Heavy pastiosity

all right, already!

Sat, 10 Jun 2006 22:18:49 GMT

Since nicky69 has ~~cajolled me~~ asked so nicely, here's a snippet from "The Balance of Power."

Nick waited, listening for the door to click shut and then the car engine to start a moment later. Even after that, he counted to ten and then to twenty for good measure. Since he didn’t hear a thing in that time, he decided he was probably alone in the house and it was safe to venture out.

Still, he turned the doorknob slowly, carefully, and felt the tiniest thrill of joy when it opened. He hadn’t seriously considered the idea that it might be locked, but even the smallest things felt like victories these days. Opening the door, he stepped into the hall.

The lights were off, and the door to Grissom’s bedroom had been left open. Nick peeked in, even though he’d heard Grissom get up, shower, mess around in the kitchen and then leave. He wasn’t taking any chances. After a few more minutes of skulking around the house, he was convinced. No one here but us chickens. Or at least us life-term slaves.

He moved cautiously through the house. Not out of fear that Grissom would appear out of thin air, but out of unease at being in someone else’s house. He’d been a nervous wreck all day, knowing Grissom was in the house, even if he was asleep. He’d stayed sequestered in his room, but he hadn’t been tired and the day had dragged by.

More than once he’d looked at the phone. Even picked it up and started to dial. But he’d always stopped before hitting the final digit. Too many things kept him from actually making the call. Since this nightmare had begun, he’d only spoken to his parents once, and that had been enough torture. He didn’t like reminding his father of how powerless he was, and he didn’t have the strength he needed to reassure his mother.

Most of all, he didn’t like how weak it made him feel, just thinking about it. It was just one thing Grissom could use to control him, and Nick wasn’t going to hand him that kind of ammunition.

Never let ‘em see you sweat. The mantra of the self-preserving slave. Nick had added to that, of course. Never let ‘em get inside your head. The body could heal in enough time, and would, too.

He rubbed his wrist, even though it wasn’t hurting today. He’d rather have it broken another hundred times than suffer that particular violation that was having trust and vulnerabilities exploited again.

And the first step to keeping Grissom out of his head was to get in his.

So far, all Nick could tell for certain was that the man liked bugs. But that hadn’t required any actual detective work; all you had to do was glance around his living room. Creepy décor, as far as Nick was concerned. But now that he had a chance, since he was pretty sure he’d figured Grissom’s schedule out and knew he wouldn’t be back until the morning, it was time for a little snooping.

Grissom’s entertainment center caught his attention first, as it was clearly the most expensive thing in the room, but didn’t hold it for long. About half the albums in Grissom’s collection had titles in Italian with names of singers that Nick had never heard of, and the more contemporary side of his library ran a little contrary to Nick’s own tastes. Of course, he hadn’t really been expecting to discover any shared interests between the two of them.

But then he wandered over to the bookshelf, and stared.

Anyone else would have glanced at the titles, noticed that they were sloppily separated according to genre, and taken a look at the fiction collection. But Nick reached out and ran his had along the spines of the forensic textbooks, stacks of journals and entomological guides. Maybe Grissom wasn’t just a county lackey. Apparently he actually knew his stuff. Distantly, Nick wondered if that made him more or less dangerous; knowledge was nothing more than a tool, after all, and there was no way for him to guess what Grissom did with it.

But the thought flitted away on the breeze of his excitement. Since his enslavement, he’d tried not to dwell on the dreams he’d had snatched away from him, but, right now, there was no fending this one off. He’d been so close to making the jump from cop to criminalist in Dallas, had wanted it so badly that as the memory hit him now, it lodged in his chest and expanded until he could barely breathe.

It was as if, upon being handed a glass of water, he suddenly realized how long he’d been languishing in the desert.

He’d wondered how long he could last before his brain began to atrophy. His new lifestyle didn’t offer much opportunity for mental exercise, and his brain power certainly wasn’t one of his selling points. At least not to the masters who had the kind of money to afford his contract.

Nick pulled one of the texts off the shelves, and wondered when the last time he had read something for his own benefit. It hurt that he couldn’t remember, but there was nothing like the absolute contentment he felt now to wipe that away. He sat down on the couch, flipped a lamp on, and opened the book.

***

Gil shut the door of his bedroom behind him and leaned against it. After a moment, he decided to lock it. He didn't think that Nick would follow him in here, but there was no such thing as being too careful. Certainly not right now. He'd exercised restraint once. He didn't think he could do it a second time.

God, it was bad enough that Nick walked around every day looking like he'd stepped out of the pages of a porno; Gil had found it hard to be in the same room with him, let alone look at him or talk to him. That collar -- dark leather that did so much to enhance and show off Nick's long, strong neck with a ring in the front that made Gil just itch to loop a finger through and pull -- had just been too much.

But to have Nick kneeling in front of him, clearly willing to submit to whatever Gil wished, moments away from actually...

Gil shuddered, knocking his head back against the door as a hot wave of desire washed over him, settling in his groin and burning in slow misery there. He'd wanted it so badly. The instant he'd seen Nick, a part of him had been overjoyed and overwhelmed. After listening to that damn pompous ass in the Property office rattle off everything that Gil had a right to ask of Nick, everything Gil had been adamant he'd never ask for, Nick had walked in. Gil had taken one look at those eyes, that face and that body, and, for a moment, had actually thought, Maybe I will.

He had the right. He had the piece of paper sitting in his desk drawer, with Nick's signature on it, granting him freedom to ask for whatever he wished. Demand it, even.

Desire turned to ache between his legs and he finally gave up, flipping open the button on his pants and unzipping. As he slid his hand in, he glanced at the bed, imagining what it would look like with Nick spread out on it, waiting for him. He imagined him wearing nothing but the collar, but without the red chafe marks. No pain, not for that beautiful boy. But a blindfold, yes. Restraints, yes. Hands tied above his bed, holding him to the headboard.

Gil groaned and his hips hitched a little, the hot flesh of his cock so unbearably sensitive. Already, he was close.

He imagined flipping his thumbs over those nipples, imagined the way Nick would moan and writhe as Gil played with the piercings, the way he'd loose his breath when Gil caught them with teeth and tongue. He'd make Nick completely lose his mind, desperate for more of whatever Gil wanted to give.

Gil's own breath was nearly gone, and what little was left was ragged. He stroked harder, faster, curling his fingers around the tip and sliding down to his balls.

