My Very First Fanfic
TITLE: Only You: Beginnings
SPOILERS: Mild spoilers through seasons 1 and 2
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: Gil/Nick
ARCHIVES: Fingerprints
Now that I've finally figured out this posting thing, here's the first part of my very first fanfic. Let me know what you think.
TITLE: Only You: Beginnings
Category: First time; drama; romance; some angst
Spoilers: Mild spoilers through seasons 1 and 2
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Archives: Fingerprints
Disclaimers: I don’t own them. If I did I wouldn’t have time to write about them.
PART ONE
"Grissom!"
Gil started, looking up and blinking Catherine into focus.
"That report must be fascinating. You've been staring at it for fifteen minutes. I had to call your name three times before you heard me."
He looked at the report as if he'd never seen it before, wondering why he was holding it. He truly couldn't remember. He must have been reading it when Ecklie had called.
Noting the dazed look in Grissom's blue eyes, Catherine sat down across from him. "Okay, what's up?"
Grissom sighed and tossed the report on top of his cluttered desk. Taking off his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he said, "Ecklie called."
"Preliminary reports on the crime scene?" Catherine questioned, knowing dayshift had been called in to handle the case because Nick was a graveyard CSI.
Grissom visibly flinched. Hard to think of Nick's condo as a crime scene. Harder still to think of Nick as a victim. He managed a nod.
"What did Conrad say?"
"Seems my theory was wrong."
"The great Gil Grissom wrong?" Catherine teased.
He glared at her. "Damn it, Catherine, this isn't a joking matter. This is one of our own!"
She held up her hands in a placating manner. "Sorry. I know it's one of our own. I'm worried about Nick, too, but he's safe now. Nigel Crane is in jail."
"That doesn't make it all better," he said curtly.
Catherine opened her mouth, then closed it, uncharacteristicly accepting the jab when she saw the clenching of Gil's jaw. "So you think your theory was wrong? You no longer think Nigel wants to be Nick?"
Grissom shook his head.
"What evidence do you have to the contrary?"
He had to take a deep breath before saying, "Seminal fluid was found in Nick's attic."
"There was no semen found in Jane Galloway's house," Catherine said slowly, "so that means...."
"Exactly."
"Does Nick know?"
"I don't know. I think he suspected." He couldn't help but wonder if that was why Nick had looked so disappointed when he'd tossed out his theory. That look had made him feel as if he'd let Nick down in some way, and maybe he had. He just hadn't wanted to think of Nick as the focus of some sick sexual predator's desire. Not Nick. Not the man he-
Grissom stood abruptly, his chair flying back to bounce off the wall.
Even though she was used to his starts and turns, the action was unexpected enough to startle Catherine. "Gris? Where are you going?" she called as he strode out the door.
But Grissom didn't stop.
Staring after him in astonishment, Catherine finally jumped up and hurried after him. Catching up outside the DNA lab, she grabbed his arm and jerked him to a halt.
Gil said nothing, merely looked at the hand on his arm, then looked at her face, one eyebrow raised.
"What the hell are you doing, Gil?"
"I want to talk to Nigel Crane."
Catherine was already shaking her head. "Bad idea. You know you'll never get near him without a lawyer present."
Grissom speared her with his laser-sharp blue gaze. "We'll see." Pulling his arm free of her grasp he continued on down the hallway.
Catherine raised her hands in frustration as she watched him turn a corner and disappear from sight. Earlier tonight, when they'd gone to the hospital to check on Nick, Grissom had wondered aloud why Nigel Crane hadn't killed Nick, his manner calm and detached as if he were discussing a specimen rather than a member of their team. Now that it was over, Nigel in police custody and Nick safe, Grissom was acting like- Well, she didn't know how to describe the way he was acting.
Would she ever understand that man?
---------------------
Jim Brass looked over the rim of his coffee cup at the man standing in his doorway. The look on Grissom's face told him this wasn't a social call.
"What are you doing here, Gil?"
"I want to see Nigel Crane."
Brass shook his head. "No can do."
Grissom stepped closer to the desk. "I need to see him, Jim, to talk to him."
Brass set down his coffee. "As much as I'd like to give you time alone with the son of a bitch, I can't. He's only said two things since he quit that freaky 'I am one, who am I' shit, and one of them was to lawyer up."
"Jim-"
"No, Gil. I'm not going to let you do anything that might get this case kicked. You don't want Nicky's stalker out walking around, do you?"
Gil paled.
Brass sighed. "Go home, Gil, and take Nick with you."
Grissom's head snapped up. "He's still here?"
"Right where you guys left him, staring through the glass at the interrogation room where Nigel Crane was earlier."
Gil nodded and turned to leave, then stopped in the doorway and looked back. "What else?"
"Huh?"
"You said Nigel Crane said two things. What else did he say besides asking for a lawyer?"
A look of disgust crossed Brass' face. "Some sick shit about Nick. Trust me, Gil, you don't want to know."
Gil started to protest, then changed his mind. "Maybe you're right."
Brass sighed as he watched his friend walk away. The CSI supervisor was a private man, never letting anyone get too close, but he liked to think he knew Grissom at least a little better than anyone else in the unit. The death of Holly Gribbs had changed Gil, and there was no telling what this would do to him.
Gil was close to Nick, closer than probably anyone realized. The only reason he knew was because of a confession Gil had made after several shots of Jack Daniels one night. It had been after he'd returned to a crime scene and found Nick being held at gunpoint by Amy Hendler, a woman who hadn't even been a suspect in the case. He'd told Brass of his fear at that moment, then later told Brass something that had stunned him.
Brass hadn't been drunk that night. Since New Jersey he'd been careful with the booze, so he remembered every word of Gil's confession. He just wondered if Gil, himself, remembered.
------------------
Nick was right where Brass said he was. Grissom entered the room, but the younger man didn't acknowledge his presence, just continued to stare through the two-way mirror into the empty room beyond.
"Nick," Grissom said, putting his hand on Nick's shoulder.
He was completely unprepared for Nick's response.
Nick's reaction was instinctive. With a yelp he shrugged off the hand on his shoulder, spun to his left, then hissed as he reached for the throat of his attacker with his bandaged right hand.
"Nick," Grissom gurgled, both hands trying to loosen the grip of the hand wrapped tightly around his throat. "Stop, Nick. Stop!"
Eyes so dark they appeared black slowly focused, taking in the graying hair, the wide blue eyes, the red face, the hands clutching his own hand where it was squeezing the flesh underneath it.
"Grissom?" Nick questioned in confusion.
Gil managed a faint, "Yes," pulling harder at the hand on his throat. He didn't want to hurt Nick's injured wrist, but he was getting dizzy and beginning to see pinpoint spots in front of his eyes.
"Grissom!" Nick released the older man's throat and jumped back, eyes wide, face pale, body shaking.
Gil was drawing in much needed oxygen.
"Oh, God, Gris, I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you. I thought you were Nigel. Oh, God!" Nick covered his face in shame.
"Nick," Grissom said calmly, his voice slightly hoarse. "Look at me, Nicky."
Nick shook his head.
"Yes, Nick. Look at me. Do it!"
Nick slowly lowered his hands, dark eyes full of remorse and suspiciously moist.
"It's okay, Nick. I'm okay. If anyone should be sorry, it's me. I should have thought before I touched you." One corner of Grissom's mouth quirked up ruefully. "You know I'm no good with the living."
Nick managed a watery chuckle. "Yeah, that's true, but you do okay with us."
Grissom considered that. "Except maybe with Sara. Her I don't understand."
