Fic from ngchallenge #2: Mix, R
Jun. 20th, 2005 04:25 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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nickngregTitle: Mix
Author: acroarcs
Rating: R, pretty much for language
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Spoilers: Sort of references 5x20, "Hollywood Brass," but not in a spoilery way.
Summary: A night out leads to problems and investigations (and angst, of course).
A/N: This may or may not be complete, but it's at the point where I think the bunny's out of my head. Written for the second challenge at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
ngchallenge, which completely took over my mind. Cross-posted there and at nickngreg. Apologies to any "Varfanns" out there. (Not sure if that's what you'd call yourselves, anyway.)
Mix
If there was any advantage to being on different shifts, Nick thought, it was that he and Greg could have the same night off every once in a while. The only advantage, as far as he was concerned. Of course, Greg sometimes found ways to twist it into a negative, which was why he found himself walking toward Mix.
“It’s not always bad,” Greg said. Sometimes he could read minds, it seemed.
“No,” Nick agreed. Still, it felt like there was something caught in his throat as they got in line for the club.
“But you still…”
“…always think it’ll be bad.”
“And?” Greg pressed himself against Nick. His breath was hot against Nick’s neck.
“It’s never bad,” Nick said, leaning his head back. Greg laughed and drew the tip of his tongue along the curve. Nick let himself go in the moment as he felt wet pressure move slowly up his neck, then along his jaw, where it swept up to his mouth and inserted itself in his slightly opened mouth. He pushed back with his own tongue into Greg’s mouth, pressing his lips against Greg’s until he couldn’t press anymore. He pulled away, taking a deep breath.
“Never,” Greg said with a smile.
Nick grinned in return, but his less base instincts took over within seconds. He leaned to his left so he could look past the line of people and down the sidewalk, then turned and looked back the up the street.
“No one saw us,” Greg said, rolling his eyes. He grabbed Nick’s hand, pulling him forward to keep up with the line.
“I know,” Nick said. “I’m just making sure.”
After a few more minutes of waiting, they made it to the front of the line. Greg took out his wallet, but Nick pushed his arms down as he tried to pull out some money. “I picked the club,” he said. “I’ll take care of the cover.”
“Thank you, sir,” Greg said flippantly. His hands dug inside his wallet anyway.
“I thought I said…”
“I have to get my driver’s license, don’t I?” Greg asked. “You don’t need to worry. I’m saving my money to buy drinks for some cute boy so I can get him liquored up and take him home with me.”
Nick raised an eyebrow at Greg as he paid the bouncer. “How often do you get carded?”
“Well, if you flirt with the bouncer, it happens less often,” Greg said with a cheesy grin.
Now the bouncer raised an eyebrow as he put wristbands on them, and Nick put a hand on Greg’s shoulder and pushed him through the door of the club. Music filled his ears. Whatever song this was had a loud, throbbing bass beat. Greg seemed to recognize it, since he was mouthing along with whatever the lyrics were, but to Nick it was only the beat.
With a smile and a jerk of his head, Greg invited him to the crowded dance floor. Bodies flowed around them as Greg led him by one hand into the sea of people, his steps already in time with the music. Nick didn’t know how Greg figured out what spot on the floor he wanted, since it was always too loud at that moment and he never remembered that the end of the night, but it was always very definite when he did.
Greg stopped. The lights swept over him as he suddenly turned around, his eyes and teeth catching the flash and brightening for an instant as he pressed himself against Nick. No, this was never bad. Greg’s hands started at Nick’s shoulders, then moved slowly down the tight fabric of Nick’s t-shirt, tracing curves of muscle while his hips ground against Nick’s with small thrusts that matched the music. Nick felt himself growing hard, felt Greg growing hard against him. They might not be at the club all that long, he thought.
Greg’s hands reached his waist and started back up his side. The song faded out and Nick smiled as a new one faded in. This was why he’d chosen Mix. Their music selection accomplished the difficult task of covering both his and Greg’s tastes while still making for good dancing. The new song was slower than the last, but the beat was still there.
Greg laughed at Nick’s smile, but he didn’t back away. If anything, he got closer as Nick took his turn at leading their dance, as Nick took his turn pressing against Greg, grabbing him at the waist and pulling him in.
Well, I walk into the room, passin’ out hundred dollar bills…
As soon as Greg had said he wanted to go to a club, Nick had suggested this place, and Greg had to know it was because of the music. It wasn’t just having something he knew and liked playing, having that country twang floating through the air. Knowing the music let him feel like he wasn’t out of place, and it let him exert some sort of control over Greg. Temporarily.
His hands occupied at Greg’s waist, he let his breath run over Greg’s neck as he sang along. It was low-pitched, and he could feel the words rumbling through him. He could feel the vibrations work through Greg, echoing through their bodies together and into his hands on the other side of Greg.
I saddle up my horse and I ride into the ci-tay…
He pulled back his head from Greg’s neck for a moment. Greg had a very distracted expression on his face until he realized Nick was watching him. He smiled, his eyes narrowing. He knew what was coming at the end of the chorus. Nick leaned back in, putting his mouth up to Greg’s ear.
Save a horse, ride a cowboy…
He pulled Greg against him tighter, gripping him by the ass as he pulled him a few inches off the ground. Greg wrapped his legs around Nick’s.
Everybody says, “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”
Greg laughed as Nick set him back down, clearly enjoying the more playful and exhibitionist Nick he was seeing. Nick chalked it up to the music again as he strutted around behind Greg, his hands moving lightly all over Greg as he circled back again. He let himself go, feeling Greg and feeling the music, and he knew that was why Greg had agreed to come here so quickly. He leaned in to Greg’s ear again for the last line.
Everybody says, “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”
He purred the line into Greg’s ear, then brushed the ear with his tongue. Greg arched and stretched next to him. “Didn’t that song say something about a double round of Crown?” he asked.
“Didn’t you say something about getting a cute guy drunk and taking him home with you?” Nick shouted back, working his voice over the new song.
“Come on, cowboy,” Greg said, grabbing Nick’s arm and pulling him off the floor to a bar. They got to the general vicinity and Greg plunged into the crowd surrounding it. Nick watched as Greg’s head appeared and disappeared in the crowd at the bar.
Music thumping, lights flashing. White lights, red lights, blue lights, green lights mixing to the sounds of a song and hundreds of feet hitting the floor, hundreds of bodies bumping and touching each other. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick caught a glimpse of something familiar bathed in red light. He tried to look closer, but the light had moved on. Nick turned around halfway, searching for Greg again while protecting himself in case the something familiar was someone familiar, someone he didn’t want to see him.
