Hiding in the Rye

by WitchGirl

In his efforts to get closer to Nick, Greg uncovers a violent secret about Nick's past, and suffers the consequences for it. Can Greg convince Nick that what he feels is not a sin? Nick/Greg slash. Rated for language and violence.

7. Biblical

Part Five: Biblical

Author's Note: The end. Upon request, I may be inclined to write a sequel. But later. The first NPR story is transcribed almost directly from when I turned on the radio for an idea of what they'd be talking about.

---

"I want to know one thing: the way to heaven. God himself has condescended to teach me the way. He has written it down in a book. Oh, give me that book! At any price give me the book of God. Let me be a man of one book."--John Wesley

---

Generally speaking, I love my job. I work with brilliant people, I solve riddles, and I help bring solace to grieving families, and justice to the dead. But sometimes, the whole process can just be tedious. Like sorting through the contents of a shredder searching for a fingertip that may or may not be intact. Blood on every single scrap of paper, but as of yet no flesh.

"How much of this guy did they shove in here?" I muttered.

"Just his hand," I heard Catherine reply from the other side of the room. She was smugly reviewing the case file and refusing to help.

"What happened to the rest of him?"

"Dunno," Catherine said. "That's why we need you to find his finger." She smiled before nodding at the door. "I'm gonna go get some coffee. You want?"

"No thanks, but what would be nice is a little help here," I said.

She laughed. "Greg, consider this a right of passage. Some day, when you're Level Three, you'll be standing in my place, and finally understand my amusement."

I grumbled as she left, frowning as I tore one strip of bloody paper from another. "Ew." I had seen blood a lot in my job, and that wasn't what disgusted me. It was the mushy paper. When I was little, I couldn't stand the feel of it. I cried when my mom tried to make me do papier-mâché. I wrinkled my nose at the bloody mess and separated the mound in front of me in half, shivering as I felt the squishy substance beneath my gloves. It was a silly thing to be bothered by, but then again it was only one of two things that even fazed me at all on this job.

The other chose that moment to enter the room. I smiled, ignoring the bloody pile of mushy paper in front of me. "Hey, there," I chirped, probably sounding happier than I should have to see him.

He returned the smile, and I saw it reach his eyes, which meant that he really felt it. "Hey, Greg." I love the way he says my name. The way his tongue moves back to curl around the gr like a growl, the southern flare of the e, and the concussive blast of the g... I know I dwell too much on the details, but I just love everything about that mouth, including the words it pronounces, especially my name. I had this sudden urge to leap up and press my lips against it, sucking lightly on that tongue, but I held back, for his sake. I clenched my teeth and forced my own mouth into a grin.

"You haven't by chance come to help me sort through this mess, have you?"

He laughed lightly and shook his head. He had been laughing a lot lately, and I flattered myself by imagining I was the reason for it. I know that I cracked more jokes when he was around, and I was laughing a bit more myself, ever since he began to trust me again.

"Actually, no," he said, closing the door behind him. He pulled out a chair next to mine and sat down. He leaned forward, touching his fingertips together as he rested his forearms on his knees. I was intrigued, but I had bloody paper mush in my hands, so I couldn't turn to face him entirely. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Talking's good," I said, encouraging him. And I meant it. He was finally opening up, letting me in, and I was glad every time that gorgeous mouth decided to share with me, in any sense. I was finally getting inside his head.

"Yeah..." he mumbled, but said nothing more.

I frowned, wondering why he had suddenly turned so coy. My head swiveled on my shoulders to look at him, my eyes drinking him in. "What's the matter?"

He tried to shrug it off. "Talking's great, but..."

Uh oh, I thought. Was this that conversation? "Wait a minute," I began. "I thought the turn of phrase is 'we need to talk,' isn't it?"

He seemed bemused. "What? Don't they mean the same thing?"

"No," I told him seriously. "One means you want to tell me something important. The other means you want us to... not be a couple anymore."

"Oh, Greg, no..." he said with a sigh, comprehension dawning. "No, that's not what I want."

I relaxed, or at least, became as relaxed as I could get with Nick in the same room as me, close enough to touch... I mentally slapped my hand away, the image of a child reaching for a toy he couldn't have springing to mind. In a way, it was just like it used to be when we weren't honest about how we felt, and yet it was still so much better than those days. In those days, there had never even been a chance. But now, he was letting me help him. Make him happy.

"Then what is it?" I pressed when he didn't continue. He held his breath, and that's when I noticed he was shaking. "Nicky, breathe before you turn blue!"

He sighed it out through his nose and rolled his eyes. "I can't believe this is so hard for me to say. I thought..."

