Fic: It's Always You
Jun. 5th, 2006 12:40 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}
nickngreg Title: It’s Always You
Genre: AU, supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don’t own them. But wouldn’t it be cool if I did!
Warnings: References to major character death
Summary: Nick Stokes thinks his new house is haunted. He happens to be right.
A/N: 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. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
emmelinegreer for reading it over for me.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
*****
Greg watched as Nick closed the door of his truck and began to trudge up the walk toward the house. The poor guy looked exhausted, and Greg felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that he was at least partially responsible for Nick’s sleeplessness. But only twinge. After all, the guy was trespassing in Greg’s private home. If all went well, though, he’d be out of here in a day or two. Greg was planning to make Nick so petrified that he wouldn’t be able to sleep comfortably in this house ever again. With a determined look on his face, Greg walked straight through the attic door and marched down the stairs toward the foyer. He stopped on the bottom step and watched as Nick dragged himself through the front door, his duffle bag in one hand and a Styrofoam container in the other.
Stretching, Nick dropped his duffle bag and leaned back against the door frame. With a jerk, he yanked off his ball cap and glanced helplessly around at the boxes that were stacked around the room. Shaking his head and mumbling something Greg didn’t hear, Nick tossed the cap carelessly onto the floor.
“Messy,” Greg said disapprovingly. With a frown, he turned and followed his housemate into the living room.
Nick stopped in the middle of the room and narrowed his eyes at a stack of records that lay strewn all over the hardwood floor. “Hmm,” Nick muttered, kneeling down for a closer look
“Sorry,” Greg winced. “I was looking through your record albums earlier. You know,” he said, leaning against the entertainment center. “Some of that stuff is from my era. Of course, I’m not a big country fan, so I question some of your choices.” He shuddered. “I’ll give you Hank Williams, though. He got me through some tough times after I broke up with this guy, Cliff. Long story short, Cliff wanted to be a Hollywood actor, but he had some associates who were of the, uh…” He leaned closer to Nick. “Wrong political persuasion, shall we say. Anyway, he got blacklisted. By the time I met him, he was out of work and sat around the house all day in his bathrobe. Left me for a girl whose dad owned an architectural firm.” Greg took a breath. “And then I met Charlie.”
Greg knew Nick couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it made him feel good to talk to someone other than Ivy. Besides, Nick had a kind face. He seemed like he’d be a good listener, if only he could hear Greg.
After he straightened the records, Nick dragged himself into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a beer. Then, he opened the Styrofoam container to reveal a hamburger and coleslaw.
“Yeah,” he muttered to himself.
Greg narrowed his eyes as Nick picked up the sandwich and swiped up a bit of ketchup with his finger. The anger Greg had felt in the attic bubbled up inside him as he watched Nick bite into the burger. Greg didn’t need to eat, and he didn’t really feel hunger in the traditional sense. But he did miss a good meal. What was the last thing he had eaten? A ham and cheese sandwich and a glass of watery lemonade from that crummy diner? If Greg had known it would be the last thing he ever tasted, he’d have popped for a steak and a bottle of red wine at a real restaurant.
He pointed at Nick. “What if you got stuck by lightning in the next few minutes? You want that to be the last thing you ever eat?”
Glaring, Greg reached out a hand and touched Nick on the shoulder. Nick swatted at his shoulder as if he’d been stung by a bee. He sat his food down on the counter and rubbed his hands together.
“Chilly?” Greg smirked. A long time ago, Greg had discovered that living people experienced feelings of intense cold whenever he made physical contact with them. He’d heard one of his housemates liken it to having her body plunged into a frozen lake. At first, Greg had felt awful about that and had tried not to touch anyone. But after a while, he’d learned to appreciate his “superpowers.” It wasn’t much, but it was a harmless way to freak people out.
After a moment, Nick shook off the feeling and took a swig of his beer. Slowly, he ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “Mm,” he mumbled, placing the half-empty bottle onto the counter.
Greg swallowed at the sight of Nick’s tongue. Frowning, he walked behind Nick. “Not good enough, huh? Okay.” He opened a cabinet door, and lightly pushed it closed. Nick twisted around to find the source of the sound, and then, raising his eyebrows, he went back to his dinner. Undeterred, Greg repeated the action, this time a bit more forcefully. Nick turned to look again.
“That’s right, Nicky,” Greg grinned. “The cabinet door is moving by itself. Yikes.”
Nick walked over and played with the door, opening it and closing it. He bit down on his bottom lip and ran his finger along the latch. Shrugging, he took another sip of beer.
