Title: Losing Battle

Chapter 2

Author's Notes: Originally, this was going to be two parts, but Nick didn't cooperate, and Greg hasn't learned his lesson. So, it's going to be three parts. Greg's POV.


This is the first time I've seen Nick in nine days. Actually, that's not true. I did see him five days ago. He was standing in the hall talking to Warrick. Like a coward, I stayed out of sight—which is kind of what I'm doing right now—until Nick slapped Warrick on the shoulder and walked out the door.

Currently, Nick is standing in front of his locker, massaging the back of his neck. He probably slept on the couch last night. He always wakes up with a kink in his neck if he sleeps on the couch.

I, meanwhile, am standing just inside the shower room, hoping Nick doesn't notice me. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to bring my clothes in here with me. At least I'm spared the indignity of hiding back here dripping wet and in the buff.

After a few seconds, Nick tugs his jacket out of the locker, tosses it over his shoulder, and then sits down on the bench with a thud.

I'm such a coward. I should just go out there and tell Nick I want to talk things out. It's been over a week since I slammed out the door after catching him in a lip lock with Becca Miles from days. In that time, I've tried to put myself in Nick's place, tried to imagine what must've been going through his mind after I blew him off to spend time Sara. To be honest, though, I still don't know what to say to him. Maybe the pain is just too raw. For both of us.

Biting my bottom lip, I walk back into the shower room and climb into a dry stall. I hang my water-drenched towel over the top of the stall and lean against the chipped-paint surface with a thud. Clearing my throat, I brush the ball of my hand over my bare stomach, trying to catch the rogue droplets of water of that are trickling into the waistband of my jeans.

Closing my eyes tightly, I replay my last words to Nick, and his to me. "Screw you," I shouted, so pissed off that I wanted to explode. And Nick, Nick glared at me with more venom than I'd ever seen in his eyes. "In your dreams," he snapped. There we were…two grown men, supposedly in love. So what do we do? We shoot to kill. And as soon as we were both mortally wounded, I bolted out of the house like some overgrown, hormonal teenager.

Letting my body slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the cement floor of the shower stall, I let out a staggered breath. What have I done? What in the hell have I done? My head feels suddenly heavy, so I let it fall onto my knees.

I know how damn sensitive Nick is. And I know how damn hard he's been trying to make this thing between the two of us work. Nick doesn't do casual. He never has. Knowing Nick, he would've tried to make an honest woman out of Kristy Hopkins if she'd lived.

Blinking my eyes tight, I struggle to stave off the tears I know are coming. I clasp my hands against the back of my head and draw my knees closer to my chest. With a final hitch of my breath, I give in to the flood.

Nick's the crier in our relationship, not me. Big things make him cry. Little things make him cry. I swear, he cried during Shrek 2. In all the time Nick and I have known each other, though, I think he's seen me cry one time, and that was after I was blown across my lab. It's not that I don't cry. I do. I just make sure no one's around when I do it.

With a sense of abandon, I let myself sob for a while. Feels good, if I'm being honest. I've needed to let go for a while. I cry for me. I cry for Nick. I cry for our relationship. I cry for whatever happened to Ecklie to make him the kind of sour bastard who would split up our team.

After a few minutes. I hear someone coming, so I bite my bottom lip and try to silence the sobs.

Poking her head around the stall, Sara says, "Knock knock. Are you decent? 'Course, I've already seen it all."

I look up at Sara and blink several times. "Huh?"

Sara gazes at me for a moment, and then squats down beside me. "Hey, you okay, Greg?"

I nod.

Smiling, Sara says, "I've been looking for you. I wondered if maybe you drowned back here."

"Only in self-pity," I say, letting out a sharp laugh.

She squeezes my shoulder. With her index finger, Sara brushes at my tear-stained face. "Want to share?"

I shake my head.

"Greg," she says, depositing herself Indian style onto the floor. "Come on. What's going on?"

Closing my eyes, I ask, "Is Nick out there?"

Sara shakes her head. "He wasn't there when I came in. Why? You two have a fight?"

