A/N: I realized, when I started writing "All the King's Horses," that I would really like to write a companion piece to go along with it. So this is it: Nick's story. Chapters to be posted simultaneously. I'll try to update twice a week, but expect at least once a week. In case you missed it, this takes place in season six, splitting off from canon there. Expect mild spoilers for all previous seasons.
Warnings: Slash. Angst.
Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS and Bruckheimer Productions, not me.
All the King's Men
1.
His letter says it doesn't have anything to do with me. Fuck, he even apologizes to me, and if anything I should be the one apologizing to him.
He's my Greggo, my bit of sunlight in human form, and I thought I knew him but if I did this wouldn't have happened.
If I'm honest, and I do try to be, I should tell you that he's not my Greggo. Not anymore. Hasn't been for two months and seventeen days. After over two years of sleeping next to him, suddenly all we talk about is work, and I don't see him if we don't have a case together and I think that maybe he's avoiding me until today…
It's not like I have nightmares when he's not here. Our schedules wouldn't work out all the time, we've slept apart, and besides that I'm in therapy.
What? Real men can too go to therapy. I'd like to see you deal with being buried alive and eaten by ants without it.
And here he is, and everything's just so fucked now and he wrote me a letter telling me that it has nothing to do with me, and that just makes me so angry I can barely see straight! Nothing to do with me, sure, like I believe that. We've got a good two and a half years history, if you count the last two months and seventeen days (which I do). Longer than that, if you count the friendship and flirtation leading up to it. And when he was mine, and I was his, things were good. Yeah, we had our little bumps and tussles along the way, but no matter what we always came through it because we were us and we faced things together. And his stupid letter just pisses all over that history, just "Sorry, Nicky, what we had doesn't matter."
I know I shouldn't be pissed about this, but I'd feel better if it were about me, and isn't that just the most twisted and selfish thing you've ever heard? Oh, yeah, my therapist is going to get a few sessions out of this.
