One Good Man -- part 5/?

[geekwriter143.livejournal.com]

Title: One Good Man – Part Five
Author: geekwriter
Rating: R (maybe even PG-13)
Category: romance, angst
Status: incomplete
Archive: just let me know
Feedback: Yes, please!
Email: geekwriter143@yahoo.com
Series/Sequel: 5/?
Disclaimers: I don't own the boys or anything related to CSI, if I did, the show wouldn't make it past the network censors
Authors Notes: I planned for this and Part Four to actually be the same chapter, but it just kept getting longer and longer and longer…still no sex in this installment, but give the boys a break. They need to recuperate.
Spoilers: "Play With Fire" and season 4 in general
Summary: It's Greg and Nick's last night in San Francisco, so Greg takes Nick out to one of his old hangouts where he runs into some old friends.
Warnings: none



Instinctively, Nick reached for where his gun usually was, but he wasn't carrying. He couldn't, not in California, not when he wasn't working. He took a deep breath and was trying to figure out if he should take the girl down by tackling her or just hope for the best and let her run by when Greg stepped forward and opened his arms.

"Spider!" the girl cried, throwing her arms around Greg's neck. "Is it Christmas already?" She hugged him tightly and rocked him side to side.

Greg laughed and gave her a quick kiss on the mouth. "I'm just in town for a conference."

"You and your j-o-b," she said, bumping his hip with her own. "Aren't you ashamed to admit that you work for a living?" She smiled at Nick. "Who's your friend?"

"Oh, this is Nick," Greg said, reaching out to touch Nick's arm. "Nick, this is Tweet. We go way back."

"Nice to meet you, uh, Tweet," Nick said, offering her his hand.

"You, too," she said. As he shook her hand, Nick couldn't help but notice the track marks crawling up her arm.

"Oh, my God, Spider," she said. "Everybody's gonna totally shit when they find out you're in town. How long are you staying?"

Greg shrugged and made an apologetic face. "We fly out tomorrow."

She pouted for a moment and twirled a strand of electric blue hair around her finger. Nick noticed that some of her hair had dreadlocked and some hadn't. "Shit. Well, come on, anyway. We're all heading to Moe's to see Chase's band play."

"Chase is in a band?" Greg asked.

"The suck but, you know," she grinned and shrugged, then started down the street.

Greg slipped his arm around Nick's waist as they followed her. "Spider?" Nick asked in a whisper.

He smirked. "Long story."

They followed Tweet through a door painted with layers and layers of peeling black paint into a crowded, dimly lit bar that smelled of cigarette smoke, stale beer, and urine.

The band that occupied the small stage against the back wall did, indeed, suck. Nick thought the noise they were making sounded more like an industrial accident than music. He cringed at the smell, the crush of bodies against them as they followed Tweet through the bar, the fact that the so-called music was loud enough to make his eardrums bleed.

He couldn't hear what Tweet said to the table full of people, but it was obvious they know who Greg was because they smiled and said things he couldn't hear over the din of the band and scooted around to make room for them.

For some reason, Nick had always imagined Greg's friends would be science geeks, guys that sat around watching Star Trek and playing Magic: The Gathering on Saturday nights. He hadn't imagined multi-colored hair, multiple piercings, and track marks.

Nick ended up seated on the other end of the table from Greg, next to a girl with a shaved head and tattoos up and down her arms who was wearing a vintage evening gown with a strand of pearls.

"How do you know Spider?" the bald girl in the evening dress asked above the racket of Chase's band. Nick was sure he was going to end up with a migraine.

"We work together," Nick shouted back at her.

She laughed, though Nick didn't know what she thought was funny.

Nick sipped at the glass of beer somebody shoved in front of him and smiled as he watched Greg telling a story. He couldn't hear anything he was saying, but he knew the story had to be good because his face was animated and his hands gestured wildly in the air.

Chase's band stopped impersonating an industrial accident and started playing what sounded more like what happened when Nick got his radio mouthpiece too close to the speaker.

Greg was still talking, Tweet leaning close towards him, the guy on the other side of him laughing and shaking his head. Nick noticed that the guy had tattoos up the sides of his neck and enough holes in his face that Nick was pretty sure if you stuck a hose in his mouth he'd make a damn good lawn sprinkler.

Greg was telling the story of the lab explosion. Nick could tell, even though he couldn't hear a word. Greg gripped his hands tight in front of him as he talked, then suddenly flung them apart wide. He brought one hand back and moved it forward slowly, as if to illustrate the way he'd flown through the air. Then he slapped that hand flat on the table and shook his head. Nick saw that Tweet's eyes were wide and the scary pierced man had actually gasped.

He watched Tweet for a while. At first when he saw the track marks he'd assumed heroin, but he didn't know any junkie with as much energy as she had. She was fidgeting in her chair, twirling strands of hair round and round each finger, laughing with giddy joy at Greg's stories. Nick wondered what she was on, wondered if Greg knew she was high.

