Nick put down the letter and stared at it, wordless. His coffee was cold by the time he could move and he refilled it to calm himself. Someone here, in this very lab, had fallen 'head over high tops' for him, and they were terrified to admit it. But admit it they had, albeit in a roundabout manner. He glared at the paper, trying to make it give him answers. Also picturing it jumping up and screaming the culprit's name. That would be nice. But the CSI inside him knew that he would enjoy the challenge, so he took it to Greg and they pored over it together. There were, indeed no fingerprints. There were also no hairs, so substances, and no bottom inch, which held the printer identification code. Greg told him to change his locks at home. As he was laughing, Nick suddenly realized that he could trust no one in the lab so he swore Greg to secrecy. He would have to conduct his own small investigation in to everyone. He sighed and clapped Greg on the shoulder in thanks, heading away for more coffee.
He started his investigation that night. There were only five women who were in the lab for long enough to fall in love with him, Judy, Wendy, Sara, Catherine, and Mia. But only three of them had been there for seven years or more, so that only left the three girls Judy, Sara, and Catherine. He began with random, hopefully innocent questions. Questions like frequently asking if they were thirsty to see how often they said yes. Judy bluntly asked why he was hanging around the front desk so much, annoyance in her voice. She was scratched off his list. That left only Sara and Catherine. He brought his findings to Greg, who helpfully logged them in a list on his computer. So the first day of his search for his secret admirer had been fruitless, but nothing worth anything was easy to get so Nick was still in hopeful spirits when he reached home and fell into bed, crashing instantly to sleep.
He began his next step with casual touches. A brush of the hand when passing evidence, sitting closer than necessary. Neither girl seemed to notice, nor there were any signs of fidgeting that his trained eye picked up. No extra clearing of dry throats or anything. He brought this to Greg and it added to the log. On the third day of the Extra Touches Step, Sara put her hands on her hips and told him that the crime scene was more than big enough for the two of them. She was scratched of his list. Which left Catherine, but he needed more definitive evidence. He was with Greg when Catherine walked in to talk about hairs she needed tracing. As she was standing there, Warrick walked by and she studied his ass very intently as he went. She was scratched off the list. Which left…well it left nobody, which was impossible. Nick scratched his head in confusion until Greg burst out laughing.
"What if it's a guy?" he wheezed in between gales of laughter. Nick told him to record this epiphany and list all the men who fit the standards. A very short list of standards, it was. Two points: they worked at LVPD crime lab, and they had been there over seven years. So the list that the two men racked up had Warrick, Grissom, Brass, and Ecklie on it. The last name was scratched off at soon as it was added. He hated all human life, and Nick had never smiled at him. Greg almost couldn't type that because it made him laugh so hard. This made the list Warrick, Grissom, and Brass. And so the very weird investigation continued.
Day five he began the innocent question routine again, and it got him nowhere. When he was in the break room at the end of the shift that night Brass was there reading the paper silently. There was no one else around because they had all gone home already and these two were very ready to do the same. Suddenly Brass looked up.
"What are high tops?" he asked. Nick almost choked on his coffee as he stared incredulously. Could this be it? Was the culprit giving in so easily? Was it…Brass? Ew.
"Um, a brand of shoe, why?" He replied, careful of his words. Jim shrugged and lightly hit the paper he was holding.
"This article mentions something about a boy being killed in San Diego over a pair of high tops. Is it really a shoe? That's a stupid thing to kill over." Nick sighed in to his coffee and nodded. Scratch Jim Brass off the list. Which meant leaving only Grissom, his boss, and Warrick, his very old friend. Greg would have to write that down in the morning, because he had already gone home to play video games. Nick was beginning to get fed up, but he would be damned if he gave up. Now that he was trying so hard, he just had to know who had fallen in love with him. Who pined after him for seven years and never said a word until it finally comes out on untraceable paper? Since the back of Brass' newspaper didn't know that, Nick went home to bed.
Day six began with extra touches, but results were hard to determine. Grissom rarely came out of his office and Warrick often used him for a leaning post anyway. Greg had nothing to report on that shift, and Nick's determination was flaming full speed ahead by now. It was time to bring out the big guns.
