Authors Notes: Just a story I wrote to go along with the song, "I Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You' by Colin Hay.
::Warning:: This story contains slash, so if you don't like that sort of thing, please don't read.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. CBS, Mr. Jerry B, and Mr. Anthony Z. own all characters and the shows writers own the scripts. No money is being made of this. Only my ideas are mine and are not used with the idea of harming/offending anyone. The idea of this story comes from a song by Colin Hay, and I do not own that song, nor do I own the idea.
Summary: Greg's thoughts through the course of a day after him and Nick have broken up.
Rating: PG.
Greg took a sip of his coffee, elbows resting on his kitchen table, bare feet firmly planted on the linoleum ground. The smell of the Blue Hawaiian coffee drifted upwards, waking him up with each breath. The silence of his house surrounded him, and as he drank the last few drops of the darkened liquid, he sighed.
Placing the cup down, Greg glanced across the tabletop to see the empty chair opposite of him. He wanted to say something, to say 'Good Morning' or just talk about plans for the evening. However, he knew that no response would come for whatever he said. Just silence. Slowly, he pulled himself up, leaving the cup to sit there while he got ready for another day of work.
Out in the field he had become reserved, distant. He said it was the job, the dreary situations leaking into his mind and making him somber in the process. After weeks of telling him this, he had actually started to believe it, and he was sure that others did too. Nobody gave him worried or concerned glances anymore, used to the extra presence.
Gregs eyes followed him, the one he pined after, even now. The past tore at his heart constantly, but on the exterior he was still the happy-go-lucky person he had always been. And Nick believed the mask, believed the lies. Believed everything he was told to make him think that Greg no longer needed him. But he did. He wanted, and needed, Nick. Every morning, when he woke up to an empty bed, he wanted that warmth which was still familiar to his body. Needed it. His eyes, and thoughts, were ripped from the man when Grissom called for him to help collect evidence.
Sitting at the newly polished bar, feet dangling a few inches above the ground, Greg leaned forward only slightly. Jacqui sat beside him, downing a shot of whiskey. He couldn't look at the stuff anymore, not since he had drunk for days on end. It had started out just to get rid of the memories, but then slowly it progressed into a painkiller for the headaches and broken heart.
Her eyes glanced at him a few times, he could feel them, but never enough to annoy him. She was worried, as she always had been, and as he sighed, motioning to the bartender for another root beer, she finally asked to spill. After a hesitant pause, Greg thought of what to say, and soon, it began pouring out. It was like going to the washroom after trapped in an elevator for twelve hours. The words flowed out of his mouth, and once he had finished, a couple glasses of root beer later, he was relieved to feel the weight lifted. Until the next time he had to go.
Falling through the air, he landed on his bed, mattress forming around his body. The coolness of the sheets made goosebumps rise on his skin, but it didn't matter. He didn't bother to pull the comforter over him, eyes starting to droop, now drifting into a light slumber.
He could see Nicks face, swimming just out of focus, lying on the pillow next to him. His eyes were closed, a soft snore emitting from him, face looking peaceful and carefree. Like a child. Greg wanted to reach out, caress that slightly flushed cheek, but when he went to move his arm, Nicks eyes sprang open. Laugher reached his ears, but Greg couldn't see his mouth moving, and it didn't sound like his own.
He was gone. Nicks face had vanished, his laughter still ringing in his ears. Staring at the ceiling, Greg breathed in deeply, these dreams not too uncommon. Turning his head, he glanced at the clock to see the time. Three a.m. Eyes moved to look at his dresser, and sitting innocently upon it were sunglasses. Nicks sunglasses, which Greg had snagged from the attic and worn around work one time.
Sighing, Greg looked back up towards the ceiling, thinking about earlier when he and Jacqui had been at the bar. A girl or two had offered their phone numbers, and even a guy had offered a ride home. Even after all the time that had passed since things had ended between him and Nick, he still couldn't imagine doing anything with anybody else. Maybe one day he'd be able to see the inside of another's bedroom, but as Greg lay there, thinking of a possible time frame, his mind found itself slowly shutting down just as the sun started to rise outside.
Once more he sat at his kitchen table, elbows resting on the top, feet firmly on the ground. Coffee cup was in his hand, as it always was with his wake up tradition, eyes staring over the rim and fixed on the empty chair. An image of Nick started to appear, sitting in the chair, but shaking his head, the image quickly disappeared. Sighing, Greg stood, finishing off the morning drink, and headed down the hall towards his bedroom. That image, along with everything else he faced within the course of a day, made it so much clearer in his mind that he didn't think he'd ever get over Nick.