Transatlanticism

The rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door have been silenced forever more.
The distance is quite simply much too far for me to row
It seems farther than ever before

--

February 5, 2004

The New Year comes and goes without much excitement. Though really, Greg really hasn't had the time to celebrate it since he was in college, and even then, it was a stretch.

Nick's suggestion about meeting his parents never materialized into anything, and there hasn't been any talk of it since December when Nick had first brought it up. Not that Greg's complaining or anything, because he's terrified of meeting Nick's parents. Absolutely terrified; he's pretty sure he was less scared of falling off cliffs or being kidnapped as a child. It's a fear inducing experience, and had Nick not met his parents already by accident back in January – informally; Nick claims to have briefly met them when Greg was in the hospital after the lab explosion – Greg's pretty confident that Nick would be just as anxious to get it over and done with.

It went as well as one could have hoped, he supposes. Nick behaved splendidly, as he nearly always does, lightly flirting with his mother and talking about some underappreciated sport with his father that Greg doesn't even think he can pronounce, but as his family is from California, and his mother now works at a soup kitchen and does street-side protesting like some people do knitting, they're very outspoken and unashamed.

It's definitely not a bad thing, because Greg loved that she could talk his teachers into cutting him out of Phys. Ed., even if it was a little embarrassing to have his mother waltz into his elementary classrooms and threaten to take him out of the district if his teacher wouldn't let off.

What exactly was his point?

--

January 15, 2004 – flashback'd

"We almost home-schooled him, once," his mother says in response to Nick's amazement at his grades. She dips her finger into the muffin batter and brings it to her lips for a taste. "In third grade, he had this terrible teacher."

Greg groans and turns away from Nick to his mother. "Do we really have to talk about that?"

"I think I'm going to have to side with Greg on this one, dear," his father says with a wink. Greg is sure there's times where he's appreciated his father greatly, but for the life of him, he can't think of one right now.

But Nick clears his throat, and when Greg looks back at him, he's got an evil almost twinkle in his eye. He doesn't even have time to wonder why before Nick's speaking. "No, I'd like to hear it,"

Hoping that his glare can say the words Greg doesn't dare speak with his mother there, Greg slumps back in his seat. Nick looks a little victorious, and Greg can't help but stick his tongue out after he mouths, "I hate you," to his boyfriend.

"Anyway, where was I? Yes. In third grade, he had this terrible teacher. Some old hag who probably hadn't been laid since she replaced her husband with fifteen cats."

"Fae," Greg's father says, his tone warning her. Fae ignores it.

"Oh, you could tell she had cats. It was all over the place, there wasn't a day I didn't walk into Greg's classroom where I didn't see her using whatever she could to get it off her cardigan."

While his mother digs under the kitchen sink for a muffin pan, Greg turns to Nick and says out of the corner of his mouth, "There wasn't a day she didn't walk into my classroom, period."

"Now, Greg didn't have very many friends," Fae continues as she pulls her head out of the cupboard, oblivious to Nick's hidden smile. "His grandparents had come into his classroom enough for the other kids to label him odd. After all, you can't blame them; my father is quite the character."

"Mom, do we really have to talk about how unpopular I was in grade school?"

"Sorry, sweetie. Anyway, he had few friends so when problems arose he had to fix them himself. It was a stormy day, raining near all morning, and Greg had a bit of a fear for rainstorms. The power went out in his classroom, just as somebody threw a rock at the classroom window from the outside. Greg had a bit of an accident."

His face flushes red. Nick smiles at him, patting Greg's leg in reassurance.

"I was already in the school, helping the school lunch workers set up for a bake sale that afternoon. His teacher called me directly and told me my son had an accident. She was hardly discreet about it, and I could hear the children in the background laughing.

"Well, I marched right on down there and helped Greg to the staff bathroom to let him get himself cleaned up, and marched right back to give Ms. Logan a piece of my mind!" She angrily stirs the muffin batter once more before pouring it into the cups. "I yelled at her in front of a classroom full of third graders. I gave her no mercy because she didn't give my son any."

Thomas sets his coffee on the table and says, "Greg wasn't exactly pleased with the experience and made sure we were very aware of that for the next few months."

