Author's Note: This was inspired by this screen cap from Season 8's A La Carte. So, other than that … oh, one more thing: Sara is gone in this one. Sorry, but she is. It doesn't coincide with the episode, but meh. Creative license.
Oneshot. Nick/Greg. Angst/Friendship/Romance. Nick's POV. Slash.
Acknowledgements: Thanks goes to Amanda for proofreading, as usual.
Disclaimer: I don't take credit for the screencap and I own no characters mentioned.
Summary: The evidence never lies, but people do. Greg's scrambling to hide the truth from Nick, and not the evidence … but why?

Hiding the Truth, but Not the Evidence

"I seriously can't believe what these kids are up to today," Warrick muttered, shutting his locker door with a snap. Nick made a noise of agreement, sitting on the bench and tying his shoes.

"I know for a fact that I never did that when I was a teenager," Greg remarked, pulling a sweater over his head. He emerged, his hair extremely ruffled and his cheeks slightly pink.

"I'd say that might be because your headgear might've gotten in the way," Warrick replied, smoothing his shirt. He checked the clock on the wall then sighed. "Well, I'm heading out. Nick, you want to go for breakfast or something?"

"Not tonight, 'Rick. I have some old files I should deal with. I'm kind of getting behind."

"Oho. So the uppity senior CSI is getting behind on his paper work, is he?"

Nick didn't have a retort so he just dropped it. Warrick laughed in response and with a quick clap on the Texan's shoulder and a nod to Greg, he was gone. Greg glanced at the doorway then slumped down onto the bench, yawning.

"Tired, G?"

"Maybe."

"You have any paperwork left to do?"

"Nope."

"I guess it's just me then," Nick sighed, grabbing a folder out of his locker before he shut it.

"You want some company?" Greg asked quietly, observing Nick from his position on the bench.

Nick glanced at Greg, giving him a look. What he wanted and what he was going to tell Greg to do were two different things. "No, it's okay G. You're tired; you go home and get some rest."

Greg shrugged and got to his feet and left without another word. Nick followed him after a few moments, but instead of turning towards the front doors he turned towards the break room. He could at least be comfortable while he organized some papers.

He entered the silent break room, pulling a chair towards the head of the table. He dropped into it and laid out the folder onto the empty and waiting table. He grabbed a pencil out of his pocket and started to go over his notes, looking for things that might not be in the folder.

Minutes may have passed or was it just seconds? He couldn't look at the clock … but maybe he could get some coffee. There was maybe a cupful of Greg's Blue Hawaiian coffee in the coffee maker.

Nick stretched and lumbered over towards the coffee pot. His eyes immediately started to span the counters for a clean cup when they landed on a black camera … a camera with Greg's initials on it.

Without even thinking Nick grabbed it, turning it on quickly. Greg wouldn't have left it out in the open, would he? How could he have been so careless? If he hadn't taken the pictures off the memory card and transferred them to be printed … Nick felt like he was going to end up killing Greg anyways. Fuming, Nick rapidly went to the memory. There was only one picture on it.

In a flash Nick opened up the memory and the picture came to the screen. Nick felt his eyebrows contract. Was that a picture of his butt?

There it was, plain as day. His own ass in the picture. What the hell was Greg doing with this? Blinking as if in a stupor, Nick turned off the camera and sat back down at the break room table, his mind sprinting around in twenty different directions at once.

Had Greg accidentally taken the picture? If so, why hadn't he deleted it? He had deleted all the other pictures that he had taken at the crime scene, so why not this one?

Why not this one?

Maybe … just maybe Greg had meant to take the picture?

Maybe … just maybe—

Maybe what? Maybe Greg liked him?

"He doesn't," Nick muttered to himself, shaking his head. Greg didn't like him that way. He was straight. He had to be straight … he talked about hot girls all the time. There was that time Greg was looking at this blonde's skin cells under a microscope … and that time Nick had walked in on him talking to someone on the phone, saying he loved that person.

What if—

What if he was just doing that to make Nick jealous?

"No way," Nick said out loud, staring with blind eyes at the wall opposite him. This … this was just too strange. Nick's over tired brain was already trying to find the solution to this problem and it was drawing a complete blank. He let out a frustrated growl, rubbing his temple.