Greg let out a longsuffering breath. After a few seconds, he closed the door again, this time with more vigor. Then, for good measure, he tugged the door open and left it ajar.
Jerking his head up, Nick stared at the cabinet for a moment. Grimacing, he snatched up the phone from next to the microwave and punched in some numbers. “Mom,” he said after a few seconds. “Is Dad there?”
Greg bounced on the heels of his feet. “You’re calling Mom and Dad? I’m good!”
“Well, have him call me back,” Nick said. “I have a cabinet, and the latch is worn or something. It keeps popping open. I don’t have a clue how to fix it.” Rubbing his eyes, Nick yawned, “Yeah, Mom. I’m eating. Right now, in fact. What? No, I see the shrink tomorrow.”
“Shrink, huh?” Greg said, folding his arms across his chest. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I love you too, Mom,” Nick said. “See ya.” Laughing to himself, he hung up the phone and took a bite of his food.
Greg watched Nick for a moment. “You know,” he said finally, throwing his hands into the air. “I’m trying to scare you. The least you could do is look apprehensive.”
But Nick didn’t look a bit apprehensive. Instead, he looked oddly calm. Glaring at his housemate, Greg pulled open the cabinet door and, with a flick of his wrist, slammed it hard.
Nick jumped and spun around.
“That’s more like it,” Greg smirked.
“The wind,” Nick mumbled.
“No,” Greg said testily. “It’s not the wind. You have a ghost in your house.”
“It’s only the wind, man.”
“I feel like a Casper wannabe,” Greg snapped. In a huff, he stormed through the living room into the foyer. He scooped up Nick’s ball cap and stormed upstairs, making sure he stomped a bit on the steps for good measure.
He tore open the attic door and walked to Ivy. “The guy is impossible,” Greg said, waving the cap at Ivy. “I was down there slamming things and touching him, and he was acting like Mr. Tough Guy. Please.” Greg dropped onto a trunk left behind by a former housemate—one who had the good sense to run from the house in a proper state of panic. He slumped his shoulders. “You should see him lick his lips, though. Not a bad show.”
Letting out a breath, he held the ball cap up to the light and ran his finger along the embroidered emblem: Police. And below it, Forensics. “Hey, Ivy,” Greg said, sitting up a little straighter. "I think this guy is a cop. Police scientist or something. Huh.”
There was a time when Greg had considered becoming a cop himself. He’d always had an amazing amount of respect for the police. They put themselves on the line so that everyone else could live their lives in relative peace. Truthfully, that was why Greg had been willing to talk to them about Charlie. It had been his bit to keep the peace.
After he was shot, the first person Greg remembered seeing was Detective Hennessy, the guy he’d gone to about Charlie in the first place. Hennessy had gotten choked up and had stood there in his living room, promising he’d bring Greg’s killer to justice. Of course, he never did. Bringing Charlie Croft to justice was like catching a star in your bare hands.
Greg closed his eyes. “So what do you think, Ivy? Do I let the kid stay? Give him a chance?”
The mannequin stood silent, and Greg took that as a sign of her assent. Nodding, he tossed the cap onto a nearby table and walked out the door.
*****
Nick had turned the air conditioner on and the house was relatively cool now, even though the sun outside was blazing. He lay on his couch, stripped down to just his jeans. He knew he should really go to bed, but he was still jumpy from the weirdness in his kitchen. Try as he might to rationalize what had just happened, cabinet doors didn’t open and close by themselves.
Shifting his body, Nick settled down into the cushions. As he felt himself start to drift off, he heard the familiar sound of footsteps from the other room. They sounded like they were coming closer. “The house is settling,” he told himself and firmly closed his eyes. The footsteps seemed to stop directly behind him, but Nick willed himself to relax. Just then, the phone rang, causing him to sit up with a start. Part of him didn’t want to move from the couch, but Dad and his logical judge’s mind were probably on the other end, all set to give him a reasonable explanation for his slamming kitchen cabinets.
He stood up and grabbed the phone. “Stokes,” he croaked.
“Hey, cowboy.”
Philip.
“What up?” Nick said in his most casual tone. He felt anything but casual, though. He and Philip had been apart for seven months, but sometimes it seemed like seven seconds. The pain of their breakup was still sore to the touch. Philip had been good to Nick, for the most part, but he could never quite deal with Nick’s job—the long hours, the uncertainty, the grim moods Nick came home in.
And Philip most definitely couldn’t deal with being faithful to one man.
