nickngreg | Ser Sucio, chapter 2...

Author: Exit Music
Title: Ser Sucio, Chapter 2
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: NC-17 due to subject matter.
Warnings: violence of sorts.
Spoilers: contains elements from "Play With Fire" and "Overload."
Summary: AU, Ghosts of the past. Chapter two of a WIP.
A/N: I do not own these characters, I merely worship them.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up…damn.” Catherine’s phone went directly to voicemail; he flailed weakly, trying to gather a sane message.

“It’s Greg, call me ASAP. What the hell happened out there?” Click. Next call.

“Hey Jules, yeah, It’s Greg. Sorry man, I’m not gonna make it in today, family emergency.”

“Oh fuck, ok. Em, keep me posted mate, ok?”

“Sure thing.”

He was supposed to have been at the studio at eight, Murder Me Ada was set to lay down the groundwork for their first full album. The explosion left behind more scars than sight would imply, needing a new reason, he fell back on old expertise. Swapping one lab for another, he found solace in music; this time the results were in his control.

At the moment however, he felt as if he’d lost the reigns to all, staggering blindly. Frantic tremor of idle hands. He always struggled with Nick’s evasiveness, but this was beyond mere soft handling. As sleep sounds permeated through thin walls he eased minutely, at least Nick was resting. He had never seen him like that, harried ire fracturing composure. Uncoiling on the bed, he tried closing his eyes as well. Dozing off, he prayed for answers.

The screams woke him.

---

’Hey mister…mister. Where’d she go, mister?’

He was back at the scene, dusky shadows playing with his eyeline. The nude little boy stared across at him, empty hollows. Wan, withered child beckoned for his attention. Focusing in, Nick noticed a glow. The boy was wearing a gold necklace, a school ring adorning his purpled sternum. The smolder became a pulse, shocking out with every throb. Muscles seized in terror, he could only watch.

‘She gave this to me, mister. She gave this to me… said I was her baby.’

The boy turned around, blood sprayed freely from bottomless gashes, stripes of ivory sparkling through crimson jets. Craning his head, he spoke again.

‘You used to be her baby too.’

Nick looked down; an impression of the ring’s stone had been firebranded onto his own bare body. With brisk movement, the child flew closer. Hands wrapped to his throat sternly began choking; the little boy had changed shape. A whiff of lavender.

---

Yelling out in starts, he awoke to find he was not alone. Greg was hovering over the couch, visibly frightened by the racket.

“You scared the shit out of me! Are you ok?” His earlier behavior suggested he breathe back sugar, Greg didn’t merit a second dose of venom.

“Fine, fine.” Half smile. Decent start.

“Why don’t I believe that? I tried, um, Catherine. No answer.”

Catherine. He dreaded the thought of the conversation to happen, he could almost see Gil’s perplexed grimace. Always an explanation needed, nothing left unresolved. He felt bad that she had had to keep the secret; he should never have placed a burden like that on anyone.

“Do I get anything, or what? Nick, you’re hurting us both with this silent crap.”

Nick felt a need to cry, tears not forthcoming. Acting out with the randomness of broken glass, nonverbal output he excelled at. The why about Nick Stokes, never his strong suit. Greg leaned in; he could smell the clean snap of cologne. He knew closeness was needed, a reassurance. He twisted away, ability to give either dismantled. Sugar found lacking.

“What, so I can’t even hug you? Mhmm. Maybe I should just get lost for a while.”

He wrung his hands, a protest contorting. He wanted to cry out, ‘please stay, I’ll talk, I promise, don’t leave.’ Nothing.

“Uh-huh. Well, when you’re ready to talk, call me.” The clack of the lock, and he was alone. Tears found footing and he rose up, smearing them away, lingering trespassers spotting his shirt.

“You bitch.” Cursing ghosts, he strode to the kitchen to grab a broom.

---

“Pickuppickupickup!” Flinging the cellphone onto the passenger seat, he was without destination. Radio offering no comfort, he pulled off, parking abruptly on the shoulder. With warning flashers ticking, he tried again. Ringing.

“Hey Greg.”

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. What happened out there?”

“I had to handle a scene, it was turned off. How’s Nick?”

“I don’t know, I thought you could tell me. He threw up, and threw glassware, that’s it. So now, I ask again, what happened?” The receiver carried over her heavy sigh. He wasn’t going to get the full story.

“It was a boy, eight or nine, small kid. It was bad, Greg. Just give him time, ok? You know Nick, it’s all about the slow wait.” Creasing brow, he laughed cynically.

“Apparently I don’t know, Catherine. I don’t know anything!”

“…” Awkward silence led to rapid forgiveness.

“Ok, I have to pick up Lindsey, then we’ll head over to the apartment to check on him. I’ll call you back.”

“Thanks, Catherine.” Click.

---

The place was quiet; she expected more, a contained ruckus. Scanning the room, she spotted the lump on the couch.

“Lindsey, go to the back and play cards on Uncle Greg’s computer, ok?” Eye roll.

“Alright, you can go online, but under your name, got it?” With a nod the moody blonde tromped off.

“Catherine?” She smiled back at the sleep-wrinkled face. Gliding over, she took his hand.

“Nick. I’m sorry.” He scrunched his nose.

“Sorry for what?”

“You know what. The what that you seem to be having a problem telling to the man that you’ve lived with for over two years, Jesus, Nick.” She never could be fed the same lines.

“I know. Believe me, I know.” She stood up, gathering her purse.

“Are you sure about that, because I had a very upset boy call and give me the crazy teenager act? Talk to him.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” He hung his head, trying in vain to suffocate the reply.

“Cause I don’t want him to look at me like you do.” She scowled lightly, and placed a kiss on his forehead.

“I love you. Talk to him.” Bellowing for the girl, they left, and Nick resumed lethargy.

She pulled out of the parking lot, seamlessly hitting speed dial.

“Greg, come home.”

“How is he Catherine?”

“Just come home. And wait.” Click.

---

“Wait, right.” He turned the wheel and stopped, Nick skulking on the cement steps. Surprise. He approached slowly, not wanting to startle. Fragile animal.

“Hi.”

“Hi yourself. Whatcha doing out here, Nicky?” Pet names painted on slight dimples.

He sat down beside him, careful not to orbit too close.

“Just thinking. ‘Bout a lot a things.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Thinking about the little guy I saw this morning, thinking about you, thinking. Catherine came by, thinking about that too.”

He wanted to shake him, grab shoulders and throttle until truth fountained.

“I see.”

“That boy in the woods. I was thinking he got off easy.”
Frustrated, he could only bounce back monosyllabically.

“Why?”

“Cause, he won’t have to live through it ever again.” Wet streamed silently from sad eyes, and betraying better judgment, Greg wrapped his arms around him. Submission bloomed, and Nick squeezed tight into the embrace, sobbing.

“She’s back, I thought I left her behind, but she’s back…” He could barely maintain control, and stifling his own heartbreak, he lifted him up, directing Nick to the metal doors.

“Who, babe, who’s back?”

“Her…” Confession halted by muffled weeping, they went inside.

Greg would try again in the morning.

---
tbc.

Chapter 1 HERE