.................................
Salvar: to save, to overcome, to preserve, to rescue, to cover, to pass
Salvarse: to survive, to escape
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: I got two questions/comments about the NG issue of coming out of the closet. To respond to Atticus's question and AppreciatesFineLabRats' comment, I haven't been in a situation similar to Nick and Greg. I'm a straight girl and have, instead, found myself on the other end of that issue -- being the person who wasn't told. In my case, I was (as I found out a few days ago) the girlfriend who didn't catch on. I don't want to get into too much detail, more for the sake of my ex-boyfriend's dignity (stuff like this is one of the many reasons that I try to keep my account as anonymous as possible). That said, both my ex and I have grown up in very supportive environments. Our high school was VERY pro-gay rights, and nobody in our group of friends was really homophobic. I really don't think my ex's parents are at all homophobic either. Still, he kept it a secret. I can't even begin to imagine how Nick would have felt, growing up in a conservative state, probably with a conservative family, and then going on to work in law enforcement. Again, I don't know very much about law enforcement culture, but I really don't think 100 percent of LVPD would stand behind Nick in that sort of situation.
More than anything, however, Nick and Greg's relationship woes are NOT all about coming out of the closet, which I realize I didn't adequately express in the last chapter. I think of that issue as more the tip of the iceberg. Overall, the problems Nick and Greg have faced in their relationship are a lot more universal -- they're two different, distinct personalities who are not equally invested in the relationship. Basically, they're in a perfectly normal slightly dysfunctional relationship. Their relationship will be explored in much greater depth later in the story. This chapter should give you a slightly better idea of their relationship. IMO, Relationships are seldom equal; there's always one person (in this case, Greg) who's more invested in it, and that tends to create problems. I think that tends to come out in this chapter.
As to the chapter, there is a Kleenex warning. Writing this chapter made me cry. I apologize ahead of time for the sadness though, again, please don't let it dissuade you from the rest of the story. I promise that it gets better (or, rather, happier). Standard disclaimers apply. Beta by LaughableBlackStorm. Title translates to Fifty Thousand Minutes. Enjoy!
CHAPTER 13- CINCUENTA MIL MINUTOS, PART 2
Nick stared at the locker with hatred and reverence.
It was Greg's locker -- had been Greg's locker, as he'd had to remind himself countless times over the past month.
He didn't want to remind himself. He didn't want it to be true. It couldn't be true. Even as the brutal images forced themselves through the stubborn dams of his mind, he willed it all away. It couldn't be true. But it was. Greg was too alive, too young. His happy laughter still bounced through Nick's mind. Nick still expected him to come home. He still remembered what his lover and best friend looked like. Therefore, Greg couldn't be dead.
Grief didn't make any sense. Heartbreak didn't make any sense. What happened to Greg -- that really didn't make sense -- how someone could just snuff out such a beautiful, kind, loving light -- and to do it so cruelly?
But Nick, in all his realism, couldn't wrap his head around the idea of Greg just not being there -- not being there when Grissom handed out assignments in the break room, not being there when they worked a case together or chatted in the locker room. Not be there waiting at home. It couldn't be real.
He wanted to reach into the locker and grab everything that used to be there -- to pass over it and love and fondle each remnant of his favorite ghost.
Nick stared back at the locker, pondering his options. It had been a month, and they had needed to clear out the space. But Nick couldn't. He hadn't been able to.
It had been a month since that horrific night. Exactly one month. Nick had wanted to skip work that day, but he also hadn't wanted to be stuck at home, alone with his thoughts.
Home. It felt so empty. A month later, it still felt so empty. No joy, no laughter, no flirtation. None of the famous Nana Olaf pancakes and cookies. No more chiding Greg for eating said cookies for breakfast. Nick chuckled at the memory, but the chuckles quickly turned to pain, as did most memories of Greg.
He was gone. Gone. Nick could repeat it to himself over and over again, but that wouldn't make it seem any truer in his mind. The truth couldn't seep through, even as Nick saw, once again, the blood and tears and sweat dripping down the pained body of his lover.
Yet he could never reconcile that memory with the man he had known and loved. What had happened, what they did to him -- those did not fit with the wacky, loving lab-tech-turned-field-mouse.
A month later, it still didn't make any sense.
The lab was silent. Ghostly. Eerie. Haunted.
Nick always came back to the lab when it was like this. He didn't care if it wasn't his shift. It just felt more right. The lab techs were in a meeting and most of the CSIs on shift were out on cases, or at least in evidence or interrogation rooms. The day and swing shift DNA techs were always working in the other DNA lab, leaving that familiar room open and available.