Greg pushed his way out of the crowd, holding two plastic shot glasses. “Sorry, just a single round right now. Only two hands.”
“You’re usually able to do a lot with two hands,” Nick said.
Greg smiled and handed Nick one of the shots, and they knocked the glasses softly against each other. As Nick put his head back to take the shot, white light caught the same familiar thing as before, only this time he could see it was a person standing along the wall near the bar. Nick coughed, nearly choking on the alcohol.
“You okay?” Greg asked anxiously, putting a hand on his back.
Nick tried to catch his breath. “Yeah,” he said, or thought he said. He wasn’t sure if the word had actually come out or not. He motioned to the person near the bar. “Vartann,” he said.
“What?” Greg’s head turned as his eyes followed Nick’s motions. “Whatever,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Nick said, finally getting control of his breathing. “Come on, I don’t want to be seen.” He looked around for a good place to go, preferably one that had physical barrier between it and the bar and that the lights didn’t hit every few seconds.
Greg rolled his eyes but followed, taking the hand Nick offered as he started weaving through the crowd toward the walkway to a different room. They were halfway there when Greg tugged on his hand and stopped.
“Nick,” he said. “Vartann’s doing something.”
Nick looked back at him and tugged back. “Greg, let’s go to the next room.”
“No, Nick,” Greg insisted. “Look.”
Nick sighed and looked over to where Vartann had been standing, then shifted his focus when he saw that the detective had moved over to the bar itself. Through breaks in the crowd, Nick could just see him speaking with the bartender. “He’s ordering a drink, Greg,” he said. “Come on.”
Greg refused to budge, though, so Nick was still watching when the bartender pointed to a door. Vartann left the bar, making his way through the mix of people to where the bartender had pointed. A man standing there nodded and opened the door for him. Vartann went inside.
“What was that about?” Nick asked, leaning toward Greg to make sure he could be heard.
“I don’t know,” Greg said, “but the back rooms of clubs are never good. Drugs?”
“Maybe,” Nick said. “But maybe he just knows someone back there.” He gave Greg’s hand a good pull. “This way.”
“I want to watch for him,” Greg said.
Nick groaned inwardly. “You want to…”
“…watch for him. I know what I said.” Greg adjusted his stance so that his feet were planted.
“Fine.” They stood side by side, staring at a closed door, in the middle of a dancing crowd. “You do know that there’s probably an easy explanation for this.”
“And you know that there’s no good reason for Vartann to be in a gay club.”
Nick nodded. Vartann and people like him were a reason they weren’t out at work. The lab, the CSIs, most of them wouldn’t care or would get peer pressured into not caring. The cops, on the other hand, were a different story. Even Brass.
And, Nick had to admit to himself, as long as he had that crutch to hold onto, he didn’t have to deal with his personal issues in coming out. “You realize we’re just standing here,” he said, “in the middle of a dance floor.”
“We can dance if you want,” Greg said. “But we’re going to keep watching that door.”
They kept standing. Nick moved closer to Greg, letting go of his hand as he moved behind Greg and put his hands on Greg’s waist. “Come with me,” he whispered in Greg’s ear.
“Not working,” Greg said.
Nick put his tongue to Greg’s ear, slowly licking its edge. Greg’s breathing was getting heavier. “Are you sure?” Nick asked softly.
“Door’s opening,” Greg said quickly. Nick jerked away from him to look at the door. Vartann was holding a briefcase. He walked out of the doorway toward a trash can, where he tore off his wristband and threw it away. Vartann kept moving, aimed for the exit.
Greg started moving. Nick grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?”
“Following him,” Greg said quickly. “He didn’t have that briefcase.” He tried to shake himself free of Nick’s grip.
“You aren’t going to be able to follow him, let alone look inside the briefcase,” Nick said, shaking his head. “But there is something we can do.” He started leading Greg by the arm he held, but instead of following Vartann, he aimed for the trash can. When they got there, he turned to Greg and said, “Stay here, and don’t let anyone throw anything away in there.”
“The wristband?” Greg asked. Nick nodded. “How am I supposed to stop people?”
“I don’t care,” Nick said. “You wanted to watch, now we’ve got something. Sit on it if you have to. Just don’t touch the wristband.”
Greg gave him a short glare. “I know that.”
“I’m going to the bathroom,” Nick said, ignoring the staredown. He turned and headed for the restroom. Once there, he took the first paper towel out of the dispenser and threw it away. He pulled out the second, then used it to pull out a third and fourth. It was growing awkward, but he managed to maneuver the towels so that he was holding the third and fourth, one in each hand, having only handled one side with his bare hands. The second towel was in his mouth. He threw it away as well. Some guy who had been at the urinal when he’d entered was watching him. Nick ignored it, putting his hands together to protect the untouched sides of the paper towels and leaving the restroom, opening the door with his elbow.
Greg was not sitting on the trash can when he returned, but he was hovering over it protectively. “Gloves,” he said with a smile when Nick approached.
“And a bag,” Nick said. He looked into the trash can. A wristband sat in the middle on top of a pile of plastic cups. Nick reached in and picked up the band between the paper towels. Once the band was secure, he set the whole sandwich on top of the cups and rolled up the edges to contain it. “Proof he was here,” he said, “but I think we just lost our night off.”
***
“He’ll be there,” Greg said as he hung up the cell phone. “I can’t guarantee that that’ll be true if an interesting crime scene comes up, though, since you wouldn’t let me tell him why he should stay.”
Nick sighed as he flipped on the left turn signal and pulled into the turning lane. “I’ve got to tell him some things myself,” he said.
“You could’ve let me collect the wristband,” Greg said. “Then we wouldn’t have to mention you were at the club, too.”
“If that were important, we would have done it that way,” Nick said. It was what he was telling himself as well, trying to convince himself that the only important part of this conversation with Grissom would be the part about Vartann, and not about Nick and Greg. The truth was he just hadn’t thought about having to talk to anyone about the evidence, just about getting it. Maybe it really wasn’t important.
They rode in silence. Greg, maybe mindful of how stressful this anticipation was for Nick, even reached over to the radio, turning it up and setting it on one of the country stations. Nick acknowledged the gesture with a smile, but ignored the music, preferring to stew in his own thoughts until they pulled into the lab’s parking lot.
