The Night Shift (1)
Jan. 12th, 2011 12:10 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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nickngregTitle: The Night Shift (1)
Rating: R (for language)
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Spoilers: Episode 6.04, Shooting Stars
Summary: Set during and immediately after Episode 4, Season 6 (Shooting Stars). This story will play on the on-screen subtext between Nick and Greg, and what is probably being hinted at.
Disclaimer: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation and the characters of Nick Stokes and Greg Sanders are privately owned, indeed not by me, and everything in these stories is purely fictional.
Word Count: 3,111
The car was blackened and burned so badly that the vin number and all the other important registry seemed irretrievable, but Greg knew better than to think like that, now.
The sun blazing down on his back, the desert wind in his ears and the camera hanging heavy around his neck, Greg snapped a few more photos before glancing up when he heard the crunch of sand and rock beneath tires. Squinting against the glare he could just see Nick climbing out of the driver’s side of his Denali, kit in hand as he headed towards the military bunker, and Greg was glad he had stopped working to look when Nick yelled something in his direction and raised a hand, waving, which Greg happily returned. Any attention was good attention, as far as he was concerned, and he loved it when Nick managed to single him out in little ways, and make him feel appreciated or important. The feeling was cherished, but sort of rare.
Nick turned away and headed on, Greg’s gaze still following him as he hesitated briefly at the doorway before disappearing underground. Greg didn’t have to wonder about the cause of Nick’s reluctance; for Nick, going underground again was probably like the first time Greg had returned to the lab after the explosion; every clean, neat surfaced had seemed dangerous, every hot plate and fume hood an enemy. Greg’s hands had been shaking almost constantly for the first three days he was back, and he was lucky that it had taken Grissom as long to notice as it did.
But Greg was fine now, he was, and he knew that Nick would probably be one day, too.
- - -
The working conditions once they had brought the wreck back to the lab were much better, lower lighting and controlled climate being good friends of Greg’s despite all his claims for wanting to leave the lab behind him, and back in his home element the burnt car seemed like that much less of a challenge. Although he was somewhat used to dealing with death now, having been in the field for just a little over a year, he was still glad to distance himself from eleven dead bodies baking underground in the Vegas desert. The smell had been terrible, something Greg was sure he would never get used to no matter how much time he spent on the job, and it seemed to cling to him even after he had left the scene. Nick had told him once that it was because the smell was from the fatty tissue of the body decomposing, and fat cells tended to stick to you whether you wanted them to or not. Greg had made a joke then about fatty cells sticking to his thighs and ass, and Nick had laughed at him, causing the skin around his eyes to crinkle in the way Greg loved, and Greg’s heart had seemed to flip-flop behind his ribs.
It was going to be a long shift; too long, as far as Greg was concerned, but he had lucked out pulling the blackened car as his evidence to process. The charred smell wasn’t all that bad, really, almost like a backyard barbeque where the meat had been left on far too long because the grill master had gone inside for a beer and forgotten about it, like his dad used to do when he was young. Then it would fall to Greg, the only child, to scrape and clean the grill, a job he had never been fond of, but not the worst he had had to do. He missed his parents, sometimes, but Vegas held his life now, with its lights and its heat and its people. Oh, its people Greg thought as he glanced up just in time to see Nick passing by the window to the evidence room he was working in, and he grinned when Nick glanced in and smiled, giving him a little half-wave which Greg couldn’t return with tools in both hands. He wiped absently with his elbow at the smudges of soot and ash on his face, causing Nick to pause and laugh on the other side of the glass when Greg only succeeded in smearing a thick black smudge across his cheekbone.
Nick let himself into the evidence room, still laughing, and grabbed a rag off a nearby table and tossed it over to Greg. “Here you go, bud, try again.”
“Thanks.” Greg caught it, spat on it and wiped it over his forehead and cheeks, which earned him a grimace from Nick. “What?”
“Gross, bro.” Nick circled the car slowly as he spoke, surveying the damage with a silent eye, but after a moment Greg was sure he could feel Nick’s gaze settle on his back. He always knew when Nick was watching him. “Found anything usable yet?”