In the stillness of the two emptied rooms, the locker room and the night shift's DNA lab, Nick could always pretend.
He didn't need to see Greg to know that he was there. As much effort as Greg had put into his hair, his image was not -- was never -- what defined him. It was the noise and the motion that made him Greg Sanders.
Nick only needed to hear the gentle noises of the lab -- a click or a swoosh or a chirp -- coming from any direction, to know that Greg was there. He didn't need to actually hear words, physically spoken, because he knew Greg well enough to imagine the dialogues in his head. He didn't need to see a tangible Greg standing in front of him because Nick would never forget what he looked like.
Memories of their life together echoed off the walls of the two rooms, leaving Nick surrounded, submerged in haunted, fluorescent and inebriated amour.
But this time it felt different. Rich experiences, conversations and life with Greg were drowned out, interrupted in Nick's mind by fierce shards of flashbacks. Warrick and Catherine's words -- insisting that Greg was dead, that the case was closed, that his corpse would rot away somewhere, unloved -- cut through his imaginary world like the fists and feet and bullets that had cut through the corpse, now ghost, that Nick loved so much. And it hurt.
Flurries of conflicting thoughts resonated and bounced through the chambers of his subconscious, and he could never predict, nor control, which ones sliced through into his immediate awareness. It was a nightmare and his best dream, swirled together and come alive.
But, in each vibrant scene of imaginations' mélanges, it was the immediate words -- still sharp and focused in his mind -- that cut through and lingered furthest.
Even the empty locker room, where they'd shared one of their first, and favorite, kisses, held no restitution to his former state of pseudo-sanity, and all he was left with was noxious, all-pervasive, obliterating grief.
His friends' words were a razor, shredding his fantasy of denial once and for all.
Nick stared at the now-empty locker. It was all clean, though it would only be a matter of time before Wendy made it hers. No trace of Greg. But the smell...
He sniffed the air. It smelled like Greg's hair gel.
xxxxxxx
"Geez, Greggo. What's takin' ya so long in there? You're like a freakin' woman, takin' an hour in the bathroom."
A response came from the closed door. "Oh, come on. Like you love the way my hair stands up."
Nick rolled his eyes. "For your information, I notice your eyes a lot more. Seriously. You really think I care about how your hair looks? I just want to get out the door."
"Well, we go in separate cars anyways, so what's the difference?"
Oh no, Nick had thought. Not this discussion again... He went for the door. Locked. With expert CSI skill, he reached for a paper clip. Well, there's no law against breaking in to your own bathroom, he thought. The door popped open, revealing a shirtless Greg staring carefully up into the mirror as he pinched what looked to be three individual pieces of hair, all of which were covered in gel, and held the pieces up.
"There's a reason I locked the door," he said without even looking up at Nick.
"Like I haven't seen you without a shirt on before," Nick responded with a smirk.
Greg rolled his eyes. "But you comin' in here removes the mystique of my hair care routine."
Nick guffawed. "Mystique, eh?"
"Yes," Greg said, biting his lip as he moved on to the next few hairs.
Nick rolled his eyes. Eventually, he thought, he would convince Greg that Greg's mystique had very little to do with "zesty"-scented hair gel.
Nick chuckled, staring at the locker. Later that day, he had finally convinced Greg that hair gel was unnecessary, though his method had been of... arguable morals...
Greg had been immersed in his case -- stressed out, really. Finally a CSI 1, he was determined to prove himself. A little too determined, Nick thought. Greg pulled ridiculous hours on his cases. Nick knew it was enough when Greg had Sara beat for overtime that month. And Sara, Nick had insisted, had an excuse. Her boyfriend was a fellow workaholic, and he wouldn't be waiting at home for her. Greg just gave Nick a mischievous smile.
"Then why don't you go home? You sure aren't waiting for me at home right now."
Nick rolled his eyes.
"Really! How do you know I'm not just working here until you do, so you'll have to make dinner and put the kids to bed by the time I get home?"
Nick chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, Mr. Genius. I'd say, first of all, I know that because the kids you speak of are two cockroaches you adopted from Grissom that don't exactly need to be tucked in."
Greg glared. "That's the second time this conversation you've mentioned Grissom. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were cheating on me with him."
"And second," he leaned in to whisper in Greg's ears conspiratorially. "I don't think you wear the pants in this relationship."
Greg glared harder, his tips of his dark eyebrows almost touching his impossibly long eyelashes.
"And the real reason you know I'm not cheating with Grissom is --"
"You wouldn't be able to handle that many cockroaches."
"Exactly."
"You know, you'd have more time to work if you didn't take an hour fixing your spiky hair."
