Suicidal Slip of the Tongue
Summary: When Nick finds an ominous note in Greg's locker, he fears the worst, and hurries to Greg's house, only to find things aren't exactly what he had expected. Nick/Greg slash.
Author's Note: With the writing for Learn To Be Still finished, I entertain myself with fluffy one-shots. :o) Thanks to LaughableBlackStorm for the beta.
Nick had been on shift so long that the sun was rising, and the only thing he wanted to do was go home and pass out on his big warm bed. Saying goodbye to Catherine, he entered the locker room and shrugged off his vest, emitting a long tired sigh. Mostly everyone else from the nightshift had headed home, but his case with Catherine had been time consuming as they had to go through a dumpster and sort out dismembered body parts from old sardines. It had left them both exhausted and smelling like sour milk and they had both been relieved to finally make it back to the lab.
Nick hung up his vest in his locker and closed it with a little more force than he needed and leaned his head against it, closing his eyes for a moment and fantasizing about his soft down comforter and his new memory foam mattress that was waiting for him at home. He heard something on his left creak open and cracked one eye to watch a small piece of paper float to the ground. He stood upright again and noticed that it was Greg's locker that had swung open, judging by the poster of Marilyn Manson at the back of it. There were also scattered photographs of the team. Some, he recognized, were from the impromptu celebration after he had passed his proficiency exam. Others were from the day he had decided it would be "fun" to capture his colleagues at work, and as a consequence depicted various team members with surprised, embarrassed, annoyed, and often murderous expressions on their faces as Greg snapped photos of them unprepared. In the locker was Greg's field vest, but behind that Nick could make out an old and faded lab coat, which made him smile. He had no idea Greg still kept that in his locker. On the floor of the locker was a crumpled up piece of vibrant colored fabric that Nick recognized as one of the old Hawaiian shirts Greg used to wear, back when he laughed more often. Back when he was safe in the lab.
Nick's attention turned away from the younger man's locker and towards the paper that had fluttered to the floor. He picked it up, expecting to find a memo or shopping list, but instead found something much more disturbing.
My very best friends,
If you are reading this, then odds are you already know what I did. I offer no apologies, except for one: I am sorry I couldn't spare your feelings. But this isn't about you. It's about me. I've been dead for a long time now, and there was nothing any of you could have done to change that. This is not on your hands. I am to blame, and me alone. Take comfort in the fact that I am finally happy again. This is what I wanted. It's important to me that you know that. This is what I chose.
Nick's frown deepened with every word he read, until he reached the next paragraph and he felt the heat rise in the back of his neck and creep up his face, his heart pounding faster as he read.
Loving him is just too much. I thought I could handle it, but watching him every day, knowing that he would hate me for what I have no control over, and never being able to confess to him what I want… It's all impossible. But it's not him. It's not his fault. This is deeper than that. I am severely disturbed. I need to be fixed. And this is the only way to do it.
I've never been good with words, always hiding behind half-hearted jokes, so I won't even attempt any witty last words.
Always thinking of you—
G
Nick began to panic as he saw a pencil mark slide off the page after the first letter. Something red stained the corners of the paper, but he didn't know what it was. When did Greg write this? When had he gone home? Nick had only seen him a few hours ago. Maybe there was still time. Maybe Nick could save him.
Nick needed to save him.
All rationality was drained from him and all he could think of was getting to Greg before it was too late. He dashed out of the locker room, dropping everything as he ran dramatically down the hall and burst out the doors to the parking lot where he reached his car and realized he had left his keys. Cursing himself, he sprinted back into the building and down the hall to the locker room where he seized the keys from his locker and snatched up the note as well, crinkling it up in his fist as he ran back to his car, knowing he was wasting time.
He slammed the door and tried to jam the key in the ignition but he kept missing until it finally clicked. He realized he was so unnerved that he couldn't seem to focus. It was all he could do to avoid the cars on the road, the words from Greg's suicide note ringing in his head.