"Tough case?" Grissom asked quietly, watching Nick with hidden amusement. Nick spun around, hitting his knees on the legs of the table.

"I'd say so," Nick grunted, rubbing his legs, trying to ease the pain. Grissom pulled out a chair and gave the papers the once over. His eyes also fleetingly looked at Greg's camera, the initials in plain view. Nick could see Grissom's question coming, but he couldn't stop it.

"Greg's camera?"

"I was just going over some crime scene pictures for him," Nick quickly lied, his heart starting to pound. Oh God, he was digging a hole, but would it be shallow enough to get out of?

"How come he didn't do it?"

"I volunteered to. He was tired and I said I'd do it for him. It was no problem, really," Nick said firmly, hoping Grissom wouldn't see the sweat on his brow. He hated lying to his boss, his colleague and friend, but he didn't want Grissom to get mad at Greg. Sure, Greg might deserve it for leaving his camera out, seeing as what happened to Catherine's camera all those years ago, but Nick would deal with it.

"You need any assistance?"

"Uh, no. I think I've got it," Nick quickly replied, already kicking himself for his hasty answer.

Grissom's eyebrows went up almost to his hairline. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Nick told him, clearing his throat slightly. Grissom cocked his head to one side then shrugged.

"Okay Nicky. I'll probably be here for a while though, if you need me."

Nick nodded his head, reaching for his pencil. He grasped it and bent over his papers, trying to look busy. After a few minutes he glanced up, glad to see that Grissom had exited the room.

The bedroom was horribly noisy. The Texan could hear the honking of cars on the streets below, the yelling of people as they walked on the sidewalk, the barking of dogs going on walks. All of that just added to the annoyance that was piling up in the CSI's head.

Nick tossed and turned in his bed. He couldn't help it. His mind wouldn't slow down; it wouldn't allow him a moment of peace. He couldn't relax with his muscles tensing in anger or in … in what, precisely? In some pushed down and trodden on hope of Greg maybe having some sort of feeling for him?

Nick turned over, pushing his face into his pillow. A few seconds later he kicked off his blankets. It was too hot … too bright.

He tried to still his breathing, tried to calm his heart and his mind … as if that would ever happen. Sometimes his mind would run away, dragging him by the wrist either gently or ferociously. Nick envied those who had control over their mind, because he had none. None at all.

A car honked somewhere outside his window, out on the dusty Las Vegas street, out in the sunshine. It was going to be a hot day- Nick could feel it. He also knew that he would never be able to sleep. Too many questions bouncing around in his mind and he couldn't quell them.

Sighing in defeat, Nick pulled the pillow from his face and lowered his legs onto the hard wood of his bedroom. Even with the heavy blinds covering the open windows he could still see everything perfectly. Nothing ever blocked out the desert sun entirely.

A cold shower later and a bowl of Rice Krispies in front of him, Nick was finally able to start thinking rationally again. He sat at his kitchen table, eyeing the camera in front of him. Sure, he had brought it home with him. He didn't just want to leave it in the break room … someone could steal it. Someone could see the picture.

Almost as if wanting to see if it hadn't been a dream, Nick grasped the cool black camera and turned it on, quickly going to the one picture still on it. There it was … the picture that was keeping him up. The memento that was causing him to lose sleep. The thing without an answer.

Was that disappointment in Nick's heart? Did he want this whole ordeal to have been a dream, a figment of his exhausted imagination? In the back of his mind, Nick honestly said yes, but then again … he wanted this to happen.

Nick cursed aloud. He was pissed off about the whole situation. Why did this have to be so complicated? It shouldn't have to be. If Nick were open about his own feelings then maybe … just maybe he wouldn't have had to deal with this. Or maybe if Greg were open about his own feelings then this wouldn't have happened.

He closed his eyes, wondering what he should do. Should he talk to Greg? Should he erase the picture? Should he just give the camera back to Greg without a word?

Out of nowhere, Grissom's voice filled his mind: "So you're missing a piece of evidence. What are you going to do about it?"

