Common Hours

By Emily Brunson

©2003

I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven. (Emily Dickinson)

PART ONE

I.

It took him forever to figure out where he was going. Dallas and its attendant myriad suburbs were a nightmare of organic growth: a seething primordial stew of outlet malls and subdivisions and endless, DNA-like braids of traffic.

By the time he found the restaurant, Gil’s jaw was aching from gritting his teeth so hard, and he’d already popped three Excedrin to belay the incipient headache. Didn’t help that the rental car smelled of old cigarette smoke, and handled like a three-legged bull moose. He allowed himself a brief and self-indulgent wish for his own clean, well-maintained Tahoe back in Vegas, and then applied himself to finding a parking space in the postage-stamp parking lot.

Inside the restaurant smelled wonderful: no smoke, and the tangy scent of barbecue sauce. Gil walked up to the hostess and smiled cordially. "I’m meeting someone. I –"

"Right," she told him in a sprightly unaccented voice. Her teeth were an orthodontic advertisement given living form. "This way."

It was early yet, and there weren’t many diners. He followed the excruciatingly cute hostess through a warren of oilcloth-topped tables to the windows. Only one booth was occupied, and he could only see the back of the person’s head. It was enough.

"Thanks," Gil murmured, no longer seeing the girl at all.

He stood by the table for a moment, frozen by rare indecision. And then Nick smiled, showing teeth even better than the pretty hostess’s. "You found it," he said easily. "Good deal."

"Hi, Nick." Gil slid into the booth opposite him, butt squeaking a little on the seat. "Sorry I’m late. I think someone purposefully made this city hard to navigate."

Nick’s grin didn’t waver, looking as natural as always. "It’s a conspiracy," he agreed. "How was the trip?"

"Boring. You look good, Nicky. It’s good to see you."

"You too." The smile started to fade.

The sudden silence felt as if someone had thrown a heavy fire-retardant blanket over the room. Now that he was here, he had no idea what to say. How are you? What’s up these days? He couldn’t make the words pass his lips. Too empty, too easy and superficial, even if they were completely and utterly safe. Safe wasn’t why he was here, was it? Safe would have been not calling when he’d called. Safe would have been doing the work he was in this colossal metroplex to do, and getting back on the plane and going back to the city he preferred, the city where his life was. No, this now, this wasn’t safe. Anything but.

Nick shifted a little, and Gil’s eyes narrowed. The smile might be the same, but Nick looked subtly different. He couldn’t place it at first, until he realized Nick seemed smaller. Thinner. Not as muscular as Gil remembered. Funny, he’d never thought of Nick as small, even though, granted, he wasn’t tall, and took short-guy comments with good grace. But Nick didn’t seem short, he seemed – diminished. It wasn’t a physical statement, but far more one of atmosphere.

"It’s been a long time," Nick said gruffly. His eyes flickered to meet Gil’s and then slid away again, down to the sweating water glass in front of him. His fingers skated through the condensation, leaving marks like alien calligraphy. "Man."

Gil nodded. "Nearly six months."

"Totally surprised me when you called." Faint color bloomed in Nick’s pale cheeks. "Guess I should have sprung for caller ID, huh."

"If you’d known it was me, would you have picked up?"

The look in Nick’s eyes was impossible to define. Angry? Hurt? Or just confused? "Probably," he answered after a moment. "Sure. Why not."

A waitress appeared in the middle of the second awkward silence. Gil absently ordered a cup of coffee and shook his head when she asked if they were ready to order lunch. Nick gave her a bright smile as he shook his head, and now it looked facile to Gil, not normal at all.

"Why’d you go, Nick?"

Nick met his gaze steadily, but a muscle twitched in his cheek. He shrugged. "Didn’t we talk about this six months ago? Time for a change."

"We talked around it. I’m still trying to figure it out. We all are."

"Man, you’re not much for small talk, are you?" This time Nick’s smile looked completely false.

"No," Gil agreed. "Never have been. But you know that already."

Nick glanced to the side, staring out the window at the expanse of cars, windshields electric with hard sunlight. "Like I said. Time for a change. So how long are you in Big D?"

Gil heard the subtext as clearly as if Nick had said it out loud: How long do I have to deal with you before you’ll go away and leave me alone? A flicker of confused anger made him sit up straighter in the booth. "Couple of days. Not long. Don’t worry."

Nick’s dark eyes returned to him, unreadable as slate. "I’m not worried."

"Where are you working?"

"I’m considering options."

Gil frowned. "I thought –"

"It didn’t work out." Nick gave a thoroughly un-Texan, faintly Gallic shrug. "I’ll find something else. Always do. I’m taking some classes right now."

"Ah." He felt as if he were navigating treacherously icy terrain. Feet slipping out from under him if he lost focus for a single second. "Sounds good."

The corners of Nick’s mouth turned up in a new, faintly ugly sardonic smile. "Beats watching soap operas all day."

The pressure of questions was almost too much to bear. You’re not working? Going to school? Why? What are you studying? And where in god’s name are you living? How are you living this way? Where’d the man I knew for four years go, and who in the hell are you?

"How’s Catherine?" Nick asked before he could let any of the pressure out.

"Good. She’s doing very well. She sends her love."

Nick smiled again, sweeter. "Send mine back. Warrick?"

Gil nodded. "Also good. Sara’s getting married."

"Wow. Hank?"

"Next year."

"Tell her congratulations for me."

"Why’d you leave, Nick? Really?"

Nick sat back, drawing in as visibly as a tortoise retreating into its shell. "Jesus." His voice sounded high and thin. "What difference does it make? Move along. It doesn’t matter anymore."

The waitress put a cup of evilly black coffee in front of Gil, and he waited a bare three seconds for her to leave before leaning forward. "I think it does. I miss having you on my team, Nick. And I’ve never understood why you left. You’re not working. You’re –"

"I’m doing what I want to do," Nick interrupted flatly. "People change, Grissom. Things change."

"If you’re doing what you want to do, why do you look so miserable?"

"Great." Nick’s eyes sparked with anger. "Is this why you called? So you could grill me about how I let you down? How I let myself down, left a great job and went back to Dallas to hang out at my parents’ house and eat bonbons all day?"

"Is that what you’re doing?"

"What I’m doing is making changes," Nick shot back hotly. His hands were tense on the table. "Because some changes needed to be made. Why are you acting like you’re still my boss? None of this is any of your business, not anymore. What difference does any of this make?"

"I’m not here as your boss. I’m here as your friend."

The tic in Nick’s jaw went right on ticcing. "When were you ever my friend?" Nick said in a stark voice.

It was Gil’s turn to recoil. Frowning, he asked, "I’ve always thought of you that way."

Something terrible came and went in Nick’s brown eyes. "You weren’t my friend. You were my colleague, sure. My boss. But friend? Come on. None of you were friends."

"Is that what you wanted? What you were missing? Friends?"

"You still have no idea, do you?" Nick asked, shaking his head slightly. His expression was honestly startled. "Even after all this, you guys still don’t have a clue."

"No, we don’t. I don’t," Gil amended with a grimace. "So why don’t you just tell me, instead of alluding to things I don’t understand? So it was us? You’re angry?"

For a moment Nick just laughed. The sound of it was so normal, so excruciatingly familiar, Gil winced. "Angry?" Nick asked, reaching up to wipe his eyes. "Oh man. That’s really funny."

"Share the joke."

"It’s called irony, Grissom," Nick replied instantly, odd smile vanishing. He looked cool now, suddenly distant. "That’s all. I find this entire conversation highly ironic. And kind of surreal. In fact your being here at all is pretty goddamn trippy."

"Damn it, I feel like I need a translator." Gil swallowed and then took a belated slug of his coffee. Its bitterness felt good in his mouth. "I’m not here to try to lure you back to Las Vegas."

Nick snorted softly. "I didn’t figure you were."

"Come on, Nick! Would you stop this? Just talk to me, like a normal human being?"

"Normal? What was normal about any of this?" Nick leaned forward, elbows on the table. His teeth flashed in reflected sunlight. "I got tired of being a gofer, Grissom. That’s all. There’s no higher agenda here."

"Gofer," Gil echoed. "Gofer? Are you saying what I think you’re saying? God, Nick, is that what you thought you were?"

"I worked hard, and did good work." Nick picked up his water glass and swirled the contents. Ice cubes clinked against the glass. "I can see why you’d be surprised. But that’s the point, see? No matter what I tell you now, you’ll never see what else was there." He smiled a little, bitterly. "No matter what good work I did," he continued slowly, "I wasn’t ever going to be anything but the guy from Texas. The kid from Texas." He looked at Gil squarely. "I need to see myself in a better mirror, that’s all. The old reflection was poisonous."

"I honestly don’t understand."

"I know. That’s all right. It’s none of your concern, really."

"But it is," Gil snapped. "It is. Because you’re telling me I failed somehow, and –"

"Failed? Not really." Nick’s smile was gentler now. Oddly, it hurt more to see it. "Come on, Grissom, we can’t any of us be anything but what we are. I decided it was time to do my own thing, that’s all. Time to stop seeing myself the way you guys saw me, and see what I could really do. Be."

Flummoxed, Gil sagged against the back of the booth. "How did we see you?"

