If You Only Knew 3/8
Jun. 8th, 2009 01:53 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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nickngregTitle: If You Only Knew
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13
WC: 1,705
Warnings: Spoilers for Grave Danger.
Summary: (Chapter 3) - In which Nick attempts to talk to Greg.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
AN: Thanks for reading, those of you who did! And thank you for the nice comments!
____________________________
Knock, Knock.
My knuckles make a soft rapping sound on the glass pane of the door. Somehow or another, I've survived the shift from Hell. I peek into the lab, a slight smile on my face. “Ready to go, G?” I ask, keeping my tone light and friendly. For some reason, I think that treading lightly right now would probably work in my favor.
Greg looks up. I can see his eyes flicker a bit, like he isn't sure what to do or say. He looks down at the papers, staring at them for a long moment before he nods. “Yeah, gimme a sec. I'll meet you at the car.” I'm glad that his face is turned away so he can't see my shoulders when they sag in relief. I won't lie, I had been halfway afraid that he was going to tell me that he didn't want to come back home with me tonight. It's a silly thought, I know. But in my current state, it's one that I don't think I could have avoided.
He doesn't keep me waiting very long. I'm already at the car, leaning against it, watching the sky. It's starting to get bright in the morning sun, and I look over as he approaches. He looks tired, I note, and not just physically. Emotionally tired as well – something's bugging him. It might be our fight, I reason, but something in my gut tells me differently. I've been watching and getting used to his demeanor for a long time, now. I know him too well; well enough to realize that something much deeper isn't sitting well with him, and I do intend to find out what it is.
We're relatively silent when we get into the car, and again no one moves to touch the music. There's still tension in the air between us, but it isn't as thick as it was earlier today when we'd driven here. I clear my throat a bit, and slide the vehicle into reverse. “Want to stop for coffee?” I offer, cutting my eyes over to look at him as I back out of the parking space. Catch the briefest flicker of a nod. That alone is enough to make me feel at least a little better about all of this. He's not refusing coffee. That's always a good sign, when it comes to Greg.
The drive to the coffee shop is spent in silence, but to be truthful I'm not expecting any different. Greg waits for me this time, when we get out, and I feel his hand tentatively brush mine as we enter the corner shop. We take our usual booth, right by the large window that has the city view that Greg likes. Immediately, his attention is captured. As is mine, but not by the city lights and passing people. Rather, my gaze is drawn to his face, and I observe quietly as the stressed, frustrated lines that have formed dissolve as he loses himself. I wonder what he's thinking about. He doesn't even look up when the pretty waitress that we usually have – Mandy – comes to take our orders. I don't mind ordering for him. Mandy looks like she's going to ask if he's alright. I shake my head in warning, and with a troubled look, she just shrugs and walks away, her brown ponytail bobbing behind her.
More silence. It isn't suffocating, exactly. It's thick, and filled with apprehension. We both know that some sort of conversation is going to be started. It's going to be confrontational. But neither of us want to be the one to start it – to deal the beginning blow, so to speak. When we get our coffee, I'm sad to see the change in his facial features again. That troubled look has slipped back into place, and it's all I can do to bite back a questioning comment. I have to be careful, I don't want to upset him. I want to talk, and I want to get this sorted out.
Baby steps, baby steps. I blow the steam from my coffee away from my face before I take a sip. It's strong, but not too strong. Even with this caffeinated boost, I'm still going to go home and crash. That's just how I roll. Greg used to joke that I had ADHD or something of the same effect, and to be honest he's probably right. Even now, my thoughts are jumping all over the place, and it's a bit of an effort to keep myself focused.
“How was work?”
Greg rolls his eyes at me, and I can see his lips quirking slightly in amusement. He's hiding his smile behind his coffee mug, but I can see it anyway. “Good,” he responds, and the sound of his voice makes my heart lift ever-so-slightly. Maybe if I can just get him talking, this won't be a terrible ordeal after all.