He wondered what other surprises he'd discover about Nick's body. It was traditional for slaves to be meticulous about removing body hair. He imagined touching, tasting every inch of Nick's smooth skin, chest, thighs, genitals.

Oh, and that thought pushed him right up to the edge. So, so close! Nick's tight jeans had left nearly nothing to the imagination, so it wasn't hard for Gil to fill in the blanks and imagine the long, thick cock, smooth, tantalizing balls and round, perfect ass.

An ass that he would lay stripes on, while Nick wailed for more with every strike of the crop.

With a choked sound, Gil came, surprised by how hard it hit him, stealing his breath and strength and a few beats of his heart. He sank against the door, eyes closed in satisfied bliss.

But then he pushed himself up, disgust and irritation taking the place of heat and lust. It was a pretty picture, of course. One he could have. Tonight. Now, if he called for Nick.

But it wasn't what he wanted. It wasn't enough to have a warm, beautiful body in his bed. He wanted Nick to give that to him, to come to him and offer up that kind of unconditional trust because Gil had earned it, and that just wasn't possible in their current state.

He grabbed a tissue off his dresser and wiped himself off. Fantasies were fun, but in the end that's all they were. Fantasies.

CSI FIC: The Hills Are Bare (Gil/Nick)

Sun, 22 Jan 2006 04:46:09 GMT

Title: The Hills are Bare (5/5)
Author: Knightmusic
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Notes: So yeah, all that stuff I said about there being no sex in this story? Turns out I lied.
Disclaimer: Who would be fooled by this? I ask you? Who? Not mine!

Previous chapters can be found here.

5. Hope Renewed Cries Out, "Amen!"

His antlers were gone, which Gil was glad of. His hat was off to, he toyed with it in his hands, and his red-gold hair fell freely about his shoulders, catching the light so that it looked a bit like blazing fire. He seemed smaller now, subdued. Quiet.

Not traits that he’d demonstrated a capacity for at their first encounter.

“So,” Zee said, patting the ground next to him in an invitation. “Miss me?”

“Actually,” Gil said and groaned as he lowered himself to sit down, “I did.” It surprised him to realize how much truth there was to that. Zee was good company, with a kind of humor that Gil didn’t often encounter, but that wasn’t what Gil had missed. It would have been helpful, reassuring, rather, to have had his hearty companionship when facing down his future.

“Hmm,” Zee said, nodding slowly and closing his eyes. “I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”

The sincerity behind those words gave Gil pause.

‘I’m sorry’ were common enough words to come by, especially in his field, and he’d run the gamut between apologies that were honestly meant and those that weren’t and everything in between. ‘Sorry’ and ‘sorrow’ were not the same thing.

And now here was Zee, a man -- an entity -- about which he knew absolutely nothing at all, sounding genuinely sorrowful.

“Do you do this a lot?” Gil asked.

“What?” Zee said, cracking one eye open then closing it again. “Host the supernatural version of ‘This is Your Life’?” He grinned. “That’s my gig.”

“Is it always like this?”

Zee shrugged. “Same basic formula.” He opened his eyes and started gesturing. “Past, present, future. Get to the end and hope they learn something.” Then he turned and winked at Gil. “But it’s not always like this. No.”

“How so?”

Zee’s eyes glinted suddenly with hidden knowledge. “It’s like this,” he said, turning to look Gil straight on. “I’m a guide. My job is to find people who are…lost, and show them the way back..” His grin tightened and he tapped the side of his nose. “Now here’s the secret; You remember I said you weren’t what I expected?” Gil nodded.

“Well, I wasn’t just talking about your choices in decor,” Zee said. “I don’t get people like you often. Because people like you don’t need to be shown the way.”

Insofar as Gil had been expecting anything, he hadn’t been expecting that at all. “Then what was…” He broke of, confused.

“I’m sorry to say,” Zee said, and again, Gil detected genuine regret, as though this were something that hurt him to say, “that your Nick suffers from a false hope.”

The mention of Nick made Gil’s throat constrict until it hurt.

“It’s not likely that he’ll ever meet another Gil Grissom in his lifetime,” Zee said, looking Gil in the eye. “Believe me, I’ve looked.”

Gil gaped. His throat was still too tight to speak.

“What people like you need,” Zee went on, tapping Gil on the chest, “you old souls, is a reminder. And here it is.” He leaned closer and Gil held his breath, unable to stop the terrible expectation filling his heart with hope.

“You,” Zee said, spacing each word, “are not alone.”

Gil pulled back, mouth open and eyes instantly brimming as the words hit him, a blow to his most unguarded and sensitive part of himself. How long had he waited to hear someone say those words to him? How long had he needed to know?

He lost track of himself then, of what he was doing, where he was and what nonsense he was muttering to himself. He realized, vaguely, that he was weeping into Zee’s shoulder, and that the spirit’s arms were around him.

He realized that he was crying, but he didn’t care. He’d spent years, his entire life, convinced that he would always be on the outside, looking in, but Zee was telling the truth now. Gil could feel it. Felt it and knew that it was true. It felt so good and so awful at the same time, like every frightened, lonely, hurting part of him, parts that had laid dormant and festering for years instead of healing, were being hauled awake and burned clean.

He’d never felt so safe.

After a long time, and more tears than he’d shed in his entire life, he pulled away. He felt the oddest sense of peace. His breathing calmed, and when Zee handed him a handkerchief, something occurred to him.

“How did you know what Nick said about me?”

Zee chuckled. “Well, that’s an easy one. I was there.”

Gil stared at him. “What?”

“Gil,” Zee said, fondly chaffing Gil’s shoulders. “When, exactly, is ‘The Future’? When is it ‘The Past’?”

Gil’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. “Only the present actually exists,” he said.

“Bingo.” Zee nodded. “Past is finite; future is infinite.” He held his hands out, palms up. “The present is eternal. And all you’ve got.”

Gil’s mouth curled up. “So those other two spirits were…” He gestured with one hand, inviting Zee to elaborate.

“Pale imitations of the real deal,” Zee said. “Shadows. Just like the things they showed you.” He leaned in, conspiritorialy. “Truth now; they seemed a little fakey, didn’t they?”

