Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot!
Even at night the heat of the Las Vegas desert barely lessoned, the dusty dryness still lingered in the air. The night shift of CSIs were just coming off duty and were headed out to celebrate breaking open a huge case. They headed straight for the large new casino on the strip, laughing and pushing each other around the parking lot when they all piled out of their respective cars. Warrick eyed the dinging bells and flashing lights of the machines warily, but his friends had faith in his strength over his old addiction.
The group trudged in and took a table along the back wall, joking amongst themselves as they all waited impatiently for the waitress to come over. Being heroes that solved big cases and saved lots of lives worked up big appetites. In no time at all they were all salivating over their dishes and going at them with gusto. Even the usually more refined women gave up on manners in their rush to quell the hunger in their bellies. Although it must be admitted that they didn't quite go so far as the men, who found forks and knives unnecessary. After the food had been consumed they all kicked back with beers, happy to stay and pat each other on the back.
Greg had his feet up on an extra chair and the hand not holding his beer bottle was raised to rest behind his head. He felt comfortable and at peace for a few moments at least. He watched as Nick and Warrick struck up a game of Punch You Punch Me and grinned. Warrick was taller but Nicky was stronger than he looked, and the African-American was seen to wince after only a few punches. Grissom half-heartedly discouraged their behavior, but his attention was fixed on the game of hangman he and Brass were playing on a napkin. Greg felt that the game was totally out of character for his two elders, but didn't say a word. They were enjoying themselves. It also provided a chance for Sara and Catherine to gossip about Grissom without him glancing at them suspiciously every minute or so. Greg smiled widely as he watched his teammates enjoy themselves and felt privileged that they had all asked him to join them. Greg was not a CSI; he had failed at that. It still stung. But he had been the one to handle most of the evidence that had helped solve this case. When Nick and Warrick had crashed in to his lab breathlessly and invited him along they had said they couldn't have done it without his skills at the microscope.
Greg was sure that they were just high on their success. Surely, he felt, Mia or Hodges could just as easily have gotten the same results. Perhaps not as fast or as accurate as he himself did, but they would have at least gotten it right. Still, he allowed a tiny bit of pride to permeate his being that they appreciated his work. That was one of the reasons he had been reluctant to slip back in to the role of 'lab rat'. Most times it felt as though the work done in the lab went unappreciated, even though cases couldn't be solved without it. He put up with it for two reasons. One: he was still saving lives, if inadvertently. Two: Nick always smiled when he picked up his evidence, and Nick's smile always made Greg's day. So he stayed in his little white lab coat and listened to his loud music while identifying blue sticky substances and researching types of flour to trace crimes back to criminals. He was good at it, at least. Greg was broken from his reverie when a well-aimed crust of bread bounced off the tip of his nose, causing a round of laughter from the whole table. He grinned well spiritedly and searched for the culprit. He was met with Nick and Warrick's grins.
"Greggo, you haven't spoken a word. You shy without your glass walls?" Nick sent a friendly wink his way and Greg fought the blush rising in his cheeks. He tossed the toast piece back, bouncing it off Nick's tan forehead. God Greg wished he could be that tan. As it was, he was white from head to toe, even though he surfed regularly.
"Just watching," he murmured. Warrick leaned forward and thudded his huge arm on to the table.
"I will have you an arm wrestling match, my man," the dark skinned man challenged. Greg was not one to back down from a challenge. He grinned and brought his own arm down from behind his head, taking his feet off their chair.
"I accept," he replied simply, locking his hand with Warrick's. The night shift team threw bets back and forth quickly. The youngest member noted with a secret grin that most were betting on Warrick. He'd show them. The two opponents nodded, then as one began trying to shove the each other's hand down to the table. For all Warrick worked out at the gym and had obvious arm muscles, Greg had hidden a few things behind his baggy coat and long sleeved shirts. The younger man was winning fast, which shocked the older one, which only gave the first a bigger advantage. Only minutes after it began it ended with Warrick's hand gently touching the table and relaxing in defeat. He took it well, if very surprised, as monetary earnings were passed back and forth across the table. Sara leaned over and pulled up Greg's sleeve to his shoulder, and she and Catherine began to chant.
