Author's Note: Notification of Delay: Due to circumstances beyond my control (the end of spring break, an unprecedentedly long travel time between DC and Seattle, and an interest in a new story), there will be no chapter posted this coming Wednesday. However, this chapter is long enough, it should satisfy you until Friday. I can tell you that this new story that's snagged my interest has me returning to my roots-- action thrillers. Which has me very excited, especially with all the crafty planning it requires. Writing this new story should not interfere with me finishing this one. Posting may slow down, but it will finish. I know where it's going and what I want to do with it. If you've read my work before, you know I'd rather give a story a bad ending than no ending at all (which is probably the opposite of what a good writer does, but this is fan fiction, not the real world). Despite that, I don't think you should expect a bad ending. I think it'll surprise you, and I think you'll like it. Or at least, you'd better. ;o)

Thanks again to LaughableBlackStorm (my beta), and also a hearty thank you to happyharper13 for her fabulous insight and critical eye. It's very helpful.

Chapter 13: Without Him

Nick slept dreamlessly that night, but awoke instantly and found himself staring at Greg's living room ceiling. It didn't take him long to remember where he had crashed for the night, but he did wonder why he had awoken so immediately.

And then, he heard a door click closed and he sat up to see Greg leaning against it, watching Nick on the couch. The Texan blinked a few times to regain his bearings and shrug off the blanket of sleep that still weighed heavily on his mind.

"What's up?" he asked, feeling slightly slow-witted.

Greg managed a timid shrug. "I woke up and you weren't there."

Nick realized that his modesty had cost him dearly. "Oh, man, Greg…" he said, rubbing his eyes. "I'm sorry. I just… I wasn't sure how long you wanted me there…"

"The whole point was so I didn't have to sleep alone," Greg muttered. "Why did you leave?"

Nick's cheeks burned red in the darkness and he was grateful that Greg couldn't see him. "I don't know, I just thought it would be better if I…" But now that Nick said it aloud, he realized how ridiculous it sounded. He fiddled subconsciously with his hands. "Um… do you need anything? I can make coffee—"

"Yeah, you're really good at making coffee," Greg said sharply.

Nick wondered if it was physically possible to shove his foot any deeper into his mouth. Instead of testing that theory, he decided to make up for it by stumbling to his feet and going over to Greg, planning on sweeping him off his feet. But upon his attempt, he somehow managed to trip over Greg's coffee table.

After the initial clatter and thump, there was silence in the apartment, that is, apart from the ringing in Nick's ears. But after that faded, he heard a quiet, vaguely familiar sound. As he slowly got to his feet and looked up at Greg, he saw the younger man hunched over with his hands covering his face. Nick's heart lurched to think that he was so disturbed by his dream it had reduced him to tears again.

"Greg, I—"

And then, through the noise, Greg snorted. "That… was hilarious."

Nick suddenly stopped and rolled his eyes as he came to his senses. "I'm really off my game tonight."

Greg, still laughing, nodded. "Yeah, you are."

Nick drew closer and slid his arms around Greg's waist, making the younger man look up at him with the ghost of his smile slowly fading from his lips. Greg opened his mouth and swallowed, visibly, apparently unsure of how to react to Nick's touch all of a sudden.

"You should go back to bed," Nick suggested.

Greg's hands hovered over Nick's arms. "Will you be there when I wake up?"

Without warning, Nick pulled Greg closer to him, making the younger man seize his shoulders instinctively. "I'll be as close as you like."

Greg watched him for a moment before closing his eyes. "Even before he was gone, when I looked at you… I couldn't help but feel like I was being unfaithful somehow. Just by looking at you. And then, like, he's dead for a week and I try and…" He shook his head and squirmed in Nick's grip, but the Texan wouldn't let him go. "Maybe I shouldn't even ask you to stay with me at all. I mean, it doesn't feel fair…"

Nick hushed him, his hand crawling up Greg's back and pressing against the back of his head, guiding Greg's face over his shoulder as they embraced properly. "It's not about lust or love or loyalty, Greg. You hurt, and you hurt bad. You need a friend. You need comfort. And that's what this is, Greg, comfort. I know that. And I bet Neil would understand that perfectly."

