It Ends Tonight: Chapter Two

[karachilovaa14.livejournal.com]

Title: It Ends Tonight

Summary: After a terrible incident at a crime scene one night, Nick must help Greg stay on his feet. But, in the aftermath of that night, Nick realizes that he's the one who's falling. Now it's up to Greg to help him accept it.

Genre: Drama/Romance

Warning: Swearing, adult content.

Rating: PG-17

Timeline: Post season 10. No major spoilers, but there might be a few.

Pairing: Greg Sanders/Nick Stokes (The Love)

Disclaimer: Don't own CSI. *sigh*

Author's Note: This is chapter two of It Ends Tonight. You can read Chapter One here. Thank you lys_bliss for the editing!

---

"You rang?"

Catherine looked up to see Nick standing in the office doorway, his pager in hand. Nick's face was flushed and his hair ruffled. "Catherine?" Nick asked breathlessly.

"So who's the lucky girl, Nicky?" teased Catherine, a smile spreading slowly across her face. It was very obvious that Nick was getting some much needed action, and Catherine was happy for him. Not that that would stop her from teasing him about it.

"Huh?" he questioned, looking genuinely confused. "What are you...? Oh. Oh God," realization set in and Nick collapsed into the chair across from Catherine's desk. He lifted a hand to his mouth and inhaled sharply, looking like he was going to be sick. "Shit."

"Nick, are you okay?" Catherine frowned, concern flooding her. The despair etched into Nick's features was disconcerting, and she hoped that Nick would talk to her about whatever was bothering him.

"Y-yeah," he said quickly, raking his hand through his hair, and forcing a smile. "I'm fine." No. No, I'm not fine. I'm far from it. Jesus, I just made out with Greg fucking Sanders: a colleague, a friend. And a man. But I'm not gay. I'm not-

"Nick?"

"I'm fine," he said irritably. He straightened up and tried to compose himself, hoping that Catherine would just drop it.

"Okay," she said, even though she wasn't at all convinced. "Just...take care of yourself, okay?" Catherine was still concerned, but she knew that Nick needed his space. She just hoped he would be able to handle this himself.

She paused, and bit her lip. "How's Greg?"

Nick faltered, his heart thumping wildly and his words stumbling over each other. "W-what about Greg?" he asked, flustered. Did Catherine know what was going on? "H-how should I know how he is?"

"Because you're his friend?" Catherine said with a slight jerk of her head, her eyebrows raised skeptically.

Nick took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. Because you're his friend, she had said, nothing more. She didn't suspect anything. Jesus. "Yeah-yeah he's... doing better. Look," he said gritting his teeth, and changing the subject. "if this is why you paged me-"

"I have a new assignment for you," said Catherine bemusedly . She handed Nick a slip of paper and waited a moment in case Nick had any questions.

"419 in Summerlin?" mused Nick with a frown. "Strange. That's a pretty safe neighbourhood."

"Crime of passion, maybe?" Catherine brainstormed. "You won't know until you get there, Mister Crime Scene Investigator," she joked.

"I hear ya," Nick said distractedly. He looked down at the assignment slip once more, as though it held all the answers. Catherine could tell he was trying hard to concentrate on work even though it was painfully obvious that there was something else on his mind. She sighed; there was no therapy like work.

---

Nick parked across the street from the crime scene and just sat in the car for a moment, knowing it would be probably be his last carefree moment until his shift ended. If he could even call it carefree. He was still plagued by what had happened earlier in the locker room.

It wasn't like he had never made out with a man before. He had had many hot and heavy make out scenes with guys in high school and college, but he had never kissed a man like that before; never with such ferocity and passion and raw emotion. He had never felt such desperation and longing, and truth be told, it scared him.

