Fic: Dig the Hole Wide and Deep (3/?)
Oct. 15th, 2007 05:43 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
jayceepat.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
nickngregTitle: Dig the Hole Wide and Deep
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Warnings: No Sex but background on Nick.
Summary: Love isn’t always enough.
Spoilers: None
A/N: This is a sequel to ‘Putting Down Roots’ which you can find
here
Previous parts of this story can be found here
It was ironic that Nick had been going through the same 8 days 8 hours and whatever minutes that Greg had but his reaction had been completely different. He had not missed Greg at all. He’d been fighting an increasingly severe bout of anxiety. It seems that their breakup had coincided with one of Las Vegas severe temperature spikes and as the red lines on the thermometer inched upward, so did the crime incidents. Everyone was working overtime, no exceptions and there were no days off. This was causing Nick anxiety because his filthy house was never out of his thoughts. He barely had 5 or 6 hours between shifts and his body insisted on getting most of that as down time. That meant that he was lucky if he got to spend even 30 minutes trying to restore order to his surroundings. By the time he got his cleaning supplies out and worked on something it was time to clean the cleaning supplies and put everything back. He had tried once to leave everything out but it had worried him so much, he’d had to turn around and go back and put things up. Thank heaven’s he’d managed to beat Dave to the crime scene so a simple apology to the uniform at the door with a mumbled ‘Traffic is a bitch tonight’ had covered his tardiness.
Isn’t it strange how the most intelligent of us can miss something when it’s applied to our own situation?
Nick may not have had an IQ to equal Greg’s but he was a very intelligent man. His co-workers would have been astonished to realize how well read he was and how varied his interests were. He had been fascinated by the human mind ever since he’d gotten into forensics and he’d done a lot of reading on the subject. After his near death experience at the hands of first Nigel Crane and later Walter Gordon, he’d read extensively on the subject of PTSD. He was a private man. He had no intention of baring his soul to some over-educated idiot with a bunch of letters after his name whose whole reason for existence was to ask him ‘How does that make you feel?’ He knew that PTSD was real and he was more than likely to have it so he had prepared himself to handle the situation on his own and retain his privacy and his dignity. For Nick, not being thought vulnerable or ridiculous was the most important thing in his life. The most important that is until the night he found himself to his amazement putting his arms around his co-worker Greg Sanders and trying to perform a tonsillectomy on him.
The next five months after that night had shaken Nick like nothing he’d ever experienced. He was completely out of control of himself, his actions and/or his emotions for almost every single second of those five months. Order and cleanliness were important to Nick. Care for his possessions was also important to him. Nick had come from money. No one knew about the sizeable trust fund that had come to him from his grandparents on his 25th birthday.
As the baby of a large, talented, aggressively over-achieving clan, he’d been alternately coddled and picked on. Nick grew up with the idea that people would make excuses for him because he was the baby and he was just so darned cute. To say that the Dallas PD was a revelation was the understatement of the year. No one made excuses for him on one hand and yet on the other, if he did screw-up, no one did anything to him. He was Judge Stokes son and the district attorney was his mother. He had lawyers and cops for siblings. No one could touch him but no one ever gave him credit for anything he did do right. Add to that, Nick’s own doubts about his sexuality and you had one fucked up individual.
It was a testament to Nick’s basic good traits that he managed to perform 3 separate actions that would change his life forever. He was coming up on his 35th birthday and he was dissatisfied with his life, his future, his achievements…Hell he was unhappy with everything. It didn’t help that his parents had gone from hinting he should be getting married and start producing little Stokes to flat out stating it to throwing single females from ‘good’ families at him. He knew now that accepting a dinner invitation from his mother or father meant they had lined up yet another suitable ‘Stokes breeder’.
He went on-line, looked at monster.com and saw the Las Vegas Crime Lab was looking for a CSI; science degree a must and any sort of law enforcement experience a plus. When Nick saw the message at the end of the ad, telling all applicants to respond attention: Gilbert Grissom, he polished his resume and sent it off before he could chicken out. Gil Grissom was a name that was very familiar in his line of work. He was a renowned scientist and had a formidable reputation as a criminalist who built rock solid cases. Working under someone like Grissom could be the difference between coasting through life as the youngest Stokes and actually accomplishing something with his life and his degree. All of that was great and wonderful but it still didn’t stop Nick from puking his guts up when he realized he’d really pressed the send button.
