A/N: So, this is my first-ever, Nick/Greg fic…and wouldn't you know I turned it into a freaking epic one-shot. I don't think I have ever done this much writing for my first attempt at writing a new pairing, but this got in my head…and that was the end of me. Five hours later, with many breaks, I've got this mastodon of a one-shot.
This is self-beta'd. I did ask for someone else to read over it but patience has never been my virtue. I waited as long as I could. I did! But sixteen hours after writing this and I was bouncing in my seat going, 'I've got to post it. I've got to post it NOW!' It's a terrible thing; I'm looking into therapy for it. The point is, if there are mistakes, forgive me. I do the best I can with reviewing my own fics…but it never turns out that well.
Disclaimer: I don't own this. If I did TPTB would bow down to my wishes, like I do to my plot-bunnies.
"You're a clever woman, Mrs. Hayden."
She smiles at Brass, tight and saddened. Her entire face is saddened. Her deep hazel eyes are glittery with unshed tears that probably don't come from the fact that she was caught. They probably don't come from the fact that she killed three men either. In fact, she looks rather calm about that. Nick, who's just inside the door of the interrogation room, knows her sadness if from the loss of her husband. It's not a look he sees often. Sometimes, women are the cause of their husband's death. Sometimes they're mournful, but with the prospect of moving on. Sometimes, they don't care at all.
But Mrs. Hayden looks devastated. She looks like her world has been ripped from her. Part of her is missing, and Nick sees it in her eyes. She's not all there and she's angry about it, or she was angry about it. Her life was shattered, broken when her husband was murdered, blown up. It was their fault; Nick can practically see her rationalization. They brought it upon themselves. They took her husband; she took their life. Nick can almost understand it, almost. However, revenge isn't accepted under the law. She'll have to pay for her crimes, unlike the men who murdered her husband. The men who had walked free after their trial because of bribed jury members.
She looks reserved, smiling at Brass with that broken glint in her teary eyes. Her perfect pink lips open slightly and emit a small whisper. "Thank you, Detective."
Nick looks down at her hands. Mrs. Hayden is twisting around a simple, gold band on her ring finger. She doesn't seem to notice she's doing it. She just keeps a steady gaze with Brass, not showing remorse, but look for all the world like she wishes he would say something else. Not like she's in a big hurry; she knows where she's going after this. More like, she wants to draw this out. She's not quite ready to leave this room without saying something.
She looks at the table briefly, then turns her gaze to Nick. "Can I talk to him?" she asks Brass softly, as if Nick really isn't in the room. Brass doesn't answer immediately, but he bristles because he doesn't like it when the suspects are calm. He doesn't think people should be calm about claiming the life of another. But she looks back at him, her eyes finding his with pain glistening like the sun. "You know I'm guilty; I
won't deny it. I just want to talk to someone." She looks back at Nick, her eyes shimmering. "I want someone to know why I did it, someone who would understand."
Nick almost takes a step back with that last admittance, wondering what she's talking about. How does she know he'll understand? He's not like most people. He doesn't wear his ring at work. He doesn't like the idea of his private life being seen by people who could potentially use it against him. He doesn't want people to know he has a life-line that is very similar to what Mrs. Hayden had taken away from her. He doesn't understand how she would know that. He's said very few words to her. The only thing had been when he arrested her.
It was a nice, little house in Henderson, the kind that are white but not boring white. It had nice little accents here and there, house trim painted sky blue, the door painted green. Nice fresh cut grass. A beautiful flower garden in front of the porch. It looked like a house that belonged to the happiest couple on earth. Joy radiated from every corner of it, even in the abysmal summer heat.
Mrs. Hayden had been sitting on the porch swing, swinging lightly back and forth to create a small breeze for herself. Nick would never forget her face. She looked so completely lost, one of her hands resting, and rubbing the spot on the bench beside her. She had looked like there was no life left in her at all. She had been drained and was simply a corporeal ghost.
She had looked up when she saw Nick and Brass coming up the steps, guns drawn but at their sides. Her eyes landed on Brass first, but eventually settled on Nick, traveling over him, his gun, back to his eyes. Her lips had perked up, but it had been nowhere near a smile, and she nodded. Nick had a feeling she had seen this coming for a while. She knew she would be arrested, although she damn near hadn't been. She was good, almost flawless in her assassination of those three gang members. I had only been a half of a shoe print left in one of the victim's blood that had been her only mistake, perfectly left on the ground just beside the last body. As if she had left it there on purpose.
