Foundations

Summary: Greg makes the very difficult decision that he and Nick have been together for too long. Can he bring himself to let go? A love/hate story.

Author's Note: Thanks goes to Kate Nash's "Foundations," as well as to the entire Next to Normal soundtrack. If you're familiar with the latter (N2N), see if you can spot its influence. Fic initially inspired by the Kate Nash song of the same name.

I had heard of relationships that evolved into monsters like the one ours had become, but I still couldn't see the three eyes, fangs and tail that it had at some point sprouted. Every new cancerous growth, every fresh disfigurement, grew so slowly and so subtly that it was impossible to pinpoint exactly when everything had started to go wrong.

I fell into a relationship with Nick Stokes gladly and with everything I had, mostly because I had never jumped off a cliff that high, and in situations like that, it's do or die. The fall was exhilarating, and the adrenaline kept me loopy for years, but the thing is, the higher the fall, the harder the crash. I don't know when I hit the ground, but my mangled corpse has laid there for at least several months now. Maybe even a year. I don't know. Like I said, it's hard to pinpoint the exact moment. But I haven't been able to peel my broken body off of the jagged rocks yet. A part of me is still waiting there, like Humpty Dumpty, for someone to put me back together again. I think I hope that person will be Nick. But it's getting late, the sun is setting, and the vultures are beginning to circle. I'm beginning to think that Nick, even if he brought all of his horses and all of his men, could never put me together again.

Just like it wasn't one big turning point, it wasn't one massive error on either of our parts. We're both good people, or at least, I like to think that we are. And I don't blame Nick for this change any more than I blame myself. We turn each other into horrible people, and it escalates from there. I used to love how he made me feel about myself, but now, I can't stand the person he's turned me into. What's worse, I can't stand the person I've turned him into, either.

I find it strange, because we've conquered so much in our time together, and the usual things that break relationships had no effect on us. The first, and perhaps most glaring obstacle, is the fact that we were both each other's first same-sex partners. Our whole lives, we'd found comfort in the arms of women, but never love. I don't know if it's sexuality. I don't know if I can identify as gay or even bisexual, or if I'm just a Nicksexual. What I do know is, that years of working closely together, years of mentorship, friendship and fraternity, breed a species of intimacy that I have never found with any other person in my life, male or female.

Perhaps the cliff metaphor was a bit too abrupt. Because when I fell in love with Nick, it wasn't something instantaneous. It wasn't love at first sight, like you read in all those trashy romance novels. It was slow, but very steady, and it was laid brick by brick, year by year. By the time I'd realized that I was in love with him, I'd built an entire shrine surrounding him in my mind. I had already built us a home. And though I don't know when or why or how, just as slowly as I had built it, I began to dismantle it.

But sexuality wasn't our only hurdle. Of course, there's the awkward conversation of telling your friends and family who've known you to be straight men for years that you're in an unconventional relationship. This can cause friction in even the best of families, but not ours. No, our transition from Nick and Greg, Friends to Nick and Greg, Lovers, was easier than anything I had ever expected. Our coworkers shrugged it off, and Sara had said, half-teasingly, that it wasn't nearly as shocking as Catherine and Vartann. To which Catherine had countered that we weren't nearly as pigheaded about it as Grissom and Sara had been. Biological families were a bit harder to convince, but they accepted us nonetheless. Because we're good people, we come from good families, and they – all of them – wanted us to be happy, above all else.

And for a while – a long while – we were. We had a few other confusions to conquer. Who moves in where, who pays for things, should we get a pet (and then there was the whole 'dog!' 'cat!' 'dog!' argument that had me sleeping on the couch for a week). And the occasional, 'Don't treat me like you're girlfriend, I can take care of myself, jackass,' comment that we always threw at each other. Having always been in more traditional relationships, we had some growing pains as we adjusted to life as a gay couple, as well as just adjusting to life as a couple in general. After all, that was another first for us. Before this, neither of us had had a relationship that lasted longer than six months. And I think that was the biggest challenge of all. It may have been the straw that broke the camel's back. We had been together too long.