Mercifully, the band stopped playing about twenty minutes later, the front man saying, "Thanks. We're 'Lucifer's Anus' and you can see us here again tomorrow night."

Greg got up and came around to where Nick was sitting. "How you doing?" he asked as he slid into Nick's lap.

Nick felt a little strange. He hadn't ever had a guy sit on his lap in public before, but nobody around them seemed to think a thing of it. He slid his arms around Greg's waist. "I think my ears are bleeding."

"Aww," Greg said, turning Nick's head with his fingers and kissing his earlobe. "This one's fine," he said, nuzzling against Nick's ear.

"You keep kissing me like that and wiggling your ass around in my lap and you're going to have to demonstrate your technique right here, right now," Nick said, brushing his cheek against Greg's jaw.

"Promises, promises. Do you mind hanging out with my friends for a little while? It's just that I haven't seen them in forever and—"

"It's cool," Nick said, sliding his hand up and down Greg's leg. "They seem like nice people." And they did. The longer Nick sat and talked with them, the more he stopped seeing them as a group of pierced and tattooed freaks and started seeing them as just a group of friends.

The bald girl in the evening gown turned out to be named Jennie, and she taught yoga and vulva-appreciation classes. Nick didn't know what vulva-appreciation classes were, but he didn't ask. The scary tattooed guy was Roger, and once Nick could hear him speak he wasn't scary at all, considering that he had one of the gentlest voices he'd ever encountered. Roger was a professional piercer, and Nick smiled to suppress his gag reflex when Roger explained, in detail, just what was involved when piercing the head of your cock.

By one-thirty, the only people left at the table were Greg, Nick, and Tweet, who was bouncing in her chair, her words running together as she told them all about her day. Nick thought maybe she'd never stop talking, but she did—only because her pager went off. She snatched it up and stared at it for a moment, then looked up at Greg with a blissful smile. "That was Chase," she said. "He's back at home. You have to come with me and see him."

"Why didn't he come out after his set?" Greg asked.

Tweet shrugged and twirled a strand of hair. "He had stuff to do, I guess. But he's home now, so we should go see him. You haven't seen our new place, yet."

Nick sensed that Greg was reluctant to go, but he didn't want to say anything to him in front of Tweet. He followed Greg and Tweet out of the bar, and once they were outside Greg said, "You know, I don't think this is such a good idea."

She turned and looked at him, rushed to him and reached to touch his face. "Oh, come on," she whispered. "You're a party pooper. It's early!" She laughed at that. "When's the last time you got spun with us?" she asked in a whisper. "It's been, like, forever."

"Not long enough," Greg said dully.

"Oh, come on," Tweet said, gripping Greg's hands in hers. "Come on, come on, come on!" She giggled and jumped up and down. "It'll be like high school. You and me and Chase, spinning again just like old times."

Greg pursed his lips and Nick could see the dark look that crossed his face. "What about Marco?" he asked softly. "That's how it always was. You and me and Chase and Marco. Remember? Where's Marco tonight?"

Tweet let go of Greg's hands and took a step back. She took a deep breath and looked away from him, scratching compulsively at the side of her face. "Don't," she whispered. "Don't. Don't."

"Why don't we give Marco a call, huh? Why don't we ask him if he wants to get spun?"

Nick held his breath as he watched Tweet's features tense. Her mouth twitched and she started shaking her head.

"I just…" She tugged on a strand of hair, twirled it round and round her finger as she bounced on the balls of her feet. "You never hang out with us anymore. You didn't even come by last Christmas and I know you were home because my mom said she saw you."

"You know why I don't come by anymore," Greg whispered.

Nick looked away. He felt like he was peeping through somebody's window, listening to a conversation he had no right to hear.

"But you have to see Chase," her tone was insistent. "You can't not see Chase."

"Chase could have talked to me after his set. I know he saw me when he was on stage."

"He was…he was busy after," Tweet whispered.

"He was too busy trying to score to come talk to one of his oldest friends for five minutes," Greg said. "You know I can't do it anymore, Amy."

The fact that he used her real name seemed to startle her. She looked at him for a long moment, her lower lip trembling. Then she lurched forward and shoved Greg, hard, with both hands. "You're such a fucker!" she screamed, before turning to run.

Nick was tempted to run after her, but Greg put a hand on his arm. "Let her go," he said softly. He dug in his sweater pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. His hands weren't shaking as he lit one, but Nick could tell he was upset.

"You wanna talk about it?" Nick asked, reaching out to touch Greg's hair.

Greg leaned back against a streetlight and nodded. "We started by cooking it. Tweet and I. We were…I mean, we didn't use. Not at first. We were just these chemistry geeks, you know? Trying to make some extra cash. I was fifteen, didn't see anything wrong with it. I figured at least I knew what I was doing, that I was…I don't know. Providing a service. I figured people were going to do it anyway, and if I made it then it would be clean, unlike the bathtub shit other people made with fucking drain cleaner and battery acid." He ran his hand over his hair and sighed as he looked away. "And then, you know, one night I'm studying for finals and I'm falling asleep and the coffee's not working to keep me awake, so…" He shrugged. "I said I'd just do a little bit. Just that one time."

