CSI: Ghost: Chapter 14
A/N: Happy Birthday OTL!!! I know you've been asking a lot of questions about this whole story and hopefully this chapter will answer some of them for you. If not... just keep reading! Thanks for all the comments everyone, keep 'em coming and I'll keep writing!
The envelope was a standard letter size. The address on it was printed so evenly, so perfectly, it could have come from a printer. There was no return address. Inside, the folded piece of paper was crisp, new, and the words on it were few:
We know who you are.
Don't close your eyes or make a wish on three
cause we will still be around.
You'd better run... Manuela... if you think you can.
Geoff folded the letter and continued on his way back to his apartment. It made no sense. No one knew who he was. His name had been legally changed when he'd been sold to The Devil. He remembered that fateful day watching his first boss kill his mother when he was only five. Memories of his assassin training flew through his mind like a montage. At the age of eight he'd been handling guns, and already knew how to throw a knife with deadly accuracy. Very few people knew his original identity. And knew his name had been changed.
"Oh! Geoff! Geoff! Come here, will you? I've got something for you!"
As Geoff Baker headed up the walkway towards his apartment building he saw Mrs. Aquilina waving him over.
"How are you, Mrs. Aquilina?" he asked, giving her his brightest smile to mask his troubled mind.
"Happy birthday, Geoff!"
Geoff stopped short. His birthday. It was his birthday. His fake birthday that went with his fake identity. But still his birthday none-the-less, and his neighbor had remembered it.
"Oh, Geoff, don't tell me you forgot again! You poor dear!" she took his hand in hers, smooth from constant moisturizer use, and bony from age, and lead him into her apartment. "I've got a little something for you."
The inside of her apartment was a little bigger than Geoff's and much cheerier with the yellow curtains and comfortable livingroom chairs. Her livingroom ran into her kitchen but she had a separate bedroom and a bathroom off of that. He liked her place. It was nice. But with his job, he didn't need anything like hers. He wasn't sure he even deserved it.
Mrs. Aquilina was watching him with expectant, shining eyes, and it was then that he noticed the small birthday cake on the kitchen counter. Three candles sat, burning, in the middle.
"Well? I made it myself, you know."
He remembered. Every year since she'd learned his date of birth she'd made him a cake. They were always good. But it wasn't his birthday.
"It looks delicious," he said. And it did.
"So, blow out the candles!"
He was supposed to make a wish. Make a wish on three.
There's no more time for living out your life
Your sky is falling down
Don't close your eyes or make a wish on three
Cause they will still be round
Every year he always wished for the same thing: a simple life and someone to love him. But, this time would be different. He closed his eyes. He asked that sweet Mrs. Aquilina would live out the rest of her life happy, strong, and healthy. He asked the same for Tim Frave, his homeless friend. And one other person. Nick Stokes. He knew the CSI was only doing his job, but he was putting himself in danger by coming on to Tony Biggs and naming him in the murders. He didn't want an innocent man to get killed just for doing what he was told. Geoff wished he could be on the other side of the law, but cut himself short, reminding himself that this year, he didn't want anything for himself. Nothing for himself.
He opened his eyes and blew out the candles as Mrs. Aquilina set two tea cups on the counter and got the knife ready to cut the small cake for the two of them.
He felt like he'd just blown out the lights to his life.
"This is driving me nuts! Brass and I almost had the guy! Looked just like the picture from surveillance too," Nick complained in the break room to Greg and Warrick as he sat at the table with a cup of Greg's famous Blue Hawaiian coffee in his hands.
"That was yesterday. Get over it, man," Warrick advised. "There will be another time to catch him."
"Right. Now he knows we're after him. He'll disappear. He's good at it or we'd have him in custody by now. But I know he's tied to Tony Biggs. I just have to prove it. But it makes perfect sense. Everyone on Slick's side of the fence is dead. But no one on Tony's side has fallen. Aside from those who were stealing from him. I don't count them. He wanted them dead just as much as he wanted to be the number one crime boss in Las Vegas."
