Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Author: geekwriter
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: FRT
Category: angst
Summary: They live parallel lives.
A/N: So, this is the maybe-sequel to "Absolutely Zero." It may or may
not suck. I'm bad at deciding things like that sometimes.
-----------------------
Greg hung his keys on the small brass hook just inside his door and
kicked off his shoes. He shrugged his jacket off and draped it across
a tall stack of cardboard boxes. He moved past some more boxes in the
kitchen and opened his fridge, looking for something to wash away the
ache in his throat.
He scratched the scar on the back of his neck as he pushed aside a
carton of milk that he was pretty sure had been sour for weeks. His
refrigerator was pretty bare�a hunk of parmesan cheese, some barbeque
sauce, a jar of wheat germ that he'd bought before he remembered that
he was shopping for one instead of two.
He grabbed his last bottle of water and stood up, letting the door
close on its own. He hit the play button on his answering machine on
the way out of the kitchen and stepped over wires and cords so he
could turn his computer on.
There were some messages from his friends asking where he was, telling him he had to quit his job if it was so intense that he didn't have
time to come out with them anymore. His mother had called and told
him to call her back. Some guy named Chris had an exciting offer he
couldn't afford to pass up and urged him to call their 800 number.
His mother left another message telling him to call her, then another.
"Fuck," Greg said as he reached for the cordless phone, his mind
running through all the possibilities of things that could have gone
wrong in the past week, things she wouldn't want to tell him over his
machine.
"Hi, sweetie," his mother said. She'd been unstoppable since she'd
mastered Caller ID.
"Hey, Mom. What's wrong?"
"What do you mean?"
"You left me three urgent messages. What happened?"
"Oh," she said. "Right." He could hear her puttering around the
house. "Oh, well, do you think you'll be coming home for Easter?"
"What?"
"Well, your aunt and uncle are coming down for Easter, and I thought
it would be nice if you could come, too. I know how busy you are with
work, but I thought I'd mention it."
"You couldn't have just told me that in your message? I was worried
that something was really wrong."
"Oh, I'm sorry, honey. I just didn't want to use up all the tape on
your machine."
"It's digital, Mom. There's no tape to use up." He pinched the
bridge of his nose and sighed.
"You sound tired. I've been trying to get a hold of you for days.
You haven't been at work this whole time, have you? They work you far too hard."
"No, I wasn't at work. I mean, yeah, I pulled a quadruple but I
crashed at Nick's yesterday."
"Oh." His mother had been uncharacteristically silent on the subject
of Nick ever since Greg had moved out.
"What?"
"Nothing, sweetie."
"Mom�"
"It's none of my business."
"That's never stopped you before."
"I really don't have anything to say, honey. You and Nick can work
this out on your own. I just worry about you, that's all."
"There's nothing to work out," he said.
"But you've been spending time back at your place?" She sounded so
hopeful.
"It's his place, Mom. And I just crashed on the couch. I'd been up
for days working this triple homicide and he didn't think it was safe
for me to drive home. That's all."
"He always has looked out for you."
"Mom."
"What? He has."
"Can we not talk about Nick?"
"Who's talking? I was just making an observation."
Greg grinned and shook his head. "How's Dad?"
"Oh, he was talking to one of his friends and there's a research spot
open�"
"I'm not coming back to LA."
"I know, honey. It's at UNLV. I don't know all the details but
apparently they're mapping the bovine genome."
"I don't want to work in a research lab, Mom."
"You could work on your doctorate, get a teaching position somewhere."
"I might get my doctorate some day, but I'm not going to spend my life
in a sterile lab charting cow DNA."
"Researchers don't get blown up," she said. "Researchers don't get
shot at."
"Nobody's ever shot at me," he said, wincing a little. It wasn't
really a lie. He'd never actually been aimed at. He didn't think.
"I just can hardly bear to think about you at those crime scenes. God
knows what could happen."
"Mom, I'm not going to get shot. I get to the scene after the crime's
been committed. The bad guys are long gone, OK?"
She sighed. "I just worry."
"I know you do."
"It was bad enough when it was just Nick out there in the field, but
now that both of you�"
"Jesus, Mom."
"What?"
"Just�I'm too tired to do this. Either say what you want to say or
don't say anything at all."
"I just worry about you. Both of you."
Greg nodded. "Yeah." He considered telling her that he carried a gun
and knew how to use it, but he wasn't sure if it would make her feel
better or worse.
"So. Easter?"
"I don't know," he said. "I'll check the schedule at work and get
back to you, but I doubt I'll be able to get it off. I'm kind of back
on the bottom of the totem pole."
"I talked to Mrs. Corelli yesterday. Angela's working at a lab in
Delaware, makes a hundred thousand dollars a year."
"Good for Angela," Greg said.
"That doesn't even include bonuses or overtime. Plus, she gets four
weeks of vacation a year, excellent benefits, a 401(k)�"
"Mom. It's not about the money. You know that."
"I just want you to be happy."
"I'm happy."
"You don't sound happy."
"I'm�" He sighed. "I'm happy with my job."
