Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Title: Don't Want A Lover
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned
by CBS, Bruckheimer Productions, et al. No money is being made and no copyright
or trademark infringement is intended.
Note: Written for the asongofsixpence lyric challenge using You've Got
Everything Now by the Smiths. A big thanks to Erika for the beta, who made this
piece better than it was. It's still not quite right somehow, though, and
concrit's greatly appreciated.
To Nick, nights are blue.
It was one of the first things he noticed when he started working night shift:
for as long and hot and dry as the days are brown, the nights are understated
and cool and blue. It's the moon that gives everything that cast; it's the sort
of light you can only find before dawn, the kind that makes you feel lonely but
gives you solace at the same time. The neon of the Vegas lights are endless and
garishly bright, more shades of red and brown, but they're just an oasis in a
much larger, much more serene desert. It's as though the desert refuses to let
the city have all that it wants, insists on more grace and decorum for what is
rightfully hers, and that's why her blue keeps edging in around the corners.
The blue of the neon sign outside the Jazzed Caf� is the same color as the blue
of the moonlight, and Nick wonders vaguely if that's merely a coincidence. It
doesn't really matter though, because it makes him feel at home and that's
something he's been missing since the sheriff cracked down on overtime and
Nick's had a few too many days off. Days, that's the problem. Long, hot, dusty,
brown days. He's night shift now, but he has no reason to keep night shift hours
if he's not at work. He's missed the nights, the lights, but Warrick's always
gloated that he knows best and this time Nick can admit he's right. He already
feels better just standing in the cool air, bathed in the light of the caf�'s
sign and he'll have to remember to thank Warrick.if the band turns out to be
good, that is.
The Blue Cherry, that's their name. Warrick's jammed with some of the guys
before, recommended them to Nick as something worth checking out on his time off
when he packed up his stuff Wednesday for the rest of the week. That's how he
ended up standing outside the bar late on a Saturday night, thinking about blue
lights and blue nights and blue music.
Inside, the bar is smoky and crowded, the lights quiet and subdued like the
conversation because everyone's watching the band. They're playing something
funkysmooth, cool and soulful. Nick likes them already, though this isn't his
usual style.
He gets a beer and takes a seat at the bar, the tables full of couples and
groups. It makes Nick feel his solitude bright and sharp for a moment, makes him
think of something he shouldn't, but then the band shifts to a hard driving riff
and it's easy enough to forget. They're good, really good, and when they do a
killer Stevie Ray Vaughn cover near the end of their set, he decides that
Warrick's earned his thanks.
Then Catherine calls with a question about that flash flood in the canyon case
from a while back and Nick steps outside to hear her over the thundering of the
guitar and drums. It doesn't sound like that's what's happening on her case, but
she's at such a loss that even being able to rule out a remote possibility like
that is a step in the right direction. He offers what help he can and when he
steps back inside, the band's come down, the piano whispering a soft, lazy
flirtation. There's someone standing by his stool at the bar and the figure
looks vaguely familiar. Nick tries to place him as he heads back after a moment
to a table near the front, two glasses of white wine in hand. The smoke and the
dim lights make it difficult, but by the time he sits down Nick knows it's just
on the tip of his tongue. Then he catches sight of the other person at the table
and Nick doesn't have to try to figure that one out; he'd recognize him
anywhere. And Greg, well.he cleans up good. It's nothing different than he'd
wear to work, a gray button-down over jeans with some Docs, but somehow it just
looks good. Better. Ethan smiles down at him and hands him a glass-- and that's
who it is, Ethan St. something or other from day shift -- and Nick may not be
fastest on the uptake, but he knows a date when he sees it. There's a moment of
disbelief while he processes that it really is a date, and then another moment
when it hits home that there really is another CSI involved. Nick's not sure
which of the two is more surprising, but it might be the undercurrent of
jealousy he feels slowly rising the longer he watches the two of them.
He shouldn't be surprised and he shouldn't care. Greg's an attractive guy;
Nick's thought that often enough himself. And he's a flirt, mostly equal
opportunity though he means it more with some than with others. And with a
schedule like theirs, work is about the only place they have to meet people.
Especially with something like this last case, hours and hours of overtime and
overlap with the day shift, no time for anything else and then Nick can't hold
back a bitter breath of laughter. That's where he knows Ethan from, and that's
where Greg knows him from, too.
It doesn't sit well with him, because this isn't right. All those reasons why
Greg should be out with someone from work aren't for Ethan, they're for Nick.