Gil chuckled. “You certainly are…vivid in comparison.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” Zee said, and completely stunned Gil by giving him a quick, sloppy kiss on the cheek, complete with ’mm-ah!’ sound. “You’ll make me go all mushy.” Gil stared at him and Zee just laughed. Then he stood up, hauling Gil to his feet.

“Speaking of which,” Zee said, “what’re you going to do about Nick?”

Nick. Shit.

“I-” Gil said, suddenly feeling cold fear, panic, take hold.

And Zee laughed again. Heartily, throwing his head back and wrapping his arms around his stomach.

“Damn, you’re priceless,” he said, calming down and slinging an arm over Gil’s shoulder. “Okay, let me take the high beams off you. Maybe you won’t be so petrified.” Gil managed to fight off his initial reaction long enough to glare at Zee. It didn’t have the kind of effect on him that it did on a subordinate or a suspect, but it did at least make him stop laughing.

“Okay, here’s an easier question,” Zee said. “What do you want to do about Nick?”

Gil pursed his lips. “I want Nick to-”

“That’s not what I asked,” Zee said. Gil glared at him in irritation; what made him think he knew what he’d been about to say?

“Everyone in the known universe knows you want what’s best for Nick, want him to excel, to grow, to be happy,” Zee said. Gil scowled. Apparently he did know.

“And that’s great,” Zee continued. “We all know you’ve got his best interests at heart. Now, just for a moment, forget about that. I’m asking what you want. You can deal with hypothetical questions, right Gil-baby?”

He didn’t mind being called ‘Gil-baby.’ He minded the condesention. And he had a shrewd suspicion that Zee had put it there expressly to annoy him. That only annoyed him further. Then he sighed, the absurdity finally defeating him.

“I want to be with Nick,” Gil said.

“’To have and to hold, till death parts you’ and all that?” Zee said, lightly teasing. Gil gave him an unamused, long-suffering look.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he said. “I want to be happy.” He brought up a hand, quickly forestalling any interjections that Zee might have. “I want to make him happy.”

“Great,” Zee said, all teasing gone. “So go get it, then.”

Gil sighed and closed his eyes. “It’s not that easy,” he said. “Things with Nick are…they’ve always been complicated.”

“That’s love, Gil,” Zee said, gently.

Then he went very still, his eyes suddenly far away. "'For one human being to love another,'" he said, slowly and with quiet reverance, "'that is the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test of proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.'"

Gil stared at him. "Who...?" he asked. The words seemed almost familiar, like something he'd known a lifetime ago. Zee gave him a knowing look.

"You have to stop letting your past rule you," he said. "Roger never had as much power over you as his memory does, now."

Gil bristled. The remark was not unkindly made, but it chaffed a wound that had been open and sore for most of his life, unable to fully heal. “This isn’t about Roger,” he said. “I’ve put that behind me.”

"Actually," Zee said, "all I meant was that you stopped reading poetry after him. It’s not poor Rilke’s fault that you got hurt." Gil’s mouth dropped, and he suddenly felt that he might have given too much away. “But since you bring it up…”

Gil groaned.

“…I don’t think this is about Roger,” Zee finished. Gil looked at him, wondering where he was headed. “At least not entirely.” His face softened. “Gil,” he said, with the deepest sympathy, “you would have had enough to deal with in your life just being you. But you’ve been conditioned not to trust. Or get attached.”

Gil looked away. This was old, stale pain and he didn’t want to revisit it right now. But Zee wasn’t giving him that option.

“Your father, and what you saw that do to your mother, then Roger, hell, even Catherine’s gotten her licks in over the years, hasn’t she?”

Gil nodded. There didn’t seem to be much point in denying anything or trying to protect himself at this point. But he didn’t look up. Zee hummed in understanding.

“Those are hard lessons,” he said. “That’s the problem with listening to your heart; sometimes it’s wrong. And you get hurt. And then you don’t want to listen to it again. But I’ll tell you this much-” He paused and craned his head down until he found Gil’s eyes. Slowly, Gil raised his head to look at him.

“If you ever ignore your heart, I promise you that there’s no cure for that pain.”

Gil let the words sit in the air, repeating them in his head and weighing his options. The memory of standing under the tree with Nick, touching his face, hearing those impossible words, made his heart buckle. But nothing was certain, was it?

“Hey, you’ve even got an advantage,” Zee said. “You’ve already heard his thoughts on the subject.” Gil looked at him.

“But you said that was just a shadow,” he said.

“Your future? Yeah, it was,” Zee said. “But I could just as easily have shown you a future where went to the doctor regularily, beat that thing, and lived into old age. You and Nick built a great house in one of them, by the way. Huge thing with these gigantic windows. Bet they're hell to clean.” Gil sighed.

“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” he said, helplessly. Zee laughed and slapped him on the back.

“Gil, that’s the thing that matters the least,” he said. “Just trust me on this one. Do something. Anything. Even if it’s the wrong thing. No one expects perfect grace from you.” He gave Gil a knowing look. “How could they? They know you!”

The jibe stung, but in a way that Gil found wasn’t unpleasant. He took a deep breath. “I suppose you’re right,” he said.

Zee actually whooped out loud with that. “Success!” he yelled, and snapped his fingers.

The world flickered, and sudden light made Gil squeeze his eyes shut in pain. When he opened them again, they were outside, standing in front of a house. It took Gil only a moment to recognize the house.

“What-”

“Just because you’re on the right track,” Zee said, pushing past him, “doesn’t mean I think I can leave you to your own devices just yet.” He rang the doorbell, waited a few seconds, then leaned on it. From inside came the muffled sound of someone running, and then a voice yelled,

“Coming!”

Gil whipped his head around to stare at Zee in furious horror. Zee smiled, showing all of his teeth.

“Good luck, Gil,” he said. “It’s been wild.” He flashed him a thumbs up, and vanished. Gil turned back to the door, and was nowhere near an idea as to what he was going to do or say, when it opened.

"Grissom?" Nick said, obvious surprise in his voice and on his face. He'd clearly just gotten out of bed; he was wearing sweats and his hair was rumpled. And he had a pillow mark across one cheek that Gil suddenly, and very badly, wanted to touch.

"What's up?" Nick asked, still hopelessly perplexed. But then, wonder of wonders, he smiled, and Gil knew he was undone. And what was more, he didn't care. In fact, he was glad of it.

