Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot!
Oddly enough, this was inspired by the song "I Hate This Part" by the Pussycat Dolls.
The air inside the cab of the truck is so thick with tension, Nick can't stop the mental image of a knife forming out of nothing and splitting through the palpable anxiety floating about the two of them. The collar of his thin charcoal sweater is pressing on his Adam's apple, and he finds himself pulling repeatedly at the scratchy material. It does no good, but he keeps trying anyway, for want of something to do other than fixate on why the ride is so silent. His knuckles grip the wheel a little tighter as he casts a sidelong glance at the man in the seat beside him, sighing when he sees that the anger hasn't left his expression.
Greg's arms are crossed and his right shoulder is shoved deep in to the corner between seat and door. His face somewhat resembles a thundercloud, and his eyes are as dark. Nick sighs almost silently and returns his eyes to the road. The image in his head turns the knife around and he mentally slits his wrists because he knows that this isn't the first time this has happened, and it probably won't be the last time. The sweater constricts again, in time with his heart, and Nick pulls at the collar before dropping one hand down in to his lap. Driving single-handedly is something he rarely does, being something of a safety freak. But the stress filling him at the moment allows for small slips in his composure. Slips like casting a second glance sideways and allowing himself to sigh a little more audibly this time.
It works; Greg's eyes momentarily sweep over to pin him in his seat. It isn't exactly the result he had hoped for because now he feels himself cowering away from that gaze a little. It isn't very common knowledge to those at the lab that Greg is indeed a scary person when he is angry. Despite his upbeat attitude and the fact that Nick outweighs him by a good twenty-five pounds, at the moment he looks like he could win in a fair fight. Although, it must be said that he also looks like he isn't in the mood to be fighting fair. He looks ready to insinuate every move he has learned in Muay Thai classes, not to mention bite and scratch. When he angrily returns his gaze to its previous occupation of glaring out his side window, Nick sighs this time in something akin to relief. As much as he wants Greg to just look at him, he doesn't want the younger man looking at him like that.
For a little while longer they both drive in silence, and Nick goes over the scene that played out not long ago once more inside his head. It wasn't a new scene. It wasn't even a particularly big scene. In fact, neither one of them had made a scene at all – in front of witnesses. Outside in the parking lot alone was a totally different story. Their voices had raised to screaming volumes, hands had waved about, and Greg had thrown his cell phone at Nick, not seeming to care when it bounced and splashed open on the pavement. He hadn't even stopped to pick up the pieces, so angry was he. And Nick has to admit that once again it was all his own fault.
But what else was he supposed to do when Catherine was asking him if he's involved with anyone, and she doesn't know he's gay? Greg and he have been over this a million and six times, he's just not ready to come out at work. And on a good day, Greg understands, he really does. But, Nick concedes, it's hard to understand that when he is standing there, looking Catherine in the eyes, and blatantly lying to her face. No, he's not involved with anyone at the moment. Of course, he'd absolutely love to go on a blind date with her friend what's-her-face. Nick thinks that maybe he should have at least not said that right in front of Greg. He also thinks that he shouldn't have tried to pull the innocent I-don't-know-why-you're-mad act hours later when shift was over.
Ok, so Greg has every right to be angry. Nick pulls at the thin collar of his shirt one more time before closing his eyes briefly while waiting for a red light. It's the last one before he enters the purely residential areas and then there are only a few more turns until they reach the apartment that they share. The apartment that no one knows Nick lives in. It might seem weird. You might think people would have noticed. But Nick barely ever went around to his old apartment anyway, and he never let people inside of it. It held too many memories of Nigel Crane. So the fact that Warrick never got to hang out there didn't seem odd to the African-American. No one noticed the change of address when he moved in with Greg.
"Pull over," Greg's voice is deep and hard when it startles Nick. Not because he was in some kind of la la land of his own thoughts, but because it is unexpected and, though the words are spoken low, they're loud compared to the oppressive silence. Nick blinks and reflexively slows the truck, although he doesn't stop, just turns his head and tilts it a little.
