It's Always You-Chapter 2
Aug. 23rd, 2005 12:59 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
sheryden.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
nickngregTitle: It’s Always You
Disclaimer: I don’t own them. But wouldn’t it be cool if I did!
Genre: Supernatural, I guess. As usual, there will be some angst, some humor, a happy ending.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Author’s Notes: This is an AU ghost story. It’s a little different from what I normally write, so I’m walking uncharted ground. All of the major characters will appear eventually, but not all of them will be CSIs.
You can find Chapter One here.
*****
Nick pulled himself out of bed, and yawning, he trudged toward his bathroom. He loved that there was a bathroom attached to the master bedroom. He supposed it didn’t matter much, since he was the only one living in the house and so, he wouldn’t have to fight for his turn in the bathroom anyway. But still, Nick took great pleasure in knowing he had a “master bathroom,” allocated exclusively for his use.
After he finished his shower, Nick wandered back into the bedroom, a towel tied loosely around his waist. He pulled open his dresser drawer, and then, out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw his bedroom door. Ever since he was nine years old, Nick had always slept with the door closed. He was borderline anal about it. Yet, at the moment, his bedroom door was standing open. Not just ajar…wide open. The rational part of Nick’s mind suggested that he must’ve gotten up in the middle of the night to get a snack, and when he came back into the bedroom, he had forgotten to close the door. But Nick knew himself better than that. Exhausted or not, he can’t sleep with an open door. He just can’t
Walking over to the door, Nick ran his thumb over the latch on the doorframe. It looked solid. The wood on both the door and the frame was good quality, barely any sign of warping. Narrowing his eyes, Nick pulled the door tightly closed and shook the knob without turning it. The door didn’t budge. Taking a step backward, Nick put his hands on his hips.
Okay, he thought. This is weird.
He leaned forward and gave the door one more shake, just for good measure. When the door remained securely fastened, Nick let out a breath and with a resigned shrug, proceeded to get dressed.
*****
Nick eased his way through the horde of people who were milling around the lobby of the Rampart. In all the years he’d lived in Vegas, this was only Nick’s second visit to the Rampart, and so far, he wasn’t impressed. Nick didn’t feel comfortable around overt displays of wealth and extravagance. He liked his fixer-upper house and his five-year-old dresser and his old vinyl records. He liked old things, things with character. The plastic, glitzy, always-new side of Vegas didn’t do much for him.
To his relief, Nick spotted Brass waiting for him by the front desk. With a wave, Nick plodded forward to meet him.
“Hey, Nicky,” Brass said. “You have any problem getting to work? I thought about calling you.”
“Nah,” Nick said, shaking his head. “My next door neighbor, Allen, brought me. He was going to a late movie anyway.”
Jim narrowed his eyes. “What’s this guy do?”
“Allen?” Nick shrugged. “He’s an orthodontist.”
“Is he single?”
Nick stopped in his tracks and bit back a grin. “Don’t get your hopes up, Jim. Allen is straight and divorced.”
“Aw,” Brass said, chuckling. “I’m just looking out for you, Nicky. You need to get back out there, start dating again.”
Nick shook his head. “Not until I’m ready, Jim. And I’m not ready.”
Jim was about to protest when he and Nick reached Grissom, who was standing next to an older, well-dressed man Nick took to be the Rampart’s owner, Sam Braun. Nick had a vague recollection of meeting Braun once. Braun’s son, Tony had been murdered a couple of years before, and Nick had worked the case with Grissom. Nick had noticed then, that Braun was smooth, and his responses to questions were cautiously measured.
Grissom gazed at Nick—or through him, actually, and then he turned to the Braun. “Mr. Braun,” he said. “Officer Miller will finish taking your statement.”
“Of course, Mr. Grissom,” Braun said. “Whatever I can do to help. I want you to find the son of a bitch who murdered that young man.”
Grissom waved over a uniformed officer, and then turned to Nick. “Nicky, David’s finishing up with the body,” he said. “Hanson’s collecting evidence. I want you to interview the guy who found the body. Get him to walk you through it.”