He ignored the strange look from the security guard as he asked to get buzzed into the lab, since he and Greg didn’t have their swipe cards with them. They weren’t dressed too strangely, he thought. He never went to the sort of extremes Greg did, and even Greg was toned down for a night out tonight. He thanked the guard and they went in, headed for Grissom’s office.
“Nick,” Grissom said, looking up as Nick entered the doorway of the office. Greg trailed in behind him. “Greg. I didn’t expect to see you on your night off, let alone both of you.”
Nick set the wristband, still wrapped in a paper towel, on Grissom’s desk. “Don’t touch it,” he said. “It needs to be bagged.”
“All right,” Grissom said, looking at it curiously. “What is it?”
“A wristband from a club,” Greg said.
“Is there a reason it’s on my desk?” Grissom asked. He was leaning forward and scanning it.
“It’s a bit of a story,” Nick said. “Can I shut the door?”
Grissom nodded. “You can both sit down if you want.” He leaned back in his chair. “This wasn’t from an ordinary club, was it?”
Nick froze, his eyes on Grissom, and it was only inertia that kept the door moving until it clicked shut. He tried to look at Greg, but only his eyes would move. Greg was seated now, and he was looking back at Nick. Slowly, Nick shook his head. “You knew,” he said. It was almost an accusation. “You knew and you didn’t say anything.”
“Evidence,” Grissom said, putting his hands up like a shrug. “Now why is there a wristband wrapped in C-fold paper towels on my desk?”
Nick sat down, stunned, as Greg started to tell the story, recounting how Nick had seen Vartann, how Vartann had gone into a backroom and returned with a briefcase, and how he’d thrown away his wristband as they watched.
“Why would he do that?” Grissom asked, interrupting.
“I was going to do the same thing when we left,” Nick said, ignoring Greg’s turn towards him. “Evidence.” He swallowed and held up his wrist, displaying his own wristband. “That he’d been in that club. I didn’t take mine off because I didn’t want to create new questions about what we'd, um, collected.”
Grissom nodded. “So how did you collect this?” This time it was Nick’s turn to speak, describing his improvised collection techniques. Grissom nodded occasionally during the story, apparently in approval. When he finished, Grissom said, “Put it in a bag, Nick, seal it up, and write down your procedures in your notes. I’m not sure how admissible it is - a judge will have to decide that - but something’s better than nothing. Just get it put away and both of you go home for the night.”
“All right,” Nick said, happy to have direction, happy to have somewhere to go after this conversation. He stood up and reached for the paper towels.
“I’ll talk to Jim sometime tonight,” Grissom added.
“Brass?” Nick asked. “Why?” His hand stopped on its way to the evidence.
“You expected me to talk to someone else?” Grissom asked. “Besides, he has experience working on investigations of cops.”
“No, that’ll work,” Nick said, though he felt sick to his stomach. He carefully picked up the paper towels. “I’ll go get this in the log.”
***
Nick wasn’t sure what to expect when he came into work the next evening, but he hadn’t expected nothing. He’d been so shaken by the whole night, from the chance sighting of Vartann to the conversation with Grissom, that when he’d gotten home with Greg it had been all he could do to make it to bed and lie down. Stripped of the rhythm of collecting and logging, he had to face the fact that anything related to the wristband would probably force him to tell people about his orientation and his relationship with Greg, and he had to face that fact head on.
Greg had understood, and despite the fact that he’d gotten his cute boy home with him, he’d settled for simply wrapping the boy up in his arms and falling asleep. Nick had stared blankly at the wall for hours, watching as the light started to creep into the room, before he’d followed Greg into slumber.
He woke up with the alarm clock, took a shower, drove to work, all mechanically, all detached. He’d walked into the lab, expecting something, he didn’t know what, but something. Instead, anticlimactically, nothing. Catherine assigned him to a breaking and entering case, and he met Vega at the scene. He processed, he logged, he went back to the lab. He ignored the cabinet where he knew the paper towels and the wristband were filed.
He went home again. He ate. He lay awake in bed, waiting for Greg, waiting for the storm he knew was going to come.
When three weeks had passed, Nick had nearly fallen back into normal life. He worked cases, and the only change he noticed was that he never worked with Vartann and almost never with Brass. They asked him to process the wristband, and he sent it to Mia to check for epithelials and DNA. Three weeks spent wondering if Grissom or Brass had told anyone else, trying to figure out if Catherine’s assignments or which officer showed up at scenes with him showed any pattern that indicated Catherine knew.
The next night he and Greg both had off, they stayed in and watched a movie together.
***
“We’ve been keeping an eye on him,” Brass said.
“And?” Nick asked. He set down glass shards he had been reassembling.
“We’re bringing him in for questioning. Since it is, in some ways, your case, you can watch if you want.”
Nick nodded. The wristband alone hadn’t been enough for any sort of warrant, not unless Vartann denied ever being at the club, and they couldn’t ask that without revealing that the police were investigating him. So after an initial argument with Grissom, Brass had assigned light surveillance to Vartann, and they apparently had something more to go on now. “What was he…?”
“Racketeering,” Brass said quickly, cutting him off.
Nick nodded again, going back to his glass shards. He wondered what sort of activity Vartann had covered up with his protection scheme. Drugs? Prostitution? Brass didn’t elaborate. Nick looked up from the lab table again. “Thanks for telling me.”
Brass stared at him. “I still have to work with you,” he said. Nick nodded, hearing the implied Even if I don’t like you at the end of the sentence, and focused on the glass. Brass left.
Nick went on with his work. It was plain to him that Brass didn’t necessarily have to work with him, as the fact that he’d never worked with Vartann since seeing him at Mix indicated, but the point was clear enough anyway. Nick wasn’t sure what was more sad – that Brass was holding this against him or that his reaction could have been far worse. That Brass didn’t seem to have gone and told anyone else was a piss poor consolation, but it felt like all he had.
He didn’t want to go to the interrogation. He had evidence from another case to process, and if anything new came in during the shift, he’d have a backlog to deal with. He didn’t need to watch two men he knew didn’t like gays talk about racketeering at a gay club. Yet he felt like he needed to, and felt like he needed to just confirm that what he and Greg had seen was real. He carefully went through the slow process of putting away the glass, trying to preserve what progress he had made on the reconstruction, and stored the evidence away.
The viewing room was empty when he got there, but Brass, Grissom, Vartann, and a lawyer were all visible on the other side of the two-way mirror. A guard stood along the wall. Nick glanced at his watch. He hadn’t realized it was late enough that Grissom would be in, but a check told him that Grissom was simply in early. He was sitting silently while Brass offered Vartann various deals in exchange for information about anyone else involved in the scheme.