"I know why you're here." The statement had almost been wiped away with a sigh she let out, sounding more like whispering wind than an actual human being. She had stood up, barefoot, but barely noticeable under clothes that were obviously too big for her, clothes that must have belonged to her husband. "You don't need the guns. I'll go quietly and willingly. I just…I want to grab a picture from my living room. May I?"
Nick had felt for her, knowing what picture she probably wanted. She had been seen with it more often than not and it was a wonder that she hadn't had it out there with her. It had been one of her and her husband on their sixth anniversary. She had said in one interview that it was her favorite, mostly because he hated it. He was smiling in that picture and usually he was a very stoic picture-taker. He didn't like to smile for any of them, but in that one picture he had been smiling so brightly at her, still so in love with her even after she had been pestering him for six years.
Brass had answered with a gruff, "I don't think so. We're going to need you to come with us."
But Nick, empathizing Nick had interrupted. "Brass…it's just a picture, man."
She had looked ready to smile then as Brass grumbled something under his breath. Nick had escorted her, gun still in hand just in case, into her house, filled like a shrine to their marriage together. Clean and quirky, like the couple must have been. A statue a Buddha was by a copy of the Bible. There was a picture of Port-o-Johns in a field next mixed in with all the pictures of friends, family and the happy couple. Penguins mixed with college textbooks. Romance novels mixed with childrens' books, although the Haydens' hadn't been blessed with children. Language books mixed with knitting supplies mixed with mismatched bright blue, green, and red furniture.
She had quickly walked over to the coffee table, wooden and elegant and completely blank save for a candle set in the center and a picture in the right, lower hand corner. She grabbed it up quickly, taking a deep breath of relief as she closed her eyes and held the simple picture to her heart. She wandered back over to Nick, not even looking at anything else, no hidden weapon that she would grab at the last minute to shoot at him and make a run for it. She had just wanted her picture. The last thing she had of her husband.
"Thank you for letting me get my picture," she said her voice thick with emotions as she finally looked up at him. Her dark bangs hung in front of her eyes, but even still he could tell those sweet hazel eyes were tearful.
Nick nodded, slowly. "Don't worry about it, ma'am." He was so sad for her. He didn't know what he would do if he were in her position. Lord knew, he probably would have been close to doing the exact same thing. And she had to pay the price for the need to avenge her husband's death when no one else would. He shook his head, telling himself not to get involved, not to feel sorry for a murderer. He took a step away, but she stopped him suddenly grabbing onto his arm with her long, pale hand. Her fingers had been boney and cold, but he had felt the metal of her wedding band on his arm and that was really what had stopped him.
Gripping the gun in his hand, he turned around slowly to see her holding out the picture to him. "Will you carry this with you? They're going to want to cuff me and…" Her eyes filled up with tears and a few made it down her face. "And I don't want my picture being ruined when I'm in the back of the car. Will you take it with you until we're back at the station?"
She had looked so sad, so fearful over ruining the only thing of her husband's smile she had left that it was all Nick could do to actually reach out and take the picture from her. He felt her pain as if it was his own and he knew if he were in her shoes he would want to save every picture he could. He would want to keep them pristine and perfect, never a wrinkle to mar his love's face. He met her eyes as he gently took the picture from her hand. "I'll make sure this is kept safe for you."
She sniffed and pushed her hair out of her face. "Thank you so much," she whimpered, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. She started for the front door in front of him and he followed her with a heavy heart, knowing that somehow, this just wasn't right. She shouldn't have to go through this.
They stepped out onto the porch again where Brass and his team were waiting. She smiled wearily and stepped out with her hands up, gold ring glinting in the sunlight. One of the cops stepped forward quickly, cuffs already out and pulled her arms behind her. She kept her eyes on her porch, not saying a word.
"Abigail Hayden, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of…"
Law. For once it doesn't feel right. Even standing in his corner, Nick is ready to testify for her, even though he should be the one ready to keep her behind bars. There is just something wrong about this. Mrs. Hayden has suffered, is suffering, truly in pain. She's lost her soul-mate, just because the rest of the world doesn't know what that felt like doesn't mean she should have to go to jail. Nick almost had that happen to him and had actually been outraged enough to hit a civilian. Nick isn't a violent guy. He wonders if he actually would have done what Mrs. Hayden done had he actually lost his soul-mate, his one true love. Would he be in her position right now? Would he be clinging to a picture of his lover's smile?