Nick nodded. “Where was the body found?”
“In the restaurant right ahead,” Grissom said. “Behind the bar.”
Brass flipped open his notebook and cleared his throat. “The decedent, a Travis Meecham, was found behind the bar by the gentleman right over there by the piano. The guy claimed he came back because he left his cell phone.” Brass rolled his eyes, as if to show the utter absurdity of the man’s story. Then he leaned closer to Nick and whispered, “This guy’s a real smart ass, so good luck. I like him for it. He copped an attitude with me the whole time I tried to get his statement.”
*****
Nick was the people person, and because of that, he frequently wound up “handling” the people Grissom and Brass didn’t want to mess with. It wasn’t so bad, Nick supposed. By the time CSI became involved, people were hurt or scared or angry. Usually, they just wanted to vent a little, or be reassured.
Taking a deep breath, Nick walked across the dining room to a piano in the corner. Hunched over on the piano bench, sat a tall, well-built man who seemed to be either distraught or exhausted—Nick couldn’t tell which one. Clearing his throat, he said, “Excuse me, sir. I’m Nick Stokes, with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I understand you found the body?”
The man glanced up at him and blinked several times. “I already gave my statement to the officer.”
Nick nodded. “I understand that, sir. I’m from the Crime Lab, and I have some additional questions. It would really be a big help if you could clarify a few things.”
Letting out a long-suffering breath, the man said, “Well, I already missed my date, so where else do I got to be?”
“Yeah?” Nick smiled. “Pretty?”
“Oh, gorgeous,” he said. “Smoothest skin…” The man shook his head, as if trying to knock something back into place. He regarded Nick for a moment and then outstretched his hand. “Warrick Brown.”
Nick smiled and shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you. You’re the pianist here, Mr. Brown?”
Brown nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been working her for around a year.”
“How well did you know Mr. Meecham?” Nick asked.
“Not well,” Brown said with a ragged voice. “He’d only been her for a few weeks. And Meecham and I weren’t exactly compatible.”
“Not compatible?” Nick said, narrowing his eyes. “You ever get into a beef with him?”
Brown leaned back and took a hard look at Nick. “What are you asking, man? You think I had something to do with this? I tried to save his life.”
“Mr. Brown,” Nick said evenly. “I’m just trying to get the facts. I’m not accusing anybody of anything. Now, did you and the victim ever have a problem?”
“Yeah, we did,” Brown said. “He had a mouth.”
”It ever come to blows?”
Licking his lips, Brown said, “Once. But it was nothing. Just a shoving match.”
Nick nodded. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
Brown stood up and stretched slightly. “He ran his mouth about something, and I told him off.”
As Nick was about to respond, a beautiful redhead breezed past him. “Hey, Warrick,” she said breathlessly. “You all right? What the hell happened?”
“I’m fine, Cath,” Brown said. “Can’t say the same for Meecham.”
Cath squeezed Brown’s upper arm and said, “Well, that’ll save me the trouble of firing his ass.” Turning to Nick, she thrust a hand forward. “Catherine Willows. I’m the manager of this establishment. Who killed my guy?”
Nick blinked. “We’re trying to figure that out, ma’am,” he said.
“Like you figured out who killed my ex-husband, I suppose?”
Nick felt his insides tighten. “I’m not familiar with the case, ma’am,” he said.
She folded her arms across her chest. “Well, what do we know about this case?”
We?
Nick swallowed. “Uh, we’re conducting a preliminary investigation, ma’am.”
“So you know nada,” Cath said.
Resisting the urge to shift from foot to foot, Nick said, “I’m not actually at liberty to discuss the particulars of the case with you, ma’am.”
Cath gazed at Nick for a moment. “You’re cute,” she said, smiling.
Nick narrowed his eyes. For a minute, he thought Cath might pat him on the head. Almost against his will, Nick glanced over to the bar, where Grissom was chatting with Hanson and Brass. Grissom grimaced at Hanson, who walked away looking as though he’d been slugged—a reaction a lot of people had after talking to Gil Grissom. Nick tried to mentally will Grissom to glance up, but Grissom stubbornly refused to comply. Instead, he turned and walked out of the room.
