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[just1tearforme.livejournal.com]

Title: Nerd Gone Wild
Chapter 18: Simple, Where We Could Live
Author: just1tearforme
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 2315
Previous Chapters archived at WMTDB, my memories, and tag search.
A/N: Chapter 19 due tomorrow (crazy isn't it?), hopefully my computer won't hate me so much.

Chapter 18: Simple, Where We Could Live

 

The hours spent together have been awkward to say the least. It’s like we’re doing this elaborate dance around one another which is not what I had hoped for at all. We don’t know how to act anymore I think. A week ago things were fine, normal if you like, but now I feel like we’ve become strangers. We only speak in tertiary statements and fragmented sentences, exchanging pleasantries and platitudes, yet none of that which we should say. Nick barely looks me in the eye anymore. And that’s the killer, even in my worst days he met my eyes, just not anymore. It’s like I’ve become a criminal, and yes, technically I am but still… I shouldn’t feel less than human – I know I’m worth something, not much but not nothing either. Nick treated me as a friend even when I screwed up, now that we’ve screwed around so to speak it’s like I’m not even treated as a casual acquaintance one meets on the street and never wants to talk to. We’re sharing the same living space but I’ve seen him less in the last week than I have in, well, ever. I miss having my friend around. I miss him period.

“Greg?” Dr. Knight called softly. “I don’t always mind sitting in silence with a new client, but you called me. Obviously, there is something you want to talk about.”

She was correct, granted she got paid regardless but I was still wasting my money. “You know,” I replied. “If you have been in my head you’d have heard a great conversation, if you were in my head.”

She laughed, “If I was in most of my client’s heads I’m sure there would be phenomenal conversation. It would also make my job a lot easier too.”

“Could be scary too.”

“That’s a good point,” she replied, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Why don’t you tell me why you called or at least an idea of what you would like to discuss. Anything you want to talk about Greg, anything at all.”

“I lied. I know everyone does, according to House.” Dr. Knight snickered at that – must be a House watcher as well. “But I lied a lot and fucked over myself and others in the process. That’s not what’s bugging me though – okay, it is, but it’s Nick that tops the list at the moment. Everything has changed. He goes out everyday for hours at a time; he has no idea what I do while he’s gone. I know he doesn’t know that I came here. Not like he cares.” The last part just tumbled from my lips unintentionally.

“Whew,” she sighed. “That’s quite a bit to work with. For the moment, let’s begin with Nick as you say he’s a priority for you. Can you, though if you don’t want to I understand, tell me what happened last week?”

I fiddled with a thread on the hem of my denims rather than look at her. “We kind of fooled around… it’s not like we fucked or – Can I say that?”

“Anything you’re comfortable with, just try and the limit the pejoratives please.” She shifted in her chair, “So you got a little physical…”

“Yeah, it just kind of happened.”

“Just to interrupt for a moment, nothing just kind of happens there has to be some intent.”

Dr. Knight was correct it wasn’t like it was completely spontaneous. “I wanted it, wanted him. I really hoped it would happen – us hooking up. Not hooking up like a one night stand but a relationship. So when the opportunity presented itself I went for it. And Dr. Knight, it was wonderful – like set me on fire, burn the place to the ground hot.”

Her pen paused; she looked at me over the top of her clipboard. “How did Nick react? Obviously, something happened that he didn’t like that’s now causing the rift between you two.”

I sighed, “He was into it while we were fooling around, but afterwards… Afterwards, I asked if we could do it again sometime and he told me I didn’t mean it. My feelings were the result of him ‘saving’ me and our continued close contact – but I do! I really like him and meant every word.”

“Hmm,” Dr. Knight murmured. “There are many questions I want to ask but our time is almost up. So let me just pose a final question: everything aside, if you two had your encounter under less complicated circumstances do you think he would be more favourable to a relationship?”

She didn’t pull any punches; it was the one question I couldn’t even begin to answer. “I don’t know,” I replied. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” she patted my hand. ‘We’ll figure things out together.” We both stood and she walked me to the door. “I’d like to see you again this week so let’s set up an appointment and I have some homework for you. I want you talk to Nick but nothing serious, some safe, innocuous topics like what he did today or a subject of interest. The goal is to establish a dialogue and perhaps ease a little of the tension between you. Okay? And we’ll discuss what the results were next session. Take care, Greg.”

There were so many things she could have asked me especially about the lying and what I meant by saving me, yet she was kind and didn’t. Though the question of Nick and I if situations were different was the hardest and most interesting – I couldn’t even answer it. I would like to think that we’d get together and live mostly happily ever after, but, I didn’t even know if Nick was interested. He was interested at that moment, however, that could be because I was a warm, willing body. Nick might not even like guys. I only knew of him dating and/or sleeping with women – maybe he was freaked out about what happened. Maybe I didn’t know him that well at all.

He wasn’t home when I returned and that was fine because I needed a break from our drama. For a little while I wanted to pretend that I was relatively well adjusted and life was moderately good. Wandering down the hall I found myself outside the music room. Hesitantly, I peered inside, it was still trashed. No one had been in here in weeks for everything was covered in a fine layer of dust. Flopping onto a pillow sent hundreds of motes dancing into the air. The candles were gathered up, some dented and others with cracked and broken holders, and returned to their original homes. The amps were busted and had to be replaced. Luckily, my keyboard still worked although it was a little worse for wear. Poor little Petrie was another story. His strings were snapped except for the G string – that was probably less funny than I thought it was but you got to laugh to keep from crying right? His pearly blue body was scratched and cracked all the way through; an ironic bit of symbolism considering his owner. Something told me he couldn’t be fixed. Carefully, I picked him up, placed him in his case, and set them in the stand. I would have to get a new one, a Petrie Jr. It’s funny how much that hurt, that I was nearly crying over an anthropomorphized guitar that I had since high school whose injuries – death, if you will, was all my fault. You’re killing yourself in order to forget and killing others in the process as well. The worst part was you couldn’t see the carnage until it was too late and unable to repair the damage. I wiped at my eyes, it was just a guitar – right?

