“A time to be born” (Nick/Greg, 3/4)
Jan. 23rd, 2008 07:11 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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nickngregHere’s the next instalment, and thanks to anyone who’s still with me. Yes, it’s been an age, and I’m sorry.
Title – A time to be born
Author -![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
black_dahlia63
Characters – Nick Stokes, Greg Sanders, various OC’s
Rating – PG
Warning – character death. Yeah, you’ll need tissues. Sorry.
Disclaimer – Not mine, sadly.
Thanks to Nina for research assistance. Again. See you in March, sweetie!
part one here
part two here
Dallas, March 28th – 6.15 a.m.
Greg woke to the sound of a raspberry being blown several feet from his head, and when he reached behind him he was none too surprised to find the other half of the bed empty.
“Brrr.”
“Brrr.”
The noise became more insistent, making Greg realise he wasn’t going to be able to sleep in no matter how much he might want to, and he groaned under his breath as he scrubbed a hand across his eyes.
“Hey, you,” he said, watching Emily’s eyes light up at the sound of his voice. “Not gonna cut me a break, are you?” and he threw the covers back as a steady stream of ba ba bas erupted from Emily’s lips. Setting his feet on the floor, he reached into the crib and scooped her up before placing her on the bed; he changed her diaper and dressed her in a fresh sleeper, talking to her all the while and managing to smile despite the weight that had been lying over his heart for more than a month.
Avoiding the handful of floorboards that creaked – something he’d quickly learnt to do during his first few visits to the ranch, when he and Nick had been given separate rooms and two or three nights had simply been too long to wait – Greg left the bedroom and made his way downstairs. He entered the kitchen and moved to retrieve a bottle from the fridge, the sight of Emily’s breakfast producing a delighted squeal; he switched on the kettle and took a jug out of one of the cupboards, and then he crossed the room to stand in front of the window that looked out onto the back yard.
There were fields beyond the fence that bordered the yard, and even though Greg couldn’t see him he knew Nick was out there somewhere. “He’ll be back soon,” he told Emily in a soft murmur, although he wasn’t sure if it was true; as soon as they’d finished unpacking the previous day, Nick had gone out on one of the horses and hadn’t returned until it was starting to get dark.
“I hope you’re boiling water for coffee,” a voice said behind him, and Greg turned to see Nick’s father standing in the kitchen doorway. He had a hand braced in the small of his back, and although he was smiling it didn’t look as though he meant it completely.
“Not yet,” Greg replied, managing to smile in return. “We’ve got priorities, haven’t we?” and he planted a kiss on the top of Emily’s head. “I was kind of hoping she’d sleep a bit longer, but…”
“They never let you get enough sleep,” Bill Stokes said as he moved closer. “Not till they’re in college, and maybe not even then.” He reached out to pass a hand over Emily’s hair, and when the gesture was rewarded with the raising of a pair of chubby arms a wistful expression appeared in Bill’s eyes. “Can I take her for you?”
***************
The weather was unseasonably warm, and the three of them had migrated to the deck that overlooked the back yard. Emily, her bottle long since emptied, sat in her grandfather’s lap sucking the two fingers that always seemed to find their way to her mouth of late; Greg sat in another chair a foot or so away, clutching a mug of coffee that had gone cold without him taking a single sip.
“What’s on your mind, Greg?” Bill asked, finally breaking the silence. “You’re usually the last one up when the three of you come here…”
“How do you know anything’s on my mind?”
“Nick isn’t talking about what’s happening to me, is he?” and when Greg’s head snapped up he saw recognition in Bill’s eyes. “Am I right?”
“You’re right,” Greg said softly, accompanying the words with a nod. “I’m trying to help him - well, I want to, but I don’t know how,” he went on. “He isn’t talking about it, so I don’t know what he’s thinking,” he went on. “And everyone in my family lives till they’re at least ninety, so I haven’t got a clue what he’s going through,” and a stricken look appeared on his face as soon as the words had escaped his lips. “Christ, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
“I know you didn’t,” Bill told him, raising a hand to forestall any further apology; a gentle sigh echoed in the air, and it was a long time before Nick’s father spoke again. “I love my children, Greg, I love them with all my heart,” and the older man’s expression grew distant. “I wanted them to be happy, but I wanted them all to make the best of themselves too, and I was probably tougher on them than I meant to be,” he continued. “My father raised me with – well, a rod of iron, really, and I told myself that was the one thing I wouldn’t do when I had children, but I guess I didn’t try as hard not to do it as I should have done.” He broke off, lowering his head to stare down at the weather-worn boards between his feet, and when he went on speaking his voice had lowered in pitch and volume. “It didn’t really seem to matter to any of the others, but Nick…” and the sorrow in Bill’s eyes as he stopped speaking again was almost too painful for Greg to look at.
“I can’t think about how he must have felt, not telling us what that woman did to him all those years ago because he was afraid of what I’d think,” Bill said eventually, his voice barely audible. “He flew out here, didn’t tell us he was coming – just said he had something he needed to tell us, and I’d never seen him cry like that before,” and Bill finally lifted his head. “All I could do was ask myself what I’d done to make him keep that to himself for so long,” he said, and then eyes that were so like Nick’s fixed themselves on Greg. “You made him come out here and tell us, didn’t you?”
“I had to,” Greg said, darting a glance at Emily who was staring in fascination at a bird perched on a nearby fence. “We hadn’t talked about having kids, not then, but I knew that if I had one I’d want to know if someone hurt them. I wanted to come here with him, he was so scared, but I knew I couldn’t, and – I think it was when I watched him get on the plane that I realised how serious things were getting between us,” and he had to swallow hard before he could carry on speaking. “It never hurt like that when I couldn’t be with someone before, and I was afraid he wouldn’t come back – I knew what you felt about me then, and I…”
“That’s water under the bridge now,” Bill said, still looking directly at Greg. “We both know how he is, Greg, he’ll talk when he’s ready,” and he reached across the space between them to squeeze Greg’s forearm. The fact that the grip wasn’t as firm as it had been even six months since made Greg’s throat tighten, and he felt something prickle behind his eyes when Bill spoke again.