“Have you ever been to Mix?” Brass asked. “It’s a club, just off…”
“I know what it is,” Vartann said hotly. “Once, on a call.”
“You’ve never been there off the clock,” Brass said.
Vartann leaned forward. “What is this, some kind of sick questioning technique? Are you asking me if I’m a faggot?”
“So that’s a no,” Brass said.
“That’s a no and fuck you,” Vartann answered loudly.
Grissom put the plastic bag holding the wristband and paper towels on the table. “This was collected from a trash can at Mix about three weeks ago,” he said. “We have your DNA from other discarded trash. It’s a match.”
Vartann glanced at the bag. “And?”
“So you’ve been to Mix and you’re lying to us,” Brass said.
The lawyer leaned over to whisper to Vartann, but Vartann’s eyes went back to the bag. “Those are Stokes’ initials on there,” he said. “What the hell was he doing at that club?” He stopped and his eyes grew wider and wilder. “You’re taking evidence collected by a fucking homo?” The lawyer tried to calm him and shut him up, but Vartann went on. “The damn faggot’s probably watching right now, isn’t he?”
Despite the fact he couldn’t be seen, Nick took a step back from the glass. Vartann was looking straight at him.
“I think we can get a warrant to search for the briefcases and track his bank accounts now,” Brass said. “We don’t need him. Get him out of here.”
The guard stepped forward, taking Vartann to escort him out of the interrogation room. As they walked past the mirror, Vartann shouted, “Get your damn faggot eyes off of me, you son of a bitch!” He and the guard disappeared through the exit, and there was suddenly loud pounding on the door to the viewing room. Nick heard shouting from the hallway. Brass jumped up from his chair and ran out.
Nick stayed in the room. Grissom was looking thoughtfully toward the glass, although not really where Nick was standing. After a few more shouts and grunts, the noise outside died down.
“You’re going to have to tell them, Nick,” Grissom said. “You’re going to have to testify about it.”
Nick slumped against the wall. He brought a hand up to his face and started to cry. When he looked up again, Grissom was gone.
He stayed in the viewing room long enough to make sure that no one would be able to tell what he'd done, then got on with the rest of his nightly pattern. He went to the locker room, changed clothes, left, and drove home. Then he got into bed and stared at the wall, watching the light levels change while he waited for Greg.
After three weeks of sleepless nights, he wasn’t surprised when he heard the key in the front door. He’d memorized the way the sunlight looked in the room from dawn until Greg came in, until Greg put his arms around him, until he could finally go to sleep. After the first few days, when it had become obvious that Nick wasn’t sleeping, Greg had started coming home as quickly as possible once his shift ended, so now Nick could pinpoint the moment he would arrive to within a few minutes without even looking at a clock.
If this kept up, he’d be tracking the sun’s movements as the seasons changed and dawn moved earlier and then later again.
He could hear Greg moving quietly behind him, trying not to wake him in case he was actually asleep. He wasn’t, so he rolled over onto his back. “Hey,” he said softly.
“Hey,” Greg said in return. He put his keys and cell phone on the dresser and started undressing for bed. “No sleep?”
Nick shook his head.
“Grissom said they questioned Vartann tonight,” Greg said. “Did you watch?”
“The end,” Nick said. He rolled onto his other side, still facing Greg as he pulled his legs up toward his body, almost forming a ball.
“Grissom wasn’t sure,” Greg said. “How was it?” He’d taken off everything but his boxers and he slipped under the sheets next to Nick.
Nick wrapped his arms around Greg, sliding one across the chest while he carefully worked the other underneath Greg’s torn back. Both came to rest on Greg’s side. “Pretty bad,” he said. He paused, remembering. “He shouted, he yelled. Threw around a lot of words. I think he tried to get in the viewing room to attack me.”
“Maybe now that they’re moving on it it’ll stop hanging over you,” Greg said. He turned in Nick’s arms until their eyes were locked on each other. “Maybe you can get some sleep.”
“I’m going to have to testify,” Nick said. “You probably will, too. This is never going to go away.”
“I know,” Greg whispered. He kissed Nick’s forehead. “I know.”
Nick felt close to tears again. “I don’t know what to do. Everyone is going to know.”
Greg put a finger beside Nick’s eye, and Nick felt it move slowly down his face on a trail of moisture. He wasn’t just close to tears. “Do you remember what you said between the club and the lab?” Greg asked. “You said there were some things you had to tell Grissom yourself. It’s not any different now. They’re all going to find out in court or if Vartann opens his mouth, so you take control and tell them yourself. You tell all the people that matter, and then who cares what everyone else knows.”
Nick laughed grimly. “I care what they know.”
“Sssh,” Greg said. “You’re ruining my point.”
“You had a point?”
Greg gave him a fake glare. “I can help you if you want. We could do it together. It’d even make more sense that way, since you almost have to talk about me anyway.”
“Okay,” Nick said. He didn’t know why that made him feel any better, but it did. Maybe just having some sort of plan helped. “We’ll do that.”
“Good,” Greg said. He kissed Nick’s forehead again as he ran a hand between them down Nick’s chest. “Now let’s get some sleep.”
“All right,” Nick mumbled, already losing focus now that he’d accepted Greg’s strategy. Did it actually make sense that he might feel better if everyone knew, if he just told everyone? He didn’t care. He just wanted to believe Greg. “All right.” He was almost all the way to darkness when he added, “I love you.”
“I know,” Greg whispered, but Nick was already asleep.
Author: acroarcs
Rating: R, pretty much for language
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Spoilers: Sort of references 5x20, "Hollywood Brass," but not in a spoilery way.
Summary: A night out leads to problems and investigations (and angst, of course).
A/N: This may or may not be complete, but it's at the point where I think the bunny's out of my head. Written for the second challenge at
ngchallenge, which completely took over my mind. Cross-posted there and at nickngreg. Apologies to any "Varfanns" out there. (Not sure if that's what you'd call yourselves, anyway.)Mix
If there was any advantage to being on different shifts, Nick thought, it was that he and Greg could have the same night off every once in a while. The only advantage, as far as he was concerned. Of course, Greg sometimes found ways to twist it into a negative, which was why he found himself walking toward Mix.
“It’s not always bad,” Greg said. Sometimes he could read minds, it seemed.