“Well,” Greg sighed and sat back on his heels, resting his arms on his thighs in front of him and grateful for the forensics jumpsuit protecting his clothes. This car really was a mess. “I found a mostly melted name tag in the glove compartment, sunburst pattern in orange on it, but that was all I could make out. No name, ID photo, nothing, but I’ve got an idea I’ll look into later.” Nick was nodding, his eyes still on the car and his hands fidgeting with the case file he was holding. “I also found the vin number plate, it needs a lot of work to clean it up, but that’s no problem for me.” He flashed Nick a smile and stood up again, resting his forearms on the roof of the car and just basking in the smile that Nick returned.
“No, course not. We’re, uh, only halfway through the autopsies of the DBs found in the bunker though, I’ve got to get back to Catherine and give her a hand with processing all that evidence.” Nick looked tired, the sun wrinkles around his eyes deeper than usual, his movements slightly slowed. Greg imagined for what must have been the thousandth time what it might feel like to fall asleep next to Nick’s warm body, to feel his breath against his skin, to hear him snore.
And although Greg was sure he would never find out, he couldn’t stop himself from imagining that it just might be possible.
“Aw, c’mon, you could just stay here and help me process this evidence.” Nick laughed again, and Greg had to wonder when it had become so easy for him to make Nick smile. It felt like the only superpower he would ever need. “And besides, isn’t it probably safe to say that they all had the same COD? I mean, eleven bodies, all found underground, all lying in cots in the same positions? Stop me if that doesn’t sound like weird cult behavior to you.”
“Naw, it does, but you know Catherine. She can’t stand it when you monopolize more of my time than she does.” Nick punched him lightly on the arm as he passed, the touch sending shockwaves through Greg’s body like it always did; Nick truly had no idea the torture he put him through on a daily basis.
“You love being monopolized by me, don’t lie about it.”
Nick grinned at him as he shut the door. “Never said I didn’t, G. Never said I didn’t.”
- - -
By the end of his second consecutive shift, Greg was tapped out.
He had never been fond of pulling doubles, his first in the field having been on the burn victim case where the woman had set herself on fire and was seared from head to toe, and the things he’d seen that night had followed him around for months. He could still feel his own scars on some days, the back of his neck itching where the raw pink tissue rubbed against his collar, but he hated the way it felt when he scratched. Having to watch the dead skin being cut away from her body had given him sympathy pains all across his neck and shoulders as he remembered having to go through the exact same thing, and he counted his blessings that at least his scars had been limited to the side of his neck and the tops of his shoulders blades. His ER surgeons had been mostly successful, much more so than those of the poor woman he had watched through the observation room window with tears threatening behind his eyes.
Remembering that, Greg had to count this double shift as worse than some but indeed better than most, and it was while he was getting changed in the locker room and pulling on his Doc Martins and old Misfits sweater with a tired sigh that Nick joined him.
“Grissom’s at the hospital now with the survivor, or suspect, or whatever we’re calling her. She tried to kill herself after running from Brass.” Nick fumbled with his lock a moment too long and then had to try his combination again, and Greg could see clearly, not for the first time, how much cases with little kids or teenage girls bothered him. He had always thought that it was sort of brave for Nick to wear his emotions so openly, whether he had a choice about hiding them or not.
“But she’s going to be okay, right?” Greg stood, busying himself with putting his shoes away in his locker and trying not to watch as Nick unbuttoned his work shirt and pulled a grey tee over his head. This part of the day was always the hardest.
Nick sighed. “Yeah, yeah she should be waking up pretty soon, they pumped her stomach just in time. At least that’s what Griss told me when he called from the hospital.” Greg nodded, pausing as he shut his locker to catch Nick’s eye, but before he could say anything Nick spoke again.
“ Hey, they should be replaying the game we missed pulling the second shift pretty soon, if you want to come over for a beer. Warrick invited us out, but I don’t really feel up to facing the public.” Nick shut his locker and headed toward the door, pulling his coat on as he spoke. “He said he was heading to the Wynn if you’d rather join him, though.” And then he looked at Greg and grinned, and even though he had no idea what game or sport Nick was referring to, Greg followed him out of P.D. and into the parking lot, and then all the way home.
