Fic: Admissions & Guilt (NIck/Gil - NC-17, see warnings) 1/2

[flawed_karma]

Title: Admissions and Guilt (1/2)
Author: Deb & Dien
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Nick/Gil
Spoilers: Through season five
Category: First time, angst, drama
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't own the pretties, I'm just playing in the sandbox!
Author's Note & Warnings: Graphic m/m sexual situations, language, and reference to child molestation. Angst ahoy!
Feedback: Slings and arrows to the left, sticks and stones to the right. No burning in effigy please, I'm on a diet.
Crossposted to: csi_slash & grisslash on LJ, csi_slash @ yahoogroups


Gil Grissom set the final, summarized report of what the tabloid press were already dubbing "The Tranny Butchers" -- he grimaced at the callous name-- down on his desk. Another case in the never-ending barrage of them, though this one had certainly had some... specifics to it.... he rubbed at his forehead for a bit, then looked up at the knock on the office door. That should be Nick. He'd asked the CSI to drop by his office before leaving shift.

Nick moved inside when Grissom called out, fingers nervously tapping on his thighs when he stepped inside. "You uh, wanted to see me Gris?" Yes, the Texan was nervous. He only got called in when he screwed up. And if it was end of shift, he knew it was bad.

Grissom moved the paper aside, laced his fingers together on the desk, observed Nick for a second: the strong jaw line, warm eyes, body attractive under his jeans and t-shirt-- though currently nervousness in the pose, in the body language. He cleared his throat, looked down at the desk again. "Have a seat, Nick. And close the door."

Nick drooped, feeling like a kid being called on the carpet for misbehaving. A steady hand pushed the door closed and he sat, stiffly upright, though his eyes were more on Grissom's shoulder then his face. Another lecture, maybe? Or a repeat of the this is why you don't go out alone speech. Either way it was the last thing he needed after a shift that made him remember, vividly, his own confusion and issues with sexuality.

Grissom took a breath-- he didn't honestly want to embarrass his CSI, and it was plain to tell, had been plain throughout the case, that Nick was uneasy already. But... well, it had to be dealt with. He couldn't have a CSI who let his own emotions or reactions interfere with an investigation, or with interviewing sources of information such as Mercedes had been. Grissom cleared his throat again. "Nick... during the investigation, in Mercedes' bar... you seemed pretty uncomfortable." A small pause, a tiny grimace flickering over Grissom's face, then he continued, "A CSI can't afford to let personal prejudices get in the way of the evidence, Nick."

Nick swallowed hard, shifted in his seat. Now he wasn't looking at Grissom at all. "I did my job without prejudice. I treated the evidence for what it was, made no assumptions. I followed procedure to the letter." Nick congratulated himself for sounding relatively calm in spite of the panic. And dammit, he knew Grissom would pick up on the increased respiration, the sudden sweating. It's what the man did, what they all did. "I'm not…prejudiced. It's not what you think."

Grissom leaned back slightly in his chair, a small thoughtful frown on his face, regarding Nick with the same mild interest/confusion he showed minor riddles and inconsistencies in the evidence. He was about to bring up that Nick's dialogue with the trans-sexual Mercedes had been, well, maybe not breaking the procedures, but... certainly not making for a good investigative environment either; but then Nick's next words caught him off guard. The 'confused' part of Grissom's expression increased fractionally as he picked the pen up from his desk and turned it over in his fingers, eyes on Nick, who appeared flustered. "It's not what I think? Well, that implies you know what I'm thinking, but, alright, Nick. So tell me. What is it?"

"I don't want to discuss it. Are we done here?" Nick went from flustered to downright upset, fidgeting in his seat. Frightened, no, wounded eyes looking at Grissom for a moment before sliding away. "I'm tired, it was a long shift and I need to get some sleep."

]: Grissom sighed in the same mild, somewhat impersonal disappointment he maintained around his colleagues, his gaze dropping to his desk. "I apologize if this is making you uncomfortable, Nick, but as your supervisor it's my responsibility to make sure everyone on my team can handle any situation that may arise. If a case involving these elements is to come up again--" he spread his hands, let the sentence hang in the air. Then he frowned again, having noted that pained look in Nick's eyes. In a less distant, professional tone, he asked quietly, "Why does it bother you so much, Nick?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it." Nick's tone was sharp, more desperation then anger though. He shoved out of the chair, pacing restlessly around the room. Yes, this whole case has rattled Nick, more then he wanted to admit to himself, let alone Grissom.

Grissom's brows arched at Nick's uncharacteristic outburst; he leaned back in his chair intently observing the pacing younger man, then pushed his own chair back and got to his feet. "Take a breath, Nick," he said quietly. "Maybe the office isn't the best place to discuss this," -- the cramped space seemed a bit too small to hold the younger man at the moment. "--we can go outside if you want?"

"I don't want to discuss it in here. I don't want to discuss it outside. You're the one always saying personal should stay personal. My reasons are personal and I am not going to talk about it!" The last time Nick had been this worked up was when Ecklie tried to get him for murder. He wrenched the office door open and stalked out, desperately needing to escape the confines of the crime lab.

Grissom's eyes narrowed at Nick's tone, then he grimaced, rubbed at his forehead, then picked up his jacket with a sigh and went out the door as well. Nick was striding angrily down the corridor, almost to the door that led out to the parking lot. Gil half-jogged down the hall after him and caught him at the door, with a hand on his shoulder. "Nick," he said shortly, "I am trying to work with you on this, can you make an effort to meet me halfway?"

"Fine," Nick spat out, pushing out into the parking lot. Every muscle was tense, he felt sick. How the hell was he supposed to admit to Grissom something he wouldn't even admit to himself? A deep breath later, Nick stopped outside his Tahoe and leaned on the driver's side door. It was far enough away from the door to avoid anyone eavesdropping or coming over to interrupt.

Grissom resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Nick, just followed him out into the parking lot and put on his jacket against the cool early early morning air. He followed suit, leaned against the side of the Tahoe and crossed his arms patiently, eyes on Nick's face. "Nick, I'm not your enemy here," he said quietly, trying to sound reassuring; Nick's visible distress didn't escape him.

"I'm just not...comfortable. With anything outside what was considered normal sex in Texas." Okay, Nick was more comfortable sounding like a bigot then admitting hw was confused.

