Mistakes We Knew We Were Making
Summary: Greg and Wendy decide that they're tired of waiting for the one they love. Commiserating over wine one night, they drunkenly realize that they don't have to. But in the harsh light of day, things aren't so simple. Simmers/Wedges/The Love.
Timeline: Post-Field Mice.
Author's Note: I posted this first on WMTDB (which is back up yay! so all you Nick/Greg fans should check that out). Now I'm uploading here. This is the first time I've featured three pairings in one story, as well as a love quadrangle (you read that right). So I hope you enjoy the mixed up mayhem and laugh and cry along with the characters as they try and sort out they're crazy relationships. Also, this fic is unbeta'd so... all mistakes are my fault and I apologize for it. Lastly, this song's theme song share's its title - "Mistakes We Knew We Were Making" by Straylight Run, but no lyrics will show up. YouTube it if you like. Or don't - doesn't matter.
Chapter One: The First Mistake
Greg had watched him enter the locker room, but that didn't stop him from pretending to be surprised when he entered two and a half minutes later and saw Nick at his locker. Greg knew the exact amount of time between their entrances because he had timed it, so their encounter wouldn't seem contrived. As he leaned in the doorway in a fashion that he believed was apathetically cool, he tossed Nick a mildly surprised "Oh, hey," with a nod of his chin. He tried to ignore the fact that it sounded like the beginning of, "Fancy seeing you here."
Nick pulled back from behind the open door of his locker to smile at his colleague. "Hey, Greg. You heading home?"
"Me?" Greg scoffed. "Not the way Catherine's been riding me." Nick raised an eyebrow and Greg cringed. "Poor choice of words."
"She's been putting you on all the hard cases lately," Nick said, closing the door of his locker and shrugging on a windbreaker. "I heard you even talked to the DA and the Sheriff about a case today. I think she's grooming you."
"Oh yeah?" Greg asked, as if he hadn't considered it. He frowned. "Grooming me for what?"
Nick shrugged. "Can never be too prepared for anything, I guess. You think she expected to ever take Grissom's job?"
Greg shrugged. "Did you ever expect to take hers?"
Nick shook his head and looked down, seeming almost bashful. But when he looked up again, he was smiling. "Did you want something, Greg?"
"Want something?" Greg echoed, hoping to sound innocent.
"You're pulling some overtime here at the lab, right?" Nick asked.
"Right."
"So what are you doing in the locker room?"
Greg cursed internally, wondering why he had thought of everything except for an answer to that question. "I… need to get something out of my locker."
Nick stepped back and opened his arms to him. "So come get it."
Greg hesitated. What kind of invitation was that? Nick was calling his bluff, that much was obvious. But why? "Uh, I'll get it later."
Nick snorted, seeming baffled and almost offended as he shook his head. "Whatever."
"Whatever?" Greg repeated, his tone asking for an explanation.
Nick shouldered a messenger bag. "It's just you've been stalking me in the hall since I left the fingerprint lab. You even hovered outside for three minutes before walking in here and acting all casual. If you have something to say, you might as well say it."
But Greg had nothing to say. His only reason for following Nick was to talk to him, about everything, about anything, about the menial and mundane. They had done that, and he'd gotten what he wanted – a few minutes alone in a room with Nick Stokes. It wasn't a lot for him to ask for, but the way things had been going lately, it had become a rare thing to come by. Besides, anything more than that was just asking too much.
Greg shook his head before he said, "Two and a half."
"Come again?" Nick said, his brow furrowed.
"It was two and a half minutes. I know because I timed it."
Nick started laughing, and even though Greg had the peculiar feeling that the Texan was laughing at him, he was glad to hear it. "You're kind of odd, do you know that?"
"Yes," Greg said, honestly. "All too well."
Nick stopped laughing and he pursed his lips. "Greg—"
"I should go," Greg said, forcing a modest shrug. He turned around.
"Greg, I'm sorry," Nick said. "If it's any consolation, I like odd."
Greg froze in the doorway, his back to Nick. He closed his eyes, wondering exactly how much Nick Stokes liked 'odd.' He cast Nick a probing look over the shoulder. His friend stood there, one thumb under the strap of the bag on his shoulder. The other hand was at his side, but the palm was turned towards Greg, silently asking him to stay. His supplicating eyes, warm sienna and sincere, slipped under Greg's skin, and suddenly, he couldn't leave Nick like that.
He sighed and turned around, knowing that this was probably a mistake. He'd spent the better part of ten years replaying this conversation in his mind, and it never ended well. In every possible scenario, the conversation always changed their relationship, for better or worse, and Greg wasn't sure he wanted to risk that. But he was also tired of waiting.
He walked into the locker room and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "We've known each other, what, ten years?"
"Twelve," Nick corrected.
Greg couldn't believe he'd forgotten that. "BS."