"Flex for us! Flex for us!" Greg tried to pull his sleeve back down, thoroughly embarrassed, but they would have none of it. He rolled his eyes and sheepishly flexed as impressively as he could make it. There were stunned looks as the muscle bulged way out, evenly all down the arm, and catcalls erupted from most of them. Greg hurried to pull down his sleeve again. His strength was not needed on the job and he had never felt a need to show off when the other guys were feeling particularly buff. He didn't mind being seen as a weak, feminine scientist. Other people's opinions did not define him. He urged them to move on to a different topic but Catherine insisted she wanted to feel it. This sparked similar interest all around and the dyed-blonde man was forced to flex time and again so the others could run their hands over his muscles. He did his best to pass off the shiver that wracked him as the chill in the casino when Nick's hand caressed him appreciatively, awe in his eyes. After that he crossed his arms and refused to do it anymore. Sara and Catherine whined a bit but he mock glared them down. They flashed him smiles and turned to tease Grissom about his bad haircut. Warrick declined Nick's mischievous request to play their punching game again, claiming he needed the arm intact. Brass turned and included Greg in the hangman fun, and they dredged up words like 'secretarial' and 'superfluous' to warm up, then they got down to business with 'spatiotemporal' and 'spermophyte'. It made him feel even more included that the boss would bring him in to the random fun. He didn't mention it though. He didn't really need to enforce the opinion that he was effeminate just cause he was geeky. Mostly. None of the team had ever really asked what he did in his off hours. If they did, he was quite sure they wouldn't expect his answer to be surfing, soccer, and parasailing. He smiled to himself as he hung Brass's little stickman with relish.
"You know, I'm supposed to be the boss. You're not supposed to beat me," Brass pointed out hopefully, making him laugh.
"No deal," Greg disagreed as he guessed a letter that made the other man's word all too obvious. So he filled it in and Jim swore, even though he wasn't truly upset. Greg grinned and stretched him arms about his head while his opponent studied the word he had put on the napkin, giving the room a disinterested once-over. His interest snagged as he caught sight of a familiar mop of brown hair sitting at the casino bar. His heart froze in his chest and his fists suddenly clenched so hard they snapped the pen he held. Everyone noticed, and looked at him curiously.
"Greggo, what's up?" Warrick asked, but Greg was deaf to his words. He flowed out of his seat and took off across the casino, not noticing his team jump up with worry and follow. He stormed over to the bar just as fast as his long legs would carry him, dropped a firm hand on that familiar shoulder and spun the young man around. His victim looked up and him, gasped, and cowered down in to their stool.
"You want to explain to me just what the hell you are doing here?!" Greg demanded in a half shout, shaking with anger. The young lad just gaped up at him.
"I, well, um," was all he managed to sputter out. The team sidled closer to watch Greg's temper flare up even higher.
"Nothing to say? How did you get in here?" he asked, his voice shaking with rage. The brunette teen hung his head.
"I used Andrew's ID," he admitted over the noise of someone winning a few rows down at a slot machine. Greg's eyes narrowed dangerously and he grabbed for the young man's arm, dragging him off the stool and walking them both forcefully towards the door with the CSIs following behind, afire with curiosity. They followed Greg in to the parking lot where he let go of the boy's arm and flung his hands in the air once they had reached his sleek silver car.
"Just what the hell were you thinking?" he half yelled again. The teen he had grabbed suddenly flared up too and whipped around to face the scientist.
"Well you did it when you were fifteen!" he shouted. Wrong words.
"Get in the car!" Greg screamed in his face. Finally the team members could stand it no longer. Nick hopped forward and placed his hand on his friend's arm in an attempt to anchor him to reality and calm him down.