Clearing his throat, Nick turned back to Cath and Brown. “Okay, then. I just have a few more questions.”
*****
After Nick finished the interviews, he met Grissom and Brass out in the parking lot. “Hey Gris. I’m all done in there.”
“Well,” Grissom said. “What are your impressions?”
Nick shrugged. “Brown had some problems with the victim. He admitted that.”
“And he found the body,” Brass reminded them.
“Yeah,” Nick said. “And he seems pretty tight with the manager of the restaurant.”
Brass pursed his lips. “By tight, you mean tight?”
“Maybe,” Nick said.
“Well, I like him for it,” Brass said. “Guy who finds the body? First suspect.”
Grissom nodded. “That’s quite possible.”
“I don’t know, Gris,” Nick said. “He seems like a good guy.”
“Nicky,” Gris said patiently. “It’s not about his personality.”
“It’s about the evidence,” Nick said, as if on cue. Nick heard that phrase so often, he occasionally had dreams where Grissom was standing over his bed, wagging his finger and saying it over and over. He wondered what his shrink would make of that little nugget.
*****
From the attic window, Greg Sanders watched as the familiar black truck of his new housemate pulled into the driveway. Almost against his will, the anger started to well up inside him. Or maybe it wasn’t anger at all. Maybe it was frustration and sadness and loneliness, all jumbled together. Greg was in a melancholy mood, that was for sure. Having someone move into the house again was always bittersweet. Greg had welcomed his first new housemates with open arms. He’d even tried to communicate with them, be a part of their lives. But soon, he realized that he was more alone with someone in the house than he was by himself. Having people in the house was like a cruel joke. It was having something dangled in front of him that he could never seem to latch onto. And when Greg did finally learn how to make himself known to the living, he was greeted with fear, or sometimes as a fleeting curiosity.
“What do we know about this guy?” Greg said aloud. He started ticking off bits of knowledge on his fingers. “We know he keeps weird hours. We know he carries a gun, and we don’t like guns, do we? He has a badge of some kind. Maybe he’s a cop.”
Greg glanced at a mannequin that stood in the corner. “She” was wearing a dusty pink dress, a pink frilly hat, and a cameo. The clothes belonged to one of Greg’s old housemates, a woman named Ivy. She had moved here in 1967. She was in her 70s then. For three and a half years, she and Greg had lived together, and although Greg never manifested himself to her, she seemed aware of his presence. And not at all bothered by it, either. She had passed on in 1971, leaving the house emptier than Greg had seen it in a long time.
To keep from going crazy, Greg held conversations with the mannequin. But despite his best efforts, Greg still felt like he was going insane with loneliness. Really, he should be happy to have a housemate, some company after so long. And Greg would admit that the guy wasn’t too bad to look at—particularly when he ran around in a towel. But there was a part of Greg that felt resentful of Nick, of his life. Nick was older now than Greg had been when he was killed, and that very thought made a shiver of cold bitterness rush down his spine.
Letting out a long breath, Greg folded his arms tightly across his chest. He didn’t need this guy. He was doing just fine by himself. Yeah. He’d scared off other people. He could scare this guy off, too.
“Ivy,” he said to the mannequin. “We’ll get rid of this one in no time.”
Disclaimer: I don’t own them. But wouldn’t it be cool if I did!
Genre: Supernatural, I guess. As usual, there will be some angst, some humor, a happy ending.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Author’s Notes: This is an AU ghost story. It’s a little different from what I normally write, so I’m walking uncharted ground. All of the major characters will appear eventually, but not all of them will be CSIs.
You can find Chapter One here.
*****
Nick pulled himself out of bed, and yawning, he trudged toward his bathroom. He loved that there was a bathroom attached to the master bedroom. He supposed it didn’t matter much, since he was the only one living in the house and so, he wouldn’t have to fight for his turn in the bathroom anyway. But still, Nick took great pleasure in knowing he had a “master bathroom,” allocated exclusively for his use.