“No,” Nick agreed. Still, it felt like there was something caught in his throat as they got in line for the club.
“But you still…”
“…always think it’ll be bad.”
“And?” Greg pressed himself against Nick. His breath was hot against Nick’s neck.
“It’s never bad,” Nick said, leaning his head back. Greg laughed and drew the tip of his tongue along the curve. Nick let himself go in the moment as he felt wet pressure move slowly up his neck, then along his jaw, where it swept up to his mouth and inserted itself in his slightly opened mouth. He pushed back with his own tongue into Greg’s mouth, pressing his lips against Greg’s until he couldn’t press anymore. He pulled away, taking a deep breath.
“Never,” Greg said with a smile.
Nick grinned in return, but his less base instincts took over within seconds. He leaned to his left so he could look past the line of people and down the sidewalk, then turned and looked back the up the street.
“No one saw us,” Greg said, rolling his eyes. He grabbed Nick’s hand, pulling him forward to keep up with the line.
“I know,” Nick said. “I’m just making sure.”
After a few more minutes of waiting, they made it to the front of the line. Greg took out his wallet, but Nick pushed his arms down as he tried to pull out some money. “I picked the club,” he said. “I’ll take care of the cover.”
“Thank you, sir,” Greg said flippantly. His hands dug inside his wallet anyway.
“I thought I said…”
“I have to get my driver’s license, don’t I?” Greg asked. “You don’t need to worry. I’m saving my money to buy drinks for some cute boy so I can get him liquored up and take him home with me.”
Nick raised an eyebrow at Greg as he paid the bouncer. “How often do you get carded?”
“Well, if you flirt with the bouncer, it happens less often,” Greg said with a cheesy grin.
Now the bouncer raised an eyebrow as he put wristbands on them, and Nick put a hand on Greg’s shoulder and pushed him through the door of the club. Music filled his ears. Whatever song this was had a loud, throbbing bass beat. Greg seemed to recognize it, since he was mouthing along with whatever the lyrics were, but to Nick it was only the beat.
With a smile and a jerk of his head, Greg invited him to the crowded dance floor. Bodies flowed around them as Greg led him by one hand into the sea of people, his steps already in time with the music. Nick didn’t know how Greg figured out what spot on the floor he wanted, since it was always too loud at that moment and he never remembered that the end of the night, but it was always very definite when he did.
Greg stopped. The lights swept over him as he suddenly turned around, his eyes and teeth catching the flash and brightening for an instant as he pressed himself against Nick. No, this was never bad. Greg’s hands started at Nick’s shoulders, then moved slowly down the tight fabric of Nick’s t-shirt, tracing curves of muscle while his hips ground against Nick’s with small thrusts that matched the music. Nick felt himself growing hard, felt Greg growing hard against him. They might not be at the club all that long, he thought.
Greg’s hands reached his waist and started back up his side. The song faded out and Nick smiled as a new one faded in. This was why he’d chosen Mix. Their music selection accomplished the difficult task of covering both his and Greg’s tastes while still making for good dancing. The new song was slower than the last, but the beat was still there.
Greg laughed at Nick’s smile, but he didn’t back away. If anything, he got closer as Nick took his turn at leading their dance, as Nick took his turn pressing against Greg, grabbing him at the waist and pulling him in.
Well, I walk into the room, passin’ out hundred dollar bills…
As soon as Greg had said he wanted to go to a club, Nick had suggested this place, and Greg had to know it was because of the music. It wasn’t just having something he knew and liked playing, having that country twang floating through the air. Knowing the music let him feel like he wasn’t out of place, and it let him exert some sort of control over Greg. Temporarily.
His hands occupied at Greg’s waist, he let his breath run over Greg’s neck as he sang along. It was low-pitched, and he could feel the words rumbling through him. He could feel the vibrations work through Greg, echoing through their bodies together and into his hands on the other side of Greg.
I saddle up my horse and I ride into the ci-tay…
He pulled back his head from Greg’s neck for a moment. Greg had a very distracted expression on his face until he realized Nick was watching him. He smiled, his eyes narrowing. He knew what was coming at the end of the chorus. Nick leaned back in, putting his mouth up to Greg’s ear.
Save a horse, ride a cowboy…
He pulled Greg against him tighter, gripping him by the ass as he pulled him a few inches off the ground. Greg wrapped his legs around Nick’s.
Everybody says, “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”
Greg laughed as Nick set him back down, clearly enjoying the more playful and exhibitionist Nick he was seeing. Nick chalked it up to the music again as he strutted around behind Greg, his hands moving lightly all over Greg as he circled back again. He let himself go, feeling Greg and feeling the music, and he knew that was why Greg had agreed to come here so quickly. He leaned in to Greg’s ear again for the last line.
Everybody says, “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”
He purred the line into Greg’s ear, then brushed the ear with his tongue. Greg arched and stretched next to him. “Didn’t that song say something about a double round of Crown?” he asked.
“Didn’t you say something about getting a cute guy drunk and taking him home with you?” Nick shouted back, working his voice over the new song.
“Come on, cowboy,” Greg said, grabbing Nick’s arm and pulling him off the floor to a bar. They got to the general vicinity and Greg plunged into the crowd surrounding it. Nick watched as Greg’s head appeared and disappeared in the crowd at the bar.
Music thumping, lights flashing. White lights, red lights, blue lights, green lights mixing to the sounds of a song and hundreds of feet hitting the floor, hundreds of bodies bumping and touching each other. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick caught a glimpse of something familiar bathed in red light. He tried to look closer, but the light had moved on. Nick turned around halfway, searching for Greg again while protecting himself in case the something familiar was someone familiar, someone he didn’t want to see him.
Greg pushed his way out of the crowd, holding two plastic shot glasses. “Sorry, just a single round right now. Only two hands.”
“You’re usually able to do a lot with two hands,” Nick said.
Greg smiled and handed Nick one of the shots, and they knocked the glasses softly against each other. As Nick put his head back to take the shot, white light caught the same familiar thing as before, only this time he could see it was a person standing along the wall near the bar. Nick coughed, nearly choking on the alcohol.
“You okay?” Greg asked anxiously, putting a hand on his back.
Nick tried to catch his breath. “Yeah,” he said, or thought he said. He wasn’t sure if the word had actually come out or not. He motioned to the person near the bar. “Vartann,” he said.
