Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot!
Claimer: I do, however, own the song! I wrote it myself specifically for this fic.
IMPORTANT: It's not death-defyingly essential that you read the song, but you should because it explain Greg's emotions exactly as he wishes he could express them.
Nick couldn't remember why he had agreed to go to the concert with Catherine. She mentioned knowing someone in the band, but she'd been talking about a band she knew someone in for about two years now, always claiming Nick would love it. If he would just come see it. So what had convinced him this time? Maybe it had been the tears in her eyes, or that she had asked why he didn't like hanging out with her after hours. Maybe it was that she had cornered him in the locker room where he couldn't bolt away. Or maybe it was the back of his mind telling him he needed to get more of a life than jacking off to images of Greg Sanders before falling asleep alone. Yeah, that was probably it. That didn't make it any easier for Nick to stand for an hour in the hot Vegas nighttime outside of a club he would never willingly go inside of on his own. The building was dark and dirty, and there wasn't even a sign to let you know what the name of the club was. Nick seemed to remember Catherine saying it was called The Hole. That seemed appropriate. He asked her what the name of the band was that her friend was in and she winked at him. The Unrequited Lovers? It didn't sound like something he would listen to without prompting. Still, he soon found himself at the door, facing a burly, angry looking bouncer. The brute recognized Catherine, as if she were here all the time, and she proclaimed loudly that Nick was 'with her'. They were both admitted immediately and without bribe. Nick thought that was pretty cool.
The inside was surprisingly nicer than the outside, all strobe lights and shiny dance floor. The stage was against the far wall, but Catherine shoved them through the crowd to stand right against the edge of the stage. If anyone in a skirt came on he would be able to see what color panties they were wearing. The band that was playing when they entered was ok by Nick's standards, but he wouldn't be hurrying to download their music. If it were even published for the public. They played for a few sets and then were replaced by another mediocre band, which elicited no excited jumping from Catherine. This wasn't her band. He turned to yell in her ear.
"When does your friend come on?" he shouted above the noise of the band, wanting to know how prolonged his torture would be.
"Next!" she shouted back. "They're up next!" Satisfied that he wouldn't be here for hours and hours more, Nick settled back to try and open his mind to the genre of the group that was playing. But the girl on the drum set lost her rhythm quite often and the one at the microphone was trying to backup her own singing, imitating both a high soprano and a low baritone. It didn't turn out to be very pleasing to the ears. Just when Nick was beginning to think that nothing – not even finally making Catherine leave him alone – was worth this, that awful group wrapped things up and trouped off to the back rooms to scrub the over abundance of makeup off their faces. Catherine was bouncing on the balls of her feet, wringing her hands in barely contained excitement. Nick raised his eyebrows at her before watching the members of The Unrequited Lovers walk on stage. The two guitarists had their heads down, murmuring to each other as they came up the steps. One of them strolled over to the drummer while the other stopped at the microphone, fiddling with his fancy guitar. Catherine gripped Nick's shoulder as if she were holding something in that she desperately wanted to point out. When the first guitarist walked back to his place on the left side of the stage the drummer pulled his mike closer to him and fiddled with his drumsticks as he addressed the crowd.
"Alright, we're going to start off with our latest song, written by our lead singer," he announced. He pulled a bit away, but the mike stilled picked up his next words perfectly. "Hey Greg, what was the name of the guy you wrote this for?" he called across the stage. The brunette in the crowd felt his jaw drop as he saw Greg Sanders' head come up and speak absently in to his mike stand.
"Uh, Nick," he replied, then went back to fiddling with his guitar. When he was done with that he twanged it a couple times and nodded to the band. Nick stared hard, flabbergasted. Greg was on a stage. Greg wrote a song for him? He thought back over the past five years that he had spent pining for the younger man to just give him a goddamn sign. A sign to the yes or a sign to the no, one or the other. But it never came. Greg didn't date, so it was impossible to determine his sexuality. Catherine was no longer holding in her screams, she was jumping up and down and laughing at the look on her fellow CSI's face. He could hear her brain gloating that she told him so even if he couldn't hear her voice saying it above the crowd. He was too wrapped up in the sleeveless shirt that showed off Greg's arms and was so totally unlike the crazy shirts he wore in the lab. Then the band kicked up and Greg was grinning in to his microphone as if he did this every Saturday.
"Hey, hey, alright! To you Nicky!" he called, obviously completely unaware that Nick was right there with him. He waited for the right bar in the rhythm of his friend's drums and joined in with his guitar, backed up by the bass of the other guitarist. It wasn't the god-awful music that throbbed through the lab day after day. It was hard and angry and full of passionate emotions, like Greg had poured his heart in to this song. But when he faced the mike, Nick thought he might die for the words coming from his lips as he worked his guitar and sang out his soul.