"Go back to the crime scene," Nick grumbled. That meant talking to Greg, finding out the truth. That meant finding out if Greg was harboring hidden feelings for Nick … or maybe he had just taken the picture by accident.

Either way, was Nick ready for the truth?

It had been a horrible day to be out in traffic, but Nick had braved the busy, dusty and dirty streets to get to the Las Vegas Crime Lab anyways. Death waited for no man, and other people's death was his job, sad to say. On the way, though, he had picked up a cup of coffee at a convenience store. It wasn't terrible, but it wasn't great, either. Nick just needed something to help him wake up, something to help his brain get started. He'd need it.

Nick's still hadn't made up his mind. How was he supposed to deal with the whole picture-thing? Tackle it head on or avoid it? If only there was a manual or something for this … but he didn't know if men at other work places had their crush of eight years taking pictures of their butts. Maybe there was a forum online somewhere …?

"Hey Nick."

Nick jumped, almost spilling his coffee as he whirled around. Standing right in front of him was the man of the hour.

"Oh, hey," Nick said hurriedly, taking a step back from Greg.

"So did you talk to Grissom yet?"

Nick's heart almost stopped, his mind reeling back to last night … when he had lied to his supervisor. "What about?"

"Oh. Well we're working a homicide on the south side together. Warrick's working with Cath and Gris is by himself," Greg replied, his eyes narrowing a fraction, almost as if he noticed Nick's anxious reaction. "I was just going to grab my stuff, so I'll meet you in about five minutes?"

Nick nodded as relief spread through him. Grissom hadn't realized … but Greg … Greg's camera was in his pack. Oh shit.

Moving as if numb, Nick went to sit in the break room, waiting for his young companion. He had his own stuff with him already, figuring that Grissom would have had an earlier case for him.

The time ticked by. Slowly, Nick could have added. He didn't want Greg to come and ask him about the—

"Nick! Have you seen my camera? I can't find it anywhere. Oh God, I probably left it in the break room last night and now I can't find it and I need it for the case and

I …" Greg started to pant, his eyes over-bright in the low lighting. "What if Grissom found it? Oh God, he probably did. He's going to kill me. I can't lose that camera. I shouldn't have even left it out. He's going to kill me." Greg had dropped like a rock into an empty seat, his head in his hands.

"He uhh … doesn't have your camera."

"How do you know? What if Warrick has it? I remember the last time he scolded me. He probably does have it … I should go find him, we have to go soon and I need that camera! I still have a picture on there! Oh shit …." Greg stopped, raising his completely white face an inch. He looked positively sick.

"Warrick doesn't have your camera," Nick told him softly, clutching his pack tightly to his chest.

"Who does then? I need that camera back!" Greg cried, his hands shaking. Nick observed him calmly. His friend was going through hell and he could end it right now … he could, if he wanted to. But …

Greg should learn not to leave his things out. Especially cameras that had incriminating photos on them.

"You said you had a picture on there … was it from the crime scene we processed for our last case?" Nick asked slowly, knowing the answer. Greg's face colored startlingly fast.

"No."

"You shouldn't take personal pictures with that camera," Nick said, feeling like a filthy hypocrite. He had taken pictures of his friends before … but this was to make a point … and to get Greg to confess.

"Why does it matter now? I need that camera. We have to get to the crime scene. Grissom's going to kill me," Greg exclaimed, jumping up and searching through the break room.

Nick sighed. Greg had been through enough. "I have your camera."

The younger man almost missed the Texan's soft voice over his own frantic thoughts. "You have …?"

"Yes. It's right here," Nick said, pulling the camera out of his bag. Greg practically sprinted over, snatching the camera away. He turned it on swiftly and checked to see if the picture was still there.

"Did you check my pictures?" Greg asked slowly, looking at Nick, his face now expressionless. The older man nodded.

Greg's eyes hardened and Nick could see the anger lying in wait there. "Why?"

"I had to see if you left any pictures of the crime scene on there. You know what happened to Catherine's camera when she left it unattended, Greg. You know how dangerous that can be."

"That was my personal property, Nick. You had no right—"

"For God's sake Greg. I was lead on the case. I had every damn right. You can't just leave your camera lying around!"