“What?” Greg’s head turned as his eyes followed Nick’s motions. “Whatever,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Nick said, finally getting control of his breathing. “Come on, I don’t want to be seen.” He looked around for a good place to go, preferably one that had physical barrier between it and the bar and that the lights didn’t hit every few seconds.
Greg rolled his eyes but followed, taking the hand Nick offered as he started weaving through the crowd toward the walkway to a different room. They were halfway there when Greg tugged on his hand and stopped.
“Nick,” he said. “Vartann’s doing something.”
Nick looked back at him and tugged back. “Greg, let’s go to the next room.”
“No, Nick,” Greg insisted. “Look.”
Nick sighed and looked over to where Vartann had been standing, then shifted his focus when he saw that the detective had moved over to the bar itself. Through breaks in the crowd, Nick could just see him speaking with the bartender. “He’s ordering a drink, Greg,” he said. “Come on.”
Greg refused to budge, though, so Nick was still watching when the bartender pointed to a door. Vartann left the bar, making his way through the mix of people to where the bartender had pointed. A man standing there nodded and opened the door for him. Vartann went inside.
“What was that about?” Nick asked, leaning toward Greg to make sure he could be heard.
“I don’t know,” Greg said, “but the back rooms of clubs are never good. Drugs?”
“Maybe,” Nick said. “But maybe he just knows someone back there.” He gave Greg’s hand a good pull. “This way.”
“I want to watch for him,” Greg said.
Nick groaned inwardly. “You want to…”
“…watch for him. I know what I said.” Greg adjusted his stance so that his feet were planted.
“Fine.” They stood side by side, staring at a closed door, in the middle of a dancing crowd. “You do know that there’s probably an easy explanation for this.”
“And you know that there’s no good reason for Vartann to be in a gay club.”
Nick nodded. Vartann and people like him were a reason they weren’t out at work. The lab, the CSIs, most of them wouldn’t care or would get peer pressured into not caring. The cops, on the other hand, were a different story. Even Brass.
And, Nick had to admit to himself, as long as he had that crutch to hold onto, he didn’t have to deal with his personal issues in coming out. “You realize we’re just standing here,” he said, “in the middle of a dance floor.”
“We can dance if you want,” Greg said. “But we’re going to keep watching that door.”
They kept standing. Nick moved closer to Greg, letting go of his hand as he moved behind Greg and put his hands on Greg’s waist. “Come with me,” he whispered in Greg’s ear.
“Not working,” Greg said.
Nick put his tongue to Greg’s ear, slowly licking its edge. Greg’s breathing was getting heavier. “Are you sure?” Nick asked softly.
“Door’s opening,” Greg said quickly. Nick jerked away from him to look at the door. Vartann was holding a briefcase. He walked out of the doorway toward a trash can, where he tore off his wristband and threw it away. Vartann kept moving, aimed for the exit.
Greg started moving. Nick grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?”
“Following him,” Greg said quickly. “He didn’t have that briefcase.” He tried to shake himself free of Nick’s grip.
“You aren’t going to be able to follow him, let alone look inside the briefcase,” Nick said, shaking his head. “But there is something we can do.” He started leading Greg by the arm he held, but instead of following Vartann, he aimed for the trash can. When they got there, he turned to Greg and said, “Stay here, and don’t let anyone throw anything away in there.”
“The wristband?” Greg asked. Nick nodded. “How am I supposed to stop people?”
“I don’t care,” Nick said. “You wanted to watch, now we’ve got something. Sit on it if you have to. Just don’t touch the wristband.”
Greg gave him a short glare. “I know that.”
“I’m going to the bathroom,” Nick said, ignoring the staredown. He turned and headed for the restroom. Once there, he took the first paper towel out of the dispenser and threw it away. He pulled out the second, then used it to pull out a third and fourth. It was growing awkward, but he managed to maneuver the towels so that he was holding the third and fourth, one in each hand, having only handled one side with his bare hands. The second towel was in his mouth. He threw it away as well. Some guy who had been at the urinal when he’d entered was watching him. Nick ignored it, putting his hands together to protect the untouched sides of the paper towels and leaving the restroom, opening the door with his elbow.
Greg was not sitting on the trash can when he returned, but he was hovering over it protectively. “Gloves,” he said with a smile when Nick approached.
“And a bag,” Nick said. He looked into the trash can. A wristband sat in the middle on top of a pile of plastic cups. Nick reached in and picked up the band between the paper towels. Once the band was secure, he set the whole sandwich on top of the cups and rolled up the edges to contain it. “Proof he was here,” he said, “but I think we just lost our night off.”
***
“He’ll be there,” Greg said as he hung up the cell phone. “I can’t guarantee that that’ll be true if an interesting crime scene comes up, though, since you wouldn’t let me tell him why he should stay.”
Nick sighed as he flipped on the left turn signal and pulled into the turning lane. “I’ve got to tell him some things myself,” he said.
“You could’ve let me collect the wristband,” Greg said. “Then we wouldn’t have to mention you were at the club, too.”
“If that were important, we would have done it that way,” Nick said. It was what he was telling himself as well, trying to convince himself that the only important part of this conversation with Grissom would be the part about Vartann, and not about Nick and Greg. The truth was he just hadn’t thought about having to talk to anyone about the evidence, just about getting it. Maybe it really wasn’t important.
They rode in silence. Greg, maybe mindful of how stressful this anticipation was for Nick, even reached over to the radio, turning it up and setting it on one of the country stations. Nick acknowledged the gesture with a smile, but ignored the music, preferring to stew in his own thoughts until they pulled into the lab’s parking lot.
He ignored the strange look from the security guard as he asked to get buzzed into the lab, since he and Greg didn’t have their swipe cards with them. They weren’t dressed too strangely, he thought. He never went to the sort of extremes Greg did, and even Greg was toned down for a night out tonight. He thanked the guard and they went in, headed for Grissom’s office.
“Nick,” Grissom said, looking up as Nick entered the doorway of the office. Greg trailed in behind him. “Greg. I didn’t expect to see you on your night off, let alone both of you.”
Nick set the wristband, still wrapped in a paper towel, on Grissom’s desk. “Don’t touch it,” he said. “It needs to be bagged.”
“All right,” Grissom said, looking at it curiously. “What is it?”
“A wristband from a club,” Greg said.
“Is there a reason it’s on my desk?” Grissom asked. He was leaning forward and scanning it.
“It’s a bit of a story,” Nick said. “Can I shut the door?”
Grissom nodded. “You can both sit down if you want.” He leaned back in his chair. “This wasn’t from an ordinary club, was it?”