"Don't sweat it, man. No one has figured out Sara, not even Catherine."
"That's good to know."
Grissom studied Nick, noting the obvious fatigue, the dark circles under his eyes, the face nearly as pale as the bandage on his forehead. Nick squirmed under the frank scrutiny, feeling as if he was one of Grissom's bugs put under a microscope.
"Why are you still here, Nick?" Grissom asked quietly.
"Oh, man," Nick muttered, looking everywhere but at his boss. How did he explain that he was too scared to leave? He tried to just shrug it off, even though he was fairly certain that wouldn't work.
And he was right.
"Nick?"
"Should've known you wouldn't leave this alone."
"It's not in my nature. I'm a scientist. Ferreting out facts and interpreting them is what I do."
"Yeah, well, I'm not one of your experiments," Nick shot back.
"I never thought you were," Grissom said calmly. "But how can I help if I don't understand the problem?"
Nick sighed in defeat. His pain pill and the adrenaline rush had both worn off, and he was just too tired to keep arguing.
"Look, Gris, even if my place wasn't an active crime scene, I couldn't go back there. Your home is supposed to be the place where you go to get away from all the ugliness in the world. I don't have that sense of security anymore."
"That's understandable, Nick. Nigel Crane didn't just violate your trust. He violated your sanctuary. No one will think less of you for feeling that way."
"Maybe I think less of myself."
"You shouldn't."
Nick tapped his head with one finger. "In here, intellectually, I know that, but it's damned hard to think logically after being stalked and nearly killed by a psycho jumping out of my ceiling."
Grissom swallowed back the sudden nasty taste in his mouth. "So what about a hotel? They have cameras and security guards."
"And how many DBs do we process every year from even the most secure of hotels? And with my luck, they'd put me in Murder Central."
Grissom pursed his lips. "You do seem to be something of a magnet for unfortunate events."
Nick snorted. "Ya think?"
"So being here, surrounded by police officers, most of whom you know, you feel safe."
"Yeah, as safe as I can feel right now."
"Do you think you'd feel safe staying with a friend whose house has an alarm system and no attic?"
Nick shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."
Knowing he was playing with fire and putting temptation too close at hand, Grissom made the offer anyway. "Then you can stay with me."
To say Nick was stunned was putting it mildly. All he could do was stare at his boss, dark eyes wide in disbelief.
"I didn't realize the invitation would shock you speechless," Gil said dryly.
Nick felt himself blush, an honest-to-God blush. "Sorry. I was just surprised, that's all. I know you don't like people in your house."
"You're not people, Nick. You're a colleague and a friend as well I'd like to think. Am I wrong?"
"No, you're not wrong," Nick said slowly, still somewhat stunned that Gil Grissom had declared himself a friend and not just the boss.
"I know my people skills are lacking-"
Nick snorted.
Grissom smirked, not in the least offended by the humor at his expense. "As I was saying, I know my people skills are lacking, but what kind of a person would I be if I couldn't help a friend in need. I'd like to think I'm not that out of touch with the world around me."
Nick had to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. This was a side of Gil Grissom he'd never seen before, a side he doubted many had ever seen, and he was a bit awed by the change in the man before him.
"So? Do you want to stay at my house?" Grissom questioned a bit uncertainly.
"Yeah, I'd like that. Thanks, Gris."
Grissom smiled, one of those rare smiles that lit up his eyes. "Good. And I have an extra bedroom, so you won't even have to sleep on the sofa."
Nick smiled then, that killer smile that never failed to make Grissom's heart thump a bit faster. Good Lord, he felt like a teenager again with his first crush on the girl who played second flute in the school band, only multiply that feeling times ten or twenty or a hundred. To make sure Nick noticed nothing inappropriate on his face, Grissom turned towards the door.
"Come on. We'll see if Ecklie is far enough into the processing that we can get away with picking up a few of your things."
"No!"
Grissom stopped and turned back towards Nick, brow furrowed and head slightly cocked to one side, wondering what had brought on that sudden explosion.
"No," Nick repeated thickly. "I can't wear any of those clothes again. I don't know which ones he wore."
"It's all right, Nick," Grissom said gently. "We'll go shopping tomorrow for some new clothes. But what about the meds the doctor gave you?"
Nick patted his jacket pocket. "Right here."
"Then let's go."
With a sense of the surreal, Nick followed Grissom out of the police station. This was weird, even for his life.
------------------
Dawn was on the horizon when Grissom parked his Tahoe in his driveway. Nick waited for him to disarm the alarm, then followed him inside the townhouse. His brows drew together when Grissom told him the security code. Something about those numbers was familiar, he just couldn't wrap his tired brain around it at the moment.
Nick stopped in the living room and looked around. He'd only been in Grissom's house once before, during the Strip Strangler case, but it looked pretty much the same. Same short leather sofa, same cluttered coffee table, same unorganized bookshelves, same bland colors, same framed butterfly collection. At least there wasn't a hole in the ceiling. Sameness was good.
Grissom showed him the bedroom he would be using and the bathroom, pointing out the linen closet for towels and the medicine cabinet for a new toothbrush. When they went back into the living room, he asked Nick if he wanted anything to eat.
"Nah, but thanks. I just need some water to take a pain pill, then I'm gonna crash."
"There's bottled water in the fridge. Make yourself at home for as long as you're here."
"Thanks." Nick walked into the kitchen, his movements a bit slow. He opened the refrigerator, then hesitated before reaching for a bottle of water. He closed the door and turned to look at Grissom. "Uh, Gris, you don't actually eat anything out of that refrigerator, do you?"
"It's where I keep my perishables, so yes."
Nick shuddered, thinking of the jars of bugs and various petri dishes he'd seen in there. "Oh, man, that's just not right. Remind me never to eat leftovers out of there."
Grissom considered that for a moment. "I guess other people don't keep experiments in their refrigerators."
"Most people don't have experiments to keep there."
"Hazard of the trade."
"Whatever," Nick muttered before downing a pain pill with a swig of water. "Think I'll turn in now."
Grissom stopped him, saying hesitantly, "Nick, we need to talk."
"Okay, so talk."
"Maybe you should sit down."
Nick looked at him strangely but seated himself on the sofa. His brows drew together when Grissom sat down on the edge of the coffee table, his knees mere inches from Nick's, blue eyes staring intently into dark.
"Nick, what I said earlier, my judgment of Nigel Crane and his motives, I was wrong."
"Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs?"
"Yes. I talked to Ecklie about the evidence at your place."
Nick looked at him expectantly.
"Just like at Jane Galloway's house, Nigel had a peephole into every room in your condo."
"Every room?" Nick questioned faintly. He knew about the bedroom because Nigel had admitted to watching him sleep, but the bathroom....
"Yes, every room." Grissom paused and drew in a deep breath. "Semen was found in your attic. I assume it's not yours?"
Nick shook his head, fighting back a wave of nausea, thanking God he'd turned down the offer of food. He didn't even realize he was close to hyperventilating till Grissom touched his knee and spoke.
"It's okay, Nicky. Deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth. It's okay."
"No, it's not okay," Nick said harshly, jumping to his feet and looking down into sympathetic blue eyes. "Nigel Crane raped me in every way but one, and I don't know if it will ever be okay again."
Grissom could only watch helplessly as Nick stalked off into his bedroom, stopping just this side of slamming the door.
---------------------
Grissom looked at the clock on his nightstand, the only way he had of judging the time because all his windows had blackout shades on them. It was midmorning, and he'd only been asleep maybe a couple of hours, but something had awakened him.