"We've got a problem," Catherine scowled when she came into the room.
"What's that?" Greg asked, looking up at her from the couch with a cup of his favorite coffee in his hand.
"The Mass Spectrometer broke."
"What?! What did she do to it?!" Greg jumped to his feet, horrified that one of his machines in his lab wasn't working. Surely someone must have tampered with it. He'd always taken such good care of them when he'd been in DNA years ago.
"It wasn't anything anyone did, Greg. Calm down. I just don't know where we're gonna get the money for a new one, cause whatever's wrong with it, it can't be fixed. Grissom's in a snit over his case because he can't get his DNA processed and he's not sure if we can get a new one with the short funding leash we've been given lately. I mean, we will get one, eventually. It'll just take too much time to secure that kinda money."
"Shit," Warrick swore under his breath. "So, what does that mean for our case? This thing's huge, we can't just put it on the back burner."
"Right. Which is why you all should be glad Wendy got to that cigarette butt first. She got a hit on CODIS just before the Mass Spec. broke."
"Sweet! Well...?"
"Geoff Baker. Lives in an apartment building close to Henderson."
She handed Nick the slip of paper with Geoff's address.
"Good. I'm going to go finally prove that this assassin is connected to Tony Biggs. Greg? You wanna ride along?"
Greg's eyes lit up at the chance, feeling like his old cheerful self once again. "Sure!"
"Great. Warrick, Cath, I guess you should finish processing the evidence from Slick's estate. No need for all of us to go."
"Sure thing, boss," Catherine said with a hint of sarcasm, since she was technically his senior and should be ordering him around. She left the room in a hurry.
Nick was already at the door after depositing his mug in the sink.
"You coming, G?" he looked back at Greg, who still sat on the couch, clutching his own mug.
"Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute to finish my coffee. I'm not leaving one single drop behind."
"Hurry up, dude. I'm not gonna wait forever."
Greg grinned and watched Nick leave. When he was gone, Greg turned to Warrick, and swallowed the lump that had formed there.
"Yes?" Warrick asked, as if he knew Greg wanted to talk to him about something important.
"I... I just wanted to say thanks. For kicking some sense into my head last night. I did need it. I love him, you know that. And I would never intentionally hurt him. But I was bringing something between us, and I was a little oblivious about it. So, thanks."
"Glad I could help," Warrick said. The older CSI looked at Greg for a moment before he stood up. "Best get back to work."
"Wait," Greg stopped him, his favorite coffee forgotten on the flat arm of the couch. I need you to do me a favor."
"A favor?" Warrick looked skeptical.
Greg forced himself to believe he could trust Warrick implicitly, as Nick's best friend, aside from himself. He gulped again, a twinge of pain flowing over him. "I need you to promise me you will take care of Nick, should anything happen to me, on the job, or otherwise," he stopped and waited for his friend's response.
"Greg... what's going on? What are you going to do?"
"Nothing. I just... I know... I knew... I've always known how much it would hurt Nick if anything happened to me. I don't want to leave him. I don't want anything to happen to either of us. I want to spend the rest of my life with him, just like I promised when I gave him his wedding ring. But... life has a way of changing things without warning. And I just want to be sure that he'll have someone to look after him, to make sure he'll be ok."
"Then you know that whatever I do, won't ever be enough. If you go, he won't ever be ok."
"I know. But please, for me, look after him?"
"I'll do my best, Greg. But know that I don't like the sound of this. And if I find out you did anything..."
"I know, I know, you'll kick my ass. Believe me, if something like that happens, please, hurt me the worst way you possibly can, because I'll deserve it. But you know how this job is. You remember that time the mob nearly took my life. You remember how devastated Nick was. If that were to happen again and I don't make it..."
"You're right. And yes, I will look after him. Ok? Now hurry up before he begins to worry about you again."
Greg nodded his thanks before ducking out of the room and running to catch up with Nick in the locker room.