"Why?" he asks, knowing that he should know exactly why, but not quite able to believe that Greg would do something like that. Scenes like that are usually reserved for bad movies and worse drama shows. But the angry glare he finds himself on the receiving end of indicates that Greg indeed plans to do this. It also indicates that he needs to stop the truck, and stop it now, or he's not going to like what's coming. His foot compresses the brake a little more until the wheels rolls to a halt and he's idling beside the sidewalk. He looks around the vehicle. Puts it in 'park'. Repeats his stupid question. Greg has his seatbelt off and the door is open, but he pauses and turns and fixes his darkened eyes on his boyfriend in a frightening manner.
"I can't even look at you," he announces unnecessarily. That much has been obvious for the whole ride. "I'll walk the rest of the way. Clear my head or something like that." As he slips from his faded leather seat and slams the door Nick takes another good look around. They're still five turns away from home and the street lamps stopped a few roads back. It's pitch black and a light fog wraps around the buildings rising around them as Nick throws open his own door and tears off his own seatbelt, hopping out of the cab.
"Greg!" he calls, unsure what words he could possibly use to stop this foolishness, but feeling that he has to try. The blonde turns and his head doesn't so much tilt as it does drop exasperatedly to one side as he regards the Texan standing beside his shiny black truck. "Don't do this," Nick pleads, an endearment on the tip of his tongue. He knows that the only reason it doesn't come out is because they're still outside the apartment and he's too chicken to show any affection in public. Greg seems to read this in his voice and his eyes narrow, intensifying his glare. His face is lit up as some idiot drives around the corner behind Nick at some high speed and the headlights fall on Greg. The sound of the second vehicle's motor breaks the silence of the air around them and Nick is almost thankful for the momentary distraction.
That is, until he feels the brush of wind as the vehicle flies past him so close he swears that his arm grazes metal. His eyes are locked with Greg's and he can see the split second in which Greg premonitions what its about to happen. His eyes widen and his throat bobs, but his muscles are frozen by shocked fear and he can't move. Nick doesn't even have time to cry out before suddenly he finds himself watching his whole world crash down in violent fast forward.
It's over so fast that for a moment Nick is unsure if it happened at all. One moment Greg is standing there, then the next his ears are full of a sickening crunching noise, his eyes are full of red, and his face is dusted by an ironically gentle wet spray. In the third moment he is standing there staring at a dirty SUV humming on some slum home's ill-kept front lawn, and there is a body lying inert beside it. The green Captivia suddenly reverses, and Nick has time to automatically catalog half of the license plate before it abruptly flies off down the road, and he finally realizes what just happened. Panic fills him and the air leaves his chest as he realizes what it is on his face. Greg's blood. Because Greg's been hit by a car. And that's Greg's body lying still on the grass, all alone in the nighttime.
A cry tears from his throat and as Nick runs forward screaming something – he's not sure what – lights flick on in the house they are in front of. He falls to his knees in the grass and checks for a pulse. It's there, fluttering and faint, and he literally sobs with relief as he leans in further to get a better look at the damage. The front door of the home flies open, and some lady's shriek cuts the air worse than the motor of the Captivia did. Nick looks up, but he can't find any other words than please help me. From then on life feels like a blur and Nick's not sure if this is a bad dream or not. The woman turns and screams to within the home for someone to call the cops. Those words galvanize Nick and, though he knows he's about to fall apart at the seams, he knows what he's supposed to do.
His hand, when it gropes blindly along his waistline, encounters nothing but worn out jean material and the cracked leather of his empty belt. His eyes frantically look down and around, and it takes a few moments of blind frenzied searching with his bare hands to locate the radio that had been clipped to his belt. When he lifts it to his mouth it crackles, and words spill out of him before he even pauses to collect them.
