And you know you're going to fall…
--
Greg shivered at the warmth radiating from the toaster. His hand lingered above the two vertical slots,f hues of orange reflecting off the tips of his fingers while he stood in the shadow of the dim lighting in the kitchen.
He began to mentally count to ten, slowly inhaling and exhaling to relax his body. But he only made it to three before a shudder passed through his frame; thoughts of his dream once again coming to mind and a voice frighteningly distinct repeating itself like some disturbing mantra. Almost overbearing, the tone became even more controlled and obstinate in Greg's head.
"Because I can."
It was the third one Greg had in two months, but the first dream where he heard any other sounds besides the banging on the wall and the laughter that would always fade away. It was already uncanny to have reoccurring dreams so close to one another, never mind how bizarre the dreams actually were. And while he probably had an idea about what prompted them, Greg tried to keep from thinking too much about something he didn't really remember and something he was still trying to forget.
With a sharp clang, the lever sprang up the same time the toaster turned off. Greg hissed as he caught a waffle in his hand. He juggled it in between his hands as he took a few strides to a small table in the centre of the room, hastily dropping the waffle on a napkin he placed on the table earlier. He rubbed the bottoms of his palms against his t-shirt, clenching his teeth as he tried to ebb the sting of the heat on his skin.
Greg nearly stumbled over a chair when he heard a noise coming from outside, unnerved as he quickly turned around to catch the back of a car through the window, red lights painfully vivid in the dark.
He silently collected himself before he reached to turn on the small lamp on the table, the light brighter than the one already turned on over the stove. He cringed when he sat down in the chair, wondering how much noise he'd made and if he woke–
"Is this where you go in the middle of the night?"
Greg stilled at the voice behind him. He swallowed the lump in his throat at the contrite feeling burgeoning within him, as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. And it was only because he knew why that Greg turned his head away when he heard Nick pulling out a chair from the other side of the table to sit down.
"Wish you told me earlier," Nick said, soft and strained laughter reaching Greg's ears.
But Greg remained impassive to Nick's poor attempt at humour. Instead, he found his eyes closing as his grip on the table began to border on painful. He tried counting to ten again, this time the numbers uttered out loud.
When he reached four, he thought of the waffle on the table, musing about the crumbs he could envision falling off the napkin and whether or not the waffle had already gotten hard and cold. Greg didn't like it that way, when the waffle was too crunchy. He liked his waffles crunchy as much as he liked having a panic attack, which was silly because he hadn't had a panic attack in a while. And he didn't plan on having one anytime soon, either. Yet, Greg could still feel his breath quicken. And then he felt like he was beginning to lose himself, like he was falling and–
"Greg."
But Nick was still here…Nick was still here and Greg could somehow anchor himself to the other man's voice; quiet and composed. It was a constant, something stable and almost like that old prescription bottle that was still lurking in the cabinet under the sink in the bathroom. Though, Greg didn't want to have to resort to using the medicine again. Not when he was doing so much better without it. Because he didn't want it, didn't need it, and–
"Greg," Nick said again, voice still unruffled and breaking Greg's train of thought.
Greg looked at the clock on the wall to realise that only a few seconds had passed. "Yes?" he answered almost absently, but his voice slow and cautious. He took his hand off the table and placed it in his lap, fully aware that Nick was conscious of his every movement. The other man was still watching him, – analysing him, scrutinising him – and Greg wondered how much willpower it actually took for Nick not to ask about what made Greg come to the kitchen this late at night.
Over the table, he saw Nick begin to extend his hand to him; the other man changing his mind at the last minute and replacing the gesture with a sigh; the only break in the silence between them.
Greg had no intention to talk about why he was here; his dreams. He was reluctant to do so then and maybe even more so now that he started having them again; especially when he knew Nick had his own share of nightmares to deal with, too.
Just because Nick was able to talk about being buried alive didn't mean that Greg was ready to talk about being blind and wandering alone in a room. It was trivial anyway, something frivolous that probably meant nothing at all. And, ultimately, some part of Greg still wanted to believe that simply ignoring his dreams would make them go away.