And then there was Greg. Sweet, beautiful and so fucking vulnerable. Nick couldn't shake the feeling that he was taking advantage of Greg's distraught condition. Would Greg still have kissed him if that kid hadn't died? He just couldn't be sure, and it was killing him. He felt wrong, like scum. He had always looked down on guys who took advantage of intoxicated or depressed chicks. And yet, now he felt like he was doing practically the same thing. Greg was hurting, and had sought comfort from Nick; and he had given it to him without thinking about whether Greg had really wanted it.

And then there was the fact that, even though he wanted to kiss Greg again and again, they worked together. And that never ended well. It was terrifying that he could feel so deeply and violently for Greg, especially if he could lose Greg at any time on the job. It sounded selfish as hell, but he couldn't let himself care for Greg if he was putting himself in danger's way every night. He wouldn't let himself love Greg, he simply couldn't, even if Greg was so irresistible, with his perfectly straight nose, and his cinnamon breath, and his chiseled cheekbones, and those wonderful, wonderful lips that we just so—

Nick jumped when a fist rapped on his window, and he looked up at Detective Brass in alarm. He grit his teeth and clenched his fists, inwardly chastising himself for being so jumpy.

He slipped out of the car, kit in hand. With a nod to Brass, he swept his gaze over the crime scene. A small, townhouse was ringed by crime scene tap, and outside of the tape was a large buzzing crowd of people wanting to know what had happened. Even after fourteen years on the job, Nick didn't quite understand what morbid curiously people had for death, when all he wanted to do was escape from it.

"Witness is over there," said Brass, pointed to a young man seated in the back of an ambulance, a light blue blanket covering his hunched shoulders. Brass continued to fill him in, but Nick found his attention waning. He just couldn't take his eyes off that young man, sitting in the ambulance, alone, hurt, and scared. He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. It was all too familiar; too tangible. He needed it to all go away.

He needed it to all go away; all of it: the small townhouse, once a home and now a crime scene, the ambulance parked across the street, in it a man hunched painfully. Not just a man, Greg.

He needed it to all go away.

"What have we got?" asked Nick approaching Brass. Diplomatic Stokes, he told himself, you gotta stay diplomatic. But his hands shook.

"Don't know the whole story yet," replied Brass coolly, as they walked towards the scene, and the ambulance nearby. "I don't really think Greg's in any state to give us his statement."

Nick looked up in horror and Brass rushed to clarify. "He's not hurt. I mean, he's got a nasty shiner, but he's going to be okay. It's just..." Brass stopped walking and stepped in front of Nick before he could reach the ambulance. "When I heard the gunshots, I found Sander shirtless and covered in blood, clinging to this kid's body like his life depended on it. Nick, you're not going to like what you see." said Brass, with a look of subtle and yet unmistakable concern.

"I have to see him," demanded Nick, his determination clear on his face.

"I know," said Brass calmly. He was very aware of the family-like atmosphere of the CSI team. He admired it really, and was still grateful for the support they had given him when he was shot. And he knew that the team, especially Nick, were even more protective of Greg, as he was the youngest. Brass stepped back and let Nick pass.

"Nick!" called Brass, and when the CSI turned around, he stared pointedly at Nick's CSI kit. Nick nodded in understanding.

Yeah, he got it. He still had a scene to process, even if all he really wanted to do was stay with Greg until everything was okay again. He still had work to do. And he would do his work damn well, even if he just wanted to hold Greg until everything was okay.

"Is everything okay, Nick?" came Brass's voice, laced with sarcasm.

Nick looked at Brass blankly, and cursed when he realized he had missed Brass' entire briefing on the case. And yet, his attention was once again diminishing as his gaze fell upon the witness sitting in the ambulance.

"Nick, the scene?"

"Umm... yeah," said Nick distractedly. "I'm just gonna...uh... talk to that guy," he said vaguely, making his way towards the hunched figure in the back of the ambulance.

"Nick! What the hell?" shouted Brass indignantly, as Nick walked away from him. "Interviewing witnesses is my job!"

Nick ignored him and jogged up to the witness. Although he knew it wasn't really possible, he still half-expected Greg to look up at him when he called out a breathless greeting to the witness. A stranger's icy blue gaze met his instead of Greg's warm brown one, and Nick wasn't sure what he wanted.