When he got a response, not through his computer, but via a letter from the crime lab setting a date for an interview and telling him travel arrangements would be made upon his acknowledgment of the letter, he threw up again. Then he put in for PTO for the date in the letter and when he got an OK, he responded with a firm yes.
The Las Vegas lab was everything he’d hoped it would be; chaotic and active. People were moving or working but most looked up as he was escorted down the hall to Captain Jim Brass’ office. Most of them gave him a small friendly smile as he went by. Nick had given a lot of thought to the façade he wanted the Nevada people to see. He decided to play up the Texas charm and friendliness but back it up with solid educational credentials and accounts of his years with the Dallas PD. He was wearing a nice, dark blue suit; not too expensive but for sure not something from the ‘Bargain Barn’, a pale blue dress shirt and a grey tie with wine and blue stripes. Nick knew he looked good. He looked really good. He had never cared that much about his looks. Every one in the Stokes family was good looking. It came from genes and nothing he had done. He did back up the DNA with careful eating habits and a strict exercise regimen. He considered his looks to be another asset like his degree, his extensive reading habits and his attention to detail. He wasn’t at all surprised when he aced the interview. He knew as soon as he started talking to Brass how to handle him. When Brass asked him why he was considering leaving his home state, he gave him his most earnest, wide-eyed look, leaned forward and said, “Look Captain Brass, I know you’ve got my file and you’ve probably done a back-ground check already so you know my folks are really big in Texas politics and Texas justice. As the youngest and last one of the ‘Stokes kids’, I probably can get a free ride for as long as I want to take it. BUT, I’ll never know if I’m good or if I’m just a Stokes. I want to know what I’ve got and who I am.” After that, Brass just leaned back and didn’t even ask any more questions.
The shit hit the fan when Nick turned in his resignation back in Dallas. Within 35 minutes, his cell phone was ringing with first his mom, then his sister followed by his only brother and then, the big kahuna himself; Judge Stokes. He ignored them all.
After shift, he went home, changed into jeans and t-shirt, threw up again and headed for the old homestead to face the music. It was not pleasant.
Nick took it all and tried to explain his position. He was getting angrier and angrier. Good God almighty, you’d think the man would be proud that his son didn’t want to ride his coat tails and wanted to prove himself but no; all Stokes senior could see was that his youngest offspring who had always been biddable and obedient was defying him to his face and he was not going to allow that. When the elder Stokes finally yelled at his son that he was going to call Las Vegas and let them know he wasn’t taking the job, that was the last straw for Nick. He jumped up, threw his napkin down on his plate, (it wasn’t like he’d eaten anything anyway) and told his father loudly and plainly that he had no intention of staying in Dallas and mating with some Texas brood mare hand picked by his father to produce more Stokes to uphold the family name. If his dad called Las Vegas, he knew he could do that and Nick knew he couldn’t stop him, but if he did, he, Nick was leaving not just Texas but the United States and he would never see or speak to anyone in his family again. He turned to go and got as far as the door when his mother’s anguished cry stopped him.
She turned to Judge Stokes and asked him if being right was so important that he was willing to lose his youngest son, her baby boy; because if it was, then he was going to lose his wife too. Judge Stokes was stubborn not stupid. He knew his wife had a will to equal his and Nick was her favorite. Hell if he was honest, he would admit that Nick was his favorite too. That was why he was so determined that Nick would carry on and make a name for himself. He gave in.
Nick sat back down at the table and they all began to talk about datelines and how long he had and of course, his mother and sisters immediately started planning a huge going away party. Nick resisted the urge to lay his head in his plate and cry. He knew every available female in Texas would be at that party in a last ditch attempt to change his mind.
*********************************
Living in Las Vegas was like moving to another planet. Nick had never felt so much like a fish out of water. Of course, no one knew that. He put on such a good front. He came across as the most laid back, easy going, good natured, eager-to-learn country boy you’d ever hope to meet. Nick was so successful because he really was easy-going and good-natured and lord knows he was eager to learn. What he wasn’t, was a good-ole-country boy. Nick as we have already established was smart and confused and conflicted.