Brass is looking at him with a question in his eyes. Asking if Nick is okay being left alone in here with her for any amount of time. Although, Nick hasn't done it often, and usually when he does it's against the suspect's wishes, he feels the need to stay in here and listen. Feels the need to see it from her point of view. From one person who had found their soul-mate to another. He needs to know what it felt like for her, what she went through for no other reason than he needed to know if what he felt the day he punched that kid on the street was just a mild form of this heartbreak she felt.
Brass leaves the room, leaving the two of them alone. He wanders over to the chair across from her and takes his seat, making himself comfortable for the next few minutes. Staring at her face, he notices how tired she looks. She's pale, and her eyelids are drooping. She is shaking. His lover always shook when exhausted. She still plays with the band on her finger, simple not gaudy. There are no diamonds on the ring. It was just a testament to the fact that she had loved her husband. She hadn't needed outrageously expensive jewelry to know that Mr. Hayden loved her.
A raged breath escapes her. "Are you married, Mr. Stokes?" Her voice is feeble, resigned, despaired. She watches her hand play with her ring, her hair falling like a curtain around her face.
He doesn't know if he really wants to answer this question. None of his coworkers know and Brass and who knows who else is just on the other side of that two-way mirror. But she's going to tell him what happened when she lost her soul-mate. She's going to be honest with him about the pain she felt the day he was taken from her life in that terrible explosion. He should be honest with her too. He needs to be honest with her too, despite the repercussions. "For four years, this December," he answers with a slight nod.
She smiles; he can see it even with her hair falling all around her. "I was married in April. Joseph and I had only dated for a few months, but I knew there would never be anyone else but him. When he held my hand, it was like the world melted around us. He would take me to a different world where only we existed." Her voice catches at a memory that only she can relive. When she continues her voice is
frogish, stretched. "We had a pirate themed wedding. I had wanted one ever since I was a little girl, and he learned fencing with me so we could have a faux sword fight in the churchyard. So many people showed up and they all cheered and laughed as we pretended to face off with swords."
She picks her head up, suddenly. "What was your wedding like? Was it traditional?"
He smiles tightly at her. His wedding hadn't been traditional at all. The two getting married were as far away from the normal concept of 'traditional' as could be. "No, ma'am. It was small. Only our parents and my sisters were invited."
She nods slightly. "Was that your decision or hers?"
Without even catching himself he answers her honestly. Not feeling obligated to hide from this woman, only obligated to answer her as any friend would answer another. He feels like they are comrades in arms. They are people who belong to a small group of other people who have managed to find their rightful loves. "It was my husband's idea. He didn't want to put on a show just to proclaim our love."
She almost looks shocked, almost. But she sighs, with an air of broken dreams surrounding her. She looks back down at her hand, which still fiddles with her ring. "I didn't care what kind of wedding we had as long as I got to spend the rest of my life with him, but he…he said he wanted my day to be as memorable as possible. He wanted out wedding to be everything I had ever dreamed of. And it was; it was perfect and beyond.
"Our first anniversary was when he bought us that house. He was quite a bit older than me, so he had a lot of money just stashed away in the bank. He was never a frivolous person." She gives a small laugh. "Until he met me. Then suddenly I had to have everything I ever dreamed of."
The concept is not unfamiliar to Nick. He and his husband are exactly like that; going out of their way to make sure the other never wanted for anything.
"He was a linguist. He knew eight languages. I used to love it when he spoke German to me. Not many people find that language beautiful, but when he spoke it to me while I was falling asleep… nothing else could compare. It was like flowing water, smoother than Italian or French…" She trails off, lost in her own memories.
Nick doesn't know why he's compelled to do it, but he's connecting with a woman charged with murder better than he feels he's ever connected with anyone, save for his husband. He wants her to know as much about him as he does about her. "My husband says that when I speak Spanish." He nods, knowing she sees him despite the fact that she's not looking at him. "But I think it's even better when he speaks Norwegian."
Mrs. Hayden picks her head up, a small, miniscule twinkle in her eye. "Norwegian," she breathes. "Joey would have loved to learn that language. He always loved the minor languages. He loved Sanskrit. He loved any language." She looks at the table, her calm expression suddenly gone, replaced by pure pain. "That's what got him into trouble…with that gang. They coded everything they did in different languages.
