Urban Hymns

Nick, Greg. PG-13.
One step at a time.
2003 | 1840 words

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Nick knows he should be working instead of wasting time staring, but there is a small part of him that doesn’t really care. And he knows there are probably more interesting things to watch around the lab then Greg sulking and deliberately not trying to hide his irritation -like evidence, in example- but the case has already been practically lifted from his hands anyway, and that same small careless part of him that every once in a while doesn’t mind wasting a few minutes spacing out is feeling so tired of all these little things he has no control over that he decides today is probably a good day to allow himself a little indulgence, and Grissom can deal with the rest of it, since there’s no way they’re really going to get the guy anyway.

The rest of his mind feels like it should have a word or two to say about that, or at least some emotional blackmailing to do like calling on guilt or sympathy for the victim but, oddly enough, nothing comes to Nick except for that strange silence inside his head and the buzz of the air-conditioner in the lounge. He feels rather numb today, and he’s not really sure why.

Greg is peculiarly quiet when he’s angry, Nick notices, watching from what he thinks may be safe distance. He thinks he’s never seen Greg so focused in his work, running tests without the usual teasing and smart-ass jokes, reading pieces of a book in the short intervals between one or another CSI showing up with new samples, occasionally glaring at the clock in the wall in silence, the stereo long forgotten under the table. He walks, or more exactly, slumps his way around the lab without a word, trying hard not to wince every time the obviously sore foot hits the floor, and for a moment it takes Nick all he has not to feel sorry for his friend, because Greg would rather die than have anyone feel sorry for him. Or least Nick thinks so.

But then again, he’d never thought he’d live to see the day Greg would shut up, and yet it’s been at least a couple of hours since anyone last heard his voice.

When he stands up and leaves the lounge, Nick knows he really should turn left and go back to work, but when his feet decide to rebel and walk straight forward, Nick thinks to himself this day has been way too long to care.

“Hey,” he finally calls from the door, after spending a good five minutes standing there and not actually thinking about anything in particular. Just watching.

Greg doesn’t look up from the microscope with his usual flirtatious smile. He doesn’t look up at all, and Nick finds himself more than a little uncomfortable. He knows this is not the time or place to start feeling uncomfortable about Greg, of all things, but knowing doesn’t make it any better. But then Greg lets out a grunt that sounds halfway between acknowledgment and annoyance, and Nick is not sure if he should take it as a sign to continue or to turn on his heels and leave.

“How’s your foot?” he ends up asking, knowing he probably should’ve said something else. Anything.

Greg turns his back on him and leans over the to take a pen from the other side of the table. “If you came all the way down the floor just to laugh at my expense, take a ticket and wait on the line. The whole lab’s ahead of you.”

Nick shrugs, knowing Greg can see his reflection on the glass pan across the room. “I just came to see how you’re doing. Call it heavy conscience.”

Nick can feel Greg’s hesitation for a few seconds, and then the man turns to him with a questioning look and he can almost hear the “Huh?” stamped in Greg’s face. It would’ve made Nick laugh some other day. Today it just makes him smile.

“It was my case too,” he offers as way of explanation, waving a hand in the air, sounding more casual than he really feels. “And if it’s any consolation, I think Grissom should have told you what he was going to do.”

Greg’s confusion lingers for another moment, then turns into surprise, and Nick doesn’t want to think why Greg is surprised at all that he would be supportive. Then the surprise melts into a resigned half-smile that isn’t really a smile, but still looks much better in Greg than the frown he’s been wearing for the past hours.

“Thank you.”

Nick has to smile at the hint of relief in that tone. He knows it’s just a ridiculously small victory for Greg, to know that he’s not absolutely the only one in the whole lab who thinks what Grissom did with his foot was unethical, but… it’s a victory none the less. And Nick has to restrain himself from grinning brightly at the feeling that being on the right side, Greg’s side, gives him.

He knows there are no sides here but, on a deeper level, he kind of likes being on Greg’s.

“Listen,” he calls, eyeing the watch on his wrist, “I was wondering if you need a ride.”

Greg turns around again, facing him back, and replies in no particular tone, “Thanks, I got my car.”