“I’m just glad he’s got you.”
*******************
Greg’s notebook, May 15th, 3 a.m
The hospital asked Bill to participate in a trial for a new drug that should relieve some of the symptoms he’s got. He said yes, even though they told him there might be side effects, and I can understand that - if it was me, I’d do anything to get more time with my family too.
Nick won’t tell me what he thinks, because he’s still not talking about it. I try and talk to him about it, and that’s difficult enough, because now we’re working different shifts we hardly seem to see each other - but he always finds a way of changing the subject, and right now I feel as if
and then the phone rang next to the bed, making Greg set down the notebook and pen.
“Hello?”
“Hey, G,” Nick said - and even coming over a bad cell connection, despite the cares that occupied his heart and mind, the sound of his name on his lover’s lips made Greg smile. “How is she?”
“She’s asleep,” Greg said, sitting up and shoving the notebook into the drawer of the nightstand. “Didn’t finish her bottle before bed, her nose was pretty stuffed up.” Emily had come down with a cold the previous day, which seemed to be taking hold with a vengeance despite Nick and Greg’s best efforts to the contrary, and when Greg recalled the expression on Nick’s face as he’d had to leave the apartment he felt something stinging the back of his throat.
“Poor baby,” Nick said, his voice barely audible. “I think I’ll take her to the doctor later today if she isn’t any better.”
“It’s a cold,” Greg replied, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his free hand in an attempt to dislodge the sand that seemed to be embedded in them; he couldn’t remember a time lately when he’d slept for more than two or three hours at a stretch, and it was at times like this that he realised how tired he really was. “He won’t do anything we can’t do at home, Nicky.”
“I know,” was the answer, and Greg thought he made out a sigh following the words. “Look, I need to go, Warrick and I have a call, we’ve – yeah, I’m coming,” Nick shouted, and then his voice dropped again. “Love you guys,” he said in a near-whisper, and before Greg could respond the connection was broken.
Greg yawned and stood up, peeling his T shirt over his head and letting it land in a heap on the floor. His jeans followed, and he padded along the hallway in his boxer shorts; he’d check on Emily once more, he told himself, and then he’d grab a shower and sleep. Even after all this time he still wasn’t quite used to working days, and it wasn’t simply because he’d become accustomed to being out at night – it was because work had always meant being around Nick before, and now it didn’t.
“We’re not putting her in daycare”, Nick had said one night not long after they’d met Emily’s birthmother for the first time. “Not when she’s so small”, and he’d wrapped his arms round Greg as the two of them lay in bed. “I want the first person she smiles at to be one of us, not some stranger,” but Greg had known there was more to it than this, that what had happened to Nick as a child was still affecting him even now. He’d told Nick that would be fine, had seen the tiny lines of anxiety on Nick’s face smooth themselves out – and seeing this, Greg had felt his own heart lighten.
The room was lit only by the dim coloured glow from the Disney Princess lamp on the dresser – a gift from Catherine, who had been quick to point out that Lindsay had been the one who’d chosen it – but Greg had learned to navigate this near-darkness a long time since. Making his way to the crib, he stood looking down at Emily; she lay sprawled on her back, two fingers of one hand plugged into her mouth and the other hand clutching the cloth diaper that was already threadbare in one corner from her habit of rubbing it against her cheek. Her congested breathing was clearly audible, and it made Greg’s heart ache to listen to it; he stretched a hand down towards her sleeping form, but then he thought of how long it had taken to get Emily to sleep not an hour and a half previously, and he straightened up again and stepped away from the crib.
A final glance back over his shoulder as he paused in the bedroom doorway, and then Greg took the handful of steps that brought him into the bathroom. Blinking sleepily in the bright light that bounced off the white tile, he pulled the curtain round the tub and reached to turn on the shower; steam began to rise in clouds over the top of the shower curtain, and then just as he was bending to remove his boxers he heard a fretful whimper strike up in the room next door.
He stood motionless with his head cocked to one side, waiting to see whether the sound would tail off the way it sometimes did; despite his tiredness, a smile darted across Greg’s lips as he thought of how it was when he and Nick were both at home and Nick would rush into Emily’s room at the slightest squeak. I bet she’d go back to sleep if you left her , he’d told Nick more than once, even though he knew he wouldn’t behave any differently himself. You know you’re spoiling her, don’t you?…
…then the crying disintegrated into a gargled choking sound, and when Greg’s shoulder hit the doorframe as he ran from the bathroom he barely felt it.
He struck the light switch as he flew into his daughter’s room, and as he stared down into the crib there was the briefest instant when he felt that his heart would stop.
Emily still lay on her back, but her arms and legs were jerking convulsively. Her head was thrown back, her eyes rolling up in their sockets, and a trickle of fluid was coming from one side of her mouth.
Greg reached into the crib to pick Emily up, and a glut of vomit flew from her mouth onto her sleeper and the mattress; he lifted her into his arms, her limbs continuing to jerk as though she had no control over them. Her body felt like a furnace next to Greg’s bare torso, making him think how could she be this hot, she was fine when I put her to bed - and as he ran to the other bedroom, his movements seemed to slow to a crawl.
He sat down heavily on Nick’s side of the bed right before his legs gave out, and it took three tries before he could snatch the phone from its cradle on the nightstand. “Come on,” he said frantically as he tapped in a number and Emily continued to thrash against his chest, her eyes still rolling upwards. “Please, sweetheart, wake up -”
“911, what is your emergency?”
“My – it’s my little girl, she’s having a fit,” Greg said, his tongue threatening to cleave to the roof of his mouth with every word. “She’s burning up, her arms and legs are moving but it’s like she passed out…”
“How old is your daughter, sir?”