It was so complicated. They were smart about how they coded what they did, unlike most gangs…most people. They mixed German and French and they wrote the words in Arabic mixed with Egyptian. They were brilliant, but they had nothing on Joseph. He worked around the clock for weeks, but he broke their code. He decoded every single paper they had, uncovering murder accounts, robberies, plans for the future, everything…
"He helped put a lot of those gang members in jail. I had never been so proud of him." She gives Nick a watery, pained smile. "When the last one was declared guilty, I met him at the courtroom. I told him we were going out to celebrate and that after he was done with conferences and finished up whatever he had to do at his office that he should…should meet me at Olive Garden." Tears streaming down her face she clenches her hands together as hard as she can.
Nick feels her pain as if it is his own, feels his own eyes pricking with tears, the painful pounding of his heart in his chest as he imagines what it must have been like…knows what it must have been like. He knows what he experienced that day on the street was a preliminary to what had led her to murder the three men she did. He knows without a doubt he probably would have done the same thing.
"The only thing that I can think to myself is that, most sad stories go on and on about how the last thing they said to their significant other was something rude. 'I hate you.' 'You're useless.' 'I wish I had never met you.' And it always comes back to haunt them. The last think I said to Joey was, 'I love you. I'll see you later.'" A glimmer not caused by tears or sadness sparkles for a moment but dies quickly. "He knew I loved him when he turned the ignition to his car; knew without a doubt I loved him with his dying breath.
She meets his eyes again, and they're not soft, but not hard. They're lifeless; there is no description beyond that. Nick almost reaches out to grab her hand, but he doesn't. He's divulged enough to the people on the other side of the glass without them knowing he's empathizing with an admitted murderer. She looks at him with something that looks like understanding written on her face and she reaches for him instead, and he lets her hand stay on top of his, not only because she initiated it but also because she looks like she could use some physical support.
"I was so patient," she whispers. "I waited for the scene to be processed. I waited for them to uncover the murderers' tracks. I waited for them to release my sweet Joey's body to me so I could properly bury what little was left of him. I waited for them to arrest those assholes!" Though she's still whispering his voice is vehement, and her sadness is wiped away by an anger that will soon fade; Nick's sure. "You have no idea what it felt like to watch all three of them walk out of that courtroom, with not even so much as a slap on the wrist. They had killed Joey, sending part of me with him to his grave, and they got to go free! They got to go free and they looked…pleased with themselves. They didn't even have the graces to look remorseful as they passed me. I knew right then that they would have no problem at all doing that to someone else."
She grips Nick's hands harder in hers and he is suddenly living in her turmoil. He feels her anguish and heartache as those men left trial free of guilt. He feels her hatred as each one passes her with a smug look on their face. He knows her inside and out it feels like through a simple grip of her hand. He knows why she did everything and he doesn't need her to continue. It wasn't about getting even. It wasn't about revenge or making them feel her pain. It was about the fact that those people could do that to someone else.
She had had her chance and she understood that then and she understands it now. She never intended to get back at them, because she had accepted the fact that her Joey was gone, if not grudgingly. What she killed those men for was for other people like her, who could have their loved ones taken away by those three men, people like Nick, whose entire life is at a scene now with Catherine working on the streets where those three men could have easily shot him. Where more people like them could easily be lurking. The murders hadn't been about her, they had been for other people, and that made the fact that she is about to go to jail so much harder.
He closes his eyes painfully, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He feels her cold, pale, slender hand loosen his own, rubbing it almost as if apologizing for the pain she's putting him through, if not physically then emotionally. When he opens his eyes again, he meets her hazel ones, tears streaming down her red cheeks, her nose cherry colored. The rest of her is pale, and she's still shaking and looking more tired than anyone should ever look.
He mouths to her, not able to use his voice even if he wanted to, "I'm sorry."
She squeezes his hand comfortingly, like his lover does all the time, and gives him an emotionless smile. "It won't matter for long." She withdraws her hand away from him and sits back in her seat, her head falling back to look at the ceiling. Her breathing is shallow, scared and pained. Nick wishes there were some way he could make it better for her. He wishes there were something he could do. Then he remembers.
Reaching into the pocket of his vest he pulls out the picture she had given him to look after. He slides it across the table, and the motion catches Mrs. Hayden's eyes. She picks her head up and looks at the picture with sad, sad eyes, looking as if for all the world she wishes she could live in that picture instead of in this world. Reaching her hand up, she doesn't take the picture, but instead slides it back to Nick.