"Look, what could you possibly say that would elicit a negative reaction from me?" I asked.

"Negative isn't what I'm worried about..."

Now I was very intrigued. "Nick, what is it?" He chewed on his bottom lip a moment before smiling at me again. I was frowning, trying to decipher his intent. "Nicky?"

"I don't really know how to say this, but... I think what I'm trying to say is... I want to take this to the next level."

I was in a daze, daring to hope as my heart raced ahead of my thoughts, my hands squeezing the blood out of the paper. "What exactly do you mean by—"

"Whatever you think I mean," he interrupted, that devilish smile still in place.

I opened my fists and the paper fell to the table as I leapt to my feet and stripped off my gloves.

"What are you doing?" he asked with a laugh.

I looked at him as if he were crazy, even though I was the mad one. I held out my hand. I wanted to seize him by the wrist, pull him out of the room, but I doubted he'd be ready for that. "Come with me," I said.

I was mildly surprised when he reached out and took my hand without hesitation. I pulled him to his feet and he stumbled into me, our chests bumping into each other, and suddenly I was breathing his air, his mouth inches away from mine, and I could see the lines in his lips, and how his tongue shot out to moisten them. His breath hitched in his throat, but I waited. Now wasn't the time.

To distract myself, I ducked my head and moved past him on his right, his hand still in mine, and dragged him out of the room and down the hall, searching for the exit.

"Where are we going?" he asked, half-laughing, and I knew this was an adventure for him. I knew that if he wasn't pulling away from me by now, then he had meant what he'd said.

I waved at Sara as we passed her in the hall. She was watching us curiously, her head cocked to the side. She pointed at Nick and seemed about to ask a question when I interrupted her.

"We're taking off early, tell Grissom."

If she wanted to protest, I left her no time, because seconds later we turned the corner.

"What if Griss needs us?" Nick asked, with the air of one who didn't really give a shit one way or the other if Grissom needed us.

"Then he'll call," I replied anyway.

I finally reached my car in the garage and released Nick's hand only to dig out my keys. He moved to the passenger door, obviously aware by now of my intentions. I backed out of the space and Nick sat silent beside me as I made my way out of the parking lot. It was all I could do not to swerve off the road in an effort to get home faster.

"We're going to your place?" Nick guessed.

I hadn't really considered it and began to panic slightly. "Unless you'd be more comfortable at yours..."

"No, your place is fine," said Nick, his voice about half an octave higher than it normally was.

"If you're nervous..." I began. When this whole thing had begun, my brain had been ravaged by the whirlwind that is Nick Stokes. But now, rationality was beginning to swallow me again, and I felt rather guilty for my pushy, spontaneous passion.

"It's natural to be nervous, right?" Nick said with a smile. "But I know what I want, Greg. I want to be with you."

I felt the familiar warmth rise in my cheeks and I grinned stupidly. "We'll go as slow as you like, Nick," I tried to assure him. "I mean, sorry I was so... anxious back in the lab, but—"

"I get it," he interrupted quickly. "It's not a problem. I know I've made you wait a long time for this."

"Not too long, considering," I tried to reason. "I mean, two months, that's pretty short, really. Especially considering all you've been through."

"I'm just worried that..." He trailed off and I glanced at him out of the corners of my eyes.

"Worried that what, Nick?" I probed timorously.

"Nothing. Just drive," said Nick.

Now I was worried. "You won't hurt me, Nick."

"I know. Just drive."

"I won't hurt you either, you know."

"I do. Eyes on the road."

He was being evasive all of a sudden and I didn't understand why. "Nick, are you sure this is what you really want?"

"I am," he insisted. "Trust me, Greg, I've been giving this a lot of thought."

So I dropped it, like he clearly wanted me to. I knew that pressing the issue was never a good way to deal with Nick. The last time I pressed the issue, I left his apartment swollen and bruised. And it was a night that would always weigh heavily on both our thoughts, I'm sure.

"We'll move really slow," I repeated. "Like turtles."

"Fuck like turtles? There's a new term." He laughed, but the joke was forced.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Stealing my technique," I explained. "I thought I was the one who hid behind jokes."

I heard him shift in the seat next to me, and then he reached out and turned on the radio. NPR. Fantastic, something to talk about.

"... shared religious belief that the state is greater than the individual... But to most young Russians growing up in a time in which Soviet history is greatly admired, the actions of the Soviet regime is losing its relevance."

"What do you think about that, huh?" I asked. "KGB was crazy, wasn't it? Crazy times. My Dad said they had a bomb shelter during the cold war. Stocked it with all sorts of things. Did your folks have bomb shelters?"

He said nothing.