“Almost seven months,” Greg replied, a little voice in his head saying don’t panic while his entire body slowly turned to ice. “She’s got a cold, and she…”
“Okay, sir, I’m going to get someone out to you right now,” was the answer. “Can you confirm your apartment number for me?” and Greg supposed that he must have spoken, because a moment later the anonymous female voice was asking, “Has she vomited?”
“Yeah,” Greg told her. “Yeah, when I picked her up, I thought - how long is the ambulance going to take, ma’am?”
“It’s going to be there very soon,” the voice said. “What’s your name, sir?”
“G – Greg.”
“All right, Greg, where’s the baby now?”
“She’s here, I’m holding her,” Greg said. “She sounded like she was choking, so I went in her room, and when I picked her up…”
“Okay, Greg,” the woman soothed, “you need to lay her face down on your knees - can you do that for me?” and Greg balanced the phone between his right ear and his shoulder; as he was in the act of turning Emily over there was a hiccupping sound, and a split second later his lap was soaked in warm wetness.
“She threw up again,” Greg said into the phone. “What do I do now?”
“Just make sure she doesn’t hurt herself,” was the answer. “Hold her still – and just keep calm, Greg, okay? If her daddy’s scared she’ll be scared too, won’t she? What’s her name?”
“Emily,” Greg said as he kept a trembling hand between Emily’s shoulders. “You’re okay, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” he half-whispered as he looked down at the red curls of hair. “Ma’am?” he said into the phone, raising his voice and trying to swallow the fear that was mushrooming in his chest; at the same time he was thinking that he and Nick had taken a first aid course, that he ought to know what to do now... Where’s that ambulance? he wanted to ask, but the words wouldn’t come, because at the moment he opened his mouth Emily’s limbs stopped jerking.
“No, no, no -” He let the phone fall to the bedcovers, feeling heat radiating from beneath Emily’s arms as he lifted her up. “No, baby, please,” he said, his heart in his throat. “Come on, wake up, look at me,” and for a split second all he could think of was the morning three days since when the three of them had been in this room. Nick had made breakfast and brought it back to bed; when he’d dabbed strawberry jam on Emily’s bottom lip she’d licked it away, and her entire face had lit up with delight…
…then there was a small inrush of breath, seeming like the loudest thing Greg had ever heard even though he had to strain to hear it. Emily’s eyes blinked open, fixing themselves on his face – not the way they did when she woke up from a nap, but slightly unfocused, as though she was wondering where she was - and seconds later, her mouth drew down in a trembling arc and she began to cry.
“I’ve got you,” Greg said, his voice cracking as he spoke; sensation rushed back into his limbs and blood roared in his ears as he cradled Emily against his chest, feeling sick with relief. “You’re okay, sweetheart, I’ve got you -”
“Greg? Are you there?” It was the woman’s voice, sounding as though it was coming from miles away, and he grabbed the phone up from the bed. “Greg?”
“I’m here,” he said, feeling something tickling his cheeks and knowing that he must be crying but not caring. “She woke up.”
“Greg, the paramedics just pulled up in front of your building, you’re going to have to buzz them in.”
“Thank you,” he said, and he forced himself to his feet. Keeping a firm grip on his daughter, he moved along the hallway, each step slow and sludgy as though he were walking through molasses; as he was drawing level with the front door, the buzzer sounded next to him – and reaching out with his free hand, he pressed the answer switch and spoke with what felt like the last of his strength.
“Yes?”
“Paramedics, sir.”
***********
3.55 a.m.
Another motel room, another dead body, like so many other cases he’d worked over the years.
Bag her hands.
Cigarette butt in the ashtray, no lipstick, can’t be hers. Bag that too.
Both glasses used, take those.
Because while he followed the routine and allowed the minutiae of work to take over his mind, Nick wasn’t thinking about what was happening in Dallas.
The thing that he didn’t allow space for while he was at work intruded at other times, though. He’d be in the truck on his way home, he’d be alone in the bed that always seemed far too big when Greg wasn’t in it too, he’d be standing over the crib watching Emily sleeping - and the thoughts would ambush him then, cutting deeper into his soul every time.
There wasn’t going to be another Christmas when they’d all be together.
If he and Greg adopted another child, his father wouldn’t see it.
His father wouldn’t see Emily grow up.
His father was going to die
When these thoughts took hold of him, Nick would sit frozen at the wheel of his truck or lie motionless in bed as his throat closed up and something squeezed his chest to the point where he could hardly breathe. Even though he and his father had not always seen eye to eye, Nick had always loved him and known that he was loved in return – and the idea that, before the year was out, there would be a gap in Nick’s life that couldn’t ever be bridged was so painful to contemplate that he pushed it to the back of his mind. He let his entire existence become work and Greg and their daughter – things that were familiar, things that were safe - and it was only in unguarded moments that he was forced to remember that his world was going to change.
“Spoke to the guy in reception,” Warrick said as he appeared in the doorway of the room and shook rain off himself like a dog. “She checked in two days ago, paid cash -”
“He didn’t ask her for any ID, right? Does he know if her car’s still outside?”
“You didn’t get a real good look at him, did you?” Warrick replied, following the rhetorical query with a snort of laughter. “I could smell the booze as soon as I stepped in the room, we’re lucky he knows what day it is,” and then he quirked one eyebrow enquiringly. “You okay, man?”
“I’m fine,” Nick said, keeping his voice even-toned, and he turned back to his work. The carpet in the room was so grimy that there would probably be a hundred different strands of DNA on it as well as that of whoever had killed the woman who lay sprawled across the bed, the sheets beneath her soaked with blood which had flowed from the single wound across her throat. Her fingernails were well-manicured, though, and the expensive clothing strewn over the nearby chair spoke of someone who could easily afford to stay somewhere much better than the Oasis Motel; not for the first time, Nick told himself that unless they were lucky enough to get a hit from CODIS this was probably going to go unsolved – and then, as he was moving to dust the headboard of the bed for prints, his cell rang.