Grissom paused, listened to that, mind calculating. "Okay. Well, Texas and Las Vegas certainly do have different... outlooks on things," he said with a straight face, that continued as he said, "Although, even in Vegas people aren't in the practice of sticking rattlesnakes down their jeans." A beat, then Gil added, "That was a joke, Nick. I'm told they put people at ease."

Nick was pale and sweating, hands were shaking. It really wasn't a good look for him. "Are we done now?" He hated himself for the pleading tone that had entered his voice.

Gil sighed and looked at the pavement, eyes closing for a moment. Nick was practically going to have a seizure on him. This wasn't going well. Maybe he was just going to have to break his own rule that personal information had no place in the office, that colleagues had no business knowing it. Of course, there was the possibility that it might induce that seizure in Nick, but... Grissom shrugged mentally. "Nick. Look. Let me be honest with you. It's more than the case. You say you're not comfortable with... alternate sexualities. Does that extend to homosexuality? Would you have problems working for a bisexual man? Actually, that should be "do you," because you have been working for one ever since you joined our team. Tell me if this is going to be an issue for you, Nick, and if necessary I'll arrange a transfer. I don't want our team to lose you, but I don't want you to work here if this," a gesture to include Nick's demeanor, "is how uncomfortable it's going to make you feel."

Nick sank down the side of his car to sit on the pavement. It just figured. When he spoke finally his voice was strained. "I should have said.. my alternate sexuality. I mean, what I feel just isn't done in Texas. Especially not when your Daddy is a judge and your Momma is a defense lawyer."

Oh. "Oh," Grissom said aloud, temporarily at a loss for words. Well. For all his observance, Nick had just always exuded that clean-shaven, All-American, macho, straight-forward-and-straight feel, and he'd never thought that.... well. Grissom cleared his throat again, let out an exhale, and decided to carefully sit down as well. "I see," he said carefully. "Well, Nick..." --deep breath-- "-it should then go without saying that, yes, Vegas is different from Texas, and... you're hardly going to be judged here. Or by me. Or anyone on our team."

"Do you know why I had sex with that prostitute, Grissom?" The younger man didn't wait for an answer before he did so himself. "Because Warrick was making a big deal out of the Ladies Man not having been real busy lately. That was the last time I touched anyone. Or let anyone touch me."

"...I see," Gil said again, wondering where his vocabulary had gone. He licked his lips briefly, considering just where he should take the conversation, or, try and take it, since he wasn't so sure he was in the same control of it he had thought. Well-- a brief moment for whimsy-- at least Nick was talking, now... "...that doesn't seem an especially comfortable way to live," he observed mildly. "Perhaps it made you a little jumpier with Mercedes then you might have been." Grissom almost cleared his throat again, but restrained himself to lacing his fingers together on top of his knees.

"Jumpy. Yeah, that's a good way to put it. Once she offered that whole…thing all I could think of was a hot mouth on certain parts and…yeah. Okay, now that my career is over, I'm going home." Nick got to his feet, hot looking at Gris while he dug for his keys in his pants pocket.

Grissom couldn't help the throat-clearing this time, as Nick's words, unexpected as they were, jumped right into the part of his mind that wasn't always so work-disciplined. A hot mouth on certain parts, indeed. Grissom bit the inside of his cheek hard, and resolutely forbade the thought from going anywhere else, especially to ascribe owners to either the 'mouth' or the 'parts.' Nick's other words took a second to get through the mental image. Now that my career is over.... Oops. "Nick, don't be silly, your career isn't over," he said, standing up and regarding the other man's embarrassed countenance in a not-unsympathetic manner. "Saying a few words without thinking isn't cause for dismissal, even by my standards," he said with a small, self-deprecating smile. Then forced himself to look away from Nick's strong, handsome profile before the earlier thought got out of hand.

"Look, Gris.. I'm trying damn hard to be professional. Be polite. My own family doesn't know that I'm," An aberration, a freak, a deviant, a pervert, "Like this. I'll try harder to keep personal business personal. So if we're done can I go before I humiliate myself further?" Nick was not in any shape to drive. If he got behind the wheel he'd end up on Doc Robbin's table before he went 5 miles.

"Sorry," Grissom said mollifyingly, lifting his hands briefly in a gesture that showed he wasn't trying to step on Nick's toes, wasn't trying to press the issue. "I -am- sorry, Nick. It wasn't my intention to... make you feel bad," said quietly but bluntly, as it couldn't be denied Nick was 'feeling bad.' "And it's not my intention to do so now, either, but... I can't in good conscience let you get in that car right now, Nick. You're upset, you're angry, your pulse is fast, your hands are shaking. You're not driving anywhere, not till you calm down." He took a calming breath for his own sake; he hadn't missed the loathing tone in Nick's voice when he'd said 'like this.' "I have to ask though, Nick: if being gay, or bi, is so damn bad-- am I disgusting, then? Do I offend you?"

"Jesus, Grissom.. no. No, man. You don't disgust me." Nick rubbed eyes that were suddenly a lot more watery then he cared for. "Look. I grew up in Texas. Wife beatin', real man, tough guy, swill beer, beat the wife and brand the cattle all before breakfast Texas. In a heavily Christian family. Where every single thing had to be perfect or.. or else. I hate myself, not you." Nick couldn't believe he admitted that. Hands got jammed into pockets and he started walking. If he couldn't drive home he'd walk.

Grissom turned, let Nick walk by with his hands jammed into his pockets, his blue eyes following the CSI's form. After a few seconds he walked after him, fast enough to catch up with him. "Isn't your apartment about four miles away? I could give you a ride, you know. If you want." Gil said calmly. "And I know you don't hate me. I was trying to point out to you that maybe it's not the behavior itself, just that you don't find it acceptable in yourself.... well. From what you said, you understand. Nick. I know social upbringing is a very hard thing to throw, but of all the things to tear yourself up over... please don't do this to yourself." Small pause. "You're smarter than this."

"Silk, silk, silk, Gris." Nick kept walking. Swiped at his cheeks. No. Those were definitely not tears.

Grissom winced when he saw the quick motion of Nick's hands. Well, just wonderful. Break the rule about the boundary between the team members and himself, and within minutes, someone's crying. Dammit. And the silk thing... talk about things coming back to bite you on the ass. "Nick..." Gil was forced to catch up again to the fast-walking younger man, grabbed at his shoulder. "Nick. I'm sorry, alright? Is that what you want to hear? My professional judgment is exactly that-- professional. Judgment. I have NEVER said-- or thought-- that you were stupid," he said seriously, staring into Nick's eyes.