"It's about intimacy," Greg whispered, so quietly Nick wouldn't have heard him if he wasn't right next to his ear. "And that's… I said I loved you."

Nick scrambled to think of a response to this. "You were upset. You still are."

"So you're saying I didn't mean it?" Greg pulled away abruptly so he could see Nick's face.

Nick realized he'd said the wrong thing. Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. "Greg, I don't know what you meant or didn't mean. All I know is that you just lost someone very important in your life. I know what that's like. And despite all that five stages crap, everyone grieves in their own way. Everyone deals differently."

Greg said nothing. He just stared at the ground. "No… No, I think you were right the first time. I know that… it's wrong, to want you as badly as I do… But I feel like I've been waiting for you since…"

"As long as I've been waiting for you?" Nick supplied when Greg ran out of words.

Greg shook his head. "The funny thing is, I never even saw you as a possibility until two weeks ago. You were always just so… up there. You were someone I wanted to be, not someone I wanted to…" He bit his lip. "I'm sorry, I can't think of a better word than fuck, really, because I can't be… in…" He blinked rapidly, then looked up at Nick again.

Nick couldn't help but feel the sting of his remarks. He considered the years he had waited, keeping his distance, but always watching Greg, and watching over Greg, always maintaining that personal space bubble, but also only a step away should Greg ever fall.

"Right," he said at last, if only to break the awkward silence that had settled between them. "Yeah, um, me too."

Greg's eyes were glassy and far away. "I spent two years with a man and never told him that I loved him… Do you think I'm trying to punish him?"

Nick was caught off guard by the question. "Punish him for what?"

"For leaving me without saying goodbye."

Nick said nothing. He had run out of words. Nothing he did seemed remotely effective, and though he stood there, in Greg's apartment, holding the man that he had wanted to hold for so long, this was not at all where he wanted to be.

"Get some rest," he said, forgetting Greg's question as he guided the younger man back into the bedroom. "You have a big day tomorrow."

The service was brief, which suited Greg fine. He remembered, at Warrick's funeral, he had managed to find some kind of closure. When the lid of the coffin had closed on his old friend, so had a door somewhere in Greg, and he hadn't opened it since. He had accepted then, that that part of his life was over, and he would have to continue in a life without Warrick in it. And he had managed.

It wasn't as easy with Neil. Even after the coffin was closed, and they were lowering it into the ground, the priest was saying something about ashes and dust, the only thing that Greg could think about was how much Neil had hated priests and churches. That wasn't entirely fair. He didn't really hate priests at all. It's not like he was prejudiced, Greg thought to himself, as if justifying Neil's feelings. He just had a problem with God. He'd always said it was because, after his parents had died, he'd felt as if God had a problem with him.

Still, they stood in the graveyard of a church where his parents were buried, because this was where Neil had wanted to be laid to rest. Greg found it incredible that after all the places he'd traveled, there was still no place he'd rather spend eternity than with his parents.

The boy really was loyal, Greg thought.

He took a deep breath and held it as the earth swallowed up almost three years of his life. He felt a hand squeeze his, and knew who it belonged to, but did not look at him. Instead, he looked at the other mourners that surrounded the grave. Greg recognized Neil's old editor who kept checking his watch impatiently. It made him grind his teeth. Beside the editor was a woman Greg did not recognize, but she wore a fashionable blazer and skirt with a pearl necklace and had a single tear streak down her cheek. She wore her dark hair in a bun on top of her head and a pen behind her ear, even on an occasion like this, which immediately told Greg that she was a fellow reporter for The Sun, most likely. There were a handful of others, some Greg had been introduced to on occasion. Neil had called them his friends, but none of them had ever inquired about him when he got sick, nor had they ever visited, and Neil rarely spoke of them, so Greg doubted that he'd been close to any of them.