After knocking several times, Brass let Nick and Greg into the apartment by way of the keys the landlord had lent them. For some reason, there was an older woman who was watching them suspiciously from around the corner.
"You boys ok here?" Brass asked once he'd cleared the apartment.
"Yeah, sure. Why? What's up?" Nick took the warrant from the Captain that specified the need for Geoff's arrest as well as a search of his apartment.
"I'm gonna go talk to her. See what she knows," he nodded his head in the direction of the older woman.
The two CSIs got to work once Brass was gone. Nick was extremely unhappy that Geoff, their possible assassin, wasn't home when they'd come calling. But Greg had already heard enough about it on the way over with all of his 'what if's and 'I'm gonna's. Now, he kept his mouth shut.
"I can't believe someone actually lives here. This place is almost a dump."
"Nick, you've seen worse. What's so bad about this place?"
"Well, look at it. I mean, the walls are plain white. It's bare. He's got almost nothing here. Nothing that says 'this is home'." Nick opened the refrigerator. "And there's almost no food in here at all. Just left over Chinese take-out and some spoiled milk."
Greg mumbled something under his breath that almost sounded like "should throw that out later."
"What?" Nick straightened and turned to face the other CSI.
"I said, maybe he doesn't live here," Greg spoke up. "Maybe he calls somewhere else home for ninety-five percent of the time and so he doesn't want to spend time making this 'home' when he has a real home somewhere else."
"So... what? He's only here to cheat on his wife or his girlfriend? What girl would want to do anything with a guy in this boring place?"
"Nick, you don't know anything about this guy so stop being so judgmental. The file never said he had a wife to cheat on. And who knows... maybe he's not even straight. Maybe, he doesn't have anyone at all to cheat on."
Greg went through the dresser drawers.
"He's an assassin, Greg, why are you getting all defensive for him?" Nick asked as he shined his flashlight into the tiny bathroom.
"I'm just saying, not everyone can have a nice house like us, whether they're good or bad. That's all. I'm just tired of the world judging everyone based on what material possessions they have and what they don't have."
Only the bare essentials of cheap shampoo, deodorant, a bar of soap, toothpaste and a toothbrush were in the bathroom when Nick walked further in. One towel hung on the towel rack, neatly folded and a four pack of toilet paper still in it's plastic wrap sat in the corner next to the toilet plunger and brush. Under the sink he found common kitchen and bathroom cleaners along with some sponges. Nothing more.
Nick turned to look at Greg. The look on Greg's face said he was trying to keep his nerves in check as he bit his lip. He'd stopped going through the dresser drawers after bagging what looked like license plates, and had started on the night stand, but was now paused in his work. He looked as if he wanted a cigarette and would have had one if they weren't at a crime scene.
"G?" Nick silently worried that maybe he was having more pain, and felt himself ready to leap should his husband start to collapse again.
"I'm going out on a limb here," Greg said, his voice quavering just enough for Nick to notice. "We're working and I can't spend time on this... but... it's not the material things that matter in life. Sure, we've got this great house, and I love it, but it doesn't mean that much to me by itself. I could be living under a cardboard box on the street right now, and I'd be happy. As long as I've got you. You're what matters to me. I love you, you love me, and that's what matters. Some people think it's the material things, but not everyone does. And I'm guessing, the way this man lives, he believes the same thing."
"What do you mean?"
Greg showed him the black Moleskine notebook, already opened to the first page. He lowered his eyes to the book and began to read outloud:
Another year older. I guess that makes this notebook my birthday present to myself. Mrs. Aquilina reminded me of the day, as she does every year. Made me the same cake with the same three candles she always does. This time I didn't wish for anything for myself. I can't. Every year I ask for a simple life, with someone to love me for who I am. And every year it doesn't happen. It's time I concentrated on others around me. Mrs. A, for example. I hope she lives a long, happy, healthy life. I hope Tim Frave does too. He deserves it, living on the street the way he does...
