nickngreg | Fic: Prettier and Younger But Not Any Better Off (2/?) (Reply)

Title: Prettier and Younger But Not Any Better Off
Chapter: 2/?
Rating: PG-13 for language and er...suggestive content
Summary: The boys continue to work their case. Greg has some fun with Nick.

Nick watched the dark brown maelstrom spin around in his mug as he stirred his coffee. His back ached as he sat hunched over the table in the break room, and his eyelids burned from the lack of sleep he was experiencing. While he usually had no complaints about being a CSI, minus the whole risk of having psychopaths stalking or kidnapping you, Nick was not fond of the random sleep hours the job called for. And this week had been particularly hard. Las Vegas heat waves were always accompanied by an increase in crime rates; people seemed to go crazy as the mercury rose. He and Greg had only seen each other in passing. They did not even have an hour together to fuck, let alone talk or just be with each other. Little moments like they had had in the parking garage were the only sustenance he had gotten over the past five days. Their house was a mess, they were running out of clean clothes, and their refrigerator was empty. It was the job, however, and Nick sucked it up as he sipped his coffee and fought off the sandman. At least he and Greg would be working the same case this shift.

Heaving a sigh and leaning far back in his chair to crack his aching spine, Nick looked through the glass windows of the Las Vegas Crime Lab to see if he could see Wendy. Apparently at six in the morning, the lab was dead because he did not see anyone. Nick took a large swallow of coffee and stood up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He set off down the hall, the heat of the coffee mug irritating his hand just a little, but it was comforting to know he was alive at least and not dreaming. He rounded the corner into the DNA lab, and stopped. The lab was empty, but there were signs that Wendy had just stepped out for a moment, seeing as a thermocycler as well as an electrophoresis gel were functioning. So Nick slumped in the wheeled chair and gazed around the lab. This had been the first place he met Greg, back in the day. Greg was fresh off his college years and unknowingly alluring with his unruly hair, unrulier clothing, and utterly charming demeanor. Nick was still a CSI 2 at the time, but he introduced himself arrogantly to the new lab rat. Greg did not take his guff; he professionally told Nick that his results would have to wait their turn, contrary to what Nick requested. Nick loved that Greg had put him in his place; he loved that now, but in an entirely different aspect of their lives. Nick’s eyes fell on a shelf, completely bare except for a cheap black boom box.

A grin slid across his face as he thought of Greg dancing around in the showgirl headdress, completely grateful that Warrick had gotten a picture. He remembered Catherine telling him about the time they walked in on Greg rocking out to some god-awful noise, a rubber glove on his head and his safety glasses and mask decorated. Nick remembered the first time he touched Greg affectionately in this lab, just a couple of pats on the flat chest. But the way that Greg stared at his hand and then into his eyes sent little electric jolts through the Texan. Greg’s lab, although technically it was not his anymore, had been the place where they had developed their friendship. To Nick, it was nostalgic, a place that fostered their eventual adoration for one another. He wondered if Greg felt the same, or if Greg was still hesitant because of the explosion.

“You waiting for results?” Wendy’s voice cut into Nick’s meandering memories.

“Yeah, you get anything?” He stood quickly, offering his chair, well, Wendy’s chair to Wendy. She smiled and began shuffling through the pile of papers on the table, looking for any results pertaining to Nick’s case.

“Here are the results for the SAE kit. There was actually seminal evidence, but not enough to be from ejaculation. My guess is the condom broke or he pulled out. I did get DNA off of it, but there was no match in CODIS, sorry.”

Nick’s eyes flew across the text of the results as Wendy summarized. “What about the fingernail scrapings?”

“Two donors. One matches the seminal DNA, the other is unknown male. That’s all I can give you for now; get me someone to compare it to, and I can give you more information.”

“Alright, thanks…” Nick trailed off, nodding. So their perpetrators were either first time criminals or, more likely, last convicted before CODIS was established. In any case, their DNA was not on file, and so Nick had to find the suspects the old fashioned way. He set off down the hall, eager to find Brass so he could start questioning anyone who was in the parking garage during the attack. At that moment, a cool female voice sounded over the intercom.

“Nick Stokes to the front desk, please, Nick Stokes to the front desk.” Nick shrugged and turned around, heading toward the front of the building, wondering if he had a message. As the big front desk came into view, Nick noticed Judy talking to a tall man in a police uniform. She made eye contact with Nick, and then pointed the tall man toward Nick. He was about four inches taller than Nick, with pale blond hair and pale blue eyes. Broad shoulders and an even broader torso, the man held out a large hand.

“Mr. Stokes, I’m Clark Harper. Captain Brass said the crime lab needed a little help roundin’ up some potential witnesses in your parking garage case?” Nick noted a Southern lilt in the man’s words, and wondered where he grew up. He was definitely a corn-fed farm boy, by the sounds of it.

