Chapter 2

"Remember me!"

The second time I heard these words, we'd been together for two years, and living together for a year.

It was after the explosion at the lab.

God! I will never forget that day.

I outed us to the entire lab with my reaction.

I'd been in the A/V lab with Archie. I don't even remember what we were going over, or even for what case.

Passing by the DNA lab, earlier, I'd seen you – so absorbed in your work, you didn't even have your music on – leaning over one of the machines.

The sound of the explosion and shattering glass brought me flying out of my chair and into the hallway.

You were lying face down on the floor, glass and debris everywhere, and you weren't moving.

I was so scared! I thought I'd lost you!

Not caring about the funny looks I was getting, I raced to your side, shrieking your name.

When I knelt beside you, I was so afraid to touch you, for fear of hurting you worse, if you were still alive. Your back looked like ground hamburger. There was charred skin there, too.

Tears rolling down my cheeks, I gingerly placed my fingers at your neck. My own pulse jumped when I felt yours, weak, but steady.

There had to be a crowd gathered around us, and I know I shrugged off several comforting hands, but I couldn't focus on anything but you.

When the paramedics came in, I had to be dragged away from you. It was only after I'd decked Warrick and he'd slapped me across the face that I finally snapped out of my daze.

"He's gonna be okay, man," Warrick told me. "Come on! I'll drive you to the hospital."

I stared at my hands for most of the journey, afraid to speak.

Warrick finally broke the silence first. "If anyone at the lab tries to give the two of you a hard time, they'll have to go through me!" he started, trying for a light tone.

A small laugh escaped me, and I finally looked up.

"I can't lose him, Warrick," I said, a hitch in my voice at the thought of life without you.

"He's going to be fine! You'll see!" Warrick replied, a confident tone in his voice, even though he couldn't possibly know.

He was right, as usual, though!

Grissom let me take time off to be with you. He told me to take all the time I needed, knowing you'd need help one you got out of the hospital.

Several weeks later, when you were finally released, the doctor stopped in to talk to you before I took you home.

"Here's a list of restrictions. No strenuous activities. The skin on your back is still healing. You don't want to end up back here because you tore it open and got an infection."

"No problem, doctor," you replied lightly, taking the paper from his hands. Your eyes roamed down the list, stopping about halfway down.

A panicked look settled on your face as you looked back up at the doctor. "No sex?" From the doctor, you looked at me. That panicked look morphed into dread, then finally a grim acceptance as you continued to look at me.

Something in my clicks, and I think I finally get it, that reaction you had the first time we had sex.

You think that's the only reason I'm with you, and that now that we can't have sex for a month or two, I'll leave.

I'd never said the words to you. I guess I thought you knew. After all, I asked you to move in with me after the whole Nigel Crane thing. We went apartment hunting together. I wanted it to be truly our place.

I guess you thought I only did it because I couldn't stand to be alone anymore.

I vow to myself to rectify that misconception as soon as I can.

I'm with you, in our home, everyday of the nearly two months it takes your back to heal. I help you bathe, change the dressings on your back, and carefully hold you when you wake from nightmares of the explosion.

I watch as your injuries slowly heal and turn into scars.

They fascinate me. You don't understand why, so I try to explain. This is the same day the doctor has released you to resume normal activities, even sex.

When we get home from the doctor's office, you seem hesitant. Not quite sure what to do with your new found freedom, I guess.

Finally, you speak softly from where you're sitting on the sofa, "How can you still want me? Why are you still here?"

I've been standing behind the sofa, toying with your spiky hair. Your head is leaning back on the couch, and you're looking up at me.

Now, I round the sofa, sitting on the edge, as I gently remove your shirt.

You try to resist as I turn you so I can see your back, the scars, in all their glory.

Trailing a fingertip ever so softly over them, as I can imagine they're still highly tender and sensitive, I say, "These scars tell me you're still alive, G. They're part of who you are. If I want you – and I do! – then I get them, too."

You're trembling now, as I lean forward and brush my lips just as gently across the scars as I had my fingertips.

With a moan of desire, you turn and push me into the couch, kneeling between my legs. Your lips touch mine, your tongue begging entrance, and I comply.

My half hard length becomes a raging hard on as you whisper in my ear, "I need to be in you, Nicky!"

The southern gentleman that I am, I've offered to let you top before, but you've never seemed interested.

Thrusting my hips up into yours, I murmur, "Whatever you want, baby!"

You run your hands up under my shirt, pushing it up my chest. I help you by leaning up and pulling it off.

Attacking my left nipple, you suck it into a hard bud, then nip at it, sending shivers of pleasure-pain through my body.

Now you're pulling at my belt, working on the fly of my jeans.

A moment later, you're moving off of me, so I can pull my jeans and underwear off, while you get rid of your own. Then you root around in a drawer of the coffee table, finally coming up with a tube of lube.

You settle back between my legs, and I take the tube from your shaking hands.

They've shaken to some degree – all depending on your level of stress – nearly nonstop since you woke up in the hospital. The doctor says it'll stop in time. He thinks going back to work will help, that's why he cleared you.

I know you're afraid they'll never stop shaking, but I have faith in you. They'll stop! I think the doctor is right that returning to the lab will help. What can I say, I'm from Texas, grew up around horses. When you fall off, you've got to get right back on again!

Right now, your eyes take on a panicked look, as you think I'm not going to let you top me, so I murmur, "Let me lube you up, G."

After uncapping the lube, I hold your right hand, to steady it, as I lube up your fingers.

Guiding your hand to my entrance, I keep you steady while you push two fingers inside me.

Your hand is steady now, so I let go. We both sigh, and you lean in to kiss me, as your fingers move inside me, reading me. Pleasure radiates through my body in electric waves and I moan.

When you pull back a few moments later, I lube your leaking cock, as eager as you are to feel you in me. We'd stopped using condoms a while back, and I'm glad. I want to feel skin on skin!

Our eyes have barely broken contact this entire time, and I'm pouring all of the love I can out through mine. I'm begging you to look into my soul.

Your head touches my opening, and gently pushes inside. You must see my slight wince, because you pause.

I write under you, trying to push myself farther onto you.

"G! This feels so good, but I want more! I want all of you in me!" I finally say when you still haven't moved.

You blink, and there's that expression again. The one I haven't seen since that first time.

Finally, you push the rest of the way in. As you begin to thrust, you lean in close to my ear and murmur, "Remember me!" It's a plea and a command all rolled up into one.

Getting a hand between us, so it's flat on your chest, I push you up. There's hurt in your eyes, as you think I'm pushing you away, until my hands reach up to cup your cheeks.

I lock my gaze to yours again, determined that you see the sincerity of my words.

"Even if I wanted to, G, I could never forget you." Sealing my fate to yours, I say, "I love you!"

Your eyes widen. It's an expression that at any other time might have been comical.

As you begin to thrust again, you trail a finger over my jaw and lips, a smile spreading across your face.

Right before you lose complete control, you murmur, "I love you, too, Nicky!"

There were a few other times you topped me, each of those times accompanied by your plea, "Remember me!" Each one was after something traumatic happened to you. After you'd recovered from the beating, and after particularly tough cases – especially the one when you found the body of the starved kid in the Rubber Maid container.

And each time, I've responded to your insecurity the only way I know how. "I could never forget you, G!"