"That's the homeless guy Brass and I ran into yesterday!" Nick exclaimed, interrupting Greg. "He sold us out! I thought he was just crazy, but he knows Baker! Damn!"
Greg only continued to read once Nick was done ranting:
...And Nick Stokes. I know he's only doing his job. His boss says process the scene, he has to do it. When my boss says jump, I can only ask how high...
"He... he wished that... for me?" Nick was beyond shocked. "But... he didn't mention you... or anyone else."
"I'm usually the one in the background. You're the one that chased him down yesterday." Greg hadn't even looked up as he spoke. He went back to reading Geoff Baker's words:
I've never used a journal before. No one else can help me. I wish I could see a therapist, but I can't. I've got no one but this little notebook and I'll have to burn this when it's full, maybe even before that, so no one else finds it, reads it. If my boss knew I was doubting my job...
"It looks like he couldn't voice his thoughts, even on paper," Greg said. "He trails off, and that's all he wrote." Greg looked up at Nick, a new depth to his always deep eyes. "He doesn't value material possessions. Only life... and love."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say this was a bad way of living. I don't value material possessions either. You know that. But, Greg, how do you know that wasn't planted for us to find?"
"It looks too real to me. He's calling out for help, but no help is coming. He doesn't like his job, but he has no choice." His eyes shimmered in the soft lighting.
"But why buy such a nice and expensive notebook if you're only going to burn it later?"
"Because you don't trust such secret inner thoughts to just anybody, Nick. When you've got something like this on your mind, you choose carefully who you tell. It's the same thing with a notebook."
Nick began to nod. It did make sense.
"Hey guys, you find anything interesting? His hit list, maybe?" Brass stood in the open doorway. "Or am I intruding on a personal conversation on company time, here?"
"Nope," Greg shut the notebook. "I got three sets of license plates, a brand new journal complete with one entry, and a pack of cigarettes."
"That's it?"
"Sorry. We didn't strike gold with the hit list. Looks like his boss holds onto that. So, what did you get out of the woman?" Nick asked.
"Mrs. Aquilina. Seventy-eight. She says Baker's a good boy. She made him a cake because today is his birthday. Also said she has to remind him about his birthday every year. He forgets. But he's a sweet boy because he helps her out when she needs it. Always cheerful, holding the door open for her, carrying her groceries sometimes. She's just sad because for such a nice boy he hasn't found the perfect girl yet. Isn't that sweet of her?"
"Yeah, real sweet. Well, I guess that means his first journal entry is dated today. Since her account matches up with what he wrote."
"She also seemed a little wary of something. Not sure what, though I noticed she kept looking in your direction earlier, Greg. Don't know why."
Greg shrugged and then smiled. "Must be my amazing good looks."
All three men chuckled.
"Oh, and I took the liberty of searching for his car. Not there."
"Figures, since he's not here."
"Yeah, but get this, he gets a special spot, all locked up."
"What?" both Nick and Greg looked up at the Captain.
"The landlord said it used to be a storage place in the garage, kept the lawn mower and other things in there. But when he started renting to Baker, Baker asked for the space for his car. He's paying extra for the space and also paid the landlord enough to build a real shed out back for his mower and tools."
"Wow. Maybe he does have another place to live, G."
Greg stumbled into the house, tired and feeling overly queasy after searching Geoff's apartment. He wasn't sure why he felt so sick from going to Geoff Baker's apartment. But something there had made him feel immeasurably worse than he had before, almost to the point of collapse. He was just glad Nick had dropped him off at home before he went back to work to clock in some over time. Of course, Greg was under strict rules to call Nick if he went from bad to worse.
He had to admit he was confused a little bit by the turn of events at the assassin's apartment. He didn't know why he believed everything the man had written. He shouldn't have. The CSI in him told him, just like it had Nick, that the journal could easily have been planted if he knew they were coming. But he had been defending the man. He and Baker agreed that a simple life with someone who loves you was the best way to go. How could he not defend that?
