by Emily Brunson

(c)2002

"I'm sorry," Nick said from the other side of the room. Again.

He didn't have the nerve to look at Gil -- again -- and once again, Gil just said, "Don't be sorry."

Well, this was a pretty picture, now, wasn't it? The Younger Man, standing by the door in case he decides to bolt because holy SHIT, he realizes this could actually happen instead of being some kind of fucking perverted wet dream. And the Older Man, wise beyond his years, sitting Yoda-like on the bed, cryptic smile firmly in place. You know those young guys. Nervy things, don't scare 'em off. Draw more flies and virgins with honey than vinegar, right, Griss?

"Look, would you just sit down? You're making this into a very big deal, Nick."

Oho, the wise man speaks. Nick stopped pacing and stared at him, stung. But when he tried to speak, nothing useful come out. It IS a big deal. Is it? Evidently not. So ignore it and it'll go away? That was how he'd learned to deal, himself. Maybe Gil had, too.

Or maybe Gil-baby really didn't think anything had happened, but that was impossible, right? Because something had.

Was Grissom really that out of touch?

The man in question patted the bed. "Come on. Sit down."

Nick edged over and sat about as far away as he could without falling on the floor. When Gil didn't say anything else, Nick swallowed hard. "Okay, I'm sitting down now. Happy?"

"Honestly? Not particularly."

Nick nodded woodenly, staring at the bedspread on the opposite bed. "I didn't -- mean for that to happen. I think maybe I am kinda crazy right now."

"Understandably."

"I don't -- I don't usually --"

"I don't care."

Nick gave him a startled look, and Gil sighed. "Who was it? Elvis Costello? Said, 'Writing about music is like dancing about architecture.'"

"I, uh. What?"

"I don't care what you usually. All right?"

"Huh? I'm still -- Elvis Costello?"

"Never mind. Come here?"

Gil's arm around him felt so good, so right. Nick froze in place.

"Everything's okay, Nick." Gil sighed, pulling Nick against him. "If anything I said -- before -- made you feel as if this was your fault, I'm sorry."

"Okay."

"It wasn't just your idea, you know. I wanted to kiss you, too."

Nick clenched his eyes shut.

"If you don't want that, it's okay. I just want you to know that there's nothing wrong with it. That's all."

But there is, Nick thought desperately. Oh, there is.

"Talk to me, Nick, okay?" Gil sounded a little strained now. "I was never very good at ESP."

"I don't -- know what to say."

"Want me to stop?"

Nick sighed inside the circle of Gil's arm. Let go? No, he didn't want that. He shook his head.

"Come on. You're tired. Let's get some sleep."

He let Gil draw him down on the bed, not the same position as before. Before it had been Nick who clung to Gil. Now it was Gil who spooned up behind him, one arm looped around Nick's waist, hand flat on Nick's belly.

The panic was still circling, sniffing around, looking for a toehold. And his mind busily informed him, once again, of how this looked. You could sugarcoat it before, Nicky, you can sugarcoat it now, but what you KNOW is that you really don't want to go to sleep, do you?

With the same feeling as before -- feet slipping on loose scree -- Nick rolled over, coming face to face with Gil. Gil's eyes were soft in the dimness, all too easy to read. And it was all too easy to let go of his fear, let it dissipate in the warmth of Gil's body next to his own, and push himself over to meet Gil's ready mouth.

The joy was still there, a kind of incredulous WOW, but this time there was also relief, the feeling a dying man might have when he hit the morphine button yet again. It might not fix things, not forever, but it felt so damn good.

Nick made a soft sound deep in his throat, letting Gil pull him closer until their bodies lined up. The most thorough kiss Nick had ever known, the first time he could remember ever being the complete focus of Gil Grissom's fearsome attention. He felt a little like one of Gil's treasured bugs, only there was no pin sticking him to styrofoam. Just their bodies, connected at the mouth, hands, arms, legs. Groin.

Oh yeah.

Tears stinging tiresomely behind his eyes, Nick broke the neverending kiss and gasped for air. And then gasped again when Gil simply changed that terrible focus, kissing beneath Nick's jaw, to his throat, up to an ear and then to the vulnerable place where his jaw ended, a place other people had kissed, sure

other women, you mean

but never like this, never with this kind of singleminded enjoyment.

"God," Nick gasped without thinking, and flopped over on his back, bringing Gil with him.

Gil smiled an inch from his face, and bent to kiss his mouth again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He woke up early, not even dawn yet if the dark behind the curtains was any clue. For a second he had no idea where he was. There was absolutely nothing familiar in this room. No sounds, no outlines of furniture he could identify. Just dark, and a rising feeling of indescribable panic.

Someone sighed next to him, and Nick rolled away with a wrenching gasp, coming to rest on his knees at the edge of the bed.

Evidence, Nicky boy. Let's see. You have no clothes on. From the looks of it neither does Grissom.

Remember now?

You fucking faggot.

With a wounded sound Nick pushed himself back, but there was no more bed. Just a wall, the feel of his head thumping against sheetrock, and bedclothes tangled around one of his feet.

"Nick?" Gil said groggily, sitting up. "You okay?"

He fought the sheet until he could get untangled, and then scrabbled to his feet.

Inside the bathroom he closed and locked the door, hands shaking so badly even the thumb latch was a challenge. The bright fluourescent bulbs were absolutely unforgiving. Nick glanced at his nude body in the mirror

My, my, but you have that well-fucked look, my friend, that post-coital glow, should we say, FAG

and recoiled, averting his eyes and going over to turn on the shower.

"Nick?"

Shit.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Jesus, it was hard to breathe. Steam was filling the room, but his throat was closing up, and in the midst of everything else one thought popped into his mind, so sharp and horribly clear that he couldn't even begin to argue.

You're dying. You're gonna die, Nick.