"Young. Not worldly. Inexperienced." Nick shrugged. "All of which was true, when I started working in Vegas. I’m down with that. But it wasn’t true after a while. I’m not a kid. I’m 32 years old. I left being a kid behind me a long time ago. But that’s the thing, see? It’s hard to break an image. It’s hard to change people’s conceptions of you. And sometimes you have to go someplace where those conceptions aren’t so rock-solid, to be that person for real."

"I don’t think any of this is true," Gil said baldly. "I don’t believe you. I agree about preconceptions, to some extent. Valid point. But you changed a great deal during the four years you worked for me, and to say I didn’t see that – that any of us didn’t see it – is flat-out wrong."

"Suit yourself." Nick finally did sip his water, crunching an ice cube between his teeth. "This meeting was your choice. I can’t help it if you hear things you don’t want to hear."

"What I want to hear is the truth. I think there’s probably some truth in what you said. But I know it isn’t everything."

Nick’s expression faltered, became evasive. "Tough," he said shortly. "It’s what I’m here to say."

Gil shook his head at the waitress, who looked a little annoyed. "So you admit it? You’re not telling me everything?"

"No one wants everything," Nick said softly. "That much I know. Stop pushing. You already got shit you didn’t want. Don’t ask for more."

"All I’m asking for is the real reason you resigned. Did something happen? What is it, Nicky?"

Nick’s face contorted, a fast look of anguish. "I hate that name. Don’t call me Nicky. Don’t."

"All right. Nick. Why? Why did that bother you?"

Covering, Nick gave an ostentatious look at his watch. "I have class pretty soon," he said in a dull voice. "I can’t stay. Is this what you wanted? Because I don’t have time for it."

Gil made himself nod. "I respect that. Okay. Go to class."

Nick mouthed the word – respect – and smiled, a bitter smile that looked jarringly out of place on his features. "Okay." He shook his head. "Whatever. Have a good trip."

He waited until Nick had stood up before he asked, "Was it me?"

Nick froze in the act of taking out his wallet. Gazing at the floor, he said nothing, and Gil sighed. "Is that a yes?"

Still unspeaking, Nick sank back down on the booth’s bench. His wallet hung limply in his hands.

"Tell me," Gil said urgently. "For God’s sake, at least tell me. Maybe I can make it right."

"It wasn’t anything you did."

The flat miserable tone set Gil’s teeth on edge. Frowning, he sat back. "So it was me. Help me out here, Nick. Because I don’t know. I truly don’t."

"I know." Nick nodded slowly.

"Something I didn’t do? What was it about me that made you leave? Jesus, I’d have changed it, Nick, I wouldn’t have wanted it to cause this problem."

Nick’s eyes flickered up to meet his own, bright with misery. "It’s not your fault," he whispered. "I just had to go, okay? Had to."

"Because of me."

"The ribs here are good." Nick took out a five and dropped it on the table. "You should stick around and try them." When he stood his knees popped. His smile was wavery and false. "I gotta split. Listen, have a good trip. Say hi to the guys for me."

Later he thought that that preposterously friendly, agonized little speech was the worst part of the entire misbegotten not-lunch. Watching, hearing Nick try to be nice, try to be casual, when every twitch screamed of painful tension. Gil gazed at him, bewildered. "Okay," he said finally, at a loss. "I will. Take care of yourself."

He watched Nick walk out, and through the window to his car. Gil didn’t recognize the vehicle from Vegas; something new. Or old; it was vintage, a nicely kept 60’s-era Impala. Nick climbed inside and nothing happened for a minute. And then the car pulled away, and Gil sat motionless in the booth, looking at the empty place in the parking lot.

When the waitress ventured back he gave her an effortful smile. "I apologize," he said. "Something came up."

He left Nick’s five and added a five of his own. Hell of a tip for a cup of coffee and a glass of water, but he didn’t mind.

II.

The afternoon involved a lot of time spent waiting: for evidence, for test results, for people to move their easygoing asses and get him the information he needed in order to finish up and go home. Time with nothing to do but sit and wonder about the odd, stilted meeting with Nick, like sharing a table with a near-complete stranger instead of a man he’d worked alongside for nearly four years. A man he didn’t know, whose pain wasn’t physical, but radiated like solar heat in every direction.

By four he was tired, exasperated, and wrapping his head around the fact that this trip wasn’t ending anytime soon. Which he imagined was how he ended up sitting at a terminal, using the department’s software to look up Nick’s address.

He’d just finished scribbling it down when his liaison officer walked over. "Sorry for the holdup, Dr. Grissom." Haynes scratched behind his ear and shoved his hand back in his pocket. "Shouldn’t be too much longer. I dunno what is up with those boys down in the lab, but –"

"It’s all right." Gil tucked the slip of paper in his breast pocket and stood up. "I haven’t been in Dallas in a long time, and I wouldn’t mind taking a look around. You have my cell number, right?"

Haynes nodded, looking a bit relieved.

"Call me when you get the tests back. I’ll still need a lab and some equipment for my analysis, okay?"

"Anything you want, you got, doc."

"Good."

"We’ll holler at you just as soon as we’re back in business," Haynes said to Gil’s back. Gil nodded and kept walking.

The damp heat outside hit him like a gloved fist. Accustomed to Nevada dryness, he felt soggy with the humidity in Dallas, a little choked. His shirt was almost immediately clammy with sweat. Sliding into his rental car he made a face at the enclosed furnace heat, and hastily started the engine and hit the window buttons. No better in some ways outside, but at least the air moved. Just until the AC kicked in.

He had a vague recollection of Nick’s general area, but to be safe he took out the map the rental company had supplied. Not that far as the crow flew, but around here it was probably a lot further than it appeared. Gil studied the map for a moment and then put the car in drive.

It took over an hour of navigating before he found Turtle Creek. Or reached it; finding was not the same as being there. A short twisty jag later and he was in Oak Lawn. Older section of the city, and teeming with cars and pedestrians. Caught up in looking for street signs, he missed a few clues at first. It was probably the fifth or six rainbow-decorated storefront before it occurred to him that this was the Dallas equivalent of central Vegas, south of Charleston. The gay area. And a lot more concentrated.

He almost sat through a green light, absorbing that one fact.

He finally stopped for directions at a gas station, only to find that Nick’s apartment building was only a few blocks away. Smiling sheepishly, Gil got back in the car and a few minutes later parked across the street from his destination. Tall, probably twenty stories. The building looked decently new, grounds pretty well-kept. He nodded at a flamboyantly dressed woman walking to her car, and searched for Nick’s apartment number. No one answered when he buzzed. Feeling a little tired and a lot hot and uncomfortable, Gil sighed. Could wait. Unless Nick was taking night classes, too, he’d probably show up.

He resolved to hang around for a little while, at least until the sun angled a little further down in the sky or Haynes called him from the police department, whichever came first. He was sitting on the edge of the anemically gurgling fountain near the entrance when he saw a black elderly Impala pull into the parking lot.

Watching, he felt like a voyeur, a peeping Gil if you will, as Nick climbed out of the car and reached into the back seat to fish out a heavy book bag. No lie about school, then; Gil remembered the weight of textbooks all too well. Nick looked almost as wilted by the humidity as Gil. His face was a little lined with weariness as he reached the sidewalk, and then raised his eyes and met Gil’s gaze. His surprise was nearly palpable.

Gil smiled awkwardly. "Hi."

Still staring, Nick took a step and tripped on the curb. The book bag thudded to the ground as Nick caught himself with one hand.

"Crap," Gil muttered, and strode forward, holding out his hand. Nick eyed it warily and then reached out to grasp it, hauling himself up again. Then snatching the hand back to pick up the backpack.

"You okay?" Gil asked.

"What are you doing here?" Nick slung the bag over his shoulder again and visibly winced. "Thought I left the stalkers in Vegas."

Gil ignored the gruff tone. "I was – dissatisfied," he said feebly.

Nick barked a laugh and shook his head. "Man, that sounds like you. Whatever. Don’t you have work to do?" He started up the walk to the entrance, boots clomping on the cement.

"I’m being held hostage to your police department’s slow equipment." Uninvited, Gil fell in behind him. "Nothing but free time for the moment."

"So you looked around and found where I live." Nick took out a key and unlocked the front door. A wash of sweetly cool air bathed Gil’s face. Nick turned and regarded him stoically. "Guess you could come up," he added after a moment. "Hot out here."

Gil nodded. "Very. I’m used to Nevada, not the tropics."

The ghost of a smile came and went on Nick’s face. "Yeah. Me, too." He held the door until Gil caught it, and went inside.

They didn’t say much while Nick checked his mailbox, taking out a slim pile of letters and a couple of magazines. Gil glimpsed a copy of Bird Watchers Digest before Nick tucked the bundle under his arm and headed for the elevators.

Watching him press the button for the fourteenth floor, Gil asked, "What are you studying?"

Nick looked up at the floor buttons lighting up. "Biology, mostly." He shifted the bag on his shoulder. "Over at SMU."

"Grad school? That’s great, Nick. Don’t tell me – birds?"

Nick produced another stiff smile. "Figured I might as well. Thinking about doing some field technician work with Samuels next fall. He’s a good scientist. You know him, Paul Samuels?"

Gil shook his head. "Never did much with ornithology. I had no idea you were this interested."

"Be another year before I finish the master’s stuff and start my Ph.D. But Samuels doesn’t care what degrees I have as long as I can do good work. CSI taught me a lot about that."