The night I realized this, our team had just closed one big case. To celebrate, D.B. insisted on buying us all breakfast at the diner. This wasn't exactly an unusual circumstance. We'd all gone out to the diner before, and one of them often offered to pay for the whole thing. These meals were arguably some of the best I've ever had, beating out certain thanksgivings and Christmases even. But that night was just another sign that we were losing ourselves for the sake of maintaining the relationship.

The seating arrangement, here, is important to note. We were all crammed into a booth, and Nick had the seat by the window. Morgan sat on the end, and I squeezed between them in the middle. Across from us at the window was D.B., who was next to Catherine, who was by Sara on the end.

I told a story. Perhaps that was my mistake, to choose to dominate the conversation with an amusing but self-absorbed tale that highlighted one of my best qualities: charming heroics.

"… middle of nowhere, nothing but ocean, our boards, and that fin when all of a sudden, Mari screams and—"

"You save her from the scary dolphin, we know," Nick interrupted.

He'd ruined the punch line. "Never said it was a dolphin," I snapped.

"We've heard that story a billion times by now. You've been telling it since your first day when you were trying and failing to impress Grissom with your off-beat sense of humor and adventure."

Morgan raised a hesitant hand. "I've never heard it," she offered, trying to be helpful. I smiled, gratefully, but Nick interrupted the action as easily as if I had been thanking her with words.

"Don't worry, he'll tell it again soon, now doubt." Nick assured her, flashing me a patronizing smile.

"Oh, like you never retell stories," I groaned. "And your anecdotes are way more inane than mine."

Nick rolled his eyes towards the ceiling and stared at it, that forced smile still on his face, an expression that clearly read I can't believe you're being this annoying right now. "Stop being such a dick, Greg," he said casually, a hint of what to the unskilled listener sounded like amusement to his tone but was clearly veiled frustration.

Morgan chewed on her lip and sank back into the booth, exchanging looks with the other three across the table. D.B. seemed to be very focused on his meal, and gave no sign that he was even aware of what was going on across from him. Sara was leaning forward, flashing Catherine a look with raised eyebrows but Catherine's hand was over her eyes, a gesture of utter exhaustion.

And I didn't care about a single one of them. As far as I was concerned, they weren't even there anymore.

I gaped at Nick and shook my head. "Yeah, I'm the one being a dick here. Why don't you bite your tongue until you actually have something to add to civil conversation?"

"Don't start."

"Already started."

"I was just playing."

"No, you weren't," I insisted. "That's just you being passive aggressive and it's pissing me off."

"Every time I'm just the least bit critical, you get all defensive—"

"I'm getting defensive because you're attacking me!"

"Everything I say is an attack now, is it?"

"Feels like it."

"Wow!" Morgan declared. "Look at that. I have to meet my… Dad… now…" Seeming unable to think of any other excuse, Morgan decided to just leave without saying anything else.

"Thanks for the meal, D.B.," she added just before she fled out the door.

"Have you convinced Lindsey to stay in the state for college, yet?" Sara asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

I wouldn't let her. I knew that even if we ignored this, the bitterness would just find some other time to rear its ugly head. Before Catherine could even answer Sara's question, I was on the offensive.

"So why do you feel the need to criticize every little thing I do anyway?"

Nick tried to laugh it off. "I told you, I'm not criticizing you, it's you, Greg, you read into every little thing I say."

"Stop that," I growled, through gritted teeth.

"I'm not doing anything!" Nick finally burst out, his mask of forced good-humor suddenly dissolving. "Jesus, Greg, you're blowing things way out of proportion."

"Nah, see, this is your problem. You passive aggressively make some snide remark, and then deny that you ever meant anything by it later, and then make me look like the crazy person when I rightfully take offense to it. I am not the crazy person here!"

There was the smash of cutlery. Catherine had thrown down her silverware onto her plate, startling both Nick and me out of our bubble.

"That's enough," she hissed, in her best mom voice. "What has happened to you two? There is something bitterly wrong here, and I'm not just talking about the scene you are making in public. Work it out. Until you do, leave the rest of us out of it." She glared at Sara on the aisle, who looked back at her with eyes the size of quarters. It took Sara a moment to realize Catherine wanted to leave, but when she did, she leapt to her feet and let the blonde escape. We watched Catherine stomp out the door, pushing it open so hard, I could have sworn I heard the bell on top crack.