Climbing out of bed he pulled on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers and left the room. Instinct told him where he would find the source of his unease, and he quietly opened Nick's bedroom door just enough to peek in.
It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darkened room. That was when he noticed the empty bed. Thinking Nick might be in the bathroom, he started to withdraw, then stopped when he heard a harsh, raspy breath from the other side of the room. Pushing the door open more fully, he entered the room and rounded the bed.
What he saw there made his chest clench painfully.
Wearing nothing but sky blue boxers, Nick sat on the floor, his back to the corner. His legs were drawn up to his chest, his arms were wrapped around his shins, his face was pressed to his knees and he was rocking back and forth, his body occasionally shaking with tightly controlled sobs.
"Oh, Nick," Grissom breathed.
He crouched down in front of Nick, careful not to touch him. "Nicky," he began but wasn't sure where to go from there.
"I thought I was over this." Nick mumbled against his legs. "I was sure it was behind me."
"You have to give yourself time, Nick. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours. Your mind is still processing."
"Not Nigel," Nick whispered. "The other. Nigel brought back the other."
"The other?" Grissom questioned carefully.
"The other. I've never told anyone except Catherine, and the only reason I told her was because she threatened to pull me off the Dylan Buckley case. I couldn't let her do that."
Grissom's mind searched for the name, quickly coming up with the case. Dylan Buckley had been a fourteen-year-old boy who'd died at his therapist's house. For a while they'd been sure the doctor had been sexually abusing the boy.
Grissom sucked in a breath when he realized the ramifications of what that case could mean to Nick. God, he hoped not. Abuse of a child was intolerable, but the thought that it might have happened to the man before him....
"Nicky? Can you...tell me?"
"She was a last minute babysitter. I was nine years old! I had no idea what she was doing to me. I just wanted Mom to come home and make it better."
"But you didn't tell your parents?"
"No. I didn't know what had happened, but I knew it wasn't right. I felt bad, dirty, and I couldn't tell my folks."
"You did nothing wrong, Nicky!" Grissom said emphatically.
"I know that now, but then...." Face still buried against his legs, Nick shook his head, "By the time I was old enough to understand what had happened, it was just too late. I couldn't tell them then. It would've broken Mom's heart, and Dad would have blamed himself."
"No child should have to go through something like that by himself."
"I learned to deal. Sports helped. I worked out my aggressions on the field. By the time I got to college, the nightmares had finally stopped. Even Dylan Buckley didn't bring them back."
"But now?"
"Now, knowing what Nigel wanted," Nick choked out, his body shuddering, "it all came back."
"I'm sorry, Nicky."
"Not your fault."
"I shouldn't have told you about Nigel Crane. I should have given you time before telling you."
"He killed Jane Galloway as a gift for me. He wore my clothes. He watched me sleep. I already knew. All you did was confirm it."
Grissom ached for Nick in a way he'd never ached before.
"Nicky, I'm going to put my arm around you. Is that okay?"
"Yeah, okay," Nick said faintly.
Blue eyes blurry with tears, Grissom sat down beside Nick, his back against the wall. Careful of Nick's injured ribs, he put an arm around the younger man.
"It's okay, Nick. Just let me hold you. Cry if you need to."
"I'm tired of crying," Nick said, his voice muffled. "I cried for years. I don't want to do this again."
"Sometimes what's best for us isn't always what we want."
Nick sniffed and managed a weak half-chuckle. "Another Grissomism."
"Grissomism?"
"Yeah, Grissomism." Nick sighed and finally gave in to the comfort being offered, turning slightly and laying his head on Grissom's shoulder. "Thanks, Gris."
"I do have a first name, you know," Grissom said, soothingly running his hand down the smooth line of Nick's back.
"Gil," Nick sighed, breath warm against Grissom's throat.
Gil continued soothingly stroking Nick's strong back. Eventually he felt the tension ease out of Nick and heard his breathing even out.
"Nick?"
"Hmm?"
"You think you could sleep now?"
Nick sighed. "Yeah, I think so."
He untangled himself from Grissom's hold and stood, then held out a hand to help his boss up. He must have pulled harder than he thought because Grissom stumbled against him. He straightened quickly, but that brief moment of lightly furred chest resting against smooth made Nick blink in surprise because it had felt strangely...good.
Grissom stepped away quickly, thanking God the room was dark enough to hide his flushed face, not to mention the fact that those few seconds of chest-to-chest contact had started a fire down below. He knew it was wrong to be aroused by a man needing only comfort after an ordeal, but his semi-erect cock didn't care about the whys. It knew only that for one moment in time he'd been naked-flesh-to-naked-flesh with the object of his desire.
Nick climbed into bed and settled under the covers, remembering only at the last minute that he couldn't lie on his side because of his ribs. Grissom had the door nearly closed behind him when he heard Nick.
"Gri- Gil?"
"Yes, Nick?"
"Thanks, man," Nick murmured, already half asleep.
"You're welcome. And, Nicky?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm willing to listen whenever you need to talk."
"`kay."
Grissom let his gaze roam over that handsome face before quietly closing the door and returning to his lonely, solitary bed. Realizing how close they'd come to losing Nicky, it was a while before he was able to find sleep again.
----------------------
Over bowls of cereal three hours later, Grissom broached the subject.
"Nick, maybe you should make an appointment with Dr Kane."
Nick looked across the table, noting a combination of determination and uncertainty on Grissom's boyish face.
"The department shrink?" Nick questioned.
"Yes."
Nick was quiet for a moment, then said, "Maybe you're right."
Grissom opened his mouth, then closed it so abruptly his teeth clicked together. "Excuse me?"
One corner of Nick's mouth lifted in a smile that lit up his dark eyes. "What? You thought you were going to have to fight me on this?"
"Well, yes."
Nick shook his head. "Not this time. If you think therapy might help, I'm all for it. I'm tired of being a victim."
"Good. You have an appointment at 10:00 tomorrow."
"Pretty sure of yourself, weren't you?"
Grissom pursed his lips. "Sure, no. Determined, yes."
"What would you have done if I'd said no?"
"Made it an order?"
"Ouch, pulling rank?"
"Whatever it takes to get the job done."
Nick nodded. "I need to pick up my Tahoe," he said, carrying his bowl and coffee mug into the kitchen. "If you wouldn't mind giving me a lift."
Grissom followed him with his own empty dishes. "No work, no driving for a week, Nick. Doctor's orders."
"I gotta have wheels, man. I need to buy clothes, deoderant, a razor, all that stuff, and I have that appointment with Dr Kane tomorrow."
Grissom personally thought the stubble covering Nick's square jaw was sexy as hell, but he kept his opinion to himself. "Until the doctor gives you the okay, I'll take you wherever you need to go."
"You have a unit to run, Gris."
"It's Gil, remember? And Catherine is running CSI nightshift for the next week."
"Huh?" Nick questioned blankly.
"You aren't the only one who needs time off."
"I've never known you to take time off unless you're going to a convention, and I think the only reason you go to those is because you get off on cockroach racing."
"What else would you expect from an entomologist? That should be a clue that I need a vacation."
"And what kind of vacation will babysitting me be?"
"It's not babysitting, Nick," Grissom said, opening the dishwasher to load their dishes. "I'm doing this because I want to. As a friend."
Any further argument Nick cared to make was cut off when Grissom bent over, the collar of his shirt gaping at the neck, exposing the older man's throat.
"Oh, shit."
