Nick continued to watch Greg closely for the next week. He tried to find some clue, any hint at all, to tell him what had gotten him so down, but when he had woken up the next morning he'd bounced right back to normal. He'd been so full of energy and smiles for the next week that Nick had actually started to worry that the stress of the new job was getting to him. Warrick was no help; he refused to let Nick in on what had passed between them.
They went home together today in Nick's truck, followed closely by Warrick in the lab's Tahoe. It was Friday, and Nick and Greg both had the day off tomorrow, so their dark skinned colleague had suggested they all have a few beers as a sort of late house warming thing. Nick had seen nothing wrong with the suggestion, but he had thought for a second that he saw Greg glaring at Warrick when the word 'beer' came out. The look was gone so fast Nick was sure it was a trick of the light.
His mind further dismissed the thought when Greg greeted Warrick enthusiastically at the door and took the beer from his hands. Warrick asked to see Greg's room and the younger man was only too happy to show him. When they came back out, Nick handed them both a beer and they all sat down to do as boys do. With beer comes pizza, as is the age old tradition, and Nick insisted on buying, so a half hour later he was deep in to his third beer and struggling to keep his hands still enough to eat his food.
Although Nick didn't know it, there was a common knowledge around the workplace that you just didn't give Nick Stokes a beer unless you were prepared to give up on all serious conversation. After a couple, it was well known that he wouldn't remember a thing the next day, and that he tended to babble and do unexpected things. He was embarrassed to admit his surprisingly low tolerance of alcohol, and it led him time and again to try and keep up with his friends.
So here he was, having an animated argument with a slice of pepperoni and onion pastry, demanding to know why it didn't want to be eaten, and completely oblivious to the laughter of the other two in the room. He was completely oblivious of them as well, until Warrick put his hand over Nick's and led the food to his waiting mouth. Nick thanked him around his mouthful, but only got a shaking head in return. On the dark armchair across the room, Greg was watching him with a grin. He knew the beer rule better than anyone else, and he was wondering just what odds Warrick was gambling with. There was beer here for a reason, and he wanted to know what that reason was. Trouble was, the guy had a great poker face.
As soon as the poker analogy flashed through his brain, Nick read it in the air and was suddenly excited by the idea of playing cards. They played Rummy, which Nick had no comprehension for after his fifth beer, and on the sixth beer it turned in to Go Fish. Nick did a lot of fishing. Especially when it wasn't even his turn. They were playing with Greg's college deck, and it had a bunch of skimpy dressed ladies on them, which the drunken man seemed to find all too interesting. Greg frowned in to his cards all of a sudden.
"Alright Warrick, you've gotten him good and drunk. Now what the hell do you want from it?" Greg asked out of nowhere. The man referred to was having a very hard time popping the top off his next drink. Greg absently took it away from him, ignoring his protests. Instead of explaining himself, Warrick announced that it was time for him to leave. He ruffled Nick's short hair and let himself out, leaving Greg to deal with his sloshed roommate alone. The blonde sighed and stood up.
"Bedtime Nicky," he declared. Nick looked up at him and blinked wildly.
"Can I bring the cards?" he asked, his words a little too well pronounced. He was wearing that smile that Greg couldn't say no to, even after all these years, so he found himself nodding and dragging the man in to his arms and down the hall. He pushed Nick in to the shower fully clothed, closing the glazed door and fetching pajama bottoms. After leaving them on the counter, he went to clear away the bottles. Nick stumbled out later in the clothes Greg had left and he wanted to dance.
It took a while to convince him to go to bed, but as soon as his head hit the pillow he was down for the count. Greg shook his head and hung up the soaked clothes, then he went to bed himself. The shadows on his wall mocked him as noon approached, and he was watching his clock, waiting for it to reach 12:00, when he fell asleep unexpectedly. His dreams were not well.