You think that I don't see you
You think it's what I do
It seems like you don't notice
I'd give my life for you
Keep walking with you blindly
It's just the way you move
I'm still lost in your shadow
I'm still nothing to you
But since the sun keeps turning for us
The moon's still hanging up above
I will be watching you without me
Already giving up your love
You can't see I'm still waiting
To find my place in time
To find my place in your heart
You lay me on the line
And since you still can't see me
I'll photograph my heart
And when you still don't notice
I will embrace the dark
But since the sun keeps turning for us
The moon's still hanging up above
I will be watching you without me
Already giving up your love
I know that you don't see me
But can't you hear me screams
My silent need for your love
I hold you in my dreams
But since the sun keeps turning for us
The moon's still hanging up above
I will be watching you without me
Already giving up your love
Nick watched Greg as he screamed the last line over and over as if to burn it in to the Texan's soul. Even Catherine was a little blown away by the emotion of the song, and the message it was sending. The crowd roared and screamed its approval when Greg finished with a flourish of his guitar. He smiled at the yelling mass of bodies and nodded to his band again. They immediately picked up a number that people in the audience obviously knew well because some could be heard singing along. Catherine was grinning at him, poking him the side, but Nick couldn't seem to remember how to speak. He stared at her, his questions so obvious in his eyes. She just shook her head like he was stupid and turned to enjoy the rest of the set. It was an eternity and yet no time at all until The Unrequited Lovers were packing up and Greg was bending across the other end of the stage, giving high fives to avid fans and smiling a dark smile. And then he was gone and Nick still couldn't think. Catherine was dragging him through the crowd and through a door to the other half of the club, which was just a dance hall, not a concert setup. And she was letting go of his arm to race across to the bar where sat a Greg Sanders only she knew of. He caught sight of her and pulled her in to a big bear hug, making her squeal. Catherine greeted the drummer, who sat beside them, and ordered two beers.
"Two? You must be mighty thirsty," Greg teased her. But she shook her head in excitement and smiled bigger.
"No I brought someone, look!" she turned to point out the object of Greg's affection, but Nicky was nowhere to be seen. She carefully scanned the crowd of dancers, the wallflowers, and the people at the bar, with no sign of him. Perplexed, she dug out her cell phone, refusing to tell her singing friend whom she had brought until she had relocated them.
Already two blocks away, Nick ignored the buzzing of the cell phone in his pocket, staying intent on the pounding rhythm of his feet as they carried him away from The Hole and his whirl of emotions. The words of the song were ringing in his ears, constricting his heart from beating. The image of the dark side of Greg danced in front of his eyes. That dark shirt, those tight jeans, the hair out of it's spiky gel cast, and the eyes so wild with emotion. Unable to process this, he urged his legs faster, ever faster, begging them to burn out with exhaustion, but knowing it would take a while for his stamina to dry up. When he had finally worn himself down, he called a taxi, purposefully not looking at the five missed calls from Catherine's cell phone. He fell in to bed in his apartment and stared at the ceiling, allowing his body to overwhelm him, pulling him deep in to unconsciousness. His muscles would let him know their protests when he awoke, but they would also let him know that it wasn't all just a dream. It was real. Greg Sanders had sung him to sleep.
The next evening it was all Nick could do to force himself out of bed for his shift; his legs hurt that bad. He called Grissom to see if he might be able to come in a little late, but found out he wasn't going in to the field today anyway. He was to play paper-pusher. He was half way to the lab and celebrating that when he remembered why his legs hurt. Horns blared and panicked people screamed when he suddenly swerved in to the wrong lane of traffic, scared out of his seat by the sudden recollection. He managed to get back in between his respective lines without hurting anyone, but he drove the rest of the way with a white-knuckled grip on his steering wheel. The parking garage where he left his car was cool and relatively free of dust. Nick took a few deep breaths of air thick with oil to calm down before walking in to work, feigning the confidence he didn't feel that day. He peeked in to the break room and saw – to his relief – only Grissom.
"Where's Catherine?" he asked cautiously, helping himself to some coffee.
"Left for a scene with Warrick," his boss replied. Nick felt half of the dread drain out of him. He wouldn't have to face her yet. He received his assignment from the big boss and headed down to the evidence room to begin his study of, what else? Evidence. He managed a lot of the work on his own, and he put it off as long as he could, but eventually he had to go down and give some things to Greg for trace and identification. He managed to not give anything away – he hoped – when he appeared at the door to find Greg playing the air guitar to bad rock music. Now that he knew the secret, he paid attention to discover that Greg was really making the cords with his left hand, not just the stupid random gestures most people do. Greg was actually playing along with the song, just without a guitar in hand. When Nick cleared his throat the younger man stopped bouncing about and gave him a cheery grin like normal. His shirt was wild with conflicting colors and long sleeves and his jeans were a size too big for him. His hair was carefully spiked with gel, as it always was.
