Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Title: Minor Fifth: Your Flag on the Marble Arch
Pairing: Jacqui, Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13
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: Greg rides Jacqui's last nerve and Nick may not be as much of a cat
lover as people think.
Notes: Second in a series of fics involving the minor characters.
Jacqui almost always wants to hit Greg. Usually it's just a love tap because
he's the biggest overgrown kid she's ever met, but sometimes when he's
chattering on and on and just won't shut up, she wants to really hit him,
because she knows she could hurt him and he'd probably let out a girly squeal in
protest and pain and she really wants to hear that. Other times, when she loses
bets and has to do stupid things like wear that damn swami hat, she wants to hit
him with the intent of separating his head from his body because if she didn't
know he was so smart she'd swear he never made use of his head anyway. As of
late, though, she just wants to smack him upside said head because he spends so
much time mooning over Nick and watching Greg mope around like a teenager makes
her feel old and just makes her want to hit him all the more. And it's an urge
that's becoming harder and harder to control.
Nick, apparently, doesn't know. Or if he does, he's real good at playing dumb,
better than Greg even, and she thinks that's pretty much impossible so she's
decided he just doesn't see it. Nor does anyone else, apparently, which just
boggles her. These people spend their lives figuring out puzzles and connecting
pieces together and yet they're collectively the most ill adjusted, clueless
group of adults she's ever had the pleasure and amusement of working with.
Grissom, who's purportedly some sort of genius, clunks around Sara like she's
not a girl and like she doesn't have girlish feelings and a girlish figure and
all those warm, soft girlish places that could probably go a long way toward
curing what ails him. And Catherine's a smart woman-one of Jacqui's favorites,
actually, and she's got that kid who's gonna come out a hellraising fighter just
like Catherine and the world really does need more of those-but it hasn't quite
clicked that the way Warrick looks at her and the way he'd do anything for her
means something other than that he likes blondes and he's got a lot of time on
his hands. But the most frustrating of all, hands down, are Greg and Nick,
mostly because she has to spend her entire shift with Greg and when he mopes or
when he's excited or when he's just breathing, really, he listens to that crap
he calls music and partly because damn, she already talks to Bobby often enough
and if you add Nick to the mix, it's like Dueling Banjos but with Texas accents,
and it makes a woman need some goddamn Advil.
But more than that, it's how clueless they are, and on a long shift like this
one's turned out to be, she's more apt to use the word stupid. Nick comes in and
Greg does his song and dance like he's a Rockette in fuck-me stilettos and it
all sails right over Nick's head like Greg goes through all that trouble for
everyone else. And then Nick hangs around for a few minutes just to let Greg
talk some more and gives him that smile that makes even Jacqui think some unholy
things about cowboys, and it sails right over Greg's head like Nick gives
everyone his best "I've got a lasso and I know how to use it" smile. And from
what she's seen of Nick, she thinks maybe he does. But with Greg he means it;
it's plain for any fool to see. And she must work with people less than fools
because they can't see anything about themselves much less anyone else, and if
it weren't for Bobby, sometimes she'd think she were imagining the whole thing.
But then one of them sees the other and lights up like the Fremont light show
and she wonders how the hell Nick got a reputation as a ladies' man because
there haven't been any ladies to speak of. And if she ever wants to keep a
secret she'll have to remember that the best place to do it is somewhere
swarming with professional investigators and for Christ's sake, will Greg please
turn that crap down and stop moping around? Nick's got a case, after all; he
can't spend his entire night hanging around the lab making googly eyes.
So when Catherine in comes with a bloody champagne flute and beckons Greg into
her lab, Jacqui's grateful for the distraction and can even let the night's
raucous music slide if it means she can beat Greg because she's just been
itching to get him back for that damn hat a few weeks ago. Prints and DNA both
and this one's gonna be a breeze but she's got a good poker face and Greg's a
sucker, so the negotiating begins even though Greg just might as well concede
defeat.
---
Three unidentified partials against Greg's two identified DNA samples and she
lets him think he's won for a moment before she brings out the big guns: an IDed
thumb print from a man with a death certificate and that trumps routine DNA any
day and victory, how sweet thou art. The only thing sweeter, of course, is
revenge.
And, of course, Tex-ass has to come and interrupt her diabolical machinations
just when she was getting to the good part and wouldn't it just figure that he's
working the pseudo vampire case with Catherine? No wonder Greg's been scratching
distractedly as his neck all night and as soon as he runs in for the evidence
kick line, he's staring right at Nick's neck and how the hell does Nick not
notice? Oh, well that might be because Nick's eyes keep going back to something
interesting in the vicinity of Greg's mouth and would these two just get a room
already?
Finally the dead man's prints catch Nick's attention and Greg's not pleased at
being upstaged, but Jacqui's undeniably got the better evidence, so Greg mopes
desultorily back to his lab. Jacqui knows she's in for some Marilyn Manson
eating Korn because he's Disturbed or some such nonsense but she really can't be
bothered because she's trying to explain an abnormality to Nick, whose
attention's elsewhere.
"Nick." And then "Nick" again and then finally "NICK!" and his mama must've
raised him right because all he needs is a good shouting to set him straight.
"Look," she says, lowering her voice and looking pointedly over at Greg, "either
throw the dog a bone or do a better job convincing us all you're a cat lover,
all right?"
It takes him a minute, but then he's blushing crimson and hurrying out of the
lab and he didn't hear a word she said about the extra ridges so he'll have to
read the report, but all in all, it serves him right.
And there Greg goes with the music again and victory's sweet, but it doesn't do
much to quell the whole separate-the-head-from-the-body urge and Jacqui's right
back where she started from at the top of the evening. But she maybe kinda likes
this song and she really kinda knows Nick's a dog kinda guy, so maybe she'll let
Greg keep his head.
For tonight, anyway.