Greg raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Yes."
"I'd have more time to spend fixing your breakfast, you mean, Mr." -- Greg finished his sentence in a high-pitched vocal imitation -- "I-wear-the-pants-in-this-relationship."
Nick chuckled. "I'd love to actually have breakfast with you every once in a while." He added in an even more high-pitched voice, "I'll even make you your favorite Belgian waffles, honey."
Greg cringed. "If I never have to hear you sound like Catherine saying 'honey' again, I'll be happy to eat breakfast with you. But you will be cooking."
Greg had stopped spiking his hair after that, and eventually went to the salon to get it highlighted differently. Nick couldn't decide whether he liked the shaggy look or the spiky look better on Greg, but he did know the longer hair had been easier to grab. Then again, he didn't mind it when Greg had cut his hair short and simple. It saved time to spend in so many other ways... He lost himself in fantasies of that perfect, highlighted or not, spiked or shaggy, delicious hair, and how it felt in his hands as he --
"No," Nick told himself. He stared back at the locker, smelling the gel again. It brought back too many memories. "It wasn't supposed to go like this..."
Choking back tears, he fled the locker room.
THE CASINO
Louder yelling emerged, and, in a whirlwind, a heavy load fell to the ground with a groan.
All Nick saw was red.
They sat in silence. Nick watched Catherine and Greg weave in and out of consciousness, terrified. He couldn't tolerate it.
Carefully, and slowly, he inched toward his half-prostrate lover, moving a comforting hand over Greg's flushed forehead as he turned the younger man around on the ground.
Unfocused eyes wandered, gently, yet frantically ambling through and past Greg's line of sight.
"Come on, Greggo. Stay with me." Nick could feel the tears gathering in his eyes.
"Tell Cath," Greg rasped out. "Hafto tell Cath."
"Tell Cath what?"
"Thank you... keep... promise." Greg nodded his head as if verifying the message -- which Nick still didn't understand. "And thank... for being there... being mentor... being friend... being mother... most of all, for making this job fun."
Nick now understood what Greg was trying to do -- say his goodbyes -- and Nick would have none of it.
"Greg, no. You're not going to die. Don't give up yet."
Greg stared up at him forlornly, clearly not believing him. He reached up a hand to cover Nick's mouth, trying to shush him. He wagged the pointer finger of his other hand, clearly willing Nick not to speak, and to let Greg finish.
"Thank Griss..." Greg cleared his throat, and seemed to be regaining his voice -- a good sign. "Thank Griss for giving me the chance. For teaching me so much. For keeping me in line. Tell him..." Greg cracked a smile -- Nick didn't know how he did it. "Tell him... I would have gotten him a life supply of chocolate-covered... grasshoppers for his wedding present... and that I had the best toast lined up." Greg laughed, though it came out as more of a painful hack.
Nick sat silently, waiting for the words to end, so that he could convince Greg that none of this was necessary.
"Tell Sara sorry. She's had too many people die on her already. Tell her to keep being strong, and that Grissom will come around eventually, but if he doesn't, she should still come out and kick his sorry, bug-eating ass. And tell her thanks for being a best friend.
"Tell Wendy good luck. I know she can do it. I know she'll kick butt. More than I kicked. And that I'm honored that she's following in my footsteps.
"And Warrick..." Greg looked into Nick's eyes with clear focus and intentions. "Tell Warrick that he was right about Thackeray. He'll know what I mean."
Greg breathed out with a scratchy throat. Nick knew part of the reason lay with the screams forced out but, seeing the confused eyes, he knew there was something more. The edge of crimson sneaking over thin pink lips, already bruised from biting down to stifle screams, confirmed his unfortunate conjecture.
"Come on, Greg." Nick rubbed the sweaty, blood- and tear-stained forehead below him vigorously. "Please. Greggo. I've gotcha. Please." He pushed back tears yet again. "Please don't die on me."
Another scratched murmur greeted him.
Nick turned Greg's head around. He didn't want to look into the pained eyes, not when they were that way. More practically, he didn't want Greg to choke on the blood. He could only hope the blood came from Greg's mouth, rather than up through his throat, from internal organs.
Nick began stroking Greg's shoulders, covering the feeble body in front of him with any means of warmth that he could think of.
Greg let loose a cough, which quickly turned into dry heaving. Greg winced, gripping his stomach at every movement, leaving even more bitter possibilities for the cause in Nick's mind.
Nick's stomach churned at the possibilities and Nick stuttered as he tried to comfort his lover and best friend.
"St--stay with me. P-please."