We sip our coffee in silence for a few moments. I'm listening to the gentle, constant hustle and bustle as people come in and out of the shop. All of them have different lives, but somehow they're all drawn here together at the same moment, and they don't even stop to realize it. They all want coffee. All of them are taking a small amount of time out of their day to come to this coffee shop. Greg's gaze is following mine, and I can't help but wonder if he isn't thinking the same thing I am. I turn my attention towards him again, sliding my fingers around my warm mug, letting the heat seep through.
“Listen, Greggo,” I begin, keeping my eyes downcast. I'm watching the coffee, suddenly quite interested in the swirling of the dark liquid that I can create with just the slightest movement of my hand. “Is there something-”
“-Don't, Nicky.” I don't even get to finish my sentence before Greg interrupts me. I look up, and find him staring at his hands, which are holding his own mug a little too tight. I don't know if it's even possible, but it seems as if more lines have popped up on his face, and the slight shadows under his eyes have gotten darker. My heart seizes, and I can't stop myself.
“Something's bothering you, G, and I want to know what it is,” I tell him. I can hear the sharpness in my tone, and I abruptly regret speaking so quickly. What happened to taking it slow and gentle? Right out the fucking window. That's where that went.
“Just forget it,” he mutters, letting go of his mug to rub at his eyes with the palms of his hands. Again, I'm presented with the evidence of a very tired Greg, and it bothers me to no end. “Can we go home now?” If his actions hadn't displayed his exhaustion, his voice in that moment would have done it perfectly well. It sounded strained, like it was hard for him to even muster up the energy to speak. This isn't right. I'm not used to him being like this, and it's fairly obvious that he isn't accustomed to it either, not one bit. What bothers me more is the fact that he won't talk to me about it. I wonder if he knows he can talk to me about anything, anything at all. I open my mouth to tell him so, but he interrupts me again by standing up.
“Please?” He's insistent this time, and he's already grabbing a few bills out of his pocket to tip Mandy. I close my mouth again, and simply nod. What more can I do? As if he had been waiting for my consent, he brushes past me and goes through the door, leaving me to follow him, even more confused and concerned than before. So much for my whole 'talk it out' plan. I just wish I knew what was wrong, so I could help him. Make it all go away, or take part of the burden onto my shoulders and help him carry it.
I want to tell him that the offer is there. But on the car ride home, I'm graced with Enter Sandman. Greg has finally taken it upon himself to fill that silence between us with music. Part of me is glad, and the other part is frustrated. There's something completely off about our entire communication wavelength. Like two-way radios that have managed to get on the wrong frequency, and are only left with static. Someone needs to do some fine-tuning, and it's probably going to end up being me.
Greg declines my requests to play video games when we get home. Also shoots down my offer to rent a movie. He says he's tired, and just wants to go to bed. I ask him about dinner, and he says he isn't hungry. I find myself alone on the couch, watching a rerun of last Sunday's football game with a frown on my face. I'm not even paying attention to the score, much less to the ball. I stay like this for almost an hour before I realize that I'm losing valuable sleeping time, sitting here and thinking about absolutely nothing. Worrying over something that, at the moment, I can't do anything about.
I enter the bedroom, and even in the darkness I can make out Greg's sleeping form. It's different than normal. Even in his sleep, he seems troubled. Whereas normally, if he goes to bed before me, he's sprawled over the entire width of the queen-sized mattress, this time he's curled into a compact ball. He's staying on his side of the bed, and it doesn't take long for me to make my way over and slide in next to him. I slip an arm around his middle, and to my relief he seems to relax, the tension in his muscles releasing as he scoots back into the warmth of my body. I hold him close, pressing my face against the nape of his neck and breathing his scent.
That night, I fear I will be plagued with nightmares. However, with Greg there, almost like my own personal dream-catcher, my sleep remains undisturbed. I wonder if he knows just how much he does for me, even without trying. I'm starting to think I should let him know.