Shadows, Gil thought, not real. His breath caught in his chest, and it seemed a wonder that he didn't just float away, given how light he suddenly felt. The Nick standing in front of him right now was not the hurting, lonely man that Gil had last seen, he wasn't even the brooding man Gil had seen in Catherine's kitchen. He was smiling, and Gil's task suddenly didn't seem so daunting anymore.

Nick stared at him for a second longer, and then comprehension snapped in his eyes. “Shit,” he said. “Grissom, I had my cell turned on, I swear.” Suddenly, Nick looked terribly nervous. And apologetic.

“I musta just slept through it. I’m real sorry,” Nick continued. “Just give me a sec, okay? I’ll be ready to go.” He turned from the door to go back inside, gesturing over his shoulder as he did that Gil should come in and wait. Not having the slightest idea what he should do, or even what was going on, Gil entered.

Nick had darted back down the hall and into his bedroom. “When did you call?” Nick shouted.

What? Gil thought. Nick had some seriously crossed wires, here. It almost seemed like he’d been expecting him.

And then Gil got it. Nick was off today, yes, but he was still on-call. And as far as he knew, the only reason that Gil would show up on his front door was if he needed Nick on a case and hadn’t been able to get in touch with him through normal means. Probably a big, messy, complicated case if it was worth hauling people in on a holiday. No wonder the poor guy looked so guilty; he thought he’d slept through an important page.

Nick came back into the living room, dressed now in jeans and a button-down blue shirt, carrying his phone in one hand and his socks in another. “Damn thing didn’t even register your calls,” Nick muttered, and tossed the phone down next to him. God, he was so cute when he got all wound up like this! He’d noticed it, and enjoyed it, before, but it apparently it had gone off his radar at some point.

“So what’ve we got?” Nick asked. “Something big?”

“Yeah,” Gil said, as dryly as he could manage. “I thought we could ride together to Catherine’s party. There’s not a lot of space in her driveway, so there’s no point in taking two cars.”

The most interesting array of emotions played out over Nick’s face, then. At first, he blinked in blank, stupid incomprehension, then Gil’s words seemed to register and his eyes went wide with shock. Gil could only guess that it was in response to his voiced intention to be seen at a social gathering. Then Nick’s eyes narrowed, and he aimed a light glare at Gil.

“You son of a bitch,” he said, but the corners of his lips were twitching. Really, Nick had a lamentable poker face. “You set me up.”

“Yeah,” Gil said, grinning broadly now. “I did.”

So far, so good. Surprisingly. Maybe there was something to this ‘jump first and build your wings on the way down’ approach. But still, his stomach fluttered with agitation, worry that he’d somehow screw this whole thing up. And all he had to go on, the only evidence that told him that this time it would work, were the words of an eccentric immortal, and an uncertain glimpse of the future. He suddenly wondered if he hadn’t imagined it all, if he wasn’t completely crazy for even being here.

Fuck that, he thought, suddenly. He knew what was real and what wasn’t, and what he’d been through tonight was real.

And if it wasn’t, well then, he ought to be committed. And he may as well give them a good reason to do so.

Before he could chicken out, he reached out both hands, grabbed Nick’s face and kissed him.

Nick made a noise of pure startlement, but didn’t pull away. He didn’t do anything at first, just let Gil taste his lips, move his mouth softly and insistently over Nick’s own. Then, just at the moment Gil would have given up and pulled away, Nick relented, making a soft noise in the back of his throat and opening his mouth. Gil made an answering noise and pulled him closer, tilting Nick’s head to get a better angle and pushing his tongue in to explore Nick’s mouth.

But then Nick did pull away. But he was breathing hard, and he didn’t look angry. Nor did he pull away enough to escape Gil’s grip on his head. He stared at Gil.

“…the hell was that?” he asked, but he was still smiling while he said it. And looking an awful lot like he’d like Gil to do it again.

“Nick…” he said.

Nick’s hand came up and wrapped itself around Gil’s wrist, squeezing. “What?” he breathed. “What is it, Gil?”

And then Gil knew, knew what he needed to say. And maybe, just maybe, it would be what Nick needed to hear.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’ve let you down. I’ve disappointed you. And I’m sorry.” He saw Nick’s eyes well up at that, and he continued. “And I should have done this a long time ago.”

Then he pulled Nick down for a another kiss, soft and slow this time. He slid his tongue out, tasting Nick’s bottom lip, and urging his mouth open. Nick made a soft, high-pitched noise, and he caught Nick’s eye, seeing startlement and wonder there. Then it melted and Nick’s eyes fluttered shut as he pitched himself out to meet Gil’s kiss as deeply as he could. One lazy kiss melted into another, neither man able to ever get enough of the other’s mouth.

Gil could have sworn he heard cheering, then, but it must have just been the rush in his ears. His heart was pounding and his blood pumping, and this was so much more than he’d ever thought it could be, so endlessly perfect. Like Nick had been made for him.

But it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t possibly be enough. Gil pulled on Nick’s head, desperately frustrated that this, this press of lips and tongues, this bite of teeth, was as close as they could get. He wanted everything. Now. And he was in no mood to wait.

“Why-” Nick said, gasping for breath and barely able to get words out between frantic kisses. “Why-” he tried again, and Gil shook his head once, grunting for Nick to be quiet, before taking Nick’s open mouth again and shuddering in heady delight at the taste.

“Had to,” Gil mumbled. Nick’s hands were wandering down his body now, touching in places no one had for far, far too long. But the feel of those hands, the feel of Nick, was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

This was what it felt like to be found.

Nick grabbed a fistful of Gil’s shirt and pulled him, backwards, to the couch. They hit it at the same time, and tumbled down. Somehow, Gil ended up sitting with Nick half on his lap, still trying to swallow him whole. Nick finally left his mouth, moving down to leave wet, sticky kisses on Gil’s face and throat.

He reached Gil’s collar, pulled it open, and pressed his hot mouth to Gil’s hotter skin. Gil moaned, a throaty, broken sound, that almost covered up the sudden ring of Nick’s cell phone. Almost, but not quite.

“Shit,” Nick hissed, fishing around for it. It had fallen between two of the couch cushions.

Nick found the phone and looked at the display. “It’s Warrick,” he said, and flipped it open.

“Hey man,” he said. “What? No. No, I was already awake.” He laughed. “Yeah, just got in, actually. Yeah, I’ll bring it. Uh-huh, I’ll see you there. Bye.” He hung up, still laughing.