"Control, this is CSI Stokes. I need an ambulance to the corner of Ferguson and Spear. Officer down! Greg's down, officer injured! Please somebody help me!" Dispatch replies that help is on the way, or something to that effect, but Nick isn't listening. He doesn't even register that there is anyone else there. All he can see is Greg and how much blood there is. The grass is wet and slippery with it, making it mockingly easier for Nick to slide across and hold Greg in his arms, cradling his head. Words spill out of him again, and this time they sound suspiciously like please don't leave me, or maybe they could have even been come on baby, you can make it, you have to. Either way Nick is beyond caring. He is beyond scared, more terrified than he's ever been in his life. Never thought he would have to hold someone he loved as the life slipped out of them.
Greg's breath is slowing fast, and his pulse, when Nick checks, is even weaker than before. His blonde hair has been tinted an odd shade of pink-red by the blood seeping from the side of his skull. The right side of his face is slightly caved in, and his chest looks as if one more breath might collapse the whole structure. His eyes remain stubbornly closed, no matter how many times Nick calls his name. For some reason forever has already passed him by, and he's still sitting on some unknown person's lawn in the dead of night, clutching Greg's quiet form to his chest, crying hot tears that he doesn't even feel.
A siren wails in the distance and Nick tightens his hold, crying for Greg to hold on. He looks up and his face is close to desperate as the ambulance sails around the corner, lighting them up for the second time with the glare of headlights. Three other cars follow, one a cop car, and two others with portable force lights flashing inside. All four vehicles screech to a halt, and Nick barely registers as his friends from the lab pile out of the two civilians cars, as well as Jim Brass and a rookie cop out of the force car. His eyes are only for the paramedics rushing across the night-dark and blood-slick lawn to pull Greg out of his arms. He clings a little tighter. Somewhere in the haze of his mind all he can think is that they are trying to take Greg away from him, and he won't allow it.
Warrick and Grissom are suddenly behind him and he feels himself being pulled away, but he is only a few feet clear, fighting as best he can, when he feels his blood run cold.
"I don't have a pulse!" the worst words he's ever heard in his life, coming from the slightly chapped lips of someone he doesn't even know the name of. His eyes bug out of his skull and he feels himself pulling a bit harder against the restraining hands of his friends.
"What?!" He cries out in protest, protest against everything that has happened so fast he really still doesn't understand any of it. He's pulling against the hands trying to hold him back. The ones that he is sure are trying to keep him away from his love. His chest feels tighter than he's ever known, like someone has wrapped him in an elastic band that's too small. Desperation fills him and he knows he is panicking. "No! You can't leave me!" It sounds like his voice, almost, but he can't be sure. There are tears on his face as he pulls harder, yells louder. "Damn it Greg you can't leave me! You promised! Don't you dare leave me!" With one last pull he's gotten free of who ever it was that was holding him, and the grass flies by beneath him as he throws himself back over to Greg, so quiet and so motionless.
The paramedics barely even notice him there, just working around him as they fiddle with inconsequential things like defibrillators and an oxygen mask. The others are still half way across the lawn and Nick knows he doesn't have much time before he will be pulled away again. Frantically he leans over until his chest is pressed to his knees and his face is hovering right above Greg's mangled one. The bruises are already darkening the unbroken areas and his lashes do not flutter against his cheeks like they often do in sleep. Nick chokes as his wailing begins anew.
"You told me you'd always be there when I needed you Greg," he reminds the still man in a broken voice. "I need you," he confesses as somewhere far in the distance the medics are announcing in hurried voices that the body is cleared for revitalization. Greg's form jerks as the electricity shoots through him but there is no response, so Nick leans closer. "I need you," he repeats himself, "I will always need you, please don't leave me." Words fail him as he watches Greg's body jolt again. The voices around him sound as if they are coming from a different world, distorted as they are by his fear for the still man beneath him. A hand lands on his shoulder and panic rises in him. They can't take him, not now.