He was surprised to see Greg twist his neck, wincing less at the motion, before staring up at Nick. His eyes were suddenly, surprisingly focused, but it did little to alleviate Nick's concerns. All he saw in the gaze was pain, resentment, sorrow and, worst of all, acquiescence.
"Ah..." Whatever Greg was trying or not trying to say was cut off by another cough, and Nick could see a few more specks of blood oozing out.
Greg looked up imploringly, begging Nick to understand, before stumbling over his words again. His mouth was wide, and he looked pained at every movement of his jaw.
"Ah..." Greg let loose another pained sob, clearly trying to repress more screams and hold down the no doubt excruciating pains.
"N-Nicky," he whispered, voice husky and garbled. He was clearly putting much effort into looking Nick in the eye. The pain in Greg's eyes was one of the most excruciating things Nick had ever witnessed. Greg shakily reached a hand up to cup Nick's face, even as the hand trembled.
"I-- I-- mm -- I'm sorry," Greg finally whispered.
Nick didn't know how to respond.
"F-for what?" he got out shakily.
Greg blinked his eyes slowly, staring off in to space, or at the door -- away from Nick.
"I'm sorry," Greg repeated, his voice gaining strength. He gripped Nick's hand, and Nick was relieved to feel so much strength still in the younger CSI's hand.
"You have nothing to --"
Nick was interrupted by a surprisingly lucid stare from Greg, and a hand pushing up to cover Nick's mouth again. Greg shook his head at Nick, clearly willing his boyfriend not to speak.
Nick nodded quietly, waiting.
Greg took a deep breath. "You have to promise me." He still avoided Nick's gaze, even as he spoke, voice drenched in emotion. "Promise me you'll..."
He paused, his eyes welling with tears, but he finally managed to look Nick in the eyes.
"Promise me you'll keep going." The pitch of his voice grew higher as the last words flew out. "Promise me --"
He paused again, clearly thinking. Nick didn't know whether to cry or breathe a happy sigh of relief when Greg crinkled his brow -- he looked so cute when he did that.
Greg's voice was still scratchy. "I know a lot of people... say that they don't want to be forgotten," he started and paused again.
Nick couldn't see where he was going.
"But... you have to keep living, Nick. Please."
Nick stared at him, still confused.
"You can forget me."
Nick gagged on the response he couldn't possibly come up with and that certainly wouldn't come out.
"You're a great guy, Nick. I -- I wanted..."
Tears reappeared on Greg's face. He had clearly long given up on holding back the tears, but he still maintained the fight against loud sobs, opting instead for as dignified an exit as possible.
Greg cleared his throat, blinked away tears and continued. "I wanted to be the one... to be with you. To grow old... and love you forever... with you. But... I should have known it wouldn't work out. You deserve love -- someone who loves you --" Greg paused. "But someone that you can love also."
Nick stared back, still speechless.
Greg's voice grew higher -- more pained -- under his boyfriend's stare, and under the desolate circumstances. "Promise me you'll live your life. Find somebody."
The next words came with fortitude, and a strong, sturdy gaze into Nick's eyes.
"You have to forget about me. I've heard what people say, but remembering is overrated. You deserve to be happy, Nick."
Nick stared back, tears filling up his eyes as he finally realized what Greg was trying to say.
Greg seemed to be trying to speak again -- the same words, approximately -- as if trying to convince himself as well as Nick. Nick knew now, even as he couldn't imagine, just how painful and difficult of a message this was for Greg to deliver.
"I wanted to be... with you. But I can't. I never could. And I know it now." He paused, rolling his lips back to bite back tears. "You..."
Greg laid a gentle hand over Nick's, but held back more tears. "Whoever you find... they'll be lucky. You're a great guy, Nick. Go find someone -- a... guy... or a girl -- a lady. Someone good."
Nick could tell the words were genuine, and that was what made it all the harder to hear.
"Whoever they are, they'll be lucky to have you." Nick could hear the tears that Greg was barely holding back in his voice. "Someone that lucky -- they can tell the world about you. They should. Find someone who can actually make you happy -- like I couldn't."
Nick moved to protest, but couldn't. Greg continued.
"Find someone you can be proud to be with. Who can make you smile every time you look at them." He looked wistful for a moment. "I know... I know what we had wasn't perfect. It never was. But you made me happy. Find someone who can do the same for you." Greg turned his head to let the tears fall away, as best he could. "It's a wonderful feeling, trust me. And you deserve to feel that way, Nick. You deserve to be happy Nick. Promise me --" Two tears stuck in Greg's eyes as he looked up, his gaze so sad, but, more than anything, so strong and resolute; so determined. "Promise me you'll be happy."