"Good evening, this is All Things Considered—"

"Oh, I love this show!" I exclaimed.

"A plane crashed in Panama today, killing hundreds and dozens more are still unaccounted for—" I switched off the radio.

"Too depressing," I explained. "Plane crashes in Panama... Not cool."

"You deal with dead people every day, Greg," Nick said quietly.

"Yeah, but it doesn't mean I like hearing about tragedies," I returned, almost defensively. And, as my mind normally did when I was in a babbling mood, I leapt to the first relevant topic and, as usual, it was probably a mistake. "Where were you when you heard about the two towers?"

"The diner," said Nick. "Breakfast with Sara and Warrick after shift."

"Mm," I mumbled. "Archie told me. I was working overtime and he dragged me out into the lobby. Scared the shit out of me, I can tell you that. I was in New York for a while, you know, I know a bunch of people there and—"

"Can we talk about something a little less depressing?" Nick asked.

I winced at the verbal slap and sighed. "Sorry." My mind grasped for some lighter subject to hang onto as the silence in the car began to strangle me. "Um..."

"Greg, relax."

The southern drawl was always more pronounced when he was anxious. I smiled. "Who's the pot and who's the kettle here, Mr. Stokes?"

I noticed him tense out of the corner of my eye and he turned to look out the window. I sighed. They were the same words I had uttered in the diner, right before he had hit me again. Well, he hadn't really hit me. It hadn't been violent or even painful, but it had reminded me of all the things that his fist was capable of and I'd been afraid for a millisecond before I had gathered my wits and shrugged it off. Or had pretended to shrug it off.

"It doesn't bother me anymore," I lied. "I'm not afraid of you."

Maybe he knew it was a lie and maybe that's why he kept quiet.

The conversation was in bad need of a change. "Right. Less depressing. Um..." My brain scrambled for a joke. "So did you hear about what happened when the seven dwarves went to Rome?"

He turned, and I saw him smile at me. "You really have a problem with quiet, don't you?"

I chuckled, nervously. "What can I say? You bring out the babbler in me."

"I've noticed."

"Sorry..."

"Don't be," he said sincerely. "I like it. Even if you do like to talk about depressing things."

I genuinely laughed at that as I pulled into my usual parking spot in the garage of my building. I leaned back in my seat and looked at him with a hopeful but timid gaze. "Well? Are you ready?"

"How many times do I have to tell you?" he said with a smile.

I couldn't suppress a grin myself, my heart leaping up into my throat as I shivered with excitement. I threw open the door to the car and by the time I was on the other side Nick was already out. I gestured at the building with my head and began towards it when Nick caught my hand, and the recoil made me stumble backwards into his embrace, subsequently falling into his lips.

I closed my eyes and relished his touch, because we were seldom physically close. I tried as hard as I could to respect the distance he put between us, but now that his feelings were out in the open, now that I knew there was a chance for us, it was harder than ever before to keep my hands off of him.

And then, I felt the all-too-familiar tremble before his grip on me tightened, and I was worried he would pull away, that this was too much too fast, and that we had been stupid. I tensed in his arms, preparing for him to hit me again, telling myself that maybe I would have to hit him back, just to make him stop. But I couldn't hit him back. I could never hit him back.

He broke the kiss with a gasp, but his embrace did not slacken, nor did he push me away from him in terror. He just looked at me with wide, sparkling eyes, absolutely breathless.

"Are you OK with this?"

For the first time that evening, he seemed unsure, and his gaze darted away from mine momentarily before returning again, and he gave a shallow but rapid nod, his mouth partially open. I reached up slowly and traced his bottom lip with my finger, fascinated by how the moist, sensitive flesh felt beneath my fingertip. Just as slowly, Nick's mouth closed around it and I blinked, my eyes moving away from his lips and up to meet his eyes, which were staring at me with a strange, unspoken promise.

My mouth was dry and I swallowed open-mouthed as I just continued to stare at him, feeling the insides of his cheeks press in on either side of my finger, his tongue moving powerfully against the bottom of it, into the creases between my joints and I shuddered.

He meant it. He really fucking meant it, this was really going to happen.

I let out a quivering gasp and blinked as I pulled my finger out of his mouth and a smug smile took hold of his features. "You've been making a lot of progress in therapy," I whispered elatedly.

He just nodded and gently took both of my hands, walking backwards behind the car. I laughed, still reeling from the way his tongue felt against my skin, wondering how little it would take to bring me to climax... I would have to be very focused. We would have to go very, painfully slowly. I may have to think of cockroaches and Grissom in order to bring down my over-excited mind.

