Sighing, Greg turned his attention back to the boxes sitting in front of him. Losing himself in daydreams wasn't going to help him get things packed up any quicker. And the quicker this was sorted out and he could move on, the better. Without thinking about it, his thumb moved to caress the ring finger on his left hand. God, it still felt so weird, so vacant, and he wondered if the callous there would ever disappear. Seven years was a long time to wear a piece of jewellery, certainly long enough for him to feel naked now that it was gone.
Reaching back into the bookshelf, he started pulling out the travel guides, placing each gently into the open box. He grabbed the one for Italy and a small, sad smile crossed his face as he remembered dragging Nick the wrong way through the Gallerie dell'Accademia in Venice, looking for his favourite painting. Placing the guide into the container with all the others, he caught himself wishing that it was as easy to box up the memories, just put the last ten years into a crate and leave them in an unused corner of his mind to gather dust and be remembered nevermore.
But it wasn't that easy. In fact, easy was the last word he'd use to describe what was happening, what he was going through. The sleepless nights, lying awake trying not to let his mind wander to that other bed, the one with two warm bodies in it. Bodies wrapped around each other, moving together, sweat glistening in the moonlight. The whispered words, cries of passion that used to be for him.
Only him.
He shook his head slightly as if that would help to clear his thoughts. Ha! He knew the only thing that would stop him thinking about it was sleep. And that just wasn't happening. It wasn't like he could even lose himself in his work. He'd always thought that it was a bonus they worked in the same place. Now it was a torture. Every time he walked into the building he held his breath, just in case. He knew it was unlikely that he'd see him, not with the transfer to days and all, but still… there were always double shifts to be worked and you could never really predict what was going to happen in a job like theirs. And then there were the looks from his colleagues, people he once would have called friends. But now he couldn't help wonder if they'd known and it made him distance himself from them. He knew they were concerned for him, they told him so, "Anything you need Greg, just ask," and more than once he'd walked in on them talking about him in hushed tones. It was strange, he'd never minded being the subject of office gossip before, keep them guessing, move the target so they never got to know the real you. That had changed, of course, in the past few years, now they did know the real him and they knew the reasons he had shattered into a million pieces.
Like glass dropped on tile.
Padding over to the stereo he grabbed a CD and put it on, volume set to loud, figuring that at least this way he wouldn't be able to hear his own thoughts. He didn't really give a flying fuck what the neighbours thought about it, they wouldn't be his neighbours for much longer anyway.
Making his way back over to the packing boxes he noticed a small, shiny rectangle on the floor. Leaning down he picked it up and turned it over, breath catching in his throat when he saw what it was. A photo, taken on that day almost seven years ago, it must have fallen out of the album when he was packing it. He sat down heavily on the floor recalling that day, that photo.
It had been hot, just over 100°, even at 11am. Friends gathered in their finest, laughing and chatting happily in the shade of the trees. He remembered being amazed and delighted that all these people had come so far to be there for them, to help them celebrate their joy. The ceremony had passed in a blur of tears and smiles, held hands and whispered promises. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he remembered their escape into the cool rainforest glade for the photos they'd had taken. Cath and Warrick, Sara and Grissom and them, one big happy family.
If only he could have seen the future.
The reception, more like a party really, just a bunch of friends chatting and hanging out by the pool. Oh, there had been the formal bit, the speeches and the toasts to a long and happy life together, but mostly it was just people relaxing and celebrating. Enjoying themselves, the way they had both wanted it to be.
He glanced back down at the photo again, not a professional one, but one he had taken in a moment that no one else had seemed to notice. It was his favourite of all the ones taken that day because it captured a moment shared only by the two of them. Nick with the cake, wielding the knife like a sword high above his head, as if making to strike the fatal blow. His knight in shining armour.
The fatal blow to his heart.
The photo fluttered, unnoticed, to the floor as the memory of that night came crashing back. Walking in the door after a hard shift, seeing him sitting there with the strangest look on his face. The immediate concern, "What's wrong? Has something happened?" The shattering destruction of his world as the words came, "I'm in love with someone else. I'm leaving you."
No tears, just shock. The cold and the trembling as the words sunk in and he crumpled to the floor. The barely remembered phone calls to friends and family, conscious all the while of him in the next room on his cell, talking to the other. Laughing and whispering; tender words not for him tearing at his heart.
Excruciating tension as they came face to face the next day, working out details of who would stay, who would go. Laying it on the line "there's no going back from here, if you go, you go for good." Watching him leave for the last time.
The unbearable emptiness.
And now, after the dust had settled, the house sold and papers signed, he was left boxing up a life he thought was going to be forever. Hopes and dreams, love and laughter packed away with the rest of his earthly possessions, to be left in a box and forgotten, thought about nevermore.
Finally, the tears come.
fin