The elevator dinged past the tenth floor. "Planning to teach?" Gil asked carefully.

Nick waited for the door to open on his floor before replying. "Don’t think so." He walked down the hall without looking at Gil. "Samuels is more into environmental impact. Texas has a lot of wildlife, a lot of birds wintering all over the state. Populations decreasing. Last year there was a big dip in migratory patterns in the DFW area. So that’s mostly the focus. What’s going on." He stopped at his door and inserted his key. "Home sweet efficiency," he said with a grimace.

It was a small place, granted. Nice view over downtown Dallas this high up, but Gil personally thought he’d go nuts in a week, bumping into himself. He followed Nick into the minuscule living room and stood by the couch, watching Nick unload.

"I got beer, Coke, orange juice. Water." Nick headed into the kitchen. "Hard stuff if you want it. Name your poison."

"A beer would be nice."

"Coming up."

Gil sat on the couch and looked around. Nothing like Nick’s condo in Vegas. Granted, Gil had only seen it a couple of times, and one of those was the aftermath of Nigel Crane’s damaging interest in occupying Nick’s attic. But he knew enough to know it was a nice place, not too bachelor-y, and a lot better than this. Couple of bookshelves untidily stuffed with a mix of nonfiction and fiction, more the former than the latter. A desk with a newish computer and a ton of papers everywhere. Nothing hung on the walls. It looked like Nick had brought only the essentials, left everything else – where? Storage? Made sense; this crackerbox apartment wouldn’t hold a fifth of the belongings Gil remembered.

"Here you go."

He looked up and smiled at Nick holding out a bottle of Shiner Bock. "Thanks." He waited for Nick to take a seat in the chair before tilting the bottle a little. "Old times."

Nick’s expression flickered. "Mud in your eye." He drank several fast swallows, and Gil finally followed suit. Putting down the bottle, Nick reached up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. "So. Not what you expected?"

The tone was belligerent, but Nick looked tired and still uneasy, eyes freighted with things Gil didn’t understand, not yet. "I didn’t have any expectations," Gil replied honestly. "But I think it sounds like you’re doing well. Graduate school, prospects. What’s not to appreciate?"

"Kinda living off my savings at the moment." Nick looked around, lip curling, probably unconsciously. "Couldn’t afford much, and Dallas isn’t that cheap. Eventually I gotta get a job."

Gil took another sip of the sweet, dark beer. "You’ve still got your old skills. Have you thought about going to work for criminalistics here? That’s –"

"Been there and done that. Remember? That’s where I was working when – you hired me."

"Ah. Right." Gil nodded. "Sorry."

"I’m okay with living poor." Nick’s mouth curved in a reluctant half-smile. "Getting a little tired of ramen noodles and Kraft macaroni and cheese, but I figure if I eat a few oranges every week I’ll probably miss scurvy."

His tone was marvelously dry suddenly, and Gil found a grin on his own face. "My standby used to be brown rice. I must have eaten a ton of rice my last year in grad school."

"California boy." Nick’s expression was reassuringly warm – familiar, finally. "Around here it’s frozen bean burritos. And ramen noodles. The official state college-student food."

Gil drank more beer and said, "So let me take you to dinner. Real food. What do you say? Your choice, since I know absolutely nothing about restaurants here."

To his surprise Nick flushed painfully red. "You don’t have to do that," he muttered evasively. "I’m not –"

"It’s not pity, it’s companionship," Gil interrupted tartly. "Besides, you can show me a few sights. I haven’t been in Dallas in years, and it looked a lot different when I was."

"They say, throw a brick out the window at night and there’ll be a building there in the morning." Nick’s blush faded a little, but he still looked rattled. "Crazy. Okay. If you’re sure."

"Come on." Gil slugged the rest of his Shiner and sat up. "We can beat the crowds."

Nick deposited their bottles in the kitchen and then glanced at him. "Mind if I change clothes real fast? Kinda skanky."

No more than I am, Gil thought, but shook his head. "No problem."

Nick disappeared into the bedroom, and Gil killed time investigating. Old habit, probably, but he felt a new surge of curiosity. All these ostensibly positive developments, and still Nick looked as edgy as Gil had ever seen. Edgier. A few things popped into his mind, and he blinked. Eliminate the obviously false, concentrate on the remaining possibilities. But there were so many.

The phone rang, jolting him out of his brief contemplation. After two more rings Gil said in a carrying tone, "Want me to get that?"

"Sure," came Nick’s muffled voice. "I’ll be right out, just a sec."

The voice that replied to Gil’s hello was deep and a little wary. "Nick?"

"Let me get him. Be a moment."

"O-kay."

He put the phone down as Nick re-emerged from the bedroom. No sense of style, Gil had always noticed that, but Nick still managed to look pretty decent. White shirt he was still tucking into neatly pressed chinos. He gave Gil a flustered look before grabbing the phone.

"Hello? Oh, hey." He stuck the phone between jaw and shoulder and finished tucking in his shirt. The pants made his slimness more noticeable. "No, just an old – friend," he added, glancing again at Gil. "In town for a day or two. Why? Can’t, I got plans." There was a long listening pause, and Nick edged back into the kitchen. "Don’t get pissed, all right?" he said in a lower voice. "No. Listen, no, it’s not –" A sigh. "I’ll call you later, okay? Later. Well, suit yourself. Whatever. Bye."

Feeling vaguely guilty for eavesdropping, even when short of actually leaving the apartment there was no way he could not have overheard, Gil risked a look at Nick. "Okay?"

Nick made an inscrutable face as he hung the phone back up. "Okay." His smile was the same bright nothing Gil had seen at their non-lunch. "Let’s go."

III.

"This is enough for both of us," Gil observed, gazing at his plate.

Nick busily forked a huge bite into his mouth. "Just Texas-sized," he said indistinctly.

Feeling faintly appalled, but lured by the delicious aromas, Gil set to. Two bites in he was reminded that Tex-Mex food really was best right here in Texas. Nothing quite like it.

"S’good, huh?" Nick took a swallow of his beer and smiled. "Told you."

"Delicious."

They ate in silence for a while, not uncomfortably for once. The restaurant was busy, the music was a little too loud, and Gil wondered just how long it would take to actually find their waiter in this sea of people when they were ready to leave, but for the moment it was okay to relax and eat. He used a tortilla to scoop up some beans and gave Nick a covert glance.

Something at another table had caught Nick’s eye, and Gil took the chance to study him while his attention was diverted. Maybe not as muscled up as Gil remembered, but Nick looked good. Relaxed now, dark eyes alert and amused. The white shirt made his skin look darker than it had before.

It occurred to him for the first time in a long while that Nick was very handsome. And on the heels of it came a companion image, of the rainbow flag flapping in the humid breeze outside one of the buildings on the way to Nick’s apartment.

Was this why Nick had come back to Texas? Left Nevada? Because the self-avowed ladies’ man might not be entirely what he appeared?

The idea felt odd, in a way that Gil didn’t care to examine too closely. He chose to drink some beer instead, and then found Nick’s cautious gaze fixed on himself.

"What?" Nick asked, losing some of the relaxation.

Gil shook his head. "Nothing. You look different, that’s all," he added at Nick’s visible doubt. "Must be the tan."

"Outside a lot. Daytime." Nick produced a tight smile. "No more night shifts for the moment."

"So how’s your family? Glad to have you back around?"

"Fine." Nick went back to his food. "Dad’s in Austin right now. I don’t really see them that often. Mom’s slammed at work. I have lots more free time than they do."

"You like being back?"

"S’okay."

He gave up with more than half his dinner still on his plate. "You want this to go?" he asked Nick, who’d made serious inroads on his equally large portions.

"Nah, that’s okay." Nick paused. "You want that last one?"

Gil stared down at the single chile relleno and shook his head firmly. "No thanks." He pushed the plate over. "Have it."

Nick grinned and forked it onto his plate. "These are the best. Man, dreamed about these in Vegas."

Gil drew a breath to say something, and his cell phone chirped at him. When he opened it he recognized the number. "Grissom."

"Hey, doc." Haynes sounded tired. "Finally got you something to work with. You told me to call."

Gil wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Okay, I’ll head over there as soon as I can. Lab’s open?"

"24/7."

"Good. Be there soon."

Nick had a guarded look on his face when Gil hung up. "PD?"

Gil nodded. "Maybe I can finally wrap this up."

"What are you here working on, anyway? You never said."

Gil regarded him silently for a moment, and then shrugged. "Why don’t you come with me? I could use an extra hand."

Nick blinked. "Where? The lab?"

"Why not? I’ll get you added onto the per diem. Between us we can get them straightened out in a couple of hours. It’d take me a lot longer by myself."

"Huh. Well. Sure," Nick said slowly.

"Good," Gil agreed, smiling.

The meal was absurdly cheap, and he felt a little odd that he was treating for something that cost under twenty bucks. Then again, it was good, and it was Nick’s choice. It occurred to him that Nick might have chosen it for the money factor. That didn’t feel so great, either.

Some of the stifling heat had eased with nightfall, and he felt almost comfortable walking to the car. Nick was quiet at his side, hands stuck in his pockets. Gil unlocked the rental and opened the door for him. "You’re gonna have to be my navigator," he told him, waiting until Nick got in before closing the door.