Greg ran a hand through his hair, the action an attempt to take away from the quiet in the room. He felt nervous all of a sudden, more so than he'd ever been with Nick in a long time. And he needed something to focus on, something to help get his mind back on track.
"Why didn't you talk about the dumpster case before yesterday?" Greg asked hurriedly. It was the first thing that came to mind and he hoped the shift in conversation would deter Nick's attention away from him.
Nick groaned as he rubbed his temples. "I wasn't thinking about it then," he said patiently, though Greg could still pick up the slight irritation creeping in his voice.
Greg didn't doubt that Nick caught on to the fact that he was trying to evade whatever questions the other man wanted to ask; it was something Greg had done many times before . And Greg would have laughed at the irony of chastising Warrick for the same thing yesterday if the situation wasn't so serious today. He didn't think Nick would appreciate it anyway.
"Does it even matter now?" Nick asked; his gaze unrelenting and still fixed on Greg.
Greg nodded, content to have something else to think about it; something to replace the uneasiness in his mind.
Nick yawned, covering his mouth before replying. "I can't even remember what case I was working on when I first came here. But that's all I would ever hear about…Ecklie's case." Nick shrugged. "And the only reason it ended up cold was because all they found was the little girl in the dumpster and a picture of her attached to the shirt she was wearing."
"Were you working with Grissom then?"
"Yeah, me and Warrick were with him, but Catherine was with Ecklie. She probably remembers more about it than me."
"Yeah, but–"
"Is that what your nightmares are about?" Nick asked suddenly.
Greg looked at Nick in surprise, making eye contact for the first time during their conversation. He knew the other man probably knew about his dreams or suspected when they first started a couple of weeks ago. That much was inevitable. Greg just hadn't expected the other man to confront him about it, at least not so directly.
But maybe that was inevitable, too.
"No," Greg said.
"No?"
Greg shook his head, trying not to think about the weariness and apprehension in Nick's voice. While he did have an idea where his dreams may have stemmed from, he still had trouble trying to figure out exactly what they were about; they were too vague for any kind of immediate understanding. Though, he conceded that he probably understood their meanings on a subconscious level, but that was something Greg wasn't too keen on exploring anytime soon.
However, it didn't have anything to do with their recent case. He already admitted that the case was affecting him, but that was a given; it was getting to everybody.
"It's…it's something else," Greg said.
Nick smiled sardonically, the expression marring his face in a manner that was unfamiliar to Greg. "Are you even going to tell me what they're about then?" he asked, his tone suggesting the question was more obligatory than sincere.
Greg's face was blank momentarily before he frowned. "You know that's not fair, Nick."
"And you think this is fair for me?" Nick retorted. "I can't keep giving all the time. It's not supposed to work that way, Greg."
"I just don't want to talk about it now. Later, but not–"
"It's always later with you."
Greg narrowed his eyes at the accusation directed at him. "Well, maybe I'm still not used to it, okay?" he said defensively.
"What's there to get used to?" Nick asked incredulously as he rose from his chair, signaling his confusion with a slight wave of his hand. "You just…talk. Tell me what's bothering you. I tell you–"
"Well, not everyone can be you, all right," Greg said, voice becoming tinged with anger. "We all can't be Nick. We all can't be this–"
"But I'm not asking you to be me. I don't want you to be me," Nick said, a sense of urgency in his voice as he moved to stand next to Greg. He put his hand on the back of Greg's chair, leaning over the other man and bringing their faces closer together. "All I want...all I need," he began slowly, "is for you to–"
"I never said I was perfect. I never said I could be perfect. And I–" Greg whispered harshly, stopping abruptly. "And I can't be… I mean, I'm not…" he trailed off, taking a deep breath when he realised that Nick was just trying to bait him, trying to get a reaction out of him. He felt his body deflate, what little anger he had dissipating and a sense of lethargy beginning to settle in despite the fact that Nick was still standing over him.