As the service ended, people began to disperse. The editor left as soon as he was sure it was socially acceptable, but the other reporter lingered over Neil's grave for a few moments. Greg watched her out of a strange curiosity he couldn't place as she kneeled and laid calla lilies on his grave.

With a pang in his tired chest, Greg remembered when Neil had given him calla lilies, and felt horrible that he hadn't brought anything to lay on his lover's grave.

The reporter seemed to feel Greg's gaze because she looked up and their eyes met. She rose to her feet and approached him. Greg immediately wanted to leave. He tugged on Nick's hand.

"Let's go," he whispered, but it was too late, she was already there.

She extended a gloved hand to him formally. "My name is Laura Whittaker, I was Neil's editor at The Sun. You must be Greg."

Greg blinked, then nodded, taking her hand. "I thought that busy-looking guy that took off early was his editor."

Laura rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, he's a douchebag. I'm the assistant editor. I signed off on most of Neil's stories, though."

Greg blinked, then looked at Nick, who was watching the conversation with an inscrutable expression on his face. "Um… this is Nick Stokes, he's…" Greg frowned, not knowing what to say.

But Nick covered it, extending a hand to Laura. "A mutual friend. How do you do?"

"OK, considering," Laura replied honestly. "How did you know Neil?"

Nick glanced at his friend. "Greg brought us together."

Laura smiled at Greg. "That's sweet. He always said great things about you."

A chill trickled down Greg's spine. "He… spoke to you about me?"

"Only all the time," Laura laughed. "Have you read his column?"

Greg blanched. "Column? Neil was a Features writer."

"And a good one," Laura agreed. "But over the last few months, he's been writing a column for us. I'm… slightly surprised he didn't tell you."

"What was he writing about?" Greg whispered quietly.

"I've saved them all, if you'd like them," Laura offered. "I have a whole scrap book of them. They're beautiful. He got a lot of letters about them, but I was only in contact with him via e-mail so he never gave me an address to forward them to… You know, he also asked for me to save his paychecks, so I could give them to you after…" She looked over her shoulder at Neil's grave.

Greg was in shock. Even with how sick he was, Neil had still found the time and energy to write a column for The Sun and Greg hadn't even noticed. "The estate sale is on Sunday," Greg muttered, in a slight daze. "Why don't you stop by then?"

Laura nodded. "Yes, that sounds lovely. I haven't been to Neil's house in a long time. I'll bring everything to you there." She grinned. "It really was nice meeting you, Greg."

She was glowing, as if she were meeting some sort of celebrity, and Greg didn't deserve that. "You're sweet, but whatever Neil told you about me—"

"It's not what he told me, honey," said Laura. "It's what he wrote." She winked at him, then nodded politely at Nick. "You boys have a nice day, now."

And she walked away.

Greg's skin was crawling. "He was writing a column…"

"Are you OK?" Nick asked, stepping in front of Greg to look him in the eyes.

"I told him to stop working, but he did it anyway. He just… did it anyway. Because he felt bad that I was paying for everything. He wrote this column to help me get out of debt."

Nick was quiet. He glanced at the ground, then looked up at Greg again. "I don't think it was just about the money, Greg."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… Neil was a journalist. Writing was his thing, wasn't it? I think… it was about leaving something behind."

It was Greg's turn to be quiet. He heard Neil's laughter as clearly as if his lover were there with him at that very moment. But just as quickly as it had come, it subsided, like ocean waves.

How could he close the door on Neil, when this strange woman had just shown him how little he'd really known about his lover?

Greg sat on the steps of Neil's house, fiddling with his hands, wishing he smoked so he'd at least have something to do, or some excuse to be here outside rather than inside, with all the scavengers. He allowed his liquidator to do most of the work, unable to even set foot in the house that had once been Neil's.

