Never Too Late
Jan. 30th, 2011 02:24 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
maddieamazing.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
nickngregChapter: 4
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Mild to none
Author's Note: Here we are with chapter four! Happier, as promised, with some revealed secrets and beginning romance thrown in. Hmm. :) Thanks so much to everyone who's been reading and commenting!
“You’ll need two types of blood test on a regular basis. One measures the amount of a certain type of immune system cell that we all have in our bodies. That count will determine how much damage the virus has done to your body and how well the medication is working. The other measures the amount of the virus in your body, so we can tell how well the medication is keeping it under control.”
She short, blonde-haired nurse rambled on for several more minutes, but Greg couldn’t stand to listen any longer. For whatever it was worth, he was resentful of the fact that his newly-appointed army of doctors and nurses and counselors and social workers and whatever the hell else they told him he needed all insisted on talking to him like he was seven and a half. He had a Bachelor’s degree in biology, was almost done with a Master’s degree, he knew how the immune system worked.
All he could really do, though, was rest his head in his left hand and pretend to be listening to what the nurse was saying.
He was tired, but unlike the tired that had prompted him to see the doctor who finally figured out what was wrong with him months ago, this tired sprung mostly from stress and overwork and hyperactive emotions and lack of sleep.
“I know the doctor went over all the information on your medication with you, do you have any questions?”
Greg sat up straight and shook his head. That wasn’t true – he had a million questions – but none that a nurse was going to be able to answer for him.
He left the beige office complex with a million pieces of paper detailing various types of very unpleasant-sounding things, a prescription he was to have filled as soon as possible, and absolutely no idea how he got to this point.
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Greg was surprised he allowed himself to say “yes” to the proposition of going out for drinks to a new off-strip night club with Nick, Warrick and Catherine. When he was younger, nightclubs, dancing, and drinking were three of his favorite things to do. But then things happened, and lives changed, and he hadn’t been out in a long while.
And normally he would have turned down the proposition, not just because the idea of getting slightly inebriated in the presence of coworkers is generally not a good one, but because, strange as it was, Greg didn’t fully trust himself. When he was younger, before he met Liam, Greg was out at least every third night. He’d drink and dance and hit on guys and be hit on by guys, but he never took anyone home or went home with anyone. He was careful back then, naive but still aware. And, sure, being flirted with was fun, but Greg was looking for love. A part of him still was, the only difference was that Greg simply was rarely able to shake the imagined idea that he was wholly contaminated.
It was a strange concept, but Greg didn’t trust himself to go out, drink a little, dance a little, and not give in to temptation. It was silly, he knew. He would never forget the “condition” he was in, not ever, not for a moment. There was no way, barring some sort of aneurysm, that he would even let someone close enough to whisper something in his ear. But he couldn’t shake it, somehow the most damage that had been done over the past years since a thoroughly terrifying diagnosis was that Greg lacked trust; in friends, in lovers, in himself.
And then there was Nick, that built, scientific, kind-hearted, Texas-twanging, completely irresistible piece of pure sex appeal that Greg could not say no to. It was a simply as that. Had Warrick or Catherine been the one to extend the invitation, he could have easily said no, made some sort of excuse like he was tired or had plans or wanted a rain check. But not Nick.
And, Goddamn, that man looked fine dancing casually with Catherine to a slow-rock tune Greg was embarrassed to admit he knew. Warrick was having a conversation with him about something, but it took everything in Greg to simply muster up an occasional, “Uh-huh” or fake laugh.
Nick was moving to the beat, with a giant smile plastered on his handsome face, spinning Catherine around on the dance floor with a precision Greg would not have guessed Nick had. It seemed to come so effortlessly to him, like the beat was engraining itself in Nick’s muscles and he was just following its orders, under its command.
It was memorizing, and all Greg could think of was how much he would give to be in Catherine’s place.
“Greg? Um, Greg?” His name spoken in Warrick’s deep voice barely registered before he snapped out of his Nick-induced haze and looked at the man.