Grissom straightened and looked at Nick curiously when he heard the shocked exclamation. And then Gil couldn't think at all, could only draw in a shaky breath when Nick's long fingers slipped under the collar of his shirt and gently touched the warm skin of his throat.
"Damn, Gil, I'm sorry," Nick whispered.
Grissom hesitated momentarily, then lifted a hand and put it over Nick's. "It's okay, Nicky. I'm all right. It's just some bruising, no lasting damage. I should have known better than to startle you after what you'd just been through."
Nick pulled away and turned his back to Grissom. "I just couldn't stand the thought of him touching me."
Neither could Gil. "It's okay, Nicky. Now, come on, let's hit the road. I have some shopping to do, too. My cupboards are nearly bare, and if I'm going to have actual food in the house, I need to get one of those mini refrigerators for my experiments."
"I won't argue with that."
"Somehow I didn't think you would."
--------------------
It had been two weeks since the attack, one week since Nick had returned to work. Once his condo had been released as a crime scene, he'd called a contractor for repairs. He and Gil had just returned to Grissom's townhouse after pulling a double when his cell phone rang.
"Hello?" He listened to the caller, then said, "Okay, thanks." He closed his phone, then just stood there, staring into space.
"Nick?"
"That was the contractor. The repairs are finished at my place. I, um, can move back in."
Grissom heard the words, but, being as observant as he was, he also noticed the faint shudder that ran through Nick's body. He moved to stand in front of Nick, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"There's no rush, Nicky."
Nick closed his eyes against the understanding in Grissom's blue eyes. "I can't stay here forever."
Grissom wanted to tell him he could, but that was a fantasy best kept to himself. "However long it takes. You can't put a time limit on peace of mind."
Nick swallowed heavily against thoughts of returning to what was, literally, the scene of the crime. "I feel safe here," he confessed.
Grissom squeezed his shoulder. "Good. You need that feeling of security right now."
And Nick did feel safe and secure there. He hadn't had anymore nightmares since that first day. His sessions with Dr Kane were helping him deal with everything that had happened, both past and present, and Gil's presence had turned out to be surprisingly comforting.
Who would have thunk it?
In the two weeks he'd been there, he'd learned more about the man who was his boss than in all the years he'd worked for him. He'd just always assumed Grissom the man would be the same as Grissom the boss. Grissom the man had a quirky sense of humor and the ability to empathize that was rarely seen in Grissom the boss. It was those two distinct personalities that made it easy to separate Gil from Grissom.
"Thanks, Gil. You have no idea how much you've helped me. I don't know if I'll ever be able to return the favor."
"There's no repayment necessary between friends. Although...."
"Although...?"
"I wouldn't be opposed if you wanted to cook today."
Nick laughed. "You've got yourself a deal."
Grissom smiled then, and it lit up his eyes. Nick's breath suddenly caught in his throat, and his eyes widened. Lately he'd been having the most unexpected reactions to Grissom, his smile, his laugh, his touch, his understanding, and he wasn't sure what was happening. To cover his confusion, he began backing into the kitchen.
"I'll just go ahead and...get breakfast, lunch…whatever started."
Grissom continued to stand in the living room, a faint smile on his face as he watched Nick retreat. He'd known instantly when the awareness had hit Nick, and he figured since the younger man hadn't run screaming from the room that it wasn't as distressing as it might have been two weeks ago.
That, Grissom assured himself, was a good sign. He might not ever have what he really wanted from Nick, but maybe he wouldn't lose his friendship if the younger man ever discovered how his boss truly felt about him. It was pathetic, he knew, but he'd take whatever he could get of Nick, even if it was only work and the occasional casual conversation.
If he had to worship from afar, he would, because the thought of never again looking into those dark eyes, seeing the brilliance of that smile or hearing his name spoken in that sweet Southern drawl was anethema to him.
----------------------
Nick couldn't sleep, despite the fact he'd pulled a double and had to be back at work in just a few hours. And he knew what the problem was. It all stemmed from whatever weird-assed shit was going on in his head all of a sudden.
What the hell had happened earlier?
Since when did he start feeling all tingly from the touch of another man or breathless from his smile?
Oh, who was he kidding? It wasn't just another man. It was Gil Grissom and only Gil Grissom. He didn't feel that way around Warrick or Greg. Only Gil.
He'd been feeling things for a while now, but he'd always been able to tell himself it was just a remnant of the hero-worship he'd felt for Gil when they'd first begun working together, a feeling that had gradually faded as he'd come to know Gil.
But today was different.
Today the tingle had gone straight to his dick, and no matter what spin he put on it, he couldn't pass that off as hero-worship.
So what the hell was going on?
He wasn't bisexual.
Was he?
Nah, guys had never been his thing, only the ladies.
But there was no denying this...attraction or whatever it was for Grissom.
The only thing he knew for sure was that he was confused and nowhere near as freaked out as he should be. That, in itself, was worrisome.
What he needed was someone to talk to, someone whose job it was to listen, but his next appointment with Dr Kane wasn't for another five days.
One phone call later he had an appointment with Dr Kane for the next day. In only three sessions he'd already begun to make headway in helping Nick come to terms with the babysitter and Nigel Crane. It wasn't all better by a long shot, but it was a beginning. Maybe the man could help with this new weirdness, too.
-------------------
Gil groaned when the alarm went off, feeling a lot like a bug smashed against a windshield. He hadn't slept well, and when he had he'd been tormented by dreams of a naked Nick begging to be fucked. The result was a raging hard-on that showed no signs of abating anytime in the near future.
Stumbling out of bed, he headed for the master bath and turned on the water in the shower. After adjusting the temperature, he stripped off his boxers and climbed in. Warm water rushed over him, and he closed his eyes. But closing his eyes only served to bring the dreams to the forefront of his mind.
Sinking into his fantasies, his left hand slid over his chest, down his stomach and wrapped around his erection. His thumb passed over the slit in the tip, spreading precum over the sensitive rosy head. His hand stroked up the shaft, over the head and back down, but in his mind's eye it was Nick's lips caressing his cock as his mouth swallowed more and more of the hard length.
His right hand came up to rub a hardened nipple, switching from one to the other as the stroke of his hand increased its tempo. In his mind it was Nick - Nick on his knees, sucking his cock, pulling at his nipples. When he climaxed he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out.
He couldn't resist a chuckle as he watched his cum mix with the water and swirl away. He hoped there was never a need to have his shower drain swabbed. Since Nick had moved in his plumbing was bound to have the highest protein content in Las Vegas.
Who would have thought at his age he'd get hard from a mere smile? These days he was hornier than he'd ever been, even as a teenager. He'd slept with his first woman in college, his first man in grad school, those first experiences his need for empirical knowledge. Since then sex had become a pleasant diversion but never the be-all-and-end-all.
With Nick, though, he knew it would be different. And the reason he knew was because this was the first time ever his emotions had been involved. Emotions were messy things that had no place in his scientific world, but from the moment Nick Stokes had walked into his life those illogical little creatures had run rampant.
He didn't think they'd ever been messier and more illogical than when Nick had told him about Kristy Hopkins. They said jealousy was green, but he knew better. It was black and red with orange sparks around the edges. He knew because those were the colors he'd seen when Nick had admitted to sleeping with Kristy. The woman had been brutally strangled, and all he'd been able to think was that she'd had what he never would.
He hadn't liked himself very well at that moment, and he'd been painfully reminded of the prehistoric genes he still carried.
And then, two weeks ago, when Nick had told him about the babysitter, he'd wanted nothing more than to hunt the woman down and make her pay.