Nick didn’t say much in the car either, pointing out the turns and a few landmarks but otherwise sitting silently, eyes trained on whatever lay outside the windows. Gil endured the quiet for a few miles, and finally drew a long breath. "I’m not trying to woo you back to Las Vegas," he said evenly. "If that’s what you’re thinking."

Nick’s expression was hard to read in the flares of streetlights. "It’s not," he replied.

"Unless you want to come back."

"No." He said it facing forward again, toneless.

"We miss you. I miss you. Do you miss it? Us?"

Nick made a soft sound, impossible to tell whether it was a laugh or just a breath. "Yeah. I miss it sometimes."

"Where are we?"

"Richardson. About to hit North Dallas."

"How can you tell?"

This time he was pretty sure it was a laugh. "I grew up here, man. Near here."

"Richardson?"

"Highland Park. You need to get over to the right. Turn’s coming up in about half a mile."

They reached the lab about twenty minutes later, and not long after that Gil had a moment of powerful déjà vu, seeing Nick in the ubiquitous blue lab coat. Nick caught the look, and frowned at him. "You okay?"

Gil smiled briefly. "Yeah. Just – nothing. Let me get you up to speed."

It didn’t take long, and that fact made him feel somehow bleak. No lie, he did miss Nick, somebody he’d at least partially trained himself, and worked alongside for a considerable amount of time. He didn’t really have to think; Nick already knew the drill, and what would have required far too many hours alone sped by.

"So – I mean, no offense," Nick said at one point, waiting for the centrifuge to spit out his data. "But why’d they bring you all the way to Dallas? Seems like a lot of trouble for a pretty straightforward investigation."

"Did to me as well." Gil pushed his glasses up. "I’m familiar with the case. Originated in Nevada, about six years ago. Before your time. And time is of the essence, as it happens; statute of limitations is almost up on the previous case, and if we want to tag the two together we have to work fast. I worked it the first time; I don’t mind working the second. In fact I’d like to get the son of a bitch, finally."

"One that got away, huh."

"You know there’s been more than one over the years." Gil grimaced. "But this one’s done. That much I can promise."

Nick smiled at him. "That sounds like the guy I used to work for."

Gil smiled back, fighting down another odd clench of aimless discomfort.

It was late when they wrapped up. Gil rubbed an eye and glanced at the clock. "You have class in the morning?"

"It is morning," Nick quipped, and then shrugged. "Saturday morning. No class."

"Ah. Good." Gil finished repacking his case and sighed. "The rest will depend on the DA."

"I hear she’s pretty good."

Gil caught the grin, and then his eyes widened. "This district?"

Nick nodded. "Elizabeth Cushing McMartin." He chuffed a laugh. "Except I just call her Mom."

"My God. I had no idea. I thought she was the ADA."

"She was, until last year. Now she’s the big cheese."

"That’s terrific to hear." Gil picked up his case. "I guess the name threw me. I didn’t know she didn’t go by your father’s name," he said, hitting the lights on the way out and nodding at a passing tech.

"She did, early. Then when he got on the judicial track she I guess decided she wanted to go it on her own, so she reverted to McMartin."

"I can see the concern. Huh. Well, tell her congratulations next time you see her, all right?"

Nick snorted. "At this rate you’ll see her first. But yeah. Will do."

When they reached the cavernous parking lot Gil glanced at him. "That was fun," he said abruptly.

Nick looked wary. "What?"

"Working. Like that. Now you’re making me miss you more than ever."

Nick’s smile was both tenuous and pleased. "Thanks. Felt kinda good to get back in the saddle." He held up a hand. "Not that that’s me saying, ‘Beg me to come back.’"

"Just a comment, that’s all." Gil smiled. "Coffee?"

"Well, sure. If you want. There’s a place not far from my building. Pretty good diner."

"Diner sounds perfect."

The diner wasn’t quite packed yet, but getting there; Gil had to look at his watch before he realized it was close to closing time for the bars. The hostess put them in a booth near the back, and swatted menus on the table before Gil could tell her they probably weren’t eating.

"So when do you go back?" Nick asked, pushing the menu aside.

"Depends on your mother, to some extent. Sunday, most likely. Probably come back for the trial, whenever that takes place."

Nick leaned his elbows on the table. "So you got any other plans?" His expression was too bland to read.

"Nothing but avoiding the heat as much as possible," Gil replied with a wry smile.

Nick nodded. "You know, I mean, if you’re not working on the case tomorrow, I could show you around a little. You were saying you hadn’t been here in a while."

"That’d be nice," Gil agreed. "I’d like that."

"I mean, it’s not like there’s really all that much that’s interesting to see." Nick’s cheeks colored a little. "But a few things."

"Whatever they are, they’ve got to be more interesting than the interior of my hotel room."

"Good point."

The diner had been getting busier while they waited for their coffee. Now Gil saw Nick look up, gazing over Gil’s shoulder. Gil turned automatically, in time to see a couple of people waving. He looked back at Nick.

"They live in my building," Nick said, shrugging. "Just some friends."

Said friends wandered their direction, and Gil felt terrifically old as he saw the variety of fresh, young, inebriated faces. Younger than Nick, too, by the look of it.

"Hey, Nicky, where were you?" One of the group, a man so handsome he was kissing cousins with pretty, meandered over and leaned against the booth. His eyes took in Gil and then dismissed him in about a nanosecond, going right to Nick. "I waited."

"I had plans." Nick didn’t look quite as happy to see the guy as the guy was to see Nick. "Next time."

"Charlie was pissed. He pouted all night. No fun at ALL."

Now Nick’s expression was definitely uneasy. "He’ll be okay," he said evasively. "Hey, listen, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?"

The man – Gil belatedly realized Nick hadn’t introduced them, and didn’t appear to be planning to remedy that little gaffe – gave Gil another look, somewhat longer and heavier, and smirked. "I see why he was pissed off," he drawled.

"Later, Julian." Nick produced a thin, strained smile. "Say good night."

"Okay, I know when I’m not welcome." Julian leaned over and put a fast kiss on Nick’s cheek. "Good night, sweetheart, and you damn well better call me. I want to hear ALL about it."

He sauntered away, leaving Gil silent and Nick absolutely speechless. The quiet was deafening.

Floundering, seeing so many pieces click together, Gil said, "Do you want –"

"I need to go." Nick stood up, jarring the table with his thighs and not even wincing. "You ready?"

Gil nodded after a split second of wariness. "Yeah. Sure."

Julian waved at them, but Gil was the only one to see it, or the kiss blown Nick’s direction. Nick’s back was ramrod-straight and stiff as Gil followed him out.

At the car Gil paused. "Nick –"

"I’m really tired," Nick said in a high, strained voice. "Can we maybe not talk about this?"

Which this are we not-talking about, Gil wanted to ask. Reasons why you left? Reasons why you won’t talk to me honestly? Reasons why you want to get away from Julian? So I won’t see anything you don’t want me to see?

He nodded instead, and unlocked the doors.

In front of Nick’s apartment building he risked breaking the glacial silence again. "I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It wasn’t my intention."

Nick didn’t look at him. His shoulders were slumped. "It wasn’t you," he replied faintly. "Don’t worry about it."

"If you want to talk about this," Gil said carefully, "I’m glad to listen. Any time, Nick."

Nick was silent so long Gil feared he’d overstepped again, but finally Nick shrugged. "What’s there to talk about? It’s not like you didn’t see enough already. You can figure it out."

Gil felt his brows drawing together at the sound of Nick’s voice: pallid, filled with disgust. Feelings that weren’t directed at Gil, but at Nick himself. The self-hatred he heard made him feel slightly sick. "I didn’t see anything terrible, Nick," he said as gently as he could. "Nothing shocking." Well, a little, but he wasn’t about to add that.

Nick’s gaze was scathing, even in the dim light of the parking lot’s lamps. "So go ahead," he said harshly. "Ask the question you’re dying to ask."

"What question are you expecting? If you want to tell me anything, I’m –"

"Willing to listen, right, I got that." Nick snorted. "Whatever. I’m going in. Night."

Gil drew a deep breath, watching Nick reach for the door handle. "Are you gay?"

An hour-long moment later Nick said tonelessly, "See? Told you you’d seen enough."

"Is this why you left? Because of this? Oh, Nick. Jesus."

Nick’s hand stayed on the door, but his fingers didn’t close on the handle. "Maybe it was. So what."

"But you didn’t –"

"Didn’t what? Tell anyone?" Nick flopped back against the seat, hands limp in his lap. "What exactly was I going to tell you, huh? That I wasn’t even sure who the hell I was anymore?"

Gil swallowed. "For starters, sure. Did you think we’d – vilify you for it? What would make you think that?"

"I didn’t think that. I don’t. I just – had to go. That’s it." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes closing briefly. "Look, I wasn’t – prepared for this, okay?" He put his hand down, but still didn’t look at Gil. "I haven’t told many people. People who knew me – before. You surprised me. I’m still – wrapping my own head around it, I guess. Whatever."

"Understood. But the idea that you left CSI, left your career behind over this – God, Nicky." He used the more affectionate name without thinking. "That kills me. We weren’t your enemies. We would have –"

"It wasn’t the only reason," Nick said in a soft, clear voice.

Gil gazed at him, fighting to understand the welter of emotions he saw and heard. "I’m sorry," he managed finally. "I’m very sorry. I wish I could have helped when –"

Nick made a broken sound and flailed for the door handle again. "I gotta go," he mumbled. "I’m sorry. I just – I have to go."