Day seven, a full week after he had received his mysterious love letter from some unsigned coworker, he began the Flirting Step out of desperation. He was out on a scene with Grissom to test his theory. His mentor asked him if he was feeling sick and needed some extra time off. Scratch Gil off the list, it must be Warrick! The classic best friends fall in love scenario! But Warrick wasn't fessing up. He fit the bill perfectly. He saw Nick every day that they worked together, always at least once in the lab if not partnered for the fields. He had been here as long as Nick had, and they laughed together all the time, both in and out of work. Warrick knew what high tops were, and was the type of person who was shy about revealing their romantic feelings to someone. Flirting Step went unnoticed by Warrick and Nick assumed it was because they were so close it was bound to happen eventually, even without any meaning behind it. So, on a leap of faith, Nick wordlessly handed the tall man the letter in the locker room on day eight. He waited while it was read, and then Warrick had to sit down from laughter.
"Oh Nicky, who gave you this?" he asked through tears of mirth. Scratch Warrick off the list and Nick was down to no suspects again. He huffed and glared at his amused buddy before going home in a very bad mood. Who ever wrote to him did, in fact, know him down to a tee. He never gave up once he started; he was stubborn like an ox. But they were also good at what they did because they had successfully hidden from him, letting him make a fool out of himself for more than a week. Sleep was hard to come by that night because his mind was filled with possible scenarios and hidden meanings that weren't there.
Day nine became day ten, which became day thirteen, with became day thirtieth. A whole freaking month and still every morning he lie awake with the same problem floating in his brain, keeping him from rest. Who the hell was it? He'd spent countless hours in Greg's lab, probably in the way of the DNA tech, staring at his results from the private investigation. Maybe Catherine stared at Warrick to throw him off. Maybe there was no article in the paper and Brass was handing him a clue. And maybe he was going crazy over a single small letter that had shown up in his locker one night looking so innocent. He was almost to the point of giving up and it frustrated him that he had been beaten by a person who wasn't sure if they wanted to be beaten or not. In his experience, unsure people made the most often, glaring mistakes. Not this one. This one had had seven years to think it through and plan it. They had had all the time in the world to lay it out for him, and then they had just sat back and waited to see if he could figure it out.
On day thirty-one he went over to Greg's house after shift, still discussing that traitorous person Nick almost hated now. If he knew who it was, he'd hate them. Or not, he wasn't even sure anymore. Why hadn't he just rounded the team up and demanded an answer? He flopped dejectedly on to Greg's couch. Greg raised an eyebrow at him for a moment before clearing his throat.
"Want some coffee?" he asked, heading straight for his stash of Blue Hawaiian. So typically Greg. Nick bolted up from the couch as if it were on fire. GREG! The thought hit him like a bullet to the brain. He'd never seen Greg without coffee in his hands, and he went through a cup a visit whenever Nick was with him. He was the only member young enough the think up a phrase like 'head over high tops'. He was trace; he would know how to leave no evidence, and how to point it only in small words for the stupid field man. He joined the team seven years ago. He was so goofy he made Nick laugh and smile more than anyone. He was a jumpy, energetic person by nature; a few extra jitters would be all but indistinguishable. And mostly, best of all, he would be afraid to confess to Nick for one great big fat reason. They were both guys. Greg himself walked back in then with a large grin and held out a steaming mug.
"Coffee?" he offered. Nick didn't move.
"It was you the whole time?" he cried. "You've been sitting there watching me investigate every one of my colleagues, keeping your records, and the entire sun blasted time it was you?" Greg stared at him. Then he sighed and held out the coffee cup again.
"Or, you know, something to hit me with," he mumbled. Nick took it numbly and they continued to stare at each other. Greg was watching him expectantly but he couldn't think of a single damn thing to say. It was a relief to know he had finally solved the puzzle. Yay, promotion for him. But the answer to his question was so way out in left field that it had swerved and turned in to right field. After a long time, Greg sighed again, this time very sadly. He put his prized coffee down and shrugged on his jacket.
"I have my answer as well, I guess," he said quietly. "Stay as long as you like, but I'm going." And with that Greg abandoned his own place. Nick heard the engine of his car rev and the receding sound of its purr as it disappeared down the street. He could only stare at the closed door. His brain hadn't exactly caught up with him enough to think yet. The silence of the house and the two cups of good strong specialty coffee helped jump-start his thought process, as did the comfortable couch he tilted backwards on to.