At his confusion, she says again, "It won't matter for long."
Nick is outside the room with Jim, watching as Mrs. Hayden is escorted away from them. Nick takes in how she looks long, dark hair in a simple, but pretty ponytail, swamped in her husband's clothes that have to be staying on her by prayer alone. She's so tiny and her husband had been a well sized man. He thinks about how unfair it is that she'll have to rot in prison for doing something so noble. She had saved the world from three unremorseful murderers, and she's being punished for it.
He almost reaches for the picture of her and her husband resting in his pocket again, but decides against it with Brass standing so close to him, looking proud to have another one off the streets. They watch as the cops take Abigail Hayden around the corner before the detective turns to Nick, looking curious. Nick almost excuses himself, but he feels the time is right. He feels like he should tell his co-worker everything he needs to know.
"You and Greg have been married for four years, huh?" Jim asks, looking a little apprehensive, a little betrayed. It's understandable. They've known each other for close to ten years and Nick is pretty sure that no one knew he was ever in a serious relationship, let alone a relationship with another of the crew, with another male.
But if anyone should feel apprehensive, it's Nick. He hadn't let on to the fact that it had been Greg. Never mentioned that he and his husband worked together. Never mentioned anything that would lead anyone to assume it was Greg he was married to. At least, he didn't think he had.
Jim gives him a special look that he gives all people when he has to point out the obvious and doesn't like it. "There aren't many people in Vegas that speak Norwegian, Nick," he says quietly. "You have almost no free time to yourself. You work; you go home; you sleep. That's pretty much it from what I've heard. It would have to be someone from the department, and there's only one man who speaks Norwegian in this building."
Nick sighed to himself. He remembered saying that now. He remembered admitting it to Mrs. Hayden when she had been speaking of her husband's multi-lingual skills. He doesn't revert into himself though. He meets Jim's eyes levelly, feeling only a little guilty that he and Greg hid their relationship from the group for more than four years. "Sorry we never told you. We…"
"You what?" Jim says, shrewdly when Nick flounders for words. "You can't have been afraid we would think of you any differently. We're like family in this building."
Nick doesn't like the implication in Jim's voice. It was nothing like that. Nothing like that at all, and he feels a little upset that Jim would think that about them. It's just that, after everything…all the bad things that he and Greg had seen on the job, they had just thought it would be better to keep their weaknesses indoors. Not to mention, "Ecklie."
"Ecklie," Jim stares at him through crinkled, confused eyes, obviously not having seen this coming.
Nick sighs. "We don't see each other that often as it is. If Ecklie had found out, we would have had to rotate shifts." He pauses, not really wanting to say it, but feeling he has to get his point across. "You see how well that turned out for Sara and Grissom." He looks down at the floor, feeling just a little bad for mentioning the relationship that had caused two of their family to leave to team. It is almost as taboo as mentioning Warrick these days.
Jim looks ready to say something, to put up a further argument, or maybe to give in because that seems to be more his style when dealing with friends on a strictly friends level. However, commotion down the hall stops them. People are rushing to the hall that Mrs. Hayden has just turned down, and Nick feels a wave of nausea go through him.
"It won't matter for long."
Her voice rings through his head. There was no way she could have meant anything like this, he thinks as he comes upon the sight of officers around the limp form of the woman who not ten minutes ago was in the same room as him. Yet in a way it made sense. Obviously she couldn't go on with part of herself missing, part of her soul waiting for her in some afterlife, waiting for the rest of her to show up. Death can't be reversed, but she could join Joseph in death. But how had she done it? How had she known? She couldn't have killed herself, could she? She had been fine in the interrogation room.
She really hadn't though, and Nick knew that. She had been pale and shaky, and though Nick had associated that with the loss of the only thing that mattered in her life, maybe it wasn't only that. Maybe she had known what was happening. Maybe she had planned it all out. Maybe she had been dying in the room with him. He would be dying if he ever lost Greg.
"She's dead," one of the officers announces after several minutes of trying to resuscitate her. It was no use. Abigail had no will to live, not since the moment all those months ago when her husband had been stolen from her arms. She had been dead, and her heart was just too strong to stop beating. She had needed to know that those men were put in jail, and when they didn't, she had one last mission that she had to accomplish before she let her heart stop beating.