He hit the button of the elevator and I blindly typed in the code that would call it down. He wasn't touching any part of me but my hands, but it was just as hot as if we were already in bed together. His eyes remained on me, and I didn't dare look away from him, for fear that he would vanish, like some shimmering mirage or maybe an alcohol-induced hallucination.

The elevator arrived and we moved inside, and I couldn't stay away, sliding up against Nick's arm. I was hungry to taste him again, but tried to exercise some restraint, so my lips instead planted soft kisses on his neck. I heard him sigh, his breath shaking, and I know he was with me, completely with me, and we were together...

The doors opened, and it was my turn to take him by the hand as I led him down the hall to my apartment. I quickly fished my keys out of my pocket and stabbed at the lock once or twice before it finally slid into it. It's difficult to unlock doors when my eyes refuse to leave the object of my euphoria.

We stumbled into my living room and I didn't hit the lights, unable to control myself any longer and as soon as that door clicked shut, my hands cupped his face and I kissed him deeply, my mouth pressing against his as I pinned him against the door. The kiss was greedy, needy, and desperate. I wanted him too badly to wait any longer. We said we'd take it slow... I told myself to take it slow. I drew back on the kiss with much effort, my hands moving back and into his bristly hair, wondering momentarily why the hell he had cut it so short. I was so lost in the moment I was on autopilot, my hands moving down to his shoulders, over the chiseled features of his chest to tug on his shirt.

He pulled away from my mouth and gasped my name. "Greg..."

I took the opportunity to kiss down his jaw line, softly at first, my lips barely brushing against his skin, but by the time I met the place where his neck met his shoulder I opened my mouth like a vampire.

"Greg..." he said again.

"Less talking," I panted, pulling away from his skin, my breath sweeping over the wet spots. "More kissing."

My hands roved up beneath his shirt, my palms against the skin of his chest, and oh wow, we had never even gotten this far before. If this were any other time, I would have skipped the foreplay, but I promised we would go slow. I kissed up his neck again, finding his lips, which remained stoutly closed, but I landed a soft kiss there anyway, not recognizing how odd it was for him to be so tight-lipped in a moment like this. I moved up to his ear, nibbling lightly on the lobe, and that's when his hands gripped my upper arms and pushed me away and I finally realized he was shaking.

"Greg," he said resolutely, his eyes wide.

My eyes darted up and down and all around. I didn't understand. "What's wrong?"

He pursed his lips as he shook his head. "I... I don't know."

Disappointment plunked into my stomach like a penny in a very deep well. "You're not ready, are you?"

He set his jaw and tried to shrug, and all the while I felt his nails digging into my skin. The longer we stayed so close, the tighter his grip became. I tried to be patient. I tried to ignore the pain that was biting into both of my arms. I tried to understand...

I failed.

Fury overwhelming me, my arms flew up into the air, yanking myself out of his grip as I stepped backwards and focused my eyes, aiming all my malice, all my frustrations, all the anger that he didn't deserve straight at him. I gritted my teeth and breathed through my nose. I tried to calm my self down, so I wouldn't say anything I'd regret.

"You'll never be ready, will you?" I growled, sounding so hostile it shames me now.

He gave me an apologetic look as he shook his head. "I don't know, Greg... I'm sorry."

I just stood there and glowered at him, breathing in and out, trying to force myself to understand, to remember to put myself in his shoes, to think of how hard it would be, but it wasn't working. Logic wasn't a friend of mine in that state. "What? You afraid you'll hurt me?" I demanded icily. "Go ahead and fucking hurt me!"

"Greg, I—"

"Do it!" I yelled, my arms wide open. "Hit me."

"Don't do this, Greg."

"I mean it, hit me! Take your best shot."

He wrapped his arms around himself and sniffed. "I-I should go."

"No!" I roared, slapping my hand against the door so he couldn't open it. "Not before you take a fucking shot at me."

He shook his head and I could see the tears blossoming in his eyes. "Greg, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," I said, my jaw hanging open as I shook my head at him in awe. "Hit me."

He began to vigorously shake his head. "No."

"Fucking hit me, Nick!"

"No!" he insisted, his voice cracking, and he ducked his head and walked past me towards my bedroom. He stopped, his back to me, his arms folded. He had nowhere to go. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I thought I was ready, but I just... It's too much." He turned around to look at me. "I'm really sorry, Greg."

I was still seething, my hands still clenching and unclenching into fists. "What are you afraid of?"

"I don't want to—"

"No, don't say you don't want to hurt me. That's bullshit. If you had the urge to hit me, you would have done it by now." And then, I spoke through clenched teeth. "I gave you a reason. An excuse. I asked for it, for fuck's sake, and you didn't do it!" I paused, taking deep breaths. "So what is it, Nick? Is it me?"