I placed the keyboard upright on its stand, taking a seat on the stool. It came to life right away with nary a buzz of background sound from the speakers.  My fingers stretched and flexed, joints popping before touching the keys. Pressing the keys was like caressing a lover, finger tips slid along the smooth surface pulling the most beautiful of sounds from the instrument and yet one misstep brought discord and loud complaint. Sure hands were required but harder or softer pressure brought in the melody and harmony in crescendo, decrescendo. True, it wasn’t ebony and ivory but synthetic plastic, yet, the principles required for mastery like those with humans were universal: competency, affection, and the proper contact. Pachabel, Rachmaninoff, Debussy, and Beethoven flowed from my fingers. It was like revisiting old friends, very old friends - the kind that invite you for dinner and serve comfort food even if they haven’t seen you in decades.

Nick hesitantly peered in as I was finishing Concerto Number 21 of Mozart and pulling out the first strains of Concerto Number 23. Neither of us spoke nor did I really acknowledge him but he took a spot on the floor and I closed me eyes letting the music wash over me. Concerto Number 23 became “Das Rheingold: Vorspiel”, soft and slightly sad. I didn’t intend it but the familiar progressions of Wagner tumbled through my fingers. Every conscious moment of the past months crashed into me, swamping me with images and memories. By the time I finished, I was crying; they weren’t tears of sorrow, joy, or pain, they were cathartic. For a moment I felt empty, not depressingly empty just released.

Nick didn’t speak a word while I dried my eyes. “I didn’t know you could play,” he said when he finally spoke for what seemed like the first time in years.

“Yeah, Mom made me take lessons when I was little and I liked it so much I kept on going,” I replied, smiling at the memory.

“You play well.”

“I told you I could have been a rock star; I play guitar too.”

He smiled, “I never doubted it for a moment. So what were you playing?”

“Wagner “Das Rheingold: Vorspiel”, it really isn’t a piano piece but it translates well enough,” I replied easily. It felt like we had slipped seamlessly into old routines full of friendly conversations and companionship. Nick reclined to lean against the wall, splayed out comfortably. “Did you play anything?”

Nick chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I played clarinet but not by choice. The younger you are the more hand-me-downs you get and clarinet was one of them. I really wanted to play saxophone but my choices were clarinet, oboe, or flute.”

“I don’t know, I could see you playing the flute.” Okay, I really couldn’t – at least not without laughing. He gave me the finger, I only laughed harder.

“Butch wouldn’t give up his trombone - it wasn’t my fault!” he squawked. I just laughed harder, making my sides hurt. “Laugh it up chuckles, laugh it up,” he muttered. Reality was he was fighting not to laugh either; the quivering corners of his mouth gave him away.

“I’m sorry,” I said once I finally calmed down, aside from the occasional and completely undignified giggle that escaped, “But that’s just too funny… Wait, is your brother really named Butch?”

“He’s Bill Jr. but we call him Butch to avoid the confusion,” Nick replied. “Better him than me though. Can you imagine me with the name Butch Stokes? Warrick would never let me live it down.”

“Your initials would be B.S. I could never let you live that down.”

“Thanks man, with a friend like you who needs enemies?”

“I wouldn’t torment you that much,” I had missed this, the conversation, the easy going rapport, Nick in general. The anxiety of the last few days dissipated like everything was all right in the world. “So,” I said. “How are you? What’s been going on?”

Nick rubbed the back of his neck and sat up. “I’m okay.” He sighed heavily, nervously picking at a hangnail, “Man, I don’t know how to say this.” He rose and started pacing. “Shit, Greg,” he murmured. “This a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

I was growing nervous myself. Whatever it was couldn’t be too bad, really it couldn’t. “For fuck’s sake, what is it?” I shouted, not able to hold it in.

“I’m leaving,” Nick replied. “Christ, I sound like I’m reading a ‘Dear John’ letter. I’m moving out. It’s time for me to get back to my life. I’ve spent enough time – that sounds so horrible.” He looked at me, “Okay, here’s the deal. I’m moving back to my house. You’re doing better; you’ve been sober for weeks. And realistically I’ve spent so much time out of work. I can’t keep putting Grissom in a tight situation – he’s covering for me with Ecklie and since I’m not at the lab that’s stretching the team thin. It’s time for me to get back to work and my life.”

Suddenly, I wanted to be sick, like the bottom had dropped out from under me and my stomach climbed into my throat. “When were you planning on leaving?” I asked, swallowing heavily around the boulder that seemed to have lodged itself in the back of my throat.

When he didn’t look me in the eyes I knew. “I just came to get the last of my things. I’ll be out of here tonight, back at work tomorrow.” He must have caught the shock and hurt carved into my face, “I’m sorry Greg…” I’m sure there was more but I didn’t hear the words he spoke. Only the phrase “I’m leaving” echoed in my head and little else. “Hey,” he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Be good, okay? I’ll call you.” He gave me a little squeeze and left.

“I went and saw Dr. Knight today…” I whispered aloud – the front door closed - to the silence.