After he finished his shower, Nick wandered back into the bedroom, a towel tied loosely around his waist. He pulled open his dresser drawer, and then, out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw his bedroom door. Ever since he was nine years old, Nick had always slept with the door closed. He was borderline anal about it. Yet, at the moment, his bedroom door was standing open. Not just ajar…wide open. The rational part of Nick’s mind suggested that he must’ve gotten up in the middle of the night to get a snack, and when he came back into the bedroom, he had forgotten to close the door. But Nick knew himself better than that. Exhausted or not, he can’t sleep with an open door. He just can’t
Walking over to the door, Nick ran his thumb over the latch on the doorframe. It looked solid. The wood on both the door and the frame was good quality, barely any sign of warping. Narrowing his eyes, Nick pulled the door tightly closed and shook the knob without turning it. The door didn’t budge. Taking a step backward, Nick put his hands on his hips.
Okay, he thought. This is weird.
He leaned forward and gave the door one more shake, just for good measure. When the door remained securely fastened, Nick let out a breath and with a resigned shrug, proceeded to get dressed.
*****
Nick eased his way through the horde of people who were milling around the lobby of the Rampart. In all the years he’d lived in Vegas, this was only Nick’s second visit to the Rampart, and so far, he wasn’t impressed. Nick didn’t feel comfortable around overt displays of wealth and extravagance. He liked his fixer-upper house and his five-year-old dresser and his old vinyl records. He liked old things, things with character. The plastic, glitzy, always-new side of Vegas didn’t do much for him.
To his relief, Nick spotted Brass waiting for him by the front desk. With a wave, Nick plodded forward to meet him.
“Hey, Nicky,” Brass said. “You have any problem getting to work? I thought about calling you.”
“Nah,” Nick said, shaking his head. “My next door neighbor, Allen, brought me. He was going to a late movie anyway.”
Jim narrowed his eyes. “What’s this guy do?”
“Allen?” Nick shrugged. “He’s an orthodontist.”
“Is he single?”
Nick stopped in his tracks and bit back a grin. “Don’t get your hopes up, Jim. Allen is straight and divorced.”
“Aw,” Brass said, chuckling. “I’m just looking out for you, Nicky. You need to get back out there, start dating again.”
Nick shook his head. “Not until I’m ready, Jim. And I’m not ready.”
Jim was about to protest when he and Nick reached Grissom, who was standing next to an older, well-dressed man Nick took to be the Rampart’s owner, Sam Braun. Nick had a vague recollection of meeting Braun once. Braun’s son, Tony had been murdered a couple of years before, and Nick had worked the case with Grissom. Nick had noticed then, that Braun was smooth, and his responses to questions were cautiously measured.
Grissom gazed at Nick—or through him, actually, and then he turned to the Braun. “Mr. Braun,” he said. “Officer Miller will finish taking your statement.”
“Of course, Mr. Grissom,” Braun said. “Whatever I can do to help. I want you to find the son of a bitch who murdered that young man.”
Grissom waved over a uniformed officer, and then turned to Nick. “Nicky, David’s finishing up with the body,” he said. “Hanson’s collecting evidence. I want you to interview the guy who found the body. Get him to walk you through it.”
Nick nodded. “Where was the body found?”
“In the restaurant right ahead,” Grissom said. “Behind the bar.”
Brass flipped open his notebook and cleared his throat. “The decedent, a Travis Meecham, was found behind the bar by the gentleman right over there by the piano. The guy claimed he came back because he left his cell phone.” Brass rolled his eyes, as if to show the utter absurdity of the man’s story. Then he leaned closer to Nick and whispered, “This guy’s a real smart ass, so good luck. I like him for it. He copped an attitude with me the whole time I tried to get his statement.”
*****
Nick was the people person, and because of that, he frequently wound up “handling” the people Grissom and Brass didn’t want to mess with. It wasn’t so bad, Nick supposed. By the time CSI became involved, people were hurt or scared or angry. Usually, they just wanted to vent a little, or be reassured.