Nick looked taken aback. "Did you just call bullshit?"
"Before Sara," Greg explained with a smirk. "I sometimes forget those years even happened."
Nick closed his eyes, smiled, and nodded, as if remembering. "1998. You were a smartass twenty-three year old prodigy who thought you walked on water."
"And you were a CSI level one that didn't know his guanine from his thymine," Greg returned.
"So we've both come a long way since then," Nick agreed with a chuckle. "What are you getting at?"
"That we actually haven't come a long way since then," Greg said, choosing his words carefully. "You and me, I mean."
Nick, as if realizing this might be a long conversation, took off his messenger bag and sat on the bench. "OK…"
Greg let out a frustrated sigh and raked his hands through his hair. "Despite all the times I've imagined having this conversation, I've never found the right words."
A smile tugged at the corners of Nick's lips. "Twelve years Greg and you think I don't know you?"
"That's not it—"
"I know it's not," Nick interrupted. "My point is, I think I do know what you're trying to tell me."
This was unexpected. Greg held his breath.
"Although…" Nick continued. "It's a peculiar conclusion to come to, given your history."
It was Greg's turn to sit on the bench. He turned to Nick, fascinated. "How do you mean?"
"I've seen you analyze skin cells of the women you dated," Nick explained. "I listened to you pine over Sara for three years, albeit against my will as you held me prisoner by withholding my DNA results. I even listened to your kinky stories about that Hawaiian girl and whipped cream after she left you a banana cream pie at the front desk."
"So?" Greg asked.
"So if I didn't know any better, I'd say this conversation was about the fact that you have feelings for me," Nick explained.
And there they were: the words that Greg had kept inside of him for years spoken on someone else's lips. Maybe Nick knew him better than he thought. His eyebrows shot up and he swallowed the lump in his throat. "Um…" He looked away from Nick, down at the floor.
"Well, don't rush to deny it," Nick said, sounding actually a little shocked that he had guessed correctly.
"How can I deny it?" Greg said, still refusing to look at him.
"How can't you?" Nick asked. "This can't be a come on, Greg, because unless you've been faking all these years, you're very into women."
"And the world is so black and white?" Greg snapped. "Ever occur to you that I only shared half my thoughts on sex and relationships because I thought the other half would alienate you?"
Nick shrugged and puckered his mouth. "Honestly, it never occurred to me that you only shared half of anything that went on in that head of yours. You were kind of the king of overshare. At least, you used to be. Now you don't talk at all, what's up with that?"
Greg had known this was a mistake. He got to his feet. "This," he said, gesturing at Nick. "This is what's up with that."
"Now, Greg—"
"And don't chastise me!" Greg cried. "Like I'm just some kid that's overreacting."
Nick couldn't help it. He laughed. "You are overreacting."
Greg held up his hands. "This was a bad idea."
"No, it wasn't," Nick insisted, also standing up. "I'm glad we talked about this."
"I'm not," Greg said. "Can I go now?"
"You don't want to know what I think?" Nick asked.
"I already know what you think," said Greg. "Twelve years, remember?"
Nick put all his weight on his back leg and crossed his arms. "OK, then. What do I think, Greg?"
"You think I'm a kid with a crush," Greg explained, "and you're going to let me down easy, then avoid me for a few days, because you actually hate talking about stuff like this. And when you stop avoiding me, we'll be friends again, but you'll be a little stingier with the hugs and the pats on the back and the… everything. You'll hold back. Because we were once so close, and that… intimacy led me to fall in love with you and—" That's when he realized he'd said it, but he plowed on pretending he hadn't, hoping Nick wouldn't notice. "—you think that keeping a friendship that close would just reignite this old crush and make things awkward again, so you'll keep me at arm's length." He took a breath. "How am I doing? In the ballpark?"
Nick's mouth was half-open as he gave Greg a blank stare. Then, he slowly shook his head. "Not even in the stadium," he breathed. His brow furrowed again. "Did you just say you loved me?"
Greg felt his face flush with warmth. His eyes moved to the corners, as if trying to remember. "Yes…" he muttered, trying to make it unimportant. He blinked and shook his head, as if to clear it. "No. What?"
"Greg…" Nick said, licking his lips. "I need some time to think about this."
"Of course you do," Greg muttered. "Take all the time you need. It was nice knowing you, I guess…" Greg marched out of the locker room, dejection echoing in every single step.
Wendy held her breath, her eyes following Hodges as he walked down the hall and right past her lab without even throwing a glance her way. When he was out of sight, she sighed and looked down at the buccal swabs she was supposed to be testing. This new awkwardness that had cropped up between them was much different from the old, familiar awkwardness that had nested around them for these past four years. It was even different from the awkwardness of five years ago, when they had first met and Wendy had incorrectly assumed that Hodges was on the autism spectrum. Truth be told, their relationship had never been normal, but it had always been comfortable, and she missed the warmth of it. Now, Hodges kept trying to talk to her about it, and in the process, ruined everything. She missed their secret smiles, their playful repartee, even the bombastic but clumsy way he was always trying to impress her. All of that was traded for a few skittish glances and cutting Hodges off every time he opened his mouth when they were alone.