Allergic reaction, maybe. Allergic to what? No, asthma. Been years since he fought with that, but he remembered now, that awful struggle to get air OUT, never mind in.

DYING. Call 911. Someone has to help me, please, HELP, help me.

He leaned against the sink and opened the door, revealing Gil Grissom's worried face.

"Nick!"

Good, Grissom would know what to do. He let Gil catch him, free now to be as terrified as his body demanded, because at least someone KNEW, someone could help him when he

DIED

"Breathe, Nick." Distant, cool words, but why wasn't Grissom getting off his ass and calling the fucking CAVALRY? His chest hurt, maybe this was a fucking heart attack, too young and nothing wrong but there WAS something wrong, he was DYING, couldn't Gil see that?

"It's a panic attack, Nick," came Gil's awful, reassuring voice. "Come on. Relax. Let go."

"Can't -- breathe."

"Yes, you can. I promise. Just ride it out. It's going to be okay."

He pulled against Grissom's hold but it didn't work. And he *could* breathe, after all, but with that realization came the shakes, huge terrible trembling that made him feel weak as a day-old pup.

Grissom's arms were strong around him, soothing voice still going. "It's okay, Nick, you're fine. See? Already better. That's it."

His cheeks felt cold and wet. "What -- happened?" he wheezed out.

"Later. Just relax, breathe. You're okay."

"Gil."

"I won't let anything happen to you. Just relax. Close your eyes."

Nick sobbed once, and let his head sag back against Gil's chest.

Chapter Seven

"We could take a break."

Nick glanced up from tying his shoes. "Huh?"

Gil sipped his coffee and kept staring out the window. Not much to see. Great view of the parking lot. "Explore. Take a day off from driving."

"What's there to explore in Iowa?"

"That's the thing. I have no idea." Gil turned a smile in his direction. "I've never been in Iowa. Terra incognita."

"Kinda boring terra."

"Maybe. Let's find out."

With a disgruntled feeling he didn't quite understand, Nick shrugged. "We're only two days from home. Can we afford to take a day off?"

The smile didn't falter. "Can we afford not to?"

"I'm okay. You said it yourself. Just nerves."

"Exactly. And the closer we get to Vegas, the worse they get. Don't they?"

"I guess," Nick mumbled.

"So let's sightsee. Go out tonight, do something besides sit in a car. What do you say?"

"Whatever you want."

His lack of enthusiasm was either dealt with or ignored, he couldn't say which. But they did sightsee. Des Moines wasn't that bad. Killed a few hours. Much bigger than he'd thought, and much more cosmopolitan. Interesting to see a city that wasn't quite as tacky as Vegas. Not tacky at all, in fact.

"A lot of people stopped here before heading west," Grissom remarked, gazing out the window at the enormous, ornate houses they were passing. "It was a primary staging area for pioneers."

"The Chamber of Commerce should hire you," Nick replied dryly.

"My family probably came through here."

"On their way to California."

"Yep."

Nick watched the houses go by, pretty, sure, what the hell, better than looking at Gil's concerned face.

And superimposed over that, another face. Not nearly so handsome, and a whole different flavor of caring. The terrible interest of a madman, maybe.

He leaned his head back against the seat and sighed.

They had lunch late, no crowds, which was a relief. He picked at his pasta and pretended he was eating, but hell, who was he trying to kid? Not like he'd been able to slip anything by Gil before, and for sure not now.

"Want to talk about it?"

Nick glanced over at Gil and shrugged. "I freaked."

"Well, yes."

His cheeks burned. "I don't regret it," he added hoarsely.

Gil smiled a little. "The freaking, or the other stuff?"

"The other stuff."

"Neither do I."

He speared a piece of chicken on his fork. "I think --" He set his fork down. "I think that's what Crane wanted, too."

"It's a possibility."

"It's fucking gross," Nick snapped, leaning back in his chair. "Every time I think about that whacko watching me, I mean, it just makes me sick. What does that mean?"

"It means you were violated, Nick." Gil's smile disappeared. "Nigel Crane mistook kindness for infatuation. To him, you and he were close. A lot closer than reality. You think you're wrong to feel sick about that?"

"I don't know. No." He looked at Gil. "You know what this is like, don't you?" he asked bluntly.

Gil took a sip of his drink and shrugged. "Close enough."

"So how'd you deal with it?"

"I didn't. For a long time."

"But you finally did, right?"

Gil's mouth curved in a smile that wasn't entirely pleasant. "Had to," he said briefly.

"So you freaked?"

Now it was a better smile, a real smile. "Not exactly. In my own way, yes."

Nick stared down at the napkin he held. "I don't feel like I'll ever feel safe again," he mumbled, and started tearing the napkin into long shreds.

Gil nodded. "Home's a sanctuary, it's where we relax, become fully ourselves." He pushed his plate away. "And when someone violates that sanctuary, it can be very hard to get past it."

"Next place won't have an attic."

"That's a start." Gil grinned. "Come on. Let's get out of here and go for a walk."

Outside the weather was gorgeous, warm and sunny, and Nick inhaled deeply before glancing at Gil. "Feel better?" Gil asked, still smiling.

"Think so, yeah."

"Good. Don't forget where we parked the car."

After some wandering there was a park, sprawling and not too filled with people. Nick sat next to Gil on a bench and leaned his head back, soaking in the sun.

"So that was a panic attack, huh."

Gil nodded, unreadable behind his sunglasses. "Yes."

"Weird. I was just sure I was dying."

"Textbook."

Nick squinted at him. "What happens if I have another one?"

"We'll deal with it."

"Thank you," Nick whispered thickly.

They had dinner that night at some out-of-the-way bistro, where the smell of good bread and savory things actually awakened Nick's dormant appetite. Or maybe his body was finally screaming, ENOUGH! Eat or DIE, you moron! Whatever the case, he cleaned his plate and caught Gil's approving look.