Nick's eyebrows raise in surprised. "Months?" Greg shrugs.

"I hold a good grudge."

--

February 5, 2004

Throughout the week that his parents stayed, Nick had heard more stories from Greg's parents than any of his high school partners had. If Nick had practiced the same with Greg, maybe Greg wouldn't be quite as bitter about it.

But it's childish to think that if Nick doesn't let him in with anything about his past, that Greg should hold his past as collateral until Nick tells him something. Nick will open up when he feels ready, Greg supposes, even if that means he'll be waiting around for years; so Greg tried to keep his pouting to a minimal. Nick didn't catch on to it, but both of his parents did.

--

January 17, 2004 – flashback'd

"Now," his father says once Nick's left for work on Greg's night off, and Fae's left to go shopping for groceries. Thomas sits across from him at the kitchen table and refuses to break eye contact. "Forgive me if I've been spending too much time with your grandfather, but what exactly has your panties in a twist?"

Having not realized he was frowning, Greg both tenses and relaxes under his father's scrutinizing gaze. He offers a nervous half-smile to sate him. "Who said there was anything getting my panties in a twist? Maybe I'm not even wearing underwear."

"Your mother will be happy to know you're practicing good hygiene." He pauses. "I think I'd be a bad father if I didn't know when my son was bothered by something," he says, with a tone to his voice that vaguely reminds Greg of Grissom.

Greg rolls the saltshaker on its side a few times and sighs. The last person he wants to talk to about Nick is his father, who, while he accepts them without question, would probably be easily put off if Greg were to start speaking too personally. "He's not really talking to me."

Thomas nods a few times, seemingly unfazed. "I can't say I'm too surprised. He doesn't seem to be the type of person to wear his heart on his sleeve." A look of surprise passes his face when Greg laughs at him.

"Are we talking about the same person here? Nick's definitely one to wear his heart on his sleeve. I mean, more so than most people. Not that I'm putting him down for that; it's just weird that he's so open and… truthful around victims or witnesses or suspects, but when he comes over he can hardly say hello to me.

"You know what's worse?" Greg asks, setting the saltshaker upright once again. "Last week he worked a child abuse case with Warrick. Took him three days, nearly constant work, to find the guy who eventually killed the little girl." Greg looks back up at his father. "He hardly said a word to me. When he finally came over after that final shift, he sat on his couch with me all night and barely said anything. By the time we'd gone to bed all I'd gotten out of him was yes and no answers. He'd been talking to Warrick in the break room before shift was over."

Thomas nodded slowly once again. For a moment, Greg thinks that's all the conversation is going to amount to. "Have you tried talking to him about it?"

Greg forces himself to smile. "Bit ironic, don't you think? Yeah, I have. He monkeys his way out of that every time I try, too."

His father doesn't offer any more insight on the subject, and when his mother returns fifteen minutes later, it's not like he could without alerting her.

--

January 19, 2004

"Oh honey, you look positively pouty!" His mother says after Greg exits the bathroom, having just cleaned it at his mother's request. ("Greg dear, I understand that you work strange hours, but it wouldn't kill you to clean that toilet once in a while!") "Troubles in bed with the hubby?" she asks, batting her eyelashes innocently.

"What? No!" Desperately trying to backpedal to figure out how he'd gotten into this mess, Greg closes his eyes tightly in an attempt to figure out why his mother is under the impression he was pouty after cleaning the toilet. "And he's not my hubby," he adds as he opens the hall closet to throw the toilet brush back in and continues, under his breath, "I suggest you don't say that around Nick, he might close up more than he already is."

Fae was obviously not ready for such a confession, as she drops the towels she's holding, but she's eager to help. Greg answers her question before she can ask.

"He's not talking to me. About much of anything except work."

"Oh, honey…" Fae offers her son a hug, who accepts it gratefully. They stand like that for a long time, Fae never uttering another word until Greg's father returns and calls out their names.

--

February 4, 2004

Greg started blaming himself, after his parents went back to California and Nick seemed to pull himself even further into his shell. Thousands of possibilities went through his head. He'd pushed too hard. He'd asked too much. Nick didn't want to tell him because it was too terrible. Nick didn't want to tell him, period. Nick had realized Greg wasn't somebody he could spend his life with and was taking longer than normal to find a suitable way to break it off that left the both of them able to still work together.