- - -
“I can’t believe he missed that pass!”
It turned out the game Nick had been talking about was football, and though Greg didn’t really care what they were watching, it was better than like, hockey or something, as far as he was concerned. He had never really been into sports growing up, but that was more to do with his mother than his own tastes, as he wasn’t allowed to play on any teams for fear of what might happen to him. His father hadn’t had much to say on the matter, being proud that his only son seemed to have a very gifted intellect, and he had spent most of his parental influence on getting him into the best schools. Needless to say, Greg had never had the best marks in phys-ed.
Nick was on beer number two and Greg was just nursing his first, the crash from not having had a cup of coffee since the beginning of his second shift, coupled with the alcohol, made him very tired very fast. But this was the first time Nick had invited him over without Warrick or someone else in tow, and Greg was not willing to admit defeat so soon.
Nick glanced at the mostly finished beer in Greg’s hands and stood, draining his own bottle. “Can I get you another?” It seemed like such a simple offer, and the crowd on the television cheered and Greg shrugged and nodded and thought ‘what the hell?’ and before long he was nodding off with his head against the back of Nick’s black leather sofa, and the soft white noise of the game in his ears.
- - -
He was dreaming about having to perform all of his field work and evidence analysis in the center of a brightly lit stadium in front of thousands of people when he woke with a start to the sound of Nick screaming. Greg was fully awake in seconds, confused for only a moment about where he was and what was going on, and then he had grabbed the also sleeping and evidently dreaming Nick by the shoulders and shaken him hard.
At the same moment Nick’s eyes snapped open and he stopped yelling Greg let him go, but not in time to get out of the way of the elbow that flung out wildly and struck him across the mouth, sending him sprawling to the floor.
“Ow! Fuck!” He could taste blood, and knew he was going to have a fat lip and a bruise where his cheek had struck the hardwood.
“Greg?” Nick’s voice was worried and he felt hands on his back, around both his biceps, pulling him up off the floor. “I am so sorry! I didn’t- Are you okay?”
Greg grinned a little, sitting up by himself and suddenly finding everything a lot funnier. When he wiped his wrist across his lips, it came away smeared with red. “Yeah, I’m fine, just bleeding. No big deal.” Nick was already up and headed toward the kitchen, where he wet a wash cloth with warm water and brought it back for Greg, pressing it into his hand like another apology.
“Seriously, I didn’t- I’m sorry Greg, I.. I didn’t realize it was you.” He seemed so distraught that Greg frowned a little, pressing the warm cloth to his lip gratefully and trying not to wince.
“It’s okay, Nick, obviously you didn’t mean to.” He let the forgiveness hang in the air, refusing to break eye contact as he dabbed at his bloody mouth. “You, uh. You were screaming.” He blinked and Nick looked away awkwardly, leaning back heavily against the couch with a sigh. Greg had touched on a nerve, it was clear, but Nick didn’t seem too defensive, so he thought he’d push his luck. “What were you dreaming about?”
Nick was silent for a long time, his gaze trained on the television which was now playing an old episode of the Daily Show that Greg thought he’d seen already. Obviously they had been asleep for a long time.
“The bugs.” Nick paused, glancing over at Greg before looking away again, and Greg thought that if Nick was anything like him, he wouldn’t be able to look him in the face while he talked about what had scared him. Sharing was hard enough to do when you could imagine you weren’t talking to anyone, and just stare at the floor. “Those ants, how they felt underground when I couldn’t get away.” Nick was speaking to his hands now, and Greg hesitated, setting his wet cloth down on the table before reaching out to touch Nick’s shoulder. He didn’t pull away.
“Do you have dreams like that a lot?” He tried to keep his voice soft and serious; the last thing he wanted was for Nick to think he was making fun of him. But then Nick looked at him and smiled a little, although the expression was sort of weak.
“Not so much, anymore. The first month after it happened was bad. But then..” Nick sighed, and for all the world it looked to Greg as though he had walked through hell and lived to tell about it. “I have them less and less. I’m hoping they might eventually go away all together.”
