Previous part of Good Enough.

***

Chapter 21

-----

"Nick?"

I glance around the room. A curtain, a woman dressed in scrubs, and lots of white. The ER. Right. I remember being brought here, but I guess I must've taken a good hit to the head, because everything's hazy.

"Grissom?" I say. "Is that you?" I close my eyes tight. When I reopen them, sure enough, I see Grissom standing in front of me. Or actually, he's kind of swaying back and forth.

I vaguely recall the nurse asking me for a number so they could call someone to pick me up, but the only numbers I could remember were my locker combination and Grissom's cell phone. And since my locker probably wasn't going to sprout legs and catch a taxi over to get me, I went with Grissom.

"Are you all right?" Grissom asks, a hint of worry coloring his voice.

"Never better," I say, as I reach a hand up to massage my throbbing temple.

Grissom narrows his eyes. "Do you know where we are?"

"Hospital."

"Yeah, you're in the Emergency Room," Grissom says, "Do you remember what happened?"

I remember walking down the street, trying to decide if I should get hammered or go home like the dependable sap I am, or if I should crawl over to Greg and beg for mercy. Then there were these two guys—something about my wallet, a crack about my accent…

"Mugged," I say.

Grissom nods. "Attempted. Fortunately, they didn't get anything. A couple of college kids broke it up before it got too far."

I glance down at my bandaged wrist. "Should we send flowers or candy?" I ask.

"What?" Grissom asks, giving me a strange look. When he realizes I'm not answering, he says, "You have a broken wrist, some bruised ribs, and some cuts. You also took a bottle to the head, but the guys who brought you here say you never lost consciousness."

I nod. Letting out a breath, I shift on the exam table, trying to get more comfortable. But my movement sparks a sudden wave of nausea, so I clutch the sides of the table in an effort to keep from fainting.

"Nicky?" Grissom says.

I reach out and grab Grissom's shoulder. "Will you stop moving around like that?" I plead, "You're making me dizzy."

"Is this normal?" I hear Grissom ask.

"Who really knows what normal is?" I say, digging my fingers into Grissom's shoulders.

A new voice jumps into the conversation. "We gave him some medication for the pain," the voice says. "He's going to be goofy for a while."

I turn to glare at the source of the voice, a pretty young nurse with brown hair. "I'm not goofy," I inform her. "Greg gets to be goofy. I'm the dependable one."

"Thanks for clearing that up," the nurse says.

"Do you know how hard it is to be the dependable one?" I press.

"Actually, I do," the nurse says sympathetically.

Narrowing his eyes, Grissom says, "All right, you just sit tight. My kit is in my car. I'll go and—"

"No way, Gris," I say. "I'm not going there."

Besides, the way this room is spinning around, how could he get anything done?

"Nick," Grissom says, letting out a long-suffering breath.

I shake my head. "Gris, would you stop being a CSI for a second? I don't need people to know my private business."

"Nick," Grissom says authoritatively. He frowns as if he's about to launch into a lecture about justice and being rational. But then he lets out a long, haggard breath. "All right," he says.

"Thank you," I say, my fingers digging further into Grissom's shoulder.

Wincing in pain, Grissom says, "Why don't you lay back, Nicky?"

"Because I'm sick of sleeping alone," I say.

It's weird. I know I shouldn't be saying half of what I'm saying, but I just can't seem to help myself. It's like watching someone in a horror movie sneak into a dark basement. You know they're going to get stabbed or something, but no matter how much you yell at the screen, they keep going.

Wearily, I surrender to Grissom's leading and lay back on the exam table. As I lie there, I can hear the nurse giving Grissom instructions about my medicine. They sound like they're in another room, even though I know they're standing beside me.

Finally, Grissom grasps my shoulders and hauls me into a sitting position. "Let's get you home, Nicky."

"Let's go out," I suggest.

Grissom steers me toward the exit. "You need rest, Nick. We'll stop at the pharmacy down the block, and then I'll take you home. I'll call Catherine and see if she can—"

"I don't want to go home, Gris," I say. "The day's young."

Suddenly, my knees start to buckle, so Grissom wraps his arms around my waist to steady me. When he's satisfied that I won't crash into the pavement, he pushes me onward toward his waiting car.

Somehow (by magic?), we reach Grissom's car, and he busies himself buckling me into the seatbelt. I'm only vaguely aware of everything that's going on around us. I can hear people talking, and I can see blurry figures wandering past Grissom's shoulder. But my body feels heavy and warm, and somehow, it seems like Grissom and I are in another world entirely.

"You can be very nurturing," I murmur.

Grissom raises his eyebrows. "Really? I thought I was an unfeeling robot."