“What?” Gil asked.

“He asked if I’d just come in from a run,” Nick said, shaking his head. “Said I sounded a little out of breath.”

Gil grinned. “He’s right,” he said. Nick glared. “What else did he want?” Gil asked.

“He wanted me to bring something to Cath’s party,” Nick said. He leaned down, picking up where he’d left off by biting just below Gil’s ear.

Cath’s party. Shit. Gil glanced at the clock.

“Nick,” he said, lifting Nick’s head and meeting with resistance. “Nick!” he said again, more forcefully. Nick finally lifted his head, fixing him with a sullen look. Oh God, who knew the man could pout like that? Gil closed his eyes, hoping it would break the spell. It worked. A little.

“Nick, we don’t have time,” Gil said. Nick grinned, wickedly.

“We have time for a quickie,” he suggested. Gil groaned, and Nick took it as encouragement, going for the top button of Gil’s pants. That woke Gil up.

“Nick, stop,” Gil said, and Nick did. He stared at Gil, expectantly.

“Don’t you want to?” he asked. He looked suddenly guarded, like he was afraid he’d made a terrible mistake.

“Yes!” Gil said, reaching up to touch Nick’s face. “But I’ve wanted it for years now, Nick. I can wait a little longer.” He tried a smile, but Nick didn’t return it. Gil sighed. “Nick, if you get my pants off now, there’s no way we’ll make it to the party.”

“Who says we’ve gotta go to the party?”

“I was planning on making an appearance, actually,” Gil said, wryly. Nick stared at him, then slowly smiled.

“I don’t know where you got this new leaf of yours, but I like it.” Then he stood up from Gil’s lap and hovered over him for a moment, arms braced on the back of the sofa. He leaned close, so that their foreheads were nearly touching. “What if I left your pants on?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, but dropped to his knees, nudging Gil’s legs apart so he could kneel between them.

Gil couldn’t breathe, and he had a sneaking suspicion the problem was only going to get worse. “Nick,” he said, a weak protest. Nick looked up, and suddenly grabbed both of Gil’s hands. He kissed his knuckles.

“Let me do this for you, Gil,” he said. “Please.” He wasn’t pleading, despite the words. Gil realized that he was being told, and all he could do was nod, mouth open in silent astonishment.

He watched, enraptured by Nick’s hands, as he unbuttoned and unzipped Gil’s pants, pushed his shirt out of the way, and so gently, almost reverently, reached in and pulled his dick out. Gil shivered, and only partly due to physical sensations. He leaned back, head falling limp onto the back of the sofa, and gasped for breath as Nick ran his fingers over the length, and Gil looked down just in time to see Nick take the tip into his mouth.

Gil gasped and bucked, trying as hard as he could to keep himself under control. Nick wanted to run the show, and Gil wanted to let him, but pent up energy was coursing through him, searching for an outlet. He grabbed Nick’s shoulders, squeezing hard enough that Nick made a soft noise in response.

A noise that vibrated along his cock and made Gil choke on his next inhale. “God, don’t tease,” Gil said, so winded he could barely speak. Nick just smiled around his mouthful, took Gil in as deep as he could and sucked. Hard.

Gil shouted, throaty nonsense ripped from his throat before he even knew what was happening. Nick wasn’t teasing, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to make this quick, either.

Gil dug his fingers even harder into Nick’s shoulder, fighting against the urge to grab Nick’s head and take control. This was so unlike anything he’d ever experienced before, sexually or otherwise. This wasn’t his game, but Nick’s, and near as he could tell, Nick’s goal was to blow his mind.

Nick’s hand was involved now, touching and stroking everywhere his mouth couldn’t reach, giving Gil just enough to make his nerves scream with anticipation. His other hand was out of sight, and Gil only had enough mental capacity to wonder where it was for a second. The one was doing quite enough on its own, making him gasp and moan and beg.

Nick was making his own noises too, muffled sounds of pleasure and pent-up desire, soft whimpers that sounded both needy and content. Gil looked down, and that sight, the image of Nick’s face glowing with that very real contentment and joy, made every last wall in Gil’s heart crumble to dust.

His last thought, before he finally tumbled into orgasm, was to wonder what he had done to merit such a gift.

The world tilted and faded to gray for a moment, and he had a moment of fleeting panic that this, too had been a shadow, that something so good could not possibly have been real. But then he felt Nick’s hand, tucking him back in and then placing it on Gil’s thigh to use for leverage as he stood, and Gil sighed in utter contentment.

He opened his eyes to see Nick zipping his own fly up before collapsing on the couch next to Gil. So that’s where the other hand had been. He was sorry he’d missed seeing that, and felt a whisper of desire hit him again at the image. That was a damn optimistic thought, though. At the moment, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get it up again for days, he was so boneless and content.

Nick leaned into him, pillowing his head on Gil’s shoulder, and Gil reached around to hold him. He pulled him close, wrapping both arms around him and hugging like he never wanted to let go. Because, of course, he didn’t.

Finally, Nick pulled away. “If we’re gonna go,” he said, “I need to change first.” He gestured down the wet spot on his jeans, and Gil grinned. “I should probably shower, too, since I haven’t yet,” Nick said, standing up. “And if you wanted to join me…”

Gil gave Nick a push. “We’d use up all the water in Clark county before I wanted to get out,” he said. “Go. Be quick.”

Nick was just about out of the room when he stopped and turned. “Oh,” he said. “The game Warrick wanted me to bring. Gil, can you grab it? It’s on top of the bookshelf.”

Gil nodded and went over, reaching up and lifting a large box. He stared at it, and a smile crept over his face. Taboo, the box read.

“You ever played that before?” Nick yelled from the other room.

“I haven’t,” Gil said. Nick laughed.

“You’ll mop the floor with us,” he said.

***

“Well, now that’s a first.”

Gil froze where he was, halfway down the hall to the DNA lab and waited for Catherine to catch up. He raised a curious eyebrow. She smiled at him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you whistle before,” she said. Gil hummed in surprise. He hadn’t realized that he had been whistling. It didn’t surprise him, though. He’d been uncontrollably happy from the minute he had walked into Catherine’s party onward.

Well, it had probably started a few hours before that, but Catherine’s party had been the first time he’d sat back, looked around and thought, This is what happiness is. It had been a landmark moment, a turning point for him. And it wasn’t just his thing with Nick that had changed, but that had given him the courage to try other things, too.