He finally understood the term crime of passion.
SPOILERS: Mild spoilers through seasons 1 and 2
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: Gil/Nick
ARCHIVES: Fingerprints
Now that I've finally figured out this posting thing, here's the first part of my very first fanfic. Let me know what you think.
TITLE: Only You: Beginnings
Category: First time; drama; romance; some angst
Spoilers: Mild spoilers through seasons 1 and 2
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Archives: Fingerprints
Disclaimers: I don’t own them. If I did I wouldn’t have time to write about them.
PART ONE
"Grissom!"
Gil started, looking up and blinking Catherine into focus.
"That report must be fascinating. You've been staring at it for fifteen minutes. I had to call your name three times before you heard me."
He looked at the report as if he'd never seen it before, wondering why he was holding it. He truly couldn't remember. He must have been reading it when Ecklie had called.
Noting the dazed look in Grissom's blue eyes, Catherine sat down across from him. "Okay, what's up?"
Grissom sighed and tossed the report on top of his cluttered desk. Taking off his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he said, "Ecklie called."
"Preliminary reports on the crime scene?" Catherine questioned, knowing dayshift had been called in to handle the case because Nick was a graveyard CSI.
Grissom visibly flinched. Hard to think of Nick's condo as a crime scene. Harder still to think of Nick as a victim. He managed a nod.
"What did Conrad say?"
"Seems my theory was wrong."
"The great Gil Grissom wrong?" Catherine teased.
He glared at her. "Damn it, Catherine, this isn't a joking matter. This is one of our own!"
She held up her hands in a placating manner. "Sorry. I know it's one of our own. I'm worried about Nick, too, but he's safe now. Nigel Crane is in jail."
"That doesn't make it all better," he said curtly.
Catherine opened her mouth, then closed it, uncharacteristicly accepting the jab when she saw the clenching of Gil's jaw. "So you think your theory was wrong? You no longer think Nigel wants to be Nick?"
Grissom shook his head.
"What evidence do you have to the contrary?"
He had to take a deep breath before saying, "Seminal fluid was found in Nick's attic."
"There was no semen found in Jane Galloway's house," Catherine said slowly, "so that means...."
"Exactly."
"Does Nick know?"
"I don't know. I think he suspected." He couldn't help but wonder if that was why Nick had looked so disappointed when he'd tossed out his theory. That look had made him feel as if he'd let Nick down in some way, and maybe he had. He just hadn't wanted to think of Nick as the focus of some sick sexual predator's desire. Not Nick. Not the man he-
Grissom stood abruptly, his chair flying back to bounce off the wall.
Even though she was used to his starts and turns, the action was unexpected enough to startle Catherine. "Gris? Where are you going?" she called as he strode out the door.
But Grissom didn't stop.
Staring after him in astonishment, Catherine finally jumped up and hurried after him. Catching up outside the DNA lab, she grabbed his arm and jerked him to a halt.
Gil said nothing, merely looked at the hand on his arm, then looked at her face, one eyebrow raised.
"What the hell are you doing, Gil?"
"I want to talk to Nigel Crane."
Catherine was already shaking her head. "Bad idea. You know you'll never get near him without a lawyer present."
Grissom speared her with his laser-sharp blue gaze. "We'll see." Pulling his arm free of her grasp he continued on down the hallway.
Catherine raised her hands in frustration as she watched him turn a corner and disappear from sight. Earlier tonight, when they'd gone to the hospital to check on Nick, Grissom had wondered aloud why Nigel Crane hadn't killed Nick, his manner calm and detached as if he were discussing a specimen rather than a member of their team. Now that it was over, Nigel in police custody and Nick safe, Grissom was acting like- Well, she didn't know how to describe the way he was acting.
Would she ever understand that man?
---------------------
Jim Brass looked over the rim of his coffee cup at the man standing in his doorway. The look on Grissom's face told him this wasn't a social call.
"What are you doing here, Gil?"
"I want to see Nigel Crane."
Brass shook his head. "No can do."
Grissom stepped closer to the desk. "I need to see him, Jim, to talk to him."
Brass set down his coffee. "As much as I'd like to give you time alone with the son of a bitch, I can't. He's only said two things since he quit that freaky 'I am one, who am I' shit, and one of them was to lawyer up."
"Jim-"
"No, Gil. I'm not going to let you do anything that might get this case kicked. You don't want Nicky's stalker out walking around, do you?"
Gil paled.
Brass sighed. "Go home, Gil, and take Nick with you."
Grissom's head snapped up. "He's still here?"
"Right where you guys left him, staring through the glass at the interrogation room where Nigel Crane was earlier."
Gil nodded and turned to leave, then stopped in the doorway and looked back. "What else?"
"Huh?"
"You said Nigel Crane said two things. What else did he say besides asking for a lawyer?"
A look of disgust crossed Brass' face. "Some sick shit about Nick. Trust me, Gil, you don't want to know."
Gil started to protest, then changed his mind. "Maybe you're right."
Brass sighed as he watched his friend walk away. The CSI supervisor was a private man, never letting anyone get too close, but he liked to think he knew Grissom at least a little better than anyone else in the unit. The death of Holly Gribbs had changed Gil, and there was no telling what this would do to him.
Gil was close to Nick, closer than probably anyone realized. The only reason he knew was because of a confession Gil had made after several shots of Jack Daniels one night. It had been after he'd returned to a crime scene and found Nick being held at gunpoint by Amy Hendler, a woman who hadn't even been a suspect in the case. He'd told Brass of his fear at that moment, then later told Brass something that had stunned him.
Brass hadn't been drunk that night. Since New Jersey he'd been careful with the booze, so he remembered every word of Gil's confession. He just wondered if Gil, himself, remembered.
------------------
Nick was right where Brass said he was. Grissom entered the room, but the younger man didn't acknowledge his presence, just continued to stare through the two-way mirror into the empty room beyond.
"Nick," Grissom said, putting his hand on Nick's shoulder.
He was completely unprepared for Nick's response.
Nick's reaction was instinctive. With a yelp he shrugged off the hand on his shoulder, spun to his left, then hissed as he reached for the throat of his attacker with his bandaged right hand.
"Nick," Grissom gurgled, both hands trying to loosen the grip of the hand wrapped tightly around his throat. "Stop, Nick. Stop!"
Eyes so dark they appeared black slowly focused, taking in the graying hair, the wide blue eyes, the red face, the hands clutching his own hand where it was squeezing the flesh underneath it.
"Grissom?" Nick questioned in confusion.
Gil managed a faint, "Yes," pulling harder at the hand on his throat. He didn't want to hurt Nick's injured wrist, but he was getting dizzy and beginning to see pinpoint spots in front of his eyes.
"Grissom!" Nick released the older man's throat and jumped back, eyes wide, face pale, body shaking.
Gil was drawing in much needed oxygen.
"Oh, God, Gris, I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you. I thought you were Nigel. Oh, God!" Nick covered his face in shame.
"Nick," Grissom said calmly, his voice slightly hoarse. "Look at me, Nicky."
Nick shook his head.
"Yes, Nick. Look at me. Do it!"
Nick slowly lowered his hands, dark eyes full of remorse and suspiciously moist.
"It's okay, Nick. I'm okay. If anyone should be sorry, it's me. I should have thought before I touched you." One corner of Grissom's mouth quirked up ruefully. "You know I'm no good with the living."
Nick managed a watery chuckle. "Yeah, that's true, but you do okay with us."
Grissom considered that. "Except maybe with Sara. Her I don't understand."