“Nicky?”
“G, I’m in the middle of a crime scene, this isn’t -” and then everything at the other end of the line hit Nick at once – the barely-suppressed panic in Greg’s voice, Emily screaming, and a voice in the background that sounded as though it was coming over a radio. He heard himself asking where are they taking you? in a voice that sounded like someone else’s, and once he had the answer he snapped his phone shut; he stood on the filthy carpet, unable to move, as Warrick asked what was wrong and the words buzzed in his ear like a distant insect.
*********
5.10 a.m
“No, baby, it’s okay,” Greg said softly, settling into the chair next to the crib that was so unlike the one back at the apartment; he held Emily in the crook of his right arm and smoothed her hair down with his left hand, trying to calm her despite his own inner turmoil. “They’re all done, it’s all right,” and he managed to smile down at his daughter as her body heaved with sobs. “Come on, sweetheart,” he told her, his thumb rubbing the side of her face as he began the mantra he used at bedtime. “You’re the best little girl in the world,” and in this moment it became just the two of them, the ebb and flow of the hospital seeming to disappear. “I love you – Nicky loves you -” and the words continued to flow from his lips, telling Emily that she was being such a brave girl and that Nicky was going to be here soon. The sobs tailed off into soft hiccups of indrawn breath, and when Greg wiped Emily’s tears away with his thumb she stared up at him – her eyes fixed on his face, knowing who he was now instead of the blank stare that had terrified him an age ago back at the apartment.
“How are you doing, Greg?” someone asked behind him, and Greg looked up to see the nurse who’d been at his side practically from the moment he and Emily had arrived in the ambulance. “I’ve got a boy just a bit older than your little girl, and I know how it feels when they’re sick,” she went on. “Could you use some coffee? It’s pretty bad coffee, but…”
“That’d be great,” Greg told her, bending his head to the left and then the right to try and relieve the muscle cramp that was lodged in his neck, and everything started to come into focus again. He was wearing sneakers with no socks, and his most threadbare pair of jeans was topped with a T shirt he’d grabbed from the laundry hamper; the beginnings of a headache lanced his temples, and he felt as though he hadn’t slept in days. “I just wish Nick would get here.”
“He’ll be here as soon as he can,” the nurse told him, gentle sympathy in her voice and her eyes. “It’s raining pretty hard out there right now – you want me to put her to bed for you so you can stretch your legs?”
“No, thanks,” Greg replied as he shook his head and unconsciously tightened his grip on Emily, whose eyes were almost shut now. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for a week, but there was no way he was letting go of his daughter now. “We’ll be fine.”
“I’ll get you that coffee,” the nurse said. “Hang in there, okay?” and she headed for the door; footsteps moved away into the distance, and when Greg could no longer hear them he looked down at Emily again. She had finally succumbed to slumber, worn out by the events of the last few hours; her left hand was flexing gently even in sleep - seeking the worn piece of cloth that was still lying in a room littered with toys, a room that was as far removed from this white, sterile environment as it was possible to get…
…and Greg didn’t know how much time had passed before there were footsteps in the hallway outside, running and getting closer, and then an out-of-breath voice with a Southern accent.
“I’m Nick Stokes, you - you’ve got my -”
“She’s in there, sir.”
…and there was Nick, leaning in the doorway, hanging onto the doorframe to keep himself upright. His face was chalk-white, his mouth hanging open as he tried to catch his breath – but it was his eyes, huge and dark and riveted on the sleeping child in Greg’s lap, which pierced Greg’s heart as surely as if a knife had been used.
“G -?”
“She had a seizure,” Greg said. “It was – she spiked a fever after I put her to bed, the doctor said it went up really quickly and that’s why -” then he stopped speaking while Nick moved, seemingly in slow motion, to kneel next to the chair. “It isn’t epilepsy, Nicky, they checked her out and she -” but whatever else he’d planned on saying dried up in his throat.
Greg watched as Nick stretched out a shaking hand and touched Emily’s head – tentatively, the way he’d done the day she’d been born, as though he was afraid he’d hurt her – and when a sniffling, indrawn breath from their daughter echoed in the room, Nick’s free hand flew up to cover his mouth. A soft, inarticulate whimper escaped his lips, and tears began to run down over his fingers – and Greg knew instinctively that this wasn’t just about what had happened to Emily, but about something that had been suppressed for more than two months now.
He placed his free arm round Nick’s shoulders and pulled him closer, feeling arms clasping round his waist as sobs echoed in his ears and threatened to break his heart. “It’s okay, Nicky, it’s okay,” he whispered, although he wasn’t sure it ever could be, and later on he would not remember the nurse stepping into the room and leaving without saying a word.
*************
2.00 p.m.
They’d been allowed to take Emily home just before lunch, by which time she was blowing raspberries at the doctor and making a grab for his stethoscope; once in her seat in the Denali, however, she’d fallen asleep again, and she hadn’t woken when Nick had taken her out and carried her to bed.
She was fine, the doctor had told them so, and even though what had happened meant she could have another seizure next time she spiked a fever she would grow out of it – but this didn’t mean that either of them wanted to leave her alone now, so they sat on the nursery floor with their backs against the dresser as they watched their daughter sleeping.
Greg reached out to take hold of Nick’s left hand, clasping it between both of his own, and he was rewarded with a shaky inrush of breath that made something clench tightly around his throat.
“G?”
“Go to sleep,” Greg said in a whisper, and he pressed his lips to the back of his lover’s hand. “I’ll watch her.”
“I…” and whatever Nick might have been planning to say was choked off; pressing his free arm across his face, he leaned heavily against Greg’s side and began to cry again.
"Ikke gråt, kjære," Greg managed to say, realising but not caring that his voice was wavering. He wrapped both arms round Nick and held onto him tightly, knowing that there would be many more tears in the months to come and praying silently that he would find the strength to get them both through what was going to happen.
