Forays, revisited
Title: Maybe, baby (3/?)
Rating: PG-13ish?
Pairing: Nick/Greg (CSI)
Warnings/Spoilers: Hmm... Grave Danger inspired angst. Was part of the ngchallenge's Clothing Challenge. Previous two chapters can be found here.
Summary: Nick weighs his options and goes on a trip down memory lane.
Note: This continues the angsty theme, of which the blame I lay fully on the doorsteps of quettaser and serenity151979, since they started it first. Faithless shares the blame too, for providing the soundtrack to this fic: "One Step Too Far" (Faithless feat. Dido)
---
3/
Greg tries. He really does, and Nick wants to give up pretending and wake up. But waking up means facing up to reality and he's not sure whether he's ready to do it yet. Not because he's afraid, Nick tries to tell himself, but he's not so sure about the outcome. The last thing he needs is uncertainty and a future without form. Nick hears Greg trying to wake him up, and Nick knows that Greg would have slapped him awake if he could. But Greg is confined to the hospital bed, just like Nick.
"Nick," Greg's voice is hoarse from calling out. "Please, you can't sleep forever, you know. You've gotta wake up sometime." Greg is insistent, and Nick gives him that. Greg is one of the most bullheaded person Nick has ever met. Not that it's immediately apparent. But it is there, underneath the 'devil-may-care' attitude Greg often displays. And Greg's putting it into good use too. Nick knows Greg is not going to stop until Nick wakes up. Greg will call out until he has no voice left, and even then Nick knows that Greg will still find a way to try and get Nick to talk.
"Nick, come on. I know you're awake."
---
"Come on! I know you're awake!" Greg pushed Nick off the bed and onto the hardwood floor below. And if Greg's shrill voice didn't wake him up, the sharp knock to the upside of his head made sure he did.
Greg had dragged him out to the California,away from Vegas ("Beaches, Nick. Not bitches," Greg told him). Greg had successfully blackmailed one of his buddies to lend them the beach hut for the weekend. He swore that Nick would learn how to surf like a good and proper surfer-dude boyfriend. Warrick, bless his gambling heart, had a book on whether Nick'd survive the experience, on how soon Grissom would need to make an affirmative action hire, and how many.
"Come on!" Greg pulled at his arm, and Nick could feel his joints yielding. Maybe if he could fake a sprain... "The waves're perfect!"
But Greg was so radiant like that, as Nick watched Greg potter around the room trying to find Nick's brand new wetsuit. The morning sun filtered through the window and tiny specks of dust floated around like tiny specks of illuminated gold. Greg let out a small grunt as he ripped the shrink wrap off and extricated the suit. Nick smiled as Greg 'hah'-ed under his breath.
"What are you smiling at?" Greg said, as he threw the suit at his face. "Quick!" Greg chuckled to himself as he bounded out of the room.
---
Nick remembers the better days, when life is uncomplicated. He remember the days when every crime can be treated as a scientific excursion of law enforcement. It is always easy to analyze a crime, when it is not inflicted upon oneself. And now, he is flat on his back in a room painted white, sandwiched between white sheets, and a throbbing gun wound. Nick is a crime scene personified. Twice over, in fact.
"Damnit!" Greg exclaims. Nick can hear a fist being slammed into the mattress, and small curse from Greg's lips. "The rate I'm going, it's easier to get a rock to talk than getting you to fucking wake up and smell the damn antiseptic."
There is a stony silence in the room, as Nick listens to Greg trying to control his breathing. Nick knows that sound, because he's heard it a lot of times before. The sound Greg makes when he tries to hold tears and frustration at bay. The clock on the far wall ticks patiently, detached and unerring. And Nick can only try and keep his breathing level and his eyes closed. He isn't quite ready. Not yet. Not when he's still analyzing himself.
The door creaks softly and he can hear Greg clearing his throat.
"Good morning, Mr Sanders." Nick hears the nurse and the small trolley being pushed across the floor. "Here's your breakfast. And your friend's, too. He's not awake yet, is he?"
"Thanks," Greg answers, and offers nothing more.
"Oh! What do we have here?" the nurse murmurs. Nick thinks that the nurse sounds like one of his elderly neighbor. The one who treats eveybody under the age of twenty as her grandchild. "Your IV's came off. And you're bleeding, you poor boy. I thought you know better than to yank the IV."
Nick feels guilty because he knows exactly why Greg is bleeding. And Greg is under no illusion of who should take the blame. There is a hint of venom and resignation as Greg sighs and tells the nurse to "ask rockface over there."
---
"Over there!" Greg shouted above the roar of crashing waves. They dragged their tired bodies and surf boards over across the sand and toward what Nick thought as a fairly odd rock formation.
"Isn't this fun?!" Greg sighed as they collapsed onto the sand below them.
"Huh. I ache in places I never knew existed," Nick huffed and stared at the overhanging rock above his head and hoped that it wouldn't just fall over his head.