"Then go. I’ll call you, okay? Tomorrow."

Nick nodded briefly and was gone, walking fast up the sidewalk, shoulders hunched as if he were expecting a blow that never quite connected.

But Gil sat for a long span of minutes in the smelly rental car, digesting what he’d said. When he finally left, he nearly missed several of his turns, he was so distracted.

The hotel room seemed terribly sterile, and very empty. He was tired, but sleep was a long time coming that night.

IV.

"We could go out to Fort Worth. It’s kind of interesting, they’ve really been spiffing up downtown. And you gotta go to Six Flags. You like rollercoasters, right?"

Gil sipped his juice and nodded. "Love them."

"Killer coasters at Six Flags. You know all the Six Flags are a Texas thing originally, right?"

"Six flags over Texas."

Nick cast him a quick grin. "Figures you’d already know."

Gil tried not to appear too watchful, regarding him while Nick turned back to gaze out over the grass. The park was pleasant, busy with people but not annoyingly so, and the weather had taken pity on them: not quite so roastingly hot today.

Nick himself was another story.

The voice that answered Gil’s phone call earlier that day was barely recognizable as Nick’s. Hoarse, far deeper than usual. "Hey."

Gil winced to himself. "How are you?"

Nick cleared his throat. "I’m okay," he answered, not sounding appreciably better. "What’s up?"

"The DA called a few minutes ago. I’m officially here until at least Monday."

"Aw, man. I was supposed to call HER. I forgot."

"I have to swing by the PD for a few minutes later this morning. Want me to pick you up after? That offer still good?"

Nick paused, and then said, "Sure. Like noon?"

"Noonish, yeah. Depending on how long it takes me at the department."

"I’ll be here."

It was more like twelve-thirty when Gil finally buzzed Nick’s apartment, and a few minutes before Nick himself appeared at the door of the building. He looked tired, but otherwise okay, and made a comment about lunch. The search for food and then a place to eat their sandwiches led them to the park, and now Gil felt pleasantly full, and utterly relaxed.

Nick drew a breath, still looking out toward the little stream bisecting the park. "It doesn’t freak you out?" he asked quietly.

Gil leaned back on one elbow and stretched out his legs. "Surprises me, yes. It’s unexpected. But freaks me out? No."

"It did me. I thought I knew myself, you know? And it was like, this gradual thing, all these questions. I couldn’t believe it. Totally threw me."

"I can see that," Gil agreed, leavening the remark with a smile. "But I don’t want you to spend time worrying about my reaction. That’s for me to deal with. Your concern is you. Are you happy now? Is it better?"

"What, here in Dallas?" Nick met his eyes briefly, and shrugged. "I guess. I’m not really – out. Just kinda taking it day by day."

"Was there anyone? In Las Vegas?"

Nick’s shoulders stiffened, but his voice was calm. "No. Nobody."

"And now? You seeing anyone?"

"A little. Nothing serious. I’m – I dunno, it still feels weird."

"Weird, as in wrong?"

"Not the right person, I guess." Nick balled up his sandwich wrapper. "So you want to do Six Flags? Gonna be crowded, but that’s part of the experience."

Gil nodded slowly. "Yeah. Let’s go."

It took over an hour to navigate to Fort Worth. Nick filled the time pointing out a few things of interest, making cracks about traffic and DFW drivers. They’d taken his car, and Gil was hugely relieved to be free of the stink of his rental.

"Sold it," Nick said when Gil asked about his missing Tahoe. "Eating me alive in gas money."

"So how’d you acquire this one?"

Nick smiled. "Sitting in my brother’s garage for the past five years. He said if I wanted to put in a few parts, I could use it. Not like I had to buy the parts myself, he just hadn’t done it yet. So I fixed it up and it’s kinda mine now. Sorta. Ongoing project."

"It’s a beauty."

"Not as much as she will be. But yeah."

They parked about a thousand miles from the amusement park entrance, but Gil didn’t feel impatient. The warmth of the day was lulling, his calm lingering while they tramped with the crowds through the gates, studying a map to figure out the best route to the coasters. And the coasters were fun. A couple of the best he’d ridden, and the acute pleasure of seeing Nick’s wide eyes as they whipped around the curves. Not screaming, but nicely scared. Scared in a way Gil appreciated.

"You want to go AGAIN?"

Gil eyed the line and grinned. "One more go. Keep your head turned in the loops, and watch the park upside-down. It’s great."

Nick touched his stomach. "Man, I’m not sure I can do that without horking."

"On second thought, then."

Nick laughed.

And he didn’t throw up, although Gil was pretty sure he’d kept his eyes closed on the loops after all. Not a problem. The sun was down before they finally strolled out, dodging the new arrivals.

"Hungry?" Gil asked.

"By the time we get anyplace I will be."

"What do you feel like?"

Nick gave it some thought, barely avoiding a toddler waving cotton candy in her mother’s arms. "Want sushi? There’s a great place on Inwood. But that’s back in Dallas. Take us a while to get there."

"Good sushi?"

"Excellent."

"Then I can hold out. Lead on."

It did take some time, but like everything else it was curiously okay. And the sushi was startlingly good. They sat at the bar and ordered by sight, eating slowly and taking so much time Gil felt a little wondering. After there was green tea ice cream, and Nick’s relaxed face, so handsome Gil felt his throat tightening up.

You didn’t ask me why I was so not freaked out, Nick, he thought. You didn’t know to ask. If you did, would you feel this comfortable?

"That was great." Nick put his napkin on the bar and smiled at him. "What?" he asked, smile fading a little.

"Nothing." Gil smiled, too. "I’m digesting. This place is a real find. Wish I could take this back with me to Vegas."

Nick shrugged, the sparkle coming back to his eyes. "Well, you’ll just have to visit again," he said lightly.

"I look forward to it."

Nick met his eyes and then ducked away again.

Back in the car, Nick sighed.

"Tired?"

He nodded. "We walked our asses off today, man. Aren’t you?"

"Actually, yes. Dinner helped. Catching my second wind."

"We could catch a movie. Or go out. Ever been to Deep Ellum?"

Gil smiled. "No, and I suspect I’d crap out on you before we did that much."

"And a movie’s gonna put me to sleep." Nick made a face and started the car. "We must be getting old, Grissom."

"Call me Gil. I’m not your boss anymore."

Nick glanced furtively at him. "True. Okay. Gil it is."

They weren’t too far from Nick’s apartment, and Gil felt a tug of disappointment as Nick pulled the Impala into the parking lot. Nick looked at his watch. "Man, that’s sad. It’s not even 9:00 yet."

"We got an early start."

"Whatever." Nick palmed the keys. "Nightcap?"

The tug in Gil’s belly pulled harder. "Love one."

He could hear Nick’s phone ringing as they approached his apartment. "Machine’ll pick up," Nick muttered, shrugging. A man’s voice could be heard as they walked in. Sounding angry. Nick ignored it, talking over the noise. "Beer or the hard stuff?"

Gil heard the caller say something about Nick fucking up, and frowned. "Ah. What kind of hard stuff?"

Nick hit the off button on the machine as he passed by. Not even pausing to listen. "Bourbon or vodka. Well, wait. Jamie gave me some cognac at Christmas. I haven’t even opened the bottle. How’s that sound?"

The bottle piqued Gil’s interest. "What is that?"

"’Delamain Vesper Grande Champagne,’" Nick managed, grinning at his own butchered pronunciation. "Well, this sure isn’t champagne. What, is it good?"

Gil nodded, eyes widening a little. "Very good."

"Jamie’s got good taste. Bet it’s expensive, too."

"About $150 a bottle."

Now it was Nick who looked shocked. "Shit. You’re kidding me."

The cognac tasted as expensive as it was: fragrant and exploding like liquid gold on his tongue. Nick shook his head slowly. "Man, I really didn’t know this was so good. Or expensive. I mean, I got her a freaking gift certificate."

Gil sniffed the aroma and smiled. "You can make up for it next Christmas."

After a long silent moment Nick looked over at him. "I’m sorry I was an asshole the other day."

"Not quite an asshole."

Nick snorted. "Close enough for government work." He tasted his cognac and shrugged. "You in Dallas – it didn’t fit. Made me nervous. Could have knocked me over with a feather when you called. Man."

"It wasn’t my intention to –"

Nick raised a hand. "No, I know."

"You have a Scrabble board?"

Nick blinked. "Scrabble?"

"I feel like Scrabble."

"You think I’d play you at Scrabble? I know my limits, man, no way." He snorted and grinned.

"Monopoly."

"Don’t have it. You really want to play a game?"

"How about cards?"

Nick nodded slowly. "I got cards."

"Let’s play cards."

"No poker. I heard about you."

Gil grinned. "Gin?"

"About my speed."

They put a dent in Jamie’s excellent cognac, although Gil watched himself, both because he was driving, and out of respect for a drink that should be savored rather than knocked back during cards. And at some point, after Nick had taken his fifth game in a row and sat crowing over his good fortune, Gil realized he felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. Too long.

"I should probably head out," Gil said finally, glancing at his watch and startled to see the hour.

"You okay to drive?"

Gil smiled. "Cognac probably won’t have much impact on my inability to find my hotel."

"I could drive you," Nick said, looking troubled. "I mean, you don’t want –"

"I’ll be fine. I’m kidding. Thanks for today. It’s been fun."