"Why do I have to force it out of you every time, Greg?" Nick said tiredly. "Why can you never just talk…" he sighed, taking a few steps back. "…to me?"
I don't know, Greg wanted to say. They were the only words he could say, was able to say, but Nick wasn't going to give him the chance to say them this time.
"You know what…just forget it, Greg. Don't say anything."
Greg bit his bottom lip when Nick turned to leave, the other man scoffing as he disappeared from the kitchen. The unspoken words Nick would never say aloud reverberating in Greg's mind.
Like you always do.
Nick crouched down to look under the bed. He scrunched his nose as he lifted the bed skirt; the musty scent from the carpet assaulting his nostrils. The whirr of Warrick's camera sounded behind him, and Nick placed his flashlight in front of him; slowly moving the light over the darkened area beneath the bed.
Like the rest of the room, it was bare; with no sign of the Harrisons having even occupied it. But Nick couldn't say that he was surprised to discover nothing that could be merited as evidence.
He sighed as he removed himself from underneath the king-sized bed, careful not to bump his head on the metal bed frame. He rubbed the inside of his wrist on the front of his jeans, the movement against the dark denim creating a friction that almost burned. He and Warrick had been in the hotel room since nine – four hours ago – and he was beginning to think the place was just another blind lead. Besides a receipt and the security footage from the hotel, they only had one witness who claimed to have seen the Harrisons. But it didn't take Sofia long to find out that the desk clerk wasn't exactly the most observant person.
He put the small flashlight back in his kit, ignoring the slight perspiration in between his fingers and the curious glance Warrick was sending his way. The latter of which was only one in a series of glances that Warrick had been giving him today, but Nick was glad the other man didn't try to bring up any concern he may have had in conversation; even if Warrick did realise something wasn't right. There were already too many things wrong in the world, anyway.
"You find something?" Warrick asked, straightening the camera strap around his neck.
"Nope." Nick shook his head. "You find anything, yet?"
Warrick snorted, apparently sharing the same amount of optimism concerning the case as Nick. "I'm going to go check out the bathroom. See if there's anything they left behind."
Nick tilted his head in agreement, refocusing on his examination of the bed as Warrick left the main area of the room. Nick had already checked the bathroom earlier, but it didn't hurt to have someone else to check again. And maybe it was because neither of them was too convinced they'd actually find anything that made them a little desperate and maybe even reluctant to leave without finding anything at all.
However, Nick wasn't going to complain about spending more time here. Because it gave him an opportunity to concentrate his efforts elsewhere and step away from the pervasive feeling that his personal life was somehow becoming more and more synonymous with his professional life. But he'd be deluding himself if he said that it was solely because of Greg, or rather because of his relationship with Greg.
Still, he wasn't going to think about it now. He wanted nothing more than to disregard the sinking feeling in his stomach and overlook the fact that the one person he wanted to talk to wasn't ready to talk back. And for once, Nick was just going to make it easier on himself and pretend that there wasn't this notion of everything falling apart around him.
Yet, it wasn't as if he didn't have better things to do; or at least something more productive than finding semen on the lamp shade. Truthfully, it wasn't the worst thing he'd seen when it came to finding semen samples – including the semen he and Sara found on Wilcox's laptop – but it did serve to reaffirm what he already knew about that cleanliness (or lack thereof) of hotel rooms.
Nick groaned in irritation, the black gloves he wore the only things preventing him from running a hand through what was left of his hair. Aside from evidence of various sexual activities and a large array of fingerprints that he and Warrick collected, Nick was beginning to think there was nothing more to find.
It was nearing the fifth hour and Nick had done everything he could possibly think of as far as the bed was concerned; including looking under the mattress and inside the box springs. The blankets and sheets were folded neatly in the back corner of the room, next to the pillows and the pillowcases on top of the large table by the window and the air conditioner. The mattress was leaning against the entertainment centre that held the TV, on the other side of the room; but Nick was almost on the verge of taking apart the bed frame, as well.