"I do eat, you know," Nick said tartly.

"I see that," came the grave reply, which made him laugh.

A couple of beers at a tiny microbrewery later, and Nick was ready to call it a night. Unsure whether or not Gil's sudden social turn had eased up or what, but he didn't object to going back to the hotel. And when Nick walked inside their room, a familiar sense of unease reared its head and made his throat feel tight.

"I'd offer a penny for your thoughts, but in this case I think I don't need to," Gil said softly.

Nick wrapped his arms around himself, shaking his head. "Sorry."

"I'll offer a dollar if you'll stop saying that."

Nick turned him a shaky smile. "I'll try."

Gil smiled back, and went to hunt down a tee shirt. "So what do you usually do when you get home?" he asked over his shoulder.

"I dunno. Check email, see if there's anything on tv."

"What do you watch?"

'Mostly sports, I guess."

"Now there's a surprise."

There wasn't much on, but they watched part of a nine-ball tournament, and it was so comfortable that whatever anxiety he still felt didn't seem very powerful when Gil kissed him. It was just a kiss. A very good kiss, in fact.

"Don't you want to see who wins?" Nick asked fuzzily, propped on one elbow while he let himself explore Gil's neck with his lips.

"I already know."

"You do, huh."

"Yep."

He caught a flash of Gil's grin before another kiss erased all thought of pool, and anything else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, Gil paused, staring down at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Nick gasped, swallowing hard. "I'm okay. Christ, you're -- really good at that."

Gil gave him a tiny smile and leaned down to kiss him luxuriantly. "I was always an overachiever," he murmured against Nick's mouth. "Can't get enough of you."

When Gil drew back again, there was an expression on his face Nick had never seen before. "What?" he asked, feeling a little like Gil himself. "What is it?"

"You know you can set the limits, right? Tell me if I do something you don't want to do."

"S-sure."

Gil sat back on his haunches, stroking the insides of Nick's thighs where they lay open over Gil's lap. "I don't want to go too fast," he said quietly.

Nick's throat was suddenly very dry. "You want to fuck me, don't you?"

Gil nodded slowly.

"I've never --"

"I know."

Heart thudding in his chest, Nick blurted, "I don't know if I can do that."

"I won't make you. Trust me, Nick. I won't make you do something you don't want to do."

"Even if you want it?"

"Even if I want it."

Nick sighed, turning his face away. "I don't know what it's like," he said clumsily, feeling his cheeks burning. Gil's hands on his thighs felt almost unbearably good. Making him hard again, damn it. "I guess -- I thought about it a few times."

"That's promising." Gil untangled himself from Nick's legs and lay down beside him, on his side, head propped on his hand. "What did you think about?"

Rolling over to face him, Nick sighed. "I dunno. I start to think about -- it, and then every time I think about him."

"You can't be sure that's what he really wanted," Gil said softly, reaching out to touch his thumb to Nick's cheek. "I'm not sure you can boil it down to sex."

"I know. Just a feeling." Nick smiled, flushing harder. "Jeez, I can't believe I'm sitting here -- lying here -- having this conversation."

Gil smiled, too. "Can't say I planned it, myself."

Nick drew a deep breath. "But you thought about it? About me?"

"Give me a second to think about how to answer this without seriously undermining my authority."

"So you did."

"Yeah."

Nick gazed at him, recognizing the flush in Gil's cheeks with wonder. "Wow," he said weakly. "I had no idea."

"Good. Hopefully my professional image isn't too tarnished, then."

"Well, with me --"

"With the others," Gil interrupted with a sheepish grin, and bent forward to kiss him. A kiss that led to more kisses, and Nick had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out when Gil's thigh slid between his own.

"So this sex thing," he mumbled against Gil's neck. "Hurts, right?"

"At first, a little." Gil kissed him briefly and deeply. "Not forever. There's a reason why people keep doing it, you know," he added with a flashing smile.

"I -- Well, yeah. Hadn't thought about it that way."

"There are many other things we can do, Nick," Gil whispered, taking Nick's hand and sliding it between his own legs. "Many, many other things."

Smiling, Nick leaned forward to kiss him, inhaling Gil's harsh gasp when Nick took him in hand and stroked surely and easily.

Chapter Eight

By the time they hit the Nevada state line, Nick couldn't even lie to himself about how he felt. Scared shitless, and not just of Nasty Nigel, either. A more amorphous fear, a blend of the nutcase plus work plus finding a place to live, plus --

Well.

THAT.

Wasn't as if Gil hadn't noticed, either, although they didn't discuss it much. It probably wouldn't help, anyway, Nick thought, scanning the passing scenery with zero interest.

He glanced down at the speedometer automatically -- state animal ought to be a highway patrolman -- and then over at Gil. "Not too far," he said.

Gil nodded at the same time his cell phone beeped at him. What, seventh time today, or eighth? People had been calling a lot the past two days. The more overdue they got, the more strident the calls. Where the hell are you? What do we do with X? What happened to Y? Gil's jaw had gotten tenser by the hour, and Nick almost felt guilty about his own worries. Hell, Grissom had a unit to run. The wheel, not the cog, remember?

Probably Catherine this time, like the past three. Gil said something peevish to her and hung up. And sighed.

"I'm s--"

"Don't say it, Nick. If they can't manage when I'm not there, I'm a crappy excuse for a supervisor."

Nick refocused straight ahead. What, he was going to actually say, You sound like my boss again and not my -- whatever? Not.

"I have to go to the lab when we get in," Gil said crisply, as if they really were already back. Nick's stomach clenched. "Just to reassure everyone we're still alive. An hour, tops."

Nick nodded mechanically. An hour for Grissom meant eight; there was no way he could just drop by and parley for a few, and then split. If he DID do that, Nick would really start to wonder about him. Simply not in his nature.