He had an email in his inbox from Isabelle Carter, now Isabelle Miller, and Gil had been glad to hear that, expressing in the warmest way possible how glad she was to hear from him. He’d had to contact LAPD to track her down, and he’d almost given up, but was now so glad he hadn’t.

She did remember him, and she’d missed him. Only then did he realize that he’d missed her as well.

“So what brought this on?” Catherine asked. Gil shrugged.

“It’s my new year’s resolution,” he said. She rolled her eyes, but laughed anyway.

“What, whistling or that dopey-happy look on your face?” she teased. He winked at her, but didn’t say anything.

“Hey,” she said, and shrugged. “I’m not prying. Wouldn’t want to jinx it.”

“Thanks, Catherine,” he responded, dryly.

“Hey, Cath!”

Both of them looked up as Nick rounded the corner. “I just talked to Ecklie about the --” he looked up, and noticed Gil standing there. A tiny, secret smile, touched his lips for just a second, and was then quickly buried under a mask of professionalism. Still, as brief as it had been, it had touched a deep part of Gil.

“Anyway, he said not to worry about it for another couple weeks,” Nick continued. “He convinced the DA to hold off filing until we’ve got something more concrete.”

Catherine sighed. “Well that’s a relief. Thanks, Nick.”

“No problem,” he said, and started to leave, when something stopped him. “Hey,” he said, turning back to them. “Either of you been to Ecklie’s office lately?”

Catherine shook her head, but Gil just smiled. “Why?” Catherine asked.

“He’s got a Chia pet on his desk,” Nick said, making a face that conveyed exactly how screwy he thought that was. Catherine snorted.

“A Chia pet?” she asked, and looked at Gil for his reaction. Gil shrugged.

“Well,” he said on a sigh, “I would imagine that he’s rather difficult to shop for.” That made both Nick and Catherine laugh, and he chuckled, himself.

Conrad could do with more whimsy in his life, and if it took silly gifts, than so be it. He hadn’t said anything to Gil about it, but neither had he thrown it out. That was probably as close to a ‘thank you’ as he was likely to get, and that was fine with Gil.

“Well, obviously something I’ve never thought much about,” Catherine said. She started to leave, but looked at Gil before she did. “Say, you wanna grab something to eat after shift?” she asked.

“Sorry Catherine,” Gil said, and made it a point to not look at Nick. “But I’m afraid I already have plans.” She raised her eyebrows.

“You? Have plans?” Gil cocked his head, inviting further commentary from her. She waved him off. “Will wonders never cease.” Then, with a pat on his arm, she left him and Nick alone in the hallway.

“So we’re still on?” Nick said, in a low voice once she was out of earshot.

“We’re always on,” Gil answered, and was treated to the brightest, most beautiful smile in return.

“Great,” Nick said, and started back down the hall. “See you then.” Gil watched him go, amazed to know that he was responsible for putting a look like that on Nick Stokes’s face.

He shook his head, incredulous, and headed for the DNA lab. Whistling.

***

The hills are bare at Bethlehem, no future for the world they show. Yet here new life begins to grow, from earth's old dust a greenwood stem.

The stars are cold at Bethlehem, no warmth for those beneath the sky. Yet here the radiant angels fly, and joy burns new, a fi'ry gem.

The heart is tired at Bethlehem, no human dream unbroken stands. Yet here God comes to mortal hands, and hope renewed cries out: "Amen!"

--”The Hills are Bare at Bethlehem;” a hymn sung during the Christmast season. Or, if you will, A Christmas Carol.

CSI FIC: The Hills are Bare (first part of chapter 5)

Tue, 17 Jan 2006 06:11:43 GMT

I promised the last part of "Hills" by Monday, but life decided to be difficult and confound my plans. So, in order that I not make myself a totall liar, I offer up this little tidbit. Consider this a sneak-preview. The rest will be up tomorrow.

Title: The Hills Are Bare (4 and a half/5)
Author: Knightmusic
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Summary: Change really is a bitch. Sometimes you need help.
Notes: I neglected to credit laurelgardner with her due last time. All that Nicky stuff at the funeral? Couldn't have happened without her. Lots of her words in that scene.
Disclaimer: These characters are so not mine, even though I asked Santa for them for Christmas. Guess I'll just have to be twice as good next year...

Previous parts are in the memories section of this journal.

5. Hope Renewed Cries Out, "Amen!"

His antlers were gone, which Gil was glad of. His hat was off too, he toyed with it in his hands, and his red-gold hair fell freely about his shoulders, catching the light so that it looked a bit like blazing fire. He seemed smaller now, subdued. Quiet.

Not traits that he’d demonstrated a capacity for at their first encounter.

“So,” Zee said, patting the ground next to him in an invitation. “Miss me?”

“Actually,” Gil said and groaned as he lowered himself to sit down, “I did.” It surprised him to realize how much truth there was to that. Zee was good company, with a kind of humor that Gil didn’t often encounter, but that wasn’t what Gil had missed. It would have been helpful, reassuring, rather, to have had his hearty companionship when facing down his future.

“Hmm,” Zee said, nodding slowly and closing his eyes. “I’m sorry you had to do that alone.”

The sincerity behind those words gave Gil pause.

‘I’m sorry’ were common enough words to come by, especially in his field, and he’d run the gamut between apologies that were honestly meant and those that weren’t and everything in between. ‘Sorry’ and ‘sorrow’ were not the same thing.

And now here was Zee, a man -- an entity -- about which he knew absolutely nothing at all, sounding genuinely sorrowful.

“Do you do this a lot?” Gil asked.

“What?” Zee said, cracking one eye open then closing it again. “Host the supernatural version of ‘This is Your Life’?” He grinned. “That’s my gig.”

“Is it always like this?”

Zee shrugged. “Same basic formula.” He opened his eyes and started gesturing. “Past, present, future. Get to the end and hope they learn something.” Then he turned and winked at Gil. “But it’s not always like this. No.”

“How so?”

Zee’s eyes glinted suddenly with hidden knowledge. “It’s like this,” he said, turning to look Gil straight on. “I’m a guide. My job is to find people who are…lost, and show them the way back..” His grin tightened and he tapped the side of his nose. “Now here’s the secret; You remember I said you weren’t what I expected?” Gil nodded.