"If Warrick had left his camera, I doubt you'd be this angry. Is this because of my carelessness," Greg's nose flared slightly, "or because of the picture?"

Nick had no answer, and it was probably a good thing he didn't reply. Grissom came barreling into the room, a livid look on his face. "What are you two still doing here? There is a crime scene to be processed!"

The Texan glanced around at the darkened, underground car park as he and Greg walked towards the company Denali. Not a soul was to be seen, except this annoyed and desperate young man striding along beside him. When the reached the dark vehicle, he unlocked both doors before hopping into to the driver's seat.

"So you aren't going to say anything?" Greg demanded as soon as he had sat down and buckled up. "You aren't going to answer?"

Nick had no reply. Was he mad about the picture or was he mad that Greg had been, as his friend had said, careless?

"Fine." Greg crossed his arms and turned towards the window, finally silent. Nick wondered how long this would last … maybe till he had come up with an answer, but he doubted it. Greg wasn't one to stay quiet and—

"Look, I'm sorry if the picture creeped you out. I don't have an excuse for taking it. There, I said it. I have no excuse. I'm also sorry that I left my camera out; I know it was a stupid, petty mistake and it'll never happen again," Greg's voice cut through the silence as he turned to gaze at the older, quiet man. Nick's eyes never left the road, but his hands tightened on the steering wheel.

"Please say something."

"I forgive you for leaving the camera out. I'm sorry I went overboard … but it was serious, Greg," Nick finally said, his voice slow, almost calculating, "and I still want to know why you took that picture."

Greg flushed. He honestly flushed a hot, bright red and turned away swiftly, trying to hide his face. "Why does it matter? You going to report me to Grissom for sexual harassment?"

"It matters to me, Greg. That's why I'm asking."

This time it was Greg's turn to not reply, and the vehicle was dead silent again. Internally Nick sighed and put on his left turn signal, going into the other lane. They were almost at the crime scene and he still hadn't gotten to the bottom of it. Why couldn't he just open up and tell Greg the truth? Why did he have to put his friend on the spot like this? Why couldn't he just stop being so critical?

Taking a deep slow breath, Nick glanced at Greg, hoping he could find the right words. "I'm … sorry for being such an asshole about it, G. I just want to know why you took it."

Another two blocks of silence. They were almost at the right turn to go down the quiet street of Delta Avenue to number 34, the crime scene.

"If it was an accident, that's okay. I don't know why you didn't just delete it … and if you took it on purpose, I just want to know why. You sending it off to a modeling magazine or something?" Nick joked, still counting the blocks they were passing rapidly.

"Maybe there's a reason I'm not telling you," Greg said moodily, staring out of the window, his hair being lit up by the boiling desert sun.

"And that reason is …?"

"Why do you want to know so badly?" Greg turned the question back on him, twisting around in his seat to glare at him accusingly.

"Maybe because …"

I think I love you.

"I uhh …"

I love you.

Nick stopped trying to talk and just shut up. His brain wouldn't work; his mouth wouldn't either. Why can't he just tell Greg? Why couldn't he?

And why couldn't Greg just tell him the truth?

"God damnit," Nick growled out loud, painfully aware that he had spoken the words rather than thought them.

It took only a few more seconds, but there they were. The crime scene was right in front of them, the bright yellow tape strung up everywhere and the police officers waiting around for them.

It was now or never. After they got out of the vehicle, Nick knew they would both forget this. Nick would let it drop, and Greg would happily forget the incident had ever occurred … but in the back of their minds they would always wonder what the other was hiding.

Nick pushed on the break and they stopped. Greg reached for his door handle but the Texan stopped him by grabbing the younger man's left arm.

"Nick, what're you—" Greg's eyes were wide, almost fearful as he waited for Nick to speak, to explain.

"I don't know why it's so hard to let people know the truth," Nick murmured, loosening his grip on his friend's arm, "but maybe it's because you're afraid of the truth yourself."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Uhh … between you and me … the truth … umm," Nick stammered, almost choking on his own saliva.

This was not going well.

Greg's eyes narrowed and an incredulous expression was on his slightly tanned face, his dark eyebrows contracted. "Nick, we have a crime scene to process unless you want Grissom to get even angrier with us."