"I mean that, okay? Just for a few minutes."

Nick looked at him, meeting Gil's steady, all-too-knowing gase. "Right," he said faintly.

"I'll drop you off at my place. You can catch your breath, and I won't be long."

Oh. "Okay."

"Unless you want to stay somewhere else?"

There was no reading Gil's intent; his voice was as casual as a stranger's. Nick digested that, and then managed a shrug. "I hadn't really thought about it," he said, changing lanes and passing a gawking carful of what had to be tourists. Foreign ones, maybe.

"Where did you stay after you sold the condo?"

"Uhh."

"Slept at the office?"

"Yeah."

"Would you like to stay with me?"

Nick felt his teeth grinding together in an effort to stave off whatever terrible emotion was clawing at his throat. "If you don't mind, sure."

"I don't mind, Nick. I'd love for you to stay."

"O-okay."

Two hours later they were back, and Nick looked around Gil's home as if he'd never seen it before. Well, had he? Surely he had. But it seemed entirely new now. Neat, not very remarkable. Comfortable, in a kind of distant way. Nick set his duffle on the floor in the front hall and straightened.

"There's beer in the fridge, unless someone broke in and stole it." Gil brushed past him with a busy smile, and dumped his own bag in a room Nick couldn't see, but figured was the bedroom. "Grab me one, too, will you?"

Nick edged cautiously into the kitchen, feeling like a thief himself, and got out two Shiner Bocks. Huh. Nice choice.

He'd wandered back into the living room when Gil re-emerged, on the phone again and carrying one shoe in his hand. "I told you, I'll come by in a few minutes. But I'm still on vacation, remember? So don't count on me sticking around." A pause, while he dropped the shoe on the floor, stuck his foot in it, and listened. "Nick's fine. Good." He glanced at Nick and smiled. "No, he's staying over here until he gets a new place. Well, maybe I'll wait and let him tell you himself. Look, I gotta go. See you when I get there."

Nick smiled weakly. "Catherine?"

"Yeah. I don't think she wants to be the boss anymore," he added, straightening the crease in his pants.

"You set the bar pretty high."

Gil looked at him, and then walked over, plucking the second bottle of beer from Nick's hand. "Maybe," he replied, smiling. "Welcome home, Nick."

"Thanks."

Gil studied him for a moment, reaching out to take Nick's free hand. "It's going to be okay," he said quietly, pressing a kiss on Nick's fingers. "Come on, sit down."

Later he thought he might always associate the rich, dark taste of Shiner with that brief few minutes on Gil's couch. And nothing even really happened. Only everything.

"One step at a time, okay? Bird by bird, Nick, just take it bird by bird."

Nick smiled inside the comforting loop of Gil's arm. "What quote is that?"

"Wonderful book on writing. That's the title: Bird by Bird. Anne Lamott."

"Is there anything you don't read?"

"Far too much to even consider. Lamott got the title of the book from something her father said to her brother one time. Kid was agonizing over a book report on birds that was due the next morning, that he hadn't even started yet. So her dad said --"

"--Take it bird by bird." Nick nodded, brushing his cheek against Gil's shirt. "I get it."

Gil sipped his beer. "And when you're ready to come back to work, come back. I don't plan to replace you, you know. Not unless you tell me to."

"No," Nick whispered roughly. "I'll come back."

"Good."

It felt both astoundingly weird and terribly reassuring to kiss him, back on home soil, back in a town he hadn't really known if he'd ever see again. The town he still wasn't sure about; the kiss, well. Pretty much felt great.

"I really have to go."

Nick sighed against Gil's throat, relishing the way Gil shivered in response. "I'll kick your ass if you stay all night," he murmured, smiling.

"Keep that up and I won't go at all."

"Promise?"

Gil drew back to kiss him once, firmly, on the mouth. His face was gratifyingly flushed. "You're really not playing fair, you know," he said in a hilariously plaintive voice.

Nick grinned, and shrugged. "I'd apologize, but."

"Yeah. Okay." Gil drew a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. "Okay. Sorry I didn't give you the tour, but it's very short anyway. If you don't find what you need, call me. All right?"

Mercifully the ridiculous blather that immediately popped into his head -- I need you -- didn't make it past his lips. Nick nodded. "I'll be okay, Gil. Go do your thing."

"Back in a few."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Someone touched his arm, and he awoke with a jerk.

"Hey, it's just me."

Nick blinked in the darkness. Shit, what the hell time was it?

The bed shifted when Gil sat down. "I see you found the bedroom," he remarked in a voice that just avoided innuendo, but only just.

"Thought you said an hour," Nick said muzzily.

"Well." Now there was a faintly guilty tinge to the words. "Not much more than an hour. You okay?"

That's called deflecting, Nick considered saying, and then let it go. "Musta crashed. I smell food."

"I brought back some takeout." Gil brushed Nick's cheek with his fingers. "Hungry?"

"I guess."

He trailed behind Gil out to the dining room, where he sat down and stared at his kung pao chicken.

"So how was work?"

Gil fished out a piece of broccoli with his chopsticks. "Some things never change," he said through his food. "One thing's for sure, Nick; we'll never be out of a job."

Nick nodded, and poked at his food with a fork. "How's everybody doing?"

"Fine. Told me to tell you they miss you."

He feigned interest he didn't feel while Gil talked about the cases they were working on, something hilarious Warrick had said, Catherine's latest ex-related woes. It registered, but somehow it didn't, too. He felt as if Gil were relating stories about strangers, just anecdotes, with no real impact.

Gil ran out of gas finally, working on his food while Nick faked same, and finally put his chopsticks down. "You're tired," he observed mildly.

Talk about a keen grasp of the obvious. "Yeah. More than I thought, I guess."

"Go back to bed, okay? I'll be in in a minute."