"Whoa Greggo. Cool down, who's this?" The older man asked, turning to study the teen. He was taken aback. It was a mini-Greg! Greg huffed; not even realizing who it was that was asking the question. He didn't take his eyes on the boy while he answered.
"This is my son, and I'll be damned if he isn't in more trouble than he's ever been," Greg blurted loudly in a jagged voice. It wasn't until he heard six sharp intakes of breath that he realized he had just spilled his dirty little secret. His eyes widened as his head spun to take in the shocked faces of his coworkers and he groaned, covering his face with his hands.
"Dad…" a small voice ventured out of the young brunette. Greg seemed deflated.
"I told you to get in the car. We're going home." His words were soft now as Greg turned away from his friends and slid in to his car next to his wary son. Without a backward glance he revved and sped out of the parking lot, down the street, and towards the sanctuary of home. The others watched him go, speechless. That lasted only so long as it took Grissom to mention that he knew where Greg lived. Then they were off again.
Greg sat dejectedly on his beige suede couch, elbows resting on his knees, staring blankly at the floor in front of him. Nine years he had known them and never told them that he had a son. Would they feel betrayed? Greg wasn't sure if he wanted to walk in to work tomorrow and face them all. Especially Nick. Ever since his discovery that Nick was bisexual he had held a tiny bit of hope inside that the older man might look his way some day. But a son was baggage, one that Greg would never regret, no matter what the boy did, but one that most people would turn away from. A man with a son was too much trouble. No one wanted to play stepparent. He had been sitting there for almost an hour, simply staring at the floor and resisting the urge to kick himself, when his doorbell chimed from the front hallway. With a sigh he heaved himself off the couch and went to get the door. He opened it to find…everyone! He stared at them blankly, taking in the looks of surprise as they took in his house. Without a word he rolled his eyes and retreated within the home, allowing them to let themselves in, muttering something about their shoes and his carpet, he wasn't sure. He collapsed back on to his couch and buried his face in his hands, listening as the team settled around him in the huge living room. Three immaculate matching high-end couches and two squashy armchairs probably weren't what they were expecting to find in his residence.
"Where is…" Nick tried to ask but trailed off. Greg sighed in to his hands.
"His name's Jason," he said, his voice muffled. "He's in his room. Grounded. Other end of the house." It was quite the formidable house too, so Jason was quite far away.
"How old is he?" Catherine asked. Greg peeked over his fingers and found that she was the only one he could make eye contact with. She knew the trials of single parenthood almost as much as he did.
"Seventeen," he choked out. Her eyes widened as she made a quick calculation.
"You had a kid when you were sixteen?" she blurted. He didn't seem the type to her. Greg moaned and buried his face again. Silence reigned until he slumped back in his seat and toyed with his shirt cuffs. He gave them the truth, if not the whole story.
"I started bar-hopping when I was fifteen. Couldn't take…well that's not important. Anyway, I got lots of attention, since I was young and fresh and relatively innocent. I drank too much one night and woke up in someone else's place. I left but…got a call down the road. She didn't want the baby, so I fought for him." He could hear Warrick let out a small whistle.
"You fought a custody battle at sixteen years old?" he breathed. Greg just nodded, unable to look at anyone.
"I had special permission for him to live with me on campus when I got to college and university," he continued. "He was such a quiet kid I could even take him to classes. We lived in bad apartments for a while but when my uncle died, I inherited this place because I was his only relative in Nevada. It stretches my salary but…it's a better place for Jason." He shrugged and waited for responses from the only people he was remotely close to in Vegas – anywhere actually. Greg was kind of lonely, not that he had told them that. It seemed to take forever but Catherine stood up out of the armchair she was settled in to. Greg squeezed his eyes shut, expecting her to leave, and he was surprised to find her arms winding around his neck as she leaned down to hug him. He blinked wildly as he hugged her back.
"If you ever need someone," she said as she pulled back, "you know my number." Grissom chipped in that he could have an extra night off a week whenever he needed it. Warrick expressed his longing to have kids of his own someday, and there were murmurs of agreement from the others. Greg was flabbergasted.