Because it was something to distract him from the temptation to throw what was left of the bed out the window.
He closed his eyes, opening them again as he began to walk toward the window; the maroon curtains already pulled back and revealing the cars in the back parking lot of the hotel. He made a face as he felt a rapid decrease in temperature. The air conditioner was still on. It wasn't cold enough for Nick to want a jacket, but he surmised that he was probably standing beneath a vent.
He looked up and wasn't surprised to find an air vent, but he was surprised to see what looked like a small piece of paper sticking out of it; something probably no bigger than his hand.
Lines on his forehead creasing in confusion, Nick called out Warrick's name as he positioned a chair directly beneath the vent. He put one foot on the soft cushion, holding on to the back of the chair as he carefully lifted himself up. He held his out his hands before he found his balance, extending his arm as he reached for the piece of paper. By the time Warrick came back into the main room, Nick had both feet planted on the floor and a look of disgust on his features.
It wasn't a piece of paper like he initially, but a rather a photograph; a Polaroid of a little girl Nick had only seen once before. However, she looked prettier here, adorable with the small red barrette holding her bangs away from her forehead. Her short hair framed her face and her were cheeks flushed red against skin that wasn't so pale anymore.
But it wasn't the little girl causing Nick's revulsion. It was the photo itself and the way the camera portrayed her; how it captured her. Even with clothes on, she was still being exposed in a manner that sickened him. It was the way she held her arm across her chest, hand gripping her shoulder as if she was forcing herself not to look away from the lens, away from the person who had so much power over her.
Nick inhaled deeply, listening to the sounds of Warrick's footsteps until the other man stood beside him. He continued to look at the little girl, unaware of the slight trembling of his hand until Warrick took the picture away from him.
But it couldn't take away from the sight of the vulnerability that was in the little girl's eyes; something Nick had seen far too many times before.
It didn't matter that they weren't supposed to have sex against the wall anymore, only that what they were doing right now felt good and that they had more than ample time to worry about the mess later.
Since Greg didn't remember who initiated what and how he ended up against the living room wall with Nick pressing his body against him. But he wasn't going to complain about it because it was better than the hesitant attempts at talking; better than trying to dance around awkward apologies neither of them were really sure really meant anything. And the hardness against his thigh told Greg that Nick felt the same way, too.
He grunted, releasing a gasp when Nick reached to wrap an arm around him. The other man's hand was resting on the back of Greg's thigh, travelling upward to cup his left cheek. His body jolted when Nick began to knead the skin there. The bottom of his jacket was rising above his waist as he felt the tips of Nick's fingers digging through the fabric of his pants.
Then Nick's mouth was against his – a meeting of their lips that was rushed and clumsy – reminding Greg of those rare moments where it felt like Nick had nothing else to lose, nothing else to gain, and would move against him with a kind of reckless abandon that Greg didn't know how to approach.
And Greg couldn't help but shiver when Nick's hand moved to the small of his back; shudder at the cool touch when the hand moved beneath shirt and rested on his waist.
When Nick pulled his mouth away Greg saw a flash of something, an image blurred and white that he didn't have time to make out. He closed his eyes when Nick pressed their groins together, breath hitching at the contact and inconsistency of the friction that followed.
Greg tightened his hold on Nick's arm when the other man kissed his neck, tilting his head upward and letting his arm fall over Nick's shoulder. A moan escaped him when he felt the heat from Nick's breath, and Greg tugged Nick closer, desperate for the warmth he could no longer maintain on his own. He heard Nick mumbling something against his skin, the words indiscernible, negligible, and then suddenly all too clear in his head.
"Because I can."
Eyes widening in panic, Greg hurriedly pushed Nick away; not oblivious to the annoyance on the other man's face.
