First fic post
May. 19th, 2005 01:56 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
quasilogical.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
nickngregTitle: The Passage of Time
Author: quasilogical
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: It’s nothing to shield the kiddies from. Pretty tame.
Summary: Five years can make a huge difference, as Nick Stokes knows. A character study of Nick spanning a good portion of his life.
AN: I’m new to writing CSI fics, though not new to reading them, and I’m still trying to find Nick and Greg’s voices. Each section is 200-words, and the sections are set five years apart, ending sometime post-season 5. I wanted to post this before the finale episode aired, so clearly there aren’t spoilers. This story is meant to show what in life can change quickly, and what lingers. It’s also just Nick angst turning into fluff.
I would very much appreciate feedback and constructive criticism.
When Nick Stokes turned ten years old, he was still plagued by nightmares. Every night he heard the dreaded voice of his babysitter, who watched him only once—and that was once too often. Every night he woke up in a cold sweat, shaking and silently crying. Some nights his mother would sit with him until he fell asleep again, gently holding his hand. And some mornings when he woke up screaming she’d pull him into her arms and rock him gently as she apologized again and again and tried to wipe away her tears before he could see them and worry about her. Sometimes when Nick awoke to eerie darkness after a bad dream he would whimper and clutch his woobie tightly to his chest, forgetting in the darkness that at six years old he had claimed he was too old for such a thing and ignoring the reason why the beloved old toy had found its way back to his bed. Some nights he could never fall asleep again, just toss and turn, remembering an overbearing perfume and slightly cold hands insistently clawing at his skin. Such frequent nightmares were beginning to make him forget how to dream.
Fifteen-year-old Nick pulled his glasses off his nose and rubbed his eyes. He was sitting at his desk, ignoring the late hour to read another chapter of his astronomy book he would have preferred chemistry or biology, but there was something fascinating about how the different telescopes worked and just the sheer magnitude of the universe. He covered his mouth as he yawned. He stretched a little and caught sight of the corner of his yearbook poking out from under his woobie on his dresser and froze. He pushed astronomy aside and opened the yearbook, seeing himself smiling woodenly while sitting with the other athletes, or the photo of himself fidgeting in the background at a dance as his date stared at him exasperatedly. He saw his complete ease mixing solvents in a beaker, or grinning at a fellow chemistry club member. Nick’s variety of interests tore him between two very different social circles; the jocks and the geeks. Geeks, no matter how kind and friendly they could be, were always unpopular, underestimated, and disrespected. Nick Stokes, considered too handsome by his classmates to belong in goggles and lab coat, wasn’t quite one of them. He almost wished he was.
Twenty was supposed to be the ideal age. “Finding yourself” in college, and all that. Nick, however, sat in his frat house reading his Organic Chemistry book and often watched as his frat brothers walked past with sorority girls going upstairs to the bedrooms. Nick knew he wasn’t in a glamorous major. Not premed or prelaw or even business or engineering. No, he studied Criminal Justice with a minor in Chemistry; he decided that neither was a terrifically successful girl magnet. He went to the frat parties and enjoyed himself, the alcohol dulling his nervousness, making him more confident. He always felt a little intoxicated in social situations without the pretense of sports to distract the crowd, but at frat parties everyone else was mercifully brought down to his social coherence level. Even so, he never really felt as comfortable there as he did in the supervised independent lab time he signed up for every quarter, or in the library with his science books. None of his frat brothers ever wanted to accompany him; and he felt vaguely pleased that he could chat with his fellow scientists, guys and girls, feeling right at home away from the bored, disdainful looks.