With a sadness that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, Nick trudged back to the bedroom. Pretty basic, but Gil had a comfortable bed, and that was primary, he supposed. His skin prickled with sudden nameless dread, and he sat down hard on the bed's edge.

Well, now's a shitty time to have another freakout, Nicky boy. What do they say about making your own bed? Lie down, boy.

And spread 'em.

He stifled whatever sound was trying to get out of his throat, and stood up fast. The room was way too small suddenly. The condo was too small, hell, the fucking CITY was too small. Couldn't fucking BREATHE here.

"Nick?"

This time the sound made it out anyway; a strangled kind of yelp that made him feel like laughing hysterically at the same time that he felt his throat immediately closing up. Oh CHRIST, not this again, no no FUCK NO

But this time it didn't help when Gil came over. Nick pushed at him wildly, staggering back against the far wall. One hand went to his throat, and all that was in his head suddenly was digging his nails in and getting it OUT, whatever it was that wasn't letting him breathe, that was CHOKING him.

"Nick, stop it." Strong hands on his wrists, pulling, and he snarled something and pushed again, hard, but Gil held on anyway.

And something inside him shivered and broke, like a glass shattering on concrete.

He struggled inside Gil's arms, panting and shaking his head, and in the midst of it all he could say was, "I don't want to be here, please, I don't, please just let me GO, please."

"Jesus, Nick," Gil said hoarsely. His arms were shaking, too. "It's okay, baby, it's okay."

"It's NOT okay!" Nick dug his hands into Gil's shirt, pulling until the fabric started to tear. "It's not fucking OKAY!"

"No, it's not, is it." Gil's grip loosened, and Nick clung harder, irrationally.

"Gil," he gasped. "Oh God, I think I'm going crazy."

"Sssh. You're not crazy, sweetheart, you're not. I swear to God you're not."

"Don't let go of me," Nick whispered fiercely, blinking away tears. "Please, please don't let go?"

Gil's arms linked around Nick's waist. "I won't. I promise you."

"I don't know what's happening to me. Gil, I'm so fucking scared."

"Just breathe, Nick," Gil murmured, rocking him gently. "Hold on, and breathe. That's it."

After a long, blank moment of nothing but the reassuring solidity of Gil's body against his own, Gil said softly, "Come on. Lie down. You're so tired."

God, he was tired, and yet every muscle in his body burned, too, jittery with a fear he couldn't even begin to quantify, much less really understand yet. He let Gil lay him on the bed, and managed to loosen his death grip on Gil's shirt long enough for Gil to slip out of it and lie down next to him. And then it was so much like that first night, the first time in too long that he'd felt truly safe, that he clung with mindless, frantic strength all over again.

"Sleep," Gil whispered, one hand smoothing down Nick's back in long even strokes. "Nothing's going to happen to you tonight. I won't let anything happen. Close your eyes."

He breathed in the clean smell of Gil's aftershave and did so, gratefully.

Chapter Nine

It was a perfect day. Not too hot, yet, and of course no humidity; Dallas might be humidity hell, but Las Vegas would probably implode if the average humidity level passed fifteen percent. All in all, a great day to be outside.

Nick poked at the coals on the grill and squinted. Time for the chicken? What time had Gil said he'd be back? Four hours ago, or five?

Ah, what the hell. He picked up the plate and started laying chicken breasts on the grill, breathing in the savory smoke.

By the time Gil actually did get back, the sun was almost gone, the neighbor's dog was whining at the fence, and the chicken looked and smelled fantastic.

"Hey, good timing," Nick called, seeing Gil at the back door. "Hungry?"

"Starving." Gil walked outside. "Damn, you never told me you could cook."

"I can't." Nick grinned, forking the last piece of chicken on a platter. "I can grill, though."

"That smells fantastic. Thank you." Gil came over and kissed him soundly. "So I guess you found everything you needed."

Nick nodded, covering the grill and reaching down to close the vents. "I figure I better do something other than occupy space, you know? Called my dad for his recipe. Come on, I got a salad, too."

Gil ate hugely, and Nick took one bite and felt a wave of sweet homesickness wash over him. So this was Dad's secret recipe. Tasted just like home.

"It's all in the marinade," Nick said when Gil gave him a wide-eyed look of approval.

When most of the food was demolished and the rest put away, Nick handed Gil another beer and went back out on the patio. A great day had turned into a gorgeous evening, desert-cool and tangy with lingering cooking smells and the aroma of mesquite. "So how was work?" he asked, sipping his beer.

"Pretty much exactly the way I left it. SSDD."

"Same shit, different day, huh."

"Yeah. You ought to come see everybody. They'd love to see you."

Nick's replete smile faded. "Yeah," he agreed softly. "Yeah, I'd like to see them, too."

"How's your dad doing, anyway?"

"Good. He's back in Austin now, court's back in session."

Gil nodded, but didn't say anything else.

"I've been thinking about work," Nick said finally.

"Oh?"

"I do want to come back."

"Well, you know you can, anytime you want."

Nick nodded. "I appreciate that."

"Personally I think your boss is a candidate for sainthood."

"How much can I laugh before you fire me?"

"Try me and see."

Nick grinned and glanced at Gil, absurdly pleased to see the relaxed look on Gil's face. "How about next week?"

"Next week would be great." Gil took a step closer and slid his arm around Nick's waist, and Nick felt the constant hard knot in his chest loosen a bit. "Hey, at least we have the same schedule."

Nick turned and gave in to the hug he'd wanted all evening. "Yeah," he whispered, closing his eyes and leaning against Gil. "That's good."

Later, inside, he toweled his hair and watched Gil grind coffee. "Doing anything tomorrow?" Gil asked, tapping the ground beans into a filter.

"Supposed to go look at a place. 10:00. Not much besides that."

Gil glanced at him. "Looking at apartments?"