“They will.” Nick looked over at him sharply, like he was challenging how sure Greg sounded about the matter. Greg was eager to prove he wasn’t bullshitting him. “They will, I swear. How would I know, right?” He sighed and swallowed, and this time it was Greg’s turn to look away, a little shyly. He had never talked about this before, either. “Well, I mean, back when I was in the hospital, I was afraid to go to sleep because of what happened in the dark when I closed my eyes. I could remember the fire, the smell..” He shivered, and knew that Nick was watching him, and forced himself to continue. “I could smell my own skin burning. They had to cut away my lab coat from my back.” He chanced to look up at Nick and saw his pained expression, saw the way his fingers were clenched over his knees as he listened. “I dreamt about that for a long time. The feeling of knowing that you’re going to die, that always seemed to come back in my dreams.”
He couldn’t look at Nick, he couldn’t now, but then a hand clamped over his own where they lay twisted in his lap and he glanced up, and the look on Nick’s face was one of such sadness mixed with a shattered joy for finding someone who could almost understand what had happened to him that Greg couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t keep from leaning forward and closing his eyes and pressing their lips together, and it was like the rest of the world was gone, disappeared, and there was only Nick. The way he smelled, warm from sleep, the way his hand felt, rough, clasped over Greg’s own, how his mouth tasted, sweet from the beer they had been drinking before they fell asleep.
But Nick wasn’t responding, Greg suddenly realized, and his heart leapt into his throat as he pulled away quickly, panic in his eyes. Nick was staring at him with the blankest expression Greg had ever seen on a human being. His insides turned to ice.
“Shit.” He was standing in a flash, grabbing for his sweater he had tossed across the arm of the couch, feeling like he was going to be sick to his stomach. “I- Fuck.” Greg swallowed, couldn’t turn to look at him, couldn’t see the lack of expression in Nick stunned eyes again. He was only a breath away from shattering into pieces on the floor.
“Greg-“
He barely heard it, barely found his shoes in the front hallway and paused only when his hand was on the door handle, and he saw how much it was shaking.
And then he slipped through the door, and was gone.
Rating: R (for language)
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Spoilers: Episode 6.04, Shooting Stars
Summary: Set during and immediately after Episode 4, Season 6 (Shooting Stars). This story will play on the on-screen subtext between Nick and Greg, and what is probably being hinted at.
Disclaimer: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation and the characters of Nick Stokes and Greg Sanders are privately owned, indeed not by me, and everything in these stories is purely fictional.
Word Count: 3,111
The car was blackened and burned so badly that the vin number and all the other important registry seemed irretrievable, but Greg knew better than to think like that, now.
The sun blazing down on his back, the desert wind in his ears and the camera hanging heavy around his neck, Greg snapped a few more photos before glancing up when he heard the crunch of sand and rock beneath tires. Squinting against the glare he could just see Nick climbing out of the driver’s side of his Denali, kit in hand as he headed towards the military bunker, and Greg was glad he had stopped working to look when Nick yelled something in his direction and raised a hand, waving, which Greg happily returned. Any attention was good attention, as far as he was concerned, and he loved it when Nick managed to single him out in little ways, and make him feel appreciated or important. The feeling was cherished, but sort of rare.
Nick turned away and headed on, Greg’s gaze still following him as he hesitated briefly at the doorway before disappearing underground. Greg didn’t have to wonder about the cause of Nick’s reluctance; for Nick, going underground again was probably like the first time Greg had returned to the lab after the explosion; every clean, neat surfaced had seemed dangerous, every hot plate and fume hood an enemy. Greg’s hands had been shaking almost constantly for the first three days he was back, and he was lucky that it had taken Grissom as long to notice as it did.
But Greg was fine now, he was, and he knew that Nick would probably be one day, too.
The working conditions once they had brought the wreck back to the lab were much better, lower lighting and controlled climate being good friends of Greg’s despite all his claims for wanting to leave the lab behind him, and back in his home element the burnt car seemed like that much less of a challenge. Although he was somewhat used to dealing with death now, having been in the field for just a little over a year, he was still glad to distance himself from eleven dead bodies baking underground in the Vegas desert. The smell had been terrible, something Greg was sure he would never get used to no matter how much time he spent on the job, and it seemed to cling to him even after he had left the scene. Nick had told him once that it was because the smell was from the fatty tissue of the body decomposing, and fat cells tended to stick to you whether you wanted them to or not. Greg had made a joke then about fatty cells sticking to his thighs and ass, and Nick had laughed at him, causing the skin around his eyes to crinkle in the way Greg loved, and Greg’s heart had seemed to flip-flop behind his ribs.