Nick was still in Greg's house, six hours later, when he came home. He heard the car purr up the driveway, idle for a few moments, and then things went quiet again. He sat on the cold couch staring towards the front hallway, waiting for him to come inside, but he never did. It was like the car had come home all on it's own. Nick waited at least another half hour for the guy to enter his own home but remained alone in the now full daylight. Man he needed to go to sleep. Curiosity finally drove him out of his seat and in to his shoes. There, Greg's car really was in the driveway, he hadn't been hearing things. But where was the crazy little guy? All right, that crazy almost-as-tall-as-Nick guy. When Nick finally located him, he was wearing his Kevlar vest, sitting on the grass with his back against the side of his house, right in the center of the wall. His knees were bent and his arms hung off them with his head dropped back to rest against the wall behind him. Nick walked up and stood over him. Greg opened his eyes, sighed, and shut them again.
"What are doing?" Nick asked him
"Well I couldn't go inside while you were still there. Boxing with an angry Texan isn't exactly what I had planned for today," Greg ranted. Nick rolled his eyes.
"Look I'm not gunna hit you or anything, ok?" he assures him. "I guess it's…something for me to think about, huh?" Greg didn't dare look hopeful, but he did look surprised. Nick offered him a smile and strolled away to let them both calm down and settle their own thoughts. When he reached home his bed was as warm and comfortable as ever, but he found he couldn't even sleep.
Day one of waiting was the most horrible day of Greg's life. He cringed every time he saw Nick and made sure never to be alone with him to save them both the awkwardness. The others began to take notice. They saw the way Greg lowered his eyes when speaking to Nick, and that he tried his damnedest to avoid doing so at all costs. They saw the way Greg hurried past Nick in the halls, his gaze on his feet and his cheeks flaming. They also noticed the hurt look on in Nick's eyes when this happened. No questions were asked because it looked like a personal matter. But it got worse.
Day two Greg began to stammer and his hands shook. Catherine reported to the others that he had dropped her DNA sample twice while Nick was dropping something off and Sara mentioned seeing him with his head in his hands, just sitting still for once. This meant something was wrong for sure. Warrick was the one to notice the lack of music in the lab and no silly antics from their youngest tech. Things were getting weirder and weirder, as Nick almost missed crucial evidence at a scene. Day three was no better and day four Greg called in sick. Everyone knew for a fact that he had no virus, they were trained observers and there had been no signs of anything but nerves. But about what? Nick was the only one with the answer and he was giving nothing up.
Day five Greg had completely reverted in to himself, delivering reports in a monotonous voice and not meeting anyone's eyes. He successfully managed to not be alone with Nick, but the others could see the worry in the Texan's gaze as he watched Greg's lowered head. The lab remained silent and the team remained dumbfounded as to what exactly the problem could be. That is, until day six when Mia needed something from Greg's computer files and he was too busy to find it for her, so he left her with his password while he went to talk to Grissom. Mia had no idea how Greg's filing system worked, but she spotted a likely looking folder entitled 'Investigation' and opened it. It had two files inside which she opened and scanned and printed. Sara Catherine and Warrick were frantically gathered together and the files were shoved in their faces and realization dawned on all three of their faces at the same time. They figured the rest out for themselves on a theory. It was obvious the Nick had figured out that Greg had written the letter, but hadn't given an answer. And it was just as obvious that every day without an answer slowly killed Greg's hopes a little bit more and more. The problem caught at them so much that they didn't even have the heart to laugh at Nick's investigation in to all of them. But what could they do? It wasn't really their place.
Day seven, Greg didn't speak a single word all shift. He printed out results and handed them over without even checking who picked them up. He just wanted to be left alone. He could have taken rejection; could have taken a no. But being ignored was one the one thing that crushed him. He got enough of that from his parents growing up, and even more so when he was already grown up and they discovered he was gay. When shift ended he didn't even go to his locker. He simply left his white coat on the back of his lab chair and went right to his car, resisting speeding to get to his safety zone. A beer helped settle his stomach while he flicked on the television, not really watching it. For some reason he'd had no taste for his highly coveted Blue Hawaiian for the past week. Lack of caffeine was starting to drain him, and in his mind that's where he laid the blame for his sudden change of personality. Yes, that was exactly the cause. Not the crushing feeling he got when ever he thought of Nick. Speaking of crushing, someone was knocking on his door like they were going to break it down. Greg put his beer down and hauled himself up to answer this over eager person. If it was a scout he'd be buying every box of cookies they had available. Cookies were comfort food.
But it was Nick. Greg couldn't help staring at him, standing stock still in the doorway. The taller man wordlessly handed Greg a neatly folded letter, handwritten. Greg sighed and gave him a look that said many things, but Nick urged him to just read it, so he rolled his eyes and unfolded the page.