"You're not helping," he pointed out.

Whether or not he was right, it didn't matter because all those two months of waiting, of letting him do everything, of walking on eggshells, it suddenly felt like too long, although apparently for Nick it wasn't long enough. And maybe that made me a bad person, to explode at my best friend, my lover, the way I was, but in that moment I wanted to be selfish. I felt I'd earned it.

And so I said the most selfish thing that came to mind. "I love you, Nick."

I saw the tears streak down his face, even in the silver starlight from the windows. "That's not fair," he whispered, his voice a heavy tremolo.

"It's not fair," I repeated, grimly. "There're a lot of things about this that aren't fair, Nick."

He rubbed his upper arms and shook his head at me, helplessly. When he spoke again, he sounded like a child. "Please don't ask me to hit you again."

And then, finally, my fury faltered. "I..."

"Please, Greg," Nick begged, and I heard his breathing coming in gasps. "Don't ask me to hit you again."

I chewed on my bottom lip, sympathy overwhelming selfishness, and I finally realized what I had done. I stood there for a moment, watching his body shake, his shoulders move up and down in short, staccato bursts. And then, I took a deep breath and sighed.

"Come here," I said quietly, already striding over to him. He moved forward hesitantly, and we met somewhere in the middle where he buried his face in my shoulder and I enveloped him in my arms. I felt his knees give out, and I wasn't nearly strong enough to hold us both upright, so instead I moved slowly down to the floor, cradling him in my arms as he cried. I blinked as I stared up at the ceiling, feeling this warm, anguished body fall apart in my arms.

It's funny, I always imagined it would be the other way around.

But he needed me, and so I swallowed my pride and just let him cry, cooing in his ear that everything would be alright, and that I was still there, that I would always be there, because that, more than anything else that had been said that night, was the truth. As selfish as I was, I could never leave him. Because I needed him too.

My hand softly stroked the bristles of his hair and I came to the conclusion that it being so short wasn't so bad. It made it incredibly soft. "Sh, it's OK. I'm sorry, Nick. I'm sorry."

He fell asleep in my arms like a frightened child. I whispered his name a few times to make sure, but he was really knocked out. Struggling under the weight of him, I tried to carry him in my arms to the bedroom, but I wasn't strong enough for that. I did manage to sling his arm over my shoulders and I half dragged him to my room. He stirred just enough to help me out a little by stumbling on his feet. After what seemed like a walk across Death Valley, we finally reached my bedroom, and I kicked open the door, laying him carefully on my bed. He rolled over onto his side and it didn't take long for him to fall fast asleep again.

I unlaced his shoes and pulled them off, but didn't dare touch anything else. I did stand back and watch him a moment, serene in his slumber. It brought a small smile to my lips after what had proven to be a very strange evening. I had somehow managed, in all my grand stupidity, to make Nick Stokes cry. I had made him revert back to childhood. How could I have been so cold?

With a tired sigh, I rubbed my eyes with one hand, grabbed a pillow off my bed, and prepared for a long, uncomfortable night on the couch.

---

The lumps in my couch meant that I was a pretty light sleeper that night. It wasn't so bad, though. I had crashed on that couch many times in the past, generally after a long shift when I didn't have the energy to make it all the way to my bedroom. But because of the fact that I was always scratching the surface of consciousness, I heard every sound in my apartment. Including a door closing.

My eyes opened and blinked a bit. I rolled my cramped shoulders and saw that it was still dark outside, although lighter shades of purple were creeping in through the blinds. It must not have been long before dawn. Still far too early to be awake. I never woke up until at least noon, and that was if I had to get up early for something before work.

I heard footsteps and didn't move an inch. My ears tuned to the sounds. Someone had entered the room. I didn't need to think hard who it had to be. He didn't touch the lights at all and I heard him head into the kitchen. He turned on the tap, and the sound of rushing water seemed to echo off the walls of my small apartment. And then, it was off again, and he was leaving. The door closed, and he was gone again.

I waited for a long time, my eyes wide open despite my fatigue. Eventually, I sat up and looked at my closed bedroom door. My breathing low and heavy, I carefully rose to my feet and moved towards it. I didn't knock. I didn't open it. I slowly raised my hand, my fingers spread out as I pressed the tips of them against the door, followed by my palm. And soon enough, the rest of me was pressed against it, too. My ear heard the sound of rushing air against the wood, the echoes of minute sounds of the mites that made their homes in my walls, but I did not hear a sound from him.

