CSI: Texas Chronicles: "Desperado"

A/N: I'm not sure where the idea for this story came from, whether it was the country song "Desperado" or the movie Brokeback Mountain, or a mix of the two with a little of who knows what else. But anyway, Texas Chronicles is a collection of short one shots meant to be fun and fluffy with minimal angst thrown in. I hope you enjoy them, and as always, I appreciate knowing what you think!

Nick set the saw down and took the length of wood he'd just cut off the two saw horses and sized it up to the others lying in the grass nearby. He nodded without a smile when he saw that they lined up perfectly. He then took the freshly cut piece and fit it into the space in the wall of the small wooden cabin.

"Hey, cowboy. Looks like you're getting a lot of work done out here," a voice said from behind him.

Nick turned to see a ranch hand approaching him with a pack horse just behind the one he was riding.

"Hey James," he greeted, setting the wood down. "You didn't bring me soup, did you?"

"Of course not. I'm eating it on the way back."

"Good."

"By the way, you got some mail."

"From who?"

"Dunno, didn't look."

James dismounted and began unpacking the second horse loaded up with canned goods and other essentials. The first thing he handed Nick was the letter.

Glancing quickly at the return address, he recognized Catherine's name before he was handed a large bag of potatoes. Wrestling everything into the one room cabin he didn't notice when the letter fell to the bottom of the food pile as it got dumped into a corner until he could sort it out later.

"You said you needed more nails last week, so I brought you a box."

"Great. Thanks." Nick took the box of nails and set it outside with the rest of his tools on the makeshift saw horse table.

James didn't stay long, preferring to head back to the ranch which had running water and all the other amenities Nick had sworn off. Once James was back on his horse and had turned to leave, Nick went back to repairing the drafty cabin, as if he hadn't even been there, replacing the rotten wood with the freshly cut wood he'd brought with him.

When dusk began to settle on the small cabin he fed Misty, his horse, made sure she was safe in her temporary coral, put his tools away, and covered the new wood with a blue tarp before heading inside to build a fire and get dinner started. While the beans and rice were cooking over the hot flames he sorted out the food and supplies James had brought him setting them in neat, organized stacks.

He ate dinner on the only furniture in the room, a small cot in the corner near the warm fire. He then took his boots off and crawled into bed, his muscles tired and aching from months of hard work and no relaxation. But all the same, it felt good. He was keeping himself busy with things that mattered, things that kept his mind on the project at hand and not wandering to others he couldn't control.

When his heart began to break again he sewed it up as quick as possible and shut out the thoughts that wanted to tear it apart everyday. He was home, where he belonged, and working hard with no one to bother him. That was all there was to it.

Closing his eyes, he caught sight of something white on the floor. He reached out and picked it up and when he saw Catherine's return address he sat up and opened the letter. He already knew what she was going to say and wondered if he shouldn't just toss it into the dying embers of the fire before he got hurt again.

Nick,

I tried calling you but you're not answering your cell phone. I called your mother and she said the best way to contact you was to write you a letter. What the hell's going on? I have to write you a letter to talk to you?

Nicky, you can't do this. I know you think running away is going to solve the problem, but it won't. And you've left a bigger problem behind than you even realize. Greg's upset. No, upset isn't the right word. He's depressed and angry. He trashed all of his Marilyn Manson cds and all he plays now is every heartbreaking country song he can get his hands on. He's lonely. You've left a mess behind that's going to self destruct if you don't get back here and handle it. We don't know what to do. He can't stay in the lab like this. There's nothing we can do. It has to be you. You're the only one he'll listen to...

Without reading further Nick tossed the letter into the embers and watched as it burst into flames and turned to ash. He wasn't going back. He couldn't. That had been his career, he had been planning on making a life out of it, but he couldn't, not with Greg there to distract him every step of the way. Whatever Greg did, now that he was gone, was of no consequence to him.

As he closed his eyes once again and let his mind drift off to dream land, one question surfaced to which he had no answer... Since when did Greg even listen to country music?