Nick knows he shouldn’t feel bad at Greg’s answer, but he does. He knew Greg’s irritation wouldn’t wear off with a simple supportive word, but on a second thought, he had half-expected it to. Nick doesn’t really mean to drag this on, knowing there’s only so much he can push before Greg pushes back, but watching the man slump from one table to another, carefully avoiding pressure on the offended foot and catching his breath just short of groaning in pain when he can’t avoid the friction against his shoe, Nick knows he can’t just leave Greg there with his pride only to either injure himself even more or cause a car accident trying to drive like that.

“You can barely walk,” Nick remarks, pointing at Greg’s feet. “How are you supposed to drive home?”

Greg drops the pen with overdramatic exasperation and shoots Nick that annoyed glare he’d been preserving only for the clock. Nick crosses his arms and stares back with a look as blank as he can manage. Greg knows put up faces have no effect on him, he just has to wait until Greg lets go.

And he does. The moment passes and Nick’s stare doesn’t falter, so Greg finally rolls his eyes and gives up with another dramatic sigh. “Fine, have your way.”

Nick shakes his head and puts his hand in the air, offering Greg his palm. “Just expiation of guilt, I swear.”

Nick knows he’s lying, and he knows Greg knows just as well. But some truths are not meant to be said in the middle of work environment, and they know that better than anything else.

They part ways there, Nick leaving Greg to finish his work and clean the lab before meeting with him in the lab, after he himself has already picked up his slack, thrown it at Grissom’s table and called his own night an end.

It’s an hour or two into the morning shift when they leave, and there are hardly any of the night personnel left besides themselves, but Greg still tries as hard as can manage to maintain his dignity. He walks slowly to avoid the slumping and keeps a fairly straight face all the way down the corridors, out of the building’s entrance lobby and into the parking lot, then to his car to make sure it is properly locked and the alarm is turned on. Finally, he makes it to Nick’s car, where he sits in silence and grimaces only so slightly as his fingers undo the lace in his shoe, loosening it up a little and letting his foot breathe.

Nick watches, knowing he should be driving, not sitting there like a child thrilled with a new toy. But he still watches. And when Greg leans back and reclines on his seat, taking a deeper breath that lets Nick know just how much the man’s foot must be aching, he finds he has no control over his body anymore, and stares in curiosity at his own moving hand turning around to offer itself to Greg. Greg’s hand accepts his and their fingers close around each other’s, resting on Greg’s thigh. They don’t say anything, and Nick knows he doesn’t need to. Or at least that’s what he thinks.

In days like today, Nick wishes he didn’t have to think at all.

“I would have figured you for much more of a drama queen, you know.”

Greg looks at him through one half-open eye, raising an eyebrow. Nick grins, cueing the joke, and Greg fights back a chuckle, but fails to hide the little tired smile that brightens his face at Nick’s poor attempt at humor.

“You don’t know me,” Greg answers, letting the smile linger on his lips.

Nick tilts his head to one side, staring at Greg with something he can’t describe in himself, and he knows just by looking that really wants to. He wants to know everything there is to know, and more.

“Am I crossing too many lines if I offer you a foot rub once we get you home?”

Greg is looking ahead, eyes unfocused and distracted, and Nick wonders if the other may have missed the question. For a split second, Nick does wish he did. But then Greg looks at him again, that smile still in place, but somehow more heartfelt now than a minute ago. He nods, and Nick shifts in his seat, trying hard not to clear his throat or make the situation any more embarrassing. He knows there is a lesson there in knowing when to stop, but he can’t really tell if it’s because he should stop right now or because he should’ve stopped while he was still ahead.

“See Nick, I’m tired, and my foot’s still killing me,” Greg offers in a lazy voice that Nick isn’t sure comes from genuine exhaustion or medicine collateral effects, but it doesn’t matter because that smile is there, tired or not. “Why don’t we just take one step at a time?”

Nick thinks to himself for the thousandth time today that he knows he should be doing something else than wasting time basking in Greg, the man now sleeping half-curled in his passenger seat, that everyday smile bathed in sunrise, but there’s still some small part of him that doesn’t really care, today, tomorrow or any other day, and it’s a part that seems to grow louder day by day.

He turns the engine on and reminds himself that even small victories are always victories. His own feet are feeling particularly rested this morning, and he’s not in a hurry to get anywhere until Greg feels like walking right beside him.

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