Taking a deep breath, Nick walked across the dining room to a piano in the corner. Hunched over on the piano bench, sat a tall, well-built man who seemed to be either distraught or exhausted—Nick couldn’t tell which one. Clearing his throat, he said, “Excuse me, sir. I’m Nick Stokes, with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I understand you found the body?”
The man glanced up at him and blinked several times. “I already gave my statement to the officer.”
Nick nodded. “I understand that, sir. I’m from the Crime Lab, and I have some additional questions. It would really be a big help if you could clarify a few things.”
Letting out a long-suffering breath, the man said, “Well, I already missed my date, so where else do I got to be?”
“Yeah?” Nick smiled. “Pretty?”
“Oh, gorgeous,” he said. “Smoothest skin…” The man shook his head, as if trying to knock something back into place. He regarded Nick for a moment and then outstretched his hand. “Warrick Brown.”
Nick smiled and shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you. You’re the pianist here, Mr. Brown?”
Brown nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been working her for around a year.”
“How well did you know Mr. Meecham?” Nick asked.
“Not well,” Brown said with a ragged voice. “He’d only been her for a few weeks. And Meecham and I weren’t exactly compatible.”
“Not compatible?” Nick said, narrowing his eyes. “You ever get into a beef with him?”
Brown leaned back and took a hard look at Nick. “What are you asking, man? You think I had something to do with this? I tried to save his life.”
“Mr. Brown,” Nick said evenly. “I’m just trying to get the facts. I’m not accusing anybody of anything. Now, did you and the victim ever have a problem?”
“Yeah, we did,” Brown said. “He had a mouth.”
”It ever come to blows?”
Licking his lips, Brown said, “Once. But it was nothing. Just a shoving match.”
Nick nodded. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
Brown stood up and stretched slightly. “He ran his mouth about something, and I told him off.”
As Nick was about to respond, a beautiful redhead breezed past him. “Hey, Warrick,” she said breathlessly. “You all right? What the hell happened?”
“I’m fine, Cath,” Brown said. “Can’t say the same for Meecham.”
Cath squeezed Brown’s upper arm and said, “Well, that’ll save me the trouble of firing his ass.” Turning to Nick, she thrust a hand forward. “Catherine Willows. I’m the manager of this establishment. Who killed my guy?”
Nick blinked. “We’re trying to figure that out, ma’am,” he said.
“Like you figured out who killed my ex-husband, I suppose?”
Nick felt his insides tighten. “I’m not familiar with the case, ma’am,” he said.
She folded her arms across her chest. “Well, what do we know about this case?”
We?
Nick swallowed. “Uh, we’re conducting a preliminary investigation, ma’am.”
“So you know nada,” Cath said.
Resisting the urge to shift from foot to foot, Nick said, “I’m not actually at liberty to discuss the particulars of the case with you, ma’am.”
Cath gazed at Nick for a moment. “You’re cute,” she said, smiling.
Nick narrowed his eyes. For a minute, he thought Cath might pat him on the head. Almost against his will, Nick glanced over to the bar, where Grissom was chatting with Hanson and Brass. Grissom grimaced at Hanson, who walked away looking as though he’d been slugged—a reaction a lot of people had after talking to Gil Grissom. Nick tried to mentally will Grissom to glance up, but Grissom stubbornly refused to comply. Instead, he turned and walked out of the room.
Clearing his throat, Nick turned back to Cath and Brown. “Okay, then. I just have a few more questions.”
*****
After Nick finished the interviews, he met Grissom and Brass out in the parking lot. “Hey Gris. I’m all done in there.”
“Well,” Grissom said. “What are your impressions?”
Nick shrugged. “Brown had some problems with the victim. He admitted that.”
“And he found the body,” Brass reminded them.
“Yeah,” Nick said. “And he seems pretty tight with the manager of the restaurant.”
Brass pursed his lips. “By tight, you mean tight?”
“Maybe,” Nick said.
“Well, I like him for it,” Brass said. “Guy who finds the body? First suspect.”
Grissom nodded. “That’s quite possible.”
“I don’t know, Gris,” Nick said. “He seems like a good guy.”
“Nicky,” Gris said patiently. “It’s not about his personality.”