Nick was 25 when the nightmares changed. They weren’t cold hands and unwanted touches and unpleasant perfume. Years of unsuccessful relationships and even more unsuccessful wistful dreams, he wondered what was wrong with him; what he had to do to be happy. If he could ever be happy. His nightmares reflected this anxiety, exploiting his fears of being alone, of never finding anyone he could trust. Anyone who could love him. So he took one last look around his Dallas apartment with his bags at his feet, car keys in hand. He was leaving for Vegas for a CSI job there. Nick had attended some conferences, he was fairly certain this was what he had been missing, the experiments and the interaction with other scientists. He knew the job had drawbacks; bad hours, unimpressive salary, and occasional horrific cases, but it would be his return to the forum of scientific thinking. If he could just be happy professionally, maybe he could forget that he was miserable personally. Nick was tired of being scared and alone and knowing no one would ever want him. Las Vegas was a place to win last chances, and he desperately needed to hit that jackpot.
At 30, Nick strode into the DNA lab, stopping abruptly when he saw an unfamiliar tech there. The new guy turned and introduced himself. “Greg Sanders,” he said, giving Nick a smile and offering to examine those samples. Nick handed them over dumbly and watched as the tech prepared a slide and went to work. Adjusting the microscope, Greg talked about some article from a forensics journal and Nick smiled, grateful for the relaxed chatter. Enjoying the way Greg’s voice filled the silence. Hours after shift that night, Nick dreamed of laughing brown eyes and bright smiles and fellow science geeks. He was glad that his instincts had overridden his sense of logic, just this once. Because no matter how much he told himself it was foolish, no matter how sure he was that he would just end up disappointed and ultimately alone; Nick had instinctively memorized everything about Greg’s voice. The tone, the rhythm, the cadence. The way he pronounced certain words differently than Nick’s Texan drawl. In his mind, Nick did his best to catalogue every conversation, every interaction. Defensively, he told his own skeptical side that it was only in the interests of attention to detail. Obviously.
Nick decided that 16, 18, and 21 are overrated because 35 is the best year of his life. He woke to a hand on his arm, soft and warm, not icy and dangerous. A weight curled up at his chest and the faint smell of laboratory chemicals and hair gel tickling at his nose. A quiet murmur and the hand on his bicep moved in an affectionate caress. Sleepy brown eyes met his and lips softly brushed against his jaw. Neither spoke, neither needed to. As Greg pressed his nose against Nick’s neck, Nick automatically tightened his grip around Greg’s waist, expecting Greg to protest the almost bruising grasp, but received only a content sigh and a kiss to his collarbone. Nick never expected life to include this desperation to keep Greg. Never expected Greg to smile indulgently and burrow closer. Never expected this joy just from hearing his name mumbled sleepily. Never thought the person he fell in love with would actually love him back. Nick expected to grow old with his nightmares and unfulfilled dreams. He counted himself lucky to hold the personification of every one of his dreams in his arms. This was all he ever wanted.
Turning forty had scared Nick at first, the milestone age making him worry Greg would, after all this time, get the full implication of their age difference. Five whole years. Five years could make a huge difference. But when Nick tried to carefully broach the subject, Greg would roll his eyes and lean close and kiss him until his breathing was ragged and his mental clarity was greatly diminished, making argument impossible. The past five years had changed Nick’s life; he had gotten used to Greg’s car in his driveway, Greg’s clothes in his closet, Greg’s food in his kitchen, Greg’s name listed above Nick’s address on paperwork. In five years, Nick had met Greg’s family, and Greg met his. Their coworkers knew about them, without any formal announcement, offhandedly asking about their weekend or their holiday plans, and their support meant a lot. Nick and Greg had survived the lab explosion, burial underground, various instances of gunfire, and the split of graveyard shift. Nick really believed nothing would tear them apart now. Not without one hell of a battle. Because Nick knew he could never walk away, and gazing across their bed, he knew Greg wasn’t going anywhere either.
Author: quasilogical
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: It’s nothing to shield the kiddies from. Pretty tame.
Summary: Five years can make a huge difference, as Nick Stokes knows. A character study of Nick spanning a good portion of his life.
AN: I’m new to writing CSI fics, though not new to reading them, and I’m still trying to find Nick and Greg’s voices. Each section is 200-words, and the sections are set five years apart, ending sometime post-season 5. I wanted to post this before the finale episode aired, so clearly there aren’t spoilers. This story is meant to show what in life can change quickly, and what lingers. It’s also just Nick angst turning into fluff.