“I don’t get people like you often. Because people like you don’t need to be shown the way.”

Insofar as Gil had been expecting anything, he hadn’t been expecting that at all. “Then what was…” He broke off, confused.

“I’m sorry to say,” Zee said, and again, Gil detected genuine regret, as though this were something that hurt him to say, “that your Nick suffers from a false hope.”

The mention of Nick made Gil’s throat constrict until it hurt.

“It’s not likely that he’ll ever meet another Gil Grissom in his lifetime,” Zee said, looking Gil in the eye. “Believe me, I’ve looked.”

Gil gaped. His throat was still too tight to speak.

“What people like you need,” Zee went on, tapping Gil on the chest, “you old souls, is a reminder. And here it is.” He leaned closer and Gil held his breath, unable to stop the terrible expectation filling his heart with hope.

“You,” Zee said, spacing each word, “are not alone.”

Gil pulled back, mouth open and eyes instantly brimming as the words hit him, a blow to his most unguarded and sensitive part of himself. How long had he waited to hear someone say those words to him? How long had he needed to know?

He lost track of himself then, of what he was doing, where he was and what nonsense he was muttering to himself. He realized, vaguely, that he was weeping into Zee’s shoulder, and that the spirit’s arms were around him.

He realized that he was crying, but he didn’t care. He’d spent years, his entire life, convinced that he would always be on the outside, looking in, but Zee was telling the truth now. Gil could feel it. Felt it and knew that it was true. It felt so good and so awful at the same time, like every frightened, lonely, hurting part of him, parts that had laid dormant and festering for years instead of healing, were being hauled awake and burned clean.

He’d never felt so safe.

After a long time, and more tears than he’d shed in his entire life, he pulled away. He felt the oddest sense of peace. His breathing calmed, and when Zee handed him a handkerchief, something occurred to him.

“How did you know what Nick said about me?”

Zee chuckled. “Well, that’s an easy one. I was there.”

Gil stared at him. “What?”

“Gil,” Zee said, fondly chaffing Gil’s shoulders. “When, exactly, is ‘The Future’? When is it ‘The Past’?”

Gil’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. “Only the present actually exists,” he said.

“Bingo.” Zee nodded. “Past is finite; future is infinite.” He held his hands out, palms up. “The present is eternal. And all you’ve got.”

Gil’s mouth curled up. “So those other two spirits were…” He gestured with one hand, inviting Zee to elaborate.

“Pale imitations of the real deal,” Zee said. “Shadows. Just like the things they showed you.” He leaned in, conspiratorially. “Truth now; they seemed a little fakey, didn’t they?”

Gil chuckled. “You certainly are…vivid in comparison.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” Zee said, and completely stunned Gil by giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’ll make me go all mushy.” Gil stared at him and Zee just laughed. Then he stood up, hauling Gil to his feet.

“Speaking of which,” Zee said, “what’re you going to do about Nick?”

Nick. Shit.

“I-” Gil said, suddenly feeling cold fear, panic, take hold.

And Zee laughed again. Heartily, throwing his head back and wrapping his arms around his stomach.

“Damn, you’re priceless,” he said, calming down and slinging an arm over Gil’s shoulder. “Okay, let me take the high beams off you. Maybe you won’t be so petrified.” Gil managed to fight off his initial reaction long enough to glare at Zee. It didn’t have the kind of effect on him that it did on a subordinate or a suspect, but it did at least make him stop laughing.

“Okay, here’s an easier question,” Zee said. “What do you want to do about Nick?”

Gil pursed his lips. “I want Nick to-”

“That’s not what I asked,” Zee said. Gil glared at him in irritation; what made him think he knew what he’d been about to say?

“Everyone in the known universe knows you want what’s best for Nick, want him to excel, to grow, to be happy,” Zee said. Gil scowled. Apparently he did know.

“And that’s great,” Zee continued. “We all know you’ve got his best interests at heart. Now, just for a moment, forget about that. I’m asking what you want. You can deal with hypothetical questions, right Gil-baby?”

He didn’t mind being called ‘Gil-baby.’ He minded the condescension. And he had a shrewd suspicion that Zee had put it there expressly to annoy him. That only annoyed him further. Then he sighed, the absurdity finally defeating him.

“I want to be with Nick,” Gil said.

“’To have and to hold, till death parts you’ and all that?” Zee said, lightly teasing. Gil gave him an unamused, long-suffering look.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he said. “I want to be happy.” He brought up a hand, quickly forestalling any interjections that Zee might have. “I want to make him happy.”

“Great,” Zee said, all teasing gone. “So go get it, then.”

Gil sighed and closed his eyes. “It’s not that easy,” he said. “Things with Nick are…they’ve always been complicated.”

“That’s love, Gil,” Zee said, gently.

Then he went very still, his eyes suddenly far away. "'For one human being to love another,'" he said, slowly and with quiet reverence, "'that is the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test of proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.'"

Gil stared at him. "Who...?" he asked. The words seemed almost familiar, like something he'd known a lifetime ago. Zee gave him a knowing look.

"You have to stop letting your past rule you," he said. "Roger never had as much power over you as his memory does, now."

Gil bristled. The remark was not unkindly made, but it chaffed a wound that had been open and sore for most of his life, unable to fully heal. “This isn’t about Roger,” he said. “I’ve put that behind me.”

"Actually," Zee said, "all I meant was that you stopped reading poetry after him." Gil’s mouth dropped, and he suddenly felt that he might have given too much away. “But since you bring it up…”

Gil groaned.

“…I don’t think this is about Roger,” Zee finished. Gil looked at him, wondering where he was headed. “At least not entirely.” His face softened. “Gil,” he said, with the deepest sympathy, “you would have had enough to deal with in your life just being you. But you’ve been conditioned not to trust. Or get attached.”

Gil looked away. This was old, stale pain and he didn’t want to revisit it right now. But Zee wasn’t giving him that option.

“Your father, and what you saw that do to your mother, then Roger, hell, even Catherine’s gotten her licks in over the years, hasn’t she?”

Gil nodded. There didn’t seem to be much point in denying anything or trying to protect himself at this point. But he didn’t look up. Zee hummed in understanding.