For a moment, he couldn't breathe, couldn't see and could only feel something soft supporting his body. A gloved hand was pinning his arm down as he began to sink into something, a heavy weight hovering above him and pressing him down. But then the moment was gone. Arms were wrapping around him once more and Greg found himself back against the wall in the living room. And Nick's face was front of him, mouth on top of Greg's.
He began to push Nick away again, using his weight to push against the other man's shoulders. "Nick…I–"
"Damn it, Greg," Nick growled, the aggravation clear in his voice. He attempted to kiss him again, missing his lips when Greg turned his head to the side.
Greg narrowed his eyes, fighting to regain some semblance of control when Nick shifted his pelvis against him. "Not…not now, Nick."
"God, it's never now with you."
"Nick, just–"
"I need this," Nick said quickly, almost desperately; an uncertainty seeping into his tone as he tried to bring his body closer to Greg's. "I can't…I need–"
Greg grabbed the back of Nick's head forcefully. "Look at me," he said firmly, tightening his grip when the other man began to shy away; trying to bury his head in the crook of Greg's neck.
"Look at me, Nick," he repeated quietly. His mouth formed into a sad smile when Nick became lax against him; the other man finally lifting his head to look at him. "…okay?"
Greg felt his breathing begin to slow, chest beginning to rise and fall softly. But he could still feel his heartbeat, somehow becoming faster when he saw his expression reflected in Nick's eyes.
He took a deep breath, blinking before he caught the shock on Nick's face, the familiar sense of guilt as the arms that were wrapped around him began to tremble. The other man's mouth parted slightly, lips still quivering when he placed his forehead on Greg's.
"I'm sorry," Nick said softly, voice starting to crack as he loosened his hold around Greg.
But Greg didn't say anything. Instead, he let Nick lean against him; relaxing his own body and allowing himself to rest against the wall.
"I'm sorry," Nick whispered again, and Greg closed his eyes when he felt something wet drop onto his cheek. And Greg ignored the shaking of the other man's shoulders as he continued to clutch the back of Nick's shirt.
"…me, too."
Nick tried not to focus on the face of the little girl on the screen, looking anywhere else but at the gaze that was jarringly reminiscent of what he saw in Greg's eyes last night; something he really had no desire to see again. But despite trying to concentrate on any discriminating aspects of the enlarged picture, it didn't take away from the fact that it was still there. And trying not to put too much thought into the last few nights with Greg didn't mean they never happened.
Nick was well aware of the mistakes he made in the past; certain choices and decisions that he could only hope he wouldn't make in the future. Because they were the same ones that had almost cost him his job, almost cost him his life, and could possibly take away from his relationship with Greg he'd worked so hard to build over the last few years.
It wasn't until later in their relationship did Nick learn that he had to tread carefully with Greg. But it wasn't a matter of Greg being particularly sensitive to certain things. He wasn't. It was more of Nick figuring out at what times he was allowed to push at those things and knowing when Greg would be ready to push back instead of simply pushing him away.
And Nick was still trying to convince himself that he had somehow managed to deal with it, that he finally had made some sense of that delicate balance. Though, in reality he hadn't. And sometimes he let it show; let it get the best of him and maybe even tried to take it out on Greg. But Nick was only human and could only do so much, could only take so much before he'd feel like the other man was just short of pushing him over the edge.
However, it didn't mean Nick had placed Greg on some pedestal because of it.
And it also didn't mean he'd suddenly overcome his anger. He was upset by not only this case, but with Greg as well. He didn't really mean what he told Greg, that he felt their relationship was one-sided. They both knew it wasn't. But they each had different ways of coping, and Nick knew it was all too easy to forget.
But for some reason it had become that much harder to remember; with the return of Greg's nightmares, alongside trying to deal with his own. Ever since he was found in that coffin, Nick couldn't help think he and Greg had suddenly regressed.
It felt like they were starting for the first time all over again, and Nick couldn't suppress the sense of dread that was building inside of him because of it.