Nick groaned and grabbed a hold of his head, trying desperately to quell the pounding inside of it. He involuntarily brought up the image of tiny little men with tiny little hammers, but refused to laugh since it would only hurt more. As he lay there with a pillow on his face, blocking the fading light, Nick tried in vain to recall the events of the night before. He remembered Warrick coming over, and there was something about an unsteady piece of pizza. After that, things went blank and he groaned, hoping he hadn't embarrassed himself.
"Oh you're awake," a soft voice drifted in from the doorway. Nick lifted the pillow and squinted up at Greg as he came over carrying something the Texan's mind was too clogged to identify. "I was going to leave these beside you, but I bet you need them now," the voice was still soft and cautious. Nick opened one of his eyes again and finally recognized Aspirin and a cup of water. With a low grumble of thanks he took them. As he swallowed the pills he looked down, and was startled to find his bed riddled with naked girls. Or pictures of them anyway. Dirty little cards were thrown everywhere about him, and he raised an eyebrow. Greg grinned maliciously.
"You found them very interesting," he explained bluntly. "I didn't bother asking why you wanted to bring them to bed with you." Nick groaned low in his throat and let his head drop back to the bed. Greg's soft laughter drifted away as the Californian disappeared down the hall, leaving him alone with his misery.
Another hour and the headache had only mostly gone away, but Nick was now dying of hunger. The smell of bacon perked him up and he wandered in to the kitchen, dropping the cards he'd gathered on to the table. He sat down beside them and Greg immediately placed a large plate of bacon eggs and toast in front of him. He flashed his friend a grateful smile and dug in. Greg didn't have any for himself. He just stood with his coffee and watched, a small smile tugging at his lips. In the middle of eating, Nick remembered the cards.
"Here, I brought these back out for you," he said, pointing at the deck with his fork. Greg nodded but didn't move to come get them. Suddenly Nick slowed his movements and stared hard in to his plate as a very random, yet kind of important thought struck his tired brain. "Hey Greggo, can I ask you a question?" he asked. Greg nodded. "In the seven years we've lived together…I don't think I've seen you go on a single date." Greg's coffee was suddenly all over the floor, although it had been in his mouth a moment ago. Nick wiped a stray droplet off his cheek.
"That's…not exactly a question," Greg hedged as he grabbed a rag and knelt to wipe up his wasted drink. But Nick was snagged on the thought and didn't want to let it go that easily.
"I'm serious. Have you even had a single date since we moved in here?" he asked. Greg slowly met his eyes, but didn't answer. He continued to scrub at the floor until all the coffee was cleaned up, and then he rinsed it in the sink and left it on the counter to throw in the laundry later. He took a deep breath and faced Nick again.
"No…I've…I haven't actually gone on a date since we moved in…" he admitted. Nick gaped. He'd gone on very little himself, not really finding the time for romance. But Greg was someone who always had a story about a date, always had something wild to share about the fairer sex. Apparently all these dates had happened many years ago, or even not at all. It was just like him to make stuff up to impress people. Nick shook his head as he watched Greg pour a new cup.
"Well, no worries Greggo," he declared magnanimously. "We'll find you a nice girl." Nick could have sworn his ears were playing tricks on him, but he thought he heard Greg mutter in to the coffee he held 'don't want a nice girl'. That couldn't have been what he heard though, so he let it pass. "So why haven't you dated?" he wondered out loud. He heard on of his friend's small nervous sighs.
"What would you do if I brought a date home?" Greg asked in reply. Nick blinked. That thought hadn't occurred to him, he'd been busy with the other one. After a moments consideration though he was quick to say that it wouldn't bother him at all. His joke that maybe he'd even learn a few things made Greg choke again, but no spluttering happened. He asked what was wrong. Greg stared at him for a long time before turning away.
"Learn a few things indeed," he murmured to himself, seemingly unaware that he had said it out loud. Nick watched him go, shrugged, and finished his plate of food. If it wasn't the most heavenly thing he'd ever eaten in his life, then he was a purple chicken. When it was all gone he devoured half of a second plate and put his dishes away to be washed mechanically. Then the sound of some senseless show of the TV called to him and he joined his best friend in the fun little sport of melting your brain with nonsense.