"I'm tired, Gris. I just want to go home and forget this ever happened. Forget the way I am before I do something really stupid."

Grissom took a slow breath, let it out, realized he still had a grip on the material of Nick's shirt-- he should let go, he knew, but-- instead he just looked back into Nick's eyes, tired and pained and self-loathing as they were. Raised a brow. "Then let me drive you home. It's a long way to walk. Nick, is it so hard to let yourself be who you are? What stupid thing are you so worried you'll do?"

"Okay. Okay. Thank you. Drive me home. Some sleep, I'll feel better. I won't hurt myself, if that's what you're thinking. And I am who I am. I don't need anyone, don't want anyone. I can handle it, accept this in other people. Not myself." Nick was exhausted, he was too tired to hide anything. Screw the tears, they could just fall.

Gil exhaled carefully, let his fingers loosen in the fabric of Nick's shirt until his hand was just resting on the younger man's shoulder, supposedly a comforting gesture although Grissom knew comfort was.... not exactly... his strong point. Damn. Why couldn't Catherine be the one to be here for this? She knew how to give consolatory hugs, how to say soothing words, offer Kleenex-- wait: he did at least have Kleenex in his jacket pocket, he knew that much. Grissom pulled one of the tissues free from the little travel bag he carried in his pocket, handed it awkwardly to Nick. "It's... alright, Nick. You're going to be okay." And I sound like a damn robot. Grissom sighed. "Let's get you home. Come on. Back to your truck, I'll use your keys." He tried to think again what Catherine would do; patted Nick on the shoulder a bit.

"Thanks." Nick visibly relaxed, wiped his face dry. "I'm fine. Just tired." Keys were handed over to Grissom and he slowly walked back to his truck. He didn't even wonder how Grissom would get home if he drove Nick's truck.

Grissom nodded silently, turned and walked with Nick back towards the Tahoe, not quite taking his hand from Nick's shoulder until they reached it. He unlocked the doors with the keys' button-lock and got into the driver's side of the large vehicle, giving a small smile at Nick that he wasn't sure the younger man caught.

Nick climbed in, belted up. Was looking out the window when he spoke. "You asked back there what stupid thing I'd do." A pause, then a quiet admission when he finally spoke, "I want to kiss you. And I know I can't."

Grissom was glad the sound of the engine kept the strangled little noise he made from being quite so loud. He waited until the roar of the Tahoe had settled into a quiet hum, not looking over at Nick, keeping his eyes on the empty parking lot. Finally he thought he might trust his voice. "Well. Nick. I, ah, I try not to encourage relationships between investigators that work together." Deep breath. "However..." Grissom licked his lips self-consciously, darted half a glance at Nick-- oh damn, yes, there was that strong jaw line again, that touchable face. "However I feel it's only... fair to say... that I wouldn't." Swallow. "Mind that." Cough. "You are a very attractive man, Nick."

"You wouldn't mind. Well. Thanks for throwing my ego a bone, Gris." No pun intended.

Grissom had just taken the Tahoe out of park and into reverse, getting ready to back out of the spot. At Nick's next words, he exhaled and carefully put it back into park. Put the emergency brake on too, then put his hands on the wheel and took a steadying breath. Without looking at Nick, he said, "...you should know by now I don't-- 'throw bones' to people's egos. You said, I'm trying damn hard to be a professional. Well, Nick, so am I. And-- it's not very... professional of me to say more than what I did." Another swallow. "Regardless of how-- you know, I think we're both a little tired. I'm just going to drive now," Grissom said a little quickly, likely the most flustered Nick had ever seen him. He reached hurriedly for the parking brake.

"Yeah. God forbid the great Gil Grissom ever gets personal or anything." He pushed himself out of the seat and was out of the Tahoe before it moved. Walking home was a really good idea. The door was slammed and he didn't look where he was going. Nick set a quick pace just shy of a jog and started in the direction of his complex. Four miles, five miles. Maybe by the time he got there he'd have gotten rid of the nearly unbearable need to...do something he'd regret later.

Grissom sat with his mouth partly open for a few moments after Nick's damning words, then put the parking brake back on. Changed his mind and pushed it down again, looked back and depressed the gas in order to back up. After about fifteen seconds, he realized the Tahoe wasn't moving because it was still in park. Grissom exhaled, rubbed at the bridge of his nose, shifted into reverse, and backed out. Then into forward gear, five miles an hour to where Nick was jogging along on the sidewalk. He rolled down the automatic window on the passenger side, looked out at Nick as he drove slowly alongside the young man. "I think that was a little uncalled for," he called out.

"I'm off the clock," Nick called back. "I don't give a damn what you think, and I don't have to." He picked up his pace, striding out easily, breath steaming in the brisk air. A deep breath later he was relaxing into the run as muscles loosened up, fell into the familiar pattern of running.

Gil resisted the urge to drop his forehead hard against the nearest surface, because that wasn't really a very good idea when driving. Instead he just breathed out slowly through his nose, pressed the gas a little more, sped up to match Nick's increased pace. "Nick... you're making this very difficult. Get in the truck," he said out the window, hearing his own exasperation in his tone. "...please?" he tacked on.

"I'm making this difficult. I'm making this difficult? You're the one who wouldn't leave well enough alone an' just kept fussin' an' naggin' until I broke down." A light sweat broke out, Nick was an odd mixture of hot and cold. Hot from exertion, cold inside. Cold skin where the biting air chilled skin.

Gil's eyes flickered back and forth between Nick and the road ahead, making sure he wouldn't hit anything. Brows rising a bit, Grissom said, "Well. That's true, I did. I guess I can be a little stubborn when I get my mind on something. Right now my mind is on making you get in the car. So alright, Nick. Let's conduct this experiment and see which one of us is more stubborn," he said shortly. If he had to, he'd drive all the way to Nick's house at ten miles an hour, dammit.

Ten miles an hour. That was a six minute mile pace, given he was five miles from the lab. No matter, Nick would easily keep the pace for the first two miles, staying silent except for the rhythmic pounding of shoes against pavement and the soft huff of his breath. Nick stripped his jacket off by the end of the second mile and chucked it into the truck's open window.