To be continued.
AN: What Greg says to Nick in the final paragraph translates as, “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”
Title – A time to be born
Author -
black_dahlia63Characters – Nick Stokes, Greg Sanders, various OC’s
Rating – PG
Warning – character death. Yeah, you’ll need tissues. Sorry.
Disclaimer – Not mine, sadly.
Thanks to Nina for research assistance. Again. See you in March, sweetie!
part one here
part two here
Dallas, March 28th – 6.15 a.m.
Greg woke to the sound of a raspberry being blown several feet from his head, and when he reached behind him he was none too surprised to find the other half of the bed empty.
“Brrr.”
“Brrr.”
The noise became more insistent, making Greg realise he wasn’t going to be able to sleep in no matter how much he might want to, and he groaned under his breath as he scrubbed a hand across his eyes.
“Hey, you,” he said, watching Emily’s eyes light up at the sound of his voice. “Not gonna cut me a break, are you?” and he threw the covers back as a steady stream of ba ba bas erupted from Emily’s lips. Setting his feet on the floor, he reached into the crib and scooped her up before placing her on the bed; he changed her diaper and dressed her in a fresh sleeper, talking to her all the while and managing to smile despite the weight that had been lying over his heart for more than a month.
Avoiding the handful of floorboards that creaked – something he’d quickly learnt to do during his first few visits to the ranch, when he and Nick had been given separate rooms and two or three nights had simply been too long to wait – Greg left the bedroom and made his way downstairs. He entered the kitchen and moved to retrieve a bottle from the fridge, the sight of Emily’s breakfast producing a delighted squeal; he switched on the kettle and took a jug out of one of the cupboards, and then he crossed the room to stand in front of the window that looked out onto the back yard.
There were fields beyond the fence that bordered the yard, and even though Greg couldn’t see him he knew Nick was out there somewhere. “He’ll be back soon,” he told Emily in a soft murmur, although he wasn’t sure if it was true; as soon as they’d finished unpacking the previous day, Nick had gone out on one of the horses and hadn’t returned until it was starting to get dark.
“I hope you’re boiling water for coffee,” a voice said behind him, and Greg turned to see Nick’s father standing in the kitchen doorway. He had a hand braced in the small of his back, and although he was smiling it didn’t look as though he meant it completely.
“Not yet,” Greg replied, managing to smile in return. “We’ve got priorities, haven’t we?” and he planted a kiss on the top of Emily’s head. “I was kind of hoping she’d sleep a bit longer, but…”
“They never let you get enough sleep,” Bill Stokes said as he moved closer. “Not till they’re in college, and maybe not even then.” He reached out to pass a hand over Emily’s hair, and when the gesture was rewarded with the raising of a pair of chubby arms a wistful expression appeared in Bill’s eyes. “Can I take her for you?”
***************
The weather was unseasonably warm, and the three of them had migrated to the deck that overlooked the back yard. Emily, her bottle long since emptied, sat in her grandfather’s lap sucking the two fingers that always seemed to find their way to her mouth of late; Greg sat in another chair a foot or so away, clutching a mug of coffee that had gone cold without him taking a single sip.
“What’s on your mind, Greg?” Bill asked, finally breaking the silence. “You’re usually the last one up when the three of you come here…”
“How do you know anything’s on my mind?”
“Nick isn’t talking about what’s happening to me, is he?” and when Greg’s head snapped up he saw recognition in Bill’s eyes. “Am I right?”
“You’re right,” Greg said softly, accompanying the words with a nod. “I’m trying to help him - well, I want to, but I don’t know how,” he went on. “He isn’t talking about it, so I don’t know what he’s thinking,” he went on. “And everyone in my family lives till they’re at least ninety, so I haven’t got a clue what he’s going through,” and a stricken look appeared on his face as soon as the words had escaped his lips. “Christ, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
“I know you didn’t,” Bill told him, raising a hand to forestall any further apology; a gentle sigh echoed in the air, and it was a long time before Nick’s father spoke again. “I love my children, Greg, I love them with all my heart,” and the older man’s expression grew distant. “I wanted them to be happy, but I wanted them all to make the best of themselves too, and I was probably tougher on them than I meant to be,” he continued. “My father raised me with – well, a rod of iron, really, and I told myself that was the one thing I wouldn’t do when I had children, but I guess I didn’t try as hard not to do it as I should have done.” He broke off, lowering his head to stare down at the weather-worn boards between his feet, and when he went on speaking his voice had lowered in pitch and volume. “It didn’t really seem to matter to any of the others, but Nick…” and the sorrow in Bill’s eyes as he stopped speaking again was almost too painful for Greg to look at.
“I can’t think about how he must have felt, not telling us what that woman did to him all those years ago because he was afraid of what I’d think,” Bill said eventually, his voice barely audible. “He flew out here, didn’t tell us he was coming – just said he had something he needed to tell us, and I’d never seen him cry like that before,” and Bill finally lifted his head. “All I could do was ask myself what I’d done to make him keep that to himself for so long,” he said, and then eyes that were so like Nick’s fixed themselves on Greg. “You made him come out here and tell us, didn’t you?”
“I had to,” Greg said, darting a glance at Emily who was staring in fascination at a bird perched on a nearby fence. “We hadn’t talked about having kids, not then, but I knew that if I had one I’d want to know if someone hurt them. I wanted to come here with him, he was so scared, but I knew I couldn’t, and – I think it was when I watched him get on the plane that I realised how serious things were getting between us,” and he had to swallow hard before he could carry on speaking. “It never hurt like that when I couldn’t be with someone before, and I was afraid he wouldn’t come back – I knew what you felt about me then, and I…”
“That’s water under the bridge now,” Bill said, still looking directly at Greg. “We both know how he is, Greg, he’ll talk when he’s ready,” and he reached across the space between them to squeeze Greg’s forearm. The fact that the grip wasn’t as firm as it had been even six months since made Greg’s throat tighten, and he felt something prickle behind his eyes when Bill spoke again.