Sara, still standing, gave us a typical, Now look what you did glare. Without a word from her, she whirled on her heel and jogged to catch up with Catherine, presumably to calm her down, or maybe for someone to commiserate with about how annoying Nick and I were.

At about that moment, D.B. put down his own knife and fork and took the napkin off of his lap and wiped his mouth. His eyes were on the table, not even acknowledging us, and when he did look up, it was to flag down the waitress with a smile and ask for the check. The waitress paused and tried to remember who the other three people at the table had been.

"That'll be for all six of you, right?"

"No," D.B. clarified, "that'll be for the four of us. These two can take care of their own bill. That's not too much trouble to split it, is it?"

She glanced at us warily. Clearly, she had heard the commotion Nick and I had been making earlier and was worried about another outburst. Then, she turned back to D.B. and nodded. "No problem," she assured him, with a smile she never offered to us, and then hurried off to do the math.

For the first time during the whole meal I felt my face burn with shame. I buried my head in my hands and leaned on my elbows on the table. For his part, D.B. continued to act as if we weren't there as he sipped his coffee. Nick was silent, but I could feel the tension radiating from him beside me. I knew exactly how childish we were being, and suddenly, I cared again. The monster was subsiding and Greg the Human Being had returned, ashamed at the actions of my alter ego. For a moment, I swelled with a desire for sympathy, for empathy even, a desire to connect with the only person I knew could understand how I feel, but a part of me was horrified at the thought of reaching out and seizing Nick's hand. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I still needed him. That I depended on him to make everything all right again. That I still expected him to bring out the Jekyll in me, instead of the Hyde.

I moved my forefingers so I could look out across the table at D.B. The waitress came by with the checks and handed one to D.B., and placed one at the end of the table. It was as if she was worried that if she handed it to one of us, we'd bite her fingers off.

"Thank you," D.B. said graciously as he took the check. He looked over the tally of dishes just to be sure no mistakes were made. Still without looking at us, he said, "Rumor has it you two used to be a remarkable team. Not just since you started dating, but since long before that. No closer friends, they say." He pursed his lips, then reached into his back pocket for a wallet. He pulled out a few bills and placed them with the check. For the first time since our argument, he looked up at Nick and me and shrugged. "Or maybe they were talking about someone else," he said to us. "I'm still having trouble remembering all your names. Best of luck to you two." And with that, he slipped out of the booth and headed calmly out the door.

Nick and I were left with our own silence. My eyes landed on our own bill. More out of guilt than anything else, I reached for it.

"I'll get it," Nick sighed, already reaching into his pocket.

"No, it's cool…" he whispered, numbly.

"Please," Nick insisted, his hand on the check as well. "Let me."

I pulled the check towards me. "It'll make me feel better."

"Yeah, well I owe you," Nick returned, venom seeping into his voice again.

I knew where this was going, and for once, it didn't fill me with fury. I was just tired. I shoved the check his way.

"Whatever," I said, getting up to leave.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

I closed my eyes and prayed for patience, irritated that he'd even ask, because in all honesty, I wasn't sure where I was going. I certainly couldn't go home, because that's where he lived, too. The whole place smelled of him, and our stuff was so intermixed it was impossible to tell where he ended and I began. And I didn't want to be a part of that anymore. I no longer wanted to lose myself in a surge of him. And though I was terrified of life without him, I knew the time had come to make that painful choice.

I didn't answer him. I just left.

I pulled out the keys to the car and clicked it open, climbing into the driver's seat. I waited for him, my eyes focusing straight ahead at the wall of the diner. The passenger opened and slammed shut. I heard the fabric of the seatbelt, and then the click and a sigh. When I turn my head to look out the back window, I have a habit of lifting my right arm and grasping the passenger seat. As I did that this time, I became extremely aware of the fact that my hand had brushed against Nick's arm. I tried to focus on driving and not the texture of his warm skin.