---

Greg rubbed his eyes, and tried to focus on the crime scene photos spread out on the table in front of him. But pictures of old, dead women, and pill bottles of Paracetamol and Digitalis all seemed to swim around in his head. His head was pounding, and his thoughts kept returning to Nick. How could he have been so stupid? He was sure that Nick had wanted what he did, but then he had bolted out of the locker room like Greg was diseased? Greg knew what he wanted, that kiss had made everything clear to him. All he wanted was Nick. And he had been sure that Nick wanted him too, but now he knew the truth: that Nick was straight, and that he probably hated Greg's guts.

Greg groaned and his head dropped down onto the table with a dull thud. His thoughts had once again sidetracked; but he could still taste Nick's minty breath, and he could still smell Nick's cologne, and how could he possibly stop thinking about him?

"Greg?" Ray's voice broke him out of his musings. "Maybe you should go home... I can finish up here without you."

Greg sighed angrily, and cursed under his breath. For the past week the entire team had been treading on eggshells around him, and frankly, he was sick of it. But then again, he knew he hadn't really been himself since that night. And this weird sexual tension with Nick wasn't making things any better. He wasn't sleeping, he was barely eating, and now he might have lost his best friend in the world.

His breath hitched at the thought of losing Nick forever, and then there was that fucking throbbing in his head that seemed to be permanent. Maybe Ray was right; maybe it was time for him to call it a day. Greg just looked up at Ray helplessly; he didn't want to just call quits, and yet, more than anything, he just wanted to go home and get some sleep (if that was even possible anymore).

Ray seemed to understand what Greg was trying to convey. He smiled warmly, and reassured Greg. "Don't worry. I'll tell Catherine you weren't feeling well. She won't mind."

Greg nodded resignedly, and gathered his things. He held his books and folders up to his chest almost protectively as he hunched his shoulders in embarrassment. He was wussing out again. It was just the ego boost he needed.

"Greg!" Ray called out hesitantly. Greg stopped in the doorway, but didn't turn around. "You've only been back at work for a few days since the accident. It's okay to feel a little out of it."

"Yeah, it's only been a few days since I got back from a three days leave even though I wasn't even injured," responded Greg dryly. He rubbed at the yellowish skin around his left eye, the fading bruise being the only temporary scar from that night. Only physical scar, that is. "And now I can't do my job—" he barked out a laugh, "but hey, it's okay to be a little out of it!"

Ray bit his lip as Greg made his way out of the layout room. Ray hadn't worked with Greg for very long, and he hadn't had any heart-to-hearts with him, really. The younger man had really just been a bundle of humour, who could be dead serious when he needed to be. Word around the water cooler was that Greg had been through some real shit. When Ray had heard about the lab explosion and beating, he had been beyond shocked, because Greg never really let on that anything that terrible had happened to him. When Ray had mentioned them in passing to Nick, they younger man had adamantly insisted that Greg had handled it all very well. Nick had said that while Greg might over-share where his family or romantic life was concerned, he was always very private about his problems. And, while Ray could see in Greg's eyes that what had happened to him in the past had changed him, Greg was always ready with a laugh, and seemed to have put it all out of his mind. But now Greg was a changed person. His pain was so fresh, and so tangible, that Ray was beginning to wonder what Nick had meant when he said that Greg handled his problems well.

Ray leaned back against the layout room table, and stared at the spot where Greg had been a moment ago. He knew that there was nothing he could do to make Greg feel any better; they just didn't have that kind of relationship. It was turning out to be one of those rare days when Ray was acutely aware of how close the years old team had been before he joined CSI; one of those days when he felt like he would always be the new guy.

---

Greg groaned and let his head fall against the row of lockers with a soft thud. He had been all set to go home when he had realized that he didn't have a home to go to. He had been staying at Nick's house for the last week, and it felt more like a home than his apartment did. In fact, he couldn't even imagine going back to his cold, lonely apartment when Nick's townhouse was so warm and inviting, and so full of... Nick.