"You're a nurturing robot," I correct him.

As we pull out of the hospital parking lot, Grissom says, "Okay, we'll stop and get these prescriptions filled, and then I'll take you home. Also, the nurse said you should eat, so why don't—"

"The unfeeling robot's back," I say.

"What?"

I tilt my head, which is currently resting on the headrest, to look at Grissom. "I don't want to go home," I say, "I want to go to Greg's."

Grissom nods. "All right. When we get to the pharmacy, I'll call and make sure he's there."

I shake my head (which seems to weigh about 500 pounds). "He leaves his phone off the hook when he's not on call."

"Really?" Grissom says, "That's interesting information. I'll have to remember that."

-----

"Nicky? Come on. We're here."

I open my eyes, but I snap them back shut, as I'm temporarily blinded by the brightness of the day.

Grissom nudges my shoulder. "Come on," he says.

Letting out a rebellious moan, I inch my way out of the car. "I thought we were going to the pharmacy first," I whine.

"You've been asleep since we left the hospital, Nicky," Grissom says. "We stopped by the pharmacy, and I filled your prescription. I also picked up some juice."

"Oh."

Grissom pulls me into a standing position. "Do you need me to hold onto you?"

"Nope," I say. "I don't mind falling."

In response, Grissom clutches me a little more tightly, and then steers me toward Greg's building. After a couple of minutes—or maybe an hour—Grissom and I reach the lobby of Greg's building.

As Grissom pushes the buzzer to announce our presence, I slump against the wall and watch a tall blonde from Greg's floor carry her white Persian cat toward the exit. The woman glances back at me, narrows her eyes, and then marches regally out the door.

After a moment, I feel Grissom take me by the arm and pull me into the elevator. As we near Greg's floor, it dimly occurs to me that Greg might not want me here. I squeeze my eyes closed to ward off that thought.

When we reach Greg's door, he's already standing in the doorway, waiting. "What happened?" Greg asks, stepping back to let us in.

"He was mugged," Grissom says.

"Attempted," I say.

"Oh God," Greg says. "You okay, Nicky?"

I stand in the middle of Greg's apartment for a second, trying to get my bearings. Then, I feel my legs buckle and before I know it, I'm sitting on the ground.

Greg kneels beside me. "Let's try sitting on the couch, okay?"

"I'm sorry," I choke.

Greg pats me on the back. "S'okay," he whispers. "Help me with him, Gris."

As the two men steer me toward the couch, Grissom says, "He was lucky. A couple of college kids jumped in and ran off his attackers."

"Should we send flowers or candy?" Greg asks.

Grissom flashes Greg an odd look, and then says, "He's heavily medicated. He needs to take an antibiotic soon, but he needs to eat with it."

"I'll make some soup or something," Greg says.

"Greg," I say, grabbing his arm. "I'm sorry."

"Let's not worry about that now, Nick," Greg says.

"Greg," Grissom says. "I'll make some food. You just handle him."

Handle me, I think. That's an apt way to put it.

"When can I take another pain killer?" I ask. "My head's starting to hurt."

The pain's starting to clear my head a little, too. I'm still pretty hazy, but at least the room isn't spinning around.

Greg starts to knead the muscles in my neck. Gently, he puts an arm around me and gives me a little shake. "You trying to freak me out, Nick? What happened?"

I shrug. "I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings. I guess they got the drop on me. I had stuff on my mind."

"Stuff?" Greg murmurs.

Greg tries to make eye contact with me, but I focus my gaze on Greg's kitchen.

Greg presses on. "I've had some things on my mind, too."

"Yeah?" I say.

"Yeah."

About then, Grissom breezes out of the kitchen, a dishtowel in his hands. He doesn't seem to notice that Greg has his arm around one of his CSIs. "How about I make some sandwiches, too?"

"Okay," Greg says. "Sounds like a workable plan." Turning to me, Greg says, "Let's get you out of that bloody shirt, Nicky."

I glance down at my denim shirt and realize for the first time that it's not only stained with blood, it's also ripped. Damn.

Grissom tosses the dishtowel over his shoulder. "You want me to have Catherine stop by Nick's townhouse and get some of his clothes?"

Greg shakes his head. "No, he has clothes here." As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Greg looks at me and winces. Turning to Grissom, Greg shrugs and says, "He crashes here sometimes."

"I see," Grissom says, raising an eyebrow. Then he turns on his heel and strolls into the kitchen.

Greg leans close to me. "Sorry," he whispers.

I swallow. "Nah, Greggo. I asked him to bring me here."