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13
WC: 1,705
Warnings: Spoilers for Grave Danger.
Summary: (Chapter 3) - In which Nick attempts to talk to Greg.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
AN: Thanks for reading, those of you who did! And thank you for the nice comments!
____________________________
Knock, Knock.
My knuckles make a soft rapping sound on the glass pane of the door. Somehow or another, I've survived the shift from Hell. I peek into the lab, a slight smile on my face. “Ready to go, G?” I ask, keeping my tone light and friendly. For some reason, I think that treading lightly right now would probably work in my favor.
Greg looks up. I can see his eyes flicker a bit, like he isn't sure what to do or say. He looks down at the papers, staring at them for a long moment before he nods. “Yeah, gimme a sec. I'll meet you at the car.” I'm glad that his face is turned away so he can't see my shoulders when they sag in relief. I won't lie, I had been halfway afraid that he was going to tell me that he didn't want to come back home with me tonight. It's a silly thought, I know. But in my current state, it's one that I don't think I could have avoided.
He doesn't keep me waiting very long. I'm already at the car, leaning against it, watching the sky. It's starting to get bright in the morning sun, and I look over as he approaches. He looks tired, I note, and not just physically. Emotionally tired as well – something's bugging him. It might be our fight, I reason, but something in my gut tells me differently. I've been watching and getting used to his demeanor for a long time, now. I know him too well; well enough to realize that something much deeper isn't sitting well with him, and I do intend to find out what it is.
We're relatively silent when we get into the car, and again no one moves to touch the music. There's still tension in the air between us, but it isn't as thick as it was earlier today when we'd driven here. I clear my throat a bit, and slide the vehicle into reverse. “Want to stop for coffee?” I offer, cutting my eyes over to look at him as I back out of the parking space. Catch the briefest flicker of a nod. That alone is enough to make me feel at least a little better about all of this. He's not refusing coffee. That's always a good sign, when it comes to Greg.
The drive to the coffee shop is spent in silence, but to be truthful I'm not expecting any different. Greg waits for me this time, when we get out, and I feel his hand tentatively brush mine as we enter the corner shop. We take our usual booth, right by the large window that has the city view that Greg likes. Immediately, his attention is captured. As is mine, but not by the city lights and passing people. Rather, my gaze is drawn to his face, and I observe quietly as the stressed, frustrated lines that have formed dissolve as he loses himself. I wonder what he's thinking about. He doesn't even look up when the pretty waitress that we usually have – Mandy – comes to take our orders. I don't mind ordering for him. Mandy looks like she's going to ask if he's alright. I shake my head in warning, and with a troubled look, she just shrugs and walks away, her brown ponytail bobbing behind her.
More silence. It isn't suffocating, exactly. It's thick, and filled with apprehension. We both know that some sort of conversation is going to be started. It's going to be confrontational. But neither of us want to be the one to start it – to deal the beginning blow, so to speak. When we get our coffee, I'm sad to see the change in his facial features again. That troubled look has slipped back into place, and it's all I can do to bite back a questioning comment. I have to be careful, I don't want to upset him. I want to talk, and I want to get this sorted out.
Baby steps, baby steps. I blow the steam from my coffee away from my face before I take a sip. It's strong, but not too strong. Even with this caffeinated boost, I'm still going to go home and crash. That's just how I roll. Greg used to joke that I had ADHD or something of the same effect, and to be honest he's probably right. Even now, my thoughts are jumping all over the place, and it's a bit of an effort to keep myself focused.
“How was work?”
Greg rolls his eyes at me, and I can see his lips quirking slightly in amusement. He's hiding his smile behind his coffee mug, but I can see it anyway. “Good,” he responds, and the sound of his voice makes my heart lift ever-so-slightly. Maybe if I can just get him talking, this won't be a terrible ordeal after all.