“Yeah, sorry,” Greg said, shaking his head.
“A little distracted there, man?” Warrick teased.
Greg laughed uncertainly. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Warrick nodded and smiled a knowing smile. “Which one you got your eye on, man?”
Greg smiled. Even though Warrick was obviously oblivious to Greg’s shamelessly smitten infatuation, he couldn’t help himself. Before he had time to answer Greg’s question, an energized Nick was bounding over to him, smiling.
“Did you lose your dance partner?” Warrick asked.
“She rebuffed me, man,” Nick responded teasingly. “She’s over at the bar with some businessman.”
The three men glanced towards the long, clear glass bar on the far left side of the huge room to see Catherine, in obvious full-flirting mode, chatting with a middle aged man in a black pinstripe suit.
Warrick made a face. “She can do better than that fool,” He said, knotting his brow. “Excuse me, gentleman, let me go woo her back onto the dance floor.”
Nick and Greg both laughed, knowingly addressing Warrick’s not-so-subtle crush on the strawberry blonde.
“You just been sitting over here, G?” Nick asked, sliding into the booth dangerously close to Greg.
Greg could feel the heat radiating from Nick’s body, could smell that smell that was so him. He took a quick swig of his beer, trying to regain conscious thought.
“Just observing, I guess,” he responded, trying to sound casual and not including that the “observing” he’d been doing was strictly focused on Nick.
“Now that’s no fun!” Nic exclaimed, quickly jumping up from the booth just as fast as he’d sat down and offering Greg a hand.
“You want to dance with me?” Greg asked, more flattered that surprised.
Nick nodded. “Why not?”
Greg happily obliged and the two men moved onto the dance floor. Their bodies began rippling to the music, and soon they were a little too close for casual, slightly drunk friends. Much to Greg’s surprise, Nick didn’t even react when Greg almost unconsciously moved one hand to rest behind Nick’s neck and they continued dancing until their bodies were almost flesh against each other, and they could hear each breath the other was taking.
Greg didn’t quite know whether the spinning in the room was from the alcohol or the proximity to Nick, but whatever it was it was having an almost hallucinogenic affect on him. And before he had time to process it, Nick leaned forward and planted a bruising kiss on Greg’s mouth, as if he’d done it a thousand times before.
They continued slowly swaying to the music as their tongues did their own dance and their hands roamed up and down each other’s backs and necks and through each other’s hair. Nick’s taste was intoxicating, the way his lips felt and tongue moved dream-like. And Greg was almost lost in it.
“How would you feel about taking this elsewhere?” Nick whispered huskily in Greg’s ear.
Suddenly, raw feelings of fear and toxicity and shame coursed through Greg again. Instinctively, and without thinking, he pushed Nick with the palms of his hands as hard as he could. Nick stumbled back only a little, his solid build no match for Greg, but the look on his face spoke volumes about how hard he’s just been shoved.
Greg shook his head. “No, Nick…I’m sorry…” Immense guilt filled him from the bottom up, How could you have led him on like that? He asked himself. His face flushed and quickly he turned and walked off the dance floor, towards the hallway that led to the entrance.
“Greg, Greg wait!” Nick called out behind him. “Wait,” He grabbed hold of Greg’s sleeve and Greg spun around to see the flustered, confused man he’d just share an incredible series of kisses with. He wanted more. He couldn’t have more.
“I’m sorry,” Nick spoke. “I didn’t mean to imply…I mean…if I offended you…”
Greg shook his head. “No, Nick, it isn’t that. It’s just…I just…can’t.” His voice was defeated and surrendered.
Nick stepped closer to Greg and tucked a short strand of loose, sweat-saturated hair behind Greg’s ear tenderly. “Why not?” He asked with all honesty.
Greg sighed. “Nick…please…I just can’t.”
He was almost begging, pleading with Nick to turn and walk back onto the dance floor. He was praying Nick would stop prying.