The rest of the night off the two of them relaxed and did nothing in particular, and neither mentioned the subject of dating again. Nick watched the television and Greg joined him between sporadic fits of cleaning. Since this was one of his normal ways to burn off extra energy, Nick paid him no mind when he would suddenly jump up and grab a broom or murmur something about laundry. He had no idea the turmoil going on inside the lad's head.
The next evening they went to work in Nick's pick up, and the blonde was set to work with Warrick. And this time, Nick was positive that it was no trick of the light, he had seen his roomy send his assigned partner a death glare across the room. He had time to blink, and then it slipped his mind as Grissom sent him away to the strip. His case today involved a stripper, so he was forced to spend much of his energy trying to forget the image of Kristy, the girl he'd been accused of murdering. By the end of the day he was exhausted, glad to just slink through the glass hallways with home on his mind.
He stopped dead when he glanced up and spotted Greg and Warrick. They stood behind the glass of the AV lab, and the expression on Warrick's face was thunderous. Greg's back was facing Nick, so his expression was hidden, but they were both waving their arms in the midst of an animated argument. The room they were in was sound proofed, so none of their words were leaking out, and Nick found himself suddenly jealous of Grissom's ability to read lips. Just as he was about to step over and open the door to ask them what was going on, Greg turned and shoved the door open.
"I'm just watching out for you!" Warrick's loud voice suddenly flooded the hall, turning the heads of everyone in the halls.
"Well don't!" Greg shouted back. His face was darker than Nick had ever seen it, and he seemed near to tears. Behind him, Warrick shook his head and stormed off in the opposite direction while Greg made a beeline for the lockers. Nick wasn't sure whom to follow; they were both his friends! In the end, Warrick won out because he was the one who started it the week before, and Nick needed to know exactly what had been started. He hurried down the hall and found Warrick with his hands against the wall just outside the morgue.
"Warrick man, what the hell is going on between you two?" Nick asked as he came closer. When the taller man looked up, all anger had been washed away and he looked weary and exasperated. He shook his head again and dragged a hand across his eyes wearily.
"Sorry man, I can't say. Trust me you…you don't want to know anyway." Nick scowled at this non-answer, but his friend remained adamant. His lips stayed sealed, so Nick rolled his eyes and went in search of Greg. He stepped in to the locker room and stopped. Greg didn't look upset at all. He was bouncing and trying to convince Sara to join him in a dance. She refused, but she was smiling good-naturedly at the boy. Greg asked Nick if he'd like to dance, but he shook his head in wonder, more confused by the minute. What the hell was going on in this lab that he didn't know about?
Nick watched Greg and Warrick ever more closely after that, since their case kept them close together for the rest of the week. Whatever it was that they had been fighting over, they appeared to have worked through the very next day, because when they headed off together in Greg's Jetta they were chatting away like nothing had happened. Nick felt his CSI instincts kick in, but it was none of his business. He squashed them and moved on with his own case.
The days continued on with a certain familiar rhythm. He and Catherine solved their case and moved on to solve another. By Thursday they were on their third, and they'd started to tease the other two about being slow. Grissom stayed holed up in his office unless Warrick and Greg needed him for extra hands. The lab rats were having some sort of contest, and it distracted them sufficiently enough that they didn't even bother trying to mess with the CSIs. Results were given over without a fight for the whole week, and they began to wonder which deity had smiled down upon them.
Friday night rolled around again, and with it came a certain relief. Nick looked forward to his evening off with Greg; lounging around and letting the world pass by sounded absolutely amazing to him. Greg appeared to agree, since he caught a taxi home instead of waiting for his roommate. They'd come in Nick's truck today, and Nick had had to stay only an extra half hour to writer a report. Normally, Greg would just wait and chat up whichever ladies were hanging about, but today he seemed eager to leave. He almost shimmered with pent up energy.