"I have a pulse! I need a gurney over here! Get an IV in his arm!" Nick doesn't realize that his eyes had been squeezed shut until they fly open and the constricted feeling in his chest snaps wide open with hope. He stops fighting with the pull and finds himself being forced backwards, up on to his feet and out of the way of the men trying to save his boyfriend's life. He lets himself go but his eyes stay on Greg, on the suddenly resumed miniscule rise and fall of his chest. In moments his love has been lifted away from the puddles of his own blood and placed in the back of the ambulance. The lights on the roof are still flashing and as soon as the doors slam shut, Greg already secured in place, the vehicle takes off at barely safe speeds around the same corner that death had just come from.
Nick watches until he can no longer see the flashing lights and waits until the sirens have faded in to the night. He looks around himself and sees his friends all doing the same, some stopping when their eyes cross him. He turns again and finds the family who own this lawn standing there. He's not sure why, but it's suddenly important that he look that woman in the face. The charcoal sweater that he's wearing is looser now then it's been all night, and when he places a hand against his own roiling stomach the digits are met with a horrible wet warmth. He refuses to look down and investigate that warmth, knowing what he will find. He'll find that he will never wear this sweater again, but he will also never throw it away.
Her hair color and her height do not register on Nick. The only thing he can see are the tears gathering in her shocked and frightened hazel eyes. She doesn't say a thing and he doesn't either. They just stand there together and he tries to tell her with his expressions that he is thankful that she tried to help, that it means a lot to him. Then without a sound or a warning – because he knows she will understand even if no one else will – he turns and bolts for his truck. His friends all take a few seconds each to react, to recognize his plan, but by then it's too late. He's already in the driver's seat with the seatbelt buckled and the engine was never turned off anyway. He throws the vehicle in to drive and squeals a u-turn right there in the middle of the street. Their shouts for him to stop are blocked from his ears by the window rolled up at his side as he takes off after the ambulance that is carrying his entire life within its shell.
The hospital is sterile and quiet. He doesn't remember driving there, just pulling in to the parking lot and rushing inside. The waiting room has very little people in it for once, but he doesn't stay there long. Instead he wanders about in a frantic hurried fashion until he finds the emergency room doors and he lets himself through. Through the glass he can watch as Greg fights to keep living, and Nick finds that his entire body refuses to move after that first glimpse of near-death. The few people that pass him look at him in horror and eventually a doctor asks if he needs medical assistance, wrongfully assuming the blood on his clothes is his. He ignores the man. When the doctor reaches out a hand towards him he convulses out of the way, screaming, get away from me! He is left alone after that, for a little while.
It doesn't take much more than a half hour for the team to find him, still standing in the same place and wondering if it's possible to suffocate within your own too-tight sweater. His breathing gets harder for every minute that he stands here watching the dreadful surgery. At first no one says anything, but he can feel their eyes on him, gawking at the blood he is covered in. His shirt is covered so thickly that there are no patterns to be found. His face is covered in half dried spray. His hands are so thickly coated that he's sure the stain will never wash away. The metaphor does not pass him by; the blood is on his hands in this. But he says nothing while he feels their eyes on him. He's concentrating on the heart monitor behind the glass wall, his own heart beating in perfect time. If it should stop, he knows his own heart will stop too. Going on without Greg is not an option, not even a possibility.
"What happened?" It is Grissom who eventually breaks the silence first, the need for answers overcoming everything else. He is a scientist and a criminalist first, above all other things, just like always. Nick knows that the older man can't help it, but still he feels a small bit of resentment bubbling up inside his stomach. He takes a long moment to answer anyway, trying to ask himself the same question. It had all happened so fast.
"We were driving home. We got out of the truck and we were fighting," he speaks quietly, "and then there was a car." He looks through the glass at Greg's face while rattling off the half plate number that he managed to catch. Paper rustles and he assumes that Grissom or someone is writing this down. To be honest he couldn't care less. As soon is he is sure Greg is going to live through this he'll hunt the damn bastard down himself, so Grissom doesn't need to worry. Nick will do all the work. On his own time. No pay needed.
"How come you weren't hit then, if you two were going at it?" Warrick's voice sounds almost accusatory but Nick can't fault him for that. He realizes what they would assume when he says 'fight'. They will be thinking of wrestling, not a lovers quarrel. He sighs deeply and watches the head doctor in the other room request a different utensil.