Gil grew more and more annoyed as he drove in silence, Nick not responding after his little challenge other than to obstinately keep running. Damn it. He had better things to do with his time than this. Why was Nick making this so damn difficult? Fine, fine; he could be stubborn too, he could play the younger man's childish game if he had to. He drove. Slowly. Cars honked behind him at times, eventually passing the Tahoe where it crept along at the curb, next to the running man; Gil ignored them, drummed his fingers on the steering wheel from time to time. When Nick's jacket landed in the passenger seat, he glanced over at the young CSI again, who was sweating profusely. "You know," he pointed out reasonably, "being as tired as you say you are from the shift, in this cool morning air-- you could in all possibility make yourself sick. You look close to overheating already."

Nick glanced over at Grissom, wiped the sweat out of his eyes with a quick swipe of his sleeve. His attention went back to the median in front of him. "I'm fine," he replied shortly, more winded then he had a right to be at the end of two miles. A vague niggle of worry Grissom could be right was chased away. So what if he got sick? Not like he didn't have a month of sick days stocked up. Just then he coughed, which forced him to lengthen his stride, push himself harder. Not giving Grissom the satisfaction of being right this time.

"Dammit, Nick," Gil snapped. "Are you -that- teed off at me, do you want to prove some dumb point so badly, that you're going to be immature about it? Will you please," he gritted out, "get in the car. And we can talk about this like reasonable adults...?"

"I'm trying.." Nick was panting now, much worse then it should be for the distance he'd run, "to get rid of some nervous energy. But if you want me, in the truck, that damn badly.." another pause for a few gasped breaths, "then stop so I can get in."

"Gladly," Grissom muttered, with a quick glance in the rearview mirror to make sure he wasn't going to get plowed into as he brought the Tahoe to a stop by the curb. He reached over and pulled Nick's jacket off the passenger seat, tossed it into the back of the truck so Nick could sit down, and opened the door. "Nervous energy? Are you sure you don't mean neurotic energy?" he murmured.

Nick had been going to climb in. He really had been. His hand was on the door, opening it. Then he heard Grissom's comment. A fraction of a second after Grissom finished that comment, Nick's hand was jerked off the door as if he was being burned. Then he stubbornly started running again, same measured pace as before. Lungs ached, leg muscles burned but he wasn't going to deal with that. Neurotic. If that man only knew.

"...Nick? Nick!" Grissom said, staring after the younger man honestly flabbergasted. He gritted his teeth and gave in to the urge, this time, to thump his head against the driver side window a few times, then undid his seat belt, yanked the keys out, and threw open the door. This was ridiculous. Gil sprinted after Nick, who wasn't that far ahead and running at a steady but not lightning-fast pace. When he caught up to him, he grabbed him by his shoulder and not-quite-yelled in his face, "Nick, do you want to tell me just what your damn problem is?"

"My problem? My PROBLEM?" Nick almost bellowed, once he was stopped and spun around to face the older man. "My problem is that you won't give me..space. So. I can. Deal..with...this." Exhaustion slammed into the Texan like a brick wall, leaving him mumbling and bordering on incoherent.

"Space?! SPACE? You want space? Fine! You can have space! Excuse me for making the effort to help!" Grissom responded in the same tone, throwing his hands up. He shoved the keys into Nick's hand, turned, and started stomping off back towards the lab-- so it was over two miles away, Nick had run it, he could certainly walk it. After ten steps, he stopped, got his breathing back under control, turned, and walked back towards Nick. Another deep breath, the calm-Grissom mask resolutely pulled back onto his features. "I'm sorry I yelled. ...you don't look all that hot, Nick. Seriously. Come on, get in the truck. I promise I... will try and give you space."

Nicky was staring at the keys like he'd never seen them before, an expression of distaste that rivaled the one he wore when using the ALS on hotel bedspreads. "I don't think I feel that hot," he said softly, sounding more than a little confused.

"...Nick?" Grissom said carefully, eyes on Nick's face. Pale skin. Sweat still rolling off his face and neck, the dark hair damp with it. He reached out slowly for the keys, other hand coming up to Nick's shoulder. "Nick. Let's get you in the truck. Okay? Nick, can you hear me alright?"

"Truck. Yeah. Okay. I'm okay." Nick let Grissom take the keys but he didn't move to get in the truck. Just stood there, looking faintly confused and trying to catch his breath.

Grissom frowned in concern. His words about Nick making himself sick, well... they'd been true enough, but he hadn't honestly expected... He moved his hand from Nick's shoulder to his forehead, pressing the back of his hand to the skin there. From the running, Nick should have been hot; instead his skin felt clammy and cold. "Okay," Gil sighed. "Come on, mister 5K. Into the car with you." He placed a hand on Nick's back and guided him back towards the Tahoe. He thought he'd seen a water bottle there of Nick's.

Nick meekly went along to the truck and climbed in, settling in the passenger's side seat without a word. Given how often they ran late or worked doubles, he kept the truck stocked with bottled water and meal replacement bars. Neither was reached for, though he did grab his jacket -after twi tries- and tugged it on. Now that he'd been still for a few minutes he was starting to feel the cold, just shy of shivering.

Grissom climbed into the driver's side but didn't start the engine right away, instead grabbing one of the water bottles and popping it open. He pushed it into Nick's hand. "Drink," he said, noting the shivering and Nick's putting on of his jacket. "Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous at all? Faint-headed? Talk to me here, Nick."

Nick lifted the bottle and drained half of it before lowering it again. His brow was furrowed, obviously he was thinking hard about the questions. "Dizzy. Yeah. Kinda. Light headed. Numb. Cold. Numb cold."

Grissom sighed again and took the water bottle from Nick's hand. He leaned over and reached Nick's seat belt, dragged the shoulder belt down and fastened it. Then looked at Nick's face again in concern. "We'll have you home in a bit." Grissom sat back in his seat, fastened his own belt, started the engine again.

"I- I'm sorry I yelled at you," Nick mumbled. He couldn't keep the tears out of his voice, but he managed to hide them by closing his eyes.

"Later," Grissom said quietly. "Just sit there and rest right now, Nick." He attempted a smile. "I guess the next time we have an argument, I shouldn't let you try and walk it off, huh?"