Finally Nick was done and he hopped in his truck, taking a moment to heave a deep breath in and out slowly, forcing the tension in his shoulders to ease off. When he felt a little more relaxed he gunned the engine and left as fast as was allowed by law. The old lady next door called her daily hello to him and he waved at her with a great big smile, feeling inexplicably good. As he stuck his key in the lock and let himself in, his wondering whether or not Greg would feel up to losing at football games was cut off. The house was silent. Nick frowned and put his kit down next to Greg's, walking a bit further in. The TV was off, the radio was off, and Nick was a little weirded out.
Finally he spotted a messy note left on the table. He recognized Greg's hurried scrawl, but it only said 'gone out', nothing else. With a raised eyebrow, Nick took the note with him as he went to rummage threw the fridge. The jar of pickles he pulled out hopefully had gone bad, so he left it on the counter and continued searching. He supposed it was really about time at least one of them got a life outside of each other. Maybe Nick's comments the other day about never dating had gotten through to the younger man? He thought that might be the case.
Nick smiled when his hand closed around a tub of icing. He stared at it for a minute before making a snap decision. He shut the fridge, grabbed a spoon, and headed over to the living room. The couch was comfortable and inviting, a lovely place to sit and eat pure sugar while he watched pure nonsense. Greg might be starting to rub off on him too much, but Nick found that he didn't mind. After his 'dinner', he went straight to sleep, too tired to even sit up straight.
Hours later, Nick bolted straight up in his bed when he heard a crash. On instinct, he grabbed his gun and got up, sneaking across the floor and inching his door open. He relaxed though, and fought back a smile, when he looked down upon Greg. The blonde lay on the floor, where he'd tripped and fallen only moments ago. He was staring sideways at the wall and speaking sternly.
"Now, now, Wally, you have to be quiet or you'll wake up Nick!" he was saying. Nick didn't resist the laugh in his throat, and it made Greg's head swivel to look up. His eyes were fogged and bleary, and the stench of whiskey drifted up to Nick's nostrils. Obviously the younger man was drunk out of his brains, but he smiled brightly anyway and threw his hands out wide.
"Nicky, help a guy up? But be quiet, I don't want to wake you." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper that made Nick chuckle again. He clasped both of Greg's hands in his own to pull him up, noticing the crinkle of foil from Greg's left hand. When they were both standing on their feet, Greg's hands dropped away, and Nick caught sight of a brightly colored condom. He raised an eyebrow and smirked.
"Got a date, Greggo?" he asked slyly, glad the man had taken his advice. Before Greg could answer a figure appeared in the doorway to his bedroom and came forward to wrap their arms around Greg from behind. Nick felt his jaw drop. It was a man.
"You coming to bed?" the stranger asked in a low, husky voice. Greg grinned goofily at him, allowing himself to be walked backwards very slowly. He blinked up at Nick and smiled again, his sentences breaking apart when the man wrapped around him started nibbling on his neck.
"You said I could bring – mm – a date home. I know you were – ohh – expecting a girl but – that tickles – I mean that would be – got to go!" the pair of men disappeared in to Greg's bedroom and the door softly clicked shut behind them, leaving a flabbergasted Nick to stand in the hallway and stare at the spot they had been a moment before. He heard Greg moan, and then nothing. But his imagination provided the sound of tearing foil and skin rasping against skin, and he found he couldn't sleep.
The next half hour was torture, sitting at his kitchen table and playing with Greg's apparently hypocritical deck of lady cards. He played all different kinds of solitaire, but couldn't remember a single game. The only thing running through his head was Greg. Greg was gay. He'd gone out drinking and brought a man home to have a one-night stand with. He'd been gay the whole time. Nick replayed the hallway over and over in his head, trying to make some sense of it. There really was no sense to be found.
Another crash got his immediate attention. Were they getting rough in there? Nick's stomach turned, but not in disgust. He had no time to analyze the fleeting feeling, because he could see Greg wearing only boxers marching the stranger towards the door by the scruff of his neck like a suspect, shoving his clothes in to his hands. He pushed the man forward a little, making him stumble.