"A screaming match, it was my fault." His voice is markedly different from not too long ago while he was sitting on that dark blood smeared lawn. Then it was full of emotions and out of control. Now it is empty and deliberate. He doesn't mean to be this way, but he fears that if he looks once more to see what he's feeling inside he might explode. In the long run it seems better to just hold it all in until he can breath without the urge to cause mass destruction. Beating up the hospital doesn't seem like a great idea.
"What were you fighting about?" Catherine asks him, her voice as confused as it is curious. She has every right to be confused because, in her eyes, Nick and Greg have no business being together outside of work. And in her eyes they have a perfect work relationship, no fights, no disagreements. She knows nothing, and Nick recognizes that it's because of him. He's very aware that he's the reason that he has no right to flip out right now. For just a small moment he wonders exactly what to tell her. The truth, that they were fighting because of her? She would blame herself for getting the tech hurt again.
"I did something very wrong," he confesses in a very small and sorry voice. "I have done so many things wrong. He deserves better and I never gave it to him." After that he refuses to answer any more questions because they're getting too close to the emotions that he is trying to keep inside. His fists clench in to fists so tight that he feels his own blood start to leak out. Unable to tell the difference when he looks down he simply stares at his hands. Red and sticky and so metaphorical that he has to cross his arms and hide them before he does something stupid. He raises his eyes back up to the glass and watches as Greg's wounds are closed with dissolving stitches. They used that same kind of stitches the last time his face got busted in. Nick can recall how Greg almost went insane trying not to scratch at them, and the memory causes his eyes to water no matter how hard he tries to keep it down.
Only a few minutes later Greg is wheeled out of the room and Nick knows without a doubt that he is going to live. The doctors left behind in the room look optimistic and satisfied that they have saved yet another life. Two of the nurses even shall a small feminine high five that Nick privately thinks is just a little frivolous. His boyfriend could have died in there and they're treating him like just another test of their skill. He frowns and cuts the thought off though when someone's hand lands on his shoulder. Warrick eyes him a little funny but Nick allows himself to be led towards the waiting room so that he can prepare himself to do what the room is for – wait.
It takes all of fifteen minutes for the doctor that orchestrated the surgery to find their group and let them know that Greg is going to survive, but it takes two very long hours for the patient to come out of recovery. Nick is the first one moving as they all head up the stairs to Greg's room where they have been told he is already awake. The Texan stays a good few steps ahead of them while they all are heading up but when they reach the room he slows and hangs back behind them all. It's odd, to be sure, but no one cares to stop and examine it; they're all too anxious to see their friend.
Greg is awake, but he looks horrible. The entire right side of his face is covered over with bandages, as is his chest. He is only wearing an unbuttoned sleeveless hospital gown, so they can see that his chest is covered in a thin layer of plaster to keep him from twisting. The left side of his face, the half still visible, is already purple and black. His arms are a lighter shade of purple, almost blue, but they are obviously functional as he is fiddling with his tubes. He looks alert and almost resigned. Like he isn't at all surprised to find himself here yet again. When he hears the footsteps coming through the open door he looks up, but doesn't smile.
Catherine and Sara are the first to his side, but he doesn't respond to their mothering in the cocky soak-it-up-while-you-can way that he usually would. In fact he pulls away and tells them to stop fussing. The two women are so shocked that they actually listen for once and back off. Warrick and Grissom trade looks and Nick stares at his feet hoping that the floor will open up and swallow him.
"So Greg, what exactly were you and Nick fighting about?" Catherine's question causes Greg to snap his head up to look at her. As soon as the movement has been executed he flinches, pain flashing across his face. After the moment is done and the pain has receded he again looks at Catherine, this time slower. His face is bearing an odd expression.
"Nick…told you we were fighting?" he asks, something in his voice suggesting that there is indeed more to the story, just like everyone thought. Catherine looks behind her to where Nick is trying hard to blend in with the wall, his eyes shifting around ceaselessly. Greg follows her gaze and locks on to the sight of his desolate boyfriend.