I would very much appreciate feedback and constructive criticism.
When Nick Stokes turned ten years old, he was still plagued by nightmares. Every night he heard the dreaded voice of his babysitter, who watched him only once—and that was once too often. Every night he woke up in a cold sweat, shaking and silently crying. Some nights his mother would sit with him until he fell asleep again, gently holding his hand. And some mornings when he woke up screaming she’d pull him into her arms and rock him gently as she apologized again and again and tried to wipe away her tears before he could see them and worry about her. Sometimes when Nick awoke to eerie darkness after a bad dream he would whimper and clutch his woobie tightly to his chest, forgetting in the darkness that at six years old he had claimed he was too old for such a thing and ignoring the reason why the beloved old toy had found its way back to his bed. Some nights he could never fall asleep again, just toss and turn, remembering an overbearing perfume and slightly cold hands insistently clawing at his skin. Such frequent nightmares were beginning to make him forget how to dream.
Fifteen-year-old Nick pulled his glasses off his nose and rubbed his eyes. He was sitting at his desk, ignoring the late hour to read another chapter of his astronomy book he would have preferred chemistry or biology, but there was something fascinating about how the different telescopes worked and just the sheer magnitude of the universe. He covered his mouth as he yawned. He stretched a little and caught sight of the corner of his yearbook poking out from under his woobie on his dresser and froze. He pushed astronomy aside and opened the yearbook, seeing himself smiling woodenly while sitting with the other athletes, or the photo of himself fidgeting in the background at a dance as his date stared at him exasperatedly. He saw his complete ease mixing solvents in a beaker, or grinning at a fellow chemistry club member. Nick’s variety of interests tore him between two very different social circles; the jocks and the geeks. Geeks, no matter how kind and friendly they could be, were always unpopular, underestimated, and disrespected. Nick Stokes, considered too handsome by his classmates to belong in goggles and lab coat, wasn’t quite one of them. He almost wished he was.
Twenty was supposed to be the ideal age. “Finding yourself” in college, and all that. Nick, however, sat in his frat house reading his Organic Chemistry book and often watched as his frat brothers walked past with sorority girls going upstairs to the bedrooms. Nick knew he wasn’t in a glamorous major. Not premed or prelaw or even business or engineering. No, he studied Criminal Justice with a minor in Chemistry; he decided that neither was a terrifically successful girl magnet. He went to the frat parties and enjoyed himself, the alcohol dulling his nervousness, making him more confident. He always felt a little intoxicated in social situations without the pretense of sports to distract the crowd, but at frat parties everyone else was mercifully brought down to his social coherence level. Even so, he never really felt as comfortable there as he did in the supervised independent lab time he signed up for every quarter, or in the library with his science books. None of his frat brothers ever wanted to accompany him; and he felt vaguely pleased that he could chat with his fellow scientists, guys and girls, feeling right at home away from the bored, disdainful looks.
Nick was 25 when the nightmares changed. They weren’t cold hands and unwanted touches and unpleasant perfume. Years of unsuccessful relationships and even more unsuccessful wistful dreams, he wondered what was wrong with him; what he had to do to be happy. If he could ever be happy. His nightmares reflected this anxiety, exploiting his fears of being alone, of never finding anyone he could trust. Anyone who could love him. So he took one last look around his Dallas apartment with his bags at his feet, car keys in hand. He was leaving for Vegas for a CSI job there. Nick had attended some conferences, he was fairly certain this was what he had been missing, the experiments and the interaction with other scientists. He knew the job had drawbacks; bad hours, unimpressive salary, and occasional horrific cases, but it would be his return to the forum of scientific thinking. If he could just be happy professionally, maybe he could forget that he was miserable personally. Nick was tired of being scared and alone and knowing no one would ever want him. Las Vegas was a place to win last chances, and he desperately needed to hit that jackpot.