The silence that had enveloped us in the diner had decided to hitch a ride in our backseat. It wriggled its way between us like a dog eager to leap up front with the people. It climbed onto our laps and sat there, unmoving, and we didn't push it off.

Finally, we arrived back at the house. Or, I should say, Nick's house. I fumbled with the keys and opened the door before Nick was even on the porch. I walked to our room and closed the door. For whatever reason, Nick let me be.

I pulled out my suitcase and opened it on the bed, my eyes scanning the room for items I could rightfully identify as 'mine.' It was harder than you'd think. I pulled pictures from the night stand, unplugged an alarm I was nearly certain was mine. I seized my cologne from on top of the dresser, then pulled open my drawers and cleaned them out. I entered the adjoining bathroom and seized my toothbrush and razor, but left most of the products. I could always buy more, and Nick used them more anyway. Bit by bit, I dismantled the life we had built together on what had seem to be such solid foundations. But it was all about to come crashing down, and I had to get out before it trapped me forever.

It took me about an hour to decide that I was finished. I didn't have everything, but I had enough. I'm sure that Nick would gather the rest of my things in a box and leave it on the doorstep of my new place like a scene out of one of those trite break-up movies. Much of the time was spent just sitting on the bed and staring at the door. I think a part of me wanted him to walk in there, to convince me not to go, or at least knock and make sure that I was OK. And then, it occurred to me that maybe he was waiting for the same thing. And I realized, neither of us would be the first to give in. We were waiting for the other one to ask, to apologize. We were waiting for the other one to admit that he cared. And pride kept us from being the one who did it first.

At last, I zipped up my suitcase and took it in hand before briskly walking to the door and pushing it open. I hoped against hope that I wouldn't run into Nick on my way out. I was too exhausted for another fight, which I knew would be inevitable if I saw him. I prayed that he was somewhere else. In the office, maybe, working on the computer, doing his taxes, anything but sitting on the couch in the living room with no book in hand and the television silent. Of course, that's exactly where he was. At the sound of me, he got up and entered the entry hall.

He just watched me at first, until I hesitated at the door. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my keys. I fiddled with them momentarily, slowly easing his house key off of the ring. When I succeeded, I laid it on the table by the door. I told myself not to look at him. I told myself not to. But as I heard it hit the table, my eyes darted up and locked with his.

"Where are you going?" It was an echo of the last thing he had said, and like all echoes, it was ethereal and faint, a ghost of what it had been.

I glanced at my suitcase. "Away."

He didn't seem to get it. He stepped forward and took the key off the table, then seized my hand and pressed it into my palm. "So don't leave your key behind."

I blinked. I wasn't sure if he was completely oblivious or just desperate. "Why?" I asked him.

His face fell. He took the key back and clenched his fist around it. "Stay," he begged.

I closed my eyes. "You know what will happen if I stay."

"Greg—"

"I don't want to fight anymore," I interrupted, before he could even start. I turned around again, toward the door, when he reached out and seized my arm.

"Please…"

It was the sweet apology I had expected ten minutes ago in my room, but it had come too late. He was only being this way because he knew I was leaving. I reminded myself that it was a trap. He was clinging to us because he couldn't see it all coming crashing down around us. Or maybe, he could, but he was trying to hold the ceiling up with his own bare hands. It would kill him, and if I let him keep me here, it would kill me too.

I opened my mouth to explain, but all I could do was shake my head.

"Why are you leaving?" Nick asked, as if it were the worst of all betrayals.

"Why should I stay?" I returned. "We need to just end this, Nick. We were good together, once, but now I think we'd be better apart."

"No," Nick said. "I refuse to believe that."

"Of course you do," I said, the rage and frustration bubbling up again. "You keep pretending that everything's fine. That every subtle insult is just me misinterpreting your meaning. You don't want to admit that you've grown to hate me."

"I don't hate you," Nick said. "I just…"

My eyebrows shot up. "You what?"

He dropped his grip on my arm and looked sharply away. "Never mind."

"Right," I said. "Never mind. For a moment, I thought you were gonna admit what's actually happening. Stupid me. You live in denial."