It was Nick who finally lost it, breaking into loud sobs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Catherine look up sympathetically.
"Greg, I --" He barely got the words out, in between sobs, before he was interrupted by Greg's gentle shushing shake of the head.
"No, Nick. Stop." The words were whispered so softly and sweetly.
Greg gulped again and regained his composure, which, in turn, forced Nick to do the same. "Greg, I -- I, I love y--"
"Don't say that just because I'm dying." Greg shushed him again, though his gaze remained transfixed on some spot across the room. "Not if -- when -- you don't mean it."
Holding back his own tears was now impossible, and Nick stuttered over any trace of a response. "Ah-- ah -- I..."
Choking back a maelstrom of tears, he finally gave up on words and just settled for stroking Greg's forehead as he maneuvered Greg's head to, once again, lie sideways, parallel to the ground, to ensure that Greg's airway stayed clear.
Greg sobbed again, this time more loudly.
The door opened again. Ari angrily cast a walkie-talkie into Catherine's hands, and it was painfully obvious what had happened.
Ari approached Nick and Greg, walking slowly -- deliberately -- over, to face Greg.
"You ready?" His stare was penetrating, but unreadable.
Greg nodded, slowly and weakly, giving Nick one last long, sad stare. As tears leaked out of Greg's eyes, he reached up a trembling, bloody hand to gently caress the side of Nick's face.
"I'm sorry, Nicky."
Nick didn't have a chance to respond before Ari was prying Greg out of his arms. "Wh-- what -- why?" His words stumbled out.
"We're putting him out of his misery."
Nick gasped. "N -- no -- no!"
"Too late now. He already agreed. Didn't you, bitch?"
Greg sobbed, but Nick couldn't mistake the small nod.
"Greg no!"
Greg's last stare conveyed all apologies, as he was half-dragged, half-carried out of the room, into the parking lot.
Sixty seconds later, Nick heard the gunshot, and the short, pained scream.
PRESENT
Everything was a blur. He had no idea where to go. Each room of the lab was another container of invisible, intangible memories, capable of opening another can of worms for Nick, should he choose to enter. Spinning around, he could see no escape. The lab techs' meeting had clearly ended, and he found himself interspersed in clumps of people, all traversing LVPD for whatever reason.
Nick escaped to his car. Pushing his head back against the worn, polyester seat, he closed his eyes and hoped that the memories would find silence, but it was little use.
He took a deep breath and tried to reassure himself of his next move. But what is my next move? he asked himself. His own cases, suddenly, meant nothing. They were just notches on a long, long ladder paving his way towards whatever his dull destiny entailed. He had no need for it. He didn't want to climb his ladder alone.
Words continued to assault him.
"Closure, Nicky. You've got to find closure." Warrick. Where had he come from? How come Nick didn't talk to him so much anymore? Why did he care?
"The case... the case is closed, Nick. I'm sorry... The case is closed." That was Catherine, swinging her arm up and around him, trying to halt his fall in a strong embrace. But he was so ready to fall... or was he?
He had wanted to be buried next to Greg, so that their ladders to... wherever it was... still, no matter the time, sat side by side. But Greg had no burial, no coffin, no closure. And there was nobody to get it for him. Nick stared back into the building, imagining the ghost waiting for him, on some other side. Imagining the lonely tombstone. The one that would say Greg was a beloved son. Thirty-three years and just a son -- nobody else listed as loving him.
Greg deserved closure, and Nick wouldn't fall until he got that. It was the least he could do for his beloved ghost.
Tearing out of the car and back into the lab with a fury, Nick found his last case. Frantically, he reached for his journal and retraced every piece of memory from the night. That night.
Sixteen hours later, by the time the rest of night shift had filtered in, every potential piece of evidence to be found from the casino heist had been recorded in Nick's journal. And Nick was a man with a mission.
Returning to the locker room, he reached for the backpack, filled generously by Warrick with the contents of Greg's locker. He looked at the locker with a smile.
"I'm gonna find you, Greggo. I don't care if the Feds gave up. I'll find you. I love you. And I'm not ashamed of it."
END OF PART 1
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to AppreciatesFineLabRats (love the screen name XP), LostLadyKnight, SuzSeb, Lil'SpenceFan, Atticus, Marifw, LittleWing, QueenOfTheUniverse and Longas91 for reviews on the last chapter! Props to another reader (who will remain anonymous, this time, because they emailed me and didn't leave a screenname) for picking up on a special clue for later in the story. Thanks especially for you guys' feedback on the transition marks. It was very useful, especially in the construction of this chapter (and in assuaging my concerns about the previous one).
~Harper
P.S. Please review!