But it got even weirder. He remembered Nick poking in the refrigerator, commenting on the old food and the spoiled milk and he remembered saying that he'd have to throw it out later. Why he'd said that, he wasn't sure. Now, he entered their kitchen and looked in the fridge. There was no Chinese take-out that needed to be thrown out and the milk was fresh, just bought the other day. So why had he said that? He headed for the bedroom and crashed onto the bed. He wished he knew the answer.
He wished he could help the man in some way. He was sure Baker needed help, but he wasn't sure what he could do for him. If anything.
Outside, he heard the mailbox open and close and decided he would check the mail before getting his required rest. Clutching his stomach with one arm, he stumbled back outside, and wondered why he felt the need to do this, when resting was clearly the better move. Nick could get the mail when he came home later. He sighed and opened the box. Inside, he found only one letter. Odd. Now that they'd been living in the same house for a few years, they didn't go a day without a ton of junk mail.
He looked at the letter. The envelope was a standard letter size. The address on it was printed so evenly, so perfectly, it could have come from a printer. There was no return address. The folded piece of paper inside was crisp, new, and the words on it were few:
Which side are you on?
If you chose the wrong one... you can't outrun your own gun... Manuela.
His eyes opened wide. That song... that song that had been stuck in his head lately. It wasn't just the DJ's choice that night. It wasn't. But what did this letter mean? What side was he supposed to choose? What were his choices? He went back into the house, back to bed, and remembered comparing Warrick to 'his own gun' just because they were on the same side, technically. Was this a threat from his friend? No. He was still alive, still madly in love with Nick, still willing to do anything for the man who loved him.
He collapsed back onto the bed and hugged his pillow.
Was this related to the phone call he'd gotten not so long ago? To the man with the deep voice? It had to. Though the first one had threatened Nick's life. This one was threatening his own. He'd worked hard to put that phone call out of his head and now it was back, rearing it's ugly head. Nick... he wished he could call Nick, but this... he got the feeling if he told anyone, even Nick, this would turn more serious. That it would suddenly turn into more than just threats. But who could he call? Was there anyone to help him? Anyone who wouldn't draw attention to themselves or get caught?
A soft whimper escaped his lips, unheard by anyone else, as he did his best to ignore the increasing pain in his stomach. The room began to spin around him and he shut his eyes tight, feeling the tears slipping down his face. Nick... he needed Nick...
But what he needed more, he now knew, was for his blocked brain to become unblocked. He allowed himself to wonder, for perhaps the first time, what was going on in the rest of his life that he continually barricaded from his life as a CSI and as a loving husband. What had he gotten himself into? Yes, it was there somewhere in the back of his mind, that piece that would let him give an answer to the letter. It was there. He just had to find it, before the pain overtook him and he passed out.
His whole body began to tremble and when he opened his eyes again, the room spun faster and faster. He shut his eyes, clutching at his stomach. He needed to tell Nick the truth...
"Nick..." his weak cry came out like that of a mewling kitten, calling for help when no help was near.
He could do nothing but whimper Nick's name as the pain refused to let up.
Geoff reparked his Dodge Viper in his private parking space, glad that his informant had told him the cops had been coming. However, he was also angry at himself for stupidly leaving the damned cigarette butt at the scene. He was a professional assassin. He knew better than to smoke on the job. Before and after were fine, but during the committing of a crime was not the correct way to commit a crime, especially one that involved homicide.
Entering his apartment he headed straight for the refrigerator to dump out the old food his informant had also told him about. Things were not going well at all if someone else had to tell him about the state of affairs in his own fridge. Not well at all.
There was a knock on his door and when he opened it Mrs. Aquilina was standing there.
"The police were here earlier and I was worried about you!" she exclaimed upon seeing him. "Is everything alright?"
"Yes, Mrs. A. I was just down at the station and it turned out they'd gotten me mixed up with someone else. Our names are similar," he eased her fears with a quick lie and a wide smile.