"And it spiraled out of control," Nick whispered.

Greg shook his head. "No. Not really. Not for me." He sighed and leaned back against the wall. "I know a really good all-night Vietnamese place a few blocks from here," he said. "You hungry?"

Nick shrugged. "I could eat."

"It was always just casual for me," Greg said as they started to walk. "It wasn't for Tweet. Did you see her arms?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"She started shooting up a few years ago. Says the high's better. We never used to slam it, just did bumps."

"You snorted it," Nick said.

Greg nodded. "And it was really clean. Shit. I was the one making it, after all." He smiled sadly. "I was so fucking lucky. So lucky. I thought I knew what I was doing, but you know how easy it is for meth labs to explode, how easy it is to asphyxiate on the fumes. For years I've thought about that, about how lucky I was, that I'd quit before I blew myself up." He looked over at Nick and shrugged. "Karma's a bitch, I guess. Got the scars on my back to prove it."

"You didn't bring that on yourself, Greg. It was an accident."

"That's what I tell myself, but it didn't feel like an accident. It felt like I got what I deserved."

Nick grabbed Greg's arm. "How can you say that? Everybody screws up, Greg. Everybody's done stuff they're not proud of. The important thing is that you moved on, that you changed."

Greg's eyes were dark. "Yeah," he whispered. "I moved on, but I left my friends behind."

"It's not your fault that Tweet's still using."

"Of course it is. I'm the one that talked her into trying it in the first place." He pulled away from Nick's grasp. "God, I'm starving."

"Greg…"

"Look, it's not a big deal, OK? It's just that I was pretending that everything was OK tonight, that we really were the way we used to be. But we're not, and it sucks, and I'll deal with it."

"Who's Marco?"

Greg flicked his cigarette butt into the street and took a deep breath. "I don't think I'm up for that story tonight. Come on. I'm craving a bowl of bun bo hue."

"Are you sure you don't wanna—"

"What? Talk about it?" Greg reached out and cupped his hand around the back of Nick's neck. "Yeah, I'm sure." He leaned in and for a soft kiss. "Haven't you ever done something you wished you could take back?" he asked, pressing his cheek to Nick's.

Nick smiled wryly. "You have no idea how much sometimes," he whispered, sliding his fingers through Greg's hair.

Greg pulled back and placed his hands on Nick's chest. "I love this town," he said. "I love this city more than I've ever loved anyplace else, but I couldn't stay."

Nick nodded. He didn't know if Greg would believe him, but he really did understand. He felt the same way about Dallas sometimes.

"And this is my last night here, until I get drunk for Christmas, anyway."

Nick laughed at that.

"So just let me enjoy it. I'll buy you Vietnamese food and tell you funny stories. If you're lucky, I'll tell you the one about waking up on top of Coit Tower."

"And if I'm unlucky?" Nick asked with a grin.

Greg shrugged and started to walk up the street. "Then you'll have to listen to me impersonate my parents all night long. My mother's theories about sexual attraction are extremely fascinating."

Nick cringed and laughed. "I'm not sure I want to know what they are."

"Well, if you don't behave, you'll get to hear that and more." Greg stopped, suddenly, and gripped Nick's arm. "Look," he whispered.

Nick froze, expecting to see a crime in progress or the foot of a corpse sticking out from behind a car. Instead all he saw were two old ladies walking up the hill, arm in arm.

"It's the twins," Greg whispered.

"Who are the twins?" Nick whispered back, not entirely sure at all why they were whispering.

"Nobody knows who they are, nobody knows where they go at night, they just appear out of nowhere, always walking arm in arm, always dressed alike. God, look at them. They're beautiful, aren't they?"

Nick watched the two old women across the street. They were dressed in matching leopard-print coats with matching black pillbox hats, a black feather curving around the side of each one. They wore black high-heeled shoes that looked like they were from the 40's, and each of them had a black fur stole wrapped around her neck.

He didn't know if he'd call them beautiful, exactly, but it was remarkable to see two old women dressed alike in fancy clothes, walking together along the streets of San Francisco at 2 o'clock in the morning. He could see how something like that would be beautiful to Greg.

"I haven't seen them in years," Greg whispered, sliding his hand down Nick's arm and lacing his fingers through Nick's. "Not since I was at Berkeley. I was afraid they were gone."

Nick looked at Greg and smiled, took in the expression of delight on Greg's face. "Maybe it's a sign," Nick said. He didn't know what made him say it, or what kind of sign it could be, but it felt like the right thing to say.

Greg beamed at that, and leaned in closer against him. "Yeah," he whispered. They stood silently on the corner, then, watching the twins make their way up the hill and finally disappear out of sight.

Nick squeezed Greg's fingers gently, then pulled him forward and they walked on in silence, hand in hand.