Who was he talking about? Nick asked himself frantically. Who was he in love with? It wasn't… Oh God, G, no… I never knew. I never knew, I'm sorry, G… Please, Greg, hold on…
The car swerved as he switched lanes, barely avoiding a green Sedan, the driver of which flipped him off out of his window, but Nick didn't care. This was taking too long. What if I'm too late? If only I had remembered my keys, then I wouldn't have had to go back. Dammit! If I lose Greg because I forgot my fucking car keys…
He pulled up to Greg's apartment and leapt out of the car, completely forgetting about calling 911 or Brass or Grissom. All he cared about was getting to Greg on time. He needed to tell Greg that he understood. Nick didn't hate him at all. Luckily, the front door to the building was ajar and Nick barged in. The adrenaline coursed through his veins like race cars on a track as he ran up the stairs to the fourth floor. He was panting heavily by the time he had reached the end of the seemingly infinite hallway and was standing outside of Greg's door. His heart raced in his chest as he banged on the door and tried the knob, desperately hoping that Greg would hear how scared he was, so Greg would know once and for all…
"Open up!" he screamed. "Please, Greg, or I'll bust down the door, I swear I will! I don't hate you! I just—" He rammed his shoulder against the door once, but it barely budged. "I just—" Unwilling to continue, he hit the door again. "I feel it too!" he cried, knowing it was now or never. "When I look at you, Greg, I… I fall apart, so please just open this door!"
He moved to ram his shoulder against it a third time when it opened and Nick stumbled into the arms of a stunned Greg Sanders who looked at him as if he was barking mad. Wide-eyed and desperate, Nick looked up at the man who held him as relief washed over him. Greg, for his part, looked baffled, his brow furrowed and his eyes piercing and tired as he stared back at Nick.
"What the hell is the matter with you?!" Greg finally blurted out.
Nick gathered himself back together again and stood up straight, dropping his grip on Greg and feeling slightly sheepish. "Don't do it, Greg," he begged. "Please, I would lose it without you."
Greg was still confused. "What are you talking about?"
Nick's eyes scanned his body for injuries and, finding none, momentarily wondered if Greg had taken pills. The younger CSI wore a dark blue terrycloth robe which hung off his shoulders untied, over plaid boxers, and his eyes were red with sleep. "Oh God, tell me it's not sleeping pills!" he breathed, then made to fish out his phone. "I'm calling an ambulance—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Greg exclaimed, quickly waving his hands in the air to get Nick's attention. "Why?"
Nick stared up at Greg furiously, the phone in his hand. "I have to get you to a hospital. I'm not going to let you do this to yourself."
"I don't need a hospital, I'm fine!" Greg protested. "But maybe you do. Are you feeling OK?"
"Greg, don't play with me—"
"I'm not playing with you!" Greg was verging on hysterical. "What is going on?!"
Nick took deep breaths. "I know you tried to kill yourself—"
"I did what? Where was I when this happened?" Greg seemed utterly mystified by the accusation.
It was Nick's turn to be confused. "You… I… I found the note, in your locker…"
The color drained from Greg's face. "What note?" he asked quietly, as if he already knew the answer.
In reply, Nick simply swallowed and held out his clenched fist, opening it to reveal the crumpled piece of paper with Greg's words on it. Greg smoothed it out and scanned it before a smile claimed his features, though Nick didn't know what was so funny.
"Oh!" he said in understanding. "Oh, this…" He began to laugh. "This is hilarious."
"I don't think so," Nick muttered. "You scared the shit out of me, Sanders! What does it mean?"
"It means I was right," Greg said proudly, with a smug smirk on his face. "Gillian Walters was murdered."
Nick tried to make the connection and failed. "I don't follow…"
But Greg was laughing too hard to explain, his arms folded across his stomach as he tried to catch his breath again. Nick felt as though he was the butt of some cruel and humiliating joke and his temper flared.
"Explain, Greg!" he demanded. "Now!"
Greg nodded, as if he understood, but he kept laughing. Finally, he held up a hand as he caught his breath and, still grinning, began his explanation. "Sara and I have this case, right? So..." He laughed a little further. "So this girl… This girl, Gillian, hanged herself in her apartment. Well, I mean, that's what Sara will tell you. She says the suicide note is too detailed, and that it couldn't have been forged. Even took it to Ronnie to have him examine it, and he said it matched her signature. Well, Ronnie and I have been at odds for a while because I keep telling him his field isn't so much science as it is psychology. Handwriting analysis… it's bogus, and I told Sara as much. I showed her how easy Gillian's handwriting was to forge. Even copied out the whole suicide note verbatim to show Ronnie and prove it, until Sara got pissed and ripped the paper away from me—That's that smudged pencil line, right there after the G." He looked like he was going to say more, but couldn't stifle his laughter as he handed the letter back to Nick.