Laughing out of grief-induced insanity, I say, "Yeah. Yeah, we had a fight."

"What about?"

Swallowing, I look at Sara and wonder what she'd say if I told her the truth. Nick and I don't think anyone knows about us yet. We've worked pretty damn hard to keep our relationship quiet. Working around Neanderthals like Vartann and Cavaliere, we just figure it's easier. After we started getting serious, though, we did talk at length about telling our friends. We'd think they'd be all right with it, but we just never cranked up the nerve.

Well, Nick's already pissed at me. I might as well add outing him to Sara to the list.

Taking a breath, I say, "I walked in on Nick kissing Becca from the day shift."

Narrowing her eyes, Sara says, "Okay. So, you have a thing for Becca now?"

"No," I grimace. "She's a skank."

"Greg," Sara says, smacking me on the shoulder. "That's mean."

Rubbing my eyes, I say, "Well, it's true."

Sara lets out a breath. "Okay, well," she says "Nick may not have the best taste—"

Suddenly offended, I blurt, "I think he has fine taste, thank you."

Sara stares at me for a long moment, kind of the way Grissom would stare at a new bug lying tacked behind a glass case. Finally, she throws her hands up. "Greg, what are we talking about?"

Rubbing at a wet spot on my jeans, I fight the sudden urge to bolt out of the room. Summoning up what's left of my nerve, I blurt, "Nick and I are seeing each other. He got jealous about something, and so he wound up swapping spit with Becca."

After a moment, Sara says, "Wow. That's a lot of new information, Greg. How long have you two been seeing each other?"

"Two years," I mutter.

"Two years?" Sara moves over and plunks herself down next to me. "Why am I only hearing about this now?"

"It's just easier," I say, waving the question away. "It's probably over now anyway."

"Because you caught him cheating on you?"

"Well, he wasn't really cheating on me," I say, a little more harshly than I plan.

"You said he was kissing Becca."

"Please," I snap. "He wouldn't have slept with her."

Sara's sitting so close right now that I can feel the heat emanating off her skin. Biting my bottom lip, I shift my body away from hers.

Gazing at me for a moment, Sara runs her fingers through her hair. "Well, if you're not upset with him for kissing Becca, then what's up?"

I look up at the ceiling, checkered with mint green paint and spackle. Weird. Swallowing, I whisper, "Nick thinks I spend too much time with you."

She cocks her head at me. "What?"

Still not brave enough for eye contact, I continue to study the garish paint job on the ceiling. "Yeah, but whatever," I say. "Doesn't matter."

"It does to him, apparently," Sara says.

I lay my head back against the wall, and glance at Sara. "It's this damn shift split," I say. "We never get any time together, and I think he feels like I'm going to get bored with him or something." I rub my knuckle against the knee of my jeans. "But that's not even close to being true."

"When did things get rocky between you two?" Sara asks.

I shrug. "It finally hit a head about a week an a half ago." Shaking my head, I say, "But you know Nick. He's probably been bottling this up for a while." Swallowing, I take a deep breath, and then I blurt, "He thinks I have a thing for you."

Sara flashes a brief grin. "A thing? You and me?"

I roll my eyes. "Come on. It's not that preposterous, Sara. I mean, I don't." I wince and then add, "Sorry."

Smiling, Sara says, "Don't be. Did you tell Nick that?"

"I tried," I say, sitting up straighter. "I think I was screaming at him at the time, though."

Sara squeezes the fingers on my right hand. "Probably not the best way to calm his fears."

"No, probably not," I say.

"You want me to talk to him for you?" Sara asks.

I gaze at her for a moment. My God, I'm so tempted to just let her clean up some of the damage before I go to Nick. Shaking my head, I say, "No. No, I need to suck it up and face this by myself."


It feels weird to have to knock Nick's door. A little over a week ago, it was our door. I hadn't officially moved in or anything. But for all intents and purposes, this was the place I called home. I lean against the doorframe and wait for Nick to open the door. With my luck, though, he knows it's me, and he's waiting me out. I lay my hand across the doorknob, flirting for a moment with just pulling out my key and letting myself in. But the last time I did that…

Shaking my head, I take a step backward.