Nick looked a little startled, and ridiculously pleased. "Has, hasn’t it?"

"Yeah."

Nick walked him down, mumbling something about how it was the least he could do, although for what Gil wasn’t quite clear. At Gil’s car Nick stopped and shoved his hands into his pockets. "You busy tomorrow?"

Gil fished his keys out of his pocket. Truth be told he was tired, and the idea of just sitting around and hiding out in his hotel room held a lot of appeal. And then it occurred to him that he’d most likely be leaving on Monday, and this unexpected – what, camaraderie, reunion – would be over. Nick wasn’t getting on the plane with him, going back to Las Vegas where Gil still felt as if he belonged. Nick lived here, and here was where he would stay.

The wrench of discomfort he felt surprised him. "Not busy at all. Free as a bird."

"So you wanna do something?"

Nick’s pleased look made him smile. "I’d like that," he said softly. "Very much."

Nick grinned. "Cool. Hey, be careful driving, okay?"

"Always. Night, Nick."

"Night, Gil."

When he drove away Nick was still standing there. But watching in his rear-view mirror, Gil thought some of the weight bowing his shoulders earlier was gone.

V.

He finished Monday morning. Martin Gustafson just might finally be brought to justice, although Gil suspected he might never quite believe this case was ending until Gustafson took a ride on old Sparky. Since that event, if it took place, wouldn’t be for years yet, he consoled himself with the knowledge that the Dallas PD wasn’t calling it quits anytime soon, and gave himself permission to let it go. Again.

Nick picked him up that afternoon. Gil had assured him several times the day before that it wasn’t necessary, he could easily grab a cab on his own, but Nick was adamant. "I’m not busy," he’d said, arms crossed stubbornly. "Besides, gives me an excuse not to study." His subsequent sly grin made Gil laugh.

Today Nick looked a little subdued, although he was still much more the old Nick than the tense, unhappy man Gil had first seen that infamous lunchtime. He stuffed Gil’s hanging bag in the trunk and unlocked the passenger door for him. "Good timing," he remarked. "Traffic might not actually eat our dinner today."

They made good time, but conversation was stilted. And Gil felt another odd tug in his chest, facing his flight. It felt glaringly wrong: Nick, here, not in Vegas. <Where he belonged,> Gil’s mind added.

At the gate Gil smiled. "You don’t have to wait with me. My flight’s leaving in a few minutes."

Nick nodded. "It – was good seeing you," he said awkwardly. His smile looked pinched. "Remember to say howdy to everybody for me."

"Of course." Gil held out his hand, and Nick clasped it after a moment. "Good luck, Nick," he said. "And thanks. I enjoyed this."

Nick’s fingers were warm and dry on his own, tightening briefly and then letting go. "Stay in touch, all right?" His smile was gone now. "I mean, send me an email."

"I fully intend to."

"Okay. Good." Nick looked as if he would say something else, and then closed his mouth. "Bye, Gil."

"Goodbye, Nick."

He wasn’t intending to watch him leave, but his eyes followed Nick anyway. His mouth tasted bitter. Get on the plane, he wanted to shout, come back and damn the consequences. Make this right, make it the way it’s supposed to be.

Nick disappeared into the crowd of people on the concourse, and a moment later his boarding announcement came over the loudspeaker. He slung his bag over his shoulder and got in line.

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

"So it went well."

Gil glanced over at Catherine and nodded. "I don’t think he’ll get away with it this time. I certainly don’t plan to make it easy on him."

Her mouth tightened with disgust. "Thank God. About time." She sighed. "So how was Dallas?"

"Hot," he said, going back to sorting his mail. "And humid. Otherwise fine."

"Did you see Nick?"

"Several times, yes."

"Good. And?"

He looked at her again. "And – he’s fine. He sends his regards."

She nodded. "Did you tell him we miss him?"

"More than once."

"What’s he doing? It’s like he fell off the map when he left; I have no idea what he’s up to."

"Going to school, actually. Evidently his birding interest was more serious than we thought."

He was behind on everything at the lab, so half the night went by in briefings, perusing files, and other kinds of catch-up work. But it was good to be back. Even if he seemed to see Nick’s ghost behind every door and microscope in the building. At one point Warrick’s words from six months ago echoed in his mind. "It’s like you have no concept of people’s place in your life until you see the gaping hole they leave behind." A year ago Gil wouldn’t have imagined Nick’s departure to be so glaringly noticeable. Now he found himself skirting that deep chasm all the time.

He was pleasantly tired by the time he finally got home. Really home, with his things and his music and blissful quiet. He made coffee in the kitchen and paused by the bar. The brandy he added to his cup made him think of Nick’s bottle of cognac. The phone rang, and he answered it feeling a little melancholy.

"So you made it."

Gil blinked. "Nick?"

"Yeah. Just wanted to make sure you made it home okay. No hijackers, no crashes. No feverish passengers flipping out and getting stomped to death."

Gil coughed a startled laugh. "No, none of that. It was actually pretty dull."

Nick sounded like he was grinning. "Well, that’s good to know."

"You doing all right?" He sat on the couch, setting his cup on the table.

"Oh yeah. Well."

"What?"

"Nothing. I talked to Samuels yesterday. You know, the guy with the field project down at Possum Kingdom?"

"The ornithologist."

"Right." Nick’s voice lost a little of its enthusiasm. "Turns out he lost his grant. No funding, no work next fall. So that kinda sucks."

"I’m sorry. That was pretty promising."

"I’ll find something. Classes are gonna kill me anyway. Probably crazy to think I could work and do school both."

He segued into an anecdote about Julian, the man they’d briefly encountered in the diner near Nick’s apartment building, and then Gil asked about the DA, a.k.a. Mom, and in the middle of laughing about something, Gil glanced at his watch and realized he’d sat there talking to Nick for nearly two hours, with no concept of the time going by.

"Man, I talked your ear off," Nick said.

"Equal time. But I’m glad you called."

Nick paused. "Me, too. I was thinking about you, you know. I mean, the flight and all that."

"Yeah," Gil said.

"I got class anyway, so I probably ought to go."

"Okay."

"So, you know. Write me. I may be in Texas but I still know where you guys live."

Gil grinned. "I might even be able to find you again if I put my mind to it."

"Well, if you come to Dallas again, I’m gonna hold you to that."

"Consider it a given."

"All right. Later, Gil."

"Later, Nick."