"Just like that?" he asked weakly. They all looked at him funny and offered him smiles. Yeah, just like that. No feelings of betrayal, no hurt. Greg was shaking as he exhaled slowly. Then he rolled his eyes and raised his voice.
"Jason, get back in your room!" he called. The other's blinked, not having heard a thing. Catherine smiled though. Ah, the sixth sense of parenthood.
"But I'm hungry," came the whine from three hallways over. Greg ran a hand through his hair, looking to the ceiling for guidance.
"That's why I made you a sandwich Jason. Go to your room," he called, a note of finality in his voice. He seemed to listen for a moment then nodded in satisfaction when they all heard a door slam shut. Catherine chuckled.
"I feel your pain Greg," she told him. He offered her a tiny smile. Suddenly he found himself overwhelmed with questions about his son and himself. What was his middle name? Alexander. Was he a science geek too? Yes, not surprisingly. How did he deal with Greg on the night shift? He went to night school. What did he like to do? He went surfing and played soccer with Greg. Greg was a surfer? Yes, since he was thirteen. The questions flowed and Greg realized that he knew quite a bit about all the members here – except Brass, who knew Brass? – but that none had ever found out anything about him. He tended to avoid personal questions since they always led to Jason somehow. He smiled at their curiosity, wondering if it was just a way to find out if he had any more secrets. After a while, Sara stifled a yawn, and it started a chain reaction of yawns all around. Eventually they all decided to go home to bed. As they trekked out the door he heard Nick muttering to Warrick.
"I'll go home later, I think someone should stay with him," the tall Texan was saying. Greg's heart fluttered at the thought that Nick was worried about him, but he quelled it. No one wants to play stepparent, he reminded himself. But it was hard to quell his jitters when Nick and he were alone in his home. Work was different. At work Greg could hide in his lab coat and distract Nick with details of evidence and witty banter. Here was no mans land, and he found he had nothing in his head to say except that Nick looked really good that in that shade of blue. Nick didn't stay all that much longer, just long enough to make sure Greg had calmed down, and make sure that he understood that the team still accepted him; he hadn't changed to them. Except for earning a fair bit more respect in their eyes for having the kind of courage and tenacity it took for him to win a custody battle at sixteen and then raise the child alone. When he was gone, Greg stood staring at the door for a very long time. He didn't even hear his son walking up behind him until his soft voice hailed him. Greg couldn't look away from the door though.
"Dad I'm…sorry if I ruined your chance with Nick," the boy whispered. Greg finally made himself turn around and look at his son standing there dejectedly. He sighed and shook his head. Jason had been his saving grace many times. He'd grown up knowing his father was gay and had always accepted him without comment.
"No Jason. I don't think I would have had a chance even if I were a saint," he reassured his son, but consequently sinking himself further down. Jason put a hand on his shoulder for comfort.
"Don't do that dad. You don't know that." His eyes were the same velvet brown as Greg's and they shone with concern. Greg just shook his head again and brushed by.
"Go to your room Jason," he threw half-heartedly over his shoulder, retreating in to the loneliness of his own room.
The next evening found Greg in his coat with his microscope, burying himself in his work, not noticing the worried looks of his coworkers. The silence from his radio was deafening for them. Nick insisted on taking the evidence he and Sara processed to Greg himself, and she caved only because she saw Grissom alone in the break room. When the brunette walked in, he found Greg absorbed in an open file in front of him. He was moving to look over the blonde's shoulder when he was noticed and the file was snapped shut urgently. Nick blinked, and then took in the markings on the file.
"Hey that's a rape case. Need any help?" he offered. Greg shook his head emphatically and plastered a great big fake grin on his paler-than-usual face. Instead he distracted Nick by asking for the evidence he carried and requesting details on what he show keep an eye out for. It worked amazingly. Nick felt himself drawn in to the work and he was halfway down the hall again before he realized that Greg had manipulated him so easily. How often did he do that? So he turned back, but stopped in the doorway and saw Greg pouring over, not the fresh evidence, but the case he had been examining when Nick found him. As he stared down in to the file, Nick saw tears fall and he slowly backed out of the room. Was it a personal case? Weren't they forbidden? Before he got a chance to ask Grissom about it he was dragged off by Sara to return to their crime scene.