Nick froze, his eyes on Grissom, and it was only inertia that kept the door moving until it clicked shut. He tried to look at Greg, but only his eyes would move. Greg was seated now, and he was looking back at Nick. Slowly, Nick shook his head. “You knew,” he said. It was almost an accusation. “You knew and you didn’t say anything.”
“Evidence,” Grissom said, putting his hands up like a shrug. “Now why is there a wristband wrapped in C-fold paper towels on my desk?”
Nick sat down, stunned, as Greg started to tell the story, recounting how Nick had seen Vartann, how Vartann had gone into a backroom and returned with a briefcase, and how he’d thrown away his wristband as they watched.
“Why would he do that?” Grissom asked, interrupting.
“I was going to do the same thing when we left,” Nick said, ignoring Greg’s turn towards him. “Evidence.” He swallowed and held up his wrist, displaying his own wristband. “That he’d been in that club. I didn’t take mine off because I didn’t want to create new questions about what we'd, um, collected.”
Grissom nodded. “So how did you collect this?” This time it was Nick’s turn to speak, describing his improvised collection techniques. Grissom nodded occasionally during the story, apparently in approval. When he finished, Grissom said, “Put it in a bag, Nick, seal it up, and write down your procedures in your notes. I’m not sure how admissible it is - a judge will have to decide that - but something’s better than nothing. Just get it put away and both of you go home for the night.”
“All right,” Nick said, happy to have direction, happy to have somewhere to go after this conversation. He stood up and reached for the paper towels.
“I’ll talk to Jim sometime tonight,” Grissom added.
“Brass?” Nick asked. “Why?” His hand stopped on its way to the evidence.
“You expected me to talk to someone else?” Grissom asked. “Besides, he has experience working on investigations of cops.”
“No, that’ll work,” Nick said, though he felt sick to his stomach. He carefully picked up the paper towels. “I’ll go get this in the log.”
***
Nick wasn’t sure what to expect when he came into work the next evening, but he hadn’t expected nothing. He’d been so shaken by the whole night, from the chance sighting of Vartann to the conversation with Grissom, that when he’d gotten home with Greg it had been all he could do to make it to bed and lie down. Stripped of the rhythm of collecting and logging, he had to face the fact that anything related to the wristband would probably force him to tell people about his orientation and his relationship with Greg, and he had to face that fact head on.
Greg had understood, and despite the fact that he’d gotten his cute boy home with him, he’d settled for simply wrapping the boy up in his arms and falling asleep. Nick had stared blankly at the wall for hours, watching as the light started to creep into the room, before he’d followed Greg into slumber.
He woke up with the alarm clock, took a shower, drove to work, all mechanically, all detached. He’d walked into the lab, expecting something, he didn’t know what, but something. Instead, anticlimactically, nothing. Catherine assigned him to a breaking and entering case, and he met Vega at the scene. He processed, he logged, he went back to the lab. He ignored the cabinet where he knew the paper towels and the wristband were filed.
He went home again. He ate. He lay awake in bed, waiting for Greg, waiting for the storm he knew was going to come.
When three weeks had passed, Nick had nearly fallen back into normal life. He worked cases, and the only change he noticed was that he never worked with Vartann and almost never with Brass. They asked him to process the wristband, and he sent it to Mia to check for epithelials and DNA. Three weeks spent wondering if Grissom or Brass had told anyone else, trying to figure out if Catherine’s assignments or which officer showed up at scenes with him showed any pattern that indicated Catherine knew.
The next night he and Greg both had off, they stayed in and watched a movie together.
***
“We’ve been keeping an eye on him,” Brass said.
“And?” Nick asked. He set down glass shards he had been reassembling.
“We’re bringing him in for questioning. Since it is, in some ways, your case, you can watch if you want.”
Nick nodded. The wristband alone hadn’t been enough for any sort of warrant, not unless Vartann denied ever being at the club, and they couldn’t ask that without revealing that the police were investigating him. So after an initial argument with Grissom, Brass had assigned light surveillance to Vartann, and they apparently had something more to go on now. “What was he…?”
“Racketeering,” Brass said quickly, cutting him off.
Nick nodded again, going back to his glass shards. He wondered what sort of activity Vartann had covered up with his protection scheme. Drugs? Prostitution? Brass didn’t elaborate. Nick looked up from the lab table again. “Thanks for telling me.”
Brass stared at him. “I still have to work with you,” he said. Nick nodded, hearing the implied Even if I don’t like you at the end of the sentence, and focused on the glass. Brass left.
Nick went on with his work. It was plain to him that Brass didn’t necessarily have to work with him, as the fact that he’d never worked with Vartann since seeing him at Mix indicated, but the point was clear enough anyway. Nick wasn’t sure what was more sad – that Brass was holding this against him or that his reaction could have been far worse. That Brass didn’t seem to have gone and told anyone else was a piss poor consolation, but it felt like all he had.
He didn’t want to go to the interrogation. He had evidence from another case to process, and if anything new came in during the shift, he’d have a backlog to deal with. He didn’t need to watch two men he knew didn’t like gays talk about racketeering at a gay club. Yet he felt like he needed to, and felt like he needed to just confirm that what he and Greg had seen was real. He carefully went through the slow process of putting away the glass, trying to preserve what progress he had made on the reconstruction, and stored the evidence away.
The viewing room was empty when he got there, but Brass, Grissom, Vartann, and a lawyer were all visible on the other side of the two-way mirror. A guard stood along the wall. Nick glanced at his watch. He hadn’t realized it was late enough that Grissom would be in, but a check told him that Grissom was simply in early. He was sitting silently while Brass offered Vartann various deals in exchange for information about anyone else involved in the scheme.
“Have you ever been to Mix?” Brass asked. “It’s a club, just off…”
“I know what it is,” Vartann said hotly. “Once, on a call.”
“You’ve never been there off the clock,” Brass said.
Vartann leaned forward. “What is this, some kind of sick questioning technique? Are you asking me if I’m a faggot?”
“So that’s a no,” Brass said.
“That’s a no and fuck you,” Vartann answered loudly.
Grissom put the plastic bag holding the wristband and paper towels on the table. “This was collected from a trash can at Mix about three weeks ago,” he said. “We have your DNA from other discarded trash. It’s a match.”
Vartann glanced at the bag. “And?”
“So you’ve been to Mix and you’re lying to us,” Brass said.