"No," Nick said wildly, his grip tightening unconsciously, "this needs to be said. Greg, I haven't been honest with you for eight years, and maybe now's the time."

The Level One CSI said nothing; he just listened with an impassive face. Stony … unmoving.

"God, why is this so hard?" Nick asked himself, forcing the words to come out but they just wouldn't.

"Because you're making it that way," Greg told him, his chestnut brown eyes intense in the sunshine. Nick nodded and took a deep, calming breath. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the police officers watching them with interest. This was probably a show to them, a spectacle. Nick's gone nuts, oh boy.

"Greg, I don't know, since the first day I met you eight years ago … I felt as if we had a connection. As if—" Nick stopped, his voice failing him. Greg's eyes were now guarded and devoid of feeling and it scared him. Why wasn't Greg trying to communicate? Why wasn't he telling him why he had taken that picture? "Greg, after I met you I felt as if—"

A knock at the window interrupted him and Detective Vega was there, his eyebrows raised as he took in the scene. He signaled for the men inside the Denali to get out and Nick nodded. That had been his one chance and now it was gone.

Nick's house was silent. No sounds from the street could be heard; no one's voices permeated up from the sidewalk below his windows … nothing. The silence accompanied Nick's absolute exhaustion and he didn't try to combat it. Usually he hated the quiet of his house, but now … now it was kind of … comforting, actually.

He felt his eyes slide shut as he lay on the couch, a blanket covering his lower body. He was allowed to relax now, finally. The case had been fairly simple, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was coming to terms with the fact that now he was supposed to forget the whole thing. Forget the picture … and forget everything he was going to say. What he had been about to say, but …

Never.

Now or never.

The ringing of his phone woke him up. It brought him out of a deep, dreamless sleep without fully waking him up.

Blindly, Nick reached out and felt on the coffee table for the phone, but he couldn't find it. His hand wouldn't close around the cool plastic of his cordless … and the sound continued.

He groaned aloud, prying his eyes apart as he searched. Abruptly the sound stopped—it had gone to his answering machine.

Nick let his hand drop, his fingers lightly brushing the carpet. Did he want to go see who had called, or just leave it? What if it was Grissom and he needed Nick for something? But then there was the fact that sleep still wasn't too far out of reach. He could very easily slip back into his coma like state without much fuss. The call could wait, couldn't it?

Without even really making up his mind, Nick let his eyelids fall back down and he was already drifting away, but it was soon interrupted.

A deafening knock broke into Nick's slumber. Groaning in frustration, he pushed himself into a sitting position, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkening living room. He glanced at the front door, but it was silent. How did he even know that the knock wasn't a part of his dream?

He pulled back the blanket and sleepily went to the front door. A glance through the eyehole told him nothing. He could see no one. He sighed, unlocked the door and pulled it open. On the front step there was a beautiful, deep, almost purple, blue flower. It had white tips and the stalk was green and healthy. Nick knew the flower almost immediately: a bluebonnet.

He blinked, trying to clear his vision. Was the actually a flower there, waiting for him? He reached out to pick it up, looking for a note. There was none.

Almost mechanically the Texan brought it inside, putting it into a crystal vase filled with water. He set it tenderly on his kitchen table, just gazing at it.

Who had given it to him?

Nick had no idea, not a clue at all. Whoever had sent it wanted to be anonymous. Feeling a little more awake, he decided to watch some TV. He went back to the couch, and almost stepped on the black cordless phone. He picked it up, but didn't put it down. On the screen it read: One new message.

He quickly pressed talk and dialed 98. He pressed one, listening intently.

"You have one new message. First message, sent today at two thirty four pm," the cool, automated voice said.

The message started to play, but all Nick could hear was silence, then a whispered voice said, "I love you," and clicked off.

Just from those three words, Nick had a face pop into his mind. A beautiful face with chestnut brown eyes, long, silky brown hair, and an adorable mouth that was always smiling. One name … Greg.

Nick set down the phone, wandering over to gaze at the perfect flower. A perfect gift from a perfect person.

"I love you too, Greg," Nick murmured, smiling to himself.