fic- in this valley of dying stars
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nickngregTitle: in this valley of dying stars
Rating: R for violence, sex and death.
Warnings: Character death and dark themes
Summary: “Build a time machine,” Greg murmurs, his dark eyes alight. “Go back in time and save me.” He presses a lingering kiss to Nick’s lips.
Spoilers: It takes place after season eight, but no direct spoilers.
A/N: Well, I’m trying something new with this fic and I hope it turns out all right. There is death and this story is non-linear. It was written while I was listening to “It Just Is” by Rilo Kiley, so it might be better if you listen to it, too. There’s a link below. Spoilers for season eight.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to its respectful owner.
Helpful Link:
It Just Is
this is the dead land
this is cactus land
here the stone images
are raised, here they receive
the supplication of a dead man's hand
under the twinkle of a fading star.
- T.S. Eliot The Hollow Men
“The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in you head to no more than living size when they’re brought out… And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it.”
- Stephen King, The Body
and this loss isn't good enough
for sorrow or inspiration
it's such a loss for the good guys
afraid of this life
that it just is
because everybody dies
- Rilo Kiley, It Just Is
I.
“Mr Stokes has a bullet wound in his left shoulder, spinal trauma, bruising and cuts over his left arm,” Nick hears the doctor say.
Sara’s voice is timid. “He’ll be all right, though, right?”
“Given time, considering the severity of the injuries, he’ll be fine.”
“May I see him?”
“Of course.”
The door opens and Nick sees the petite, beautiful brunette walk into his room. “Hey,” she murmurs.
“Hey, you,” Nick says. “How are you?”
Sara laughs a little. “I should be the one asking you that. I brought you presents.” She takes out her bag and pulls out a few books (brand new, Nick notices), a box of chocolates and bouquet of roses. Nick notices that she takes time arranging the flowers on the table next to his bed, setting the books down. “So, how are you?”
Nick shrugs. “I dunno. I’m just… numb.”
She takes his uninjured hand in hers. “Nick, I’m so sorry about Greg –”
“It’s not about that, Sara. It’s about how I should be the one lying in a morgue, not him,” Nick says firmly. “He should be here, not me. I should’ve taken that bullet.”
With tears in her voice and eyes, Sara whispers, “Well, it’s a little late, now, isn’t it?”
I.
At the funeral, Sara holds Nick’s hand. He stares at the open casket, sits perfectly still, holds his head upright. Greg’s hair is brushed and clean, shining dirty blond in the candlelight.
They stand in line to pay their last regards. Nick stands in front of Wendy and behind Sara.
Sara stands beside the coffin and whispers. She starts to cry, big, sloppy tears running down her once-stoic face. They drip onto her black blouse, the one with pearl buttons, and she wipes her nose with her hand. The last thing she says is, “I loved you, Greggo.”
Nick isn’t sure what he says to Greg, but he’s sure it’s a load of nonsense. Some stuff about heaven, more stuff about being stupid. He tells him that this whole thing was his fault, why isn’t he in that box?
Because you’ve been buried already, silly, Greg’s voice says in his head and Nick sees him, beautiful and pure, smiling, eyes twinkling. He reaches out to touch him, but Greg’s already dancing away.
The last thing Nick thinks before they bury the casket is, They did a good job cleaning him up.
I.
They never stood a fucking chance.
Murphy and his friends were still in that warehouse, dressed all in black and armed to the teeth.
“So, what are your plans this evening?” Greg asks as he shifts through the trash, looking for the murder weapon.
“I dunno,” Nick answers, smiling. “What are yours?”
Greg treats him to his most flirtatious smile and says, “Well, I’ve got this boyfriend. He’s kinda big and he’s oh-so-strong. And he has the most beautiful eyes. His body is,” Greg pauses, “ideal. I’ve got plans to go to the bar with him, then rent a movie and watch that.”
With a laugh, Nick shines his flashlight on a hubcap. “Then are you two gonna have fantastic sex?”
“Probably during the movie,” Greg tells him with a chuckle.
Greg doesn’t hear the gun cock, but Nick does.
