Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Title: Lover, Won't You Stay
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.
Summary: There's Robert Frost, beer for breakfast, and Nick doesn't think it's
gonna pan out.
Note: Companion piece to Don't Want A Lover. Thanks to Erika for the beta, and
to the folks who asked if there was going to be a sequel, because I hadn't even
thought about it until someone mentioned it. Also, all my CSI fic titles come
from songs, this one in particular from Will Young. He may be worth a listen if
you haven't heard him already.
To Greg, summer's always been the best part of the year. When he was younger, it
meant a vacation from school and time to goof off the way he really wanted. When
he got older, it meant open surf season and dawn bonfires on the beach with his
friends. It was when he first moved to Vegas that summer seemed to lose all
meaning; after all, it's always summer in the desert. Greg's used to varying
shades of summer as the California equivalent to the four seasons, but in Vegas
even those distinctions don't mean much. It's always hot and dry and sunny, the
lights are always on, there's always a party, and Lady Luck's always talking
some poor fool into falling in love with her just to break his heart in this
little devil's oasis. He'd all but given up on the euphoria that comes along
with the true decadent onset of the season.
Until his first summer in Vegas, anyway. He'd thought because he'd be lacking
the differential that summer would pass him by without so much as a hot breeze
on the back of his neck, but he was wrong. Because the true summer days were so
hard to recognize in the midst of the normal oppressive heat and false sunshine,
they were even more noticeable and Greg's appreciation hit an even more sublime
level.
Like today. If it's been a slow night, shift really starts to drag around six.
Greg finds himself watching the clock while he meticulously arranges and
rearranges all his tools, runs unnecessary calibrations on the machines, and
rereads articles he's read a hundred times before because the bastards on day
shift snitch the journals with the good articles long before night shift ever
even has a chance to look at them.
It's while he's sweet-talking the GCMS into opening up so he can adjust her
sample concentrator (and who wouldn't need a little adjusting after spending a
large portion of their day with Hodges?) that he first catches the smell. There
must be an open window in a nearby office or maybe they've propped the front
doors open for some reason, but he smells it plain as the day that's dawning:
that smell that is distinctly, definitively summer. It's not something he can
put into words, because adjectives like "fresh" and "clean" don't come anywhere
near describing the true essence of the smell and really, there isn't very much
that fresh and clean in Vegas anyway. But it's that smell that heralds the
beginning of a new, unmarred day, a day that's full of endless, fantastical
possibilities. A day that has promise --that's the closest Greg can get to
describing what it's really like.
It seems as though one moment he's waxing philosophic about the promise of a new
day and the next time he checks the clock, it's a little after seven and high
time for him to head out. Even more evidence that summer can work magic, he
thinks with a smile, and even manages a wave at Hodges before he flips him off
behind his back as he leaves the building and treks to the parking lot.
Once he's outside and bathed in the day, Greg knows his earlier assessment was
right on the money. It's gorgeous outside. The sun's shining but not glaring,
the air's warm on the wind but moving too quickly to do anything but leave
behind a sly caress. Normally Greg would be embarrassed to be Robert Frost-ing
the weather, but this is the first time in two weeks that Nick hasn't been the
first thing on his mind as soon as work was off it, so he'll take what he can
get.
He runs some errands he's been meaning to get done for a while: a stop at the
grocery store, a stop at the pharmacy, and he even remembers to drop off the
film that's been rolling around his glove compartment since the last time his
friends were in town for a visit. He parks at the end of the Strip and strolls
down to Cleopatra's for some breakfast, eggs and beer. It sounded like a lethal
combination when he first moved to town but now he can't imagine how he lived
without it. If college kids still think cold pizza for breakfast is a walk on
the wild side, they ain't seen nothing yet.
He's halfway through breakfast when the fatigue catches up with his body. It's
been a long night, a long week, and Greg's thoughts have been chasing themselves
around his head so much he's far closer to exhaustion than he should be after a
slow shift like this last one. He decides against a second beer, pays for his
food, and heads back down the Strip at the same ambling pace as before. This is
the only part of the day he'll get to enjoy, because he knows that whatever it
is that's special about it will have disappeared with the sun by the time he
wakes up tonight.
It's the Stevie Ray Vaughn song on the radio on the drive home; the one that
band covered, that finally brings Nick back into Greg's head. It's been a little
over two weeks since he saw Nick at the Jazzed Caf� and in that time, Nick
hasn't so much as spared him an extra glance. He was expecting some sort of
change, for better or worse, after their little run-in but so far it's been a
big, fat nada. Maybe he's been reading Nick wrong this whole time. Enthusiasm
can make a lot of things look like something they're not.
He hasn't gotten anything from Nick, but he has gotten a couple of phone calls
from Ethan, wanting to know when they can get together again. He wants to say
no, because Ethan's certainly not Nick, and he wants to say yes, because at
least Ethan isn't Nick. So far, the middle ground has consisted of saying
nothing at all. There's a whole lot of nothing going around the crime lab these
days, apparently.