The Texan examined the paper. "But… what's this red stuff? I thought… maybe…"
Curious, Greg tilted his head at the paper, and then seemed to understand. "Oh," he said. "That's barbeque sauce. This was during our lunch break. Some CSI you are." He had a curious smirk on his face as he watched the Texan. "Anyways, Gillian had some drugs in her system which would have made her easy to handle. So my argument was that a smart killer would make it convincing. And look at you, running over to my apartment to save me. Generic, but personal at the same time, isn't it? I think I've proved my point."
"So…" Nick began slowly, feeling his cheeks beginning to burn. "You… didn't write anything in that note?"
Greg blinked. "Why?" He frowned. "Did it really sound like me?"
Nick shuffled awkwardly on the spot. "No, I just… I don't know, I found it in your locker, and I was… confused."
Greg seemed completely unaware of the particular passage in the note that had confused Nick. "OK…" he began slowly. "Well, do you want a cup of coffee or something?"
"No, I should get going," Nick said hastily, wishing he was anywhere else but Greg Sanders' living room.
But Greg favored him with a classically playful grin and it rooted Nick's feet to the spot. "Come on. You've gone and woken me up. The least you could do is stay for coffee."
Nick hesitated, his heart pounding loudly in his chest, still not quite adjusted from the sudden realization that Greg was in no real danger. He was glad that his mind had been so panicked that he hadn't called anyone else. Then this would have been very embarrassing.
More embarrassing than it is now? Nick asked himself. With Greg staring at you like you're a Martian? Did he hear what you said in the hall? Does he understand what you meant by it?
While Greg's presence generally had a soothing effect on the Texan, standing in that apartment made Nick's muscles tense and his face flush as sweat poured down the side of his face. Still, Greg was watching him expectantly, and it would be pretty flaky of him to just leave now that he knew Greg wasn't really suicidal. As if so long as Greg was still alive, Nick didn't care how he was doing.
"Come on..." Greg cooed. "I'll share my Blue Hawaiian."
"OK," Nick conceded. "One cup."
Greg's face broke into a triumphant smile, and Nick wasn't sure exactly why he was so pleased with Nick's answer. But the younger man disappeared into the kitchen to brew the coffee, leaving Nick to shuffle awkwardly in the living room, contemplating his confession in the hall. He assumed that Greg hadn't heard him, or if he had, then the younger man obviously didn't grasp Nick's meaning. A part of Nick was grateful for that, but another part of him asked him why he had confessed such a deep secret in the first place. I thought he meant me, Nick reasoned with himself. I thought we felt the same way. But he doesn't. And then, with a hopeless sigh, Why would he?
Greg's voice startled Nick from his thoughts. "Sugar?"
"What?" Nick blinked.
Greg's head appeared in the doorway. "In your coffee. Do you take sugar?"
"No, just cream is fine," Nick replied.
"Good," said Greg, sounding thankful. "Because I'm out of sugar."
And then, his head disappeared back into the kitchen again. Nick stared at the doorway with pursed lips as he heard Greg move around, dishes clanking, and the whir of the coffee grinder. Eventually, the grinder stopped, and the bubbling sound from the coffee maker penetrated his ears. The living room was suddenly very cold without Greg there, and Nick wanted to see his face again. Slowly, he moved to the doorway and watched Greg reach up into his cupboards for two mugs. When his arm descended, his robe fell off his shoulder somewhat, and Nick focused on the muscles there. They were much toner than he remembered. He wondered if it would be awkward to comment on them.
"Where do you find the time to work out?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
Greg shot him an undecipherable look before shrugging the robe back onto his shoulder. "Tai Chi every Wednesday before shift," he explained. "It's good to keep in shape, but mostly I do it because I—" He cut himself off, as if suddenly aware that he was just about to reveal an embarrassing secret. He ignored it and turned back to the coffee mugs, which he pushed across the counter and closer to the coffee maker. But a tense silence infiltrated the six feet between him, and Nick wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily.
"Because you what?" he probed boldly, his heart rising in his throat. Because you want to impress me? he guessed hopefully. Because it worked.