The lawyer leaned over to whisper to Vartann, but Vartann’s eyes went back to the bag. “Those are Stokes’ initials on there,” he said. “What the hell was he doing at that club?” He stopped and his eyes grew wider and wilder. “You’re taking evidence collected by a fucking homo?” The lawyer tried to calm him and shut him up, but Vartann went on. “The damn faggot’s probably watching right now, isn’t he?”
Despite the fact he couldn’t be seen, Nick took a step back from the glass. Vartann was looking straight at him.
“I think we can get a warrant to search for the briefcases and track his bank accounts now,” Brass said. “We don’t need him. Get him out of here.”
The guard stepped forward, taking Vartann to escort him out of the interrogation room. As they walked past the mirror, Vartann shouted, “Get your damn faggot eyes off of me, you son of a bitch!” He and the guard disappeared through the exit, and there was suddenly loud pounding on the door to the viewing room. Nick heard shouting from the hallway. Brass jumped up from his chair and ran out.
Nick stayed in the room. Grissom was looking thoughtfully toward the glass, although not really where Nick was standing. After a few more shouts and grunts, the noise outside died down.
“You’re going to have to tell them, Nick,” Grissom said. “You’re going to have to testify about it.”
Nick slumped against the wall. He brought a hand up to his face and started to cry. When he looked up again, Grissom was gone.
He stayed in the viewing room long enough to make sure that no one would be able to tell what he'd done, then got on with the rest of his nightly pattern. He went to the locker room, changed clothes, left, and drove home. Then he got into bed and stared at the wall, watching the light levels change while he waited for Greg.
After three weeks of sleepless nights, he wasn’t surprised when he heard the key in the front door. He’d memorized the way the sunlight looked in the room from dawn until Greg came in, until Greg put his arms around him, until he could finally go to sleep. After the first few days, when it had become obvious that Nick wasn’t sleeping, Greg had started coming home as quickly as possible once his shift ended, so now Nick could pinpoint the moment he would arrive to within a few minutes without even looking at a clock.
If this kept up, he’d be tracking the sun’s movements as the seasons changed and dawn moved earlier and then later again.
He could hear Greg moving quietly behind him, trying not to wake him in case he was actually asleep. He wasn’t, so he rolled over onto his back. “Hey,” he said softly.
“Hey,” Greg said in return. He put his keys and cell phone on the dresser and started undressing for bed. “No sleep?”
Nick shook his head.
“Grissom said they questioned Vartann tonight,” Greg said. “Did you watch?”
“The end,” Nick said. He rolled onto his other side, still facing Greg as he pulled his legs up toward his body, almost forming a ball.
“Grissom wasn’t sure,” Greg said. “How was it?” He’d taken off everything but his boxers and he slipped under the sheets next to Nick.
Nick wrapped his arms around Greg, sliding one across the chest while he carefully worked the other underneath Greg’s torn back. Both came to rest on Greg’s side. “Pretty bad,” he said. He paused, remembering. “He shouted, he yelled. Threw around a lot of words. I think he tried to get in the viewing room to attack me.”
“Maybe now that they’re moving on it it’ll stop hanging over you,” Greg said. He turned in Nick’s arms until their eyes were locked on each other. “Maybe you can get some sleep.”
“I’m going to have to testify,” Nick said. “You probably will, too. This is never going to go away.”
“I know,” Greg whispered. He kissed Nick’s forehead. “I know.”
Nick felt close to tears again. “I don’t know what to do. Everyone is going to know.”
Greg put a finger beside Nick’s eye, and Nick felt it move slowly down his face on a trail of moisture. He wasn’t just close to tears. “Do you remember what you said between the club and the lab?” Greg asked. “You said there were some things you had to tell Grissom yourself. It’s not any different now. They’re all going to find out in court or if Vartann opens his mouth, so you take control and tell them yourself. You tell all the people that matter, and then who cares what everyone else knows.”
Nick laughed grimly. “I care what they know.”
“Sssh,” Greg said. “You’re ruining my point.”
“You had a point?”
Greg gave him a fake glare. “I can help you if you want. We could do it together. It’d even make more sense that way, since you almost have to talk about me anyway.”
“Okay,” Nick said. He didn’t know why that made him feel any better, but it did. Maybe just having some sort of plan helped. “We’ll do that.”
“Good,” Greg said. He kissed Nick’s forehead again as he ran a hand between them down Nick’s chest. “Now let’s get some sleep.”
“All right,” Nick mumbled, already losing focus now that he’d accepted Greg’s strategy. Did it actually make sense that he might feel better if everyone knew, if he just told everyone? He didn’t care. He just wanted to believe Greg. “All right.” He was almost all the way to darkness when he added, “I love you.”
“I know,” Greg whispered, but Nick was already asleep.
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no subject
Date: 2005-06-20 10:32 pm (UTC)I like where you went with the 2nd challenge as well. It's not quite so obvious, the "dirty" reference-- but if you know what your looking for, it's there. Vartann as the dirty cop, and Nick and Greg as the clean cops. And yet, when they're found out, everyone will see thier relationship as dirty- although they're the "purest" of the bunch. They followed justice, no matter how it would hurt them :-)
Poor Nick and Greg-- their future seems very uncertain at the lab, but they've still stuck together. I'm glad they dont blame each other, and that they didn't even seriously question not following the evidence.
Simply loved this! Thanks for sharing :-)
XOX
no subject
Date: 2005-06-21 02:48 pm (UTC)Ouch, now you're biting me with what would happen in the possible sequel. Bunnies, out of my head!
More seriously, as I very much enjoy reading smut and am very much unable to write it (or at least, I feel that way), my two reactions were that (a) there were going to be a lot of enjoyable stories written for this and (b) I'd have nothing to write again. But there was this other meaning and boom the story was there. When I say it took over my head, I really mean that, as there was not much else going through my mind other than where the story should go.
Having them not follow the evidence wasn't an option, since it wouldn't have been much of a story if they hadn't, but I think that they'd do it anyway. I can't imagine Nick ignoring something right in front of his face like that, or Greg not being curious about it.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-22 07:34 am (UTC)Well, either way-- I can't wait to see if you write a sequal to this :-)
XOX
no subject
Date: 2005-06-21 02:29 am (UTC)I've read a lot of fics where Brass understands about so and so character being gay or already knows. It shocked me to see the other side, though I don't know why. I've been watching the first season of CSI again, so I know Brass can be petty.
Good story.
no subject
Date: 2005-06-21 02:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-21 06:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-21 02:52 pm (UTC)