Nick looks at her fallen body, left just as it was when she fell to the floor. The officers have moved back and are making the correct calls to get this all sorted out. So she lies there, on her back, her dark, shiny hair fanned out to the side. Her face is relaxed, eyes closed, and he can almost see her as she was before her husband died. He can see a natural, real smile curling at her lips. Her clothes, too big for her, fall over her thin body, and it looks more like the cloth is wrapped around her, fanned around her. Nick isn't a religious man, but it looks like she's an angel who finally ascended back to Heaven, back to where her soul was waiting to be rejoined.
While everyone is doing everything that they need to do with Abigail Hayden, paperwork, assessment, getting her body down to Doc Robbins to give the body an autopsy, Nick makes his way back to the Crime Lab. He's shaken by her story, by the feelings she stirred up with sharp relief, by the way she just gave up life to be with the man she loved more than the world. It reaffirms the feelings that only Greg can make him feel. He makes him realize all over again how lucky they are to still have each other.
Four times now, Death has reached his cold clammy hands to grasp at them. Twice for Nick, with the stalker ordeal and the being buried alive. Twice for Greg, with the explosion and the more recent beating that had happened barely two years ago. Four chances for them to be ripped apart, four times that either had nearly died and they couldn't even console each other at work, four times that they had been spared the grief that Mrs. Hayden had felt for seven months. Twice either of them had come so close, and he doesn't want to think about it, but third time is a charm. One more life threatening situation for either of them, and Nick wonders if that'll be it.
He can't bare that thought. He can't stand that thought that Greg could be taken away from him at any second. The overwhelming need to see his husband crashes down on him like the weight of the world. He needs to see his smiling face, feel his warm skin, hear the only voice that can sooth him. He pulls out his cell phone, almost without realizing what he's doing. Pressing in the number for Greg's speed dial, he pauses right there in the hall, watching people mill around him as he waits impatiently for his husband to pick up his cell.
"Sanders."
Relief pours out of him at the sound of that oh, so familiar voice. Already his voice is soothing away the rough edges left by Abigail and Joey's case. He feels the effect as if water were washing away the desert sand from his body. Yet, at the same time, it doubles, triples even, the need to see Greg. He has to feel him. He has to know that all these years with Greg haven't just been in his mind. He needs to know that Greg is okay, even though it's pretty obvious by the sound of his voice that he's fine.
"Where are you?" Nick almost doesn't recognize the sound of his voice. It sounds scratchy, raw with emotions that churn inside him now.
Greg doesn't hesitate in answering when he hears the tone of Nick's voice. "I'm in the break room. What's…?"
He's cut off quickly by Nick. "I'll be there in a moment."
He doesn't lie. Nick all but runs to the break room, dodging people around the building just so he can get to the room as fast as he can, just so he can see his husband. He pushes open the door and sees Catherine vaguely at the table, but really all he sees is Greg, looking at him worriedly as he stands up from his seat, moving towards him as if there are magnets inside of them, pulling them towards each other with or without their permission.
"Nicky." That's all he gets out of those perfect lips before Nick has him pulled into a fierce hug, knocking the air out of him with the harshness of the impact. Greg is obviously confused, and doesn't know what to do, because Catherine is right behind them and Nick has never been one for any type of public affection, not even something as simple as this, a hug. But Nick must be obvious in his need for physical contact, because Greg wraps his arms, holding him just as firmly as he's being held. "What happened?" he breathes, his words melting into the skin of Nick's neck where Greg is slowly relaxing his head to rest.
Nick rests his one hand on Greg's back, the other resting on the nape of his neck, playing with the short hairs there. He stares out the window, out over the darkened features of Vegas that he knows better than if it were daytime. He looks and thinks to himself of the evil there, the dark people lurking everywhere waiting to claim another life and drag it into the shadows. But he also thinks of the good people. People like Greg, Abigail and Joey, and his entire Crime Lab family, one of whom has her mouth hanging open, her eyes wide and sparkling. They really should have told everyone so much sooner…
But it doesn't matter now. What matters now is Greg in his arms and him in Greg's arm. The smell of the younger man filling his mind, dirt, sweat, and the underlying scent of Greg's skin. He knows this is inappropriate. The source of their fears for coming out at work, Ecklie, could walk in at anytime, though it's highly unlikely. Or they could be reported for disorderly conduct by a passing co-worker, but that's almost unbelievable. Jim was right when he had said the night shift was like family. They'd all rather be beheaded than sell one of their own out.