Greg forced what might have been a casual laugh, but it sounded more awkward than anything else. He shrugged, squirming under Nick's scrutiny. "Nothing, just... Never mind. It's stupid."
Nick took a daring step forward. "I won't laugh," he assured Greg.
The younger man took a deep breath as he gripped the counter and hung his head. "I just... it makes me feel a little better about being out there... You know, in the field?"
Nick's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
Greg turned around and Nick saw that his lips were pursed. He pushed his robe back so Nick could see scattered scars on the back of his right side. "These are from the lab explosion," he explained, "which was something that convinced me that I really needed to get out of that lab." He let his robe fall back over his wounds, then turned around again and let the robe fall off his shoulders to reveal his back to Nick, as well as a circular brown scar. "And that's from the stiletto heal that dug into my back. Doctors say I'm lucky it didn't sever my spine." He pulled his robe back up, but did not turn to face Nick again. "That's when I realized that I wasn't safe anywhere."
Nick's heart swelled. "Greg..." But he had no words. How could he respond to that?
The coffee pot stopped bubbling and Greg turned his attentions to that. "Forget it," he said quickly. "I told you it was stupid."
"How is it stupid?" Nick didn't understand why Greg would think that.
Greg began to pour the coffee. "Because I keep thinking that... that if I had been in better shape at the time, if I had been studying some sort of defense technique, then maybe I could have beaten them. Maybe I would have known what to do. Maybe I could have come up with a better way of dealing with the situation than running over a teenage boy."
He said these words calmly, matter-of-factly, and conversationally as he poured the two cups, as if they were speaking of the weather. But Nick couldn't see his face until Greg turned around, his trademark grin in place as he held up the two cups of coffee and handed one to Nick. "So how's your case going?" he asked brightly. "I heard Catherine wasn't too excited about going dumpster diving."
Nick didn't want to change the subject. "It's not stupid, Greg," he said quietly as he accepted the coffee.
The younger man continued to avoid it. "Oh crap!" he exclaimed. "I forgot the cream. Hold on..." He moved over to his fridge and threw the door open.
Nick wondered if he could get Greg to open up again. "Well," he began with a sigh, "for whatever reason you do it, I think it does you good. I can see the difference. If anything, you look a lot more intimidating." He suppressed a smirk. "I wouldn't want to meet you in a dark alley."
Greg turned around holding the cream, appreciation etched in his expression. "Is it really that noticeable? I don't see it. And I mean..." A tinge of red crept into his cheeks. "You know, I'll never have muscles like you."
Nick smiled quickly to disguise his flattery. "Well, no one is as strong as me. It's just a fact that you'll have to accept."
Greg scoffed. "You are so full of it," he said, taking his coffee and walking past Nick, brushing his right bicep as he passed. Nick closed his eyes a moment, smelling the bitter aroma of Greg's coffee before turning around and following Greg back out into the living room and finding the younger man sitting on the couch with his feet kicked up on the table. Nick joined him, sipping his coffee slowly as Greg reached for the remote.
"TV?" he offered.
Nick shrugged. "It's daytime television. Nothing good's on."
Greg seemed to contemplate this before putting down his remote. "You're right," he said. "There's no point."
The two men sat together in silence as they enjoyed their coffee. Greg seemed uncomfortable with it, but Nick was rather enjoying just being there with him, without the urge to say anything. He watched Greg for a moment, the younger man's eyes occasionally catching Nick's as he looked up at the Texan over his coffee mug and then forced a nervous smile. Sitting on the couch with his feet up made his robe fall open again, and Nick could see the burn scars more clearly now, so old that they had been absorbed into Greg's skin and were now as much a part of him as any other feature. He fought the urge to reach out and trace his scars, and to reassure Greg that they were nothing to be ashamed of. They were a tribute to his survival, not a sign of his weakness.
Greg caught Nick staring and his smile faded as he seized his robe and tugged it up over his hip. Suddenly awkward, Nick turned away and coughed, thinking now was the time for conversation. "So have you seen any good movies lately?"
"No."
That was a stupid question, Nick thought to himself. He struggled to find another topic. He recalled that it was a Wednesday. "When's your Tai Chi class?"
"Five o'clock," Greg said simply, finishing off his coffee and jumping to his feet. "You done?"