Pushing me onto the bed, Greg crosses the room and tugs open a drawer. Returning with a t-shirt and sweats, he says, "I could've played it off better. I'm sorry."

As Greg unbuttons my shirt, I say, "It seems like apologizing is all either one of us gets done."

Greg licks his lips and says, his voice cracking, "Yeah, well. Whatever."

I lean forward and kiss him on the forehead. It's a nice gesture, but to be honest, I was aiming for his lips. "Let's stop apologizing for awhile, okay?"

Greg smiles slightly. "That'll last about ten minutes."

Holding his jaw with my unbandaged hand, I kiss him again, this time connecting with his lips. "Better than nothing," I say. "You know?"

Greg doesn't answer me. Instead, he gently pecks me on the lips, and then starts to help me pull the t-shirt over my broken wrist.

***

Chapter 22

Warnings: Discussion of past sexual abuse.

-

"Wakey, wakey."

My eyes flutter open at the sound of Greg's voice, but slam closed again when they make contact with the too-bright light emanating from the ceiling.

"Leave me alone, man," I grouse. "I was dreaming here." With a groan, I snatch a pillow from Greg's side of the bed and smash it against my face.

"Okay," Greg says. "If you insist."

When I hear him start to pad across the room, I toss the pillow to the ground and reach out to grab Greg's arm. "Get back here, Sanders," I say. "I'm awake, now."

Sitting down on the side of the bed, Greg grins. "So this dream," he says. "Was I in it?"

Swallowing, I say, "You might have made a guest appearance."

"I've always thought of myself as the star," Greg pouts.

I gaze at Greg for a moment, and then close my eyes, trying to ward off the dull pain in my temple.

Squeezing my shoulder, Greg asks, "How ya feeling?"

I run my fingers over my bandaged ribs. "I ache all over, man. My head's killing me."

Greg kneads the muscles in my shoulder and neck. "I'm making us some food," he says. "So I can give you a pain pill in a while. Will you be all right 'til then?"

"Yeah, no rush." I glance at the clock. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Greg shrugs. "I told Grissom I wasn't coming in. He said that was okay."

Grissom. Oh, crap.

I try to sit up in bed, but when my ribs start to protest, I think better of it. "So Grissom knows?" I croak.

Greg flashes a rueful smile. "Yeah, Nicky. He knows."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing." Greg runs his fingers through his hair. "Well, he asked how long we'd been together, so I told him. You know, I figured we were busted, so…"

I grab his hand. "So, you told him we're together? I thought we were taking a break."

Greg grins. "All right, smart ass." Gazing up at the ceiling, he says, "I don't think Grissom's going to make a big deal out of it. I think he was just ticked off he didn't figure it out on his own."

"That's Grissom," I say. I shift my body to one side, trying to take some of the pressure off my battered ribs. "Man," I say. "I haven't been this banged up since Nigel Crane got done with me."

Greg cocks his head. "Wow. You haven't mentioned that name in a while."

Adjusting the pillow under my broken wrist, I say, "Yeah, I guess I haven't."

"Want to talk about it?" Greg asks.

I tighten my lips. "What's to talk about? He was a psycho."

Greg nods. "All right," he says, shrugging. "I'm going to go get your food and pill, okay?""

"Okay, Greggo."

After Greg leaves, I shift my body around some more, trying and failing to get comfortable. I hope Warrick and Hodges don't give me a hard time when I get back to work. I wouldn't blame them, though. I always seem to be the guy who winds up in this kind of situation.

That's me—Nick the victim. Nick the emotional one. Nick the dependable one. I get so sick of being that guy.

The sudden sound of my cell phone pulls me out of my reverie. Reaching over with my good hand, I snatch the cell off Greg's night stand and flip it open. "Stokes," I say.

"Hey, Nick. Heard you got into a little trouble."

Bobby.

"Hey, Bobby," I say, grinning slightly. "What's up?"

"Oh, robbery and homicide," he sing-songs. "The usual. Are you at home?"

I roll my eyes. "I'm at Greg's."

"You are?" I can practically hear Bobby smirking. "That's good."

"Yeah, it is," I chuckle. "He's playing nursemaid."

Bobby bursts out laughing. "I'm gonna leave that one alone," he says.

"Okay, funny guy," I say, grinning.

About then, Greg pushes his way into the room, balancing two trays filled with food. "Dinner is served," he says with a flourish.

"Well, Bobby," I say. "Greg's back with dinner."

"Hi, Bobby," Greg calls, as he plunks the trays down on the bed.

"You hear him?" I ask.

"Yeah," Bobby chuckles. "Tell him I said 'hi.' Well, I'll let you eat, Nick. You take care now."

"I'll try," I say.