Nick continued to check in on Greg when ever he could, and always he found Greg with the same file in his hand, sometimes glaring at the pages with hatred, sometimes bitterness, and sometimes a blank dead look. It set Nick afire with the need to know what was in that small manila folder, but he refrained, not wanting to crowd his friend. After two weeks, though, he couldn't take it. A CSI needed answers, and he was one of the best. So he dropped by Greg's rather large house after work one night and knocked on the door. It took a few minutes, but the door was opened by young Jason.
"Nick!" the young man yelped in surprise. Nick's eyebrows shot up.
"Um, I don't believe we've even been introduced," he said cautiously. Jason looked a bit sheepish and scuffed his toe.
"Yeah well dad gets drunk a lot," he said as if it explained everything. The older brunette could only blink and think what the hell that had to do with anything. The teen knew that if his dad found out what he was going to say, he would die a thousand painful deaths and probably not go surfing for the rest of the year. But he leapt for it anyway, on an impulse to help his lonely only parent.
"He always takes out your picture when he's drunk. Got a bunch on his cell. Sometimes he shows them to me." Jason wound down with a carefully careless shrugged, leaving the man in the doorway a trifled staggered. "Anyway," he jumped on, "he's not here, he went back to the lab for a few hours. I dunno why." Jason shrugged and listened to Nick's vague thanks and goodbye, trying not to grin.
Nick's thoughts were fogged as he drove back to the lab he had just come from. It must have been Greg's car that passed him when he was leaving, but he'd been so preoccupied with getting to Greg he hadn't checked. So here he was pulling in to the parking lot and hopping out so fast he almost forgot to lock his doors. And he was speed walking through the hallways, trying to tell himself not to run; running would suggest that he was interested in seeking Greg's interest. Which he wasn't. No not at all. Not for the last few years. Nope. But when a loud and angry "FUCK" resounded down the hall, Nick turned the corner just in time to see Greg throw his carefully organized manila folder across the lab. He swore sulfurously at the scattered pages, waving his arms about in the air, before slumping down on his stool and staring morosely at them. When he didn't move for some time Nick cautiously approached him.
"Hey man," he called softly from the glass doorway. The father figure jumped violently, thinking he had been alone in the lab. He leapt off of his stool and bent with a sigh to gather the papers of the file he had thrown around. Nick also bent down to help and, before Greg could even protest, pulled the closest paper towards him. But he froze when he saw Greg's face staring back at him, the word 'victim' blazing across the top. He was so much younger, but it was undoubtedly him, even without the name under the photograph in bold font. Greg lunged for the page, tearing it away from Nick just a little too late. He ended up on all fours, staring at him with wide eyes and Nick staring back from his squatted position.
"You were raped?" Nick choked out. Greg turned away, slamming his fist in to the floor. He didn't answer as he gathered the rest of his own rape folder and stood, leaning against the desk for support. Nick stood too, and watched the Californian man until the shakes wracking him subsided. He still didn't lift his head.
"It's why I came to Vegas," came the quiet beginning of an explanation. "My case file was here, 'cause I was on vacation when it happened. So when they asked where I wanted to be posted I jumped at the chance to move here. None of the CSIs that worked my case were even still active in the force, so no one knew I was a file number in the books." Nick stepped a little closer and placed a hand on the back of his friend's shoulder, hoping he'd go on. He did, with the strength he derived from Nick's gesture.
"She had intimacy issues, and a slight case of nymphomania. I was the last in a line of victims. She drugged me at a bar, took advantage of me, and left me alone in a motel room with the bill. Eight months later I get a call from a woman I couldn't remember saying I would have to take a paternity test. So a month later I found out I was a father. She tried to give the baby up for adoption but I fought it. How could I let her give him away? He was…beautiful." Greg's voice wound down and Nick found himself staring at the blonde, speechless. Without giving a thought to what it would reveal, he made Greg turn around and drew him in to a hug.
