Author's Note: Once again, don't worry about updates. Unless I say otherwise, this will be updated Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.
Chapter 2: For Richer or Poorer
Nick turned into the break room where he saw Greg on the couch, bent over and resting his elbows on his thighs, one hand holding a phone to his ear, the other raked back in his hair.
"Well, you know that's not how it works… Uh huh… Right… That's right… No. No, I won't let you do that… No, babe, that's just not gonna fly. Do you have any idea what would happen if you went back to work? I can't let you do that… Yes, I will… I don't care if you don't like it, I will… OK… Yeah… We'll talk about this when I get home… Yes, I promise… No, I won't forget… Look, if anything, you'll remember, won't you?" Greg looked up at that point and stopped, a look of horrified guilt crossing his face as if Nick had just caught him in some sort of criminal act. His jaw hung open for a moment as Nick watched him and shrugged, curiosity in his eyes.
"Listen, babe, I have to go now… Yeah. Work stuff…" Greg closed his eyes and sighed, exasperated. "I said we'll talk about this later. Look, I really gotta go, OK, so please, just… go to sleep, OK?" He hung up fast, as if he couldn't wait to get off the phone and looked up at Nick. And then, strangely, he smiled. "So, I'm sorry. I totally interrupted you. What were you saying about the case?"
Nick cracked a wry smile. "Sounds like you're having a little trouble with the girlfriend."
Greg blinked rapidly, obviously surprised by Nick's statement. "What? Girl—Oh! No. No, um…" He frowned, struggling to find the words. "No, that was just…"
"Greg, it's OK," Nick said with a laugh. "Why didn't you tell me about her sooner?"
Greg seemed dumbstruck, but then shrugged. "I… didn't think you'd… approve."
Nick was touched. "My approval means something to you?" He shook his head. "And anyway, why wouldn't I approve? She makes you happy, right?"
Greg looked away from Nick, but didn't answer the question.
"She does… make you happy, doesn't she?" Nick pressed, sensing the tension in the air.
"There've been… better times…" Greg muttered, a strange distance in his eyes that Nick couldn't decipher. "But let's not talk about that." He clapped his hands. "So. Stabbed man. Patrick Connelly, right? What's his deal? Any suspects?"
"Oh, no," said Nick, taking a seat in a chair across from Greg. "Patrick Connelly will still be dead in ten minutes. Tell me about this girl, Greg. How long have you been seeing each other?"
Greg sighed and rubbed his eyes with his hands. "Nick, can't you tell when someone just wants to change the subject?"
A chill swept between them and erected a wall. Nick had no idea why Greg was suddenly so secretive about his love life, when in the past he had been very much into over-sharing. Nick couldn't help but take it a little personally. "Well, Greg…" he began, trying to make sense of it. "I'm just trying to—"
"I know what you're trying to do," Greg interrupted. "But we've been having problems, and I really, really can't talk about them now. Not here. Work is… It's work. That whole thing…" He made circles in the air with his hand. "That's for after work. I can't think about it now, not when there's a murderer to be caught." He inhaled deeply, then smiled again. "So. If you wouldn't mind…"
A little wounded, Nick nodded slowly. "Yeah…" He swallowed to moisten his dry mouth. "Um… OK. So, Brass says he's divorced, but his ex is in Hawaii with her new husband."
"Honeymoon?" Greg guessed.
"You got it," Nick replied. "It looks like he was attacked from behind, and I didn't get much in the way of fingernail scrapings that I think will be too helpful…" He trailed off as he noticed Greg's focus fading. The younger man was staring to the left of Nick, his eyes glazed over. "We also found the bones of what look to be some sort of marsupial," Nick said loudly. "A kangaroo-wallaby hybrid was David's guess, but I think it's a platypus."
Greg was nodding, and then he frowned, turning back to Nick. "A platypus isn't a marsupial," he said.
"Yes it is," said Nick.
"Oh…" Greg mumbled.
"Anyway, there were no marsupial remains. Just making sure you were paying attention." Nick paused. "Seriously, Greg, what's going on?"
Greg took a deep breath, then held it a moment. "You don't think Catherine would let me do some more overtime this month, do you?"
Nick frowned. "Didn't you max out your hours last month?"
"Yeah," Greg said. "But, I don't know, I just thought maybe Catherine could cut me a deal or something."
"That sort of thing isn't up to Catherine," Nick told him. "You know that."
"Maybe I could use some of… yours?" Greg proposed. "I mean… How much overtime have you used this year? And it's nearly Christmas, so you'll be wanting time off for your family and stuff, and the lab will need other folks to stick around."
"I can't give you my overtime hours, Greg, that defeats the purpose of limiting overtime per person," Nick said. "The whole point is to make sure it's equitable."
"Mm…" Greg muttered.
"Why do you need so much overtime anyway?" Nick asked the question tentatively.
"I had a root canal," Greg explained. "And my insurance is being a bitch about covering it."
"Aren't you on the lab's dental plan?" Nick asked. "I thought they covered root canals."
"There were complications with this one," said Greg. "Strange circumstances. Infected gums and such, experimental treatment for a rare disease, insurance says it's too risky…" He chewed on his lip, deep in thought.
"You could always call your rep," Nick suggested. "Duke it out with the company."
"Looks like I'll have to…"
"Wait, you have a rare gum disease?" Nick asked.
"What?" Greg replied, snapping out of his trance.
Nick could tell that something else was going on, but if Greg insisted on being secretive about it, there was nothing he could do to change that. "Never mind," he said, sounding colder than he expected. "Why don't you go over the crime scene photos with me? I'll give you a virtual tour."
"Sure," said Greg, getting to his feet.
Nick allowed the younger man to exit first, then lingered, noticing how the strange tension in the air dissolved upon Greg's exit. With a tired shake of his head, he followed Greg to the layout room.
Greg held his mail under his arm and fiddled with the keys to his apartment, steeling himself for the scene he was about to witness beyond the door. After he'd returned from his visit with Neil, the rest of the night had gone rather smoothly. Nick had decided to stop asking Greg about his nonexistent girlfriend, and Greg had succeeded in immersing himself in his work, allowing him to forget the life he lived outside of the lab.
He opened the door and expected to find his apartment in shambles, but it was no more or less messy than it had been earlier. Neil was not in the kitchen or the living room, which meant he was probably in the bedroom, hopefully sleeping. Greg didn't want to admit it, but he was glad for the reprieve. Taking care of Neil was exhausting, and Greg was thankful to have a moment to himself once in a while.
As he made himself some tea in the kitchen, he contemplated admitting Neil to the hospital again. Neil had been in and out of that place, but mostly out, due to the strain on their funds as Greg's insurance didn't cover Neil, and Neil's insurance company was cheaper than Ebenezer Scrooge.
Greg took a sip of his tea and sifted through the mail. Most of it was junk that he threw away quickly. One was an early Christmas letter from his mother, who always sent her cards directly after Thanksgiving. Greg set it aside to read later, and just beyond that letter was the hospital bill.
Greg lowered the teacup from his lips and set it down, handling the envelope with "SECOND NOTICE" stamped across it in large red letters. Greg's heart lurched as he opened it and reminded himself of the amount that they owed. Absently, he wondered if Catherine would give him a large Christmas bonus if he sucked up to her enough.
He pushed the idea of money to the back of his mind. He would pay for it somehow. The only alternative was to let Neil die.
But he's dying anyway, a nagging voice chirped in the back of his mind.
Greg swatted the thought away like an annoying fly. Dr. Norton had told them of an experimental treatment that they were trying, and it was possible that it could help repair the damage to Neil's organs. It was possible that Neil wouldn't need a transplant at all. He could survive.
But you know it won't work. And even if it will, you can't continue to pay for it.
This thought was more difficult to dismiss and Greg chewed on his lip, once again wondering about how he could possibly get his hands on some more funds.
"Greg?" a sleepy voice called from the hallway. "Are you home?"
Greg turned around to see Neil in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Oh no," he said. "I woke you up."
Neil shook his head. "Sleep comes and goes," he said with a sniff. "It's hard to sleep when you can't breathe. It's not your fault." Neil coughed, one hand covering his mouth, the other gripping his chest.
As if gravity were involved, Greg moved swiftly to Neil and placed a kind hand on his shoulder as the man recovered. Neil looked up with soft blue eyes. "We need to talk about the money."
Slowly, Greg nodded. "Come back to bed, you should lie down."
Neil allowed Greg to guide him back to the bedroom, and Greg noticed that his lover tried to disguise how grateful he was to be back in bed. Neil wrapped the covers around himself and his face peaked out at Greg from a make-shift hood.
Greg smiled as he reclined on the mattress. He didn't need sheets for warmth.
"I think I can go back to work," said Neil.
"No you can't," Greg insisted. "You can barely stand up for more than five minutes."
"Well, I could work from home," Neil returned. "I'm a writer; all I need is a laptop and an Internet connection."
"No, babe, that's way too stressful," Greg said, worried about his heart. "I remember the strain your editor's deadlines put on you when you weren't sick."
"My editor's a douchebag, but the assistant editor is a sweetheart," Neil insisted. "I'll just send my work to her, do some freelance stuff, say, what's going on in the world right now anyway?"
"You're already getting overexcited," Greg said, stroking his hair. "It's not worth it."
"You can't pay the bills," said Neil quietly.
Greg hesitated. "We'll find a way."
"Greg, I don't want to leave you in debt," Neil whispered.
Greg smiled, his stroking of Neil's hair growing unconsciously harder. "Babe, I don't want you to leave me at all."
Neil's smile faded. "I'm glad you're here," he said for the second time that night. "Lesser men would have left. I would have left."
"You don't know what you're capable of until you're tested," Greg said quietly. "You don't know if you would have left or not."
"And I never will," Neil replied. "But you didn't leave. You stayed."
"Which is part of what makes me so perfect," said Greg with a smug smirk he didn't really feel.
"I want to race you," said Neil with a playful glint in his eye.
"In your condition? I'd whoop you so bad…"
"I don't care, I want to race you," Neil insisted.
Greg stretched and rolled over onto his back, groping around blindly on the end table until his fingers closed around a remote and he turned on the television, which flickered to life. He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and walked over to the dresser, where he switched on their ancient Nintendo 64 and tossed a controller at Neil, who was resting against the headboard now, a dopey grin on his face.
"We'll race," Greg promised, crawling back onto the bed where he leaned his head on Neil's lap. "But you can't complain when I beat you."
Greg hid in the corner of the break room, watching the door as he argued on the phone.
"I know it's an experimental treatment," he said for the seventh time, "but you guys have to at least foot the bill for the hospital stay. We can pay for the treatment ourselves, all I'm asking for is room and board here."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Sanders, but it's just not in Mr. Cooper's plan—"
"Well, isn't there anyway to supplement his plan?" Greg asked.
"At this stage, no," said the insurance lady. "Mr. Cooper would have to come in again and be reassessed, and since he already is having medical troubles, I doubt his request for a new plan would be approved."
Greg looked up as Nick entered the room and went to get a cup of coffee. "OK," Greg said into the phone. "Thank you for your time. Bye." And then, defeated, he hung up.
"What was that about?" Nick inquired, casually. "Or am I not allowed to ask?"
Greg tried to muster a smile, but found it impossible. "Insurance wars," he explained. "Looks like I'm going to have to take out a loan."
"What kind of disease do you have?" Nick asked, taking a step forward.
"It's private," Greg returned, a little too bitterly.
Nick stopped in his tracks. "How's your girlfriend?"
"Stop asking about my girlfriend…" Greg sighed, shaking his head. He rubbed his eyes with his hands and tried to think. "I was talking to Hodges a while ago. He said you sent him some powder that you got off the kitchen knife?"
"The knife had been cleaned," Nick said. "Tested positive for blood. We figure it was the murder weapon."
"What was the powder?"
"If I knew that, I wouldn't have sent it off to Trace."
Greg winced. "Nick… don't be mad at me," he said. "I don't constantly ask you about your personal life."
"Did it ever occur to you Greg that maybe I wanted you to ask me?" Nick returned.
Greg was caught off guard with that. "Um…" He tried to think. "OK, how's… life?"
"Not bad," Nick returned. "Except, there's something bugging my best friend and he won't open up about it. What do you make of that?"
Greg pursed his lips as he felt his cheeks grow warm. His eyes flickered to the floor, then up at Nick again. "Your… best friend?" he said slowly.
Nick didn't reply. He just continued to give Greg a cold look.
Greg shrugged. "Give him space," he said, then looked straight into Nick's eyes. "He'll probably come around eventually."
Greg was beginning to dread coming home. Neil would have good days and bad days. On the good days, it was almost like things used to be, back when they had told each other stories and laughed together about the day. But on the bad days…
As he opened the door, something shattered against the wall and Greg jumped.
He saw the source of it, a huddled pile of blankets cowering on the corner of the couch. From deep within the pile, a voice grumbled, "You're late."
Greg tried to smile and held up a box. "I brought chocolate." There was no reply from the mass of blankets. Greg approached with caution. "Can't get warm again?"
"You don't want to be here," Neil muttered. "I can tell. You're always late these days. Always." His head appeared out of the pile, his eyes sunken, his face devoid of color. His septum had collapsed, creating a dip in his nose and there was a crust at the corner of his eyes.
"Your pills make you paranoid," Greg said, trying to be reasonable as he sat down on the couch. "Why wouldn't I want to be here?"
"Because I'm diseased," Neil groaned, ducking under the blankets again. "Because you don't want to watch me die."
"You're crazy…" Greg tried to tell him. "Come here, Neil…"
"No," Neil said stubbornly.
"Please? I miss you—missed you." It was a hasty correction and Neil caught it.
He threw off the covers and looked at Greg sternly. "You think I've changed."
Greg closed his eyes, regretting his slip. "No. No, babe, I just… miss… holding you. Would you let me hold you?"
Neil wavered, and then closed his eyes, forcing tears down his cheeks as he let out a single sob. "I hate this."
Greg bit his tongue so hard, he almost drew blood. Instead of saying what he wanted to say, he nodded. "I know you do."
Gasping for air, Neil leaned forward and crawled towards Greg, curling into a ball as he rested his head on Greg's lap. Neither of them said anymore as Greg quietly stroked his hair, Neil's body trembling. He stared at the wall, unsure of what to do, part of him wishing he was back at work where he could spend time with the dead instead of the dying.
They had stopped the treatments. Dr. Norton had put Neil on the regular medication prescribed for Vilmer's instead, and the side effects weren't pleasant. Mood swings were the least of it. Neil could barely sleep at all due to nightmares, which kept Greg up too, and the retching sounds of the nausea was a difficult lullaby to fall asleep to, so Greg was having to steal naps at work. Catherine had caught him twice now, and she said the third time she wouldn't be so forgiving.
Greg continued to stare at the wall, though Neil had started talking again. For some reason, his ears wouldn't sort out the words Neil was saying. Either that, or Neil wasn't speaking coherently. Either way, there was a disconnect on both their parts. Neil didn't care if Greg was listening, and Greg didn't care if Neil was talking. At one point, Neil gripped Greg's knee painfully as his whole body tensed, and Greg closed his eyes tight to keep the tears at bay, entangling his hand in Neil's messy hair until the spasm subsided.
And then, "I feel sick," and Neil fled the room like a jackrabbit, leaving Greg alone to listen to the harsh vomiting sounds. In his mind's eye, Greg could see the activity tearing apart Neil's throat and leaving him raw and empty.
It was a state to which Greg could empathize.
"No, but I told you, he's my brother," Greg insisted into the phone. "He shares half my DNA, you have to give him at least half my coverage!"
"Your brother has a different last name than you?" said the insurance man, doubtfully.
"OK, if you want to be like that, he's my half brother," Greg snapped. "He still shares a quarter of my genes. Can you give him a quarter of my coverage?"
"Mr. Sanders, we've heard thousands of stories just like yours," said the man, jaded. "I am really sorry that we can't help cover his medical bills, but Neil Cooper just isn't on your insurance, and you can't add him unless—"
"I know," Greg interrupted, closing his eyes. "I know…"
"Greg? What are you doing in my lab?"
Greg hastily hung up and winced from his spot from beneath the table.
There was a pause from the other side. "Greg?" Then, his voice got quieter. "Did I imagine hearing his voice?"
"No," Greg said loudly, coming out from under the table. "No, you didn't imagine it. Sorry, Henry."
Henry shrugged with a bright smile. "Aw, it's OK, Greg. Are you hiding from Catherine?"
"No," Greg said. "I was looking for privacy, and I know you take lunch at the same time every day, so I knew your lab would be empty."
"Gosh, am I that predicable?" Henry asked. "Well, anyway, I don't think I'm working on any of your cases, so…"
"Thanks for letting me sneak into your lab without you knowing about it," said Greg. "I really appreciate it.
"You look really tired," Henry observed, sounding surprised. "How much sleep did you get yesterday?"
"I've been a little stressed, that's all," Greg replied. "And I'm going to have to stop by the bank tomorrow to see if they can get me a loan…"
"Oh, well, if it's money you're worried about, I can lend it to you!" Henry cried eagerly.
Greg laughed. "Thanks, man, but unless you have a couple hundred thousand dollars at your disposal, I don't think you can help me."
Henry shrugged. "How much do you need?"
Greg laughed again, but this time he was a little more unsure. "No, seriously, Henry, don't…"
"I have money," Henry assured Greg. "Really. My family has trust funds with trust funds. I can give it to you, no problem."
Greg was confused. "Henry, I don't think you understand…"
"That was you're insurance you were on the phone with, right?" said Henry. "Clearly you're in some sort of jam, and they won't cover it. Just think of me as a nicer insurance company." He smiled for emphasis.
Greg's shoulders slumped. "That's… really, really generous of you, Henry, honestly, but I couldn't. I don't even think I could pay you back—"
"Look!" Henry interrupted, laughing. "Do you know why I live in Las Vegas? Because some of my friends are gamblers. And I don't want them getting their kneecaps bashed in because they can't pay their debts. You're in the red. Let me pull you out of it. It's not a loan, it's a gift."
Greg shook his head. "No. Henry, listen. You may not think that something like that is a big deal, but it is to me. OK? I can't… I can't do that to you."
Henry's face fell. "But… if you don't get the money, won't something bad happen?"
Greg closed his eyes as his stomach lurched. "I don't think it matters either way."
Henry's frown deepened. "Oh. Well… I guess you can't make a horse drink, can you?"
Greg felt the despair wash over him again. "No. You really can't."