“Not much,” Philip said. “You know where I am? I’m at that barbeque place we used to go to sometimes.”
Nick licked his lips. It was the restaurant they’d gone to for their first date. All Nick could think to say was, “Are you?”
“Yeah,” Philip said. “I had a craving for ribs and coleslaw. You back at work?”
“Have been for a while,” Nick said, swallowing.
“Good. Hey, Nick,” Philip said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t around more while you were in the hospital.”
“No, no.” Nick waved his hand dismissively. “You have your life now. How is Mr. Fabulous?”
There was an uncomfortable silence on the other end, just like there always was when Nick was brazen enough to mention Alex. “Look, Nick,” Philip said carefully. “I didn’t screw around with Alex on purpose.”
Nick laughed. “You had sex with the neighbor accidentally? How does that work?”
“What I mean is I didn’t intend for anything to happen. You were working doubles and triples, and I was lonely.”
Nick rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Look, Philip, I need to sleep.”
“Listen,” Philip said. “Why don’t we get together and—”
“And what?”
“I’d like to see you.”
“Well, I’ll think about it,” Nick said. “How’s that?” Turning off the phone, Nick tossed it onto the end table. Every time Nick thought he was over Philip, he got a phone call or a birthday card or a visit. He knew he should just unload on Philip and tell him to stay away. But some small part of him still needed the connection. He released a sharp breath through his clenched jaw. Tossing a throw pillow across the room, he groaned, “Men suck.”
Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, Nick heard laughter coming from behind him. Not laughter… Giggling. He sat up and turned toward the sound. He’d heard it. He knew he had.
Nick got to his feet and walked over to the window. It was shut tight, and even if it had been open, there’s no way he could hear someone outside with the air conditioner on. Maybe that was it. Maybe the air conditioner was making a rattling sound.
“Or maybe the house is haunted,” he said half-jokingly. “I’m sharing my house with a ghost who has a juvenile sense of humor.”
Ghosts. He chuckled to himself. Saying it out loud highlighted the absurdity of the notion. Here he was, thinking that his doors and cabinets were opening on their own, and that a ghost was listening in to his conversations. "You're an idiot, Stokes," he said. For the first time in quite a while, Nick felt his muscles relax. Still laughing, he jogged upstairs to bed.
Genre: AU, supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don’t own them. But wouldn’t it be cool if I did!
Warnings: References to major character death
Summary: Nick Stokes thinks his new house is haunted. He happens to be right.
A/N: 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. Thanks to
emmelinegreer for reading it over for me.Chapter 1
Chapter 2
*****
Greg watched as Nick closed the door of his truck and began to trudge up the walk toward the house. The poor guy looked exhausted, and Greg felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that he was at least partially responsible for Nick’s sleeplessness. But only twinge. After all, the guy was trespassing in Greg’s private home. If all went well, though, he’d be out of here in a day or two. Greg was planning to make Nick so petrified that he wouldn’t be able to sleep comfortably in this house ever again. With a determined look on his face, Greg walked straight through the attic door and marched down the stairs toward the foyer. He stopped on the bottom step and watched as Nick dragged himself through the front door, his duffle bag in one hand and a Styrofoam container in the other.
Stretching, Nick dropped his duffle bag and leaned back against the door frame. With a jerk, he yanked off his ball cap and glanced helplessly around at the boxes that were stacked around the room. Shaking his head and mumbling something Greg didn’t hear, Nick tossed the cap carelessly onto the floor.
“Messy,” Greg said disapprovingly. With a frown, he turned and followed his housemate into the living room.
Nick stopped in the middle of the room and narrowed his eyes at a stack of records that lay strewn all over the hardwood floor. “Hmm,” Nick muttered, kneeling down for a closer look
“Sorry,” Greg winced. “I was looking through your record albums earlier. You know,” he said, leaning against the entertainment center. “Some of that stuff is from my era. Of course, I’m not a big country fan, so I question some of your choices.” He shuddered. “I’ll give you Hank Williams, though. He got me through some tough times after I broke up with this guy, Cliff. Long story short, Cliff wanted to be a Hollywood actor, but he had some associates who were of the, uh…” He leaned closer to Nick. “Wrong political persuasion, shall we say. Anyway, he got blacklisted. By the time I met him, he was out of work and sat around the house all day in his bathrobe. Left me for a girl whose dad owned an architectural firm.” Greg took a breath. “And then I met Charlie.”