It was during his third week on the job that Nick was assigned to a DB in an alley behind a club called ‘alterna’. Jim rode with Nick in his lab assigned Denali to the crime scene. He asked Nick if he’d heard of the club and Nick gave Jim his biggest and brightest smile and said, no he wasn’t really a night club sort of person. He liked C&W bars where you could wear your jeans and boots and get a good, cold long neck but he figured these Vegas clubs were out of his league. Jim chuckled and told Nick that this one was for sure out of his league. Nick’s good looks had caused a sensation when he started full time and even though he’d only been on the job for a little over two weeks, it was no secret that he’d already had 3 dates and lord only knows how many propositions. When Nick gave him a puzzled “HUH” face, Jim told him ‘alterna’ was a gay bar. The name was short for ‘Alternative’ as in alternative life style.
They got to the scene, headed around back where the body was waiting for the CSI’s and the coroner. Nick got his camera out and began taking his body shots. At first appearance, it looked as though it was a simple ‘fag attack’ gone really, really bad. The body was that of a young Caucasian male. From what Nick could see he seemed to be well built and it looked as though he was wearing nice clothes. The body was laying face down and Nick was not allowed to touch until after the coroner had pronounced. But Nick noted his pant’s were pulled down as were his briefs and he appeared to have streaks of blood on his ass cheeks.
Nick became aware of angry voices behind him. Brass was interrogating the club owner and as usual was making the situation just as bad as he possible could. Instead of asking questions, he was throwing accusations and the club owner was ready to throttle him. Brass always said his style made people nervous and they were more likely to let something slip when they were nervous. Nick found however, that most of them just clammed up and yelled for a lawyer.
He walked over to the irate couple and put a hand on Brass’ shoulder. “Captain Brass, why don’t you let me speak with this gentleman? I’m only going to have to ask him the same questions again, no need in both of us wasting our time.” He gave both men his best ‘show the dimples’ grin and carefully allowed his body to lean ever so gently into Jim’s. Jim, who was one of the most aggressively hetero men Nick had ever met, instantly moved his body away from contact with Nick and effectively away from the club owner.
Brass sort of growled an OK and went to see what was keeping Super Dave. Nick turned to the owner and said, “I’m sorry sir, I didn’t hear your name.”
The irate owner was already calming down under Nick’s calm handling. His gentle non-threatening voice was like pouring lotion on a rash.
“It’s Wallace; Roger Wallace. I tried to tell your human ape that this young man was not in my club last night but he didn’t want to hear anything I had to say that didn’t fit his pre-conceived idea of what this is.”
Nick smiled at Wallace’ description of Jim as a human ape and said, “Well sir, this is my third week in Las Vegas AND my third week as a CSI. I’m too new to have any pre-conceived ideas so why don’t you tell me why you’re so sure he wasn’t here.”
Wallace smiled back at Nick and said, ‘Because last night was Thursday and every Thursday I have teen night here. The bar is closed down, only soft drinks are served and no one over 18 is allowed in except the sponsors.”
Nick had never heard of anything like that and asked what did he mean sponsors and what was ‘teen night’?
Wallace gave Nick an education; a sex education. He told him that he catered to a gay, male crowd but he’d had friends and he’d known so many young men who thought they were different but had no one to help them figure themselves out. The sponsors were officers of the local Gay Liberation Society who invited young teen age men with questions about their sexuality to his club where they could meet other teens and talk with adults about their issues and get some real answers to their questions. Wallace knew the young man had not been at his club because he photographed every single teen along with their ID before they were allowed in the front door.
By then, the coroner’s wagon had arrived and Dave was busy examining the body and called Nick to help him turn him over. As Nick turned away, Roger Wallace leaned over and spoke softly into Nick’s ear, “We have a real nice group of people here on a regular basis. I’ve been here a long time and I keep control of my clients. It’s mostly 30 to 50 year old professionals like you. I think you’d like it and everyone is very discrete.”
Nick was so surprised he didn’t even think to tell Wallace he was mistaken about him or ask him why he thought he’d be interested. He went back to his body and worked his scene.
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Warnings: No Sex but background on Nick.