"But it's fun, right?!" Greg asked, as he turned to his side and propped his head on one arm.
"Like high-adrenalin suicide," Nick said.
The sun dipped lower, and Nick watched the skies turned red, orange, and magenta. The rocks around them turned a slight blue-grey hue and their shadows danced on the sand, disturbed by the wind.
"I like these rocks," Greg said. "They're old, you know. 'Been here for ages."
And Nick could only squirm deeper into the sand and let the sounds carry him. He felt the most calming fatigue. His eyelids grew heavy and everything around him blurred into mahogany-tinted shadows on his pupils. He listened to the sea and to Greg's voice, uncharacteristically melancholic.
"Yeah, when I was little, I wanted to be like the rocks. 'Cuz they're old, you know. Been around longer than humans. And that's cool in my book. Live long, live strong, that kinda thing. But now I don't want to be a rock so much anymore, because rocks fade, erosion and all. Yeah. Rocks might be around for ages, but they'll disappear one day, turn into sand and whatnot. So, now I want to be the sea. Because the sea is strong. Stronger than the rock and 's been 'round these parts longer than rocks, and 'll still be here even when the rocks disappear." Greg paused and poked at Nick's ribs. "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?"
Nick could only grunt and tried to shake himself into coherency. "Huh? Something about rocks and seas?"
And Greg laughed and lifted himself of the ground. Greg nudged Nick's side and slid underneath one arm. He rested his head over Nick's heart and snuggled deeper.
Nick could hear Greg's breathing, rising above the waves. Nick could feel Greg's lingering touches, skimming over his wetsuit. Nick could hear Greg's voice reverberating across tired muscles and flowing through his veins.
Greg chuckled and said, "Yeah. Rocks and seas. Remember that, Nicky baby. I'm the sea." Greg traced small, lazy circles on Nick's stomach. "I'll always be there for you, stronger than anything you've ever seen. And if you need me to chip away at any problems, however hard it seems at first, I'm your man. 'Cuz I'm the sea. Well. I want to be like the sea."
"And you can trust me that I'll be a real sea one day," Greg said as he lifted his head to look into Nick's eyes, "And you'll be the shore I'll always return to."
---
The nurse leaves and the door clicks behind her, and Nick gathers his courage to peel his eyes open. He feels the grit that makes his eyelids stick together, crackles. He can hear his voice crackle, barely a whisper.
"Greg?"
If the sun or the moon should give way to doubt, they would immediately go out. One swallow doesn't make a summer, but tomorrow has to start somewhere.
---
---
Rating: PG-13ish?
Pairing: Nick/Greg (CSI)
Warnings/Spoilers: Hmm... Grave Danger inspired angst. Was part of the ngchallenge's Clothing Challenge. Previous two chapters can be found here.
Summary: Nick weighs his options and goes on a trip down memory lane.
Note: This continues the angsty theme, of which the blame I lay fully on the doorsteps of quettaser and serenity151979, since they started it first. Faithless shares the blame too, for providing the soundtrack to this fic: "One Step Too Far" (Faithless feat. Dido)
---
3/
Greg tries. He really does, and Nick wants to give up pretending and wake up. But waking up means facing up to reality and he's not sure whether he's ready to do it yet. Not because he's afraid, Nick tries to tell himself, but he's not so sure about the outcome. The last thing he needs is uncertainty and a future without form. Nick hears Greg trying to wake him up, and Nick knows that Greg would have slapped him awake if he could. But Greg is confined to the hospital bed, just like Nick.
"Nick," Greg's voice is hoarse from calling out. "Please, you can't sleep forever, you know. You've gotta wake up sometime." Greg is insistent, and Nick gives him that. Greg is one of the most bullheaded person Nick has ever met. Not that it's immediately apparent. But it is there, underneath the 'devil-may-care' attitude Greg often displays. And Greg's putting it into good use too. Nick knows Greg is not going to stop until Nick wakes up. Greg will call out until he has no voice left, and even then Nick knows that Greg will still find a way to try and get Nick to talk.
"Nick, come on. I know you're awake."
---
"Come on! I know you're awake!" Greg pushed Nick off the bed and onto the hardwood floor below. And if Greg's shrill voice didn't wake him up, the sharp knock to the upside of his head made sure he did.
Greg had dragged him out to the California,away from Vegas ("Beaches, Nick. Not bitches," Greg told him). Greg had successfully blackmailed one of his buddies to lend them the beach hut for the weekend. He swore that Nick would learn how to surf like a good and proper surfer-dude boyfriend. Warrick, bless his gambling heart, had a book on whether Nick'd survive the experience, on how soon Grissom would need to make an affirmative action hire, and how many.
"Come on!" Greg pulled at his arm, and Nick could feel his joints yielding. Maybe if he could fake a sprain... "The waves're perfect!"