"My name's not Anthony," he said firmly, pointing the guy towards the door. The strange man leaned against the wall to hurriedly pull on his dark jeans.
"Yeah, my name's not Nick," he countered. Nick, still sitting unseen in the kitchen, blinked. He had a perfect vantage point to watch from. He saw Greg cross his arms and tilt his head thoughtfully.
"Call it even?" his roommate suggested. The stranger was pulling on his t-shirt.
"Call you tomorrow?" he countered again. Greg let out a short bark of laughter.
"Not even a chance," he said.
"Fair deal," the strange man said. And then he was gone, and Greg shut the door behind him with no sign of remorse. It was evident that he was still drunk though; he only made it as far as the couch before he collapsed, face down. Nick rose from his seat and peeked in to the living room to see his friend relaxing in to the cushions. A muffled ironic laugh emitted from the spot his face was pressed in to.
"And Nick wonders why I don't bring dates home," he said. Then moments later he was snoring, as he only did after getting drunk. Nick stared at him in amazement. The undeniable fact that Greg was gay was still very fresh in his mind, and it overpowered the conversation by the door, since there was no space for it in his head. He made himself fetch a blanket and lay it on top of his friend, turning his blonde head so he wouldn't suffocate. Then he settled in to the armchair and watched over his friend, his thoughts not slowing in the slightest. They continued at light speed for the rest of the day.
Greg moaned as he came to. He'd never been one to suffer massive hangovers, something he was very thankful for, but his entire body hurt. The last thing he remembered was jumping in to the center of a violent mosh pit and enthusiastically joining in. His fogged thoughts had decided that maybe banging his head around and jumping against other people so hard there would be bruises might help take his mind off his problems. A blurry face swam up in front of him and he moaned again. Had he brought someone home?
He shifted a bit to discover that he was on the couch. This wasn't new, but definitely odd. Usually he could make it to a bed on adrenaline at least. That thought was pushed aside in favor of wincing in pain. Damn it, his ribs hurt. One of the guys in the pit had thought it very cool to wear a metal plated shirt. It had looked nifty enough, if you were in to that, but it had hurt like a bitch to get thrown in to. Without giving it a thought, Greg sat up and tore off his horrible smelling shirt.
A gasp from across the room had him looking up and blinking blearily at Nick, who was curled up in the armchair across from him. He was staring at Greg's chest, so the blonde looked down at well. His entire front was laced with dark bruises, as well as a pretty nice gash down one side where he'd hit the metal plates the wrong way. He ran a hand tentatively over his own chest and pushed gently. It made him wince and he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out, but it told him no ribs were broken.
"Greg…what the hell happened to you?" Nick asked. He looked up to see his friend's concerned face and tried to smile.
"Hn, mosh pit," he mumbled, hauling himself to his feet, intent on searching for coffee. The pot had already been turned on, and was just finishing preparing his special magic brew. He smiled as the dark liquid filled his cup, breathing the scent in deeply. It woke him up more, and he smiled even wider.
Nick appeared in the kitchen behind him, Greg could feel the man standing there. It seemed like he always knew where Nick was. He could wake in the dead of night and point without thinking to where Nick was in a room. That thought sometimes made him a little uneasy, but in times like this it was useful. He turned slowly as he sipped his magic drink. The Texan looked like he had something to say, but wasn't sure how to word it, so he waited patiently. The cup was half empty by the time he worked up the courage.
"Are you…gay or bi?" he asked finally. Greg froze, cup halfway to his mouth, lips slightly parted. He'd been looking away, staring at a spot on the floor, but now his gaze flew over to lock on to Nick's. He couldn't tear himself away. Oh god, oh god, he kept thinking, this is where it all falls apart. He was a fool for going to that club last night, and he'd known nothing good would come of it. What he hadn't expected was to Nick to find this out. Actually, he'd never meant for him to find out. Ever.