It was going to be a long shift; too long, as far as Greg was concerned, but he had lucked out pulling the blackened car as his evidence to process. The charred smell wasn’t all that bad, really, almost like a backyard barbeque where the meat had been left on far too long because the grill master had gone inside for a beer and forgotten about it, like his dad used to do when he was young. Then it would fall to Greg, the only child, to scrape and clean the grill, a job he had never been fond of, but not the worst he had had to do. He missed his parents, sometimes, but Vegas held his life now, with its lights and its heat and its people. Oh, its people Greg thought as he glanced up just in time to see Nick passing by the window to the evidence room he was working in, and he grinned when Nick glanced in and smiled, giving him a little half-wave which Greg couldn’t return with tools in both hands. He wiped absently with his elbow at the smudges of soot and ash on his face, causing Nick to pause and laugh on the other side of the glass when Greg only succeeded in smearing a thick black smudge across his cheekbone.
Nick let himself into the evidence room, still laughing, and grabbed a rag off a nearby table and tossed it over to Greg. “Here you go, bud, try again.”
“Thanks.” Greg caught it, spat on it and wiped it over his forehead and cheeks, which earned him a grimace from Nick. “What?”
“Gross, bro.” Nick circled the car slowly as he spoke, surveying the damage with a silent eye, but after a moment Greg was sure he could feel Nick’s gaze settle on his back. He always knew when Nick was watching him. “Found anything usable yet?”
“Well,” Greg sighed and sat back on his heels, resting his arms on his thighs in front of him and grateful for the forensics jumpsuit protecting his clothes. This car really was a mess. “I found a mostly melted name tag in the glove compartment, sunburst pattern in orange on it, but that was all I could make out. No name, ID photo, nothing, but I’ve got an idea I’ll look into later.” Nick was nodding, his eyes still on the car and his hands fidgeting with the case file he was holding. “I also found the vin number plate, it needs a lot of work to clean it up, but that’s no problem for me.” He flashed Nick a smile and stood up again, resting his forearms on the roof of the car and just basking in the smile that Nick returned.
“No, course not. We’re, uh, only halfway through the autopsies of the DBs found in the bunker though, I’ve got to get back to Catherine and give her a hand with processing all that evidence.” Nick looked tired, the sun wrinkles around his eyes deeper than usual, his movements slightly slowed. Greg imagined for what must have been the thousandth time what it might feel like to fall asleep next to Nick’s warm body, to feel his breath against his skin, to hear him snore.
And although Greg was sure he would never find out, he couldn’t stop himself from imagining that it just might be possible.
“Aw, c’mon, you could just stay here and help me process this evidence.” Nick laughed again, and Greg had to wonder when it had become so easy for him to make Nick smile. It felt like the only superpower he would ever need. “And besides, isn’t it probably safe to say that they all had the same COD? I mean, eleven bodies, all found underground, all lying in cots in the same positions? Stop me if that doesn’t sound like weird cult behavior to you.”
“Naw, it does, but you know Catherine. She can’t stand it when you monopolize more of my time than she does.” Nick punched him lightly on the arm as he passed, the touch sending shockwaves through Greg’s body like it always did; Nick truly had no idea the torture he put him through on a daily basis.
“You love being monopolized by me, don’t lie about it.”
Nick grinned at him as he shut the door. “Never said I didn’t, G. Never said I didn’t.”
By the end of his second consecutive shift, Greg was tapped out.
He had never been fond of pulling doubles, his first in the field having been on the burn victim case where the woman had set herself on fire and was seared from head to toe, and the things he’d seen that night had followed him around for months. He could still feel his own scars on some days, the back of his neck itching where the raw pink tissue rubbed against his collar, but he hated the way it felt when he scratched. Having to watch the dead skin being cut away from her body had given him sympathy pains all across his neck and shoulders as he remembered having to go through the exact same thing, and he counted his blessings that at least his scars had been limited to the side of his neck and the tops of his shoulders blades. His ER surgeons had been mostly successful, much more so than those of the poor woman he had watched through the observation room window with tears threatening behind his eyes.