Greg knew Nick couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it made him feel good to talk to someone other than Ivy. Besides, Nick had a kind face. He seemed like he’d be a good listener, if only he could hear Greg.
After he straightened the records, Nick dragged himself into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a beer. Then, he opened the Styrofoam container to reveal a hamburger and coleslaw.
“Yeah,” he muttered to himself.
Greg narrowed his eyes as Nick picked up the sandwich and swiped up a bit of ketchup with his finger. The anger Greg had felt in the attic bubbled up inside him as he watched Nick bite into the burger. Greg didn’t need to eat, and he didn’t really feel hunger in the traditional sense. But he did miss a good meal. What was the last thing he had eaten? A ham and cheese sandwich and a glass of watery lemonade from that crummy diner? If Greg had known it would be the last thing he ever tasted, he’d have popped for a steak and a bottle of red wine at a real restaurant.
He pointed at Nick. “What if you got stuck by lightning in the next few minutes? You want that to be the last thing you ever eat?”
Glaring, Greg reached out a hand and touched Nick on the shoulder. Nick swatted at his shoulder as if he’d been stung by a bee. He sat his food down on the counter and rubbed his hands together.
“Chilly?” Greg smirked. A long time ago, Greg had discovered that living people experienced feelings of intense cold whenever he made physical contact with them. He’d heard one of his housemates liken it to having her body plunged into a frozen lake. At first, Greg had felt awful about that and had tried not to touch anyone. But after a while, he’d learned to appreciate his “superpowers.” It wasn’t much, but it was a harmless way to freak people out.
After a moment, Nick shook off the feeling and took a swig of his beer. Slowly, he ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “Mm,” he mumbled, placing the half-empty bottle onto the counter.
Greg swallowed at the sight of Nick’s tongue. Frowning, he walked behind Nick. “Not good enough, huh? Okay.” He opened a cabinet door, and lightly pushed it closed. Nick twisted around to find the source of the sound, and then, raising his eyebrows, he went back to his dinner. Undeterred, Greg repeated the action, this time a bit more forcefully. Nick turned to look again.
“That’s right, Nicky,” Greg grinned. “The cabinet door is moving by itself. Yikes.”
Nick walked over and played with the door, opening it and closing it. He bit down on his bottom lip and ran his finger along the latch. Shrugging, he took another sip of beer.
Greg let out a longsuffering breath. After a few seconds, he closed the door again, this time with more vigor. Then, for good measure, he tugged the door open and left it ajar.
Jerking his head up, Nick stared at the cabinet for a moment. Grimacing, he snatched up the phone from next to the microwave and punched in some numbers. “Mom,” he said after a few seconds. “Is Dad there?”
Greg bounced on the heels of his feet. “You’re calling Mom and Dad? I’m good!”
“Well, have him call me back,” Nick said. “I have a cabinet, and the latch is worn or something. It keeps popping open. I don’t have a clue how to fix it.” Rubbing his eyes, Nick yawned, “Yeah, Mom. I’m eating. Right now, in fact. What? No, I see the shrink tomorrow.”
“Shrink, huh?” Greg said, folding his arms across his chest. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I love you too, Mom,” Nick said. “See ya.” Laughing to himself, he hung up the phone and took a bite of his food.
Greg watched Nick for a moment. “You know,” he said finally, throwing his hands into the air. “I’m trying to scare you. The least you could do is look apprehensive.”
But Nick didn’t look a bit apprehensive. Instead, he looked oddly calm. Glaring at his housemate, Greg pulled open the cabinet door and, with a flick of his wrist, slammed it hard.
Nick jumped and spun around.
“That’s more like it,” Greg smirked.
“The wind,” Nick mumbled.
“No,” Greg said testily. “It’s not the wind. You have a ghost in your house.”
“It’s only the wind, man.”
“I feel like a Casper wannabe,” Greg snapped. In a huff, he stormed through the living room into the foyer. He scooped up Nick’s ball cap and stormed upstairs, making sure he stomped a bit on the steps for good measure.
He tore open the attic door and walked to Ivy. “The guy is impossible,” Greg said, waving the cap at Ivy. “I was down there slamming things and touching him, and he was acting like Mr. Tough Guy. Please.” Greg dropped onto a trunk left behind by a former housemate—one who had the good sense to run from the house in a proper state of panic. He slumped his shoulders. “You should see him lick his lips, though. Not a bad show.”
Letting out a breath, he held the ball cap up to the light and ran his finger along the embroidered emblem: Police. And below it, Forensics. “Hey, Ivy,” Greg said, sitting up a little straighter. "I think this guy is a cop. Police scientist or something. Huh.”
