"Why are you so tense?"
"Because you're watching me." Greg turned his head from the pool table and sharpened his eyes, glaring them at Nick. The shorter man's body was stretched halfway across the table. The stick slid through Greg's hand as he let it go, ultimately more frustrated than worried. He had faith in himself. They didn't have the luxury of time in getting him ready for this tournament.
"Do you think they're going to ask all those men and women to politely turn around while you shoot at the tournament?" Nick batted his eyes at Greg with a bemused twinkle. Greg found his face filling with a bit of heat and was definitely sure that a blush was forming. Nick put his glass down with a sharp clink on the side table under the sticks hanging on the wall. "You asked for my help. Now do you want it or not?"
Greg sighed. He was stupid. So incredibly stupid for agreeing to this. "There isn't much choice. If we had more time I could get better...," he offered the phrase with a shrug.
"You know, I'm surprised at you." Nick tried to hide the hint of laughter cascading through his throat. "For someone who can pull off a Follies Bergere headpiece in the middle of a mob murder case, you're going to let a little game of pool get under your skin?"
"There's a lot more at stake than a tournament prize." Greg, tired of leaning against the table, turned and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes stared defiant and angrily at the exact point of Nick's chest where his pecs heaved. Greg tried to concentrate on staring and getting his point across.
"There's always more at stake. Would you at least consider having a drink first?"
Greg shook his head. "Not before a tournament."
"How did you cope in college?"
"I was a lab rat. Not a frat boy." Greg winced as his gaze moved toward the picture of Nick and five other men with very little neck whooping it up next to a keg. "Sorry."
"That's still no excuse not to know how to play this game." A question lingered in the air that Nick wasn't sure it was appropriate to ask. "Pick up the stick and we'll try this again."
"You won't watch, will you?" Greg's unease seeped through the room, along with the lopsided grimace against his face. It was Nick's turn to cross his arms. "Okay, I just had to ask." Greg sighed and turned back towards the table.
What is making Greg so nervous? Maybe I should have let Warrick run this lesson. Or even Grissom. They always seemed to relate well to each other. Nick thought to himself, watching Greg wiggle his ass about trying to get his shot together. Wait a second, Nick thought, why am I concentrating on his ass? Although it is rather perky. And it's not like I couldn't swing for that team. I've been offered. And he did make quite a few comments when I was a mustachioed CSI. Maybe I'm why he's nervous.
Greg bit his lip and sighed again, for maybe the umpteenth time. Damn it. He's still watching. I need to cool down. I can do this. Okay, Greg. Just think of it as numbers or an equation. Think of it as solving a case involving a mysterious source of blood. Let's say the database is that diamond up and to the left. Didn't you watch Donald in Math magic Land? Of course you did. God, I'm babbling to myself. This is hopeless. How do I get myself talked into these things?
Nick's glass clinked again, interrupting Greg's train of thought. "I think I see your problem."
Greg heaved a final sigh and bit into some sarcasm. "Besides my inability to shoot the ball?"
"No. You're nervous." The cowboy said it so matter of fact. Like he was fixing the engine on a tractor. Greg took just a second more to glare back at Nick, who had transferred himself onto a stool for optimum comfort.
The room itself seemed built for a guy's comfort. It was a red recreation room. Not obnoxious blood red or feminine pink red. But a guy red that offset the green in the table nicely and matched the rust on Nick's faded jeans. The mahogany ceiling fan gave just enough light from the energy-saving bulbs to not blind anyone. The sound of Greg's heart pounding away in his chest also seemed to overload the old stereo playing Johnny Cash softly in the corner. That was strike one on the "trying to calm Greg down so he could be taught a decent game of pool to help bust open a case" list.
Greg had felt like a failure ever since blowing his chances in the field. He had slunk back to his little cave in the lab. Sure he might belong there. He might be the one meant to do the most optimal job and that was the way they all liked it, but didn't that just make his happiness all that more relative? Or even the rest of the team really caring about his failure? Being here at this moment, with Nick, made it worse somehow, more embarrassing.