Someone kneeled down in front of him and placed a kind hand on his knee.

"Are you sure there's nothing in there that you want? You can still go in there and take a few things… keepsakes, maybe…"

"No, Nick," Greg whispered, firmly. "I kept the box, and I'm even thinking of getting rid of that. It doesn't help to cling to something that's gone. I have to let him go."

Nick dug into his pocket and pulled something out that glittered in the sunlight and made Greg look up.

"What's that? A Rolex?"

Nick played with a gold watch in his hand and smiled. "Timex. Warrick was too smart to splurge on anything."

Greg's mouth formed a tiny 'o' shape. "You always have that on you?"

"Always," said Nick, meeting Greg's eyes.

Greg stared at the watch. "And it helps you?"

Nick took Greg's hand and placed the watch on his palm, closing Greg's fingers around it and holding tightly to Greg's hand. "Does it help you?"

Greg's hand began to shake and he ripped it away, dropping the watch onto the ground. "Sorry…"

Nick sighed as he picked up the watch and slipped it into his pocket. "It's OK. It's my fault."

"No, you're trying to help," Greg muttered. "And I almost broke Warrick's watch."

"I saw that you put away all his pictures," Nick whispered.

"I didn't have many of Warrick to…" Greg looked up. "Oh." He sighed. "I'll bring them back. When things get… better."

Nick smiled and tiled Greg's chin upwards. "You sound like you don't expect them to."

Greg's shoulders slumped. He opened his mouth to reply when they were interrupted.

"Hello, Greg?"

Greg looked up to see Laura Whittaker beaming at him with a book under her arm. She wore her wavy hair down today as well as a tailored black pinstriped suit with a pink collared shirt. She still had that pen behind her ear. Greg wondered if she ever parted with it.

He rose to his feet to greet her. "Ms. Whittaker."

"Please, call me Laura," she insisted. She gripped the brown leather-bound book with both hands and looked down at it, then up at Greg. "Here it is. Every column he ever wrote in the last three months. Twice a week. Rather impressive, really. He always met his deadline. I've never known Neil to be late." She held out the book for Greg, who stared at it for a moment, this piece of Neil's life that he'd known absolutely nothing about. He took it from her and held it reverently, like a holy text, before hugging it close to his chest and smiling at Laura.

"Thank you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded in understanding, then reached into the pocket of her blazer and pulled out an envelope. "Neil's paycheck for the last three months. We started him out on thirty dollars a piece, and at a paper like The Sun, that's not a bad deal. But when his column drew in some fan mail, I convinced our editor to raise it to fifty dollars a piece. He wanted to do as much as he could to help you, and I wanted to do what I could as well. It's still not very much… about a thousand dollars. But he wanted it to be yours." She smiled and her eyes lit up as she just remembered something. "In fact, if I recall, he specified that you not use it to pay for expenses… but for something for yourself."

In a slight trance, Greg took the envelope. He opened the cover of the scrap book and tucked it in there before closing it. His fingers glided over the smooth leather cover.

"I have the fan mail, too," Laura told him. "Just a couple of letters, but it's more than our veteran columnists get. Would you—"

"I don't need the fan mail, thanks," Greg said, still staring at the book. He looked up at Laura. "You and Neil were pretty close?"

Laura nodded. "We've grown relatively close over the past few years. I'm going to miss him in the news room. He was always so… cheerful, you know? No matter what horrific story we splashed on the front page, he…" She blushed then nodded. "Well… I'll miss him. I've never known another man like him."

Greg nodded. "Go inside," he said. "You'll see a man in an ugly brown suit. Tell him I told you that it was fine to take whatever you wanted."

Laura blinked. "Oh, no. If I wanted anything, I'd pay for it—"

"You were Neil's friend," Greg insisted. "And it would help me to know that not everything he owned will be bought up by strangers."