"I don't live in denial, Greg!" Nick cried, and yet somehow still shocked that I could even suggest it.

"Then what, Nick? What are you doing?"

He hesitated with his mouth partially open. "I still love you, Greg."

"But we are killing each other," I said.

"Can you honestly say you hate me?" he returned.

I opened my mouth to do just that but found that I couldn't. I snapped it shut and glared at him. "No."

"In spite of everything I've done to you," Nick said, his voice seeming too small for a man of his stature.

I considered it. All the fights, all the snide remarks, the aloof attitude, the condescending tones. And then, I remembered how we used to be. The day he picked me up from the lab on his day off because I had passed out from low blood sugar and Catherine had sent me home. There was a bucket of Snickers bars waiting for me when I got home. The way he used to be so intuitive, always knowing when I was upset and why. The way he paid attention to every subtle change.

"No," I said, meekly. "No. I don't think I could ever hate you. Even after all this."

"So we don't hate each other," he said. "There's still love here, Greg."

"But we turn each other into monsters," I insisted. "You remind me just how fucked up I can be."

This seemed to sting him. "OK. So… So then, let's start over. Remember who we were together, not who we are."

But I was so tired. And I didn't think I could get that back. "Nick, I can't…"

"Why?" Nick demanded. "Why not? So you're just going to give up on us?"

"Why are you trying so hard?" I returned. "Why not just end it and be better off? Get rid of the extra stress?"

"Because I promised you," he said, clearly on the verge of some emotional break. "I promised you forever."

He had. When we had decided to move in together. I had joked about taking his house in the event of a break-up. Being a vindictive ex. It had been my way of avoiding seriously talking about it. I had been secretly terrified that something like this would happen, and I was worried that it would be living together that killed us. But he took my half-jokes about what would happen if we broke up and talked me back down to earth. He had smiled at me and sandwiched my hands in his and insisted that he wouldn't have asked if he hadn't known that we were forever. I'd said, "Promise?" And he did.

He continued. "I promised you I'd never let you regret this decision. Were there times when I wondered if it was worth it? Of course I did. But I promised you, Greg, and I loved you too much to let you down."

"I know you're loyal," I began, forcing my voice to keep steady. "And that's admirable. But no matter what promises you made, you can't use that as an excuse to remain miserable."

"I'm not miserable," Nick asserted. "I'm never miserable with you, I just… I just need space sometimes. We both do. All couples do, Greg, we just need to work on it, talk about it, see, we never talk about it, we always fight!"

"We're fighting now!" I returned.

"But we're listening to each other this time," Nick said. "And since you're listening, and since you think leaving is what's best, I just… I want you to know that I've been trying to find you again, who you used to be, when you laughed every day and it was never forced, and when you put on goofy hats just to see if I'd notice, and when you'd make me breakfast in bed on my birthday and burn the toast. I search for that guy every day, Greg, so if you see him… tell him to come home."

I wanted to be that man again. The man Nick loved. I wasn't sure if I could make it.

"I promised to stay," Nick whispered. "And I'll make it again. I'll make it every day. Greg, if we can get through this, we can get through everything."

I tried to think. "Do you think… I'm the problem?"

He looked baffled by the mere suggestion. "No… no, of course not. Twelve years is a long time, Greg. We've both changed, but there are some things that we need to learn to hang on to. And me, I'll… I'll try communicating better. I'll let you know when I just need a break for a while."

"Do you need one now?" I asked.

Slowly, he shook his head. "Not anymore. An hour without you was enough. And a day would be too long." He stepped forward and took my hands in his again, like he had done on the day we had decided to move in together. "Maybe we can't be OK. Maybe we don't belong together. But maybe we're tough, and we'll try anyway."

I restrained myself for as long as I could. But as I remembered the good times, the little things faded away. And I fell into him, forcing my lips against his, clinging to him for dear life. I let him lead me back into the house again. We fell into the bed, and we were entwined again. You could hardly tell where I ended and he began.

And maybe the house will come crashing down around us, someday. But the idea of being crushed by the weight of our conflicts and passion doesn't seem so horrifying anymore. And at any rate, for today at least, our walls still stand.

THE END