We sip our coffee in silence for a few moments. I'm listening to the gentle, constant hustle and bustle as people come in and out of the shop. All of them have different lives, but somehow they're all drawn here together at the same moment, and they don't even stop to realize it. They all want coffee. All of them are taking a small amount of time out of their day to come to this coffee shop. Greg's gaze is following mine, and I can't help but wonder if he isn't thinking the same thing I am. I turn my attention towards him again, sliding my fingers around my warm mug, letting the heat seep through.
“Listen, Greggo,” I begin, keeping my eyes downcast. I'm watching the coffee, suddenly quite interested in the swirling of the dark liquid that I can create with just the slightest movement of my hand. “Is there something-”
“-Don't, Nicky.” I don't even get to finish my sentence before Greg interrupts me. I look up, and find him staring at his hands, which are holding his own mug a little too tight. I don't know if it's even possible, but it seems as if more lines have popped up on his face, and the slight shadows under his eyes have gotten darker. My heart seizes, and I can't stop myself.
“Something's bothering you, G, and I want to know what it is,” I tell him. I can hear the sharpness in my tone, and I abruptly regret speaking so quickly. What happened to taking it slow and gentle? Right out the fucking window. That's where that went.
“Just forget it,” he mutters, letting go of his mug to rub at his eyes with the palms of his hands. Again, I'm presented with the evidence of a very tired Greg, and it bothers me to no end. “Can we go home now?” If his actions hadn't displayed his exhaustion, his voice in that moment would have done it perfectly well. It sounded strained, like it was hard for him to even muster up the energy to speak. This isn't right. I'm not used to him being like this, and it's fairly obvious that he isn't accustomed to it either, not one bit. What bothers me more is the fact that he won't talk to me about it. I wonder if he knows he can talk to me about anything, anything at all. I open my mouth to tell him so, but he interrupts me again by standing up.
“Please?” He's insistent this time, and he's already grabbing a few bills out of his pocket to tip Mandy. I close my mouth again, and simply nod. What more can I do? As if he had been waiting for my consent, he brushes past me and goes through the door, leaving me to follow him, even more confused and concerned than before. So much for my whole 'talk it out' plan. I just wish I knew what was wrong, so I could help him. Make it all go away, or take part of the burden onto my shoulders and help him carry it.
I want to tell him that the offer is there. But on the car ride home, I'm graced with Enter Sandman. Greg has finally taken it upon himself to fill that silence between us with music. Part of me is glad, and the other part is frustrated. There's something completely off about our entire communication wavelength. Like two-way radios that have managed to get on the wrong frequency, and are only left with static. Someone needs to do some fine-tuning, and it's probably going to end up being me.
Greg declines my requests to play video games when we get home. Also shoots down my offer to rent a movie. He says he's tired, and just wants to go to bed. I ask him about dinner, and he says he isn't hungry. I find myself alone on the couch, watching a rerun of last Sunday's football game with a frown on my face. I'm not even paying attention to the score, much less to the ball. I stay like this for almost an hour before I realize that I'm losing valuable sleeping time, sitting here and thinking about absolutely nothing. Worrying over something that, at the moment, I can't do anything about.
I enter the bedroom, and even in the darkness I can make out Greg's sleeping form. It's different than normal. Even in his sleep, he seems troubled. Whereas normally, if he goes to bed before me, he's sprawled over the entire width of the queen-sized mattress, this time he's curled into a compact ball. He's staying on his side of the bed, and it doesn't take long for me to make my way over and slide in next to him. I slip an arm around his middle, and to my relief he seems to relax, the tension in his muscles releasing as he scoots back into the warmth of my body. I hold him close, pressing my face against the nape of his neck and breathing his scent.
That night, I fear I will be plagued with nightmares. However, with Greg there, almost like my own personal dream-catcher, my sleep remains undisturbed. I wonder if he knows just how much he does for me, even without trying. I'm starting to think I should let him know.
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