"Do we have to argue again?"

Grissom arched a brow. "That depends," he said blandly. "Of course we don't, once you just accept that I'm right." A small pause, then he said quietly, "That was also a joke, Nick."

"Okay. A joke. But you are right. Almost always. It's why I wanna kiss you. It's safe." Nick nodded. It made sense to him, if not Grissom.

And it didn't make sense to Grissom. His face took on the look of some bit of completely unexpected and incongruous bit of evidence showing up in some case. He cast a long look at Nick, shook his head marginally, then pulled out into traffic, finally able to drive at a decent speed. "I'm... not sure I follow the logic of that statement," he said neutrally. It was better than focusing.... again..... on the idea of kissing Nick. Of Nick kissing him. Grissom took a quiet, steadying breath, and kept his eyes on the road.

"Nigel Crane," Nick spoke his name matter of factly, as if that explained everything. "Nigel was wrong. About everything. You weren't. You were right. He was wrong, it made him dangerous. You were right, it makes you safe. I know you won't let anyone hurt me. I know you won't hurt me."

Grissom swerved a bit in traffic, earning a honk from the car behind him; then got back fully in his lane with a clearing of his throat. "Well. That's.... interesting logic, Nick," he said a little weakly. The thought of Crane-- of being compared to Crane-- and in that sense... Grissom wasn't entirely sure he was comfortable with that. He had stayed so calm, so impersonal, after that mess... when what he'd wanted to do was smash Crane's face into a wall, over and over. You didn't mess with people on his team. And that the slimy little bastard had chosen Nick... he'd been surprised himself, at how angry he'd been; forced himself to be especially professional about it. Softly, Grissom said, "No, Nick, I won't ever hurt you."

"I haven't felt safe since that whole thing. I walk around my place half the day to make sure he isn't there. Look for stray wires. Cameras. Check the attic. Look everywhere. The only time I feel safe is at work. When you're there." That was a slightly more coherent explanation. Nick's voice was still unsteady, a little too soft, a little too breathy. Almost like the words and the speaker were out of synch. Disjointed.

Grissom swallowed slightly. He'd noticed after the affair with Crane that Nick had spent more time at the lab, but..... well, to Grissom that had been only reasonable. Work was always the best thing for him to do if trying to move past... things. You could bury yourself in work. But the idea that Nick had been coming to work more often for his presence there.... Gil felt like sitting down, remembered that he actually was already. "Well. Glad I can...help," he said roughly, casting another glance over at Nick, who seemed to be definitely out of it by this point, if he was speaking like this. "Nick, is this your complex coming up?" Gil asked, clearing his throat and grateful for the distraction.

"Uh huh." Nick shook his head, trying to clear the fog. "Unit seventeen. I moved since..the last time you were here. I couldn't stay after what he did." Another pause, then, "It's blue. My new place is blue."

"Blue's a nice color." The Tahoe turned into the apartment complex. Grissom's eyes scanned the building numbers, saw the seventeen. The large vehicle hummed to a stop in the parking spot assigned to it, and Gil unfastened his seat belt. "Stay there, I'm coming around to help you out," he said as he got out of the truck, headed around the hood to Nick's side of the car.

"I like blue," Nick offered. He struggled with his seatbelt, finally getting it unfastened just as Grissom opened the door. "It reminds me of your eyes. You have really pretty eyes, Gris. I could stare at 'em for hours."

Gil surprised himself when he realized he was blushing. He couldn't distinctly remember the last time he had blushed, but it had certainly been before Nick was even born. Now why, he asked himself, can I just manage to think about the idea of 'Nick' and 'kisses' without embarrassing myself, but some off-hand comment about my EYES-- and he isn't even all here for it, listen to him-- is making me blush like I'm back in HIGH SCHOOL? Grissom shook his head. "I think you're a little out of it, Nick," he managed to say, helping Nick down from the high seat of the Tahoe. "Come on, not that far to the door."

"I took a Vicodin. Before leaving work," he offered. He managed to get himself out of the truck with Gil's help, slow and unsteady steps bringing him to the door. "Will you stay?"

Deep breath, and hunting through the key ring for a likely-looking one for the apartment. "I'm definitely going to make sure you're all right," Grissom offered, wondering how he was going to manage to walk out after Nick's semi-conscious revelation that his presence made him feel safe. Gil got the door open, placed his hand on Nick's shoulder again and led him inside.

Nick stepped inside the tidy condo. Of course he wasn't home long enough to make a mess and days off were spent studying and laying in supplies for the week ahead. Wood floors were softened with area rugs, furniture was the overstuffed sink-into-and-relax kind. No pictures, nothing overtly personal. It could have been a hotel room if not for all the forensic texts and magazines scattered around.

Grissom took in the room at a glance, more concerned with Nick himself at the moment than his living space; saw the comfortable looking couch and guided Nick towards it. "All right, jacket off and let's get you lying down. You'll feel a whole lot better," Gil promised. "I'll get you some more water." He started to move towards the kitchenette.

Nick peeled his jacket off, carefully hung it up. Shoes were toed off next. Slow sinking into the couch, and a soft groan when he got his feet up and stretched out. A soft chenille throw pillow was under his head, a matching throw tugged down. And before Grissom was back with the water, Nicky was half asleep.

Grissom filled a glass with water and came back, pausing only when he saw that Nick already looked half-gone. He sighed and stepped closer, crouched down next to the younger CSI. Maybe he should just let Nick drift off... no, Nick should drink the water, with all he'd been sweating during the ill-advised run, his body could use more hydration. "Water, Nick. Just a little bit, then I'll let you sleep. Come on, Nicky," he wheedled, trying to get Nick to open his eyes and sit up for the water.

Nick opened his eyes, squinting a bit. And there was a definite giggle when he looked at Grissom. "Gris, man. There's two of you." He did sit up, awkwardly. Smiled almost proudly, a smile that softened, infinitely tender when he was concentrating on Grissom.

Grissom found himself returning the sweet smile automatically. Wondered if Nick had -any- idea how... endearing he looked. Only after a few seconds did Gil realize he was just crouching there, staring at Nick-- smiling at Nick-- and holding the water. He coughed self-consciously, and held the water up near Nick's face. "I think that's your vision. I'm pretty sure there's just one of me, Nick."