Summary: Love isn’t always enough.
Spoilers: None
A/N: This is a sequel to ‘Putting Down Roots’ which you can find
here
Previous parts of this story can be found here
It was ironic that Nick had been going through the same 8 days 8 hours and whatever minutes that Greg had but his reaction had been completely different. He had not missed Greg at all. He’d been fighting an increasingly severe bout of anxiety. It seems that their breakup had coincided with one of Las Vegas severe temperature spikes and as the red lines on the thermometer inched upward, so did the crime incidents. Everyone was working overtime, no exceptions and there were no days off. This was causing Nick anxiety because his filthy house was never out of his thoughts. He barely had 5 or 6 hours between shifts and his body insisted on getting most of that as down time. That meant that he was lucky if he got to spend even 30 minutes trying to restore order to his surroundings. By the time he got his cleaning supplies out and worked on something it was time to clean the cleaning supplies and put everything back. He had tried once to leave everything out but it had worried him so much, he’d had to turn around and go back and put things up. Thank heaven’s he’d managed to beat Dave to the crime scene so a simple apology to the uniform at the door with a mumbled ‘Traffic is a bitch tonight’ had covered his tardiness.
Isn’t it strange how the most intelligent of us can miss something when it’s applied to our own situation?
Nick may not have had an IQ to equal Greg’s but he was a very intelligent man. His co-workers would have been astonished to realize how well read he was and how varied his interests were. He had been fascinated by the human mind ever since he’d gotten into forensics and he’d done a lot of reading on the subject. After his near death experience at the hands of first Nigel Crane and later Walter Gordon, he’d read extensively on the subject of PTSD. He was a private man. He had no intention of baring his soul to some over-educated idiot with a bunch of letters after his name whose whole reason for existence was to ask him ‘How does that make you feel?’ He knew that PTSD was real and he was more than likely to have it so he had prepared himself to handle the situation on his own and retain his privacy and his dignity. For Nick, not being thought vulnerable or ridiculous was the most important thing in his life. The most important that is until the night he found himself to his amazement putting his arms around his co-worker Greg Sanders and trying to perform a tonsillectomy on him.
The next five months after that night had shaken Nick like nothing he’d ever experienced. He was completely out of control of himself, his actions and/or his emotions for almost every single second of those five months. Order and cleanliness were important to Nick. Care for his possessions was also important to him. Nick had come from money. No one knew about the sizeable trust fund that had come to him from his grandparents on his 25th birthday.
As the baby of a large, talented, aggressively over-achieving clan, he’d been alternately coddled and picked on. Nick grew up with the idea that people would make excuses for him because he was the baby and he was just so darned cute. To say that the Dallas PD was a revelation was the understatement of the year. No one made excuses for him on one hand and yet on the other, if he did screw-up, no one did anything to him. He was Judge Stokes son and the district attorney was his mother. He had lawyers and cops for siblings. No one could touch him but no one ever gave him credit for anything he did do right. Add to that, Nick’s own doubts about his sexuality and you had one fucked up individual.
It was a testament to Nick’s basic good traits that he managed to perform 3 separate actions that would change his life forever. He was coming up on his 35th birthday and he was dissatisfied with his life, his future, his achievements…Hell he was unhappy with everything. It didn’t help that his parents had gone from hinting he should be getting married and start producing little Stokes to flat out stating it to throwing single females from ‘good’ families at him. He knew now that accepting a dinner invitation from his mother or father meant they had lined up yet another suitable ‘Stokes breeder’.
He went on-line, looked at monster.com and saw the Las Vegas Crime Lab was looking for a CSI; science degree a must and any sort of law enforcement experience a plus. When Nick saw the message at the end of the ad, telling all applicants to respond attention: Gilbert Grissom, he polished his resume and sent it off before he could chicken out. Gil Grissom was a name that was very familiar in his line of work. He was a renowned scientist and had a formidable reputation as a criminalist who built rock solid cases. Working under someone like Grissom could be the difference between coasting through life as the youngest Stokes and actually accomplishing something with his life and his degree. All of that was great and wonderful but it still didn’t stop Nick from puking his guts up when he realized he’d really pressed the send button.