Remembering that, Greg had to count this double shift as worse than some but indeed better than most, and it was while he was getting changed in the locker room and pulling on his Doc Martins and old Misfits sweater with a tired sigh that Nick joined him.
“Grissom’s at the hospital now with the survivor, or suspect, or whatever we’re calling her. She tried to kill herself after running from Brass.” Nick fumbled with his lock a moment too long and then had to try his combination again, and Greg could see clearly, not for the first time, how much cases with little kids or teenage girls bothered him. He had always thought that it was sort of brave for Nick to wear his emotions so openly, whether he had a choice about hiding them or not.
“But she’s going to be okay, right?” Greg stood, busying himself with putting his shoes away in his locker and trying not to watch as Nick unbuttoned his work shirt and pulled a grey tee over his head. This part of the day was always the hardest.
Nick sighed. “Yeah, yeah she should be waking up pretty soon, they pumped her stomach just in time. At least that’s what Griss told me when he called from the hospital.” Greg nodded, pausing as he shut his locker to catch Nick’s eye, but before he could say anything Nick spoke again.
“ Hey, they should be replaying the game we missed pulling the second shift pretty soon, if you want to come over for a beer. Warrick invited us out, but I don’t really feel up to facing the public.” Nick shut his locker and headed toward the door, pulling his coat on as he spoke. “He said he was heading to the Wynn if you’d rather join him, though.” And then he looked at Greg and grinned, and even though he had no idea what game or sport Nick was referring to, Greg followed him out of P.D. and into the parking lot, and then all the way home.
“I can’t believe he missed that pass!”
It turned out the game Nick had been talking about was football, and though Greg didn’t really care what they were watching, it was better than like, hockey or something, as far as he was concerned. He had never really been into sports growing up, but that was more to do with his mother than his own tastes, as he wasn’t allowed to play on any teams for fear of what might happen to him. His father hadn’t had much to say on the matter, being proud that his only son seemed to have a very gifted intellect, and he had spent most of his parental influence on getting him into the best schools. Needless to say, Greg had never had the best marks in phys-ed.
Nick was on beer number two and Greg was just nursing his first, the crash from not having had a cup of coffee since the beginning of his second shift, coupled with the alcohol, made him very tired very fast. But this was the first time Nick had invited him over without Warrick or someone else in tow, and Greg was not willing to admit defeat so soon.
Nick glanced at the mostly finished beer in Greg’s hands and stood, draining his own bottle. “Can I get you another?” It seemed like such a simple offer, and the crowd on the television cheered and Greg shrugged and nodded and thought ‘what the hell?’ and before long he was nodding off with his head against the back of Nick’s black leather sofa, and the soft white noise of the game in his ears.
He was dreaming about having to perform all of his field work and evidence analysis in the center of a brightly lit stadium in front of thousands of people when he woke with a start to the sound of Nick screaming. Greg was fully awake in seconds, confused for only a moment about where he was and what was going on, and then he had grabbed the also sleeping and evidently dreaming Nick by the shoulders and shaken him hard.
At the same moment Nick’s eyes snapped open and he stopped yelling Greg let him go, but not in time to get out of the way of the elbow that flung out wildly and struck him across the mouth, sending him sprawling to the floor.
“Ow! Fuck!” He could taste blood, and knew he was going to have a fat lip and a bruise where his cheek had struck the hardwood.
“Greg?” Nick’s voice was worried and he felt hands on his back, around both his biceps, pulling him up off the floor. “I am so sorry! I didn’t- Are you okay?”
Greg grinned a little, sitting up by himself and suddenly finding everything a lot funnier. When he wiped his wrist across his lips, it came away smeared with red. “Yeah, I’m fine, just bleeding. No big deal.” Nick was already up and headed toward the kitchen, where he wet a wash cloth with warm water and brought it back for Greg, pressing it into his hand like another apology.