"Wish there was two of you. Then I could have one." Nick took the water, sipped slowly. As he drank, his eyes slid partway closed, his grip on the glass becoming tenuous at best.

Grissom realized to his horror the blush was back with a vengeance, and quickly took Nick's glass from his hand before it fell. He set it down on the carpet, safely out of reach. There was -nothing- remotely 'professional' he could say to Nick's comment, so he cleared his throat instead. "I'm going to check your temperature again," he murmured, and again pressed the back of his fingers to Nick's forehead. Nick was warmer, not as clammy and cold as he'd been outside. "Better. How are you feeling? The dizziness gone yet?" He reached for Nick's wrist, fingertips finding the pulse. Grissom began to count under his breath.

"Mm. You have..great hands. Soft an' strong an'..just great." Nick's pulse was jumping now that Grissom was touching him. Even in a detached and professional as it was. "Still dizzy. Hurt myself on the case. Shh. Don't tell anyone. So I took the pill. It helped. But..safe. I feel safe with you here. Don't go. Please..?"

Grissom was pretty sure he was running out of steadying breaths to take. He was a professional, that was in no question, and how had this all gotten turned around so quickly on him? Thankfully Nick said something that wasn't related to his hands and how... great... or otherwise they might be. "Hurt on the case?! Nick-- you have to -report- things like that," he admonished, more weakly then he might have, if Nick hadn't been looking at him in quite that way, speaking quite so dreamily. He was all too aware of the rapid pulse under his fingertips. And how warm Nick's skin was there... "How hurt? Where?"

"You're yelling at me. Don't yell at me.." Tears welled up in Nicky's eyes, he blinked them back. "I made.. I tripped. It's fine. The pill made it fine." Nick looked wounded that Grissom had admonished him.

"I'm not-- ...I'm not yelling, Nick," Grissom said, closing his eyes. "What did you hurt when you tripped?" He looked at Nick's face, noted the shininess in his eyes, and sighed heavily. "I'm not mad at you, Nicky."

"I- I don't remember," he answered. Grissom was on the floor, Nick was on the couch and he decided Gris was just too far away. So instead he slid to the floor, managing to snuggle right up next to the other man. "I...remember now. I hit the door frame. Right shoulder."

Oh boy, thought Grissom as Nick managed to get way-- WAY-- into his personal space. Oh boy. It was ironic, he thought: all the work to try and get Nick to talk to him about what was bothering him, to let that anger down just for a bit; and now that the Vicodin had kicked in helped along by the physical stress and exhaustion... maybe this was a little more than he, Gil, had bargained for.

Didn't help things that, regardless of how his methodical, logical, evidence-processing brain was repeating over and over the words about 'professional responsibility' and 'supervisor' and every-other-thing... that his body was not at all displeased to have Nick's warm, solid form snuggling up to it. Slow down there, Gil, he told himself sternly. Aloud he said softly, "Must have hit it pretty hard if you took a Vicodin for it." He felt his arm sliding around Nick's body, took a breath.

"Mm," Nick murmured, head coming to rest on Grissom's shoulder. A very tentative kiss was offered, a there and gone press of closed lips to Gil's neck. "Dislocated it. Just...banged it into place again."

Grissom felt his heart skip at least two beats at the tentative, almost-imagined brush of lips on his neck. Accident, accident, that had been almost -certainly- an accident-- alright. He forced himself to sternness. The evidence never lied, and the evidence was that Nick had stated he wanted to kiss him, and just had. A light feather butterfly of a kiss. So what was he, Gil Grissom, going to do about it? "Sounds painful," he whispered, feeling his fingers start to stroke gentle circles on Nick's back.

He knew it was a mistake, all kinds of a mistake, but.... but Nicky was out of it, drifting so nicely, it wasn't like he would remember, so really, what was the damage? Just... a very little indulgence... and-- Gil exhaled softly, shuddering-- he had been wanting this, even this little bit of touch, for so long...

"Wasn't so bad." Nick's mouth was close enough to Gil's bare skin to send words flowing over it. Lips brushed again, a little more daring. A little less cautious. Quiet moans followed, body arching like a cat's under the soft touch. "Mhm. I was right. Great hands. Will you stay with me, Gris?"

Professional responsibility was rapidly fluttering away on swift wings.... Gil felt his eyelids flutter at the feel of Nick's breath on his neck, such sensitive skin there; and then his lips again, it was so sweet, so unbearably sweet. This... this is wrong... this would be taking advantage of Nick... he's not really aware.... damn it, he'd probably be getting -sick- if he really was here for this.... or if he knew how... much I think about him. The -sort- of things I think about him. For God's sake, Nicky, I'm your boss. Lots of things he could say; should say. Gil stroked lightly down Nick's spine, feeling the warmth of the other man's skin through the shirt. Closed his eyes. "I'm.... not going anywhere, Nicky," he breathed unsteadily.

"Thanks, Gil." Not that Nick would be allowing him to go anywhere. Unaware of the struggle Grissom was having, Nick clung to the older man like a limpet. Arms slid around, holding on. Lips rested on sensitive flesh, bringing Nick the taste of salt, male, something uniquely Grissom. The Texan could finally, finally relax. He'd be safe; Gil wouldn't let anyone hurt him.

Grissom swallowed and exhaled carefully as Nick's lips found his neck again, resting there, so intimately-- like they just belonged there, were supposed to be there. Nick was holding him tightly but there wasn't any tension in his form now. He was so relaxed. God, this was what it felt like, Gil thought with a part of him urging panic, to be completely trusted.

While he'd admitted his bisexuality to Nick less than an hour before, it hadn't meant he'd had a lot of meaningful relationships. As a young man in college, Grissom had approached sex, and sexuality, with the same interest and desire to learn as he did anything. Los Angeles had had a thriving community of the 'alternative' lifestyles, and, far from being repelled, he'd been intrigued, tried out sex with women and with men. Sex was like roller coasters, got rid of the tension, the stress, let you unwind. It could be fun and fascinating. But he'd pretty much stuck to partners who shared his viewpoint on it. Not those who wanted more. And it was pretty near novel, to be held this tightly and trustingly by someone else. To be held like Nick's life depended on it. "You're welcome, Nicky," he whispered, wondering just how the name came so easily to his lips.