“I’m just glad he’s got you.”
*******************
Greg’s notebook, May 15th, 3 a.m
The hospital asked Bill to participate in a trial for a new drug that should relieve some of the symptoms he’s got. He said yes, even though they told him there might be side effects, and I can understand that - if it was me, I’d do anything to get more time with my family too.
Nick won’t tell me what he thinks, because he’s still not talking about it. I try and talk to him about it, and that’s difficult enough, because now we’re working different shifts we hardly seem to see each other - but he always finds a way of changing the subject, and right now I feel as if
and then the phone rang next to the bed, making Greg set down the notebook and pen.
“Hello?”
“Hey, G,” Nick said - and even coming over a bad cell connection, despite the cares that occupied his heart and mind, the sound of his name on his lover’s lips made Greg smile. “How is she?”
“She’s asleep,” Greg said, sitting up and shoving the notebook into the drawer of the nightstand. “Didn’t finish her bottle before bed, her nose was pretty stuffed up.” Emily had come down with a cold the previous day, which seemed to be taking hold with a vengeance despite Nick and Greg’s best efforts to the contrary, and when Greg recalled the expression on Nick’s face as he’d had to leave the apartment he felt something stinging the back of his throat.
“Poor baby,” Nick said, his voice barely audible. “I think I’ll take her to the doctor later today if she isn’t any better.”
“It’s a cold,” Greg replied, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his free hand in an attempt to dislodge the sand that seemed to be embedded in them; he couldn’t remember a time lately when he’d slept for more than two or three hours at a stretch, and it was at times like this that he realised how tired he really was. “He won’t do anything we can’t do at home, Nicky.”
“I know,” was the answer, and Greg thought he made out a sigh following the words. “Look, I need to go, Warrick and I have a call, we’ve – yeah, I’m coming,” Nick shouted, and then his voice dropped again. “Love you guys,” he said in a near-whisper, and before Greg could respond the connection was broken.
Greg yawned and stood up, peeling his T shirt over his head and letting it land in a heap on the floor. His jeans followed, and he padded along the hallway in his boxer shorts; he’d check on Emily once more, he told himself, and then he’d grab a shower and sleep. Even after all this time he still wasn’t quite used to working days, and it wasn’t simply because he’d become accustomed to being out at night – it was because work had always meant being around Nick before, and now it didn’t.
“We’re not putting her in daycare”, Nick had said one night not long after they’d met Emily’s birthmother for the first time. “Not when she’s so small”, and he’d wrapped his arms round Greg as the two of them lay in bed. “I want the first person she smiles at to be one of us, not some stranger,” but Greg had known there was more to it than this, that what had happened to Nick as a child was still affecting him even now. He’d told Nick that would be fine, had seen the tiny lines of anxiety on Nick’s face smooth themselves out – and seeing this, Greg had felt his own heart lighten.
The room was lit only by the dim coloured glow from the Disney Princess lamp on the dresser – a gift from Catherine, who had been quick to point out that Lindsay had been the one who’d chosen it – but Greg had learned to navigate this near-darkness a long time since. Making his way to the crib, he stood looking down at Emily; she lay sprawled on her back, two fingers of one hand plugged into her mouth and the other hand clutching the cloth diaper that was already threadbare in one corner from her habit of rubbing it against her cheek. Her congested breathing was clearly audible, and it made Greg’s heart ache to listen to it; he stretched a hand down towards her sleeping form, but then he thought of how long it had taken to get Emily to sleep not an hour and a half previously, and he straightened up again and stepped away from the crib.
A final glance back over his shoulder as he paused in the bedroom doorway, and then Greg took the handful of steps that brought him into the bathroom. Blinking sleepily in the bright light that bounced off the white tile, he pulled the curtain round the tub and reached to turn on the shower; steam began to rise in clouds over the top of the shower curtain, and then just as he was bending to remove his boxers he heard a fretful whimper strike up in the room next door.
He stood motionless with his head cocked to one side, waiting to see whether the sound would tail off the way it sometimes did; despite his tiredness, a smile darted across Greg’s lips as he thought of how it was when he and Nick were both at home and Nick would rush into Emily’s room at the slightest squeak. I bet she’d go back to sleep if you left her , he’d told Nick more than once, even though he knew he wouldn’t behave any differently himself. You know you’re spoiling her, don’t you?…
…then the crying disintegrated into a gargled choking sound, and when Greg’s shoulder hit the doorframe as he ran from the bathroom he barely felt it.
He struck the light switch as he flew into his daughter’s room, and as he stared down into the crib there was the briefest instant when he felt that his heart would stop.
Emily still lay on her back, but her arms and legs were jerking convulsively. Her head was thrown back, her eyes rolling up in their sockets, and a trickle of fluid was coming from one side of her mouth.
Greg reached into the crib to pick Emily up, and a glut of vomit flew from her mouth onto her sleeper and the mattress; he lifted her into his arms, her limbs continuing to jerk as though she had no control over them. Her body felt like a furnace next to Greg’s bare torso, making him think how could she be this hot, she was fine when I put her to bed - and as he ran to the other bedroom, his movements seemed to slow to a crawl.
He sat down heavily on Nick’s side of the bed right before his legs gave out, and it took three tries before he could snatch the phone from its cradle on the nightstand. “Come on,” he said frantically as he tapped in a number and Emily continued to thrash against his chest, her eyes still rolling upwards. “Please, sweetheart, wake up -”
“911, what is your emergency?”
“My – it’s my little girl, she’s having a fit,” Greg said, his tongue threatening to cleave to the roof of his mouth with every word. “She’s burning up, her arms and legs are moving but it’s like she passed out…”
“How old is your daughter, sir?”