Nick blinks and then loosens his hold on Greg, not wanting to squish the air out of him. He takes one more deep breath of Greg's skin, before he whispers, almost inaudibly, "It's a long story."
Greg nods as he takes a step back out of Nick's arms, still looking worried, but pacified somehow. He runs his hand over Nick's arm, lovingly as he steps away and Nick notices the difference he feels in his mental stamina. He's not as undone as he was just moments before, though Mrs. Hayden's death is still praying on his mind. He told Doc Robbins to give him a beep when he had finished with the autopsy. He also feels recharged. He hadn't noticed it before, but he was so tired right until the moment he had Greg pulled up against him so close not even air could make it between their bodies.
Greg looks back at Catherine, who's still just looking at them with no readable expression on her face. When he looks back at Nick, its as if he's only just remember that they had an audience, and was wondering what they should do. He doesn't look panicked, just curious. This is a situation they had never thought they would be in. After having discussed it several times over they had decided on this course of life, not because they were ashamed of who they were, but because Death followed them. One broadcast of their marriage to the entire world and Death would surely seize its chance.
So in a situation like this, though Brass had been relatively easy to talk to, they don't have a single clue on what to do. Should they bring it up? Should they pretend as if nothing odd had happened? Should they tell Cath to shut her mouth already?
"We've got lots of evidence to process," Greg says suddenly, nodding back towards the table. "Wanna give us a hand?"
Nick thinks back to the autopsy he's waiting on, how long he's got before he has to get the report on how a women he had barely known, but come to love had died. He shrugs. "I've got the time."
As they sit, Catherine seems to jump back into herself, filling Nick in on the case she and Greg are working on as if her two co-workers hadn't just been in an embrace meant to never be ended. She gives him some papers, walks him through the photos taken; only interrupted every so often by his partner who is giving an opinion on something that happened or filling in a few details that he had spotted. They work in companionable silence for two hours. Reviewing the case, discussing the case, waiting for trace, or DNA for the case, but they don't mention what happened just then, and Nick is a little worried. Catherine is Catherine, and is known for nothing if not her straight-forwardness.
When the beep from Doc Robbins comes in Nick stands up and he notices Greg doing the same, reaching for one of the many jackets that he always seems to be wearing these days. Catherine looks up, watching them as the move away from the table. It isn't until the last possible second when they're almost to the door that Catherine says something, for the first time since Nick grabbed his husband, not pertaining to the case they had been working on together.
"I knew," she says calmly. "I always knew about you two and I knew that you'd tell me eventually. I just thought it would be a little more…subtle." She smiles at them, but her eyes suddenly turn misty. She looks as if she's lost in time, and both Nick and Greg know she's thinking about Warrick. She always gets that look when she thinks about him. They probably had had a bet going at some time, and now he'll never know that she was the victor.
They don't want to make it awkward for her, so Greg gives her a slight smirk. "You know everything before God does sometimes, don't you, Catherine?"
She blinks away the torment and laughs, sweet, lilting, rare laughter. "It feels that way sometimes." She turns back to the table filled with all of their work and begins to tidy up, obviously, their break hadn't really been a break but it was close enough. She starts to pack everything up and says to them as they're heading out the door, "I'll be in my office when you're done."
"She had a heart attack," Doc Robbins says just as they enter the morgue. He looks up at them briefly and just from that look alone Nick knows that he's aware of his and Greg's relationship. Half the lab is probably aware by now, because this place had a domino effect. Brass was probably already talking with Catherine about them being married, which meant they were going to have to grovel to her for a while. She may have known they were in a relationship, but that didn't mean she knew they were married. She'll be quite upset that she wasn't invited to the most important day of her friends' lives.
Doc Robbins continues, looking down at Mrs. Hayden's corpse. "It's quite odd for someone so young to suffer from something so tragic, so I took the liberty of pulling her medical record." He reaches over to grab the file he had received and handed it to Nick. "She had an arrhythmia of the heart. Resting, her heart rate was clocked at one-twenty. A normal human's heart rate normally rests in between seventy and a hundred, the norm being closer to the seventies." He sighs as he looks over her face. "That alone wouldn't have caused her death.
"I pulled the stomach contents and found almost nothing but sodas and energy drinks. A person with a heart rate that fast would have been advised to stay far away from caffeine. It looks like that's all she's had within the last twenty-four hours."