He hung up the phone and sat there, empty coffee cup in his hand. He was still smiling when he finally headed to bed later.

~~~~~~~~~~

All other things being equal, he wasn’t much for keeping up correspondence. His circle of old friends had thinned with the years, and those he really wanted to hear from, he called, so email was usually limited to work-related areas.

But Nick turned out to be a regular penpal. And the pleasure Gil had felt following that long phone call after his return to Vegas came back, reading what Nick sent. Rambling, sometimes typo-ridden letters, ushering Gil into areas of Nick’s life he hadn’t known even when they worked together on a daily basis. Areas like family, Nick’s sprawling brood of sisters and one brother, born so close together it was common to be asked if various siblings were twins. To Gil, growing up an only child, some of Nick’s stories were pretty exotic.

What seemed more troubling to Nick were the tales of his father’s career, and the impact he had on Nick’s life. "I think I came to Vegas kind of running away, too," Gil read one slow Thursday evening. "You ought to meet my dad someday. You’d either love him or hate him, that’s what they say. He was always the judge you hoped you didn’t get, even before he got appointed to the state supreme court."

When he asked, Nick said only that his father hadn’t liked Nick’s early police career. What Hank Stokes hadn’t liked, Nick wasn’t saying, but Gil could fill in a few blanks. Nick himself had pointed out in Dallas that Gil and his colleagues initially thought Nick was inexperienced – what Gil would have further specified as fairly innocent, as well. Protectiveness didn’t make Hank Stokes a bad father, but he could see how Nick might want to get out from under that influence at some point.

Escaping Las Vegas to head home to the bosom of the same family that stifled him five years ago was a little harder to figure out on the face of it, but that was another matter.

Email wasn’t his only contact with Nick, either. There were phone calls, sporadic at first and sometimes a little awkward, but growing more frequent as weeks passed. And Gil was startled to realize, late one dry August morning when he hung up the phone, that he liked those calls. Looked forward to them, planned around them. Hearing Nick’s voice, listening to his anecdotes and weird Nick-ish Discovery-Channel trivia and smart-ass remarks, and being able to bring up work and the kinds of things he faced every night with someone who genuinely knew what Gil was talking about. Nick wasn’t a colleague anymore, but his connection lingered, and his comments were sometimes startlingly astute.

"Don’t do it," he told Gil that morning. "Don’t let them do that to you."

Gil frowned. "Do what? Nick, it’s my case. It’s not as if they’re going to take it away from me."

"They don’t have to. Don’t you see? All they have to do is undermine you. The rest will take care of itself." Nick sighed. "Look, you’re not my boss anymore, so I can say this. As a friend, okay? But you suck at politics. Admit it. You’re all about facts and evidence. And you don’t see what’s going on outside the lab."

"What goes on outside the lab doesn’t matter. The case is what matters."

Nick snorted eloquently. "In your world, maybe. In the real world? Not so much. I grew up in a family soaked in politics, Gil. Take my word for it, okay?"

"You know, you were a lot nicer when you actually worked for me," Gil groused.

That got him a laugh. "Damn near chewed my tongue off not telling you what I thought a few times, too," he shot back. "Look, you don’t believe me about the case? Ask Catherine what she thinks. She’ll tell you I’m right. If you don’t start looking out for yourself, those fucking FBI shitheads are gonna eat you for lunch."

"Okay, okay. If it’ll make you happy, I’ll look into it. But it’s not my foremost concern."

"I’m not suggesting it should be, but –"

"You win, Nick," Gil interrupted, smiling in spite of himself. "Consider me warned."

"Good," Nick said with a sigh. "I wish I had ten minutes with Agent Carmody. Hasn’t he ever heard of interdepartmental cooperation? Don’t answer that."

"Relax. He isn’t as strong as he thinks he is."

"You say that now."

Nothing really came of it – barring a terse letter to the police chief in which Carmody bitched about Grissom’s "lack of team spirit," making Gil laugh – but it felt obscurely good to have Nick in his corner.

So it felt odd one evening to realize he hadn’t heard a peep out of Nick for three days.

He called that night, three times, getting Nick’s machine each time and leaving the same terse message: call me, just checking in. But the next day came and went and Nick didn’t call. There were no replies to Gil’s scattered emails. By the time Friday rolled around, five days of silence, Gil was fighting down real worry.

Nick called Saturday morning.

"I’m really sorry." He sounded tired, and a little distant. "Kind of a hairy week."

Gil sat down heavily on the couch. "Are you all right? I guess I’ve gotten used to hearing from you more often. Seemed – odd that you went quiet on me."

"Yeah, I guess it did. I just – class is kind of intense, and there’s – Well. Stuff."

"Stuff."

"Nah, I mean, it’s a fucking soap opera, man." Nick laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. "Trust me, you don’t want to know."

Gil stifled an unexpected flicker of hurt. "I do want to know."

"I didn’t mean -- Aw, crap. No, see, I was in Austin. Dad’s anniversary, five years. There’s all kinds of stories going around about how he’s next in line for the US court. The Supreme Court, I mean."

"That’s great, Nick. Congratulations."

"Well, yeah, except he isn’t sure he would – but anyway. So I come home Monday and Charlie’s completely freaking out."

Gil nodded, feeling a curl of new discomfort in his belly. "The guy you’ve been seeing."

"Not – I mean, I stress, NOT seriously. But try telling him that, you know? He lost his lease and he’s been looking for another apartment. So he’s been staying at my place for a couple of weeks, which has been really interesting in a kind of ancient-Chinese-curse way, and while I’m gone he’s gone all through my email. He starts yelling at me about you, and how we write all these goddamn love letters, and I’m just fucking around with him, and all this shit." Nick sighed. "So we got into it, you know, because he’s totally trashed my computer, all this shit –"

"Wait a second. Trashed? As in destroyed?"

"Threw it off the roof, yeah. Pretty much creamed."

"Jesus, Nick. Are you okay?"

"Me? Hell yeah. Asshole owes me big. So anyway, he’s gone, and I come back in and an hour later Jamie calls and says Kathy’s in labor – you know, my sister Kathy, the one in Euless, right? And – it’s just one thing after another. I didn’t even check my messages all week, and I have no email right now. Thought I’d use the computer up at the school, but never got around to it. But I got a new nephew. Name’s Caleb. Man, he’s ugly." Nick laughed, for real this time. "But cute."

"Wow." Gil released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. "I – Congratulations again. But what about this guy Charlie? Is he dangerous?"

"Not after I got done with him," Nick replied with dark glee. "I mean, that was private stuff. Not to mention an expensive machine. Goddamn freeloader."

"I’m glad you’re okay," Gil said softly.

"I -- I’m really sorry. Man, I hate that I worried you."

"Not a problem."

"No, it is a problem, because – you know. I mean, the friend thing."

Gil produced a wan smile. "Yeah."

"Are you okay?"

"Me? Of course."

"Does it freak you out? That he read that stuff?"

"Not really," Gil lied. "It’s just correspondence."

"Well, I mean. You know. The thing about – love letters. Because I know they’re not," Nick added hastily. "We know he’s just blowing smoke. But still."

"I’m not upset. Don’t worry about it."

"Okay. Listen, I meant to tell you. I was talking to Mom last night and your name came up. She said she’s pushing to go to the grand jury as soon as possible, maybe even by next month. Has anybody talked to you about that yet?"

Gil sat back. "Not a word."

"So – I mean, you’ll need to come back to testify, right?"

"As soon as they’ve got a timeline, yes. Almost certainly."

"Excellent."

Gil grinned in spite of himself. "Just promise me we’ll hit that sushi bar again."

"Deal. But you gotta find a hotel that isn’t in Egypt, man."

"I’ll do my best."

"Okay. Listen, I gotta head out. Study group started fifteen minutes ago. But I’ll talk to you soon, okay?"

"Okay. Be careful, Nick."

"Me? Always."

Gil hung up the phone slowly, smile sliding off his face. He leaned back and put his feet up, reaching up to rub his eyes. The residue of worry felt like a sticky coating, hard to shake off. He could see for himself that things were all right, next month. In person. The idea filled him with a kind of warmth he didn’t recognize at first. It was only as he got ready to sleep, staring into the mirror while he brushed his teeth, that a whisper of understanding penetrated his mind.

It’s not just worry, Gil old bean. It’s something else, too, isn’t it? It doesn’t just worry you that Nick’s ne’er-do-well boyfriend got territorial. It makes you mad.

It makes you jealous.

He rinsed his mouth and stifled the voice. But lying in the dark of his shuttered bedroom, sleep stayed resolutely away. He stared at the dim patterns in the wallpaper and heard Nick say, "I know they’re not." But what were those letters? He’d told Nick more in the past three months than he’d told most people in his lifetime. Why was that? Why now, why Nick?

You have the answer already, purred that soft voice.

He shut his eyes and put an arm over his face.

VI.

"Tell me again how long you’re gone."

Gil tucked the file under his arm and kept walking. "Two weeks. I leave Monday. I have my cell, and I’m only a phone number away."

Catherine quick-stepped to catch up with him and gave him a look. "Isn’t this just grand-jury stuff? Why so long?"

"Vacation. You’re always telling me I need one. I’m taking one."

"You really thought I meant that?"

He grinned at her. "I always take you seriously, Catherine. You should know that by now."

"Okay, joking, but seriously, that’s a chunk of time. You’re gonna get me up to speed before you go, right?"

"We’ll be doing that tonight."

"You’re vacationing in Texas?"

"It’s convenient. I’m not sure where I’ll go once I’m done with Gustafson."

"Okay. I’d have suggested someplace with a beach and cabana boys myself, but hey. Whatever trips your trigger."

Planning ahead had its advantages. His calendar was mostly clear for the time being, and his two court dates could easily be shared out between Catherine and Warrick, respectively, since they’d been his seconds on the cases. He didn’t worry about the rest. Catherine might say she didn’t want to step up to the mat yet, but she was ready.

"So." Catherine eyed her pile of papers and sighed. "Need a ride to the airport?"

He shook his head. "I’ll take a cab. But thanks."

"Call Nick while you’re there, okay? I bet he’d like that."

"No need."

"Why?"

"He’s picking me up Monday."

"Give him my love, would you? I miss his twangy Texas ass."

Gil grinned. "I’ll tell him, absolutely."

With things wrapped up at the lab, he spent Sunday packing, thoroughly and almost uncomfortably elated to be nearly gone. An excitement fueled to no small extent by Nick’s enthusiasm.

"Like hell you’ll take a cab," he said a week earlier, sounding indignant. "I got wheels, and I can use ‘em."

"What about class?"

"Not a problem. Forget it, Gil, it’s a done deal."

But that was only the beginning of Nick’s Big Plans, as it turned out.

"So you testify, you’re done by Tuesday afternoon, right?"

"Right," Gil agreed cautiously. "But –"

"No buts. My dad’s in town next week. Mom’s already planned for you to come to dinner Tuesday night. After the hearing, of course."

"I – Okay. I’d like that."

"How long are you here again?"

"Until the 23^rd."

"Oh man, that rocks. Two weeks? How’d you fly that one?"

Gil chuckled. "At least I’m actually taking some of my vacation time. I’ve accrued so much, if I were to actually ask for payment it might bankrupt the department."

"No doubt. Okay, so are you staying around, or headed someplace else?"

"Haven’t really planned it out yet, to be honest. Take it as it comes."

"But you’ll stick around for a few days, right?" Nick sounded wistful.

"I’m sure I will."

"Rock on."

What he didn’t say was that he had no plans and didn’t expect to make any. And now, setting his suitcase by the door, he was well aware that whatever plans he did make would include Nick. Had to. It was easy to be glib with Catherine, but the hard truth was that this was a vacation to see Nick. Whether or not that amounted to anything remained to be seen. And that was the part that made this so – out of character. When was the last time he’d been this flip about his own time? Squandered two weeks on a gut feeling? And who was to say that his – interest – was in any way reciprocal? For all he knew to the contrary, Nick was still seeing the asshole, and viewed Gil’s impending visit as a sheer social call, nothing more.

He shrugged and forced himself to let it go. This was feeling more and more like a schoolboy crush, and he’d last darkened a university doorway in a student capacity more years ago than he cared to remember. What would be, would be. And that was all.