“Almost seven months,” Greg replied, a little voice in his head saying don’t panic while his entire body slowly turned to ice. “She’s got a cold, and she…”
“Okay, sir, I’m going to get someone out to you right now,” was the answer. “Can you confirm your apartment number for me?” and Greg supposed that he must have spoken, because a moment later the anonymous female voice was asking, “Has she vomited?”
“Yeah,” Greg told her. “Yeah, when I picked her up, I thought - how long is the ambulance going to take, ma’am?”
“It’s going to be there very soon,” the voice said. “What’s your name, sir?”
“G – Greg.”
“All right, Greg, where’s the baby now?”
“She’s here, I’m holding her,” Greg said. “She sounded like she was choking, so I went in her room, and when I picked her up…”
“Okay, Greg,” the woman soothed, “you need to lay her face down on your knees - can you do that for me?” and Greg balanced the phone between his right ear and his shoulder; as he was in the act of turning Emily over there was a hiccupping sound, and a split second later his lap was soaked in warm wetness.
“She threw up again,” Greg said into the phone. “What do I do now?”
“Just make sure she doesn’t hurt herself,” was the answer. “Hold her still – and just keep calm, Greg, okay? If her daddy’s scared she’ll be scared too, won’t she? What’s her name?”
“Emily,” Greg said as he kept a trembling hand between Emily’s shoulders. “You’re okay, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” he half-whispered as he looked down at the red curls of hair. “Ma’am?” he said into the phone, raising his voice and trying to swallow the fear that was mushrooming in his chest; at the same time he was thinking that he and Nick had taken a first aid course, that he ought to know what to do now... Where’s that ambulance? he wanted to ask, but the words wouldn’t come, because at the moment he opened his mouth Emily’s limbs stopped jerking.
“No, no, no -” He let the phone fall to the bedcovers, feeling heat radiating from beneath Emily’s arms as he lifted her up. “No, baby, please,” he said, his heart in his throat. “Come on, wake up, look at me,” and for a split second all he could think of was the morning three days since when the three of them had been in this room. Nick had made breakfast and brought it back to bed; when he’d dabbed strawberry jam on Emily’s bottom lip she’d licked it away, and her entire face had lit up with delight…
…then there was a small inrush of breath, seeming like the loudest thing Greg had ever heard even though he had to strain to hear it. Emily’s eyes blinked open, fixing themselves on his face – not the way they did when she woke up from a nap, but slightly unfocused, as though she was wondering where she was - and seconds later, her mouth drew down in a trembling arc and she began to cry.
“I’ve got you,” Greg said, his voice cracking as he spoke; sensation rushed back into his limbs and blood roared in his ears as he cradled Emily against his chest, feeling sick with relief. “You’re okay, sweetheart, I’ve got you -”
“Greg? Are you there?” It was the woman’s voice, sounding as though it was coming from miles away, and he grabbed the phone up from the bed. “Greg?”
“I’m here,” he said, feeling something tickling his cheeks and knowing that he must be crying but not caring. “She woke up.”
“Greg, the paramedics just pulled up in front of your building, you’re going to have to buzz them in.”
“Thank you,” he said, and he forced himself to his feet. Keeping a firm grip on his daughter, he moved along the hallway, each step slow and sludgy as though he were walking through molasses; as he was drawing level with the front door, the buzzer sounded next to him – and reaching out with his free hand, he pressed the answer switch and spoke with what felt like the last of his strength.
“Yes?”
“Paramedics, sir.”
***********
3.55 a.m.
Another motel room, another dead body, like so many other cases he’d worked over the years.
Bag her hands.
Cigarette butt in the ashtray, no lipstick, can’t be hers. Bag that too.
Both glasses used, take those.
Because while he followed the routine and allowed the minutiae of work to take over his mind, Nick wasn’t thinking about what was happening in Dallas.
The thing that he didn’t allow space for while he was at work intruded at other times, though. He’d be in the truck on his way home, he’d be alone in the bed that always seemed far too big when Greg wasn’t in it too, he’d be standing over the crib watching Emily sleeping - and the thoughts would ambush him then, cutting deeper into his soul every time.
There wasn’t going to be another Christmas when they’d all be together.
If he and Greg adopted another child, his father wouldn’t see it.
His father wouldn’t see Emily grow up.
His father was going to die
When these thoughts took hold of him, Nick would sit frozen at the wheel of his truck or lie motionless in bed as his throat closed up and something squeezed his chest to the point where he could hardly breathe. Even though he and his father had not always seen eye to eye, Nick had always loved him and known that he was loved in return – and the idea that, before the year was out, there would be a gap in Nick’s life that couldn’t ever be bridged was so painful to contemplate that he pushed it to the back of his mind. He let his entire existence become work and Greg and their daughter – things that were familiar, things that were safe - and it was only in unguarded moments that he was forced to remember that his world was going to change.
“Spoke to the guy in reception,” Warrick said as he appeared in the doorway of the room and shook rain off himself like a dog. “She checked in two days ago, paid cash -”
“He didn’t ask her for any ID, right? Does he know if her car’s still outside?”
“You didn’t get a real good look at him, did you?” Warrick replied, following the rhetorical query with a snort of laughter. “I could smell the booze as soon as I stepped in the room, we’re lucky he knows what day it is,” and then he quirked one eyebrow enquiringly. “You okay, man?”
“I’m fine,” Nick said, keeping his voice even-toned, and he turned back to his work. The carpet in the room was so grimy that there would probably be a hundred different strands of DNA on it as well as that of whoever had killed the woman who lay sprawled across the bed, the sheets beneath her soaked with blood which had flowed from the single wound across her throat. Her fingernails were well-manicured, though, and the expensive clothing strewn over the nearby chair spoke of someone who could easily afford to stay somewhere much better than the Oasis Motel; not for the first time, Nick told himself that unless they were lucky enough to get a hit from CODIS this was probably going to go unsolved – and then, as he was moving to dust the headboard of the bed for prints, his cell rang.
“Nicky?”