Nick glanced down at the inch or two of brown liquid left in his mug. "Um... in a minute." He had a feeling that Greg, who had once been so anxious for Nick to stay, was now trying to get rid of the Texan.
"OK," Greg said simply, and collected his mug before moving to the kitchen.
Nick felt like a complete idiot. He chugged his coffee, which was lukewarm by that point anyway and swiftly followed Greg into the kitchen to apologize. He found Greg at the sink, rinsing out his cup and the coffee pot. He hesitated before placing the mug down on the counter.
"I'm sorry, I'll be going now..." Nick said softly.
Greg seemed confused. "Why are you sorry?" he asked, sounding sincere.
"This is obviously... uncomfortable..." Nick said slowly, though he couldn't figure out why.
Greg's lip seemed to tremble as he looked at Nick, his eyes screaming. He seemed conflicted. "I'm not... I mean, this isn't what I'm normally..." He sighed, seeming frustrated with himself. "It's just that whole thing about the Tai Chi, it threw me off."
"It's not just that," Nick said slowly. "When I mentioned the note the first time, you look nervous. Why?"
Greg licked his lips. "I don't know..." he said, his voice shaking. "I didn't know what you'd found."
"What other notes have you written?" Nick asked slowly.
Greg changed the subject to one that nearly knocked Nick clean off his feet. "Did you mean what you said out there in the hall?"
Nick blinked. "What?!"
"Nothing," Greg said suddenly, shaking his head. He moved to walk past Nick when the Texan stepped in his path.
"You... heard that?" he whispered, his temperature rising as his nerves trembled.
Greg looked up at Nick with wide brown eyes. "You thought the letter was about you, didn't you?" he breathed, the two men now inches apart.
"I thought it was from you..." Nick tried to explain, feeling terrified that he was about to lose his best friend. "I didn't know who else it could have been about. I'm... egotistical that way."
Greg's features hardened as he defiantly pushed back Nick. "Well, it wasn't," he said sternly. "It wasn't even from me. So you shouldn't have said anything."
He exited the kitchen and moved over to the couch, his hands gripping the back of it as he leaned on them. Nick followed him, despair welling in the pit of his stomach.
"I didn't know it wasn't you," he said, trying to keep his voice from cracking. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I didn't want to push you away. I'm sorry, can you just... forget I said anything? It just came out..." He felt the tears sting his eyes as a salty, bitter rock materialized in his throat. "It was a... a slip of the tongue. Please, Greg..."
Nick saw Greg's back muscles tense. Slowly, the younger man turned to look at Nick, his classic smile far from his features, which were instead tough and stern. Greg began to take deep breaths through his nose. "So you... didn't mean it?" Greg asked slowly.
Nick's jaw hung open as he tried to think of an answer that wasn't a lie. "I didn't mean... for it to upset you..."
Greg pursed his lips again and wrapped his arms around himself before approaching Nick slowly. When they were less than an inch away from each other, Greg opened his mouth to speak again, but hesitated. He closed it again and seemed to prepare himself for something when he did the unexpected. The second Greg's lips connected with Nick's, electricity flooded the Texan's body, momentarily paralyzing him as he felt the warmth from Greg's hands on his cheeks. But soon, the shock of the action melted away and excitement replaced it as Nick's arms swiftly wrapped around Greg's torso and Nick pushed him up against the wall. His hands pushed the robe aside, his fingers tracing the scars on Greg's left side while the other moved up Greg's back. After a minute, Greg pulled away, gasping for air as he stared at Nick, and the Texan could feel the younger man's pulse racing as their chests were up against each other's.
"That was the most suicidal thing I've done lately," Greg breathed.
Nick smirked. "Talk about a slip of the tongue."
Greg's features were soft with joy. "Nick, I had no idea that you could ever..."
"I thought by the way you were acting—"
"I just didn't believe you," Greg explained, disbelief still present in his eyes. "I thought... I thought, you know, I mean, you thought I was dying, so I figured you would say anything to keep me from..."
Nick silenced him with another lustful kiss, successfully taking whatever breath Greg had left in his lungs away. Greg stumbled backwards, leading Nick down the hallway, and the Texan followed until they reached the bedroom, and all of their conversations were nonverbal from there on out.
It was not the time for words. It was time for action.
The End