"Well, good luck, big guy," Bobby says. "And Nick? Ditch the pride."

-

Greg and I make small talk while we eat. For the most part, the conversation is calm and pleasant. But if I'm being honest, it's pretty obvious that things are still problematic between us. I mean, let's say I'd shown up a few hours ago without the bandages and prescriptions. Would Greg have let me in the door? Or would he have given me his "we're moving too fast" song and dance? I'm guessing the latter.

On the other hand, he's been pretty affectionate, and that would be a pretty rotten thing to do if he plans to show me the door as soon as I'm back on my feet.

My mind's been replaying my breakfast conversation with Bobby—and not just since he called, but earlier today, while I was lying here, trying to fall asleep. He has a point about my pride. I mean, I've never thought of myself that way—as a proud man, that is. But maybe that's what it all boils down to. If I tell Greg the truth about what happened to me, I'll be exposed…naked. Any control I have right now—which isn't a whole lot—will be gone. And Greg will know how damaged I really am.

"Earth to Nick."

I glance at Greg. "Huh?"

Greg narrows his eyes. "Are you okay?"

I nod. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."

Stacking our empty dishes onto the plastic trays, Greg says, "Okey-dokey. I'll go slave away at dishes, while you,"he points, "Can get some rest."

I watch in a daze as Greg heads toward the door. I guess it's now or never.

"Greg," I spit, letting out a staggered breath.

He stops in the doorway. "Yeah?"

Licking my lips, I say, "I think…I think I'm ready to talk to you now."

Greg stares at me for a few moments. Then he places the trays on top of his dresser and walks over to me, dropping himself onto the side of the bed. "Okay."

Exhaling, I say, "Okay. Okay, man. It's like this. Nigel Crane wasn't the first person to, uh, victimize me."

Victimize. I hate that word. I hate it.

Greg cocks his head until he makes eye contact with me—which isn't very easy, considering how hard I'm trying to avoid his gaze. "What do you mean?" Greg asks. "You mean you were stalked before?"

Part of me wants to bolt out of the room, but my body hurts so much that Greg would have to wheel me out himself. I close my eyes, as if the mere act will somehow summon extra courage. "Not stalked," I say. "Victimized another way." Glancing out the window at the darkening sky, I say, "I had a babysitter." I pause when I feel Greg flinch slightly. He doesn't take his arm away, though, so I continue. "I was nine years old," I say, swallowing. "She'd never sat for me before. I thought she was so nice at first."

"It's okay," Greg says.

"No, it's not Greg. Why do people say that?" With my uninjured hand, I wipe away a tear that's managed to escape my eye. "I thought she was nice," I stammer. "But she did things to me, Greg. She did things." Losing the battle to control my tears, I start to sob. "She said it was our secret."

"Oh, God. Nick."

Burying my face in my hands, I choke, "I'm sorry, Greg."

Greg takes my face in his hands. "You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. You didn't do anything wrong."

"You know," I choke. "Part of me knows that. But dammit…why am I always the victim?" I grasp my pillow and toss it across the room. "Why?"

Kissing me on the forehead, Greg says, "Nicky, that…she messed with your mind. You were a little kid. You didn't do a thing wrong."

"I didn't want to do those things," I hiccup.

"I know, baby." He takes my face in his hands again. "Not. Your. Fault."

Gazing at the bedroom ceiling, I say, "After it happened, I tried so hard to be good. I thought if I was good, if I didn't cause trouble, I'd feel better. But I never did."

Squeezing my hand, Greg says, "You tried to be perfect."

"Yeah, I guess." I lick my lips. "But I could never be good enough."

Leaning forward, Greg kisses me on the cheek. "You're more than good enough, Nicky."

***

Chapter 23

I'm currently lying flat on my back in Greg's bed. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get comfortable. The pain in my ribs has evened out to a dull ache, but in some ways, that's almost worse that the pounding throb I had when I arrived here three days ago.

In a vain effort to get comfortable, I've pretty much managed to tear all the covers off the bed. And that's okay by me, because from where I'm lying, they look just fine on the ground.

Letting out a breath, I tilt my head to gaze at the clock. It's early morning, so unless Greg stopped off somewhere, he should be home soon. Last night was Greg's first night back at the lab since Grissom dumped me on his doorstep. Consequently, I've not only been lying here in pain. I've also been all alone and bored out of my mind.

The real kicker though, is that without Greg here to distract me, I've had plenty of time to think. I have to say, Greg's been just great since I spilled my guts to him the other day. He's been trying, however awkwardly, to be supportive and to not push me too hard.