Nick reads over the file, sadness filling him. Mrs. Hayden had made herself have a heart attack. Her heart had probably been beating painfully inside her chest, erratic, along with palpitations that must have gotten so severe at the end that her heart just gave way. It sounds like a terrible way to go, to die of a malfunctioning—broken—heart.
From beside him, Greg asks in total disbelief, "So you're saying that she…she overdosed on caffeine?"
Doc sighs. "It isn't the most pleasant way to go. She must have been in severe pain for the few hours before she died. Honestly, with the sheer amount of caffeine in her and her heart problems, I'm surprised she even lasted as long as she did."
Nick closes the file and sets it down on the nearest surface. He looks at her, no longer angelic, but just another of the many corpses he sees during the day, pale, lifeless, cut open and sewn back shut. She wasn't anyone special to him, but it hurts to see her like this. He supposes it would have hurt more to see her locked behind bars for what she had done, but Nick just can't stand it. "She wanted to tell me a story."
He leaves. He just leaves, without saying anything further and leaving both men standing in the room with a look of curiosity and worry. He needs to do something else. He needs to do filing for his cases, because he's almost always behind. He needs to do something, because it's just sad to think of her as gone. To think that that could have been him, losing Greg and trying to find his way back to Greg again. It's sad to think of how many times he's been close to that. Two times! Two times he could have very well ended up in her very same position.
He reaches his desk and tries to immerse himself in his work. He tries to get her and her story out of his head. But he can't. He pulls the picture out his pocket and looks at it intently. Abigail loved that picture because Joey was smiling at her in it. He loves that picture because they were both smiling as they gaze into each other's eyes lovingly. He has a picture nearly identical to that of him and Greg, taken years back by one of his sisters.
It could have so easily been him and Greg in that position. And though that's not all of what breaks his heart on her case, it plays a major part in it.
After their shift, after answering everyone's questions about them, and groveling to Catherine for a bit, and promising to call Gil and Sara so that Greg could face the wrath of his best friend, they finally escape the crime lab. They walk side by side, hands brushing but not interlaced, to Nick's truck. They're quiet, have been after Nick's sudden exit from the morgue. Nick can practically feel the question buzzing from his husband. Greg wants to know what happened with her case that had caused the need for a public display of affection; that would have Nick leaving as quickly as possible from a corpse; that would have him admitting to being married. He wants to ask Nick all of these things, but seems to be unsure of how to do so.
Nick doesn't need for him to ask though. The fresh morning air hits him after so long at work—he had had to pull a double shift before he even made a breakthrough on Mrs. Hayden's case—and it's cool and
refreshing and before he knows it he's just pouring the entire story out to his partner. He's telling Greg about Joey's case-breaking decoding of gang-letters, how Mr. Hayden had been blown up in his car, what had happened at the three gang members trials and how Mrs. Hayden had reacted. He's telling Greg about the pain Mrs. Hayden felt, and how he had felt it with her. He told her about the picture she had given him and how she had known what she was doing when she drank all those caffeinated beverages.
And it's so painful because, "Because I kept thinking of how easily that could have been one of us in her shoes. I kept thinking of how close we've been to that over the years." He's emotional, and his voice is thick. They're sitting on the ground leaning against his truck as the sun begins to rise. Greg's hand his on his knee, his thumb rubbing soothingly. Nick shakes his head tiredly, sadly. "We've been haunted for so long by Death and this just reminded me so forcefully that tomorrow could be the end of everything for us. So much can change by just turning your car on…"
Beside him his husband sighs, and the hand that was rubbing his knee comes up to turn Nick's face toward that face he knows and loves so much. Right there in the middle of the parking lot, Greg leans forward and presses his lips to Nick's. It's the most blatant public display of affection they've done in a long time, but right now Nick needs this. He needs those firm lips against his and he needs the tongue sliding along his lips until he grants entrance. He needs the hands on the side of his face and he needs to hold onto Greg as if it's the last time he ever will.
"I'll be here forever, Nicky," Greg breathes against his lips.
It's a broken promise before it even passes his lover's lips. He's sure that Joey had said that to Abigail at one point in time, but look what happened there. Joey died in a freak accident leaving his wife to wither away in the memories of their life together. No one could promise forever; Death made sure of it. No matter how much Nick wishes what the blonde says is true…it just might not be. They wouldn't know until it was already too late and Death had struck his lucky third, or fourth, fifth, whenever.
But for now it's what Nick needs to hear, and he presses his mouth to Greg's again, kissing his husband like it's the last thing he'll ever do.
.FIN.