"Oh, I feel so much better now! I'm so glad it was just a mix up. Oh, you have no idea! When you left with them I saw you carrying a case of your belongings and I thought 'oh dear Lord, what have you gotten into?'"
Geoff stared at her. He hadn't been there. He'd been as far away from his apartment with his precious Viper as he could get while the cops searched it and found nothing. Nothing except his brand new journal he'd forgotten about because he wasn't used to having it yet. But he hadn't been there. So, who had she seen? Should he tell her it wasn't him?
"Well, I was just about to take my trash out and then I've got to run. I'm sorry to cut you short."
"Oh, don't worry about that. I'm just glad you're ok. That's all I came for anyway."
Mrs. Aquilina patted him on the arm and said goodbye before going back to her own apartment. Geoff took the small trash bag over to the dumpster, mulling over what she'd said.
It was on his way back to his apartment that his phone began to ring. It was Tony, he figured, telling him that he was to receive a large bonus for finally killing Slick. More money he didn't need, and would never use.
"Hello?"
"Geoff, I've got another job for you."
It was Tony Biggs, aka The Devil. But he wasn't calling about money. Geoff's heart sank at the prospect of having to go to work again. He'd thought his job would be done for awhile so he could relax, enjoy himself a little. But no. That wouldn't happen for a long time, apparently.
"I want this done tonight," Tony continued. "This is of utmost importance. More so than Slick was. He needs to be dead ASAP. The sooner, the better. And I don't care if he's at work, or at home with family. I want him dead. Now."
"Who could be that important?" Geoff asked.
"Nicholas Stokes."
Of course. Nick was the lead CSI on the cases that had been linked to Tony. It made sense that he would want him dead. Especially after Slick was killed. That was a big murder, not just his lawyer, but another crime boss, an outranking crime boss at that.
"I'll get right on it," Geoff said before hanging up and entering his apartment.
The sooner he killed Nick, the sooner he could relax. On the other hand, he knew Nick was just doing his job. He remembered his wish over his birthday candles earlier that day and wondered if maybe he shouldn't have made it. Had he jinxed everyone? Nick was going to end up dead by the end of the night. What about Tim and Mrs. A? The truth was, he didn't have time to think about them. He had a job to do.
Thanks to his informant at the lab he knew Nick was working overtime. A sad smile crept over his face. Nick had left his poor husband home alone, in pain, while he went to work on the case. Maybe it was a good thing Tony wanted him dead. He was becoming obsessed with the case, with bringing Tony down. Geoff shook his head, thinking of the man's sick husband. He'd paid him a visit that afternoon in order to make sure nothing of importance was found at his apartment when they'd looked and that he wouldn't leak the information he knew about Geoff to anyone else. He'd found Greg curled up on his bed, clutching his stomach, and whimpering something awful he couldn't understand. What was clear to him, however, was that if his husband had come home to him then, he would have blurted everything. And that was something Geoff didn't need. But Greg had been an invaluable informant and he wasn't ready to give that up yet. Hence the reason the man wasn't dead yet. A gag and some duck tape had shut the lab rat up real good and now, he was stuffed in the trunk of his own car parked several blocks away, with no one else the wiser.
He would show Greg he meant business. And now, with his new assignment he knew just how he would do it. He wanted him to know what it was like to loose someone you love, the way he'd lost his mother. He wanted to see how Greg handled it when he found out Nick was dead.
He looked down at the ID badge he'd taken from his pocket. It was the same one he'd ripped from Greg's shirt earlier. He was a little surprised at how much they looked alike. But it was a good surprise. He could easily slip into the lab, as Greg, shoot Nick, and get out before anyone had realized just what had happened. Of course, this would mean Greg would be framed for Nick's murder, and he'd lose his informant. But then he remembered the sick, huddled mass he'd found, and realized his informant was already gone. It didn't matter now, whether he framed him or not, but if he did, the heat would be off of himself and Tony, which was just what the crime boss wanted.