“Nick…” He began, but his voice gave out.
“I know this is sudden, G, but I’ve wanted this – you – for a while now. I just haven’t had the courage to say anything, and I…I just want to be with you, G.”
Greg’s heart nearly flew out of his chest, because those were exactly the words he’d always wanted to hear from Nick. And then his heart sank as reality caught up to him, and he remembered why he couldn’t hear those words, and certainly couldn’t act on them.
“Nick…” he took one of Nick’s large hands in his own. “I’m really happy to hear you say that…but you don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand, G!”
“I can’t,” Greg said defiantly, taking one step away from Nick.
Nick looked hurt, but pressed on.
“G, tell me. Please.” Nick was shamelessly begging to be let into Greg’s dark, confusing world, and Greg simply couldn’t give him as much.
Greg felt tears he didn’t know were there swell up in his eyes. “Just leave me alone, Nick. Please. It’s for your own good.”
Nick looked confused. “Greg, the only thing that’s ‘for my own good’ right now is you. That’s it.”
A few tears fell from Greg’s eyes, and he didn’t try to stop them.
“Don’t Nick. Just don’t.” Greg was on the verge of yelling, suddenly feeling a rush of emotion that wasn’t present five minutes ago. He began backing away from Nick, almost as if there were two strings attached to his torso; one telling him to go, one telling him to stay. And the former was winning.
“Greg–” Nick stepped forward to grab Greg’s hand before he pulled it away as if it was burning coal. “Greg…” Nick repeated, voice small.
“I’m HIV positive, Nick!”
He didn’t know where the words came from, didn’t know how to stop them. They flew out of his mouth like water through broken levies. His right hand immediately flew to his mouth as if he’d just uttered a top-secret government code. He didn’t stop to see Nick’s reaction, instead turning as fast as he could and rushing out the doors and to his car, driving off in the silence he’d become so accustomed to.
It had been just a few days since Greg let slip his deepest, darkest secret, and to the man who he’d been falling in love with for six years, no less. The night after, Nick had been off, and though Greg had a missed call from the older man with no voicemail, he hadn’t gotten up the courage to call him back. The night after that, Greg was off, and he spent the entire evening trying to come up with something to say to Nick when he did see him eventually. So far, he had nothing. He couldn’t understand why it was so difficult to have a conversation about it with Nick – man to man, friend to friend – but it was.
And the next night, he really couldn’t understand why the type of thing that happened next shift just kept happening. The world was messing with him, he figured.
Surely, his workplace had to be the single most dangerous place to work in the world. Period. A bunker in Afghanistan had absolutely nothing on the dangers that awaited within and outside the confines of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Just wearing the Las Vegas Police Department ID was like wearing a “Kick Me” sign on your back. It was getting a little ridiculous, really.
Of course, that’s not what Greg was thinking at the time, Greg was thinking, “Oh, look, that seems to be evidence. Let me turn that dark corner by myself with no back-up. No problem.”
Admittedly, unlike the lab explosion a couple years prior, this one was probably his fault. And he was sure he’d be getting the lecture later in the day from Grissom or Brass, or even the perpetually motherly Catherine on proper precautions to take at the next crime scene.
But as a young female nurse with jet-black hair bandaged the superficially deep knife wound around his upper left arm, all he was really thinking about was the kind of silent exchange, the unspoken conversation worth a million words, he’d had with Nick a few hours prior.
Oh yes, the dangers of the Las Vegas Crime Lab extended much further than madmen behind dark corners.
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The lack of sun felt good. That was a little ironic.
At night in Las Vegas, it was almost like you could pretend that autumn air was the temperature it was supposed to be; late fifties, mid sixties, it was a nice break from scorching sunlight and temperatures worthy of data in an Al Gore documentary. And since working the first shift with Nick since his major confession was turning out to be a hundred times easier than expected, all was looking up. Literally, for a middle aged man who had been star-gazing through a cheap, National Geographic type telescope off the highway miles away from the bright Las Vegas lights who had, seemingly randomly, been shot point-blank from behind the abandoned convenience store three hundred or so yards away.