"You're a stronger person that I've ever known G," he whispered against the startled man's hair. He felt Greg tentatively hug him back and held him closer on some sort of protective instinct. When his brain finally caught up with him and told him that he was hugging Greg Sanders, he dropped his arms and took a step back. Greg's eyes had something unidentifiable in them, but Nick coughed nervously and scratched the back of his neck with one hand, shoving the other deep within his jean pocket. He stood there awkwardly until Greg punched him gently on the shoulder.
"Thanks," he said, trying to keep his voice light and carefree. Nick wasn't fooled, but he kept his peace, instead watching Greg flip off his computers and electronic equipment. When the lab was packed up, Nick spoke up.
"Does Jason know?" he asked quietly. Greg looked up and shook his head. Jason knew that his mother didn't want him, and he knew that Greg had fought to keep him, but he didn't know that his mother had raped his father. Nick nodded, but settled a hand on to the blonde's shoulder.
"I think you need to tell him," he advised the father, who took a deep trembling breath but nodded right away like he had been thinking the same thing for a while now. It was time. He'd shown the truth to Nick, so now he had to fess up to his son. He glanced at his Texan friend with his anxiety clear in his features.
"Will you come? He blurted out. Nick was taken aback but agreed enthusiastically, honored that Greg would ask that of him. After a short pep talk they headed for their respective cars, promising to meet up at Greg's residence. As he followed the silver car his friend drove, Nick wasn't sure if he should cry over what he had discovered, smile because they had hugged, worry about what they were about to do, or dance with joy that Greg trusted him enough to be his support. He could see the other man's silhouette in the car ahead of him and saw how every red light made him shift in his anxious way. It was obvious that if they hit much more traffic, he would lose his nerve before he got home. When they finally pulled in to the large driveway, side by side, and they were walking up the path to the front door, he did start to panic a little.
"I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't-" Nick cut in to his panic attack by wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in to his side while keeping them both moving forward.
"You can do this Greggo," he whispered. "If you can survive a lab explosion you can tell your son the harmless truth." And then they were at the door and Greg was fumbling for his key, dropping it twice. Inside was deathly quiet, due to the walls all being soundproofed. But the lights were on so the boy was still up. Greg raised a shaky hand to a black box on the wall, pressing a seemingly random button.
"Jason, can you come in the living room for a second?" he asked the box. Jason's mumbled reply answered a curious affirmative, so Greg lifted off the intercom, ignoring Nick's jealous look, and headed for the living room, pacing about the carpet. He was beginning to repeat his panic mantra when his young look-alike strolled in, whom instantly went on high alert as he took in his father's panicked state and the presence of a concerned looking Nick.
"Dad? What's wrong?" he asked. Greg couldn't stop his hands from shaking.
"Have a seat, sport," he offered. Jason's eyes narrowed. Something was definitely wrong if Greg was calling him 'sport'. It had been his nickname as a little boy being doted on by daddy, and Greg only brought it up now when he was scared. It seemed he was reminding himself that he was a parent, and it gave him strength. So Jason sat and when he looked up he found his father holding one of those manila case files that he sometimes brought home, but Jason wasn't allowed to read. He was holding it out for the younger boy, looking terrified. Once it had passed hands, the blonde resumed pacing about while Nick watched him with furrowed brows.