He didn't seem to understand that she couldn't talk about it, that the whole point of it was to seize a taste of something she could never have, and then just walk away. Only he wouldn't let her walk away. He wanted more from her, and she was incapable of giving it to him. She'd meant the words she'd said, right before she had kissed him – it'll never happen. She had meant it about both Henry and Hodges, but she supposed the subsequent kiss turned it into a mixed message. The worst part was, she couldn't even tell him why it could never happen, at least not yet, and that was another thing Wendy did not want to be asked about.
"You get a match?"
Wendy jumped at the question. She hadn't realized she'd been staring at the last spot where she'd seen Hodges before he'd disappeared. She turned and saw Greg, looking at her with raised eyebrows.
"Match?" she asked.
"Those swabs," Greg explained. "Any of them a match to the Jenson murders?"
Wendy looked down again at her buccal swabs. "Maybe?"
Greg followed her gaze. "You didn't run them yet, did you?"
"I've been distracted," she confessed.
To her surprise, Greg actually smiled. "I know the feeling."
She was grateful for his empathy, because she'd expected him to get angry. "I'll run them right now, I swear. Your case just became my top priority. Sara and Nick's evidence can wait."
Greg laughed. "I just ousted Sara and Nick on your priority list?" He gave her an approving, if a little smug look. "Thanks."
"For what?"
"Cheering me up a little," Greg said.
"You seem like you're in a better mood than I am," Wendy replied.
Greg shrugged. "Years of practice, I guess." He paused. "Wendy, how old am I?"
She frowned at him, seeming suddenly wary. "Is this a trick question?"
"No. Do you know how old I am?"
"You're thirty…" she thought, "six?"
"Five."
"Over-shot it. Sorry."
Greg shook his head. "Better than guessing twenty-five."
"Why do you ask?"
Greg took a deep breath and exhaled. "Because I think some people here forget that."
"Don't be stupid," Wendy said. "I mean, yeah, five years ago you were the rookie, but that's Ray's job now, right, so you've become a veteran player." An idea struck her. "You're like the MVP!"
Greg was flattered. "Thanks," he said. He spun around and was about to leave, when he realized how common this situation was. He paused on his way out, his back to Wendy. Five years ago, he used to be one of the lab technicians. He used to be in on all of the jokes and pranks, indeed, he'd often instigated them. Ever since he'd become a CSI, he'd turned into one of the "field mice" that only ever stopped in to talk to the lab technicians when he needed something. Nick, Sara, Warrick, Grissom and Catherine had all done it to him when he was in the lab. It had been one of the reasons he'd wanted so badly to get out into the field – so Nick (and, really, all of them) would see him as someone other than the man who held their DNA results hostage until they stayed for a conversation. He'd wanted badly to be an equal, and while most of them treated him as such now, Nick still saw him as a child.
But Wendy was different. The woman who had taken his old job never had to resort to stunts to keep the CSIs in her lab talking to her. She just managed to have a warm attitude about her that made people want to be around her. And she never acted offended whenever Greg dropped by, said two words, and then ducked out again.
Greg looked over his shoulder at Wendy, who had already started running the buccal swabs, and that's when he saw it. He wondered why he hadn't seen it when he'd walked into the room. Her preoccupation seemed as obvious as the unshed tears in the corner of her eyes. And not thirty seconds ago, she had indulged Greg's complaints and cheered him up.
"I take you for granted," he said.
She looked up at him and blinked. "What?"
"I know I do," Greg explained, "because they used to take me for granted, and now I'm acting just like them, aren't I?"
She continued to watch him a moment before she said, "I'm moving to Portland."
For some reason, Greg's heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach. "What? When?"
She shrugged. "I'm not sure. I mean, maybe I won't even go. I've been talking to my sister up there, she has room for me to stay when I go look for an apartment. And the lab up there has a reputation for allowing their employees to work wherever they want. Lab or field, it doesn't matter, they just want good people. I'm a good person, right?"
"The best…" Greg admitted. He stepped forward. "Is that what you're worried about?"
She gave him a half shrug in response.
Greg looked at his watch. "We should talk about this. When are you off?"
"An hour ago," she said, and gestured at her desk. "But I'm backlogged."
Greg nodded. "I'm in overtime mode, too. But, hey, you know, I'm pretty much done now. How about I give you a hand in here?"
She seemed taken aback. "Are you sure?"
"Positive!" Greg declared. "I used to be you, remember? You think I've forgotten how to get this stuff done in the fastest way possible?"
She gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks."