Author's Note: Apologies for the lack of update on Monday. I'm super busy in our nation's capital, visiting family and seeing old friends, and I didn't have time. Figured I'd just wait until Wednesday.
Chapter 11: Under The Influence
It was late, but this was not unusual for Nick. While most of Las Vegas relaxed or went out on their days off, he decided he would rather stay in and look over a few case files. So that's why he was hunched over his desk in the study, reading glasses on, his fingers running over the words in court documents and lab results.
There was a connection, but it was a frustrating one. The ex-wife's new husband taught rock climbing at the local REI. Unfortunately, he'd been in Hawaii at the time of the stabbing, which meant that the chalk had to have come from some other source.
A pool player maybe, Nick thought, half-sarcastically. He imagined someone being impaled on a pool stick, then shook his head to clear it.
"Focus," he told himself. This was important. Nick quickly found that if he didn't focus on work, then he dwelled on Greg far longer than he should. He knew that he thought about Greg more often than friends probably think about each other, even as close as they were. And now that Greg was clearly grieving, he consumed Nick's waking mind, and often his sleeping one.
Nick flinched as he remembered the inappropriate dreams he'd been having lately, about consoling a desolate Greg which somehow always inevitably led to incredible sex that woke him up before it was finished, and he was left aching and frustrated and embarrassed. Not embarrassed because he was dreaming about Greg again, he'd gotten over that shame ages ago. No, Nick was embarrassed because he was dreaming about taking advantage of him. And that truly was shameful.
He emitted a frustrated sigh and tried to focus again on the task at hand. There were way too many discrepancies. It was almost as though someone was trying to frame the ex and her husband.
And then, all of a sudden, there was a knock at the door.
Nick looked up, unsure about who would be visiting him at this hour. He pushed his chair aside and went to answer it, grateful for the break and the distraction from thinking about Greg. He opened the door, half-expecting to greet a neighbor or a delivery person with the wrong house, but instead he found the object of his thoughts.
Greg was standing on his doorstep, his head down, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. When he heard the door open, he looked up and Nick almost fell over backwards.
Over the last week, Nick had watched from afar as Greg grew paler. He even looked slightly skinnier, though it was difficult to tell. And every time that he had tried to approach Greg, the younger man had self-consciously shied away from him. So Nick had retreated, knowing that if Greg ever needed to talk, he knew where to go.
And here he was.
"Can I come in?" Greg asked, rubbing his arms as if he were cold, though the air was humid.
Nick nodded rapidly, his mouth dry as he stepped back to let Greg enter the house. The younger man strode into the hallway, then stopped and spun around, looking at Nick for fa moment, and then narrowing his eyes.
"I didn't know you wore glasses," he said.
Nick blinked, and then his hand flew to his face, realizing that he still had on his reading glasses. "Only sometimes, when my eyes are tired," he explained quickly, as he took them off. He paused, unsure of what to do, so he cleaned the lenses with his shirt. "Um… What are you doing here, Greg?"
Greg rolled his shoulders. "I don't know… I don't know… I thought maybe… we could talk?" he suggested.
Nick detected a slight slur in his vowels. They were more elongated than normal, and his consonants weren't as sharp, as if his lips were numb. "Have you been drinking?"
"No," Greg said, quickly. "Yes. A little. How are you?"
Nick shrugged. "Worried," he confessed.
"I like that about you," said Greg, nodding in approval. He pointed at him and shook his finger. "You always wear your heart on your sleeve."
Nick nodded, slowly. "You want to have a seat?" he asked, gesturing to the living room. "Maybe I could make you some coffee—"
"I've discovered that I don't like being alone," Greg said, cutting Nick off like he wasn't listening. "I… haven't been alone in over two years, not really alone, anyway, and it's… It's just been a really… long… time. And days, they pass like years, and it feels like I haven't heard his voice in decades. And I started drinking champagne, because that's the only thing he'd drink, or maybe some cocktail like a watermelontini. What the fuck is a watermelontini anyway, it's like drinking a jolly rancher! And then, and here's where Neil would say, I mean, he'd say, 'But that's the point, it's liquid candy.'" Greg smiled, his eyes focused on a point somewhere over Nick's shoulder. "He'd say things like that. I think, sometimes, we were too much alike. I felt like the adult when I was with him… And that's really saying something…" He paused, and then shook his head, focusing again on Nick. "So yeah, so I started with the champagne, but that didn't really do anything for me, so then I went and I bought some beer, and I walked around the city for a bit, and there were the lights, and I think somebody tried to sell me E and I seriously considered buying it but then I thought it would be a bad idea so I didn't, because I'm cautious, now, can you imagine? Me, cautious. I may have bought it, may have bought it if he offered it to me five years or so ago, but not today, not this year, because now I belong to someone, I'm somebody's boyfriend, I have someone to let down, only I don't, I don't have someone, not anymore. I did yesterday, but not today. Or was it the day before yesterday? It doesn't matter, the point is that he came into my life, and I was this person, I was Greg Sanders, and I was myself, and then when he came into my life I wasn't just myself anymore, I was myself and him, and I became a we and it was strange and scary and exhilarating, and the thought that I mattered, we mattered, and I was a part of something more than just myself, and today I woke up and I realized that I'm not a we anymore, I'm an I all over again, and it's killing me…"
He leaned his shoulder against the wall, shaking his head as if he didn't understand. "I liked that feeling, Nick," he said, quietly. "And now that he's gone, I don't know how I can get it back."
There was a strange, awkward silence that hovered in the air, because Nick wasn't sure what Greg wanted him to say. He took a step towards the broken man. "Greg, everything you do matters."
"To who?" Greg asked.
"To me."
Greg looked up at him. "I matter to you?"
Nick wavered. "Well, I mean, not just me… Catherine, and Riley, they all care about you too."
Greg's shoulders seemed to slump. "I know that," he said. "That's not what I meant."
Not what I meant either, Nick thought to himself. He moved closer to Greg until they were face to face. He gently reached out and rested his hand on Greg's forearm. "Come on, you look like you should sit down."
Greg allowed Nick to guide him into the living room and towards the couch, where he sat down, his eyes glazed over. "Took me a few days, but I finally got the funeral stuff out of the way. It's on Friday, by the way. I don't really know whose coming. He said he wasn't friends with anyone at work, and he had no family—"
"I'd love to come," Nick interrupted, kneeling down in front of Greg.
He seemed puzzled. "Did I already invite you? Because I thought I didn't, but did I already ask?"
Nick held his breath, than sighed. "So you've been making arrangements, that's good."
"Talked to the lawyers," Greg said. "We're going to have an estate clearance sale. Everything must go…" He waved his hand vaguely in the air before dropping it into his lap again. "We're having a sale on video games. They're fifty percent off, on account of they're old and no one wants to play them anymore. You want? I could get you some for cheap." He smiled and winked at Nick. "I used to know the owner. I was sleeping with him."
Nick managed a weak smile, placing his hands on Greg's knees. "You sure you don't want coffee?"
Greg shook his head, but didn't make a sound. He covered Nick's hands with his own. "I just want you," he said.
Nick withdrew his hands and rose to his feet. "I think I should brew us some coffee," he said moving in the kitchen.
Greg leaned back on the couch, loudly and sarcastically declaring, "Oh that's right. You don't approve of this sort of thing. How dare I even suggest it?"
Nick stopped in the doorway and looked over his shoulder. "You assume too much, you know that, Greg?"
Greg grumbled as he leaned forward again and buried his face in his hand. "What do I assume, Nick? Assssume." He snorted. "Ass out of you or me?"
"You and me," Nick muttered as he entered the kitchen. He opened a cabinet and found a filter, sticking it in the coffee maker. He scooped some beans into the grinder and turned it on, filling up the pot with water.
"Nick…" Greg called from the living room. "I don't want any coffee. I know you're making coffee, don't tell me you're not."
And for a moment, Nick stopped and closed his eyes before sighing. He took the newly ground coffee and poured it into the maker. "I think you'll want coffee," he said quietly to himself.
"I told you," said Greg's voice, so close it made Nick jump. "I just want you."
Nick turned around to see Greg by the kitchen table, watching him with tired brown eyes. Nick smiled at him sadly. "No, you don't. You want Neil."
Greg managed a half-hearted shrug. "I can't have Neil," he said. "Neil is gone. Or at least, I should hope so, otherwise he'll get mad at me for selling all his stuff."
"You can't not do that, can you?" Nick asked. "Tell a joke instead of saying how you feel?"
"That's not true," Greg said, then paused. "Sometimes, I tell riddles. Hey, so these two Buddhist monks walk into a bar—"
"Greg, why don't you try being serious for a moment," Nick suggested.
"I am being serious," Greg said. "I need… contact," he spat out. "With someone. Anyone."
"I see…" Nick muttered.
"That came out wrong," Greg mumbled.
"No, it's exactly what you meant," Nick said. He took a few steps towards Greg when the younger man made a dash for his fridge.
"Do you have any beer?" Greg asked, searching the cold depths.
"I think you've had enough beer," Nick advised.
"If I'm not passed out yet, then I haven't had enough," said Greg, pulling out a bottle. "Red Hook? Light Ale? Wow, I never pegged you for a blonde. You're such a girl." He closed the fridge door and tried to open the bottle with his hand. "Ow."
"Oh, for God's sake, Greg," Nick mumbled, moving to a drawer and pulling out a bottle opener. "It's not a fucking twist-off."
"It's not?" Greg asked, taking the proffered opener. "Well, I just assumed the girly beer had a girly bottle cap." He popped off the cap and took a swig, then made a face. "I think this is bad."
"Maybe, it's been here since my sister came to visit," Nick said.
"And when was that?" Greg asked.
"Two years ago."
Greg eyed his bottle suspiciously before shrugging and taking another swig. He held it to his lips for a long time.
"Am I going to have to drive you to AA meetings now?" Nick asked, casually.
Greg brought the bottle down again, half the beer gone. "Stale beer is better if it goes down quickly." He took another long swig.
"Greg, I'm not comfortable with—"
"Anything I do, I know," Greg finished with a gasp. "You know, this isn't tasting so bad now. I think it's an acquired taste. Light beer… Is that some sort of oxymoron?"
Nick shifted uncomfortably. "I don't think you should drink anymore."
"Just need enough to work up the courage," Greg said, before finishing off the bottle.
"The courage for what?" Nick asked as he watched the last of the beer slide down the neck of the bottle into Greg's mouth.
Greg slammed the bottle on the counter and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before looking up at Nick. He stared at the Texan for about five seconds with dark and guarded eyes. And then, he took a deep breath and strode forward, quickly closing the distance and before Nick could even ask what he was doing, there were two hands on either side of his face, and Greg was kissing him, so fiercely Nick stumbled backwards and gripped the kitchen table to keep from falling.
Warmth flooded his body, but simultaneously, so did the frigid waves of fear. He seized Greg's shoulders and pushed him away with some difficulty. But finally, Greg relented and Nick gasped for air. As desperately as Greg had launched himself at Nick, he was now trying to squirm out of the Texan's tight grip.
"I know, I'm sorry!" Greg screamed. "I'm sorry, I just needed to… Just let me go!"
He wrenched himself away from Nick so hard he tumbled backwards and fell onto the floor. He stared up at Nick, his eyes suddenly frightened.
Nick closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He held his hands out in front of him and tried to explain. "Greg, you don't have to apologize…"
Greg scuttled backwards until he ran into the fridge. "No, I do, I really do… I know how you feel about… this… and me…"
"No, you don't," Nick said, sternly. "You really don't."
Greg shook his head. "I just don't know what else to do… When he was here, he needed me so much I felt suffocated. But now that he's gone, I realize… I needed him so much more."
"Greg," Nick said, stepping forward and kneeling on the floor.
"Stay away from me," Greg said, flinching.
Nick halted in his tracks. His heart lurched as he saw his friend cower, suddenly afraid of him. He offered a hand to help Greg to his feet. Greg looked at him and hesitated a moment, before he reluctantly took it. But Nick overestimated the amount of strength he'd needed to pull Greg up, and the younger man stumbled forward into him and Nick's arms wrapped around his waist to keep him from falling. Greg leaned his forehead against Nick's, his breathing low and deep, his scent musky with sweat and barley.
What happened next was nobody's fault. But the second Nick's eyes fell closed in the comfort of holding Greg in his arms, his lips sought out Greg's, and they found them and locked. He pushed Greg up against the refrigerator door as the younger man returned his passions in equal force, his hands sliding over Nick's shoulder and gripping his shirt in fists. The hands climbed further up into Nick's hair, desperately digging into his scalp, and the next thing Nick knew, Greg had whipped him around and the small of his back felt the edge of the counter digging into his skin. He leapt up and sat on the counter as Greg's mouth probed hungrily deeper, his fingers clawing down his chest to find the hem of Nick's shirt which he tugged upwards and, spellbound, Nick obeyed, letting go of Greg only long enough for the shirt to be pulled over his shoulders.
Greg may have been drunk, but it was Nick who was intoxicated by the moment, his senses heightened, his inhibitions dropped, and his understanding of what was happening very limited. He felt as if his self-control was gone for good as he allowed Greg to ravage him, planting painful kisses down the side of Nick's neck, Greg's fingernails clawing at his skin. And as he felt the need ache in his groin, he knew that this was wrong, that he shouldn't be letting Greg do this, not now, not so soon after he had lost Neil. It wasn't fair to anyone involved, not Neil, not Greg, and least of all Nick.
He did not want to be that guy.
His senses slowly returning to him, the spell Greg had cast suddenly breaking, Nick tensed. His thighs closed around Greg's hips and his fingers seized the younger man's shoulders' pushing him away, but this time, Greg refused to relent. He only held Nick harder, baring his teeth on the Texan's shoulder, and what had previously been a pleasurable amount of sting turned into horrifying pain.
Nick cried out as Greg wrapped his arms around him desperately, like he would never let him go. Nick was surprised at his strength and wriggled to escape his constricting grip. He called out Greg's name loudly, on the verge of fright, and that sound must have been the key to breaking the spell on Greg as well, because he suddenly withdrew and Nick broke free.
Greg immediately took several steps backwards, his eyes wide and his mouth agape as he took in Nick, sitting shirtless on his counter, a trickle of blood sliding down from where Greg had bit him on his shoulder. He started shivering, and then looked around the kitchen before he shook his head and ran, leaving Nick alone.
The Texan closed his eyes and sighed, sliding off of the counter and picking up his discarded shirt. He made his way to the front door, hoping that Greg hadn't been stupid enough to drive to his place in his condition. He arrived there just in time to see a taxi speed off into the distance.
Work the following evening was anything but pleasant. Nick had been so humiliated by his behavior, he had even considered staying home that day. He knew that Greg probably would work better without him there, at any rate. Still, just like his father had told him when he had refused to go to school because of a bully, you can't hide from your problems forever.
So Nick swallowed his courage and went into work, silently thanking whoever was responsible for the fact that he was now working on a case with Catherine, a double homicide at the Flamingo. Towards the end of the night, as they logged their evidence and sent it off to the techs to do their jobs, Catherine fell onto the couch in the break room with a sigh.
"Sometimes, I dream of a world where people just don't kill each other," she said, sounding exhausted.
Nick smirked as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "But then we'd be out of a job," he reminded her.
"I suppose that's true," Catherine said. "Does that make us murder profiteers?"
Nick shrugged, lifting the coffee to his lips.
"How's that case with you and Greg coming?" Catherine asked.
"Which case? The Connelly case?"
Catherine nodded.
Nick shifted. "Um… It's coming."
"You still have a few hours left on you shift," said Catherine. "Why don't you go find Greg and go over the case with Brass?"
"Greg's busy," Nick said quickly.
Catherine cocked an eyebrow. "He and Riley solved the arson case last week. Right now he's just helping out everyone else until I get a case for him. He's anything but busy."
"Well, it's out of our hands now, anyways," Nick said, trying to sound casual. "We processed the evidence and gave Brass our input, now it's up to the cops to do their job."
Now both of Catherine's eyebrows were raised. She leaned forward and placed her forearms on her knees, clasping her hands as she stared at Nick. "OK. What gives? I know you've been pouring over that case file trying to figure it out, and now you're acting like you don't even care?"
"It's nothing, I've just been working so hard on the case that maybe I need to step away from it for a while—"
"So which is it, you need a break, or you want to let the cops handle it?" Catherine asked. "Choose a story and stick to it, Nick. This is about Greg, isn't it?"
Nick gaped. "What? No, I—"
"Nick, listen," Catherine interjected, rising to her feet and closing the door. "Three years ago, this was an entirely different lab, and we were an entirely different team. The world changes around us, and so do the people in it, and that's life. But you two are my solid links to the past. I know I can come up to you anytime and make some joke that died five years ago and you would still laugh about it. Don't get me wrong, I love Riley and Ray, but you two… You're the heart of this team, Nick. If something's up, I want to know about it." Nick opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off. "No. No more bullshit. Do you think I'm an idiot? I've seen how you behave with Greg. And I've noticed that Greg's head has been somewhere far away from here for a long time. So I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that the friend he told you not to tell me about died, and now you're both trying to pretend like everything's normal."
Nick avoided her eyes and took a sip of his coffee to buy some time. She waited patiently, until finally, he said, "Yes. Neil died two weeks ago."
Catherine's brow furrowed and she chewed on her lip. "He should have told us. Or he should have at least told me. I would have given him time off, with pay, if he needed it. He's been working so hard lately, I could have figured out a way to authorize it…"
"Well, you should be talking to him about this, not me," said Nick. "I don't think he has anything to hide, but apparently, he thinks he does, so… Don't tell him that you know."
"As usual," Catherine grumbled. "Is there anything that Greg tells you that you are allowed to tell me?"
Nick thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "Suddenly, he likes to keep his private life… private."
"That's so unlike him…" Catherine muttered. "It's like ever since Grissom's left, he's adopted the persona. Son of a bitch."
"I know," Nick said. "I'm not too sure what he's afraid of…"
"And you," Catherine said suddenly. "Why are you the chosen one?"
"Beg pardon?"
"How come you know everything?" Catherine explained. "He shuts all the rest of us out, but you, he lets in. How's that work?"
"I kind of… forced myself in," Nick said. "He didn't have a choice."
"That's a lie," said Catherine. "He's always been warmer to you."
"How do you figure that?" Nick asked.
Catherine shrugged. "It's not something you figure, it's something you feel. Instinct. Which, by the way, is something I have a lot of. And my instinct is telling me that there's a huge chunk of this story that's all about you that you aren't talking about. Care to share?"
Nick wrapped his arms around himself, before he slowly nodded. "I think I took advantage of Greg yesterday."
"In what way?"
"Every way possible?" Nick suggested with a shrug, falling into a nearby chair.
Catherine approached him, that curious concern still etched in her features. "What happened?"
"He showed up at my place," Nick explained. "And he was drunk, and clearly upset. And then, he… I mean, I let him kiss me."
He watched Catherine to see a reaction, surprise or intrigue or anything in her features, but she held the same look she did at the beginning of the conversation.
"You don't seem surprised," he said.
"Please," she scoffed. "Greg's all gloomy and paying for his friend's hospital bills? I already told you, Nick, I'm no idiot, and I've got instinct. So what did you do when he kissed you?"
Nick was immediately uncomfortable and squirmed in his chair. "I don't want to—"
"You liked it," Catherine interrupted. "Didn't you?"
Nick looked at her, fear creeping just under his skin, but he wasn't sure what he was afraid of. "I pushed him away," he said, refusing to answer her question. "And he… fell over. So I felt bad about pushing too hard and I helped him up and then the whole next part was a blur, but I think that I… I kissed him, this time, I pushed him up against the fridge, and then everything escalated until I realized that this wasn't right, that it wasn't fair, and that he'd only end up regretting it, so I pushed him away again, and he looked hurt and horrified and he just… left…"
Catherine nodded. "You didn't do anything wrong, Nick."
"How can you say that?" Nick cried. "Greg just lost the person he's loved for the past two years, and I just…"
"Nick, listen," Catherine said, quietly. "Sometimes, we just need someone to remind us that we're not alone, that's all."
"I know," Nick said. "I know, that's exactly what he was doing, and I can't do that, Catherine. I want to be there for him, I want to help him, but I don't want to be the person that he—"
"I wasn't talking about Greg," Catherine whispered.
Nick paused, then looked sharply away. "So what do I do now?"
"Give him space," Catherine said. "And then maybe try talking to him."
"He thinks I rejected him—"
"Then explain that you didn't," Catherine insisted. "My God, what is the problem with men? Can you guys not talk about anything?"
Nick managed a small laugh before he nodded. "No, we generally just grunt and watch football. But what do I do in the meantime? He needs someone to help him out. He's trying to handle this all by himself, and he can't."
"Then maybe, if you're that worried about him, you should talk to him sooner, rather than later," Catherine suggested.
Nick sighed, because he knew she was right.