Greg throws his hands up. "Oh, so we're back to Sara now."

"No," I say. "We're back to what Sara represents. You chose to go out with her instead of coming home to me. That tells me that you weren't too worried about seeing me."

"Dammit, Nick," Greg says, shaking his head. "I had a commitment."

I slam the pencil down onto the table. "What about your commitment to me, G? Huh? To us?"

Squirming in his chair, Greg says, "Nicky, why is this an issue? Why is this one thing an issue?"

"Because we never see each other, and yet you made a conscious decision to spend time with someone you've had a crush on for years."

Greg looks away, but I can see a streak of red forming in his cheeks. "That's in the past," he whispers.

"Is it?"

I'm being juvenile about this. I know that. But I just need to know how Greg feels about Sara, or I'll always wonder. Always, in the back of my mind, I'll feel a tinge of jealously.

Greg is quiet for a moment, and then finally, he lets out a breath. "You want the truth?"

"I'd love the truth."

"I'm scared, Nicky," he says. "I'm scared out of my mind because I see everything we have slipping away. And I'm scared because I don't know what I'm doingout in the field." He clears his throat. "Sara's been a security blanket, I guess. I mean, the team just changed all of a sudden. And Grissom makes me so nervous, I'm always afraid I'll screw up around him. But Sara's my friend. She's like a sister, and with her, I feel more comfortable making a mess of things. And believe me. I make a mess of things. There's so much I don't know."

Well, now I feel like an insensitive jerk.

"Greggo," I say, reaching across the table to take his hand. "I'm sorry I'm not there to work with you."

"You kidding?" He smirks at me and then looks away again. "I'd be a nervous wreck around you. You remember the bus crash?"

I smile at the memory. "Well, you weren't trained yet."

Grinning, he says, "I felt like the freshman who was following around the star quarterback. You were so confident out there. If I hadn't been so nervous, I would've been turned on."

For the first time in days, I laugh. "Me? Confident? Greggo, you don't know the half of it."

We sit there for a moment in a comfortable silence. I can feel a shift in the air, and somehow I know we're starting to move out of the hole we've been in for the past few weeks.

After a few minutes, Greg squeezes my hand and let out a breath. "Nicky," he says. "I've been thinking about something for a while. Now, it's just an idea. Don't feel any pressure." He pauses for a moment and then says, "I want to move in with you. Permanently."

I sit back, a bit startled. It's not like I haven't thought about asking Greg to move in. Truthfully, I've almost-but-not-quite asked him twice. But for us to be sitting here, talking about it…wow. "You want to move in?" I say.

"Yeah," he says, pulling his hand away from mine. "I mean I practically live here anyway. Or I did before I stormed out on you."

Licking my lips, I say, "That's not going to fix everything, you know."

"I know that," he says. "Nick, that not why I want to move in. I was thinking about this before Ecklie split us up."

Despite my best efforts to hold them back, I can feel tears starting to well up in my eyes. Sometimes it's a pain in the ass not being able to control my emotions. "You sure about this, Greg? It's a big commitment. Right now, you can go back to your apartment if you get pissed off at me."

"You mean I can run away," he says. Folding his arms across his chest, Greg leans his body forward. "I meant what I said. Don't feel pressured, because it's just an idea. But Nicky, I don't want to 'come over' after work. I want to come home. To you."

Nodding, I pat my knee. "C'mere," I say. Slowly, Greg stands up, walks around the table, and straddles me so that he's sitting on my lap, facing me. Wrapping my arms around him, I plant a kiss on his lips. "We've never talked about this," I say. "It never seemed like it was the right time. Besides, you never said anything, so I wasn't sure if you wanted to move in."

Laying his head on my shoulder, he chuckles, "I was waiting for you to ask."

"Yeah?" I place a hand on each of his shoulders and lightly nuzzle his neck. "Move in with me," I say.

Greg lifts his head up and narrows his eyes at me. "I don't know, Nick. It's a little fast." When I shoot him my best glare, he grins, "If you insist."

I wrap my arms tightly around Greg's waist. "You're going to have to put in for a change of address at work. Everyone knows I have a one-bedroom. So, the cat will be out of the bag."

Greg bites his bottom lip. "He's got one paw out already."

"What?"

Wincing, he says, "I outed us to Sara."

I raise my eyebrows. "Really? And?"

Greg shrugs and starts playing with the collar of my t-shirt. "She's a little put off that we didn't tell her sooner, but all in all, she was pretty supportive."

Somehow, I knew Sara would be fine with it, but it's kind of nice to know for sure. "That's good," I say.

"There's more," he says. Laughing nervously, Greg slips his hand down the neck of my shirt and starts rubbing the skin between my shoulder blades. "I needed someone to talk to, and I wasn't thinking about Hank at the time and all. So, I told her about you kissing Becca."

Cocking my head at Greg, I nod slowly. "Sara thinks I'm a two-timer?"

"I set her straight," Greg says, nodding seriously. "You know, she was really great. After I told her how jealous you were of the time I was spending with her, she offered to come by and talk to you." He flashes me a grin.

"So," I say. "She knows we're together, that I kissed Becca, and that I'm insanely jealous of her. You've been a busy boy."

"You know me. Mr. Industry."

Biting back a grin, I ask, "Did you issue an office memo, too?"

"No," he says. "I thought about storming into Grissom's and asking for a couple of days off so I could spend them in bed with you, but I didn't."

"That's probably a good thing, Greg."

Kissing me on the forehead, he says, "Hand me the phone."

"Get up and get it."

"That would require me getting off your lap."

"Good point," I say, stretching my arm backward to snatch the cordless phone off the counter. I hand it to Greg. "Who you going to call?"

"What's your day off? Tonight or tomorrow?"

"Tonight."

Greg blows a kiss at me and punches in some numbers. "Hello," he say. "This is Greg Sanders. I need to leave a message for Gil Grissom. He is? Okay, put me through." Leaning forward, Greg licks my ear. "Grissom? What are you still doing there?" He nods and then makes a face. "Oh. I'm glad you had fun with the autopsy. Listen," he says. "I know this is short notice, but I really need tonight off. I have an emergency. No, everything's going to be fine." Greg rolls his eyes at the phone. After a few seconds, he smiles. "Thank you, Grissom. I mean it. And Grissom? I'm going to need another day off in a few weeks. But I'll give you some notice. Hmm?" He grins at me. "Because I'm moving."

***