When he got a response, not through his computer, but via a letter from the crime lab setting a date for an interview and telling him travel arrangements would be made upon his acknowledgment of the letter, he threw up again. Then he put in for PTO for the date in the letter and when he got an OK, he responded with a firm yes.
The Las Vegas lab was everything he’d hoped it would be; chaotic and active. People were moving or working but most looked up as he was escorted down the hall to Captain Jim Brass’ office. Most of them gave him a small friendly smile as he went by. Nick had given a lot of thought to the façade he wanted the Nevada people to see. He decided to play up the Texas charm and friendliness but back it up with solid educational credentials and accounts of his years with the Dallas PD. He was wearing a nice, dark blue suit; not too expensive but for sure not something from the ‘Bargain Barn’, a pale blue dress shirt and a grey tie with wine and blue stripes. Nick knew he looked good. He looked really good. He had never cared that much about his looks. Every one in the Stokes family was good looking. It came from genes and nothing he had done. He did back up the DNA with careful eating habits and a strict exercise regimen. He considered his looks to be another asset like his degree, his extensive reading habits and his attention to detail. He wasn’t at all surprised when he aced the interview. He knew as soon as he started talking to Brass how to handle him. When Brass asked him why he was considering leaving his home state, he gave him his most earnest, wide-eyed look, leaned forward and said, “Look Captain Brass, I know you’ve got my file and you’ve probably done a back-ground check already so you know my folks are really big in Texas politics and Texas justice. As the youngest and last one of the ‘Stokes kids’, I probably can get a free ride for as long as I want to take it. BUT, I’ll never know if I’m good or if I’m just a Stokes. I want to know what I’ve got and who I am.” After that, Brass just leaned back and didn’t even ask any more questions.
The shit hit the fan when Nick turned in his resignation back in Dallas. Within 35 minutes, his cell phone was ringing with first his mom, then his sister followed by his only brother and then, the big kahuna himself; Judge Stokes. He ignored them all.
After shift, he went home, changed into jeans and t-shirt, threw up again and headed for the old homestead to face the music. It was not pleasant.
Nick took it all and tried to explain his position. He was getting angrier and angrier. Good God almighty, you’d think the man would be proud that his son didn’t want to ride his coat tails and wanted to prove himself but no; all Stokes senior could see was that his youngest offspring who had always been biddable and obedient was defying him to his face and he was not going to allow that. When the elder Stokes finally yelled at his son that he was going to call Las Vegas and let them know he wasn’t taking the job, that was the last straw for Nick. He jumped up, threw his napkin down on his plate, (it wasn’t like he’d eaten anything anyway) and told his father loudly and plainly that he had no intention of staying in Dallas and mating with some Texas brood mare hand picked by his father to produce more Stokes to uphold the family name. If his dad called Las Vegas, he knew he could do that and Nick knew he couldn’t stop him, but if he did, he, Nick was leaving not just Texas but the United States and he would never see or speak to anyone in his family again. He turned to go and got as far as the door when his mother’s anguished cry stopped him.
She turned to Judge Stokes and asked him if being right was so important that he was willing to lose his youngest son, her baby boy; because if it was, then he was going to lose his wife too. Judge Stokes was stubborn not stupid. He knew his wife had a will to equal his and Nick was her favorite. Hell if he was honest, he would admit that Nick was his favorite too. That was why he was so determined that Nick would carry on and make a name for himself. He gave in.
Nick sat back down at the table and they all began to talk about datelines and how long he had and of course, his mother and sisters immediately started planning a huge going away party. Nick resisted the urge to lay his head in his plate and cry. He knew every available female in Texas would be at that party in a last ditch attempt to change his mind.
*********************************
Living in Las Vegas was like moving to another planet. Nick had never felt so much like a fish out of water. Of course, no one knew that. He put on such a good front. He came across as the most laid back, easy going, good natured, eager-to-learn country boy you’d ever hope to meet. Nick was so successful because he really was easy-going and good-natured and lord knows he was eager to learn. What he wasn’t, was a good-ole-country boy. Nick as we have already established was smart and confused and conflicted.