"Don't sweat it, man. No one has figured out Sara, not even Catherine."
"That's good to know."
Grissom studied Nick, noting the obvious fatigue, the dark circles under his eyes, the face nearly as pale as the bandage on his forehead. Nick squirmed under the frank scrutiny, feeling as if he was one of Grissom's bugs put under a microscope.
"Why are you still here, Nick?" Grissom asked quietly.
"Oh, man," Nick muttered, looking everywhere but at his boss. How did he explain that he was too scared to leave? He tried to just shrug it off, even though he was fairly certain that wouldn't work.
And he was right.
"Nick?"
"Should've known you wouldn't leave this alone."
"It's not in my nature. I'm a scientist. Ferreting out facts and interpreting them is what I do."
"Yeah, well, I'm not one of your experiments," Nick shot back.
"I never thought you were," Grissom said calmly. "But how can I help if I don't understand the problem?"
Nick sighed in defeat. His pain pill and the adrenaline rush had both worn off, and he was just too tired to keep arguing.
"Look, Gris, even if my place wasn't an active crime scene, I couldn't go back there. Your home is supposed to be the place where you go to get away from all the ugliness in the world. I don't have that sense of security anymore."
"That's understandable, Nick. Nigel Crane didn't just violate your trust. He violated your sanctuary. No one will think less of you for feeling that way."
"Maybe I think less of myself."
"You shouldn't."
Nick tapped his head with one finger. "In here, intellectually, I know that, but it's damned hard to think logically after being stalked and nearly killed by a psycho jumping out of my ceiling."
Grissom swallowed back the sudden nasty taste in his mouth. "So what about a hotel? They have cameras and security guards."
"And how many DBs do we process every year from even the most secure of hotels? And with my luck, they'd put me in Murder Central."
Grissom pursed his lips. "You do seem to be something of a magnet for unfortunate events."
Nick snorted. "Ya think?"
"So being here, surrounded by police officers, most of whom you know, you feel safe."
"Yeah, as safe as I can feel right now."
"Do you think you'd feel safe staying with a friend whose house has an alarm system and no attic?"
Nick shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."
Knowing he was playing with fire and putting temptation too close at hand, Grissom made the offer anyway. "Then you can stay with me."
To say Nick was stunned was putting it mildly. All he could do was stare at his boss, dark eyes wide in disbelief.
"I didn't realize the invitation would shock you speechless," Gil said dryly.
Nick felt himself blush, an honest-to-God blush. "Sorry. I was just surprised, that's all. I know you don't like people in your house."
"You're not people, Nick. You're a colleague and a friend as well I'd like to think. Am I wrong?"
"No, you're not wrong," Nick said slowly, still somewhat stunned that Gil Grissom had declared himself a friend and not just the boss.
"I know my people skills are lacking-"
Nick snorted.
Grissom smirked, not in the least offended by the humor at his expense. "As I was saying, I know my people skills are lacking, but what kind of a person would I be if I couldn't help a friend in need. I'd like to think I'm not that out of touch with the world around me."
Nick had to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. This was a side of Gil Grissom he'd never seen before, a side he doubted many had ever seen, and he was a bit awed by the change in the man before him.
"So? Do you want to stay at my house?" Grissom questioned a bit uncertainly.
"Yeah, I'd like that. Thanks, Gris."
Grissom smiled, one of those rare smiles that lit up his eyes. "Good. And I have an extra bedroom, so you won't even have to sleep on the sofa."
Nick smiled then, that killer smile that never failed to make Grissom's heart thump a bit faster. Good Lord, he felt like a teenager again with his first crush on the girl who played second flute in the school band, only multiply that feeling times ten or twenty or a hundred. To make sure Nick noticed nothing inappropriate on his face, Grissom turned towards the door.
"Come on. We'll see if Ecklie is far enough into the processing that we can get away with picking up a few of your things."
"No!"
Grissom stopped and turned back towards Nick, brow furrowed and head slightly cocked to one side, wondering what had brought on that sudden explosion.
"No," Nick repeated thickly. "I can't wear any of those clothes again. I don't know which ones he wore."
"It's all right, Nick," Grissom said gently. "We'll go shopping tomorrow for some new clothes. But what about the meds the doctor gave you?"
Nick patted his jacket pocket. "Right here."
"Then let's go."
With a sense of the surreal, Nick followed Grissom out of the police station. This was weird, even for his life.
------------------
Dawn was on the horizon when Grissom parked his Tahoe in his driveway. Nick waited for him to disarm the alarm, then followed him inside the townhouse. His brows drew together when Grissom told him the security code. Something about those numbers was familiar, he just couldn't wrap his tired brain around it at the moment.
Nick stopped in the living room and looked around. He'd only been in Grissom's house once before, during the Strip Strangler case, but it looked pretty much the same. Same short leather sofa, same cluttered coffee table, same unorganized bookshelves, same bland colors, same framed butterfly collection. At least there wasn't a hole in the ceiling. Sameness was good.
Grissom showed him the bedroom he would be using and the bathroom, pointing out the linen closet for towels and the medicine cabinet for a new toothbrush. When they went back into the living room, he asked Nick if he wanted anything to eat.
"Nah, but thanks. I just need some water to take a pain pill, then I'm gonna crash."
"There's bottled water in the fridge. Make yourself at home for as long as you're here."
"Thanks." Nick walked into the kitchen, his movements a bit slow. He opened the refrigerator, then hesitated before reaching for a bottle of water. He closed the door and turned to look at Grissom. "Uh, Gris, you don't actually eat anything out of that refrigerator, do you?"
"It's where I keep my perishables, so yes."
Nick shuddered, thinking of the jars of bugs and various petri dishes he'd seen in there. "Oh, man, that's just not right. Remind me never to eat leftovers out of there."
Grissom considered that for a moment. "I guess other people don't keep experiments in their refrigerators."
"Most people don't have experiments to keep there."
"Hazard of the trade."
"Whatever," Nick muttered before downing a pain pill with a swig of water. "Think I'll turn in now."
Grissom stopped him, saying hesitantly, "Nick, we need to talk."
"Okay, so talk."
"Maybe you should sit down."
Nick looked at him strangely but seated himself on the sofa. His brows drew together when Grissom sat down on the edge of the coffee table, his knees mere inches from Nick's, blue eyes staring intently into dark.
"Nick, what I said earlier, my judgment of Nigel Crane and his motives, I was wrong."
"Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs?"
"Yes. I talked to Ecklie about the evidence at your place."
Nick looked at him expectantly.
"Just like at Jane Galloway's house, Nigel had a peephole into every room in your condo."
"Every room?" Nick questioned faintly. He knew about the bedroom because Nigel had admitted to watching him sleep, but the bathroom....
"Yes, every room." Grissom paused and drew in a deep breath. "Semen was found in your attic. I assume it's not yours?"
Nick shook his head, fighting back a wave of nausea, thanking God he'd turned down the offer of food. He didn't even realize he was close to hyperventilating till Grissom touched his knee and spoke.
"It's okay, Nicky. Deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth. It's okay."
"No, it's not okay," Nick said harshly, jumping to his feet and looking down into sympathetic blue eyes. "Nigel Crane raped me in every way but one, and I don't know if it will ever be okay again."
Grissom could only watch helplessly as Nick stalked off into his bedroom, stopping just this side of slamming the door.
---------------------
Grissom looked at the clock on his nightstand, the only way he had of judging the time because all his windows had blackout shades on them. It was midmorning, and he'd only been asleep maybe a couple of hours, but something had awakened him.