It's just the other side of hot by the time Greg gets home and he doesn't mind
missing most of the day anymore because he's caught the best part already. He
doesn't even flinch when he thinks he sees Nick leaning against the landing
outside his apartment; a long day and a beer in his system and Nick taking up
permanent residence in his head means a little runaway imagination is easy to
dismiss. It's not until Nick speaks that Greg realizes he actually is there.
"Hey," he says, and his Texas shouldn't be showing on a monosyllabic word like
that, but his voice sounds slow and honeyed to Greg's ears and yeah. Greg's just
as out of it as he thought he was if a simple, uncertain "hey" nearly makes him
shiver. Enthusiasm, he reminds himself, turning the key in the lock.
He's inside, Nick having followed without invitation, by the time he remembers
to ask what Nick's doing here. "I was waiting for you," he replies, with a
sheepish little smile.
Greg wants to apologize because if he really has been waiting, he's been waiting
for a while. But Nick showed up here uninvited, no warning, and Greg has nothing
to apologize for. Instead, he asks, "Want some coffee or something?"
Nick shakes his head and sits down on the sofa and Greg might be a little miffed
at the way he's just making himself at home if he didn't look so good in Greg's
space. If he didn't look, really, like he belongs there. "I just, uh.wanted to
talk."
Greg sighs as he sets his stuff down by the door. "Look, if this is about the
other night, you already said--"
"It's not about that. Well, it is, but it's not." Greg leans against the wall
with a questioning look and Nick doesn't say anything for a moment. Then, "First
date, huh?"
"Yeah."
"He wants to keep it quiet?"
Greg shrugs. "Do you want everyone at work knowing about all your first dates?
If it doesn't pan out, then.."
Nick runs a hand through his hair, looking a little uncomfortable, and that's
when Greg notices he's wearing his glasses. And that just isn't fair. "Is it
going to?"
"Going to what?"
"Pan out."
"Nick." As happy as he is that Nick is here, Greg's tired and Nick doesn't seem
to be doing anything about getting to the point, whatever the hell it is. Nick's
cluelessness can be cute, but it's a lot to deal with even on a full night's
sleep and some of Greg's coffee, but right now Greg's bed is looking a lot more
appealing than even Nick making himself at home on Greg's couch.
Nick must hear the fatigue in Greg's tone, because this smile is a little
contrite. "Look, G." He pauses again, probably to fumble around some more, but
he studies Greg while he searches for words. "You look exhausted, man."
"Long shift."
Nick nods. "We can do this another time. It's--"
Greg waves him on. "No, go ahead."
And now Nick seems to have lost what little confidence he had coming into this
because he looks a bit off balance. "The other night," he says, gesturing
vaguely. "I was gonna give you a ride home, but you were gone before I could
ask."
"You were?" It's eerie how quickly Greg can recall that moment, the uncertainty,
the anticipation, the hope that maybe, finally, Nick was gonna do something
about whatever's been going on with them lately. It wasn't hard to talk himself
out of that idea, but now he can see Nick so clearly, standing there and
thinking hard and looking, for just a flash of a moment, like he was gonna do
what Greg's been wanting him to do pretty much since they'd met. Years of subtle
flirting and unnecessary touching and those damn grins that make Greg weak in
the knees shouldn't have been dismissed that easily, but Greg needed something
to get him through the day with half a mind on the job. Now, though, it all
comes flooding back in vivid detail and if Nick's gonna blow him off again, Greg
may end up using his foot in Nick's pretty little backside to show him the way
out.
"Yeah."
"So why didn't you?" And he remembers that, too: the way Nick hesitated just a
moment too long and then another and another until Greg couldn't take it
anymore. He likes Nick, likes him a lot. Enough to have harbored some pathetic
little crush on him that makes him embarrassed just to think about it. He may be
pathetic in his own head, but he's never going to show that to Nick. And if Nick
can't make up his mind when it's clearly time, Greg's not going to make himself
feel worse by waiting around forever on the off chance Nick might come around.
He's better than that, even if Nick doesn't know it.
That wasn't the response Nick was expecting. He looks completely off balance now
and Greg's not about to sit here and have a conversation with him about which
way is up. "Nick--"
And then Nick's expression shifts into something fiercely determined and Greg
has just a moment to be a little bit scared before Nick's mouth is on his and
he's pressed back into the wall with a whole lotta Stokes up against him. And
that's not the response Greg was expecting, either, but he's nothing if not
adaptable and Nick's mouth is nothing if not utterly devastating and if that
little whimpering noise is coming from him, that's not something he'll ever
admit.
"It's not gonna pan out," Nick whispers in his ear, hot and forceful and Greg
finds himself agreeing wholeheartedly before it dawns on him that Nick's talking
about Ethan. And he's right; it's not.
As Nick's mouth descends on him again, Greg realizes with a smirk something did
pan out: his theory on summer magic. All in all, not bad for two roads diverging
a wood or whatever the-- mmm.