"Well he told us he was driving you home and-" she gets no further in her recounting of Nick's recounting because Nick cuts her off.
"No. No, I told you we were driving home. You assumed I meant that I was driving him home." Every face in the room but Greg twists in to heavy confusion, not suspecting at all what he really means. In contrast, Greg's face is mildly disbelieving. The way he stares at Nick hints not so subtly to the others that they should be making something of that statement, but for the moment they have no clue why or what. For a few long moments no one says anything, but eventually Catherine's curiosity must be sated once again and she asks the question on everyone's mind.
"Are you staying at his place or something? You guys don't live together." Immediately after the words have left her mouth every body in the room can feel the tension thicken to dramatic proportions. The silence is so deafening between the man in the bed and the man on the wall that pieces start to form in some of the others minds. They don't have enough of the pieces to solve the puzzle yet, but the beginnings of small ideas are starting to fall in line. Nick swallows harshly and opens his mouth once, twice, and then he shuts it and takes a shaky breath. His lack of words appears to be significant, because Greg is looking more and more resigned.
"You still can't say it, can you?" his voice is small, defeated, and more tired than he's ever sounded in his life. What surprises Nick is that there is no anger, only the resignation dominating his facial features. As if he had expected nothing more. He flinches away but forces his eyes to meet those of his injured lover, opening his mouth to try again. Greg watches as he summons everything he has, but they are both morbidly sure of how it will turn out. And they are both right. Physically unable to make the words come, Nick clamps his jaw shut and makes as if to take a step forward but Greg holds up a hand and stops him. Then the blonde looks up at the rest of the team.
"Nick and I are dating," he announces without emotion. The others in the room all gasp and stare at one of the accused men in question with shock written on their features. "We didn't tell you because he didn't want to. We've been dating for a very long time. We live together. Now I'm very tired and I'll answer your questions tomorrow. Don't bother asking him 'cause he can't do it. Just go away and come back later." With that he closes his eyes and it's obvious that any further attempts at conversation will go ignored. The group stays in the room for a few minutes while they try and process the bombshell that was just dropped on them. When they can move they slowly drift out the door, one by one, until it's only Nick left. He considers trying to speak but knows that he should do as he was told. So instead he pulls at his collar and cautiously approaches the bed, running a hand through the hair poking out of Greg's thick bandages.
"It should have been me," he whispers. "I'm so sorry beloved." His eyes close briefly as he fights back the tears and he turns away with aching slowness. His feet drag in a manner his mother would heavily reprimand but he is beyond caring. He's covered in his true love's blood, he's tired, he's emotionally drained, and he's terrified that he may be losing the best thing that ever happened to him. He just wants to go home and wake up and find out that this was all a dream.
"What did you call me?" a small, almost scared voice reaches his ears just as his hand reaches for the doorknob. All movements and most bodily functions stop at that beautiful sound and Nick turns back around quickly to see that Greg has reopened his eyes. He's staring at Nick like he cannot bring himself to believe something, though what it is Nick has no idea. He thinks back to what it was he just said and realizes all at once why Greg is looking at him with those eyes.
"Beloved," he croaks, "I called you Beloved." It hits him a little later than his younger lover what that means. It means that he used a term of endearment outside of their home. Which means he's not as afraid as he was before. Which means that maybe there is a chance that they can work this out after all. "You are my beloved, Greg, you're my everything," he insists, feeling the tears welling up faster. Greg's eyes are shiny and he is having harder times controlling his own tears. A few have already escaped and are rolling down his cheeks in so many different emotions he can't count them all.
"You've never told me that," he says very quietly. Nick stares at him with something akin to horror on his face.