"Yeah. Think I'll hold off on buying anything again. Considering right now I'm about tapped out."

"You know you can stay here. Long as you like."

Nick nodded awkwardly. "I just -- You know, once I go back to work --" He trailed off.

"You'd just as soon not telegraph it to everyone."

"I don't mean it that way."

Gil smiled. "It's okay. One step at a time, right?"

"Right."

So strange. When Gil kissed him, it seemed as if all his worries were ridiculous. Of course everything would be all right. As right as this felt, this completely unexpected, disturbingly fantastic connection. Work was just work. Nigel was in jail. And when Nick leaned into Gil's embrace and fell into another obliteration of a kiss, the last of the hard kernel of pain in his chest melted away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wanna go with me?" he asked the next morning.

"You want me to?"

Nick nodded sleepily, letting his hand drift over Gil's bare chest. "It'll probably suck anyway. Just a rental."

"Of course I'll go."

"We don't have to go yet."

"Good," Gil murmured, pressing a kiss on Nick's mouth.

Suddenly very much awake, Nick made a muffled sound and pushed himself up, slinging one leg over Gil's hips and straddling him. "Do that again," he whispered, and Gil grinned and did just that.

"So I rent this place," Nick continued, kissing his way around Gil's stubbly jaw to his ear. "But that doesn't mean --" He sucked at Gil's earlobe for a moment. "--I have to actually stay there." A nip. "All the time."

"I'd be -- very disappointed if you did," Gil said in a strangled voice.

"So when you get tired of me --" He kissed the tender skin of Gil's throat leisurely, and felt Gil's hands stroking his back, long slow arcs that started at his waist and went down to the place they'd only played with. "--I got someplace to crash."

"Not gonna happen."

Nick smiled against Gil's skin and slid downward, nibbling one of Gil's nipples and grinning at the way Gil sighed and arched his back. "You say that now," he replied, elongating the sibilant and watching Gil's nipple harden, "but the crazy guy might get a little annoying --"

Gil grasped Nick's shoulders, hard, and Nick broke off. "You're not crazy," Gil said intensely, frowning at him.

"I was just kidding."

Gil arched up and kissed him hard. "Don't sell yourself short," Gil murmured. "You're the one with the old guy."

Nick raised his eyebrows. "You know, you're right," he said in a reflective tone. "I mean, why should I settle for all this, when I could date some bowhead from Waxahachie and have six kids instead? Man, I'm glad you pointed that out to me, because for a minute there I thought I was doing pretty good...."

Gil's face colored nicely. "You're doing really good, and I wish you'd keep going."

"Is that a hint?"

"Should I make it an order?"

"Ow. You pulling rank on me, Grissom?"

"Jesus. Whatever it takes. *Stokes*."

Nick grinned delightedly. "Whatever you say, sir," he whispered, and slid a little further down.

Considering the fact that he had about as much experience sucking cock as Gil did as a fraternity president, he thought he was picking up the technique pretty well. He waited for the sarcastic internal commentary, but for once the nasty voice was silent. Thank God. Because this took some focus, after all.

"Shit," Gil groaned, hands tense at his sides. "You've been -- s-studying."

"I have a great teacher. I know what you wanna do. Do it."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Come on, baby. Fuck my mouth."

A little part of him still marveled at this, and probably would for a while yet, but it hadn't taken long to find out he kind of enjoyed Gil taking over, at least in some areas. It felt weirdly good to feel Gil's hands holding his head steady, to just -- take it, grabbing a breath when he could and just --

Okay, the swallowing part was still a work in progress. Sorta choked him, and the taste was going to be, um. Acquired. But it rocked to hear Gil come. Noisy and completely uninhibited, total about-face from the public persona, Mr. Freeze.

Crazy to be proud of making some guy come, but then this wasn't some guy, was it?

He held the tip of Gil's softening cock in his mouth, until Gil finally opened his eyes and blinked at him.

"I really like that look," Nick said softly, and licked his lips.

Gil smiled woozily. "Come here," he said in a hoarse voice.

"Yeah, I really like it." Nick crawled back up to blanket Gil with his body, and got a slow, sated kiss. "You like it?"

"I like it," Gil whispered. His fingers trailed down Nick's spine while they kissed again. When Gil's hand reached his ass Nick drew a sharp breath, an unexpected shiver of -- something, something not at all bad -- making him arch his back. "You like that?" Gil asked smokily, mouth quirked in a smile.

Nick nodded, shivering again as Gil's hands cupped his ass, gently kneading. "Can't keep -- your hands off that, can ya?" he managed.

"Nope. Come here."

He kneed his way up the bed, steadied by Gil's grip on his ass. Christ, his dick had been hard before but now it felt like he could probably hammer fucking NAILS with it, and there was Gil, just eating him up like he was candy --

Nick threw his head back and groaned, because as great as it felt to get his cock sucked, it was somehow just as great or maybe even better to look down and see his dick disappear down Gil's THROAT, and if he watched too much he'd just blow his load in a millisecond, JESUS H. CHRIST.

Gil's fingers stroked past his asshole, and Nick felt a jolt of heat sear through nerves he hadn't ever thought much about, a warm wash of sensation from his ass straight to his dick.

"Ah, FUCK."

Gil chuckled and the sensation was indescribable. And then something was IN his ass, a warm, slim, slippery fingerlike something, that didn't feel bad but felt mindbogglingly GOOD, and Nick's brain melted.

Only gone a few seconds, but MAN, what a way to go. He tried to breathe, still flexing and jerking in hectic tandem, and finally Gil let him go, dick and ass both, which was probably necessary for continued cognitive function but that didn't mean he had to like it, DAMN, wish that few seconds could last HOURS, fucking DAYS.