~~~~~~~~~~

The cab was late, of course, and he spent the first hour of his trip aggravated, anxious, and sweating, but he made it onto the plane with about two minutes to spare. Thankful for a relatively empty business class section, he sat back and did his best not to think too hard on what he was starting to believe was some kind of slightly belated mid-life crisis.

Let’s see, why don’t we start with age, while we’re on the subject? He’s seventeen years younger than you. Want to look at it another way? You were starting college when he was born. When you hit grad school, he was in pre-school. Thirty? He was thirteen. Forget meeting his father; you’re old enough to BE his father.

Age isn’t enough? What about location? Do you want to start something that will require an immense amount of effort, not to mention time, in order to sustain? Dallas isn’t exactly a day trip, Gil. Would you like to move there? Because he isn’t coming back to Las Vegas. As Nick would say, he’s been there and done that, and the tee shirt’s ragged already.

And if that isn’t enough, let’s talk about life goals. You aren’t the man who flirted with settling down in California. You left San Diego behind a long time ago. What do you know about sustaining a relationship? The bulk of what you DON’T know would fill a number of books. You know who you are. Nick is just starting to find out who he is, and he is a very long way from knowing YOU. Your history. Your quirks. A few months of email and phone calls doesn’t comprise encyclopedic knowledge.

He sighed, and jumped when someone said, "Sir?"

The flight attendant smiled at him. "Would you like something to drink?"

It occurred to him that this might go better if he were drunk. The companion thought wasn’t far behind: It might go far worse. "Club soda, thanks," he said, forcing an answering smile.

By the time the plane landed, he was solidly convinced that this was a rotten, abysmally terrible idea. And deciding that was comforting, because it was easy to not have anything happen. Hadn’t he lived that life for years now? Dating, sure, every once in a while. More out of a remote feeling of – should, than wanted-to. But anything more and he veered deftly away, doing his best not to inflict too much damage, knowing this was better. He’d have dinner with Nick, meet the folks, all that, but afterward he’d make his excuses, ease the sting as best he could – if there was one – and go somewhere else. He had a ridiculous amount of money stored up over the years. Could go pretty much anywhere he cared to go, and enough time to actually enjoy it. Europe. Australia. He had a couple of names in his notebook computer, and he’d wanted to see the facilities in Sydney for years. Could be very interesting. Yes. Check on that. Make a couple of calls. Much more appropriate.

Feeling resolute, stronger, much more himself, he patiently waited to file off the plane. The hubbub of excited voices didn’t much affect him. Besides, he had a grand jury to think about. This wasn’t a pleasure trip on the face of it.

One glimpse of Nick’s beaming face, and he forgot about Australia. Or testimony, or anything but the staggering slap of happiness turning the blood in his veins to champagne.

Nick didn’t say anything at all, grinning and laughing a little, grabbing Gil’s carryon and drop it on the floor before reaching out and hugging him. That manly, one arm over the shoulder, the other around the waist kind of hug, that nevertheless felt like a full body caress. His hands took in the feel of Nick’s body, the sleek waist, solid shoulders, the smell of him, faint cologne like hay in sunshine, and his knees actually went a little wobbly beneath him. He inhaled deeply, wonderingly.

"Oh man, it’s great to see you." Nick held on a second longer, and then let go. It felt like an electric shock, a surge of loss as he stepped back. "Welcome to Dallas. Well, Fort Worth."

His lips felt numb. He couldn’t quite tell if he was smiling, but how could he not be? "Hi, Nick. Thanks."

Still grinning, Nick swooped down to grab the bag again. "Come on. How was your flight?"

With no idea of what he would say, Gil followed him, launching into a description of his cab driver’s tardiness and the tense jog to the plane, and Nick countered with such a wild battle with traffic that Gil laughed harder and longer than he could remember doing since – what, his last trip? Sounded about right. At the carousel Nick stowed Gil and bag at the periphery of the crowd and shoved his way in, surfacing ten minutes later with the garment bag and a determined look on his face. He cracked another luminous grin when he returned. "It’s all in the elbows."

"You’d do well in Italy."

"Yeah? Have to check that out."

Sitting next to Nick in the Impala, inching their way out of the airport, Gil felt a flicker of understanding. Whatever control he’d thought he had over this – this whatever it was – was illusory. He could no more not feel this than he could voluntarily stop breathing. The motivational speech he’d given himself on the plane was crap. None of it mattered. The only thing that did matter was the person behind the wheel, making a face at the line of cars and asking him where he was staying.

"You know, I had a guest bedroom in my old place." Nick sighed and pulled forward two feet. "Lap of luxury, I guess. Didn’t appreciate it while I had it."

The idea of staying WITH Nick made Gil feel a little dizzy. "It’s okay," he heard himself say, wonderfully normal voice for being so fake. "I’m at the Sheraton."

Nick’s irrepressible grin came back yet again, and Gil found himself grinning, too. "What?" he asked curiously.

"Nothing. I’m just really glad you’re here. Been looking forward to this for a while."

Gil nodded. "Me too," he said softly. It hit him right then, how different this reunion was from their first. Worlds apart.

After ninety minutes of driving and aimless catching-up, he deposited his bags in his suite and straightened. Not too bad, and it had the distinct advantage of being a much less convoluted drive from Nick’s apartment building.

"Hungry?" Nick asked, glancing over his shoulder after inspecting the view from Gil’s windows.

Gil nodded. "Starved, actually."

"What are you in the mood for?"

You, Gil thought. "What do you think?"

Nick laughed. "I was hoping you’d say that."

"Let me change first."

The two-hour time difference meant it was actually dinner time here, for once suiting Gil’s own mood, and they made good time to the restaurant. Seated at the bar, Gil held up his bottle of Kirin beer. "Cheers."

Nick clinked his bottle against Gil’s, eyes still sparkling. "Cheers."

The sushi was as excellent as Gil remembered, and kept him occupied while he tried not to react too overtly to Nick’s presence. "How’s Caleb?" he asked, dabbing a piece of sushi in hot mustard.

"Caleb? He’s great. Not so ugly anymore." Nick laughed. "You’ll get to meet him tomorrow night, I think."

"Oh?"

"My sister and brother-in-law are coming, and I think Megan might be there, too. Second-oldest sister," he clarified. "I didn’t know it would be, like, this family affair thing, but my dad isn’t in town much in the fall, and I think Mom’s making hay while the sun shines. You mind?"

Gil shook his head. "Not at all."

"You’re an only, right?"

"Right."

"I wanted that so bad when I was a kid. I mean, everything I had was a hand-me-down. I hated being the youngest. Hated it." He shuddered theatrically.

"So are all your siblings around here?"

"No way. Kathy and Megan and me, that’s it. Everyone else is all over the place." Nick ate a bite of sushi and cleared his throat. "Brian’s in Houston, doesn’t visit as often as my parents want, but he’s closest to Dad, so that’s okay. Huh. Jamie’s in Chicago. Nina in San Francisco, and Julia in OK City."

"And everyone has kids."

Nick grinned. "Not as many as my mom and dad, but yeah. I’m pretty much the only Stokes who hasn’t procreated."

"That ever bother you?"

"Nah. Not really. I mean, you want the truth? Least of my concerns lately. Besides, I have more nieces and nephews than you can swing a cat at. I’m not lacking, you know?" His eyes narrowed. "What?"

Gil shook his head. "Nothing. You look happy," he amended, hoping his expression wasn’t too transparent. "It’s a good look for you."

"Ah. You’re not looking too tense yourself there." Nick’s cheeks colored slightly.

Gil’s mouth went dry, and he took a slug of his beer.

They ate hugely, lingering over their food even longer than that first visit. When they finally finished, it was well after dark, and the clientele had gotten dressier. Outside Nick cocked a look at him. "Tired?"

"Not really."

Nick smiled. "Where to?"

"You tell me. Someplace not too loud, maybe."

"Piano bar?"

"Perfect."

The smile faltered. "Let me think."

Gil shrugged, following Nick as they made their way to the car. "Any place, really. Someplace you like."

"There’s a good place on Cedar Springs." Nick stopped by the passenger door and got out his keys. His expression was hard to read in the irregularly lit dimness. "Kinda – well, gay, though."

Feeling his stomach drop a little, Gil said, "You like it? Then let’s go there."

"Well. Sure. I mean, it’s nice."

"So much the better."

They didn’t talk as much on the way to the bar. Cedar Springs was only a few blocks from Nick’s apartment building, a long avenue of restaurants, shops, and clubs, teeming with life, even on a Monday. Nick parked the Impala in an end space in a huge lot, and when they got out his face was tight with tension.

"Would you prefer to go somewhere else?" Gil asked, frowning at him.

Nick shook his head. "No. No, this is fine."

"But?"

Nick met his look and then glanced away. "This isn’t exactly an area I ever foresaw you in," he replied softly. "Weird."

"I’ve been much weirder places, Nick. Trust me."

That earned him a fast smile. "I can imagine."

Walking at his side, Gil thought, Can you? And dismissed the thought as soon as it had come.

The bar was a couple of blocks down the street. The mild air felt good on Gil’s skin, and he looked around with interest. So much like Vegas, the few times he ended up in the old neighborhood these days. Very much like San Diego. He brushed past a beautifully dressed couple holding hands, and had a moment’s savage wish to grab Nick’s hand, twine their fingers together. Stake a claim, use the gesture to shout, You can look but that’s it,