Climbing out of bed he pulled on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers and left the room. Instinct told him where he would find the source of his unease, and he quietly opened Nick's bedroom door just enough to peek in.
It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darkened room. That was when he noticed the empty bed. Thinking Nick might be in the bathroom, he started to withdraw, then stopped when he heard a harsh, raspy breath from the other side of the room. Pushing the door open more fully, he entered the room and rounded the bed.
What he saw there made his chest clench painfully.
Wearing nothing but sky blue boxers, Nick sat on the floor, his back to the corner. His legs were drawn up to his chest, his arms were wrapped around his shins, his face was pressed to his knees and he was rocking back and forth, his body occasionally shaking with tightly controlled sobs.
"Oh, Nick," Grissom breathed.
He crouched down in front of Nick, careful not to touch him. "Nicky," he began but wasn't sure where to go from there.
"I thought I was over this." Nick mumbled against his legs. "I was sure it was behind me."
"You have to give yourself time, Nick. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours. Your mind is still processing."
"Not Nigel," Nick whispered. "The other. Nigel brought back the other."
"The other?" Grissom questioned carefully.
"The other. I've never told anyone except Catherine, and the only reason I told her was because she threatened to pull me off the Dylan Buckley case. I couldn't let her do that."
Grissom's mind searched for the name, quickly coming up with the case. Dylan Buckley had been a fourteen-year-old boy who'd died at his therapist's house. For a while they'd been sure the doctor had been sexually abusing the boy.
Grissom sucked in a breath when he realized the ramifications of what that case could mean to Nick. God, he hoped not. Abuse of a child was intolerable, but the thought that it might have happened to the man before him....
"Nicky? Can you...tell me?"
"She was a last minute babysitter. I was nine years old! I had no idea what she was doing to me. I just wanted Mom to come home and make it better."
"But you didn't tell your parents?"
"No. I didn't know what had happened, but I knew it wasn't right. I felt bad, dirty, and I couldn't tell my folks."
"You did nothing wrong, Nicky!" Grissom said emphatically.
"I know that now, but then...." Face still buried against his legs, Nick shook his head, "By the time I was old enough to understand what had happened, it was just too late. I couldn't tell them then. It would've broken Mom's heart, and Dad would have blamed himself."
"No child should have to go through something like that by himself."
"I learned to deal. Sports helped. I worked out my aggressions on the field. By the time I got to college, the nightmares had finally stopped. Even Dylan Buckley didn't bring them back."
"But now?"
"Now, knowing what Nigel wanted," Nick choked out, his body shuddering, "it all came back."
"I'm sorry, Nicky."
"Not your fault."
"I shouldn't have told you about Nigel Crane. I should have given you time before telling you."
"He killed Jane Galloway as a gift for me. He wore my clothes. He watched me sleep. I already knew. All you did was confirm it."
Grissom ached for Nick in a way he'd never ached before.
"Nicky, I'm going to put my arm around you. Is that okay?"
"Yeah, okay," Nick said faintly.
Blue eyes blurry with tears, Grissom sat down beside Nick, his back against the wall. Careful of Nick's injured ribs, he put an arm around the younger man.
"It's okay, Nick. Just let me hold you. Cry if you need to."
"I'm tired of crying," Nick said, his voice muffled. "I cried for years. I don't want to do this again."
"Sometimes what's best for us isn't always what we want."
Nick sniffed and managed a weak half-chuckle. "Another Grissomism."
"Grissomism?"
"Yeah, Grissomism." Nick sighed and finally gave in to the comfort being offered, turning slightly and laying his head on Grissom's shoulder. "Thanks, Gris."
"I do have a first name, you know," Grissom said, soothingly running his hand down the smooth line of Nick's back.
"Gil," Nick sighed, breath warm against Grissom's throat.
Gil continued soothingly stroking Nick's strong back. Eventually he felt the tension ease out of Nick and heard his breathing even out.
"Nick?"
"Hmm?"
"You think you could sleep now?"
Nick sighed. "Yeah, I think so."
He untangled himself from Grissom's hold and stood, then held out a hand to help his boss up. He must have pulled harder than he thought because Grissom stumbled against him. He straightened quickly, but that brief moment of lightly furred chest resting against smooth made Nick blink in surprise because it had felt strangely...good.
Grissom stepped away quickly, thanking God the room was dark enough to hide his flushed face, not to mention the fact that those few seconds of chest-to-chest contact had started a fire down below. He knew it was wrong to be aroused by a man needing only comfort after an ordeal, but his semi-erect cock didn't care about the whys. It knew only that for one moment in time he'd been naked-flesh-to-naked-flesh with the object of his desire.
Nick climbed into bed and settled under the covers, remembering only at the last minute that he couldn't lie on his side because of his ribs. Grissom had the door nearly closed behind him when he heard Nick.
"Gri- Gil?"
"Yes, Nick?"
"Thanks, man," Nick murmured, already half asleep.
"You're welcome. And, Nicky?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm willing to listen whenever you need to talk."
"`kay."
Grissom let his gaze roam over that handsome face before quietly closing the door and returning to his lonely, solitary bed. Realizing how close they'd come to losing Nicky, it was a while before he was able to find sleep again.
----------------------
Over bowls of cereal three hours later, Grissom broached the subject.
"Nick, maybe you should make an appointment with Dr Kane."
Nick looked across the table, noting a combination of determination and uncertainty on Grissom's boyish face.
"The department shrink?" Nick questioned.
"Yes."
Nick was quiet for a moment, then said, "Maybe you're right."
Grissom opened his mouth, then closed it so abruptly his teeth clicked together. "Excuse me?"
One corner of Nick's mouth lifted in a smile that lit up his dark eyes. "What? You thought you were going to have to fight me on this?"
"Well, yes."
Nick shook his head. "Not this time. If you think therapy might help, I'm all for it. I'm tired of being a victim."
"Good. You have an appointment at 10:00 tomorrow."
"Pretty sure of yourself, weren't you?"
Grissom pursed his lips. "Sure, no. Determined, yes."
"What would you have done if I'd said no?"
"Made it an order?"
"Ouch, pulling rank?"
"Whatever it takes to get the job done."
Nick nodded. "I need to pick up my Tahoe," he said, carrying his bowl and coffee mug into the kitchen. "If you wouldn't mind giving me a lift."
Grissom followed him with his own empty dishes. "No work, no driving for a week, Nick. Doctor's orders."
"I gotta have wheels, man. I need to buy clothes, deoderant, a razor, all that stuff, and I have that appointment with Dr Kane tomorrow."
Grissom personally thought the stubble covering Nick's square jaw was sexy as hell, but he kept his opinion to himself. "Until the doctor gives you the okay, I'll take you wherever you need to go."
"You have a unit to run, Gris."
"It's Gil, remember? And Catherine is running CSI nightshift for the next week."
"Huh?" Nick questioned blankly.
"You aren't the only one who needs time off."
"I've never known you to take time off unless you're going to a convention, and I think the only reason you go to those is because you get off on cockroach racing."
"What else would you expect from an entomologist? That should be a clue that I need a vacation."
"And what kind of vacation will babysitting me be?"
"It's not babysitting, Nick," Grissom said, opening the dishwasher to load their dishes. "I'm doing this because I want to. As a friend."
Any further argument Nick cared to make was cut off when Grissom bent over, the collar of his shirt gaping at the neck, exposing the older man's throat.
"Oh, shit."