It’s not until after the beating and misfired shot that catches him in the shoulder does Nick sees the hole between Greg’s eyes and blood on the ground.
They never stood a fucking chance.
I.
Two days after the funeral, Nick has breakfast with Sara. They eat at Frank’s because it’s tradition and Nick orders Greg’s favorite (bacon, pancakes, eggs over-hard with cheese) and lets it sit next to him as he drinks the bad coffee.
“I never told him I loved him,” Nick whispers.
Sara looks up at him with her deep brown eyes and Nick sees why Greg loved her. “Did it really need to be said?”
“Not really. It seemed so trivial, you know? And I couldn’t put it into words because it felt like it was more than love. Now, though… Now, I feel like I should have. Just so he’d know.”
She takes his hand. “I think he knew,” she murmurs.
“But what if he didn’t?”
“You know, I think that Greg is watching over us –you- right now. And I think he heard you say that. And I think… I think he knows.” Sara closes her eyes.
Two tears splash into her coffee cup.
I.
“I’m sorry,” Nick whispers to Greg. Nick is naked and sitting in a green field. There are flowers and it’s beautiful. Nick supposes he’s in the Garden of Eden.
Greg smiles and presses a kiss to Nick’s lips. “I forgive you, baby.” He stands up and offers a hand to Nick. The older man grabs it, squeezing too hard, afraid to let go. “Do you like my white robes?” Greg asks. “And touch my forehead.” He guides Nick’s hand to his brow, making him feel the smooth flesh there. “No bullet hole.”
Music starts up from somewhere and Greg holds Nick close, wanting to dance with him. A grin plays on his face and his eyes shine, so clear, so blue–
Nick sits upright in bed, panting. It’s dark, but isn’t it always with the blackout curtains? The clock reads 7:12 PM and he takes a deep breath. Brown. Greg’s eyes were brown. His hair was, naturally, a dirty blonde. His favorite pair of jeans were the ones he bought last year; they’re faded blue and have a blood drop on the left knee from a nosebleed. His favorite singer was Marilyn Manson.
Repeating everything important about Greg (favorite food, mother’s birthday, first song on the mix CD he made Nick), Nick falls into an uneasy sleep.
I.
Greg visits him while he’s in the hospital.
It’s Friday, the second one after the warehouse and Nick doesn’t even hear the door open.
Hey, you, Greg whispers, sitting down in the chair next to his bed.
Nick grins. “Hey. You look good.”
Preening a little, Greg brushes his hair away from his face. I dressed up. Just for you. He’s wearing new jeans, a red button-down shirt and a black jacket. His face is smooth, unblemished. You look all right. You know, considering. He grins.
“Oh, shut up,” Nick jokes.
Greg picks up one of the books Sara left. The Time-Traveler’s Wife, he reads aloud. Good book. I read it in college. He leans forward, his forearms on his thighs. You know what you need to do, Nicky? he asks.
“What?”
Build a time machine, Greg murmurs, his dark eyes alight. Go back in time and save me. He presses a lingering kiss to Nick’s lips.
When Nick opens his eyes, Greg is gone.
I.
Greg visits him more frequently now, mostly in his dreams.
Sometimes, though, he comes when Nick is awake.
He visits him once in the lab. Nick stares at the computer screen, trying to find a matching print and Greg rests his hands on Nick’s shoulders.
Hey, Greg murmurs, kissing Nick’s earlobe.
Nick smiles and squeezes Greg’s hand. “I’ve almost got a match.”
I need you, Nicky, Greg whispers and sits down next to him. I miss you so much; I can’t stand it.
Taking Greg’s hand in his, Nick says, “I’ll be with you soon. I promise.”
Right before Nick says, “I love you,” Greg vanishes.
I.
“I had a dream about Greg last night,” his niece Shauna tells him.
Nick cradles the phone between his ear and shoulder. “Really? What was it about?”
“He was up in heaven,” Shauna begins, “Along with my dad and his parents and everyone I’ve ever known who’s died.”
“Uh-huh,” Nick mumbles, pouring himself a glass of juice.
“In heaven, everyone plays in bumper cars. So, in my dream, they were teaching him how to drive.”
“Was he good?”