Moments later, I stumbled forward with a gasp as the door opened again and someone caught me before I hit the ground, my hands gripping strong forceps, and suddenly I was looking up into his glossy eyes, strands of aggravated blood vessels reaching up towards the coffee-brown irises. He didn't look angry, or even particularly upset. He just seemed... a little surprised.

I must have reflected the expression, because I know I definitely felt it. Suddenly, I couldn't breathe, and I wondered when he would say something, when he would ask what I was doing leaning against his door in the middle of the morning, as dawn's light silently slithered in through the windows of my apartment.

But he said nothing as he helped me stand upright on my own again, he simply pushed me aside and walked past me into the living room. I noticed then that he had his shoes on again, and his jacket in his arms.

"Where are you going?" I gasped when I realized I could breathe again.

He stopped, his back going rigid as he faced the front door of my apartment. "It's not fair of me to stay here. Not after how I treated you."

I couldn't suppress an ironic snort. "The way you treated me?" I asked. "If I recall, I'm the one that made you cry."

"This isn't... I knew I should never have done this. I should never have..." He turned around and looked at me with a strangely worn and frazzled expression, like a moth-eaten Christmas sweater that has been hiding in a drawer for years. "This isn't fair to you. I don't think that we should keep—"

"Sh!" I hushed him quickly, as if he were just about to say an unforgivable expletive. I rushed towards him, my feet carrying me there before my mind even realized what they were doing and I grasped his shoulders. He wasn't shaking anymore. He was solid as a rock. "No, Nick, please. I'm sorry for what I said, I really am, just..."

He shook his head. "I can't give you what you want. I can't be the person you want me to be."

"I don't want you to be anybody but who you are!" I returned desperately. "Please! I know it's hard for you, and I will try better to understand, I will understand. I shouldn't have exploded at you like I did. I was just—"

"You were tired of waiting," Nick said. "And you had every right to be."

"No, I didn't!" I returned. "No, Nick, I'm never right, not where you're concerned. I'm all wrong when it comes to you. You always win, remember?"

"Greg, do you even know what you're saying?"

"No, I don't," I confessed. "All I know is that I don't want you to leave."

"I don't deserve you..." he whispered, with such sincerity I felt a sharp fissure shoot across the center of my heart.

"That's not true," I uttered, because I knew it couldn't be. "Oh God, all I've ever wanted was to know you. Please, Nick, stay."

He reached up a tender hand and placed it against my cheek and I realized then how cold I must have felt to him, because his hand was like fire against my skin. Not scorching or painful, but sharp and purging, a cleansing warmth that spread like a virus through my bloodstream. I instinctively leaned into his touch, aware that I was now the one trembling.

His thumb brushed my cheekbone and I saw him smile. "I was afraid it would come to this. That's what I was worried about. I was worried if we waited too long, you would lose interest. That you wouldn't want me anymore. I just didn't realize it had already happened."

"It hasn't," I insisted, moving my hands down and pressing my palms into his chest. "It hasn't, and it never will. Nick, I still want you, I need you, I will always need you, please, Nicky, stay..."

His hand moved back, his fingers tracing my ear, pushing stray curls behind it. "You can't mean that."

"What I didn't mean was all the things I said that made you cry," I whispered. "But this... this is the truth."

"Greg, I'm sorry—" But I cut him off with my actions, my lips claiming his for my own, frantic and frightened, but I wasn't about to lose him, not now, not ever.

I knew he wanted this, because his jacket fell to the floor and his arms moved to embrace me, pressing against my back like he needed me there just as badly as I needed him. And he returned my anxious actions, his tongue dancing against mine, his whole body singing in tune with mine. I didn't even realize that I was stumbling backwards, and that he was following, that I was leading this dance, but where I was leading us to, I was unsure.

We moved through a door, his hands roaming all over me as I wrapped my arms around his neck, refusing to let him go, to let him leave. This wasn't over, couldn't be over, because I needed him too damn much. And then, the back of my knees knocked against something soft and covered in fabric and I knew where my sorry legs had carried us, where I had led him. He didn't seem to mind, though, because he leaned into me, forcing me first to sit and then lie backwards on the bed, his mouth moving down my neck just as I had done to him hours before. I closed my eyes, reeling inside of his attentions. I had wanted this for so long, needed this for so long, and yet...

"Nick..." I breathed as his hands moved underneath my shirt.

"Mm?" he replied, his lips vibrating against the skin over my collarbone, sending tingles down my spine. He tugged at my shirt and, helpless, I raised my arms and let him pull it off. He took that moment to strip off his own shirt. His hands clasped my wrists above my head before sliding down the lengths of my arms and then my sides, his hands gripping my hips where I was wearing nothing but my boxers. His mouth was traveling down my shoulder, lingering on my chest, and I closed my eyes, forgetting the protest I had been about to mutter, because he was doing this, and he wanted to do this, he must...