But at the same time, Greg's also been keeping his distance physically. I mean, granted, I'm injured, so I don't expect him to jump me. But I have to wonder if he's using my bruised ribs and broken wrist as handy excuses not to touch me. One of my greatest fears with telling Greg about what happened to me was that he'd be repulsed by me. Now…I don't know. I don't know.

About then, I hear a tap on the bedroom door. "Knock-knock," a voice calls. The door cracks open slightly. "You decent?"

Sara.

I prop myself up and my elbows, wincing as I realize what a mess the room is right now. "Hey Sara. Come on in."

Sara pushes the door open and ambles over to the bed. "How you doing, Rocky?"

"Funny," I say. "How'd you get in?"

She holds up Greg's apartment key. "Greg went to the store. I told him I'd head on over and keep you company." She sits down on the bed. "So, everyone's been worried about you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. In fact…" She hands me a stiff pink envelope and beams, "Everyone signed it."

"Ah," I say, plastering a smile all over my face. "The ever-popular office card." I tug it out of the envelope, flip it open, and grimace. "Oh look. Hodges says I should learn how to duck."

"He's just jealous," Sara says, grinning. Tucking one leg under her other, she glances around the room and asks, "So what'd you do? Kick Greg out of his bed?"

If I were the witty-comeback kind of guy, there are so many ways I could answer that. Instead, though, I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek.

"What's so funny?" Sara asks, a baffled look on her face.

"Nothing," I say. "Hey. How about helping the invalid out of bed? I want try sitting in the living room."

She narrows her eyes. "Are you supposed to get out of bed?"

"My ribs feel much better," I say.

"Nick," she says. "That didn't answer my question."

I hold out my hand. "Come on," I pout. "Pretty please?"

Letting out a breath, she snatches my hand. "All right," she relents. "But if you start to start to hurt, you let me know. Okay?"

"Okay," I say, nodding my head vigorously.

As Sara eases me out of bed, I say, "I'm really in pretty good shape."

"Sure you are," Sara says, placing her hand on the small of my back.

"No, really," I assure her. "My ribs ache, but mostly when I move around a lot, or try to lie in one place for too long."

"According to Grissom, you also have a couple of nasty cuts," she says. "Here, let's get you stationary." Helping me lower myself into a chair, she continues, "So, Catherine said she'd stop by tomorrow. And Warrick's working a double, so he said to tell you hello."

"A double?" I ask. "That sucks. 'Course, by the end of this week, I'll probably be jonesing for a triple."

As Sara grabs a pillow off the couch and places it gingerly behind my back, the front door swings open, and Greg stumbles in carrying several bags of groceries.

Sara hurries over and grabs a bag that's teetering precariously against Greg's side.

"Why thank you, Sara," Greg says dramatically. "I don't see Nick there jumping up to help."

"You're hysterical, G," I quip.

Grinning, Greg glances over his shoulder and winks.

After a few minutes of rustling paper bags, clanging cabinets, and soft laughter, Sara and Greg march back into the living room. Sara is carrying three cans of cola, while Greg is balancing three glasses full of ice and a bag of raw carrots.

"I see you didn't touch the sandwich I left you for lunch," Greg says. "I don't suppose you've taken a pain pill."

I smile guiltily. "The food was way too far away."

"Well, I put a frozen pizza in." He hands me the carrots. "This'll be enough so you can take the pill, though. Bedroom?"

I nod, and Greg disappears into the bedroom.

"So," Sara says, as she plunks down on the couch. "Greg tells me you're off a full week."

I lean my head back against the plush surface of my chair. "Yup. And you know, I'm already bored out of my skull."

"Poor Nicky," Greg says, as he breezes back into the living room. Pointing at the bedroom, he continues, "You know, I remade the bed while you were in the bathroom last night, and what do you do?"

"I was restless," I say.

"I know," Greg says, squeezing my shoulder. He flips the lid off my pain pills and places one into the palm of my hand. Then, he leans down, rips open the bag of carrots and deposits it onto my lap. "Eat," he says. "Those pills will make you sick to your stomach."

"Nag, nag, nag," I say.

Greg smirks. "What would you do if I wasn't here to nag you?"

Laughing softly, I glance around Greg at Sara, who's sitting on the couch watching Greg and me with interest. "I'm sure Cath or Sara would nag me," I say. "Right Sara?"

Sara grins. "You know it," she says, pulling herself off the couch. "Hey guys, I'm going to go check on the pizza.

"No," Greg says. "You're our guest. I'll take care of it."

Sara relents and lowers herself back onto the couch. She watches as Greg disappears into the kitchen, and then she turns to me and says, "He takes good care of you, Nick."

I smile. "Well, someone has to."