"I must have," he exclaims, immediately furrowing his brow as he tries to think backwards to find a time that he has told Greg exactly how he feels. It takes a minute, but still he fails miserably. Realizes that everything he's ever meant to say, he has only said in the safe silences of his own mind. "It's true," he promises stupidly, unable to think of anything else to say. Unable to believe he really has failed to tell Greg everything he has locked up inside of him. They stay quiet and stare in to each other's eyes, listening to their breathing; they breathe in sync at a rapid pace, surprised and yet happy.
Nick shifts his weight, lifting his foot, intent on crossing the room to be closer to Greg, but a noise startles him back in to stillness. He turns at the click of the door opening and looks to see that the team never made it very far away. They are standing there in the doorway with worried looks drawn on all of their faces, some more tense looking than others. Catherine is the one who takes a single tentative step forward, her eyes flickering between the two men inside.
"We were worried," she confesses in a tight voice. "You didn't follow us Nick, we thought you were…fighting." And of course it's only concern for Greg that has brought them back, but Nick knows that this is the heaven-sent opportunity that every movie character prays for when things go wrong. How can he ignore it? It is just as hard as he thought it would be to shift his weight once more and stride ever so slowly over to the bed. Greg watches him warily, a small shadow of hope appearing in his eyes despite how he obviously fights to crush it. Nick flinches away because he really shouldn't force Greg to crush his hope for anything.
When he is finally standing where he wants to be he slowly reaches out and runs a finger gently across the back of Greg's hand, screwing up his courage and lacing their fingers together boldly. He knows he is close to hyperventilation, but the shock and love in Greg's eyes are so worth it. So he focuses and takes a deep breath. Calms himself and takes another. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He meets Greg's hopeful eyes and looks down to take one last breath so deep he thinks he might drown in it. Then he looks up again and speaks to those behind him without breaking eye contact.
"Forgive me Catherine but I can't go on that date with your friend. I lied. I…I couldn't do that to Greg. We…that is he and I…I…" his entire frame is shaking with the effort and he wonders if perhaps he has some mental glitch that refuses to allow him this confession, or if this is what a phobia feels like. He is surprised when halfway through his fruitless struggle he feels the hand he is holding tighten around his and his is cut off.
"Hush," Greg tells him. "It's enough, Nick." They both know that he only means for now, but he did it. He has taken the first step, plunging in headfirst and managing to find his way back to the surface. He admitted to being in a relationship with another man, and admitted to not wanting to hurt him. The three breaths that he inhaled all come out at once with a great rush and Nick feels the beginnings of a small smile growing in the corners of his mouth. The first smile he has felt since his shift ended what feels like hours ago. It feels good, and he makes sure to widen it so Greg can see. For long moments he stands still with a smile on his face and his hand wrapped in Greg's, simply enjoying the knowledge that he isn't losing everything he holds dear.
Then Catherine is clearing her throat and he knows that it's time to go, to give Greg time to rest. He's reluctant, despite how much he knows Greg needs it. Somehow he manages to force himself to unwrap their hands from around each other and as he slowly backs away, step by step, he keeps the eye contact that they have for as long as possible. Greg is still smiling ever so slightly when his face disappears from Nick's sight, the door swinging shut on Catherine's command. For a long minute he stands still in the hallway, closing his eyes and breathing freely for what feels like the first time in forever. He reaches up a hand to run down his face, but it is still caked in blood, and he stares at it. Raises the other and stares at that too.
"Nick?" a voice calls to him, and he is slow to respond. He lifts his head and it's Grissom. "Are you ok?" the boss asks. Nick just blinks as the smile that feels so natural again creeps back. He looks at his hands again, thinks of how his face is also still covered in blood, remembers that his sweater is also stained in blood, realizes that he probably looks horrible. And all he can do is let the laughter bubble up and escape in soothing cascades.
"I will be," he replies. "We both will." And with that he finds it in himself to turn away and stride away down the hall, intent on heading to their home to shower. Then he will be back to watch over the man he almost lost and, when he wakes, the man he will promise to love forever. They'll be ok, for once he is sure of that. They'll be ok because he is finding his strength, and someday soon he'll be everything he needs to be, everything Greg needs him to be. They'll be ok because they'll be together. Always.