Somehow he got himself untangled from sheet and pillow and managed to lie down without falling off the bed, all twitches and limp muscles, and Gil pulled him close against his side and kissed him. Weird to know that was his come in Gil's mouth. So weird it was sort of hard to think about.

"So," Nick wheezed, collapsing bonelessly.

"So." He could almost hear Gil's grin.

"So that was my ass."

Now Gil laughed. "Among other things."

"Not too bad."

"Not too bad?" Gil yelped indignantly, and Nick snorted laughter. Raising himself on one shaky elbow, he made a considering face.

"I guess I'd be willing to give this thing a try," he murmured, feeling his heart do a little skip in his chest.

"Would you, now."

Nick nodded slowly. "Yeah." He didn't feel much like laughing anymore. "I would."

Gil locked eyes with him, a potent gaze that made Nick's chest tighten up again. "So would I," he whispered.

Chapter Ten

"I can't decide whether to hug you or kill you."

Nick grinned a little shakily. "All things being equal, I'd rather you hugged me."

Catherine did, a tight squeeze that felt awfully good. "Welcome back, Nick," she whispered urgently. "We've really missed you."

"Thanks, Catherine. Good to be back."

All the greetings had been some nuance of the same flavor as Catherine's, and Nick felt as if he just might come unglued from being so pleased. No huge party or any shit like that, thank God. Just some hugs, some handshaking, a clap on the shoulder from Warrick that had kinda hurt but felt pretty good for all that. Even Sara got a little sentimental, and then told him he almost owed her the plane fare to Texas. That made him laugh, and everyone else, too, so it was really okay.

"Canada?" Warrick asked, shaking his head. "Shit, man, why didn't you just head over to Europe? See something really interesting? I mean, if you're gonna hit the road anyway."

Catherine shook her head, too. "Nah. Bahamas."

"I like Canada," Nick said with a smile. "Nice people."

"Put some serious mileage on your car."

"About ten thousand miles, give or take a few hundred."

Warrick whistled. "Noooo thanks."

Gil cleared his throat. "Okay. Assignments."

He watched Gil with a mute sense of admiration. With all that had gone on lately, he'd sorta forgotten Gil was the boss, for all his teasing. Now, watching the guy in action, he felt both appreciative and vaguely confused. How exactly did he behave now? Same as before all -- this? Exactly how did he manage that?

But he nodded easily enough when Gil paired him with Sara for the evening, listened like always to the details of the case, and it felt pretty much like always to go to work.

Sara drove, which suited Nick just fine. He was having enough of an adjustment to simply go forward.

"I know you know this," Sara said abruptly, after about five minutes of amiable -- or what Nick had thought was amiable -- silence. Now he was wondering. She sounded strained, and kind of pissed. "But you scared the shit out of us."

Nick glanced uneasily at her. "I'm sorry about that," he said awkwardly.

"You know what we did the night you didn't come to work? Sat around and fought over which of us was going to try to find you." She kept her eyes on the road, but her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "You could have warned us, Nick. I wish you'd told us."

Shame, scalding and painful, made him fidget. "What was I gonna tell you, Sara?" he snapped with a lot more anger than he'd realized. "I don't know when I'll come back? IF I'll come back?"

"Yeah," she shot back, casting him a fierce glance. "That's exactly what you should have told us."

"Well, I guess not all of us are as clear as you are, okay? I told you what I knew."

"You told us you'd be back to work. And you didn't show, Nick! What were we supposed to think?"

He felt suddenly exhausted. "I don't know. I wasn't -- thinking real well."

"At all, you mean."

Nick swallowed. "No, I guess I wasn't."

"Shit, Nick, I'm sorry. I don't -- I don't mean to accuse you," Sara said carefully. Still driving, still white-knuckled. "Okay? I know you've had a rough time. But we have, too. I think you ought to know that."

"All right, I know now. Happy?"

She sighed. "Happy that you're back. Yes. Very happy."

"So would you maybe cut me a little slack here? Want me to kiss your feet, what?"

Her mouth quirked in a reluctant smile. "Kiss Grissom's," she returned, looking over at him. "He *freaked*."

Nick's heart stumbled in his chest. "Freaked?" he echoed weakly.

"I mean, all of us did, but he flipped. If you'd come in the next day he would have fired you, Nick. He was PISSED."

"Oh."

"Which for him I think was really just scared. You know, I don't think I've ever seen him scared like that. We thought you were dead."

"I was AWOL, not dead."

"Yeah, well. The shape you were in? We thought about it."

His skin felt as if it were crawling off his body. "Okay," he whispered, staring out the window at nothing. "Consider me informed."

They didn't say much after that. The work kept them busy, and Nick did his best to keep the conversation safely official. And it was really not hard, because this was a classic locked-room mystery, and it absorbed both of them.

"So she never left?"

The cop working the case -- Samuels, something like that -- shook his head. "Security cameras all over the building, didn't see a thing. And her colleagues say she told them she was working late." He shrugged. "But if she's here, she's invisible."

"Who made the call?" Sara asked, frowning.

"She did."

Nick blinked. "From here?"

"Yeah. Said someone was in the office with her."

"Custodial staff?"

"All cleared out by nine. Call came in at 9:14. All accounted for."

"So what did the cameras see?" Sara asked.

"Nobody's looked at all the tape from the whole building," Samuels answered a little stiffly. "But the tapes from this office between 9:00 and 9:30 show the call, and then she goes into that room there --" He lifted his chin at an executive-looking office near the windows. "--and she doesn't come out. And she ain't in there."

"What about the lobby? Security?"

"One security guard. My partner's talking to him downstairs. But he says no one left after the janitors, at least not by the front or back exits. Which leaves the garage, underground."

"And?" Nick prodded.

"If you think we'd found anything down there, don't you think I'd have told you?" Samuels returned acerbically.

"Maybe it's an X File," Nick murmured as he and Sara started unpacking equipment. "Woman vanishes from ten-story office building."