Greg's chest tightened uncomfortably. Ever since he had met Nick eleven years ago he had felt slightly attracted to him. It was just a quiet acknowledgment of his Texan charm. It was nothing serious; not a crush; not love. But since the 'accident', as they had come to call it, Greg began to harbour feelings for Nick that were definitely more than an infatuation. The very fact that the only time when Greg felt truly safe was when he was with Nick, in Nick's house, was enough to imply that they were more than just friends. And then there was that kiss...

But what if Nick didn't want Greg to live with him anymore? What if Nick hated him? Or never spoke to him again? What would Greg do then?

He just didn't know what to do. He rubbed his eyes in frustration. All he knew was that when he was with Nick he felt safe, like men with guns and fifteen-year-old boys covered in blood couldn't haunt him. All he knew was that he couldn't go back to his apartment—alone, scared, guilty, and now longing to kiss Nick again and again and again.

Kissing Nick was probably the best thing he had done all week, and no matter what the repercussions were, he didn't regret it. And Nick had kissed him back, that he was sure of.

Greg sighed and grabbed his backpack from his locker. He made his way out of the lab, gritted his teeth, got into his old Jetta, and drove over to Nick's townhouse.

Greg got out of his old Jetta and stepped in front of Nick's townhouse. He was so exhausted that he was surprised he had even made it to Nick's house safely. He didn't even know why he had driven here, but he had to get out of his apartment. Now, before he could change his mind, he knocked on Nick's front door.

Greg could hear shuffling on the other side of the door, and then it was being yanked open. He was greeted by the sight of Nick in his pajama bottoms and no shirt, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Greg instantly regretted disturbing Nick's sleep.

"Greg?" he said, shocked out of his sleepiness.

Suddenly embarrassed, Greg took a hesitant step back, and tripped over the single step that led to Nick's house. Nick's hand shot out and caught Greg at the elbow, steadying the younger man.

'I-I should go," mumbled Greg, trying to pull away from Nick's grasp.

"No," Nick interjected. "No, come in." He practically dragged Greg into the house, and led the jittery man over to the couch. Nick sat down on the coffee table across from the couch, and leaned forwards, placing his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. He watched Greg silently, but the younger man wouldn't meet his gaze.

"Greg, your hands are shaking."

Greg looked up at Nick with wide eyes, and ground his palms into his thighs, hoping to still them. It didn't work. "They shake, when I'm...uh..." Greg cleared his throat uncertainly. "When I'm tired or upset."

"You're not getting much sleep, huh?" Nick murmured, and Greg thought he looked almost guilty that he himself was able to sleep alright.

"N-Not really," Greg said, looking away from Nick and blinking rapidly. "I was...I was scared. I didn't want to be alone."

"That's completely understandable, buddy." It had only been a day since the accident. "Greg," he cooed gently, but when the younger man still refused to look him in the eye, he reached forwards and cupped Greg's cheek in his hand, turning the Californian's face towards his own. He gently stroked the dark red bruise underneath Greg's eye with his thumb, and let him hand linger on the soft skin for a moment. When he realized just how intimate the touch was, he stiffened and pulled away in embarrassment. Greg bit his lip, and pretended not to wish that Nick's hand was still on his cheek.

"Greg," said Nick, both hands safely in his lap. "It's normal to be scared. After the kidnapping, after the shooting, I was... I was terrified. But... it'll get better; I promise."

"I know," replied Greg, pulling a cushion into his lap and playing idly with the edge of it. "I just... after the beating, I was so doped up on painkillers, that fallin' asleep was easy. But now," he looked up for the first time, and raised his hand to the bruise surrounding his left eye. "All I got for this is Tylenol, and-and it doesn't even work, and I can't get any sleep and—" Greg sighed in frustration. "I can't even-I don't, I-I don't know what to do, Nick."