“I think so. It’s hard to tell sometimes.”
“Shauna, you want my honest opinion? I think you need to see a shrink.”
“Pretty rich, coming from you.”
The line goes dead.
I.
The day after Sara drives him home from the hospital, Nick starts to build his time machine.
He remembers the bad science fiction show Greg loved, Doctor Who, and decides to make a TARDIS. He figures that’s easier than a more complicated design.
So, he starts working, building the police phone box, smoothing the rough wood, carving in grooves. Making something out of nothing. Works hard, will receive the best payment of his life.
Greg visits him in the store while he’s buying blue paint.
He takes Nick’s hand in his and whispers, Undo all mistakes.
When Nick tries to grab him, he’s gone.
I.
My wonderful friends -
There’s not much I can say other than it had to end this way. There’s nothing I can do to make you try to feel okay other than say that I’m sorry. I loved all of you.
Grissom, you were the best boss anyone could ever ask for. You helped me so much and you have my eternal thanks. There’s nothing that you can’t do. You’ve helped so many people, spoken for all those who can’t and the world needs to recognize that more often.
Cath, you were an amazing supervisor but a better friend. You’re one of the most spectacular people I’ve ever met and I feel blessed having known you.
Jim, you’ve been a good friend but always tough-as-nails. You are one of the strongest people I’ve known. Stay strong for yourself and for Ellie.
Sara, you’ve always been like a sister to me. We might fight but, in the end, you’ve always been one of my best friends. You’re wonderful.
I love all of you and I wish I could write for pages and pages about how much each of you meant, but I don’t see any real reason to keep going. Wherever I end up, you’ll all be in my heart.
With all the love that I have,
Nick Stokes.
I.
Greg leaves him a list of things to undo and one of them is to end the lives of the men who stole his.
Nick rings Murphy’s doorbell, because Murphy’s not in prison yet; just because his fingerprint was at the scene doesn’t mean they get a warrant to search his house. This thought makes Nick’s blood run cold- Greg’s killer is still free, still running around, but Nick is going to stop him.
Greg told him once that he had a Superman complex and Nick chuckles at that as he cocks the gun.
“Yeah?” Murphy slurs as he opens his door, leans against the doorframe. “Who the fuck are you?”
Rage makes people do funny things because, suddenly, Nick is on top of this man, pounding into his face, turning it into a bloody pulp. In the back of his mind, he sees Greg laughing and dancing, but another Greg, a different one, pulling him back, saying, Stop, Nicky. No, life is better than this!
A few minutes later, he’s punching wooden floorboards with bits of bone and tissue clinging to his hands, scattered around. Just to be sure, he fires two shots into Murphy’s chest. Careful not to touch anything in case he leaves a print, Nick washes his hands in the bathroom. The water swirling around in the sink is pink and he towels off before exiting.
Nick rarely feels himself lose control and he staggers a little on the street. His head throbs and his mind asks, What the fuck have you done, Nicky?
“I did it for you, Greg,” Nick whispers to the sky.
Life is better than this, Greg whispers in his ear. I never wanted them to pay.
“You told me to,” Nick nearly cries.
Greg shakes his head. No, I didn’t. A sigh. It’s okay, Nicky.
Vegas never seemed so cold.
I.
Blood on the concrete floor. Blood spreads and seeps everywhere, dripping into the cracks in the concrete.
Blood is on his lips, in his hair, covering his face. Nick doesn’t care about the pain blossoming in his shoulder as he crawls towards Greg.
Greg’s face is frozen in a shocked expression, his eyes wide open (why did the eyes always have to be open?) and his mouth slack.
Blood runs down his face from the bullet hole and Nick holds him close. “I’m sorry, Greg. I’m so, so sorry.” Nick starts to weep, tears splashing onto Greg’s face. “I love you, G. I love you so, so much.”
Outside, he can hear Sara shout, “They’re in here!” then her footsteps. “Nick! Greg!”
“I’m right here,” Nick manages to croak out.
Sara’s footsteps come closer and then he hears her gasp. “Oh, fuck, Nicky.”