I'm about to go back to my car when the door finally swings open. Nick stands just inside the house, his thumb hooked through a belt loop in his blue jeans. He's clad in a white t-shirt, sleep-rumpled hair, and bare feet. He looks beautiful.

"G," Nick says, staring down at the floor.

"Hey, Nick," I says, hugging my arms across my chest in an effort to fight off the chill that's just swept over me. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah," Nick mumbles, his eyes still focused on the floor. "Just get off?"

"Yeah," I say, stepping into the house. I glance around the room, almost as if I expect it to be drastically different than it was nine days ago. "So, I, uh…wanted to talk about last week."

Licking his lips, Nick nods and turns slightly away from me. "Shoot."

Part of me wants to walk up to Nick, wrap my arms around his waist, and lay my head against his shoulder. In fact, I'm almost starving for the contact. But if I push Nick too early, he may shut down. So instead, I stay where I'm at. "Nicky," I say. "I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry."

"Mmm."

I run my hand through my hair. "I love you, Nicky, and…I didn't mean to take you for granted."

Nick still has his back to me, but I can see the tension in his shoulders ebb slightly. So at least I know he's listening to me.

"Nick," I say, chancing a step toward him. "Turn around so I can see you." When Nick doesn't answer, I take a couple more steps until I'm directly behind him. With my right thumb, I caress his upper arm. It's a small gesture, but I think we both need the physical connection. Nick doesn't pull away, so I keep it up, slowly stroking the skin just under the sleeve of his t-shirt.

After a few seconds, Nick slowly turns toward me. His cheeks are red, and his eyes are a little glassy. It's all I can do not to wrap him in a vice grip of hug right now.

"Why are you apologizing to me?" Nick asks, his voice faltering for a moment. "I shouldn't have brought her home, Greg. I shouldn't have even gone there." He clears his throat and reaches up to wipe the tear that's escaped from his eye. "I was just lonely."

"I know, baby," I say. "You tried to tell me that. You did. I just didn't want to hear you."

"It's my fault, Greg," Nick says, shaking his head. He lays his hand on his chest. "I'm the one who went out and got hammered. I'm the one who put myself into a situation I knew was wrong."

Trust Nick to blame himself.

Taking one of Nick's hands in mine, I say, "Well, I was pissed about that, Nick, yeah. And I had good reason." I lift his hand up and kiss his knuckles. "But I don't know that I wouldn't have done the same thing."

Nick doesn't say anything for a long time. Instead, he clamps down on his bottom lip and glances up at the ceiling. Finally, he clears his throat and says, "I don't know if this matters, but I wouldn't have slept with her. I was trying to get her off me when you came in."

Almost against my will, I grin at the thought of Nick trying to detach himself from Becca, who has quite a reputation, if Archie is to be believed.

Nick narrows his eyes. "What's so funny?"

Wiping the smile off my face, I kiss the palm of his hand. "Nothing," I say. Leaning forward to kiss his cheek, I ask. "Can we go sit down?"

Nodding, Nick plods into the kitchen and seats himself at the table. Okay, I was sort of hoping for the couch, but at least we're talking.

Lowering my body into a chair across from Nick, I let out a breath. So now what? I snatch the salt shaker off the table and start turning it around in my hands. I've never paid much attention to this thing before, but as it turns out, there's has a little picture of Texas engraved onto the front of the shaker. Kind of cheesy, if you think about it.

"Greg," Nick says, leaning forward. "We gonna talk?"

"Yeah," I say, depositing the shaker back onto the kitchen table. "Yeah, let's talk."

"What do you want to talk about?"

I stare at him. "I'm not sure," I say. "I guess I was sort of hoping that we'd sit down, and suddenly, everything would be okay."

"It doesn't work that way, G."

Shifting in my chair, I say, "No, I guess not. So…what do we do?"

Nick releases a breath and shakes his head. "I don't know."

THE END…?