"Come on. We should go to bed. More comfy then the floor," Nick reasoned. "Can borrow...clothes. To sleep in." The younger man wasn't really reasoning through his sudden desire to hold on to Grissom. Just knew he needed to. In some small way, perhaps his life did depend on it. Lips slid over a tendon, teeth tracing a lightly pink abrasion into the skin. "Taste good."

Whoa, whoa, WOAH there, Grissom told himself firmly. Whoa. It was one thing to sit here holding a distressed Nick, maybe in some court-of-metaphorical-law he could get away with pleading nothing more than concern and comfort; it was another entirely to contemplate moving this to a bed. Even if he did indeed "borrow clothes to sleep in." Gil swallowed again at the feel of parted lips moving on the muscle of his neck, teeth trailing there too. This had all the earmarks of a situation that could get really out of control.

And yet.... yet he couldn't just leave, could he? Nick wasn't doing that well, was drugged and obviously... needed... someone here to help him out... needed -him- here... And also, Nick didn't look like he was willing to let go without a fight. "Okay," Gil said shakily. "Let's get you to bed." He started to stand, helping pull Nick upright with him.

Nick laughed, more of a giggle if he were to be honest. The room spun around him and he tightened his hold on Grissom to stay on his feet once he managed to get to them.

"Do you know how hard I tried not to dream about you? Tried not to want you or think about you as anything other then my boss?" Realizing, belatedly, that Gil didn't know where the bedroom was he waved vaguely down the hall and pointed to the right. "Second door," he mumbled.

Lips ghosted over Grissom's jaw, the awkward embrace just encouraging Nick to keep exploring. Another soft laugh -giggle- at the beard, it tickled Nick's nose so he tilted his face, his own cheek pressed to Grissom's cheek. "Did you know I was never with a man before? Wanted to. Dreamed about it. Used it for fantasies. But I just couldn't..."

Nick paused a moment. "Maybe I shoulda maybe not took that second pill."

"Maybe you shouldn't have," Gil agreed quickly, eyes glued to a far point on the wall as he kicked Nick's bedroom door open. Heaven help him if Nick said something about him. Hurriedly, he decided to speak before Nick could finish the sentence. "Okay. Bed. Let's get you lying back down, I think you need it." I think -I- need to lie down. The sight of Nick's bed, as he pulled the younger man towards it, sent an unexpected bolt of heat straight through his body, pointing out it was a good-sized bed, big enough for two. Grissom moaned softly, squeezing his eyes shut against arousal that wasn't wanted at the moment.

"Mm. That sounds good. You gonna sleep with me?" Nick meant it in the most innocent way, unfortunately the sleepy drawl made it sound like an invitation and not an innocent question. "It's big enough for both of us," Nick pointed out as Grissom got Nick sitting on the edge. "And you promised you wouldn't leave."

He didn't mean. It. Like. That, Grissom told his body. His body was having none of it. Quite sure he was blushing again, the tips of his ears sure felt hot, Grissom said in a strangled tone, "I see that. The bed. Big. I, I promised. I did. Ohgod." Where-oh-where has competent, cool, composed, Gil Grissom gone to? Gil asked himself in exasperation. Thank heavens Nick seemed a little too out of it to pick up on... any of it. Grissom took a deep breath, counted to ten, then toed off his shoes. He had a plan of action. He could do this. Put Nick down to sleep, lie down next to him until he drifted off-- which would probably take about 3.5 seconds-- then get up and discreetly leave the bedroom. Call a cab.

"You're gonna leave..." Nick sounded heartbroken, eyes filling with tears that stubbornly spilled over. Hurt brown eyes -somewhere between the color of mocha and dark chocolate- lifted to look at Grissom. Nicky looked absolutely wounded. "You lied. You don't wanna stay. You don't like me." The 'me' was almost cut off, a quiet almost-sob interrupting the word.

Nick sniffled, hiding his face against Grissom's shoulder when the other man sat down, admitted that he did like Nick. The gentle touch soothed him, helped calm him down. "All I wanna do is sleep next to you. That's not bad." He paused, glanced up at Gil again through tear soaked lashes. "Is it?"

"No, Nicky," Gil whispered through a smile that hurt, somewhere deep down. "Not bad at all..." And he couldn't leave now, that much was damn obvious. Grissom sighed under his breath, dropped back onto the mattress, soft and comfortable. Held out a hand to Nick's shoulder. "Lie down. It's all... going to be okay," he said, and if it was a lie, so be it.

He watched for a moment, unsure of himself. Then Nick lay down next to him, using Gil's shoulder as a pillow. Eyes closed and his arm slid over Grissom's waist. "It's not okay, is it?"

Grissom wanted-- he wanted to just let it go, let it be, let himself rest. Let Nick put his arm over his waist, just like he was doing, and let Nick's hair tickle his cheek, and... "It will be okay," he said quietly, not sure whether that would count as evading the question in a court of law or not. He wriggled his arm under Nick's body to the other side, bent it at the elbow so he could stroke his fingers through Nick's hair. Because he wanted to. "It will be. Rest, Nicky."

All the tension Nick had slid away, the longer he lay there, petted, held close, the easier it was to relax. Breathing slowed, muscles sliding into the laxness of sleep. Then Nick spoke, his voice a soft and frightened whisper. "You won't let him get me, will you Gil?"

"No," Gil said automatically, before he even thought about who "him" was. Crane? Was it Crane? Was Nick still freaking about that piece-of-shit-- "No, I won't. ...who, Nick?"

"Nigel," was the quiet admission. Nick tensed after that confession, trying to get even closer. If it were possible.

The tension was back in Nick's body, all over again; Grissom closed his eyes, feeling suddenly unbelievably tired himself. "...I will not let him hurt you," he said softly, seriously. "My word, Nicky." And, feeling as if something was needed to seal it, prove it, drive it home, he reached down to Nick's hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed the fingers gently. It was a promise.

Nick relaxed at the promise, shivered when Gil kissed his hand. "Do you know why...I'm so scared of this? Of myself?" Some part of Nick's brain was screaming at him to shut up before he made his life any worse. Unfortunately that part was firmly gagged by the double dose of Vicodin Nick had in his system.
It was a hell of a question, and Gil thought, absently, that he should not let Nick answer it. But. But. Well. Didn't he just live for questions. And answers. "No, Nick. Tell me why," he breathed onto the younger man's fingers.