She put a kind hand on Greg's shoulder. "I see now why he loved you so much," she whispered, before moving into the house.

Greg looked down at the book in his hands again and held it to his chest.

"Do you have to stay here for the whole day?" Nick asked, coming up behind him.

Greg shook his head. "The liquidator should be able to manage things. He's supposed to call me if there's any major sales…"

"Will you let me take you home?"

Greg turned around and looked at Nick with tired eyes. "Will you be there when I wake up?"

Nick could do nothing but offer Greg a small smile.

Nick had insisted that Greg needed rest, especially as Greg insisted on going to work that evening. So Greg had allowed the Texan to lead him to his bed, and had waited, facing the wall, his eyes wide open to hear the heavy breathing of the man behind him.

When he was sure that Nick had fallen asleep, he crept out from beneath the covers and entered the living room, where he saw the leather scrapbook on the dining room table. He pulled out a chair and opened it to the first page, where Laura had pasted the first two columns.

Finishing the Race, read the heading, by Neil Cooper. A picture of a smiling man sat right beneath it, but it didn't look like the person who had written this column. The person who had written this column had been skinny and frail, with sunken eyes and a collapsed septum and gray lips and thin hair… thin, curly blond hair…

Greg closed his eyes and shook his head to clear it, staring again at the healthy photo of his old lover. In actuality, it didn't look like the photo was that old. But it had definitely been taken before Neil had gotten sick. He was beaming at the camera, with one hand against his cheek, supporting his head, pushing the skin slightly upwards. It gave him a rather playful, goofy look, which was a testament to his character. Greg remembered when he could still pull off that look. He tried to smile like Neil was, like there was nothing in the world that couldn't be improved with a joke and a game of Mario Kart, but the smile quickly faded.

Greg began to read the column.

There are diseases in the world that will blindside you like car crashes. They can be fatal in the sneakiest of ways. The trick is not to let that happen. A diagnosis, even a fatal one, can only take away your life if you let it. You still have time left to set everything right. To do the things you always wanted to do. To be with the people you want to be with.

My life is brief. I'm not even forty and I'm dying, but still that's more than some people get, people who are better than me. It's not that I don't want more, it's just that I'm glad that I didn't have any less. This disease struck me at a point in my life when I have been the happiest in years, because for the first time since my parents died, I know that I'm not alone. I've never been very good at getting close to people, which is probably why I don't have very many friends, but there is one person I know I can always count on, because he loves me with everything he has.

Despite the title of this column, life isn't so much a race as it is an expedition. It should by no means be sped through, but explored. Still, the metaphor fits in other ways. So many people pace themselves at the beginning that when the end is in sight, they pick up speed, thinking they are running out of time. But you should have been sprinting the whole length of it, with the wind whipping at your face and your heart jumping and the adrenaline pumping… You should have been running as fast as you could, because you have no idea how long the track is.

My race is coming to an end. Like most races, it's mostly with myself. The point is, I'm proud to say that I haven't been coasting this whole time. Are there chances I should have taken but didn't? Sure, there are always those. But for the most part, I went and did what I wanted with my life. I took the risks that mattered, and in general they paid off. But I know that some people like to keep cautious. I know that some are afraid that the risks they take today could ruin them tomorrow. And to them, I say, maybe it's time to stop worrying so much about tomorrow…

Greg's fingers ran over the column, trying to draw comfort from the type on the page, pull Neil's ghost out of hiding. He flipped through the columns and noticed that not all of them were as optimistic as his first one. Words and phrases jumped out of him.