He's been working this for weeks, months, years if you really want to trace it
back to the time before he knew. But Greg's been going down this road with him
for a while now, pointed smiles and subtle touches and Nick finally got it:
yeah, Greg's interested. And Nick's interested, too. It became clear on this
case, actually, when he was tired of Catherine being in charge, tired of Sara's
tight expression, tired of Warrick's frustration, and the only person he wasn't
tired of was Greg. Day in and day out, Greg bringing him reports that painted a
more and more gruesome picture, and yet he was still the only one Nick was happy
to see. And that meant something to Nick, meant enough for him to think about
maybe doing something about it. But there were their jobs to consider: Nick's
reputation and Greg's chance to get out into the field permanently and even what
people would say, because you can't keep something like this quiet for long. But
now Ethan's run a red light and cut Nick off and this wasn't the way it was
supposed to go down.
The problem, though, is that Nick can't lie to himself. He knows that nothing
was ever going to happen between he and Greg. He'd think about it, and he'd want
it, but he'd never really do anything about it. Above all, Nick's practical and
neat, and getting involved with Greg would be neither of the two. And if he
doesn't care enough about Greg to get a little messy, then he certainly doesn't
have any right being jealous or getting pissed off. But that only pisses him off
more, because things are already messy and he doesn't have a thing to show for
it. Ethan does.
By the time he comes around, the band's set is over and the bar's starting to
empty out. Greg and Ethan are making their way toward the door and Nick turns
his back to them, studying the bottles behind the bar as he makes a conscious
effort to unclench his jaw. He's not fast enough, though. As they're winding
their way around the tables, Ethan sees him and stiffens, but Greg just puts a
hand on his arm and guides him out the door. If Nick thought about, he'd have
split when he saw them, but a still jealous part of him thinks it's only fair
that Ethan get his hands a little dirty, too.
He gives them a few minutes to get out of the parking lot before he makes his
own way out of the bar, but they're still standing by Ethan's car. Nick hangs
around the entrance, trying to buy a little more time, but then Ethan kisses
Greg on the cheek and drives away, and Greg heads back toward him.
Greg digs in his pocket as he walks, then ducks his head and Nick sees a flash
of orange from his lighter. A cigarette, and that's not something Nick knew
about him.
He leans up against the wall, one foot flat on its surface while he waits for
Nick to catch up. When he does, Nick offers off-handedly, "Those things'll kill
you."
Greg shrugs. "Don't do it often." Nick opens his mouth to say something, he
doesn't know what, and then Greg interrupts, "You're not going to say anything,
are you?"
Nick's not sure what he means, but then Greg clarifies with a vague gesture, his
cigarette trailing an afterburn of light with his movement. "About us. Ethan was
worried."
That makes Nick wonder just how long this has been going on, because Greg
doesn't seem the type to go out with someone who'd be worried about being seen
with him. He knows you can't keep things like this quiet for long, but he's not
sure just how long you can keep them quiet for. "No, I won't. I just.I didn't
know." He trails off, not knowing what it is he wants to say.
Greg shrugs again, taking a long drag off his cigarette. When he blows the smoke
out, it wafts out into the air, tinged blue from the sign they're standing
under. It's then that Nick notices the light, and he's seen Greg in light like
this countless times before when they've been out in the field. The problem
then, just like the problem now, is that it always makes Nick want to reach out
and touch. He wants to know if the blue will cover him, too.
"Nothing to know," Greg says. "First date."
"Will there be another?" Even as he says it, he's not sure where it's coming
from. It wasn't what he wanted to ask, but it's too late to take it back. Maybe,
though, it's what he needed to ask. Something about tonight just feels like it's
time, time to do something about this one way or another.
Greg considers him for a moment, cigarette to his lips again. He's not as
surprised as Nick thought he'd be and something about that makes Nick vaguely
uncomfortable. "Depends," Greg replies, and there's something in his tone that
lets Nick know the answer to that question is resting on his shoulders and
time's quickly running out on his answer.
And here it is, he's got everything. All he has to do is say the word. He's
already jealous, it's already messy, Greg already knows. He has nothing to lose.
Still, it's not the sort of thing you decide in the early hours of the morning
standing outside a bar. But now that it's all out on the table, he can start to
decide, give himself the chance to really think this through and see where it
might go and if it's somewhere he'd want to follow. He's pretty sure it all
starts with giving Greg a ride home but when he turns back to him, Greg's gone.
Nick watches his cigarette fade away into the distance before Greg tosses it to
the sidewalk.
Nick looks at his hands, and even though he's still standing beneath the sign
and its light, his skin is the dusty, lifeless brown of the desert. He wants to
be blue. He wants a chance at the desert's grace because there's only so long
you can live in the red glare of the city before it consumes you and leaves you
with nothing. He knows what he wants, what he needs, but he's still not sure if
it's worth the risk. Finally the lights of the bar and the sign go out, leaving
him in darkness as he tries to decide before Greg gets too far away.