“Call me Nick. Have you found anyone for me to question?” Nick asked, wincing slightly as his hand was crushed in the man’s formidable grip.

“We have the night guard who was makin’ rounds on the lower levels, a group of bachelors, and a newly married couple that all claimed to be in the garage during the attack. They’re all at the station, if ya’d like to question them.”

Nick was pleasantly surprised with this man’s efficiency. “That’s great, man. Let’s go.” They walked through the building to the outside parking lot, where the man’s patrol vehicle was parked. The drive was quiet for a few moments, but then the silence was broken by a deep twang.

“If you don’t mind my askin’, are you the same Stokes that was abducted?”

Nick’s mouth went dry and a tiny spike of anger flared in his chest. He quickly suppressed this feeling though, conceding that the question was innocent enough.

“Yeah. That’s me.”

“I just wanna say, you’re an inspiration. I would’na been able to go back to work after’n ordeal like that. A bunch of us at the station respect ya.”

“Thanks,” Nick mumbled, hoping the guy would pick a different topic than his near suicide and possibly the darkest moments of his existence. “Where’re you from?”

“Texas.”

“Hey, me too. What part?”

“Roundabout Austin. Dairy farm.”

Talk of good old Texas occupied them until they reached the station, much to Nick’s relief. The man was enthusiastic about the Austin PD, from which he had recently transferred. He did not like Vegas as much; the people were a little too ‘crazy’ for his tastes. Much of Vegas’s sins were brand new to a good, Christian country boy. Nick knew he smiled then, because he had felt the same exact way when he had first transferred. The talk turned to football, as it often did between two red-blooded Cowboy fans. Nick was pleased to have met someone who finally understood his undying love for the team, even with their current record that was less than stunning. He would have to invite Harper over one Sunday to watch the game, he thought. But then his thoughts snapped to his home, or rather, with whom he shared his home. He wondered if Greg would be open to Nick inviting a new friend over.

As if on cue, Nick’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out casually and looked on the illuminated screen. One new message. Nick rolled his eyes and opened the message, always feeling a little silly using text to say what words could say quicker. Just wanted to say I love it when you wear the red tshirt, <3 labrat. Nick let out a low chuckle as he punched the buttons in reply.

“Girlfriend? My gal in Austin was always sendin’ me those text messages. Good thing it was a company phone, otherwise we’d be dirt poor.”

Nick just nodded, “Yeah.” He finished his reply and snapped his phone shut, making sure Harper did not see to whom the message was being sent. The police station finally loomed into view, and Harper parked quickly.

Once inside, Nick fell behind the cop as he led the way through the labyrinthine hallways. As they neared the interrogation rooms, Harper slowed and pointed out who was in which room. Nick opted to interview the night guard first, since he had most likely been in the garage the longest and might have seen someone besides the victim go to the top level.

“I’ll wait out here, if ya don’t mind. Got some things to take care of,” Harper said, as he pointed Nick through the door.

“Yeah, I’ll see you later. And thanks, man,” Nick said. Harper nodded in response and then set off down the hallway. Nick closed the door to the interrogation room and turned to face his first potential lead. He nearly dropped his case file.

The man staring serenely back at him was, in fact, the same guard who had snuck up on his and Greg’s little love fest in the parking garage earlier that morning. Nick cleared his throat awkwardly and hoped whatever expression of surprise that flitted across his face was not entirely obvious to the man now sitting across from him.

“Thank you for coming forward, we really appreciate your help in this case,” Nick choked out, hoping to God all that the guard saw was him and Greg ‘fighting’.

“My pleasure, Mr….”

“Stokes. Nick Stokes, Las Vegas Crime Lab. And your name is…”

“Ted Rounds. I just think it’s awful what’s been happenin’ to those boys. I know our Lord would want me to come forward with information.”

“Well, thank you. What can you tell me about that night?”

“I was doing inspections of the lower levels, you know, working up. It was a pretty slow night, you know, not many people gamble on Mondays. When I was on the third level, a guy got out of the elevator from the top level. He could have been homeless, God bless him, he was dirty and disheveled. Since I was done, I hopped on the elevator. On the top level, I saw that poor boy laying there with no clothes, so I called the police.”

“You called 911? So you found him first. Do you remember anyone else that was around? We have reason to believe that there was more than one perpetrator.”

“I only remember the homeless man.” Nick nearly jumped out of his skin as his phone vibrated again. He had another new message from Greg. I like it even better when you aren’t wearing the red tshirt. Nick bit his lip, half frustrated and half aroused. He should not be getting excited while questioning a witness. He returned his attention back to the night guard.

“Mr. Rounds, you’ve been a big help, and thank you for calling in the crime. May I call you if I have any other questions?”

“Certainly. I’m glad to have helped.” Nick hastily shook his hand before stepping out of the interrogation room. He leaned against the wall and tapped a response to Greg and snapped his phone shut. It looked like he needed to hit the streets and look for this so called homeless guy.