Grissom straightened and looked at Nick curiously when he heard the shocked exclamation. And then Gil couldn't think at all, could only draw in a shaky breath when Nick's long fingers slipped under the collar of his shirt and gently touched the warm skin of his throat.
"Damn, Gil, I'm sorry," Nick whispered.
Grissom hesitated momentarily, then lifted a hand and put it over Nick's. "It's okay, Nicky. I'm all right. It's just some bruising, no lasting damage. I should have known better than to startle you after what you'd just been through."
Nick pulled away and turned his back to Grissom. "I just couldn't stand the thought of him touching me."
Neither could Gil. "It's okay, Nicky. Now, come on, let's hit the road. I have some shopping to do, too. My cupboards are nearly bare, and if I'm going to have actual food in the house, I need to get one of those mini refrigerators for my experiments."
"I won't argue with that."
"Somehow I didn't think you would."
--------------------
It had been two weeks since the attack, one week since Nick had returned to work. Once his condo had been released as a crime scene, he'd called a contractor for repairs. He and Gil had just returned to Grissom's townhouse after pulling a double when his cell phone rang.
"Hello?" He listened to the caller, then said, "Okay, thanks." He closed his phone, then just stood there, staring into space.
"Nick?"
"That was the contractor. The repairs are finished at my place. I, um, can move back in."
Grissom heard the words, but, being as observant as he was, he also noticed the faint shudder that ran through Nick's body. He moved to stand in front of Nick, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"There's no rush, Nicky."
Nick closed his eyes against the understanding in Grissom's blue eyes. "I can't stay here forever."
Grissom wanted to tell him he could, but that was a fantasy best kept to himself. "However long it takes. You can't put a time limit on peace of mind."
Nick swallowed heavily against thoughts of returning to what was, literally, the scene of the crime. "I feel safe here," he confessed.
Grissom squeezed his shoulder. "Good. You need that feeling of security right now."
And Nick did feel safe and secure there. He hadn't had anymore nightmares since that first day. His sessions with Dr Kane were helping him deal with everything that had happened, both past and present, and Gil's presence had turned out to be surprisingly comforting.
Who would have thunk it?
In the two weeks he'd been there, he'd learned more about the man who was his boss than in all the years he'd worked for him. He'd just always assumed Grissom the man would be the same as Grissom the boss. Grissom the man had a quirky sense of humor and the ability to empathize that was rarely seen in Grissom the boss. It was those two distinct personalities that made it easy to separate Gil from Grissom.
"Thanks, Gil. You have no idea how much you've helped me. I don't know if I'll ever be able to return the favor."
"There's no repayment necessary between friends. Although...."
"Although...?"
"I wouldn't be opposed if you wanted to cook today."
Nick laughed. "You've got yourself a deal."
Grissom smiled then, and it lit up his eyes. Nick's breath suddenly caught in his throat, and his eyes widened. Lately he'd been having the most unexpected reactions to Grissom, his smile, his laugh, his touch, his understanding, and he wasn't sure what was happening. To cover his confusion, he began backing into the kitchen.
"I'll just go ahead and...get breakfast, lunch…whatever started."
Grissom continued to stand in the living room, a faint smile on his face as he watched Nick retreat. He'd known instantly when the awareness had hit Nick, and he figured since the younger man hadn't run screaming from the room that it wasn't as distressing as it might have been two weeks ago.
That, Grissom assured himself, was a good sign. He might not ever have what he really wanted from Nick, but maybe he wouldn't lose his friendship if the younger man ever discovered how his boss truly felt about him. It was pathetic, he knew, but he'd take whatever he could get of Nick, even if it was only work and the occasional casual conversation.
If he had to worship from afar, he would, because the thought of never again looking into those dark eyes, seeing the brilliance of that smile or hearing his name spoken in that sweet Southern drawl was anethema to him.
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Nick couldn't sleep, despite the fact he'd pulled a double and had to be back at work in just a few hours. And he knew what the problem was. It all stemmed from whatever weird-assed shit was going on in his head all of a sudden.
What the hell had happened earlier?
Since when did he start feeling all tingly from the touch of another man or breathless from his smile?
Oh, who was he kidding? It wasn't just another man. It was Gil Grissom and only Gil Grissom. He didn't feel that way around Warrick or Greg. Only Gil.
He'd been feeling things for a while now, but he'd always been able to tell himself it was just a remnant of the hero-worship he'd felt for Gil when they'd first begun working together, a feeling that had gradually faded as he'd come to know Gil.
But today was different.
Today the tingle had gone straight to his dick, and no matter what spin he put on it, he couldn't pass that off as hero-worship.
So what the hell was going on?
He wasn't bisexual.
Was he?
Nah, guys had never been his thing, only the ladies.
But there was no denying this...attraction or whatever it was for Grissom.
The only thing he knew for sure was that he was confused and nowhere near as freaked out as he should be. That, in itself, was worrisome.
What he needed was someone to talk to, someone whose job it was to listen, but his next appointment with Dr Kane wasn't for another five days.
One phone call later he had an appointment with Dr Kane for the next day. In only three sessions he'd already begun to make headway in helping Nick come to terms with the babysitter and Nigel Crane. It wasn't all better by a long shot, but it was a beginning. Maybe the man could help with this new weirdness, too.
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Gil groaned when the alarm went off, feeling a lot like a bug smashed against a windshield. He hadn't slept well, and when he had he'd been tormented by dreams of a naked Nick begging to be fucked. The result was a raging hard-on that showed no signs of abating anytime in the near future.
Stumbling out of bed, he headed for the master bath and turned on the water in the shower. After adjusting the temperature, he stripped off his boxers and climbed in. Warm water rushed over him, and he closed his eyes. But closing his eyes only served to bring the dreams to the forefront of his mind.
Sinking into his fantasies, his left hand slid over his chest, down his stomach and wrapped around his erection. His thumb passed over the slit in the tip, spreading precum over the sensitive rosy head. His hand stroked up the shaft, over the head and back down, but in his mind's eye it was Nick's lips caressing his cock as his mouth swallowed more and more of the hard length.
His right hand came up to rub a hardened nipple, switching from one to the other as the stroke of his hand increased its tempo. In his mind it was Nick - Nick on his knees, sucking his cock, pulling at his nipples. When he climaxed he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out.
He couldn't resist a chuckle as he watched his cum mix with the water and swirl away. He hoped there was never a need to have his shower drain swabbed. Since Nick had moved in his plumbing was bound to have the highest protein content in Las Vegas.
Who would have thought at his age he'd get hard from a mere smile? These days he was hornier than he'd ever been, even as a teenager. He'd slept with his first woman in college, his first man in grad school, those first experiences his need for empirical knowledge. Since then sex had become a pleasant diversion but never the be-all-and-end-all.
With Nick, though, he knew it would be different. And the reason he knew was because this was the first time ever his emotions had been involved. Emotions were messy things that had no place in his scientific world, but from the moment Nick Stokes had walked into his life those illogical little creatures had run rampant.
He didn't think they'd ever been messier and more illogical than when Nick had told him about Kristy Hopkins. They said jealousy was green, but he knew better. It was black and red with orange sparks around the edges. He knew because those were the colors he'd seen when Nick had admitted to sleeping with Kristy. The woman had been brutally strangled, and all he'd been able to think was that she'd had what he never would.
He hadn't liked himself very well at that moment, and he'd been painfully reminded of the prehistoric genes he still carried.
And then, two weeks ago, when Nick had told him about the babysitter, he'd wanted nothing more than to hunt the woman down and make her pay.
He finally understood the term crime of passion.