And since the universe hated him and all, Greg had been assigned to work the case with Nick, alone. So the two men scoured the grounds looking for very scant evidence with no one but a few officers standing guard and the distant hooting of owls to keep them company.
And really, with the kind of luck he’d been having with broken glass lately, he should have just stayed away from it.
“I’ve got a trail of what looks like broken glass over here, Nick,” Greg called out to the older CSI who was crouched down in front of what, from afar, looked like nothing in particular.
The trail of glass began a few feet from the boarded-up front door of the once convenience store. Greg slowly walked the path of the glass, noting how it trailed almost in a perfect line, and then bent around the corner. Following the shimmering specs with his flashlight so as not to step on any of them, Greg inched his way around the corner, not breaking eye contact with the glass.
“Nick, some of the glass has-oomph!”
A hand was on Greg’s mouth as another spun him around so his back was flesh against the heated skin of another person, and then a quick, sharp pain spread through his upper left arm, just below his shoulder, and he was just as quickly released by the unidentifiable attacker. The shock sent him falling to the hard, dirt ground with a thud, and the next thing he could cognate was wondering how Nick got there so quickly.
“G!” Nick yelled, too loudly considering their proximity. “What the – go chase him!” He shouted at the two young, stunned officers who promptly took off after Greg’s attacker, far away enough to be nothing but a dark silhouette in the distance.
Nick knelt beside him, one ungloved hand gently grasping Greg’s wrist and extending his arm to take a better look at the damage.
Greg felt pain; sharp, unnatural pain. He also felt the very, very natural feeling of disgust and insanitation and contamination he always felt when he saw his own blood, now flowing down his arm like wave upon wave of crimson ocean water.
“Nick, don’t!” He tried to pull his arm away, but Nick didn’t let him.
“Stop, Greg,” Nick insisted harshly, though somehow still maintaining a sense of comfort. “How deep did the knife go, do you know?” Nick brought his other hand up and tightly clasped it around Greg’s wound in an attempt to stop the heavy flow. Once again Greg jerked his arm, trying to pull away, but Nick held fast.
“Let go, Nick,” He tried again.
“One of the officers called for an ambulance, though I don’t think it’s too deep,” Nick ignored Greg, ripping a piece of his cotton, royal blue tee shirt from the bottom near the hem with a surprising ease. Cautiously he began to wrap it around the large gash on Greg’s arm.
“Nick – fuck – let go!” Greg tried once more to move from Nick’s grasp, but his strength was no match for Nick’s; physically, sure, but when Greg looked at Nick for the first time, he saw something there he hadn’t ever seen before, in anyone. Nick looked…unafraid. His hands were covered in Greg’s blood, his clothing spattered with the toxic substance Nick knew was there; yet he was unafraid.
“Stop, Greg.” He spoke serenely. “Stop. You aren’t going to contaminate me, Greg. Stop fighting me.”
And the eye contact between them was the kind you only see in cheesy romance movies or read about in books, and Greg swore he could have just leaned up and kissed Nick right there, but for the nearing sounds of a siren and the sharp pain he’d almost forgotten about.
Nick squeezed Greg’s hand and they stared – just stared – until two paramedics moved in behind Nick and began working on Greg.
He didn’t remember the ambulance ride, anything that was done to him or said to him, because all he could see or feel or experience was the presence of Nick, covered in the evidence of Greg’s very heartbeat, and unafraid.
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Date: 2011-01-30 10:25 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-01-30 02:39 pm (UTC)I just hope Nick's reason for being so fearless isn't because he has his own secret!Great chapter. I'm really enjoying this story!
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Date: 2011-01-30 10:51 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-01-31 02:22 am (UTC)P.S. Has your avatar always been that adorable pic of our man? I think so, but still...::Dreamy eyes::
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Date: 2011-02-04 03:55 am (UTC)