Title: Tainted Love (11/12)
Author: Emono
Fandom: CSI: Las Vegas
Rating: NC-16
Pairing: Warrick/Greg (Grerrick), Grissom/Archie
Summary: The past comes back to haunt the boys.
Beta: gil_follower
Warnings: character death, angst, violence
Disclaimer: CSI is guarded by the Card Soldiers from Alice in Wonderland, even if they ARE easy to beat in Kingdom Hearts J
Word Count: 2195
*Touch me baby, tainted love
Touch me baby, tainted love*
Klesla was fired by the end of the week, sent packing with his tail between his legs. But of course, he couldn't leave without exposing a truth about Bobby. They all had been sad to see the Ballistics Expert go, but none of them could ever truly forgive him for letting Stokes get away. Greg had even hugged the man before he left, both whispering how sorry they were things had to turn out the way they did.
"Why, Bobby?"
"…he had dirt on me you'd never believe, Greg. I owed him one last huge favor. I just prayed he wouldn' come back for me because of it. He coulda had me do a helluva lot worse than what I done."
Greg had understood, he didn't wish to press charges and Jim honored the request.
They had hired a new girl already, a Southern bell who went by the name Rosaline Duquesne. Grissom had informed the team that she was a cousin of Calleigh Duquesne, who was an amazing success down in Miami. So they accepted her, albeit reluctantly. She couldn't have been more fiery, more cute. Unlike her cousin, her platinum blonde hair was cropped short and her eyes were a deep jade. Greg had immediately hit it off with her, and the team soon followed.
So now they no longer had to worry about Nick's influence, after a full year and a half. They couldn't be more free, more happy. Greg laughed easier, and Warrick wasn't a jealous buzz of nerves anymore. All threats were gone, and they were content to catching twisted criminals in Sin City. They didn't think a thing could go wrong…
…yeah, they were that naïve.
»*»
Warrick jerked harshly, breath catching in his throat. His eyes sapped open, sweat sheening along his bare chest and forehead. He was panting, but he was safe at home…in his bed…with his over. Greg was curled along his side, nuzzled into shoulder and had one hand in the crook of the darker man's arm. Warrick looked around frantically, taking in their shared room. The thick, black curtains kept the afternoon sun out.
Warrick calmed, realizing he was safe…that Greg was safe. The shift had been long, he was tired, he should be passed out right now. They were both bare and clean from their shared shower, and if he concentrated hard enough he could still taste his lover on his tongue…chocolate and Blue Hawaiian coffee.
So what had awoken him so suddenly?
There.
A movement, in the corner by the closet. He squinted in the muted light. But his eyes just wouldn't adjust, and he couldn't tell the outline of a figure from the length of the lamp. After two heart shuttering moments, Warrick sighed out hard and scowled.
He was being ridiculous, there was no one.
"Hey 'Rick."
That thick Texan drawl…one he hadn't heard in months. Wrath flooded through him, and he rolled out of bed. Warrick nearly growled, yanking on a spare set of boxer shorts on the floor. Had he truly come back? Did he dare show his fuckin' face again? Here? In his…their home?!
And there the was.
Nick stepped out of the shadows like any good antagonist in any cheesy novel, a small smile on his face. Warrick expected him to look haggard, but he still looked good. He was well-fed, hi hair was cut perfectly, and he was clean shaven. His clothes were rumpled, but clear. He had his hands clasped behind his back in mock-innocence.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you?" Warrick growled, pulling his piece off the dresser and keeping it at his side.
"Oh 'Rick, don't be like that" Nick approached slowly, looking up at the man through his lashes.
"You better back off, Stokes" Warrick huffed when the man got closer. He was about to step away when Greg made a noise, distracting him. He looked over, watching as his lover vainly searched for him by groping at the sheets. Greg whined, but contentedly clutched Warrick's pillow and snuggled into it.
"Come on, Warrick" Nick hooked his strong arms around the taller man's shoulders, lips hovering over the man's jaw "You can't say you didn't enjoy it at a time?"
Blurry, abstract memories flooded Warrick. A drunken weekend with Nick, the man's apartment, more beer…more beer…lips on his, his hands on lean hips…a wall, more beer, a bed…and then waking up on Monday with a heavy hangover…
"I don't remember that and you know it" Warrick hissed venomously "After what you fuckin' did to Greg, I should choke the life right out of you."
"You wouldn't. There was a time when you wanted me, Warrick, you can't deny it!" Nick shoved him away, voice raising and stirring Greg out of sleep "There was a time when I was all you needed! You can't love Greg, not after I worked so hard!"
"Warrick?" Greg murmured, stretching on the bed before blinking up at the scene by the bed. Disbelieve chased concern across his face, followed by pure fear chasing disbelief again. "Fuck no, not again, this can't be-"
"You think he loves you?' Nick spat "He doesn't love you, you're just new."
"You're sick" Warrick advanced on the Southern man "I'm taking you in, Stokes, don't make me hurt you."
"You won't" Nick retorted, then his angry doe eyes fell on the man on the bed "But you, I'll fuckin' kill you!"
Nick lunged on Greg, covering the brunette's nude form over the sheets, and wrapping his calloused hands around his throat. Greg's eyes bugged, hands immediately flying up to enclose over the thick words. But it was to no avail, Nick clearly had the upper hand in strength and crazy (crazy was always good to have when fighting.) The younger man choked pitiably, then thrashed beneath the Southerner's grip. He made coarse sounds in the back of his throat, tears coming to his eyes as he desperately tried to take a breath. Those hands were too strong, too willed, he couldn't break free.