Nick keeps crying as Sara holds him close, not caring that she’s getting blood all over her clothes and Nick holds Greg and Sara holds him and for a moment he feels peace.
I.
The third time he visits, Greg fucks him.
Nick rests on all fours and moans into his pillow as he feels Greg slide in and out from behind him. “Please, Greg,” he whimpers. “More. Harder.”
I don’t want to hurt you, Nicky, Greg murmurs into Nick’s ear, stroking Nick’s cock in time with his thrusts. I could never hurt you, Nick.
Biting back a moan, Nick says, “Hurt me, G. Make me feel something. I don’t want to feel numb anymore.”
He can hear Greg panting behind him. I’m not going to hurt you, Nicky.
“Hurt me, Greg. Hurt me.” In one deft movement, Greg tugs on Nick’s cock a little and thrusts just right so that Nick is screaming Greg’s name and coming harder than he has in a long time.
He hurts when Greg is gone and the hurt is better than the numbness.
I.
Sara leaves a week after the funeral, going back to San Francisco to be with her mother.
Nick hugs her at the airport and cries into her dark hair. “You should stay, Sara. It’s not the same without you.”
“I know, Nicky. It’s not the same without you, either.”
“The whole world’s coming to an end.”
She kisses his shoulder. “I know, Nicky.” With large, dark eyes she looks up at him and Nick can see why the tears there. “I’m fucking terrified.”
“Live here and stay with me. It’ll be almost like old times.”
“Back when everything wasn’t shot to shit.”
“I’m going to miss you, Sara.”
“I love you, Nicky.”
He sits in the airport terminal two hours after her flight leaves.
I.
Nick sits in the living room where his TARDIS waits, only half-done. There’s blood on his hands. Murphy’s blood, Greg’s blood. His blood. His face is white, jaw set. Every inch of his body aches, every muscle aches for release.
“There wasn’t enough time,” he murmurs.
It’s okay, Nicky, Greg reassures him, patting Nick’s shoulder. You did all right.
Nick signs his name on the letter. “I love you,” he tells Greg.
Greg smiles. I know you do, baby. I know. He kisses Nick’s cheek before vanishing.
“Wait!” Nick shouts. “Wait! I need to know if you love me back!”
There’s only one way to know, Greg whispers.
Inhale. Exhale. Nick puts the gun in his mouth and pulls the trigger.
I.
Three weeks after returning to San Francisco, Sara Sidle receives a phone call from Catherine Willows. “Hello?” she asks as she answers.
“Sara… We need you back here,” Catherine whispers into the phone, her voice broken by sobs.
“Don't worry, Cath. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Sara reassures her, knowing what happened already. Hanging up the phone, she presses the heels of her hands into her eyes and starts to cry.
I.
“You came,” Greg says when he looks up at Nick.
“Of course I did,” Nick tells him. “I wasn’t going to let you leave me behind.”
Greg’s smile is wide and he runs to Nick, pulls him into a hug and kisses him. “I could never leave you behind,” he murmurs against Nick’s lips. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I.
At the funeral, Sara holds Catherine’s hand as the blonde sobs into her handkerchief. “We should have known… Should have seen the signs…” She hiccups. “Oh, Nicky.”
“Don't blame yourself, Cath,” Sara murmurs, hugging her old friend.
As she passes the coffin, Sara touches it and whispers, “I guess it’s never too late.”
end
Rating: R for violence, sex and death.
Warnings: Character death and dark themes
Summary: “Build a time machine,” Greg murmurs, his dark eyes alight. “Go back in time and save me.” He presses a lingering kiss to Nick’s lips.
Spoilers: It takes place after season eight, but no direct spoilers.
A/N: Well, I’m trying something new with this fic and I hope it turns out all right. There is death and this story is non-linear. It was written while I was listening to “It Just Is” by Rilo Kiley, so it might be better if you listen to it, too. There’s a link below. Spoilers for season eight.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to its respectful owner.
Helpful Link:
It Just Is
this is the dead land
this is cactus land
here the stone images
are raised, here they receive
the supplication of a dead man's hand
under the twinkle of a fading star.
- T.S. Eliot The Hollow Men
“The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in you head to no more than living size when they’re brought out… And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it.”