Greg found himself trying to find some excuse, as if he could explain away his sexuality and it would all be ok again. He fumbled along, and it was becoming more and more obvious. He was just gay. There were no women involved in his equation. Finally he brought himself to a stuttering halt, taking in a shaky breath, and looking down at the cup he held in his hands, his whole body screaming dejection.
"I should leave, huh?" he whispered. Nick raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"I don't have a problem with it or anything," he hurried assured his friend. "I just – well I didn't expect it, you know?" Greg looked up, his eyes sad but hopeful, and Nick stepped over to pull him in to a hug. "You're still the same guy, G. I'm just not inclined to believe any of your date stories anymore." Nick beamed when he was rewarded with an impish grin.
"Oh they're all true…just replace 'lady friend' with 'mighty fine male specimen'," the blonde replied cheekily. Nick laughed out loud and dragged them both back to the couch to try and outshoot each other on the Xbox. He was aware of the relief coming off his friend in waves, but chose to not say a thing. He could sense that no comment was needed. Greg was safe here in a home with no judgments. Nick wasn't even mad that Greg hadn't told him, because he could definitely see why he would be afraid to do so. Vegas was the place where anything goes, and yet homosexuality was still a taboo.
Glancing to the side, he could tell that the blonde was still a little nervous about being treated different, so Nick devoted the day to making sure that nothing in their house changed. They were still a little too close, because he knew it meant nothing. And when he had a nightmare about his glass coffin that night, he didn't hesitate to cross the hall and curl up next to Greg, because if they'd been doing it for five years, there was no reason to stop now. Just before he fell asleep, he could hear Greg whispering his thanks, but he pretended to be asleep, like he knew Greg thought he was.
Nick woke with an alarm in his ears and a warm body in his arms, and he smiled before opening his eyes, throwing one hand one to hit the clock. His face was pressed against the back of a neck, which was obscured by blonde hair. When the hair tickled his nose he snuffled and leaned his head back, taking in Greg's form in front of him. The blonde was still asleep, lying on one side with his back pressed to Nick's chest. His lips were slightly parted, indicating he had been talking in his sleep again. They both did that. Nick smiled and nuzzled in to the neck he was facing, hoping it would wake him. Greg mumbled and rolled to face him, not even fazed. Time for the big tactics.
Nick lifted the sheets away from them and very carefully peeled Greg's shirt up ever so slightly. Then with a loud whoop he started tickling his roommate mercilessly. Greg's eyes flew open immediately and he cried out, trying to squirm away from Nick's dancing fingers. But the older man had the upper hand, and he laughed manically, pinning Greg to the bed and continuing his torture. Greg thrashed and yelled at him, and when it eventually stopped he was panting for breath, trying to glare through his grin.
"Well that's one way to wake me up I guess," he muttered, trying to lay his head back down. Nick laughed and rolled him off the bed, listening for the thump as his body hit the floor. Greg gave an indignant squawk and sat up to really glare this time.
"It's time for work, get that lazy butt of yours in to the shower!" Nick ordered. Greg stood up and fixed his shirt so it was no longer crumpled halfway up his torso. Then he turned and stuck his bottom in to the air, wiggling it.
"It's such a pretty butt, no?" he got his answer in the form of a pillow hitting him in the ass. He laughed and headed towards the bathroom, leaving Nick to stretch in a bed that was as familiar as his own and hum to himself. When Greg was done in the shower, Nick took his turn, and when he was done Greg had poured them both bowls of cereal. After that quick feeding they gathered their kits keys and wallets, and were heading to the LVPD crime lab in Nick's pickup.
As he drove, Nick looked over at his best friend, who had his eyes closed to the gentle rocking motion of the vehicle. Nine years they had been friends, and Greg had known he was gay the whole time. But try though he might – and he didn't even try very hard – Nick couldn't see him as any different. In a way, it was almost as if the back of his brain had known it all along. He smiled and turned back to the road, at peace with the world for just a few more moments.