But Greg was so radiant like that, as Nick watched Greg potter around the room trying to find Nick's brand new wetsuit. The morning sun filtered through the window and tiny specks of dust floated around like tiny specks of illuminated gold. Greg let out a small grunt as he ripped the shrink wrap off and extricated the suit. Nick smiled as Greg 'hah'-ed under his breath.
"What are you smiling at?" Greg said, as he threw the suit at his face. "Quick!" Greg chuckled to himself as he bounded out of the room.
---
Nick remembers the better days, when life is uncomplicated. He remember the days when every crime can be treated as a scientific excursion of law enforcement. It is always easy to analyze a crime, when it is not inflicted upon oneself. And now, he is flat on his back in a room painted white, sandwiched between white sheets, and a throbbing gun wound. Nick is a crime scene personified. Twice over, in fact.
"Damnit!" Greg exclaims. Nick can hear a fist being slammed into the mattress, and small curse from Greg's lips. "The rate I'm going, it's easier to get a rock to talk than getting you to fucking wake up and smell the damn antiseptic."
There is a stony silence in the room, as Nick listens to Greg trying to control his breathing. Nick knows that sound, because he's heard it a lot of times before. The sound Greg makes when he tries to hold tears and frustration at bay. The clock on the far wall ticks patiently, detached and unerring. And Nick can only try and keep his breathing level and his eyes closed. He isn't quite ready. Not yet. Not when he's still analyzing himself.
The door creaks softly and he can hear Greg clearing his throat.
"Good morning, Mr Sanders." Nick hears the nurse and the small trolley being pushed across the floor. "Here's your breakfast. And your friend's, too. He's not awake yet, is he?"
"Thanks," Greg answers, and offers nothing more.
"Oh! What do we have here?" the nurse murmurs. Nick thinks that the nurse sounds like one of his elderly neighbor. The one who treats eveybody under the age of twenty as her grandchild. "Your IV's came off. And you're bleeding, you poor boy. I thought you know better than to yank the IV."
Nick feels guilty because he knows exactly why Greg is bleeding. And Greg is under no illusion of who should take the blame. There is a hint of venom and resignation as Greg sighs and tells the nurse to "ask rockface over there."
---
"Over there!" Greg shouted above the roar of crashing waves. They dragged their tired bodies and surf boards over across the sand and toward what Nick thought as a fairly odd rock formation.
"Isn't this fun?!" Greg sighed as they collapsed onto the sand below them.
"Huh. I ache in places I never knew existed," Nick huffed and stared at the overhanging rock above his head and hoped that it wouldn't just fall over his head.
"But it's fun, right?!" Greg asked, as he turned to his side and propped his head on one arm.
"Like high-adrenalin suicide," Nick said.
The sun dipped lower, and Nick watched the skies turned red, orange, and magenta. The rocks around them turned a slight blue-grey hue and their shadows danced on the sand, disturbed by the wind.
"I like these rocks," Greg said. "They're old, you know. 'Been here for ages."
And Nick could only squirm deeper into the sand and let the sounds carry him. He felt the most calming fatigue. His eyelids grew heavy and everything around him blurred into mahogany-tinted shadows on his pupils. He listened to the sea and to Greg's voice, uncharacteristically melancholic.
"Yeah, when I was little, I wanted to be like the rocks. 'Cuz they're old, you know. Been around longer than humans. And that's cool in my book. Live long, live strong, that kinda thing. But now I don't want to be a rock so much anymore, because rocks fade, erosion and all. Yeah. Rocks might be around for ages, but they'll disappear one day, turn into sand and whatnot. So, now I want to be the sea. Because the sea is strong. Stronger than the rock and 's been 'round these parts longer than rocks, and 'll still be here even when the rocks disappear." Greg paused and poked at Nick's ribs. "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?"
Nick could only grunt and tried to shake himself into coherency. "Huh? Something about rocks and seas?"
And Greg laughed and lifted himself of the ground. Greg nudged Nick's side and slid underneath one arm. He rested his head over Nick's heart and snuggled deeper.
Nick could hear Greg's breathing, rising above the waves. Nick could feel Greg's lingering touches, skimming over his wetsuit. Nick could hear Greg's voice reverberating across tired muscles and flowing through his veins.
Greg chuckled and said, "Yeah. Rocks and seas. Remember that, Nicky baby. I'm the sea." Greg traced small, lazy circles on Nick's stomach. "I'll always be there for you, stronger than anything you've ever seen. And if you need me to chip away at any problems, however hard it seems at first, I'm your man. 'Cuz I'm the sea. Well. I want to be like the sea."
"And you can trust me that I'll be a real sea one day," Greg said as he lifted his head to look into Nick's eyes, "And you'll be the shore I'll always return to."
---
The nurse leaves and the door clicks behind her, and Nick gathers his courage to peel his eyes open. He feels the grit that makes his eyelids stick together, crackles. He can hear his voice crackle, barely a whisper.
"Greg?"
If the sun or the moon should give way to doubt, they would immediately go out. One swallow doesn't make a summer, but tomorrow has to start somewhere.
---
---