Greg looked up at Nick with helpless eyes, and then suddenly stood. "I-I should go. I shouldn't have come, I should—"

"Greg, wait," Nick reached out and grasped Greg's wrist in his hand. "Stay here tonight. I've got a guest room, and a state of the art security system. And, I'm in the next room if you need me."

Greg hesitated for a moment. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. He was seconds away from saying 'I need you. I need you. I need you all the time'

"Please, Greg," Nick implored, and smiled in relief when Greg's fingers curled around Nick's wrist, and he nodded in agreement.

They stood there for a moment, sharing an awkward sort of handshake, and then Nick pulled Greg into a bear hug, wrapping his arms around his friend and squeezing him tightly. Greg's arms encircled Nick's back, and he closed his eyes, taking comfort in the safety of Nick's arms.

"Thank you," Greg whispered into Nick's shoulder.

"I'm just glad you're okay," Nick squeezed tighter and inhaled Greg's musky scent. "I'm just so glad that you're okay."

---

Nick came to a stop in front of Greg, and was suddenly at a loss for words. Greg was just sitting there, in the back of the ambulance, staring up at him with lost eyes. There was blood all over his chest and he was shivering in the cold night air. All Nick really wanted to do was hug him, but he knew he couldn't. Greg was evidence. He had to keep it together.

"I have to give you my statement," Greg said suddenly, his voice sounding eerily hollow. "I mean, I'm supposed to give my statement to Brass, but... I can give it to you right?" Greg's voice became small and scared, and Nick had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying. "It doesn't- it doesn't really matter who I give it to right?"

"Greg, you don't have to worry about your statement right now. Really, it's not—"

"No," Greg interrupted. Then he paused and blinked hazily, like he wasn't sure what he was disagreeing to. "No. You have to take my statement and process me. Then you have to work the scene."

"Greg, look," Nick said, staring into Greg's owl-like eyes. "You're in shock. You're not thinking straight. Let me take you to the hospital. I can call Catherine; she can process the scene. Or Sara, or Ray-"

"No!" Greg almost shouted, grabbing Nick's hands in his. He dug his fingernails into Nick's palm, and spoke with a frightened desperation. "No, I need you to process the scene! N-n-no one else! You!"

"Greg, I don't... I don't understand," Nick said, shaking his head in confusion. "We got the guy. He's dead. You have nothing to worry about."

"I know! I know, I know, I know..." Greg muttered under his breath. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, trying to allay his frustration and put his thoughts in order. "Look Nick," he leaned forwards and gripped Nick's hands tighter. "Brass said that we don't have an ID on that kid. I need you to find out who he is. I need to know his name. Please."

"Greg, I don't..." Nick trailed off when he saw Greg's eyes flutter close. The younger man was mumbling something under his breath, and Nick strained his ears to hear.

"D in Maths, D in Maths, D in Maths..." Greg mumbled to himself.

"Greg," Nick called out. "Greg I don't—"

"Understand," Greg struggled. "You don't understand. But you will. Just let me give you my statement, and then you will understand everything. Please, Nicky."

"Okay," Nick squeezed Greg's hands supportively, even though he barely knew what was going on. "Okay, let me get Brass and we can—"

"Wait!" Greg panicked when the older CSI stood up to leave. "Wait, d-don't go! I don't want to be alone. Please don't go, please don't—"

"Shoo," Nick hushed him. "I'm not going anywhere. Brass is going to come take your statement, while I process you and collect the evidence, okay? I'm going to be right here. I swear; I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay, okay," Greg said breathlessly, with a quick nod.

Nick called out to Brass, and tried to focus on processing Greg. It's just another witness, Nick tried to tell himself. Not Greg, not a victim, just another witness. But it was getting harder and harder to convince himself, when it was Greg's bloody chest in front of him, and Greg's voice echoing in his ears...

"He came up behind me... Freeze."

Snap shot of Greg's chest. Swab blood. Apply Luminol. Store sample. Okay.