It seemed as if the room had captured the magic of lightening, a brief flash…a spark even…of light illuminated the two figures. A crack like the lowest bass note in a heavy metal rock song rang out, though multiplied and sharpened a dozen times. Greg wanted to close his eyes, really he did, but he frozen in place by the sudden assault on his senses. Nick went limp above him, dark eyes impossibly wide. The death-metal grip on his neck loosened gradually, he sucked in a breath of air like an addict after a week without gratification. As the spots disappeared from his vision, he realized Nick wasn't moving away. The man was gaping like a fish, a hand pressed to his heart and clenching tightly. He stared at Greg a moment longer, then fell towards the right of the younger CSI…his larger frame pinning the man down into the bed.
Warrick dropped the smoking gun from his trembling digits, rushing forward and pulling his squirming lover out from under the other man. Greg clung tightly to him, and they stumbled backwards into the wall. Greg stared wide-eyed at the scene, disbelief etched into every line of his face. A blossom of blood and cloth was sprouting out from Nick's back, right there between his spin and shoulder blade.
Pale, trembling digits clutched at a bare, dark shoulder, "R-Rick…?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" Warrick chanted softly, arms wrapped securely around his lover.
Greg started shaking horribly, just when he realized Nick was dead on their bed. Nick was face-down in the sheets, the blood soaking the material like a dark crimson on a blank canvas. His fist was still pressed into the bed, clutching his heart.
"Oh God, 'Rick!" Greg shook his lover, fists gripping his shoulders almost painfully "You killed him! You kiled him!" He buried his face in the man's chest, thick tears streaming down his face "They'll take you away, Warrick! They'll take you away from me for this!"
"Hush, hush" Warrick murmured sweetly, backing them up until his back hit the wall. They collapsed on the floor together, clinging onto one another and making small sounds of distress. Greg curled up on his lover's lap, face buried in his neck and whimpering about losing him. Warrick only clung to the slighter man, eyes fixated on the body on their bed.
Unaware to the, their neighbor was calling 911 about the noise in the apartment.
»*»
Next Night
Warrick left the precinct, Brass looking after him sadly. The black man made sure he was out of sight of the security cameras before pausing, putting a hand over his neck and rolling it. It had been a long day, Brass had kept him for his own safety. He hadn't been allowed to talk to anyone but Brass, on Grissom's orders, about Stokes' death. Thankfully, Brass had got him off on self-defense chargers, and Greg had been released much earlier than him.
He got to his car, fishing the keys out of his pocket and keeping his head bowed. When he looked up, he found his lover there. Greg was wearing a dark green hoody, the hood up over his hair and shadowing his face a little in the dim light of the parking lot. He had on a pair of jeans that were too big for him (and Warrick suspecting they were his own) and he had his hands shoved in his hoody. Greg looked up at him as well, nearly pouting he looked so sullen.
Warrick noted how much he looked like that scared little lab rat from so long ago.
"Greg" Warrick leaned up against the car beside him, looking him over "Babe, what are you doing here? You should be at home-"
"We can't go home" Greg's voice was hoarse, his eyes were still tinged red from all the crying he had done that day "It's blocked off as a crime scene. Catherine just finished up there, and she got the best cleaning crew to get rid of…get rid of the blood."
Warrick sighed, he had almost forgotten, "Where have you been all day?"
"With your Grandma" Greg smiled a little "Papa Olaf came by a visit, he sends his love."
Warrick smiled softly too, "How did they get along?"
"Oh, she adores him…he admires her" Greg chuckled, but it was a raw sound that made him wince "Papa Olaf has no idea how she raised a brat like you."
Warrick leant closer, their shoulders pressed now, "I bet we could bunk at Griss's for a while, he's got some room to spare-"
"I'm moving" Greg stated defensively.
Warrick looked like he had been sucker-punched, "What? You're moving out? You're leaving me because killed the man who-!"
"Stop!" Greg's voice was pleading, tearful "Don't! Just don't! I didn't mean that, I love you 'Rick. But…I can't live there anymore. Can we…can we move? Please?"
Greg's voice broke on the last word, he reached up and pulled the hood further down over his face as he bowed his head and began to cry, "I can't sleep in that bed again, not after that…I thought I was over this, but I'm not, Warrick. I'm scared, I'm sick with it…can we just find a new place together?"
Warrick took the slighter man into his arms, letting him bury his face into his shoulder and wrap his arms around his waist. Greg cried into his lover's shoulder, letting all his weight rest in the solidness of the man's body. Warrick held him easily, keeping him grounded with firm hands on his waist and in the middle of his back. This man, his Warrick, killed for him last night…he shot Nick straight in the back while the bastard was on top of him. All because he was too weak to defend himself, because he hadn't been able to breath…
"Shh, baby, shh" Warrick cooed "I'm not leaving you, you'll need a helluva lot more than this to get rid of me. I'm not being charged with anything, neither of you. If you want a move, we'll move, maybe…even…a house instead of an apartment."Greg choked out a laugh against his shoulder, gripping his lover tighter, "You d-don't have to say things just t-to make me feeling bet-*hiccup*-ter."
"No, babe, I'm not lying" Warrick pulled away, cupping the man's tear-slicked cheeks between his hands and looking him dead in the eye. We've got money stashed away, and I bet Griss would help us if we needed it. Unless you don't want to?"
"Please" Greg wrapped his arms around the man's neck, stealing a hot kiss before grinning "I want to live with you permanently."
TBC