He worried himself sick. He hardly ate, he was so psyched out. It became such a problem that Sara caught him anxiously chewing on a pen one night.

"Greg?"

Putting on a happy face, Greg wipes the pen off on his jeans and grins widely. "Sara! I feel like it's been forever since I've seen you."

Under normal circumstances, Sara would have quirked an eyebrow and laughed or something. But Greg thinks that maybe nothing's normal anymore. "I saw you when shift started, Greg." She pauses, takes in the lab as Greg fights the urge to bite his nails until they bleed. "I was going to ask if you wanted to work on the B&E I was assigned to, but--Have you lost weight?"

Greg looks down at himself. "Uh…"

"My God, Greg, when was the last time you ate?" Greg shrugs. This time he doesn't fight the urge to bite and just does it. "All right, I'm getting Grissom; you're going home, but only after you get something to eat. I still have half my lunch in the break room; it's yours."

As Sara takes him from his seat, Greg immediately tries to protest. The last thing he needs is more people let in on his relationship problems. "No, really, Sara, I was just too tired to make dinner last night and I didn't get a chance to put together a lunch before I came in."

But Sara shakes her head and continues leading him through the halls towards Grissom's office. "You're a lousy cook, Greg—" he finds it in him to squawk indignantly; he thinks he cooks just fine, thank you. "—but you always find something to eat. So don't give me that."

Before Sara can knock, Grissom's door swings open, Grissom standing in front of them. He raises an eyebrow in interest, and glances between the two of them. "Can I help you?"

"Greg's sick," Sara lies, raising Greg's arm in question. "I'm requesting that you let him off early tonight."

Grissom's eyebrows raise higher, and for a long, dreadful moment, Greg thinks he's going to give in. "Well, I'd love to let him get the rest, but we're short staffed as it is, with both CSI's and techs. Hodges is out of town for a conference in San Diego with Archie, and Warrick's out on mandatory leave."

"Come on, Grissom, look at him!" At these words, Greg does his best to straighten up and widen his eyes. Sara frowns.

"He looks perfectly fine to me."

"Come on!"

Grissom peers over the top of his glasses at her, then turns to Greg. "Do you feel you cannot carry on through shift without contaminating the evidence?"

Greg's actually a little surprised that he hasn't already, but he's not going to tell Grissom that. "No, sir."

He turns back to Sara. "Nothing I can do. He thinks he's fine, there are no physical symptoms of him being sick, and we're short." He leaves before Sara can say something sharp back, and Greg wrestles out of her grip, rubbing at his now-sore wrist.

"Next time you think I'm infected, please ask me how I'm feeling before you jump to conclusions," he hisses under his breath. Sara glowers.

"I'm just trying to save your skin!" Sara says hotly.

"You mean the evidence!" he throws back with just as much heat, if not more. After seeing another lab tech stick her head out of a door to see what the commotion is, Greg takes a deep breath. "I'm fine; I'm not going to screw it up. Ye of little faith."

He starts to leave, but immediately feels guilty, and throws a meek, "Sorry," over his shoulder before bumping into Nick.

Nick pulls him away by the shoulders, but keeps him closer than he ever has at work. Greg finds his bad mood lift a little bit. "You all right? That looked a little intense."

"Sara's always intense," Greg mutters, pushing Nick's hands off him with reluctance. "It's what I like about her most."

"You all right?" Nick repeats, clearly concerned. Greg wants nothing more than to drag Nick into a layout room and tell him everything on his mind, and that if Nick's not going to really make this a relationship, he should just break it off.

But he doesn't. Instead, he nods again, smiles widely, and playfully hits Nick on the shoulder, who looks just short of being convinced. "You and Sara worry too much. I'm fine."

He walks past Nick back to his lab, and once he's turned the corner and can't feel either sets of eyes still on him, he starts biting his fingernails again.

--

February 15, 2004

Greg hasn't seen Nick outside of work for a week and a half; hell, he hasn't even talked to him on the phone. He likens it to the kind of training where somebody dangles something the trainee wants very badly in front of them. Nick is right in front of him, but his pace matches Greg's exactly, and he can't do anything about it. He keeps walking forward, trying to latch on, but Nick's just out of his reach at all times.