Five unrelated deaths across the country. Two out of state forensic units had come asking Grissom's help because all the information seemed to center on three Las Vegas addresses belonging to the same person, who had failed to cover all of his tracks. And this person hadn't been stupid. Setting up muggings after a person wins a pool tournament? Just enough cash to make a little money, not enough to rile the police. Unless you have to kill the person to get them to stop screaming for help or bashing your head in. That was by evidence of half a footprint at one crime scene and two hairs found on a ladder in the fire escape of an alley on the other. Separately, they meant nothing. But together, they led to Greg trying desperately to cling to the last vestiges of his pride learning pool and helping to bust the case open.
"What made me think I could do this?" The exasperation caused Greg's voice to crack and Nick to jump from the stool. His elbow was centimeters from Greg's head.
"Hey. Don't do that to yourself. Beating yourself up never got a case solved, did it?"
"I was just saying I shouldn't have volunteered." Greg stuttered as he spoke. "Now Grissom expects..."
"Forget Grissom." Nick's voice was calming as he slipped a hand into his back pocket, grabbing his cell phone. He flipped it open to the contacts. "Here, you know what? I'll call Warrick. Maybe he'll have some tips."
"No!" Greg was surprised by the strength in his own voice and Nick's eyes widened at him. "No. I just...maybe I will have that drink."
Nick dismissed the outburst as a case of nerves and glossed over it completely. "Good one. Recognize your limits. That's the first step to solving your problem. Now to the other."
Greg rounded the corner on Nick's heels. His three room ranch was decorated carefully, but not so much that you noticed it. The casual soft blanket thrown across the comfy recliner. The crackled rooster clock over the fridge, a present from his sister. And a bottle of Southern Comfort kept near the shot glasses. A smile as he pours. Hands brush as Greg takes the glass. In a second, the glass and whiskey are both down.
"Woah there. You've done this before." Greg flushed again as his hand lingered on the glass. "I think one might be enough."
"We should get back to teaching me the art of this game. There is art in this game, right?"
"Of course. It's all one big equation. I learned it on from Donald Duck in Math magic Land, man." Nick grinned wide at the joke.
Greg stopped at the threshold into the rec room. The smart Texas seemed so natural here, king of his own domain. God, his muscles were so there and his eyes were so twinkled. His entire body coursed with grace. Greg reminded himself to swallow and breathe before he did or said anything regretful.
Nick stretched his arms out. "Are you coming in or what?"
"Yep, I'm coming all right." Greg shook his head in affirmation and then went over to the table. Gripping his stick like a life preserver in a pool, he assumed the position. Nick's hands moved over his in correction. Greg tried to concentrate and tried not to melt. Tried very, very hard not to melt and to listen at the same time.
"And your stance is, man, you've gotta loosen up. You're really...tense." Cue bad porn music. What the hell am I saying, Nick cursed himself for giving away the hand like that. He had no intention of letting his dick muscle in on another good friendship. At first, it had been an innocent move of his foot to try and loosen up Greg past the knee. His hand had lingered over his knee, which had been too close to Greg's very petite and young backside. So not the cool pool mentor thing to do. Paul Newman would have my head on a platter, Nick thought. He moved his hand as though it were burnt by fire.
"What's going on back there?" Greg's head swiveled in the general direction.
"Just some adjustment. Do you feel less tense?" Nick failed to hide the nervous energy in his voice.
"Sure. We'll go with that." Greg's voice cracked yet again. "Maybe we should call it a night. Stance is good to know. Back on for tomorrow after my shift?"
"Your call. But we've only got until Saturday, so remember that."
"I know." Greg hurried toward the door and turned to see Nick standing, looking just as nervous with his arms folded as Greg was sure he felt on the inside. Was his heart still inside his body? He knew that medically it was. But what had happened back there? He managed a wave and a cool goodbye before he nearly tripped over himself leaving.
A/N: Much thanks to my beta seattlecsifan for making my second CSI story way better than my first! She gets confetti and many Nick shaped cookies for the experience. But, since she's not into Nick/Greg, I'll just have to eat them myself.