"Because. You're the kind of guy I could fall in love with. If I ever admitted to myself that it was okay to be like this. Like guys."

And Gil could just understand why that was so frightening, because it certainly sent a small chill up his spine. Love. Four-letter word. He was a CSI. He had work. He had a life that had careful rules and boundaries, and they did not admit something like.... love.

Of course, they didn't admit him lying here on the bed of one of his team members, listening to Nick breathe, hand stroking his hair. Gil let out a long, slightly shuddering breath. "I see." Didn't really know what else he was supposed to say to a revelation like that. Just kept up the gentle stroking on Nick's head with his fingers, closed his eyes.

"And you didn't like hearing that." But Nick was really too tired to run away again so he stayed where he was. And if he was honest with himself he didn't want to run. Staying there, with Gris holding him, stroking his hair, it was lulling him to sleep.

"I.... don't know how I feel about hearing that," Gil said after a moment, forcing himself to honesty. "It... scares me a little bit too, Nicky." Was it just, he thought, that Nick was so out of it, so floating, that made it possible to do these, say these things? It was like it wasn't real, it wasn't part of the same life with the lab and known quantities. The walls of Nick's home, and the walls of soft dreamy speech, separated everything from the real world. Allowed him to be honest. Not just the honest of criminal evidence, but the truth where it ran bone-deep. "I can understand why it scares you."

"I just wanted to be normal. Made myself forget. Dated girls. Never seriously. Lived a lie. Made myself forget," he repeated. "Then I came here and everything was different. Maybe I could be...what I was. No one here knew me. It would be safe enough. An anonymous face. A dark corner. Ten minutes. And never worry about seeing them again. But I just could never do it. Locked it all away again. Then there was you," he offered with a sigh. "Couldn't stop picturing you. Seeing you. Wanting to know you.."

Grissom exhaled. He shouldn't be hearing this. In a way, it was taking advantage of Nick-- not physically, but mentally, spiritually. Some way or another. The fact that Nick was giving him all these things, such personal, personal, carefully guarded things. He shouldn't be hearing these. Didn't want to.

But Nick needed to tell them. And maybe. Maybe. He needed to hear them...

Gil tilted his head to one side, stopped staring at the safe, safe ceiling. Now he was looking at Nick's face, the strong square jaw, expressive mouth. His fingers itched with the desire to trace those lips. He brought himself back to Nick's words. Not the first time some subordinate had had a crush on him, he reminded himself sternly-- just look at Sara. But these things faded in time; they realized Grissom wasn't quite what they'd thought. "You get over it pretty quick," he murmured with a small self-deprecating smile.

"I didn't get over anything." Heavy eyelids opened, it took his eyes a moment to focus on Gil's face. "I just keep hiding. Then tonight you were there and asking and pushing and I just...broke. I can't keep hiding. I can't keep lying. I can't."

"Oh Nicky," Gil breathed, wondering just where the ache in his chest had originated from, was it his ribs, his vertebrae, his lungs, in an awkward position? Heart, Grissom. Heart.... "I.... don't want you to have to lie." Grissom swallowed. Allowed his fingers to close the distance to Nick's lips, trace along them.

Nick's lips parted, gently closed around one of Grissom's fingers. A quiet moan followed, teeth lightly scraping the tip of one of the fingers. He'd wanted to do this forever. Almost since the day he'd first laid eyes on Gil Grissom.

It was not what he'd been expecting; he'd only wanted to touch, brush against those soft lips, just give in to a little temptation. Not feel Nick's lips part under his fingers, hot moist breath moving over his skin like a prayer; teeth digging gently in and sending the same sort of electric shock through his body as Nick's moan did. Grissom felt a shudder run from his scalp to his toes. He ran his thumb along Nick's chin, feeling the roughness of morning stubble. Grissom took a shaky breath, the fingers of his other hand tightening involuntarily in Nick's hair.

At the inadvertent tug, Nick sucked in his breath and one of Grissom's fingers. This was a novel situation, one he enjoyed. Nick experimentally swirled his tongue around, licking. Then a little bit of suction. Again, that nagging part of his brain said this was wrong, it was bad. Nick shut that train of thought down, allowing his eyes to close and just feel for once.

A physical groan escaped Grissom's lips, entirely without his permission. It had been... way too long... and Nick's mouth was hot and wet and his tongue was.... oh, this was bad, this was so bad. So why wasn't he pulling his hand away? Did it have something to do with the expression on Nick's face, pure bliss as it was? Dear God. "Nick," Gil said shakily. "Nick. I'm not so sure we should be doing this." There. There. His concession to morals.

Nicky cracked his eyes open, pulled away. Ended up rolled on his side, away from Grissom. Rejection hurt, especially after he'd bared his soul to the man. "I'm tired," he said, voice wavering. Eyes were tightly closed, not to block the light but to block tears from falling.

He could feel Nick's hurt, practically tangible; feel Nick drawing back into himself, bringing all the defenses back. No. He wasn't going to allow Nick to pull away from him... "Nick--" Grissom decided he'd said enough. Words weren't his strong suit anyway. Instead, he scooched over on the bed, placed his arm around Nick firmly. "I'm not letting go, Nicky," he murmured to Nick's shoulder. "Just-- rest right now. Other stuff... later."

It'd take a stronger man then Nick Stokes to hold out against a warm, snuggling body in an otherwise confusing situation. He didn't answer Grissom, just took a few deep breaths to relax. He was working on a retort, and before he could finish forming it, the Texan was sound asleep, snuggled back against Gil.

For Gil's part, he listened to Nick's breathing as it grew steadier and deeper. His arm tightened a bit around Nick's body, holding him close. Grissom's face showed his concern as he wrestled with inner questions and unlikeliness of the situation. Nick... handsome, strong Nick... whom he'd had more than one stray thought about over the years of working with him... so vulnerable. Confessing emotions for him that... just didn't -fit- with how things -worked. Gil squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, suddenly realizing he was tired as well. Long shift, he reminded himself, knowing it wasn't the real reason. Gradually his own breathing started to deepen as well.

It was easy to sleep with Grissom there, comforting to have that solid wall of warmth behind him. If he had to be absolutely honest it was the first night he slept peacefully in nearly three years. He trusted Gil with his life, with his deepest secret. His fears. And Grissom was still there. Still holding him.

(tbc)