There was a time when Greg had considered becoming a cop himself. He’d always had an amazing amount of respect for the police. They put themselves on the line so that everyone else could live their lives in relative peace. Truthfully, that was why Greg had been willing to talk to them about Charlie. It had been his bit to keep the peace.
After he was shot, the first person Greg remembered seeing was Detective Hennessy, the guy he’d gone to about Charlie in the first place. Hennessy had gotten choked up and had stood there in his living room, promising he’d bring Greg’s killer to justice. Of course, he never did. Bringing Charlie Croft to justice was like catching a star in your bare hands.
Greg closed his eyes. “So what do you think, Ivy? Do I let the kid stay? Give him a chance?”
The mannequin stood silent, and Greg took that as a sign of her assent. Nodding, he tossed the cap onto a nearby table and walked out the door.
*****
Nick had turned the air conditioner on and the house was relatively cool now, even though the sun outside was blazing. He lay on his couch, stripped down to just his jeans. He knew he should really go to bed, but he was still jumpy from the weirdness in his kitchen. Try as he might to rationalize what had just happened, cabinet doors didn’t open and close by themselves.
Shifting his body, Nick settled down into the cushions. As he felt himself start to drift off, he heard the familiar sound of footsteps from the other room. They sounded like they were coming closer. “The house is settling,” he told himself and firmly closed his eyes. The footsteps seemed to stop directly behind him, but Nick willed himself to relax. Just then, the phone rang, causing him to sit up with a start. Part of him didn’t want to move from the couch, but Dad and his logical judge’s mind were probably on the other end, all set to give him a reasonable explanation for his slamming kitchen cabinets.
He stood up and grabbed the phone. “Stokes,” he croaked.
“Hey, cowboy.”
Philip.
“What up?” Nick said in his most casual tone. He felt anything but casual, though. He and Philip had been apart for seven months, but sometimes it seemed like seven seconds. The pain of their breakup was still sore to the touch. Philip had been good to Nick, for the most part, but he could never quite deal with Nick’s job—the long hours, the uncertainty, the grim moods Nick came home in.
And Philip most definitely couldn’t deal with being faithful to one man.
“Not much,” Philip said. “You know where I am? I’m at that barbeque place we used to go to sometimes.”
Nick licked his lips. It was the restaurant they’d gone to for their first date. All Nick could think to say was, “Are you?”
“Yeah,” Philip said. “I had a craving for ribs and coleslaw. You back at work?”
“Have been for a while,” Nick said, swallowing.
“Good. Hey, Nick,” Philip said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t around more while you were in the hospital.”
“No, no.” Nick waved his hand dismissively. “You have your life now. How is Mr. Fabulous?”
There was an uncomfortable silence on the other end, just like there always was when Nick was brazen enough to mention Alex. “Look, Nick,” Philip said carefully. “I didn’t screw around with Alex on purpose.”
Nick laughed. “You had sex with the neighbor accidentally? How does that work?”
“What I mean is I didn’t intend for anything to happen. You were working doubles and triples, and I was lonely.”
Nick rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Look, Philip, I need to sleep.”
“Listen,” Philip said. “Why don’t we get together and—”
“And what?”
“I’d like to see you.”
“Well, I’ll think about it,” Nick said. “How’s that?” Turning off the phone, Nick tossed it onto the end table. Every time Nick thought he was over Philip, he got a phone call or a birthday card or a visit. He knew he should just unload on Philip and tell him to stay away. But some small part of him still needed the connection. He released a sharp breath through his clenched jaw. Tossing a throw pillow across the room, he groaned, “Men suck.”
Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, Nick heard laughter coming from behind him. Not laughter… Giggling. He sat up and turned toward the sound. He’d heard it. He knew he had.
Nick got to his feet and walked over to the window. It was shut tight, and even if it had been open, there’s no way he could hear someone outside with the air conditioner on. Maybe that was it. Maybe the air conditioner was making a rattling sound.
“Or maybe the house is haunted,” he said half-jokingly. “I’m sharing my house with a ghost who has a juvenile sense of humor.”
Ghosts. He chuckled to himself. Saying it out loud highlighted the absurdity of the notion. Here he was, thinking that his doors and cabinets were opening on their own, and that a ghost was listening in to his conversations. "You're an idiot, Stokes," he said. For the first time in quite a while, Nick felt his muscles relax. Still laughing, he jogged upstairs to bed.
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