And then I felt something white hot fall onto my chest like acid rain and I opened my eyes because I knew exactly what it was. His hands still gripped my hips, his fingers clenching and biting into the skin, his mouth furiously ravaging me, and I knew that I should have stopped this long ago. I gently reached down, my hands softly stroking his hair before moving down to his chin, forcing him to look up at me.

I saw the shimmering streaks of water on his face and noticed the trails his tears had blazed across my chest. He was shaking again, and crying, and I knew this wasn't the time. And that was OK.

"You don't want this," I said.

"I do, so badly, I just don't know how..." he whimpered.

I smiled softly, my hands moving down beneath his arms and I pulled him up so we were face to face again, his hands on the bed by my shoulders to keep his weight off of me. My arms snaked around his torso and gently moved up and down his back. "Why are you crying?"

"Dream..." he muttered, then looked surprised, as if he hadn't meant to answer my question with the truth. He rolled off of me onto the side of the bed and stared at the ceiling, blinking the tears out of his eyes.

I turned onto my side, propping myself with my elbow. My hand glided across the surface of the bed and crawled up onto his chest where my fingers traced the lines there, feeling his lungs contract and expand. "Talk to me," I whispered.

His chest heaved and he sighed as my hand moved down the center of his abs to circle his naval. I watched it a moment and so did he, before my eyes roamed up to his eyes as I studied his expression.

"You don't want to hear about it," he said. "I shouldn't have mentioned it."

I smiled and inched a little bit closer to him on the bed. "You should know by now, Nick. I want to know everything about you."

He shook his head. "It doesn't really bother me all that much anymore."

"It's bothered you enough to want to distract yourself with sex. Sex with me, no less. That must mean something."

He turned his head and gave me a curious look. "Did you mean it when you said you loved me last night?"

Talk about a loaded question. "Probably," I answered, my eyes focusing again on the hand that was mapping out his chest. "I don't know." It was a lie. I knew, I was positive. I had always known.

"I don't know if I love you back," Nick whispered, "because 'love' isn't a word I really understand anymore. A lot of people have said that to me, and yet those same people have... scarred me."

"I would never hurt you, Nick," I told him honestly. "And if I did, then I would kick my own ass for it. Now tell me about this dream."

He shook his head. "It's just about... something that happened a long time ago. A recurring nightmare. I had it again tonight, and I couldn't get back to sleep. So I was going to go home, and then you... you came, and I..."

"I did. Do," I said suddenly, unsure of why I had been compelled to say it.

He blinked at me. "Do what?"

"Mean it," I explained. "When I said... when I say that I love you."

He slowly smiled, and his hand reached up to clasp the hand that was on his chest. "And if I'm capable of love... I think I would love you."

"You are," I said without missing a beat. "Capable." I snuggled up closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder as his arm encircled my own shoulders. "I can see it in you."

"Do you think I love you?"

"I know it," I said with a smirk. "Now. Your dream."

He pulled his arm away from my shoulders and rolled onto his side as I had done previously. I propped myself up again until we mirrored each other so he could look me in the eye straight on. I tilted my forehead against his and smiled encouragingly, my hand moving up his chest to his shoulder, and then down his wonderfully toned biceps.

"Remember when you told me about Tony?" I whispered, noticing he needed some encouragement. "And remember how it helped you feel a little better about everything?"

He sighed and gently leaned forward, his lips delicately brushing against mine before he pulled away again.

"OK," he sighed. I continued to stroke his arm, trying to reassure him that I would still be here at the end of his story. "I'm not going to go into details, though," he added hastily. "I can't, not yet. But when I was nine, there was this woman. She was a friend of a friend, and my mom asked her to babysit because all of my siblings were otherwise occupied. We were alone in the house. And I had to mind her. My mother and my big sister both told me that I had to do what she said..."

I was concerned as he trailed off and my hand slid down the length of his arm until I found his fingers. I took his hand and brought it gently to my lips. "You're safe in this room, Nick," I whispered, my breath dancing across his knuckles. "Nothing can hurt you here. Not when you're with me."

He smiled then, a warm and grateful grin that danced in his eyes as he reached out and tenderly stroked my hair. "You're right," he said, and I could hear the honesty ringing in his tone. "I feel it with you."

I placed my other hand over the one I held. "So go on."