Then it made sense. What Mrs. A. had said. She hadn't seen Geoff. She'd seen Greg Sanders, come to process his apartment for evidence. But they looked so much alike and she knew nothing of Sanders. It was no wonder she thought she'd seen Geoff entering his own apartment with the police. The case she'd seen must have been Greg's CSI case, full of evidence bags, latex gloves and finger print powder. He shook his head and almost laughed. She wasn't that senile, which meant getting into the lab to off Sanders-Stokes would be a piece of cake.
Reaching underneath the bed he pulled up two floorboards and grabbed the car keys he'd stashed there upon his return and his wallet. His hands brushed over the money his boss had been sending him in the mail for years. The pile had been steadily growing, and now its hiding spot was barely big enough. Once this new job was done he was going to have to move, so Greg couldn't spill the beans about his location. He'd also need a bigger place to hide all his money. Unless he was able to give it all away in a short period of time without being too obvious.
After making sure he looked enough like Greg and wouldn't leave any evidence behind to link to his real self, he headed back for the Viper and drove straight to the lab, his heart pounding. This was going to be both exciting and difficult. A crime lab full of cops, people with guns, and he was just going to waltz in like one of their own and shoot a man. Of course, he'd done that at Slick's and had gotten away with more than one man. If he could do that, then for sure he could do this. He couldn't wait to read the news the following day.
Arriving in the vicinity of the LVPD crime lab he parked the car a few blocks away and started walking, his favorite revolver in the waistband of his jeans, covered by his long t-shirt from some crazy rock band he'd never heard of. Nick's truck was in the parking lot. His nerves kicked in, but he couldn't stop to smoke. He needed to be hyper-aware of everything going on around him.
Stepping into the building, he realized what a perfect time this was. The place was busy and Judy, the receptionist, was on the phone. No one noticed him walk in. And then he saw him. He'd expected to have to search for Nick, but there he was down the hall in front of him. Exiting one lab and entering another next to the previous one.
He froze. It was Nick Stokes. Nick Sanders-Stokes. The man who was married to Greg, his sadly sick informant. He felt the weight of the gun pulling him down toward earth. The CSI was just doing his job. Nick left the second lab and walked down the hall, away from him. He started to follow him, his eyes on those broad, beautiful shoulders, and he began to see why Greg had fallen for him. Nick was wearing his favorite moss green button down shirt. The one that made him look so irresistible. He'd changed his clothes after dropping Greg off at home. His eyes traced the well-toned arms, saddened that they'd been covered up, and ended at the man's beautiful hands. He could do so much with those hands. So much... And then Geoff saw it. The silver band on his left ring finger. Engraved with Greg's name on it.
A tiny choked sound came from Geoff's mouth and he looked away from the retreating back to his own hands, clutching the revolver. He hadn't even realized he'd drawn it. On his own left hand he saw the imprint of a wide band, left there by lots of time spent in the sun. A burning sensation began to fill his heart as Nick stopped to talk to someone he couldn't see. The ring was on the chain around his neck. It didn't belong there. It belonged on his left ring finger. He'd been in a committed relationship. Marriage. He was in a committed relationship. He'd known happiness and love the way he'd always wanted it.
His Nicky... with a gun aimed at him.
Worlds collided inside his head, sounding like a thousand children playing with large symbols.
He'd meant to show Greg what it was like... but he would only be showing himself... he began to feel queasy at the thought... no... that was Greg. Greg wasn't feeling well. Was locked in his own trunk, bound and gagged. But no, it was himself that Nick worried over. Also himself that Nick wanted to see behind bars.
The symbols crashed in his head and a sharp twinge of pain hit his stomach. He began to tremble. Greg was the one who felt pain. He never felt pain.
Nick, finished with his conversation, was about to turn around as Geoff spun on his heels and ran out of the lab, confused tears streaming down his face and a whimper on his lips.