"Nobody just vanishes, Nick."

"Lighten up, man, it was just a joke."

But he had to admit it maybe hadn't been in the best of taste, considering he'd done his own vanishing act not too long ago. So he settled for working the case instead.

By 1:00 in the morning they'd done everything they could do with the offices. And there was absolutely no trace of Terri Brodie. Well, trace, sure. Lots of traces. But no Terri, alive, dead or in between.

"So either she left, and no one saw her." Sara plucked at one of her gloves restlessly, eyes flickering around the room. "Which would be tough to do, but not impossible. Or she's still here, and we just haven't found her yet."

"Or someone took her with them," Nick added absently.

"Who? The Invisible Man?"

"Who said it was a man?"

"Car's still in the garage. No signs of struggle anywhere."

"What about the roof?"

She glanced at him. "Check it out? I'm gonna call Grissom, tell him what's up."

Nick shrugged. "Suits me."

He dusted the door to the roof, but nothing came clear, of course. Wouldn't think that many people used that door, but enough had to make identifying any single print pretty damn tough. He stowed his brushes and went outside.

Had to admit Vegas at night was pretty special. Flashy, but impressive. Nick stood for a moment, taking in the terrain, and then did a circuit around the roof. If she'd jumped, for whatever reason, she hadn't hit the ground, so he felt pretty sure it wasn't a suicide. Why'd he think she was dead, anyway? No evidence for it. But the feeling persisted. Maybe just worst expectations, who knew.

His cell phone beeped at him, and he took it out without thinking, still looking out over the skyline. "Yeah."

"Find anything?" Gil asked.

Nick blinked. "No," he replied after a beat. "Roof looks clean. Can't get prints off the door, and it's too dark to see much detail."

"If we haven't turned anything else up by then we'll have a look in the morning. Sara didn't turn up anything in the garage."

"I think this is a dead end. Whatever happened, happened in that office. That's where we have to focus."

"So focus, Nick." He could hear Gil's smile. "Let me know what you find."

"Will do." He waited for Gil to hang up, and then stood there for a minute, digesting it. Might have to start dividing the two faces of Gil in his mind. Work was Grissom, not Gil. Work was work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey."

Nick looked up and smiled. "Hey."

Gil leaned against a locker, hands in his pockets. "Ready to get out of here?"

"Way ready."

Everyone but Sara was already gone, and Nick didn't really want to butt heads with her any more than he already had, so he took a cue from Gil and followed him out. The sunshine was punishing, bringing the vague headache he'd had all night to the forefront.

"How'd it go?" Gil asked, safely inside the car.

Nick reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Fine."

"Ow. I heard Sara read you the riot act."

"Who told you?"

"Catherine."

"How'd she know?"

"I've asked that same question a few times myself over the years." Gil smiled and steered out into traffic.

"She was pissed."

"She has a hard time showing her feelings. She'll get over it."

"Yeah." Nick drew a shaky breath. "I knew that girl was dead," he said abruptly. "How'd I know that?"

Gil was silent for a moment. "Maybe because all too often, the people we're looking for end up that way."

"I guess."

"I shouldn't have sent you on that one." Gil shook his head. "First day back, and --"

"Come on, Gil," Nick interrupted harshly. "I'm a big boy, and I've worked lots worse cases than that one. What, you gonna baby me forever? Can't happen. You know that."

A moment of silence, and Gil said, "Point taken." A bit stiff, but hey.

"At least it's over."

Gil didn't say anything to that, and he didn't have to. They both knew it. Same shit, different day. There'd be something else waiting for them tomorrow. Probably worse, but what could you do? Keep your head down and focus on the evidence, wasn't that what Grissom always said? There were worse ways to work.

But it didn't lift his spirits, regardless. The fact of Terri Brodie's violent and painful death just sat there, staring him in the face, and he couldn't just shove it away. He watched the city go by outside the car, ordinary people, people who didn't have to find dead women stashed in air vents, or listen to the fucking cries of innocence from guys who were so guilty they might as well have five-foot neon signs flashing over their heads.

Truth was, evidence SUCKED. And that meant that one hell of a lot of people were rotten to the core, since it was their evidence that he hunted all night. Like reading spoor in a jungle, predatorial droppings like souvenirs of sickness.

And he wanted to come back to this?

Should have stayed in Canada.

"Don't do this, Nick," Gil said softly.

"I'm not doing anything."

Gil didn't bother replying to that one. "Let's go home."

But Gil's townhouse didn't feel much like home. Not yet, maybe not ever.

"Here," Gil said, holding out a bottle of beer.

"Drinking before noon." Nick took it gingerly. "What a life."

"We just put in fourteen hours, Nick. We deserve it." Gil sat down next to him on the couch and took a long pull off his own beer. "Talk to me. All right?"

Nick shrugged, feeling muleish. "What do you want me to say? I'm glad to be back?"

"Say whatever you feel."

He glanced at Gil's concerned eyes and flinched. "I'll get used to it again," he muttered. "Just a hard night."

"Sara?"

"Part of it, yeah."

"She's got a good heart. She just -- Well."

"Yeah."

"Coming back tomorrow?"

Nick frowned at him. "Well, yeah," he said. "I said I would, didn't I?"

"Yes, you said you would." Gil leaned back against the cushions, half-turned in Nick's direction. His gaze felt all too penetrating. "But you're worrying me."

"Well, stop worrying," Nick replied harshly, and took a sip of the beer he didn't want. "Just need to get my feet under me, is all. Get back in the groove. I'll be all right." He forced a hard smile and saw it register in Gil's slight recoil.

Neither of them said anything for a while. And finally Nick set his beer on the table. "Gonna grab a shower," he said vaguely.

Maybe it was bad Gil didn't say anything back. But right now he just didn't much care.