He crossed his arms, placing the majority of his weight on his left foot. Maybe that's why it felt like one of those days, one of those times where nothing was right and everything seemed more than just wrong.
And this was even though the case was actually moving along with the evidence he and Warrick collected yesterday.
Because finding that photo in the room was more than anybody had initially hoped for. Not only was it a confirmation that the Harrison's had been staying at the hotel and were most likely still in Vegas, but it was also the evidence that would actually substantiate the involvement of child trafficking in this case.
The little girl in the picture wasn't all that Nick and Warrick had recognised. The interior of an old, run-down building the picture was taken in was also familiar and turned out to be the same building seen in a picture found a couple of years back; the same Polaroid that was found with the little girl left in the dumpster from Ecklie's case.
The signs Grissom saw earlier were more than evident now, and it almost seemed as if things were finally coming together; appearing less like a leap of faith and part of something bigger, something much more intricate that Nick was still having a hard time trying to conceive.
He unfolded his arms, narrowing his eyes at something indistinct in the far right hand corner on the large screen, even less discernable through the window the girl was standing in front of. From what he could tell, it looked like a white sign, but it was too far away to decipher any wording on it. "Hey, Archie," he said, not taking his gaze away from the screen to look at the man seated behind him.
"Yeah."
"You think you could zoom in on that for me?" Nick asked, pointing to the sign.
"Sure, no problem," Archie said as he nodded his head. His fingers moved quickly across the keyboard and an empty box enclosed the sign, making a thin black border around it. The little girl in the photo was taken out of the frame while the image of the sign was becoming more prominent, the magnification increasing until a set of words was legible.
"Right – Right there," Nick said as he held his hand out, confusion marring his features as he read the surprisingly ornate words on the sign out loud. "Eternal Waste?"
"I think I've seen that sign before." Archie's fingers hovered above the keyboard as he turned to look at Nick. "Isn't that right behind that landfill the EPA's still trying to close down? You know…the one the Republic Service was supposed to clean up," he said, adding the last part somewhat sardonically.
Nick licked his lips. "The one by LV Wash? Sunrise Landfill?"
"Yeah…yeah, that's the one."
"It's not that close, but that means it's not too far away from Lake Mead Parkway, either. It's less than an hour from here but maybe about two miles away from Sunrise."
Archie shrugged. "Well, I remember seeing that sign somewhere a couple of months ago. It was supposed to be a play off Forever Landfill, a pseudo company from the LA-based Heavy Trash."
Nick looked at Archie charily. "Can't say I've heard of it."
"It's basically an anonymous group of people that makes public criticisms about waste and waste management problems."
Nick sighed, trying not to think how much the other man was currently reminding him of Greg. "Archie…where are you going with this?"
"Somewhere you'll want to go, I can tell you that." Archie looked at Nick deliberately. "I'm not sure if they already took it down or not, but with a little bit of work, I can pinpoint the exact location of that sign for you."
Nick raised his eyebrows in interest. He was far from having any qualms with Archie taking a hand in helping find an abandoned building that appeared to be in the middle of nowhere; or at least it didn't appear to be somewhere Nick could immediately place. "How?" he asked.
Archie flashed a wide grin at Nick. "It's on their website."
Greg looked warily at the picture in his hand; more than noticeably worn. The colouring was almost completely diminished and the edges were bent and nearly frayed. It looked more dated than it should have for something that was taken less than ten years ago.
But he was more attentive to who was in the picture than the picture itself. And more so to the girl who seemed to be peering directly at him; almost making him feel culpable for something he had nothing to do with. But she wasn't the little girl he found under that bed; the little girl whose small fingers wouldn't let go of the blanket she was draped in.
The girl in this picture had longer hair, dark strands falling past her face and stark against the plain white t-shirt she wore. Moreover, she appeared older – much older – yet probably no more than thirteen despite the hardness Greg could see in her eyes. It didn't take much to guess what kind of teacher experience had been to her. Because she looked incisive and fully aware of her surroundings, why she was there; and some of part of Greg almost wished he could ask her himself.