"He walked up to me... checked for a gun."

Photograph bruise on Greg's—no; witness'—cheek. It's just procedure, Nick, just procedure.

"Pistol-whipped... pulled this kid out of the closet."

Finger-nail scrapings. Keep it together, Stokes.

"Shot him...Just a kid... And it was my fault...All my fault."

It's just another witness. Just another witness. Just another—

But this wasn't just another witness. Jesus Christ, this was Greg.

"Greg, don't you say that. It wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could have done. Greg, you have to listen—"

"No," snarled Greg, a fire in his eyes. "No, you don't know, you don't know anything! No matter what you say, I know. I know that it was my... my... my f-fault."

Greg closed his eyes and tried to drive away the assailant's voice from inside his head. "This is what happens when you lie to me, you sonuvabitch! This is your goddamn fault!" He squeezed his eyes tight, but he couldn't drive away the man's voice, or the sound of a gunshot echoing through him, or the sight of that kid lying helpless and bleeding on the floor, and...and... fuck. D in Maths, D in maths, D in maths.

"Greg!" Nick yelled, gripping Greg's shoulders, all thoughts of salvaging evidence gone. "Greg, you listen to me okay! You listen to me—"

"Are you even listening to me, Stokes?" Brass' voice broke him out of his reverie. "You done here?" he asked.

Nick looked around at the crime scene and at the fifty-something-year-old man lying dead at his feet. "Uh... No. I'll be done in a minute."

"Okay, just try and hurry it up would ya?" Brass said, annoyed that the CSI kept zoning out and wasn't doing his job properly. Nick was a good CSI, but today he seemed almost incapable of working. But Brass knew the entire team had been through a lot recently, so he just took a deep breath, bit back any sarcastic remarks and left the room.

Nick stood quietly for a minute, and then doubled over, his hands on his knees. He took a few deep breaths to clear his head and then straightened up. He tried to remember what Greg had said to him: No! I need you to process the scene! No one else. You!

He focused on that, took a deep breath and began processing the scene with renewed vigour. He was going to work the case and put another killer behind bars. And he would do it damn well too, because that was his job. Because that was his fucking job.

---

Nick stepped out of his car and stretched. His shift had ended five hours ago, but he had only just gotten home. Still, he had wrapped up his case, and it felt good to know that another bad guy was off the streets because of him.

He dreaded having to face up to Greg after what had happened between them, and yet, seeing his friend's beat up Jetta in the driveway eradicated some of his exhaustion. Just knowing that Greg was safe and okay made him smile, and yet, the very realization that Greg meant so much to him made him sick with fear and dread.

He fumbled with his keys and unlocked the front door. Greg had a habit of locking the door even when he was home. What Nick saw made his heart skip a beat.

Greg stood in front of him, his eyes grave, with a backpack slung over his shoulder. Nick realized with a shock, that all the little odds and ends of Greg's that had littered his apartment were now gone. The coffee beans that were usually placed on his counter, the blanket that was once thrown over the back of the couch, the novel and book-light that used to be on the coffee table, the laptop that used to charge by the answering machine—it was all gone; gone into the backpack hanging off Greg's shoulder with an air of finality that scared Nick more than he would admit.

The shock of it all made Nick's chest hurt. His grip loosened, and his keys fell to the floor with an ominous clanking sound that made both men jump.

"Greg? Are you... are you leaving?"

"Do you want me to?"

---

The night has fallen, I'm lyin' awake
I can feel myself fading away
So receive me brother with your faithless kiss
Or will we leave each other alone like this
On the streets of Philadelphia

Bruce Springsteen

Comments

[pikajodi.livejournal.com]

Please please please tell me there's another chapter to this! It was fantastic! :D

Oh, and your icon is awesome too, just saying :P

[karachilovaa14.livejournal.com]

Thank you for the comment =) I'm still in the process of writing the third chapter, but I promise, there WILL be one!

Credit for the icon goes to Cazzblade!