He inhaled a shuddering breath before sighing. "I trusted her. I let her..." He closed his eyes and swallowed. My thumb ran over the back of his hand. I had the most disconcerting feeling that I knew what he was going to say, but he needed to say it. And I needed to hear him say it. "Her hands were... not where they should have been. And every night, those dark eyes, that mockingly innocent voice, it... In the dream, we're in the sky, and she's an angel, and she wraps her arms around me and becomes... something else. And then I start falling."

"Do you ever reach the bottom?" I asked.

He blinked at me. "No."

I smiled. "Good. That means you're not dead yet."

I saw him start trembling again and hushed him as I wrapped my arms around him, placing my chin on top of his head as he buried his face in my chest.

"You don't seem too surprised."

"I knew what you were going to say," I told him honestly, glad that I had kept my own voice from faltering. If he could see my face at that moment, he would notice that my brow was furrowed and my lips were pursed. At this rate, I'd get worry lines by forty. But my hand mechanically stroked his scalp, my palm brushing over the soft bristles of his hair as I tried to come to terms with this truth I didn't want to be true.

"I let her..."

"You didn't let her do anything," I said calmly. "Don't be an idiot. You know that. You're a CSI. You should know that no one lets anyone do anything." I closed my eyes, unconsciously holding him tighter. "People come, and they take. Take whatever they want. Money, drugs, sex, advantage... That's what she took, Nicky. Advantage."

I felt his breath dance across my skin and closed my eyes, savoring our closeness, and the silence that encompassed us like a heavy woolen blanket. It kept us warm and protected like a cocoon, and I wished we could stay in that bed like this forever. I didn't want him to speak. I didn't want him to throw off the covers that kept him close. I was worried that if he spoke, it would be to say goodbye, and he would be leaving again. And no attempt of mine would bring him back. Because he was worse than naked in my bed. He was exposed. With his jeans still on.

But it was an inevitability, and as is the frustrating case with inevitabilities, it finally occurred.

"Greg?"

I tensed, my arms constricting possessively. "Mm hm?"

As predicted, I felt him pull away, and I had to let him go. But he didn't go far. He moved just enough to be eyelevel with me again, and those soft orbs were drier than the desert we lived in. "I've slept with a number of women."

"Don't rub it in," I muttered.

"No. I mean..." And to my surprise, he laughed. "I've had sex before, and it's not that it was never intimate or..." He stopped himself, and smiled. I frowned at him curiously, trying to divine what he was trying to say when he moved forward, his soft, sweet lips met mine and he inhaled sharply, pulling me closer and I fell apart. This is all I had ever wanted from the beginning, for him to take control and seize me in his arms like I knew only he could do. We broke apart, but I hungered for more, gasping for air.

"I've never felt this close to another person," he whispered.

"Huh?" I'd lost track of the conversation.

He chuckled, and then moved further away from me, and I was scared he was leaving again. I opened my mouth to protest when he put a finger to my lips and moved back. He must have seen the disappointment in me because he smirked.

"I'll be back!" he assured me. "I want to give you something."

I waited impatiently for him to return, squirming on the bed, wondering what the hell he had gone to retrieve. And then, finally, he came back, holding the jacket that he had dropped on the floor earlier.

"As much as I appreciate the gesture, I already have a jacket," I said. "I want you."

But he shook his head, that beautiful smile stretching his lips as he crawled back onto the bed. On his hands and knees beside me, I tugged at his hand and he fell down with a laugh. He pulled something out of the pocket of the jacket. My breath hitched in my throat as I realized what it was.

I felt him take my hand and place the gift against my palm, my thumb closing over it as I brought up my other hand to clutch it, staring at it in awe. "I couldn't..." I breathed reverently, as if he had just handed me something holy.

"Why not?" he asked.

I couldn't speak as elation filled my lungs instead of air. "This is yours... It's Tony's." I looked down and my fingers traced the lettering of the title of Nick's Bible. The Catcher in the Rye.

His hands covered mine and he pushed it towards me. "It's yours now."

My eyes drifted upwards to gaze into his. "I love you so much." My voice cracked, but I didn't care. I needed to thank him, to show him what this meant, how this was so much more than anything I had ever received from anyone in the past. So I gave him the only thing I had left, and leaned over, pressing myself as close to him as I could as I clutched his gift to my chest. Our lips crashed together and his arms surrounded me.

He broke away a moment, leaving me to wonder why, when he said, "I don't deserve you," for the second time that night.

"Oh stop it," I said, but I was grinning too. "I mean you're adorable, with this whole thinking I'm too good for you thing, but... just shut up and kiss me, would you?"

And he did, without a single ounce of hesitation, and I knew that maybe he would need me to keep holding his hand as he walked down this road to recovery, but at that moment, beyond everything else, we belonged to each other, and he was unafraid, and I was proud of him.

THE END