- Stephen King, The Body
and this loss isn't good enough
for sorrow or inspiration
it's such a loss for the good guys
afraid of this life
that it just is
because everybody dies
- Rilo Kiley, It Just Is
I.
“Mr Stokes has a bullet wound in his left shoulder, spinal trauma, bruising and cuts over his left arm,” Nick hears the doctor say.
Sara’s voice is timid. “He’ll be all right, though, right?”
“Given time, considering the severity of the injuries, he’ll be fine.”
“May I see him?”
“Of course.”
The door opens and Nick sees the petite, beautiful brunette walk into his room. “Hey,” she murmurs.
“Hey, you,” Nick says. “How are you?”
Sara laughs a little. “I should be the one asking you that. I brought you presents.” She takes out her bag and pulls out a few books (brand new, Nick notices), a box of chocolates and bouquet of roses. Nick notices that she takes time arranging the flowers on the table next to his bed, setting the books down. “So, how are you?”
Nick shrugs. “I dunno. I’m just… numb.”
She takes his uninjured hand in hers. “Nick, I’m so sorry about Greg –”
“It’s not about that, Sara. It’s about how I should be the one lying in a morgue, not him,” Nick says firmly. “He should be here, not me. I should’ve taken that bullet.”
With tears in her voice and eyes, Sara whispers, “Well, it’s a little late, now, isn’t it?”
I.
At the funeral, Sara holds Nick’s hand. He stares at the open casket, sits perfectly still, holds his head upright. Greg’s hair is brushed and clean, shining dirty blond in the candlelight.
They stand in line to pay their last regards. Nick stands in front of Wendy and behind Sara.
Sara stands beside the coffin and whispers. She starts to cry, big, sloppy tears running down her once-stoic face. They drip onto her black blouse, the one with pearl buttons, and she wipes her nose with her hand. The last thing she says is, “I loved you, Greggo.”
Nick isn’t sure what he says to Greg, but he’s sure it’s a load of nonsense. Some stuff about heaven, more stuff about being stupid. He tells him that this whole thing was his fault, why isn’t he in that box?
Because you’ve been buried already, silly, Greg’s voice says in his head and Nick sees him, beautiful and pure, smiling, eyes twinkling. He reaches out to touch him, but Greg’s already dancing away.
The last thing Nick thinks before they bury the casket is, They did a good job cleaning him up.
I.
They never stood a fucking chance.
Murphy and his friends were still in that warehouse, dressed all in black and armed to the teeth.
“So, what are your plans this evening?” Greg asks as he shifts through the trash, looking for the murder weapon.
“I dunno,” Nick answers, smiling. “What are yours?”
Greg treats him to his most flirtatious smile and says, “Well, I’ve got this boyfriend. He’s kinda big and he’s oh-so-strong. And he has the most beautiful eyes. His body is,” Greg pauses, “ideal. I’ve got plans to go to the bar with him, then rent a movie and watch that.”
With a laugh, Nick shines his flashlight on a hubcap. “Then are you two gonna have fantastic sex?”
“Probably during the movie,” Greg tells him with a chuckle.
Greg doesn’t hear the gun cock, but Nick does.
It’s not until after the beating and misfired shot that catches him in the shoulder does Nick sees the hole between Greg’s eyes and blood on the ground.
They never stood a fucking chance.
I.
Two days after the funeral, Nick has breakfast with Sara. They eat at Frank’s because it’s tradition and Nick orders Greg’s favorite (bacon, pancakes, eggs over-hard with cheese) and lets it sit next to him as he drinks the bad coffee.
“I never told him I loved him,” Nick whispers.
Sara looks up at him with her deep brown eyes and Nick sees why Greg loved her. “Did it really need to be said?”
“Not really. It seemed so trivial, you know? And I couldn’t put it into words because it felt like it was more than love. Now, though… Now, I feel like I should have. Just so he’d know.”
She takes his hand. “I think he knew,” she murmurs.
“But what if he didn’t?”
“You know, I think that Greg is watching over us –you- right now. And I think he heard you say that. And I think… I think he knows.” Sara closes her eyes.