It was during his third week on the job that Nick was assigned to a DB in an alley behind a club called ‘alterna’. Jim rode with Nick in his lab assigned Denali to the crime scene. He asked Nick if he’d heard of the club and Nick gave Jim his biggest and brightest smile and said, no he wasn’t really a night club sort of person. He liked C&W bars where you could wear your jeans and boots and get a good, cold long neck but he figured these Vegas clubs were out of his league. Jim chuckled and told Nick that this one was for sure out of his league. Nick’s good looks had caused a sensation when he started full time and even though he’d only been on the job for a little over two weeks, it was no secret that he’d already had 3 dates and lord only knows how many propositions. When Nick gave him a puzzled “HUH” face, Jim told him ‘alterna’ was a gay bar. The name was short for ‘Alternative’ as in alternative life style.
They got to the scene, headed around back where the body was waiting for the CSI’s and the coroner. Nick got his camera out and began taking his body shots. At first appearance, it looked as though it was a simple ‘fag attack’ gone really, really bad. The body was that of a young Caucasian male. From what Nick could see he seemed to be well built and it looked as though he was wearing nice clothes. The body was laying face down and Nick was not allowed to touch until after the coroner had pronounced. But Nick noted his pant’s were pulled down as were his briefs and he appeared to have streaks of blood on his ass cheeks.
Nick became aware of angry voices behind him. Brass was interrogating the club owner and as usual was making the situation just as bad as he possible could. Instead of asking questions, he was throwing accusations and the club owner was ready to throttle him. Brass always said his style made people nervous and they were more likely to let something slip when they were nervous. Nick found however, that most of them just clammed up and yelled for a lawyer.
He walked over to the irate couple and put a hand on Brass’ shoulder. “Captain Brass, why don’t you let me speak with this gentleman? I’m only going to have to ask him the same questions again, no need in both of us wasting our time.” He gave both men his best ‘show the dimples’ grin and carefully allowed his body to lean ever so gently into Jim’s. Jim, who was one of the most aggressively hetero men Nick had ever met, instantly moved his body away from contact with Nick and effectively away from the club owner.
Brass sort of growled an OK and went to see what was keeping Super Dave. Nick turned to the owner and said, “I’m sorry sir, I didn’t hear your name.”
The irate owner was already calming down under Nick’s calm handling. His gentle non-threatening voice was like pouring lotion on a rash.
“It’s Wallace; Roger Wallace. I tried to tell your human ape that this young man was not in my club last night but he didn’t want to hear anything I had to say that didn’t fit his pre-conceived idea of what this is.”
Nick smiled at Wallace’ description of Jim as a human ape and said, “Well sir, this is my third week in Las Vegas AND my third week as a CSI. I’m too new to have any pre-conceived ideas so why don’t you tell me why you’re so sure he wasn’t here.”
Wallace smiled back at Nick and said, ‘Because last night was Thursday and every Thursday I have teen night here. The bar is closed down, only soft drinks are served and no one over 18 is allowed in except the sponsors.”
Nick had never heard of anything like that and asked what did he mean sponsors and what was ‘teen night’?
Wallace gave Nick an education; a sex education. He told him that he catered to a gay, male crowd but he’d had friends and he’d known so many young men who thought they were different but had no one to help them figure themselves out. The sponsors were officers of the local Gay Liberation Society who invited young teen age men with questions about their sexuality to his club where they could meet other teens and talk with adults about their issues and get some real answers to their questions. Wallace knew the young man had not been at his club because he photographed every single teen along with their ID before they were allowed in the front door.
By then, the coroner’s wagon had arrived and Dave was busy examining the body and called Nick to help him turn him over. As Nick turned away, Roger Wallace leaned over and spoke softly into Nick’s ear, “We have a real nice group of people here on a regular basis. I’ve been here a long time and I keep control of my clients. It’s mostly 30 to 50 year old professionals like you. I think you’d like it and everyone is very discrete.”
Nick was so surprised he didn’t even think to tell Wallace he was mistaken about him or ask him why he thought he’d be interested. He went back to his body and worked his scene.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-10-19 09:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-19 09:58 pm (UTC)Then when season six started and there was nothing about his recovery, I was pi$$ed. So I started writing to vent my anger against the hacks that had taken over my favorite show.
I have a really long story over at Oh No Nicky if you are interested. I don't know if you like long ones; it's called Life Changes.