Sara gazes at the door that leads to the kitchen. "He doesn't do it because he has to."

Licking my lips, I nod. "He's a good friend."

Snatching my nearly-empty glass from the side table, Sara says, "You guzzled this right down. I'll get another one."

Sara doesn't wait for me to argue. She just blasts through the kitchen door like a woman on a mission. The expression on her face has me worried. It's the look she gets when she's on the trail of a suspect, and she's just found a smoking hot piece of evidence.

A few minutes later, Greg and Sara emerge with the pizza, some fresh cans of cola, and an armload of plates and napkins. As they amble toward me, Greg leans down and whispers something in Sara's ear. She chuckles softly and shoots him a scolding look.

Twisting my neck so I can glance over my shoulder at the pair, I say, "I thought you two ran off on me."

"Sara tried to persuade me," Greg says. "But you know what I did? I broke her heart."

The evening passes pretty quickly. Sara seems lighter than I've seen her in a while, and fortunately for me, she seems to have forgotten her morbid fear that I'm going to hurt myself. Greg seems pretty relaxed, too. I don't know if he's feeling better about what I told him, or if he's more at ease because we have Sara the Human Buffer here tonight.

A couple hours later, Sara finally gets up to leave. Leaning down, she gives me a little peck on the cheek. "I'll try to stop back," she says. Then, turning to Greg, she adds, "Greg. Thanks for dinner. This is the closet thing to a social life I've had in a while."

"No problem," he chuckles. "I'll walk you to the door, m'lady."

I watch as Greg and Sara stand in the doorway and whisper a conversation to each other. I've always hated it when people whisper in front of me. I always think they're talking about me. This time…well, I'm pretty sure they aren't talking about Grissom.

Finally, Sara backs out into the hallway, and Greg presses the door closed. After a few seconds, he turns to me and says, "I'll go make the bed. Uh…you think you want to wash up now, or wait a while?"

"I'll wait," I say.

Greg claps his hands together a little too enthusiastically. "Okay, so I guess I'll do the dishes."

"I thought you were going to make the bed."

Greg stares at me, his arms swinging at his sides. "Or I could go and do that."

"Something bugging you, Greg?"

"No," he says, shaking his head. "No, I'm just wired up. Way too much caffeine."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

As Greg bustles toward the bedroom, I say, "So, Sara knows, right?"

Greg turns and walks back to me. "Yeah," he says, letting out a breath. "Yeah. In fact, Nick, I think we might've made her night." Flashing a quick grin, he adds, "She, uh, thinks we make a cute couple. And I got explicit instructions not to hurt you, incidentally."

"That would be nice," I say.

Greg cocks his head at me. "You upset about something, Nick?"

I shift in my chair. "Nah," I say. "I'm just uncomfortable."

Greg gazes at me for a few seconds and then turns to walk into the bedroom. "We can get you back into bed in a little while, 'kay?"

"How about you?" I ask abruptly. "You uncomfortable?"

Turning back to face me, Greg says, "What are you talking about?"

I take in a deep breath, and then I slowly release it. "You uncomfortable around me now?"

Greg takes a few steps toward me. "Nick, I thought we kind of ironed that out."

With a groan, I sit up and lean forward. "How is that? What did we iron out?"

Greg glances around the room as if someone else might be lurking in the background. "I know what's been bothering you now."

"And?"

"And I understand you better now. I—"

I wave Greg over. "Come're. Come're and sit down." I move my legs over and pat the ottoman.

Slowly, Greg inches over to me and sits down.

"Now, I'm glad I told you what I told you. But…But I think we still have some things to talk about, and I think we should get it out there."

"Nick—"

I shake my head. "No way. You're the one who wanted to open that can of touchy feely."

"Huh?"

"You know what I mean," I bluster.

Slumping his shoulders, Greg says, "Okay, Nick. You have the floor."

I lick my lips. "All right," I say, shifting in my chair. "You haven't touched me since I told you what happened to me."

Greg moves his hand toward me, but stops just short of my arm. Curling his fingers into a fist, he says, "I don't want to hurt you."

"Are you turned off by me?" I ask.

"What?"

"Greggo, come on," I croak out. "Are you still attracted to me?"

"Are you kidding?" Greg runs his fingers through his hair. "You're a hottie. You're too sexy for that chair you're sitting in right now."

I swallow and lean forward. "All right. Then why haven't you touched me? You've been lying next to me in bed for two days, and you haven't touched me."

"You're injured."

"That's an excuse."

"Maybe," he admits, crossing his arms. "Look, Nicky. I'm just trying to give you some space. This is new territory for me. I'm not…not sure what you need from me."