At 30, Nick strode into the DNA lab, stopping abruptly when he saw an unfamiliar tech there. The new guy turned and introduced himself. “Greg Sanders,” he said, giving Nick a smile and offering to examine those samples. Nick handed them over dumbly and watched as the tech prepared a slide and went to work. Adjusting the microscope, Greg talked about some article from a forensics journal and Nick smiled, grateful for the relaxed chatter. Enjoying the way Greg’s voice filled the silence. Hours after shift that night, Nick dreamed of laughing brown eyes and bright smiles and fellow science geeks. He was glad that his instincts had overridden his sense of logic, just this once. Because no matter how much he told himself it was foolish, no matter how sure he was that he would just end up disappointed and ultimately alone; Nick had instinctively memorized everything about Greg’s voice. The tone, the rhythm, the cadence. The way he pronounced certain words differently than Nick’s Texan drawl. In his mind, Nick did his best to catalogue every conversation, every interaction. Defensively, he told his own skeptical side that it was only in the interests of attention to detail. Obviously.
Nick decided that 16, 18, and 21 are overrated because 35 is the best year of his life. He woke to a hand on his arm, soft and warm, not icy and dangerous. A weight curled up at his chest and the faint smell of laboratory chemicals and hair gel tickling at his nose. A quiet murmur and the hand on his bicep moved in an affectionate caress. Sleepy brown eyes met his and lips softly brushed against his jaw. Neither spoke, neither needed to. As Greg pressed his nose against Nick’s neck, Nick automatically tightened his grip around Greg’s waist, expecting Greg to protest the almost bruising grasp, but received only a content sigh and a kiss to his collarbone. Nick never expected life to include this desperation to keep Greg. Never expected Greg to smile indulgently and burrow closer. Never expected this joy just from hearing his name mumbled sleepily. Never thought the person he fell in love with would actually love him back. Nick expected to grow old with his nightmares and unfulfilled dreams. He counted himself lucky to hold the personification of every one of his dreams in his arms. This was all he ever wanted.
Turning forty had scared Nick at first, the milestone age making him worry Greg would, after all this time, get the full implication of their age difference. Five whole years. Five years could make a huge difference. But when Nick tried to carefully broach the subject, Greg would roll his eyes and lean close and kiss him until his breathing was ragged and his mental clarity was greatly diminished, making argument impossible. The past five years had changed Nick’s life; he had gotten used to Greg’s car in his driveway, Greg’s clothes in his closet, Greg’s food in his kitchen, Greg’s name listed above Nick’s address on paperwork. In five years, Nick had met Greg’s family, and Greg met his. Their coworkers knew about them, without any formal announcement, offhandedly asking about their weekend or their holiday plans, and their support meant a lot. Nick and Greg had survived the lab explosion, burial underground, various instances of gunfire, and the split of graveyard shift. Nick really believed nothing would tear them apart now. Not without one hell of a battle. Because Nick knew he could never walk away, and gazing across their bed, he knew Greg wasn’t going anywhere either.
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Amazing! ^_^
Date: 2005-05-20 04:03 am (UTC)But more than anything, this story was moving. We can find someone if we take that chance and I love how you kept them together in the end, despite the numerous angst outlets that tempted readers everywhere. See? Perfection. It's great that you gave us fans a reassuring fic; it makes us feel so much better. You tackled Nick's past (his mom knew about the babysitter, which was really interesting. In most fics, she turns a blind eye.), you introduced Nick and Greg, and you butted heads with the guns, split shift, and explosion. They went through all that and they're still together. Wow.
Thanks for posting and sharing. As I said before, I loved it. As a matter of fact... I'm feeling just a little bit inspired. I'm opening Microsoft Word as we speak! ^_-
Re: Amazing! ^_^
Date: 2005-05-20 05:32 pm (UTC)I'm not sure if the show ever says if Nick's parents filed charges against the babysitter, but no matter if they did or not, I think they knew about what happened. If I'm right in my assumption that Nick is the youngest child, I think some of his older siblings might have a vague idea, too.
How's your story coming? *pokes your inspiriation* I love your fics; I'm looking forward to another one.