“Seriously, I didn’t- I’m sorry Greg, I.. I didn’t realize it was you.” He seemed so distraught that Greg frowned a little, pressing the warm cloth to his lip gratefully and trying not to wince.
“It’s okay, Nick, obviously you didn’t mean to.” He let the forgiveness hang in the air, refusing to break eye contact as he dabbed at his bloody mouth. “You, uh. You were screaming.” He blinked and Nick looked away awkwardly, leaning back heavily against the couch with a sigh. Greg had touched on a nerve, it was clear, but Nick didn’t seem too defensive, so he thought he’d push his luck. “What were you dreaming about?”
Nick was silent for a long time, his gaze trained on the television which was now playing an old episode of the Daily Show that Greg thought he’d seen already. Obviously they had been asleep for a long time.
“The bugs.” Nick paused, glancing over at Greg before looking away again, and Greg thought that if Nick was anything like him, he wouldn’t be able to look him in the face while he talked about what had scared him. Sharing was hard enough to do when you could imagine you weren’t talking to anyone, and just stare at the floor. “Those ants, how they felt underground when I couldn’t get away.” Nick was speaking to his hands now, and Greg hesitated, setting his wet cloth down on the table before reaching out to touch Nick’s shoulder. He didn’t pull away.
“Do you have dreams like that a lot?” He tried to keep his voice soft and serious; the last thing he wanted was for Nick to think he was making fun of him. But then Nick looked at him and smiled a little, although the expression was sort of weak.
“Not so much, anymore. The first month after it happened was bad. But then..” Nick sighed, and for all the world it looked to Greg as though he had walked through hell and lived to tell about it. “I have them less and less. I’m hoping they might eventually go away all together.”
“They will.” Nick looked over at him sharply, like he was challenging how sure Greg sounded about the matter. Greg was eager to prove he wasn’t bullshitting him. “They will, I swear. How would I know, right?” He sighed and swallowed, and this time it was Greg’s turn to look away, a little shyly. He had never talked about this before, either. “Well, I mean, back when I was in the hospital, I was afraid to go to sleep because of what happened in the dark when I closed my eyes. I could remember the fire, the smell..” He shivered, and knew that Nick was watching him, and forced himself to continue. “I could smell my own skin burning. They had to cut away my lab coat from my back.” He chanced to look up at Nick and saw his pained expression, saw the way his fingers were clenched over his knees as he listened. “I dreamt about that for a long time. The feeling of knowing that you’re going to die, that always seemed to come back in my dreams.”
He couldn’t look at Nick, he couldn’t now, but then a hand clamped over his own where they lay twisted in his lap and he glanced up, and the look on Nick’s face was one of such sadness mixed with a shattered joy for finding someone who could almost understand what had happened to him that Greg couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t keep from leaning forward and closing his eyes and pressing their lips together, and it was like the rest of the world was gone, disappeared, and there was only Nick. The way he smelled, warm from sleep, the way his hand felt, rough, clasped over Greg’s own, how his mouth tasted, sweet from the beer they had been drinking before they fell asleep.
But Nick wasn’t responding, Greg suddenly realized, and his heart leapt into his throat as he pulled away quickly, panic in his eyes. Nick was staring at him with the blankest expression Greg had ever seen on a human being. His insides turned to ice.
“Shit.” He was standing in a flash, grabbing for his sweater he had tossed across the arm of the couch, feeling like he was going to be sick to his stomach. “I- Fuck.” Greg swallowed, couldn’t turn to look at him, couldn’t see the lack of expression in Nick stunned eyes again. He was only a breath away from shattering into pieces on the floor.
“Greg-“
He barely heard it, barely found his shoes in the front hallway and paused only when his hand was on the door handle, and he saw how much it was shaking.
And then he slipped through the door, and was gone.
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Date: 2011-01-12 01:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-12 01:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-12 05:47 pm (UTC)Update soon please. I'm looking forward to the next chapter!
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Date: 2011-01-13 12:17 am (UTC)This is brilliant! Very much enjoyed reading it :)
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Date: 2011-01-13 12:20 am (UTC)And thanks very much!
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Date: 2011-01-13 06:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-15 07:03 pm (UTC)xo