"Nicky, what can I do for you?" he asked in a bright voice. Nick worked hard to quell the answers that rose up in his throat and managed to say something he didn't pay attention to, but it had something to do with the evidence bags he was handing over. Greg bobbed his head with a "sure thing, baby" and said that it wouldn't take long so Nick might as well just stick around. He chatted away as if he weren't harboring deep feelings for the man standing in the doorway while he stared down his long microscope. Not once while he was processing did he look up until he was done. He whipped around unexpectedly and caught Nick almost glaring at him, so hard was his stare. He shivered.
"Um…something on your mind, Nick?" he asked in an odd voice. Nick spotted it then. The greatest difference between this Greg and the one on the stage. He'd spotted it then too, but here it was harder to see. It was the eyes. The Greg sitting here safe and secure in his lab and lab rat reputation had no emotion in his eyes. No passion, no feeling. It was like he closed himself in when his shift started, hiding behind the evidence to keep his feelings from Nick. The Greg on the stage had no one around to be scared of, and when the walls all fell down they were almost liquid with emotion.
"Would you believe that Catherine is still trying to get me to go see her friend's band with her?" Nick stated casually, flicking at a page of results, leaning against the doorframe. Greg shrugged and grinned happily.
"She's persistent if nothing else," he replied. Nick nodded slowly.
"Have you ever gone to see them with her?" He tried for a different angle. But Greg was too good at this game, had spent too long protecting himself to let anything slip now. So he nodded.
"Oh yeah, I definitely like their sound. Good solos!" he brought out the air guitar for a second, then winked at Nick, who hid his huff of frustration. Well of course Greg would like his own sound! So he turned around and walked back to his evidence room. He threw himself in to the work and it calmed him considerably. Enough so, that he didn't realize he was humming the tune of the song Greg had wrote him. He was too intent on staring at three different photos of a single blood drop, trying to determine something new. And there it was! One edge of the spatter was extended, showing the direction the killer had been heading. Abby Morris wasn't killed in her bed; she was killed and then placed in her bed. Interesting. Nick scrawled this down and glanced up to see Greg there, blinking like a deer in headlights.
"What are you humming?" he asked. For the first time, Nick detected a hint of doubt in that voice and felt almost triumphant. Almost. Now it was his turn to shrug.
"I don't know what it's called," he replied noncommittally. It was actually true, so one point for him. Without anything else to ask, Greg was forced to nod and step over to hand Nick the sheet of paper he was holding.
"Well you left this behind. That plastic that was found in her mouth is used for industrial packaging," He said. Nick nodded and waited. As soon as the blonde had turned away, he stared at the paper as if completely absorbed. Then he started to sing softly. Just the first four lines of the song. He saw Greg freeze out of his peripheral vision. Saw him turn back and gape at Nick, who smiled and winked at him. Greg fainted.
When Greg woke up again it was still just him and Nick, but Nick was sitting on the floor with Greg's head in his lap. He was still doing his evidence examining, waiting patiently for the fainting beauty to wake up and face him. Greg sat up and they stared at each other warily. Evidence got put aside and they faced each other Indian style on the floor. Nick couldn't help but think that if someone were to walk in right then they'd find it quite funny looking. He waited patiently for his crush to go first. Greg eventually cleared his throat unevenly and began.
"Did Catherine sing that for you?" he asked almost hopefully.
"Nope," Nick said cheerfully. Greg winced.
"So you were…there…last night…" he whispered, realizing this was who Catherine had been so excited about bringing. He also realized that Nick ran away. He asked why and Nick leaned back against the wall with a smile.
"I don't know. It was such a big shock I just couldn't face you. It's almost like I didn't want to believe you felt the same way about me." He knew it was the most obvious hint ever, but that's what he was going for. He carefully watched Greg's face go from wary dejection to confusion to 'ohhhhhhhhh' and finally to a sheepish grin. But before he could do anything about it, the boss walked in and stopped to stare quizzically at them on the ground with their legs crossed. He opened his mouth a couple times but the sight was so bizarre that eventually he stuck to a questioning face. They both scrambled to stand and Greg rushed out to go back to his lab. Nick laughed nervously and shared what he discovered about the blood droplet. Thankfully it was enough to distract Grissom and they fell in to a long discussion about motive and method. For the rest of the shift he had no excuse to go anywhere near the labs, which was frustrating, but he eventually found Greg alone in the locker room. Greg stared at him and Nick grinned, pushing him up against the locker. Their kiss was slow, and tasted like coffee. Surprise, surprise. When Greg moaned, Nick had a hard time keeping his hands to himself, repeating in his head that they were at work; they had to keep it cool. It took many repetitions of this to gather the will to pull away from those soft lips. He offered Greg a smile.
"Maybe I can come to some of your other concerts and you can sing me some more songs?" he offered cheekily. Greg gave him a confident wink and pulled him in closer, whispering in his ear.
"Just you wait till you hear what else I've written for you." Nick shivered against his hard body and thought of that dark Sanders he had seen last night. Delicious.
"Write me a love song and I'll show you every word is true," he promised. Greg gasped and as Nick looked in to his eyes, the walls all fell down. His eyes were singing.