It's not that I'm not scared to die. But sometimes, I'm just so much more petrified of living like this for one more day… I didn't think it would hurt this much… Greg is always there. He puts up with me like a saint, and he will never know what that means… Writing now is a bad idea. It hurts when I breathe… I had a dream where I died last night, and I was in Hell, and Greg was there but he couldn't see me, and he just kept calling my name. And I'm terrified that it's a prophesy of some sort, some place I'll go when I die for being a bad person…

"You weren't a bad person, Neil," Greg whispered, swallowing to open up his throat. He gripped the edges of the book as a single tear slid down his cheek and stained the page. "Oh God, Neil, why didn't you tell me any of this? You never talked to me about your dreams, you said you'd rather forget them, and here you're spilling your guts to the entire city."

Not all of it was Neil's fears. Some of the optimism contained in his first column still permeated his subsequent ones. Some of them Greg suspected were written to reassure Neil himself more than anything else.

Greg and I had a real Christmas this year. He even climbed into bed with me and let me hold him. I miss holding him so much… I'm glad I didn't die from that heart attack. It made me realize that there is so much left that I have to say… I wish that every person in the world could have one wish, one that they really needed and wanted so badly, that would be granted. If I had that wish, I could be selfish. I could be selfish and wish to be cured. But I could also wish that Greg really smiles again. He doesn't smile like he used to. He thinks I don't notice, but I can tell it's fake. And I love him all the more for it.

Greg closed the book before he reached the last page of columns. He was shaking so badly that he couldn't turn the pages without tearing them. He wrapped his arms around himself, knowing he should have never even started to read those words, to see Neil's thoughts laid so bare before him. It was too soon, and every word he read, he could hear Neil's voice as if his old lover were sitting across the table from him, confessing everything.

Greg wished so badly that Neil was sitting across the table from him at that moment. But he knew that this was not Neil's ideal world, and no matter how badly he may have wanted or needed it, that wish would never come true.

Regardless, Greg squeezed himself as tight as he could and closed his eyes, trying to focus all his energy, wondering if magic really existed, or if all those powers his grandmother had told him about would finally cut him a cosmic break and give him what he needed. He leaned forward and thought so hard it became words. But that was as far as the wish went.

"Bring him back, please, just bring him back, I need him, I need him here, please, just bring him back… Bring him back, please…"

Greg wasn't aware of it, but his call was not falling on deaf ears. In fact, they fell on very attentive ears, and he realized that when he felt arms drawing him close against a warm body and he threw his own arms around Nick's neck as he half fell out of the chair, his eyes still shut very tight as he spoke loudly now, repeating his wish over and over again in hopes of being heard, in hopes of being understood.

He felt Nick's arm beneath the crook of his knees as the Texan swept him off his feet and carried him back into the bedroom. Greg knew it was happening, and didn't fight it, until Nick laid him on the bed and tried to pull away.

Greg seized his hand and opened his eyes, his ritualistic mutterings suddenly halted and Nick stopped to look at him. For a moment, Greg said nothing at all, and the silence hovered between them like a dark ghost.

"He's not coming back," Greg whispered at last.

Nick kneeled down by the side of the bed and stroked Greg's hair. "No, Greg, he isn't. No matter how many times you ask."

Greg blinked, feeling a tidal wave build in him. "W-what do I do now?"

Nick rose to his feet and walked to the foot of the bed before crawling up beside Greg, who watched him. They faced each other, and Nick's eyes were solemn and soft at the same time.

"You have to let him go, Greg," Nick said, quietly.

"I can't," Greg said, the words coming out as a sob. He gasped and closed his eyes, feeling the tears. "Oh God, no one said it would be this hard…" And then, he couldn't even form words anymore, it all just came out in jolts and Greg didn't even try to stop it this time. He let it out, ready to tear up the bed sheets if he had to, but someone was holding on so tightly to him that he couldn't move his arms the right way, so they went limp and he surrendered to everything, and he let the waves pour out of him in wails that would have made a banshee cover her ears. But this was different than the last time, which had been angry, violent, and brutal. Greg felt the helplessness slip out of him in tears and Nick would not let him go, and at the end of it, when the numbness fell over him, he wasn't alone.

Nick was there.

And it was quiet.