“G, I’m in the middle of a crime scene, this isn’t -” and then everything at the other end of the line hit Nick at once – the barely-suppressed panic in Greg’s voice, Emily screaming, and a voice in the background that sounded as though it was coming over a radio. He heard himself asking where are they taking you? in a voice that sounded like someone else’s, and once he had the answer he snapped his phone shut; he stood on the filthy carpet, unable to move, as Warrick asked what was wrong and the words buzzed in his ear like a distant insect.
*********
5.10 a.m
“No, baby, it’s okay,” Greg said softly, settling into the chair next to the crib that was so unlike the one back at the apartment; he held Emily in the crook of his right arm and smoothed her hair down with his left hand, trying to calm her despite his own inner turmoil. “They’re all done, it’s all right,” and he managed to smile down at his daughter as her body heaved with sobs. “Come on, sweetheart,” he told her, his thumb rubbing the side of her face as he began the mantra he used at bedtime. “You’re the best little girl in the world,” and in this moment it became just the two of them, the ebb and flow of the hospital seeming to disappear. “I love you – Nicky loves you -” and the words continued to flow from his lips, telling Emily that she was being such a brave girl and that Nicky was going to be here soon. The sobs tailed off into soft hiccups of indrawn breath, and when Greg wiped Emily’s tears away with his thumb she stared up at him – her eyes fixed on his face, knowing who he was now instead of the blank stare that had terrified him an age ago back at the apartment.
“How are you doing, Greg?” someone asked behind him, and Greg looked up to see the nurse who’d been at his side practically from the moment he and Emily had arrived in the ambulance. “I’ve got a boy just a bit older than your little girl, and I know how it feels when they’re sick,” she went on. “Could you use some coffee? It’s pretty bad coffee, but…”
“That’d be great,” Greg told her, bending his head to the left and then the right to try and relieve the muscle cramp that was lodged in his neck, and everything started to come into focus again. He was wearing sneakers with no socks, and his most threadbare pair of jeans was topped with a T shirt he’d grabbed from the laundry hamper; the beginnings of a headache lanced his temples, and he felt as though he hadn’t slept in days. “I just wish Nick would get here.”
“He’ll be here as soon as he can,” the nurse told him, gentle sympathy in her voice and her eyes. “It’s raining pretty hard out there right now – you want me to put her to bed for you so you can stretch your legs?”
“No, thanks,” Greg replied as he shook his head and unconsciously tightened his grip on Emily, whose eyes were almost shut now. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for a week, but there was no way he was letting go of his daughter now. “We’ll be fine.”
“I’ll get you that coffee,” the nurse said. “Hang in there, okay?” and she headed for the door; footsteps moved away into the distance, and when Greg could no longer hear them he looked down at Emily again. She had finally succumbed to slumber, worn out by the events of the last few hours; her left hand was flexing gently even in sleep - seeking the worn piece of cloth that was still lying in a room littered with toys, a room that was as far removed from this white, sterile environment as it was possible to get…
…and Greg didn’t know how much time had passed before there were footsteps in the hallway outside, running and getting closer, and then an out-of-breath voice with a Southern accent.
“I’m Nick Stokes, you - you’ve got my -”
“She’s in there, sir.”
…and there was Nick, leaning in the doorway, hanging onto the doorframe to keep himself upright. His face was chalk-white, his mouth hanging open as he tried to catch his breath – but it was his eyes, huge and dark and riveted on the sleeping child in Greg’s lap, which pierced Greg’s heart as surely as if a knife had been used.
“G -?”
“She had a seizure,” Greg said. “It was – she spiked a fever after I put her to bed, the doctor said it went up really quickly and that’s why -” then he stopped speaking while Nick moved, seemingly in slow motion, to kneel next to the chair. “It isn’t epilepsy, Nicky, they checked her out and she -” but whatever else he’d planned on saying dried up in his throat.
Greg watched as Nick stretched out a shaking hand and touched Emily’s head – tentatively, the way he’d done the day she’d been born, as though he was afraid he’d hurt her – and when a sniffling, indrawn breath from their daughter echoed in the room, Nick’s free hand flew up to cover his mouth. A soft, inarticulate whimper escaped his lips, and tears began to run down over his fingers – and Greg knew instinctively that this wasn’t just about what had happened to Emily, but about something that had been suppressed for more than two months now.
He placed his free arm round Nick’s shoulders and pulled him closer, feeling arms clasping round his waist as sobs echoed in his ears and threatened to break his heart. “It’s okay, Nicky, it’s okay,” he whispered, although he wasn’t sure it ever could be, and later on he would not remember the nurse stepping into the room and leaving without saying a word.
*************
2.00 p.m.
They’d been allowed to take Emily home just before lunch, by which time she was blowing raspberries at the doctor and making a grab for his stethoscope; once in her seat in the Denali, however, she’d fallen asleep again, and she hadn’t woken when Nick had taken her out and carried her to bed.
She was fine, the doctor had told them so, and even though what had happened meant she could have another seizure next time she spiked a fever she would grow out of it – but this didn’t mean that either of them wanted to leave her alone now, so they sat on the nursery floor with their backs against the dresser as they watched their daughter sleeping.
Greg reached out to take hold of Nick’s left hand, clasping it between both of his own, and he was rewarded with a shaky inrush of breath that made something clench tightly around his throat.
“G?”
“Go to sleep,” Greg said in a whisper, and he pressed his lips to the back of his lover’s hand. “I’ll watch her.”
“I…” and whatever Nick might have been planning to say was choked off; pressing his free arm across his face, he leaned heavily against Greg’s side and began to cry again.
"Ikke gråt, kjære," Greg managed to say, realising but not caring that his voice was wavering. He wrapped both arms round Nick and held onto him tightly, knowing that there would be many more tears in the months to come and praying silently that he would find the strength to get them both through what was going to happen.
To be continued.
AN: What Greg says to Nick in the final paragraph translates as, “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”
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