Jason ran his hands across the outside of the folder in his lap. It was smooth with being handled many times, but the inked numbers on the identity tab told him nothing about what would be inside. So he flipped open the cover. The first page, right there on top, had a picture that looked exactly like him, but had 'Sanders, Gregory Hojam' printed underneath instead of Jason Alexander. It listed a bunch of details about his younger father that were obviously old. When his eyes flitted up to the top of the page he saw that it identified his father as a victim. He glanced up sharply, but Nick urged him to read on. Greg was off in his own universe of nerves and worry. The older CSI got up to calm him down as Jason returned to the folder, flipping the page over and found a series of evidence photos. They showed the beaten face of his father, the ugly torso bruises, a rumpled motel room, a bloodstain on a random piece of carpet, and a few other things that made no sense to him. At the end of the pictures he found a crime report, taken by a police officer. He read it and when he set it back down he looked up again in shock. He saw Nick holding Greg's face, forcing them to have eye contact, and murmuring under his breath. Greg wasn't saying anything, just nodding along. Jason went back to the report of his father's rape and turned through a few more pages of evidence, court files, and finally he came to another photograph. It was a woman this time. She was angry looking, with heavy black hair and brown eyes, thick eyebrows and a long neck.
"That's your mother," said an uncertain voice above him. Jason looked up to see Greg standing there, staring at the picture in the file. He too looked back down at his lap. His mother. After all this time of wondering, here she was. A woman he wouldn't look twice at in a crowd. A woman who had raped his father. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the photo. The truth of his birth was so wrong and unexpected that there were no words for what he felt. When he could move again he stood up and faced his father. The man had been raped at fifteen, and then at sixteen he had fought for the baby that came from the rape, and raised him alone, struggling to handle child work and school at once. And here he was, trembling like a newborn babe for fear of his son's reaction.
"Dad I…wow," was all he managed. So, in lieu of words, he threw his arms about his father and crushed them together. Greg let his breath out explosively and held his son tight, closing his eyes against tears of relief. He missed Nick carefully packing the file up off the couch and tucking it away out of sight. Jason and Greg patted each other on the back in a manly way before Jason slipped away to his room to be alone for a while. Greg stood still, dazed. Then he stepped over to cupboard on the wall and brought out a bottle of scotch, poured himself a shot, and threw it back without a flinch. Nick watched two more fly back rapidly before he simply carried the fourth with him as he settled on the couch where his son had sat. His shoulders shook a tiny bit, but in a different way. The shaking grew until he had to open his mouth, throw back his head and laugh out his relief, letting all the emotions that had built inside him slip out all at once in a giant rush. Then he smiled at Nick and offered him some scotch.
A couple hours later, Nick wandered about an empty hallway with a glazed grin dominating his features. He'd lost track of Greg half an hour ago, losing himself in the big house. He'd only had a couple drinks, so he wasn't off wandering drunkenly, but he just had to stop every time he passed something interesting to examine it. And there were a lot of interesting things in Greg's house! He'd taken a wrong turn coming out of the bathroom and had somehow ended up in a game room, complete with pool table, foosball table, dartboard, and a bar. He tried to find his way back, only to get distracted by the multitudes of interesting paintings and sculptures sitting here and there. He found a music room, with a piano, two guitars, and a wooden flute in a velvet lined glass case. When he finally found a part of the house that looked familiar, it was because he'd come full loop and was back at the bathroom. Now which way to go from here? Nick laughed at himself and tried the door to his right. He stopped in the doorway and smiled. He'd stumbled upon Greg's bedroom, and there was Greg, curled up on his side fast asleep. He was still dressed, lying on top of the tucked in covers, and he cradled his cell phone in one hand.
Remembering what Jason had told him, Nick tip toed over to the bed and carefully pried the cell phone out of the slumbering hand. The screen saver had gone black, but pressing a random button brought it back to life to reveal a picture of Nick sitting hunched over something in the evidence room. He flipped through the photos and found that, interspersed with a couple of Jason, there were over twenty photos on the cell of him. All of them were taken when he was unaware. They were good shots too, catching him in all moods. Some were whole body shots, or motion shots, but most were zoom-ins focused on his face. Nick smiled as he realized that Jason had been right, Greg did fall asleep looking at his picture. But only when he was drinking. Then he clapped a hand over his mouth and fought not to laugh as it hit him that he was in an offhanded way forced to stay here for the night. After all, he couldn't drive after drinking. Greg was in for a surprise when he woke up.