Two tears splash into her coffee cup.
I.
“I’m sorry,” Nick whispers to Greg. Nick is naked and sitting in a green field. There are flowers and it’s beautiful. Nick supposes he’s in the Garden of Eden.
Greg smiles and presses a kiss to Nick’s lips. “I forgive you, baby.” He stands up and offers a hand to Nick. The older man grabs it, squeezing too hard, afraid to let go. “Do you like my white robes?” Greg asks. “And touch my forehead.” He guides Nick’s hand to his brow, making him feel the smooth flesh there. “No bullet hole.”
Music starts up from somewhere and Greg holds Nick close, wanting to dance with him. A grin plays on his face and his eyes shine, so clear, so blue–
Nick sits upright in bed, panting. It’s dark, but isn’t it always with the blackout curtains? The clock reads 7:12 PM and he takes a deep breath. Brown. Greg’s eyes were brown. His hair was, naturally, a dirty blonde. His favorite pair of jeans were the ones he bought last year; they’re faded blue and have a blood drop on the left knee from a nosebleed. His favorite singer was Marilyn Manson.
Repeating everything important about Greg (favorite food, mother’s birthday, first song on the mix CD he made Nick), Nick falls into an uneasy sleep.
I.
Greg visits him while he’s in the hospital.
It’s Friday, the second one after the warehouse and Nick doesn’t even hear the door open.
Hey, you, Greg whispers, sitting down in the chair next to his bed.
Nick grins. “Hey. You look good.”
Preening a little, Greg brushes his hair away from his face. I dressed up. Just for you. He’s wearing new jeans, a red button-down shirt and a black jacket. His face is smooth, unblemished. You look all right. You know, considering. He grins.
“Oh, shut up,” Nick jokes.
Greg picks up one of the books Sara left. The Time-Traveler’s Wife, he reads aloud. Good book. I read it in college. He leans forward, his forearms on his thighs. You know what you need to do, Nicky? he asks.
“What?”
Build a time machine, Greg murmurs, his dark eyes alight. Go back in time and save me. He presses a lingering kiss to Nick’s lips.
When Nick opens his eyes, Greg is gone.
I.
Greg visits him more frequently now, mostly in his dreams.
Sometimes, though, he comes when Nick is awake.
He visits him once in the lab. Nick stares at the computer screen, trying to find a matching print and Greg rests his hands on Nick’s shoulders.
Hey, Greg murmurs, kissing Nick’s earlobe.
Nick smiles and squeezes Greg’s hand. “I’ve almost got a match.”
I need you, Nicky, Greg whispers and sits down next to him. I miss you so much; I can’t stand it.
Taking Greg’s hand in his, Nick says, “I’ll be with you soon. I promise.”
Right before Nick says, “I love you,” Greg vanishes.
I.
“I had a dream about Greg last night,” his niece Shauna tells him.
Nick cradles the phone between his ear and shoulder. “Really? What was it about?”
“He was up in heaven,” Shauna begins, “Along with my dad and his parents and everyone I’ve ever known who’s died.”
“Uh-huh,” Nick mumbles, pouring himself a glass of juice.
“In heaven, everyone plays in bumper cars. So, in my dream, they were teaching him how to drive.”
“Was he good?”
“I think so. It’s hard to tell sometimes.”
“Shauna, you want my honest opinion? I think you need to see a shrink.”
“Pretty rich, coming from you.”
The line goes dead.
I.
The day after Sara drives him home from the hospital, Nick starts to build his time machine.
He remembers the bad science fiction show Greg loved, Doctor Who, and decides to make a TARDIS. He figures that’s easier than a more complicated design.
So, he starts working, building the police phone box, smoothing the rough wood, carving in grooves. Making something out of nothing. Works hard, will receive the best payment of his life.
Greg visits him in the store while he’s buying blue paint.
He takes Nick’s hand in his and whispers, Undo all mistakes.
When Nick tries to grab him, he’s gone.
I.
My wonderful friends -
There’s not much I can say other than it had to end this way. There’s nothing I can do to make you try to feel okay other than say that I’m sorry. I loved all of you.