Still, he keeps his mouth shut and lets Nick have all the distance he needs, because, as he keeps telling himself, maybe distance is exactly what Nick needs to settle whatever problem he has going on inside his head. Hell, if it takes Nick five years to make things work between them, Greg would do it as long as he knew he was still wanted.

--

February 17, 2004

The next time Greg sees him outside of work, they fight. Or rather, Greg yells and Nick stands and takes it, like Greg's not alerting him to anything he doesn't already know.

It starts out innocently enough. Nick, to Greg's surprise, asks Greg over to stay the night, explaining in very specific detail just what he had planned – even so much as mentioning, very vaguely, that he had something to tell him – and Greg was damned excited. He hadn't expected relief to come so quickly.

However, he must've gotten his hopes up too much, because nothing happens. A few r-rated activities happen on his living room couch, but beyond that, nothing. Greg silently fumes for the rest of the night, and Nick either completely ignores it or isn't aware of how angry this back and forth game is making Greg.

It comes out accidentally. Greg had been thinking it almost all night, but when Nick finally stands up from the couch and announces his exhaustion, it slips out.

"What am I to you?"

Nick pauses. "What?"

Knowing that he can't go back now, Greg looks up from the TV and watches Nick. "What am I to you?" he repeats clearly, so he doesn't have to do it again. Nick hesitates before he sits back down.

"You're--"

Greg keeps in the scoff, but says, "Nothing worth mentioning?"

"You know that's not true."

"Then what am I to you?" Greg keeps his eyes focused; it's now or never. "I'm sick of playing games, I'm sick of watching what you do, listening to what you say, and not knowing what to do around you because I'm afraid that the millisecond I touched you was the thing that sent you over the edge."

Nick eases him into a kiss. Greg does his best not to respond; he can't be tempted, he can't let Nick out of this without some sort of explanation. "You're Greg. You're an amazing DNA technician and you're going to make an amazing CSI. You already do. You're beautiful and talented and smart, and…" he freezes. Greg's heart pounds as he silently urges him on, but Nick doesn't finish. "I'm beat." He stands up from the couch again. Greg bites his tongue so hard he thinks he tastes blood, but it doesn't stop him from speaking.

"That's it?" he says, staring at Nick's back. He turns around. "That's all you've got to tell me?"

"I answered your question,"

"No," Greg says with a shake of his head, "You avoided my question. You fed me compliments, and when you finally got to the important part, the part that I not only want to hear, but kind of need to hear if this relationship is going to make it any farther than it is, you froze."

"Can't we talk about this another night?" Nick asks, weariness obvious in his voice. "I just worked a double, G. I should already be asleep."

With a noncommittal shrug, Greg says, "Yeah, sure." He brushes past Nick and picks up his bag, continuing towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," Greg says, stopping in his tracks and turning back to face him. "I'm going home. Unless you have even the slightest inkling to keep me here."

Nick steps forward. "Of course I do, G. Come on. It's late, you're tired… Just stay. We can talk this out tomorrow."

"Yeah, tomorrow, sure. I've been waiting five months for talk to come, Nick, it's just not happening." He pauses, waiting for Nick to interject, but he doesn't. "I'm going home unless you can say something to keep me here. Give me something I can work with, something that gives me a light at the end of the tunnel, something that makes me sure I'm not going to come out of this hating myself for wasting my time."

But Nick doesn't. He stands there helplessly, silently begging Greg to let this go.

"All right then," Greg says with a decisive nod. "I'll see you at work."

He ignores Nick's calling of his name, and heads out anyway. He gets in his car and doesn't realize how fast he's going until the bottle of water flies out of the cup holder on a turn and hits the passenger door with enough force to pull Greg from his thoughts.

Greg slows down, and when he gets home, he takes sleeping pills to ensure he'll be well rested for the next shift. He rereads the information on the back of the bottle six or seven times to make sure he's not going to overdose in his anger, and once satisfied that one and a half pills isn't going to kill him, he downs them with water and falls into bed, the helpless look on Nick's face at the front of his mind.