“It’s about the evidence,” Nick said, as if on cue. Nick heard that phrase so often, he occasionally had dreams where Grissom was standing over his bed, wagging his finger and saying it over and over. He wondered what his shrink would make of that little nugget.
*****
From the attic window, Greg Sanders watched as the familiar black truck of his new housemate pulled into the driveway. Almost against his will, the anger started to well up inside him. Or maybe it wasn’t anger at all. Maybe it was frustration and sadness and loneliness, all jumbled together. Greg was in a melancholy mood, that was for sure. Having someone move into the house again was always bittersweet. Greg had welcomed his first new housemates with open arms. He’d even tried to communicate with them, be a part of their lives. But soon, he realized that he was more alone with someone in the house than he was by himself. Having people in the house was like a cruel joke. It was having something dangled in front of him that he could never seem to latch onto. And when Greg did finally learn how to make himself known to the living, he was greeted with fear, or sometimes as a fleeting curiosity.
“What do we know about this guy?” Greg said aloud. He started ticking off bits of knowledge on his fingers. “We know he keeps weird hours. We know he carries a gun, and we don’t like guns, do we? He has a badge of some kind. Maybe he’s a cop.”
Greg glanced at a mannequin that stood in the corner. “She” was wearing a dusty pink dress, a pink frilly hat, and a cameo. The clothes belonged to one of Greg’s old housemates, a woman named Ivy. She had moved here in 1967. She was in her 70s then. For three and a half years, she and Greg had lived together, and although Greg never manifested himself to her, she seemed aware of his presence. And not at all bothered by it, either. She had passed on in 1971, leaving the house emptier than Greg had seen it in a long time.
To keep from going crazy, Greg held conversations with the mannequin. But despite his best efforts, Greg still felt like he was going insane with loneliness. Really, he should be happy to have a housemate, some company after so long. And Greg would admit that the guy wasn’t too bad to look at—particularly when he ran around in a towel. But there was a part of Greg that felt resentful of Nick, of his life. Nick was older now than Greg had been when he was killed, and that very thought made a shiver of cold bitterness rush down his spine.
Letting out a long breath, Greg folded his arms tightly across his chest. He didn’t need this guy. He was doing just fine by himself. Yeah. He’d scared off other people. He could scare this guy off, too.
“Ivy,” he said to the mannequin. “We’ll get rid of this one in no time.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 05:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 05:26 am (UTC)“Ivy,” he said to the mannequin. “We’ll get rid of this one in no time.”
Ooh, I can't wait...
(sorry not much more constructive I know)
no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 05:17 am (UTC)Normally, I don't delve into AUs, but so far, this one has been handled just beautifully. You have a really stong handle on the universe you're creating.
For a minute, he thought Cath might pat him on the head.
I nearly died when I read that. So much love for this story.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-25 04:27 am (UTC)And I love your anti-drug avatar!!
no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 05:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-25 04:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 07:55 am (UTC)I love the little details-- Nick's obsession with his door since he was nine, Nick liking old things 'with character', Greg's fear of Nick's gun. The paragraph of Greg in the attic is so heartbreaking, how he wants company but resents Nick's presence. You did promise a happy ending, right? ;)
And how much do I love matchmaker Brass?
Do you mind if I friend you?
no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 08:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 08:50 am (UTC)*snigger*
That's a great line! Lol! It's a very good story, going between different scenes. And its nice to see a close relationship between Nick and Jim.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-25 04:30 am (UTC)I've always been intrigued by Brass, so I figured I'd really have fun with him in this fanfic.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 01:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 05:27 pm (UTC)XD
Love, but I don't even have to tell you that anymore do I?
no subject
Date: 2005-08-25 04:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-23 06:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-25 04:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-24 12:29 am (UTC)I like this very much, obviously. I'm a sucker for ghost fics, and I'm really looking forward to finding out how this one is going to progress.
And it's nice to get into ghost!Greg's head, so to speak. (Poor, sad Greg. He's had a rough break.)
no subject
Date: 2005-08-25 04:31 am (UTC)