Grissom, you were the best boss anyone could ever ask for. You helped me so much and you have my eternal thanks. There’s nothing that you can’t do. You’ve helped so many people, spoken for all those who can’t and the world needs to recognize that more often.
Cath, you were an amazing supervisor but a better friend. You’re one of the most spectacular people I’ve ever met and I feel blessed having known you.
Jim, you’ve been a good friend but always tough-as-nails. You are one of the strongest people I’ve known. Stay strong for yourself and for Ellie.
Sara, you’ve always been like a sister to me. We might fight but, in the end, you’ve always been one of my best friends. You’re wonderful.
I love all of you and I wish I could write for pages and pages about how much each of you meant, but I don’t see any real reason to keep going. Wherever I end up, you’ll all be in my heart.
With all the love that I have,
Nick Stokes.
I.
Greg leaves him a list of things to undo and one of them is to end the lives of the men who stole his.
Nick rings Murphy’s doorbell, because Murphy’s not in prison yet; just because his fingerprint was at the scene doesn’t mean they get a warrant to search his house. This thought makes Nick’s blood run cold- Greg’s killer is still free, still running around, but Nick is going to stop him.
Greg told him once that he had a Superman complex and Nick chuckles at that as he cocks the gun.
“Yeah?” Murphy slurs as he opens his door, leans against the doorframe. “Who the fuck are you?”
Rage makes people do funny things because, suddenly, Nick is on top of this man, pounding into his face, turning it into a bloody pulp. In the back of his mind, he sees Greg laughing and dancing, but another Greg, a different one, pulling him back, saying, Stop, Nicky. No, life is better than this!
A few minutes later, he’s punching wooden floorboards with bits of bone and tissue clinging to his hands, scattered around. Just to be sure, he fires two shots into Murphy’s chest. Careful not to touch anything in case he leaves a print, Nick washes his hands in the bathroom. The water swirling around in the sink is pink and he towels off before exiting.
Nick rarely feels himself lose control and he staggers a little on the street. His head throbs and his mind asks, What the fuck have you done, Nicky?
“I did it for you, Greg,” Nick whispers to the sky.
Life is better than this, Greg whispers in his ear. I never wanted them to pay.
“You told me to,” Nick nearly cries.
Greg shakes his head. No, I didn’t. A sigh. It’s okay, Nicky.
Vegas never seemed so cold.
I.
Blood on the concrete floor. Blood spreads and seeps everywhere, dripping into the cracks in the concrete.
Blood is on his lips, in his hair, covering his face. Nick doesn’t care about the pain blossoming in his shoulder as he crawls towards Greg.
Greg’s face is frozen in a shocked expression, his eyes wide open (why did the eyes always have to be open?) and his mouth slack.
Blood runs down his face from the bullet hole and Nick holds him close. “I’m sorry, Greg. I’m so, so sorry.” Nick starts to weep, tears splashing onto Greg’s face. “I love you, G. I love you so, so much.”
Outside, he can hear Sara shout, “They’re in here!” then her footsteps. “Nick! Greg!”
“I’m right here,” Nick manages to croak out.
Sara’s footsteps come closer and then he hears her gasp. “Oh, fuck, Nicky.”
Nick keeps crying as Sara holds him close, not caring that she’s getting blood all over her clothes and Nick holds Greg and Sara holds him and for a moment he feels peace.
I.
The third time he visits, Greg fucks him.
Nick rests on all fours and moans into his pillow as he feels Greg slide in and out from behind him. “Please, Greg,” he whimpers. “More. Harder.”
I don’t want to hurt you, Nicky, Greg murmurs into Nick’s ear, stroking Nick’s cock in time with his thrusts. I could never hurt you, Nick.
Biting back a moan, Nick says, “Hurt me, G. Make me feel something. I don’t want to feel numb anymore.”
He can hear Greg panting behind him. I’m not going to hurt you, Nicky.
“Hurt me, Greg. Hurt me.” In one deft movement, Greg tugs on Nick’s cock a little and thrusts just right so that Nick is screaming Greg’s name and coming harder than he has in a long time.
He hurts when Greg is gone and the hurt is better than the numbness.