"And the rest of it?"
"I'm working on it."
"Are you?"
"Mom."
"All right. All right. I'm not supposed to worry about my only
child? Don't answer that. I'll tell your father you called."
"'kay."
"And I'll remember to leave a longer message next time. You're sure
it won't use up all the tape?"
"It's digital, Mom," he said. "There's no tape."
"You and your electronic gadgets. OK. I love you, sweetie. Thanks
for calling."
"Anytime," he said. "Love you, too." He hung up the phone and sat
there for a moment before he logged on to check his email.
**********
Nick rolled over in bed, then rolled over again. He lifted his head
and fluffed his pillow, then flopped back down. He stared at the
ceiling. He rolled onto his side and stared at the wall.
He'd gotten a few hours of sleep. Well, maybe an hour of sleep. Half
an hour, at least. He'd gone to sleep thinking about Greg and he woke
up thinking about Greg and he knew thinking about Greg was what kept him awake but he didn't know how to stop.
He sat up and threw off his covers, went to the bathroom to brush his
teeth but ended up just getting a drink of water instead. He
considered taking a shower. He'd taken one at work after getting back
from a particularly muddy crime scene, but it wouldn't hurt to take
another. He inspected his fingernails to see if he'd gotten all the
dirt out from under them.
His phone rang and he rushed back into his bedroom to answer it.
Maybe it was work calling him in. Not that he wanted to get called
in, since getting called in meant somebody had probably died and it's
not like he wanted anybody to die, but getting called in also meant
not being stuck in his empty apartment trying desperately to sleep
when sleep just wouldn't come.
He snatched his phone up. "Stokes."
"That's how you answer your phone?"
He cringed. He should have checked Caller ID, first; he would have
let the machine pick it up.
"Sorry, Mama. How've you been?"
"Completely unable to get a hold of my youngest child. Honestly, if I
didn't know how many hours you put in at that job of yours I'd think
you were avoiding me."
He forced a chuckle. "Come on. Why would I do that?"
"Stranger things have happened. How many hours have you worked
already this week?"
"I don't know. Sixty, seventy maybe."
"That's the kind of schedule an intern is supposed to pull."
"It's a demanding job. I knew that when I took it."
"If you'd just come home and�"
"I'm too old for law school."
"But with your experience you could work as a consultant, an expert
witness�"
"Not a chance."
"You'd actually have days off, have a life, have time to meet somebody
and start a family. And you know what kind of money expert witnesses
make."
"And you know what scumbags most of them are. I'm not about to go
against everything you taught me and spin my testimony to please the
highest bidder."
"I never thought you'd do that, Nick. I know you better than that. I
just think that it's time for you to settle down. You'll meet a nice
girl and�"
"I'm not gonna meet a nice girl."
"Not in Las Vegas you're not, not working the hours you work."
"I don't want to meet a nice girl."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"It means I'm gay, Mama." The words were out before he could stop
them and his eyes went wide and he reached out to steady himself
against the wall. He'd imagined telling her so many times but he'd
never even gotten close to actually saying it before.
There was silence at the other end of the line, nothing but his
mother's breath.
"You still there?" he asked softly. He leaned against the wall and
closed his eyes. His skin had gone cold and his limbs had lost all
their strength. "Say something."
"What am I supposed to say?" her voice was tight.
"Anything."
"I wish you hadn't told me."
Nick let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob.
"You told me to say anything, and that's what I'm thinking. That's
what I'm thinking right now, Nick. I wish I didn't know because I
don't know what I'm supposed to do with this. God, this is going to
destroy your daddy."
"So don't tell him."
"You want me to keep it a secret? You tell me�you tell me something
like this and you expect me to keep it from him?"
"You can do what you like," Nick said. "Tell him, don't tell him. It
doesn't matter. I just can't pretend anymore." He sighed as his
pager went off. "Damnit," he said as he snatched it up off his
bedside table. "It's work. They're paging me in."
"You give your life to that job."
"It's worth it. Look, we'll talk about this later, all right?"
"No we won't. I don't ever want to talk about this again, Nick. Do
you understand? Never again. I have to go. I have a deposition I
have to get to."
Nick pulled the phone away as the dial tone droned in his ear. He
dropped the phone in its cradle and looked at his pager again, jotting
down the address on the display.
He laughed softly as he got dressed. Greg had been right, after all.
He'd told the truth and the world hadn't come to an end. Not that
Nick had ever really doubted him.
<<I know you're scared, Nick, and that's OK. You're scared shitless,
but you have to do it anyway because once you do it, once you tell
them and you see the world doesn't end, then you'll realize that
you're free.>>
Nick cringed then, not from the memory of Greg's words but because he could have done it before. It had been so easy. He'd been terrified,
but it had been so easy to say, finally. He could have done it before
and it might have changed things. If he could have told them the
truth just two months earlier Greg might still be around.
He shook his head as he buttoned his shirt. It was that kind of
thinking that kept him awake when he was supposed to be sleeping. It
was that kind of thinking that made him hurt so bad sometimes he
wondered if he'd ever be able to let go.