--- - - - - - -

Greg snickered at the latest message on his phone. It’s hard to interrogate when I’m hard. He loved toying with Nick during work hours; Nick’s pent up frustration often led to long nights of sex, of which Greg would welcome with open arms and open legs. He was beginning to think that becoming a CSI was a bad idea, just for the sheer fact that he and Nick had not fucked in almost a week. An undersexed Nick was bear to be with, but an undersexed Greg was someone to avoid completely. So he contented himself with sending naughty text messages to Nick and awaiting his punishment at home. Hopefully they would be able to put this case to bed soon, because Greg and Nick both had not slept in nearly 24 hours.

So Greg groaned loudly as he lolled on the break room couch, waiting for fingerprint results from Mandy.

“Something wrong, Greg?” Grissom’s voice sounded through the room. Greg lifted his head up to see Grissom’s ass, and he promptly shut his eyes. Grissom had been bending over, no doubt putting some disgusting experiment in the community refrigerator again. Opening his eyes slowly and carefully, Greg was relieved to see Grissom was standing again.

“No, Grissom, everything is hunky dory,” Greg said.

“Have you gotten our results for the poker chip and saliva sample?”

“No, I was waiting on those lovely ladies of the lab.”

“Greg, it’s been six hours.” Grissom stared at Greg, and Greg stared at Grissom. Grissom arched his eyebrow and set his mouth.

Greg leapt up from his supine position on the couch. “I’ll just go get our results, then,” he said, shuffling out of the break room. He dragged his feet down the glass halls of the crime lab, almost wanting to shield his eyes from the glare of the fluorescent lighting. How he had worked in here daily for nearly five years, he would never know. Nowadays, he was eager to be out on the field rather than inside this glass prison. It did not help that he had been blown through one of the glass walls, and that his neurological spasms sometimes still shook his hands so badly that he would drop whatever he was holding. But he was past that. Well, he would just have to keep telling himself that. Especially when felt nauseated and paranoid when he smelled burning plastic. One would argue that the field was a more dangerous place to be, but Greg had to disagree. Sure, he had already witnessed firsthand how brutal the outside world could be, both physically and mentally. But it was not so bad, not so bad as waking up in the hospital alone. Now that he was out on the field, he had Nick to protect him. Maybe not literally, since he did, in fact, still have pain in his wrist that was broken in the beating, but rather the fact that Nick could make him forget about it. Forget about everything but himself and Nick. And that is why Greg hated having to wait for evidence results while his lover got to go gallivanting around the police station to question their suspects.

Greg rounded the corner and pushed through the sound-proof doors of what was once his DNA lab. He noticed Wendy had taken some feminine liberties with the space. Mostly the fact that the files were in alphabetical and case number order. And books were actually on the bookshelf.

“Hi Greg. Your saliva?” Wendy asked, not looking up from her microscope.

“What?” Greg asked stupidly.

“You’re here for your saliva results, aren’t you?”

“Oh. Yeah.” She quirked a dark, perfectly shaped eyebrow at him before pressing a case file into his chest.

“Your spitter is male. No match in CODIS,” she said before looking back down the microscope.

“That’s all? I could have told you that. Come on, Wendy, we both know you’re better than that.” That elicited a small smile from the DNA tech.

“Well, I can tell you that your spitter also donated the semen from the SAE kit.”

Greg grinned. “Have I ever told you that you are the love of my life?”

“Only about every hour, Greg,” she said while pinching his arm. “Now get out of here, I have work to do.”

Greg wiggled his way to the fingerprint lab, the new evidence igniting a bubbly rhythm in his step. He saw a flash of dark brown hair as he entered the lab and he opened his mouth. “Oh Mandy, well you came and you gave without taking, but I sent you away. Oh Mandy,” he continued, as she peeked her head over her computer and grinned at him. “Well you kissed me—“

“I don’t think so, Greg,” she said, swatting him on the cheek.

“Worth a try. Get anything off my poker chip?”

“No hits.”

“Why can’t crime just take the day off?” Greg asked the ceiling.

“We all wonder that, some days.” Greg rolled his eyes in Mandy’s direction, but she was already working on a different case.

“I’ll see you around. Thanks,” he said, walking out of the lab.

Holy cow, I didn’t end with a cliffie again! Gasp!

So first off, I’d like to say wow! You guys are sharp for catching on that Greggo fit the victim profile. I was wondering if you’d pick up on that.

Also, sorry for this chapter, it’s sort of a filler for what’s coming up next chapter, so please don’t stop reading now! And sorry it didn’t have a whole lot of Greggo. Nick’s plot line is more important to the overall plot line right now. But don’t worry, you’ll have your Greggo later, I think.

Umm…hope you enjoyed. That’s all for now, I guess.