I.
Sara leaves a week after the funeral, going back to San Francisco to be with her mother.
Nick hugs her at the airport and cries into her dark hair. “You should stay, Sara. It’s not the same without you.”
“I know, Nicky. It’s not the same without you, either.”
“The whole world’s coming to an end.”
She kisses his shoulder. “I know, Nicky.” With large, dark eyes she looks up at him and Nick can see why the tears there. “I’m fucking terrified.”
“Live here and stay with me. It’ll be almost like old times.”
“Back when everything wasn’t shot to shit.”
“I’m going to miss you, Sara.”
“I love you, Nicky.”
He sits in the airport terminal two hours after her flight leaves.
I.
Nick sits in the living room where his TARDIS waits, only half-done. There’s blood on his hands. Murphy’s blood, Greg’s blood. His blood. His face is white, jaw set. Every inch of his body aches, every muscle aches for release.
“There wasn’t enough time,” he murmurs.
It’s okay, Nicky, Greg reassures him, patting Nick’s shoulder. You did all right.
Nick signs his name on the letter. “I love you,” he tells Greg.
Greg smiles. I know you do, baby. I know. He kisses Nick’s cheek before vanishing.
“Wait!” Nick shouts. “Wait! I need to know if you love me back!”
There’s only one way to know, Greg whispers.
Inhale. Exhale. Nick puts the gun in his mouth and pulls the trigger.
I.
Three weeks after returning to San Francisco, Sara Sidle receives a phone call from Catherine Willows. “Hello?” she asks as she answers.
“Sara… We need you back here,” Catherine whispers into the phone, her voice broken by sobs.
“Don't worry, Cath. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Sara reassures her, knowing what happened already. Hanging up the phone, she presses the heels of her hands into her eyes and starts to cry.
I.
“You came,” Greg says when he looks up at Nick.
“Of course I did,” Nick tells him. “I wasn’t going to let you leave me behind.”
Greg’s smile is wide and he runs to Nick, pulls him into a hug and kisses him. “I could never leave you behind,” he murmurs against Nick’s lips. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I.
At the funeral, Sara holds Catherine’s hand as the blonde sobs into her handkerchief. “We should have known… Should have seen the signs…” She hiccups. “Oh, Nicky.”
“Don't blame yourself, Cath,” Sara murmurs, hugging her old friend.
As she passes the coffin, Sara touches it and whispers, “I guess it’s never too late.”
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Date: 2008-07-24 11:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-24 11:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 12:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 01:08 am (UTC)Love.
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Date: 2008-07-25 01:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 01:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 02:08 am (UTC)This....was heartbreaking.
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Date: 2008-07-25 02:22 am (UTC)But well written, nicely organized (but if you don't watch it you'll end up openly grabbing Sara's tits one of these days, try to control yourself :D), nice minutiae (like Greg's favorite breakfast) choice of time machine, different sorts of Greg ducking in and out.
WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Oh, I said that.
Must write something cheerful now.
Good story!
Meisaal
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Date: 2008-07-25 04:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 04:08 am (UTC)and Jorja is super gorgeous.Anyway, thanks so much! The Greg slipping in and out just sort of... happened? I dunno. Nick was just supposed to hallucinate the one time in the hospital, then I was like, "No, I'm gonna make him totally psycho" so, I did. And he just hallucinated a lot and went totally scooters and I was like, "Whoa, crazy Nick is crazy."
MY NEXT FIC WILL BE HAPPY, I PROMISE!
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Date: 2008-07-25 05:19 am (UTC)Oh, what's that? My God, is that inspiration lurking about my house? Does it want tea?!
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Date: 2008-07-25 09:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-26 06:35 pm (UTC)GIVE IT TEA! :p
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Date: 2008-07-26 06:36 pm (UTC)(and, yay, another Moonlight fan! Sophia Myles wins!)
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Date: 2008-08-12 05:00 am (UTC)favorite lines:
He tells him that this whole thing was his fault, why isn’t he in that box?
Because you’ve been buried already, silly,
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Date: 2008-08-12 05:38 pm (UTC)Heh, thank you! I quite liked that line, myself.