But for now, he only had what was on the bottom of the picture; a pair of numbers written in black ink on the thick white border. And as morbid as it seemed, at least it was a way of identifying her.
"0-2-9 and 7-5-0," he said as he raised his gaze to look at Sara. He gestured his head toward the photo she held in her hand. "What's yours say?"
"2-5-3-1 and 1-2-0-0-0."
"Ever seen something like this before?"
Sara shook her head. "Not until now. And I couldn't even begin to tell you what these numbers could mean."
"You're too good to me, Sara."
"I try." Sara smiled at Greg but frowned when he didn't immediately return the gesture.
"At least we know there's a connection," Greg remarked absently, looking at the picture in his hand once more before his eyes strayed to Sara's photo. "Can I see yours for a sec?"
Sara watched Greg carefully as she handed him the photo; taking note of the way his expression fell when he placed the pictures of the two girls side by side. "Same background, same handwriting…"
"And almost a decade between them," Greg finished. But pretty much the same circumstances, he added silently. It wasn't the first time he'd seen either picture; however, it was the first time he'd actually taken a good look at the most recent one. Both pictures disturbed him. Though, there was something especially haunting about seeing the fear so blatant on the younger girl's face.
No wonder Nick had behaved that way last night.
He wasn't going to excuse it but after seeing what Nick found, Greg could say he had a better understanding of why the other man was so upset.
"…out what they mean, yet?"
"Huh?" Greg lifted his head at the sound of Sara's voice, peering at her questioningly.
She looked at him sharply, and Greg smiled sheepishly when he realised he hadn't been paying attention to what she said. "You were saying something?" he asked jokingly, unprepared for the concern on her face.
"Are you okay?" she asked slowly.
"Am I okay?"
"I don't know. Are you?"
Greg bit his lip. "Yeah, I mean I'm fine if that's what you're asking." He paused, a thoughtful look on his face before he said, "Why are you asking?"
Sara shrugged her shoulders. "You just seem…off."
Greg raised his eyebrows. "Off?"
"Well, more than usual," Sara conceded.
"Oh," Greg said with exaggerated understanding. "You mean I seem tired, right? I am...tired, that is."
"You always say you're tired, Greg."
"Because I am," he said, even though he knew she could tell he was evading the underlying meaning of her words. "I know you don't know the meaning of the word 'overtime', but normal people need this thing called–"
"Just don't let it get to you," Sara said quickly.
Greg placed the two pictures in his hand on the glass table that stood between Sara and him. "This case is getting to everybody, Sara," he said quietly. It was the closest he would come to admit to her that something was bothering him, and he had no intention of going any further than that. "And you know I'm not the only one."
"I didn't say you were," she said softly, letting her voice lapse into a stillness that was making Greg uncomfortable.
But he didn't break his gaze with her, fingers moving to grip the edge of the table as Sara's eyes narrowed at him; almost as if she was trying to compel him to say something.
They both stood back at the unexpected knocking on the door, startled when they turned to see Nick standing beneath the threshold.
"They found the Harrisons, and Brass is bringing them in now."
I'm hoping this chapter will speak for itself. Yes, it's melodramatic. Of course. That's just me. Although, I already knew the story was headed in this direction. And I did try to build tension in the previous chapters (discreetly), but I'm still not sure it worked out the way I wanted it to. Well, except with Archie. I liked how his interaction with Nick turned out (much lighter when compared the rest of the chapter). Regardless, this all leads to things in later chapters. Can I call foreshadowing?
And as far as the tone of the third scene is concerned, the concept of sex was just used as a device to explore Nick and Greg's...issues (for lack of a better word). But it was kind of fun to write. Plus, I haven't written a crying Nick (even if it was kind of subtle) in a while, so...
Anyway, thank you for reading and thank you to I do have a name, LaughableBlackStorm, silverrayne621, Andrew-Squee, and QueenoftheUniverse for reviewing.