"I need you to touch me," I say.

Greg gazes at me for a moment, and then he glances away. "I don't want to push you."

"You not pushing me," I say. "I'm asking you to touch me. Even hold my hand, man."

Biting his bottom lip, Greg reaches down and grasps my fingers. He gives them a squeeze, and then releases them. Slowly, he leans forward and gives me a chaste kiss on the lips. Pulling back slightly, he gazes at me for a few seconds, and then scoots his body closer to mine. Placing a gentle hand on each of my shoulders for support, Greg tilts his head forward and presses his lips to mine.

The kiss is gentle at first, but soon, it become crushing and frenzied. Threading the fingers of one hand through Greg's hair, I deepen the lip lock, all the while ignoring the screaming ache in my ribs. Encouraged, Greg moves even closer, snakes a hand under my t-shirt, and starts caressing my chest and abs. When he connects with a tender part of my ribs, I pull away with a jolt.

"Hang on, G," I groan. "Ribs."

Greg pulls back, flushed and breathless. "What?"

Through the pain, I try to flash a lop-sided grin. "My ribs, man. Pain. Ow. Y'know?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah," I wince. Smiling, I lick my lips and say, "I guess we're not doing that, though."

Greg chuckles softly. "I guess not." Placing another chaste kiss on my lips, he shifts to the arm of the chair and wraps one arm around my shoulders and growls, "But just you wait 'til you're healthy again, mister."

***

Chapter 24

"Just don't push yourself."

"Yes, dear."

Placing the orange juice onto the top rack in the refrigerator, Greg flashes a sloppy grin over his shoulder. Tonight's my first night back at work since I was mugged, and I'm jazzed about going back in. I've been bored stiff here all by myself while Greg's been working his shift.

Greg wipes his hands off with a dish towel, and then he walks over to me. He leans forward and brushes a stray thread off my jeans. "Well, if I don't nag you, you'll strain yourself, and if you're going to strain yourself, it should be with me."

I smirk. "I think I did that last night."

He pulls back and gazes at me. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, worrywart," I say. "Except for that bite mark you left."

He grins, and if I didn't know better, I'd say he looks downright bashful. "Sorry about that," he says. "At least it's not the neck this time."

I let out a laugh. "Yeah, I'm lucky." I walk across the living room and snatch my cap off the couch. Turning back to Greg, I say, "I didn't know I'd fallen in love with a vampire."

Greg clears his throat and turns away from me.

"What's wrong?" I ask, taking a step forward. When he doesn't answer, I squeeze his shoulder. "G, come on. What's up?"

After a moment, he turns back to me, his face flushed red and his eyes glassy. "I'm still getting used to you saying you love me."

For a moment, I'm speechless—which actually happens to me a lot where G is concerned. Draping my arms over his shoulders, I pull him close and nuzzle his neck. He smells like coconut and soap. I take in a deep breath of him, and then I whisper in his ear, "Are you trying to make me cry, G? I am a crier."

He laughs into my shoulder. "Sorry, babe."

Pecking him on the lips, I steer him toward the door. "We should go."

"Mm 'kay." Greg twists his neck to look at me over his shoulder. "I'm not kidding. Don't push too hard."

This morning, when G and I get home, he's going to have to give me a power massage to work out all the knots this day has put into my neck and shoulders. I knew it was going to be tense. Brass made it pretty clear how he feels about my relationship with Greg. But the fact that he was climbing out of his car exactly when Greg practically jumped out of my truck and into my arms pretty much confirmed what he already knew. He kind of shot us a nasty look, shook his head, and walked away.

So, imagine my discomfort when Grissom decided to send Brass and me to chase down Garret Ames and his family. Apparently, Grissom made little progress on the case during my absence. The Ames' have been noticeably hard to find at home. Our last meeting with them pretty much blew apart the meager bridge of trust I'd built between Ames and me. And Grissom? Ames was turned off by him during our first meeting. Moreover, Susan Briers has taken to stonewalling Grissom as well.

Currently, I'm leaning against the wall across from the DNA lab, trying to ignore the little hand gestures Greg keeps throwing my way. He's an overgrown teenager, but I love him. Against my will, I stand at attention when I see Brass coming.

"Hey, Nicky," Brass says, stopping in front of me. He looks me up and down. "How ya feeling?"

I nod. "All right."

He nods and glances through the window at Greg, who's decided to pick this moment to blow a kiss at me. Letting out a breath, Brass motions for me to follow. "Let's head out."

I'm sitting in the passenger seat of Brass's car, sparring with the tangled mess he calls a passenger-side seatbelt.

Scowling at the knotted strand of gray cloth, I turn to Brass. "What are we supposed to be doing?"

Brass shrugs. "Trying to catch the Ames' at home. We still need to talk to that kid."

"Cool," I say, still tugging at the seatbelt.

Brass glances at me, and I see a grin flit across his face. "You need help with that?"

"No," I grumble. "I'm good." After a few seconds, I manage to fasten the belt, but it's tighter than usual. I feel kind of like an idiot right now, so I live with it. The silence, though… that I can't live with. Brass has been pretty quiet since we got into the car, and it's is driving me batty. Generally, I hate conflict, especially with the people I care about. And I care about Jim. The silence keeps reminding me that there's a gargantuan barrier in between us.

Seemingly out of the blue, I take a breath and turn to Brass. "Greg and I are a couple," I say.

He gazes at me, a stunned look on his face. I know how he feels. My little outburst surprised me, too. Nodding, he says, "I figured."

"You're gonna have to deal with that," I say.

"Consider me warned."

I shake my head. "You gonna be like that?"

Brass glances at me. Letting out a breath, he says, "Like what?"

I tighten my jaw. "I thought we were friends, man."

Muttering something under his breath, Brass turns into a drugstore parking lot. He brings the car to a stop and turns to me. After a long awkward moment, he says, "We are friends, Nicky. You know I care about you. I just…don't want to see you get hurt, and I think that's gonna happen."

Folding my arms across my chest, I say, "Well, my friends pushing me away because I'm with a man hurts me."

Brass closes his eyes, as if he's either trying to collect his thoughts or rein in his temper. Placing a hand against his chest, he says, "I'm a father, Nicky. And I guess my mind just imagines all the bad things that could happen to you if you and Sanders keep this up."

I laugh. "The last time I slept with a woman, I almost got arrested for murder."

He nods, and then starts flipping through his case notes. He zooms through them too fast to really read any of it. Suddenly, he turns to me and asks, "Do you use protection?"

Oh, there's no way I'm going there with Jim Brass.

I shrug and gaze out the window. "It's Greg," I say.

"That doesn't answer my question."

When I was sixteen, I had a conversation like this with my father. I was going to a movie with my best friend (who happened to be female). It was, as far as my dad knew, my first official date. I wanted to peel my skin off instead of talk to my father about sex, but I swallowed my pride and listened because it seemed to mean so much to him. It was the most embarrassing half hour of my life. "I don't want to talk about this with you," I say to Brass. "I mean, do you really want hear me talk about my sex life?"

Brass gives me a horrified look, as if it just occurred to him that we are, in fact, talking about sex. Throwing up his hands, he says, "I just want you to be safe, Nicky, y'know?"

"I don't sleep around and neither does Greg," I say. "And I'm sorta pissed that you would think either of us do."

"Easy, Nicky. I'm just saying." Popping the glove compartment, he pulls out a pack of gum. "You want some?" I nod, and he hands me a stick of cinnamon gum. "Look, Nicky, I've been around, and people can be physical about this, you know?"

"I know."

Brass clears his throat. "It scares me, Nicky," he says, his voice breaking. He fidgets in his seat and lets out a long breath.

Oh perfect, this is the second person to cry on me tonight. I'll be an emotional wreck by morning.

"It scared me at first, too," I say, trying and failing to keep the tremor out of my voice. "But I'm more scared to be without Greg. I love him, Jim."

Rubbing his eyes, Brass says, "You love him? Well, I guess I just thought you were messing around with him." He gazes out the window for moment, and then he clears his throat again and says, "Look, I want you to be safe, is all."

I unfasten my seatbelt so I can face him and still breathe. "Then let me know you have my back, man," I say. "That's what I need. My stomach's been in knots, worrying about this."

He punches me on the shoulder. "That thing in the break room the other day…I came off way harsher than I wanted to."

"Yeah, I was pretty freaked."

He cocks his head at me. "Well, I was thinking all these things, and I didn't know how to say them. Sometimes, I come off like an ogre, when all I really want is to tell you I'm worried." Leaning a little closer to me, he cuffs my chin. "I got your back."

Swallowing, I say, "Thanks, Jim. I feel better knowing that."

Letting a hoarse chuckle, he says, "You gonna get mushy on me?"

I grin. "Hey, you're the one with wet eyes."

"Yeah." After a few seconds, Brass unfastens his shoulder harness and leans over me. He wrestles with my seatbelt for a few minutes, and then finally, he pulls it out, wrinkled, but no longer tangled. Smirking, he asks. "You want me to strap you in?"

I yank the seatbelt out of his hand. "I'm good, Jim," I grin. "Thanks."

***