“Those are hard lessons,” he said. “That’s the problem with listening to your heart; sometimes it’s wrong. And you get hurt. And then you don’t want to listen to it again. But I’ll tell you this much-” He paused and craned his head down until he found Gil’s eyes. Slowly, Gil raised his head to look at him.

“If you ever ignore your heart, I promise you that there’s no cure for that pain.”

Gil let the words sit in the air, repeating them in his head and weighing his options. The memory of standing under the tree with Nick, touching his face, hearing those impossible words, made his heart buckle. But nothing was certain, was it?

“Hey, you’ve even got an advantage,” Zee said. “You’ve already heard his thoughts on the subject.” Gil looked at him.

“But you said that was just a shadow,” he said.

“Your future? Yeah, it was,” Zee said. “But I could just as easily have shown you a future where went to the doctor regularly, beat that thing, and lived into old age. You and Nick built a great house in one of them, by the way. Huge thing with these gigantic windows. Bet they’re hell to clean, though.”

Gil sighed. “I wouldn’t know where to begin,” he said, helplessly. Zee laughed and slapped him on the back.

“Gil, that’s the thing that matters the least,” he said. “Just trust me on this one. Do something. Anything. Even if it’s the wrong thing. No one expects perfect grace from you.” He gave Gil a knowing look. “How could they? They know you!”

The jibe stung, but in a way that Gil found wasn’t unpleasant. He took a deep breath. “I suppose you’re right,” he said.

Zee actually whooped out loud with that. “Success!” he yelled, and snapped his fingers.

The world flickered, and sudden light made Gil squeeze his eyes shut in pain. When he opened them again, they were outside, standing in front of a house. It took Gil only a moment to recognize the house.

“What-”

“Just because you’re on the right track,” Zee said, pushing past him, “doesn’t mean I think I can leave you to your own devices just yet.” He rang the doorbell, waited a few seconds, then leaned on it. From inside came the muffled sound of someone running, and then a voice yelled,

“Coming!”

Gil whipped his head around to stare at Zee in furious horror. Zee smiled, showing all of his teeth.

“Good luck, Gil,” he said. “It’s been wild.” He flashed him a thumbs up, and vanished. Gil turned back to the door, and was nowhere near an idea as to what he was going to do or say, when it opened.

“Grissom!” Nick said.

CSI FIC: The Hills Are Bare (Gil/Nick, PG-13)

Sat, 14 Jan 2006 13:09:06 GMT

Title: The Hills Are Bare (4/5)
Author: Knightmusic
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Summary: Change really is a bitch. Sometimes you need help.
Notes: Sorry for the delay, but I assure you that part five will be up in a day or two. Wouldn't want to leave this unresolved for long. Oh, and laurelgardner is one rockin' beta. Even moreso than the last time.
Disclaimer: These characters are so not mine, even though I asked Santa for them for Christmas. Guess I'll just have to be twice as good next year...

Previous chapters can be found in the memories section of this journal.

4. The Stars are Cold

“Zee?” Gil called. Now he was worried, and took off outside to look around. He feared what might have happened to Zee, but he was also suddenly, deathly afraid of what might happen to him without Zee around.

It was getting dark outside, and cold, and that made Gil even more nervous. The sun had been shining through the windows when he and Zee had entered the restaurant, and Ecklie had said something about catching a three-fifteen show. It was possible that time was simply obeying its own unique laws, given the state he was currently in -- and he made no attempt to pretend that he understood that -- but even that thought made him nervous.

The restaurant was no where near the strip, and the only light came from a few distantly-spaced street lamps. Gil called out again.

“Zee?”

Nothing.

But then something did answer. Or rather, responded. A low sound, so low that it was almost more vibration than anything Gil’s ears could actually detect, rumbled from down the street behind him. Gil turned.

A great cloud of black mist rolled towards him, thick and moving heavily through the air. And as it got closer, as it touched the buildings and streets and signs, everything changed. It was as if everything were slowly turning to liquid before his eyes. Strong lines and defining characteristics dissolved and ran together like thick swirls of paint, melting into the mass of thick, fog and making it come alive with color and eddies of possibility.

And at the front of it all, as much a part of the rolling sea of screaming color as leading it, was a figure. Gil could make out the outline of a head and shoulders and what were probably arms. At times it disappeared all together into the cloud, only to re-emerge a fully formed human, hooded and cloaked and moving like a whiff of smoke.

The urge to run struck Gil, but he stayed still. He knew, or at least thought he knew, that this was meant for him and him only. Whatever it was, he didn’t believe it was a threat.

Finally, it came to a stop before him. Gil could discern a vaguely human shape now, hooded and wearing a cloak that melted into the omnipresent darkness behind it, and insubstantial as wisps of black smoke. This had to be another Spirit. And if he had already seen his past and the present, it remained that this specter was here to show him the future.

The Spirit nodded then, and a soft, almost familiar voice said "Yes" in the back of his mind. Gil jumped. Some part of him recognized, in a disconnected, almost lazy way, that this was terrifying. And yet, now that it was here, he felt the strangest sense of peace.

Be not afraid, that same voice said, and Gil couldn't tell if it was his own thought or...something else.

"I'm not afraid," Gil said, and thought he detected the echo of a fond chuckle, barely audible and without any apparent source. But the Spirit didn't move or give any indication that it had heard or made it.

The Spirit held up one ghost-like hand, and the swirling mass of fog followed the motion like a cloak, sweeping upwards and out until it was all around them, cocooning them. Gil couldn’t tell, anymore, where the Spirit ended and the fog began.

Then, through the mist of darkness and liquid color, shapes began to emerge, faces and locations that Gil recognized. But they wouldn’t focus or solidify into anything he could make sense of or identify.

“What-” Gil wondered, frowning.

It’s unpredictable, Gil thought, and then, like a random, free-floating observation, a voice in his head said, Always in motion, is the future. And again came the chuckle, probably at its own cleverness in using that particular quote.

Gil looked at the Spirit again, wondering if this was its way of communicating with him, but the Spirit did not look back. It pointed forward.

Gil looked. Something was happening in the darkness. He could see a room with a single occupant, sitting behind a desk. It grew closer -- or they did, he couldn’t quite tell -- and he finally made out the image.

“Catherine,” he said. The radio was turned on, and “Blue Christmas” was playing softly in the background.

And Catherine was crying. Or rather, had been and was trying her best to stop. And Gil doubted it had anything to do with the song. Her eyes were red, and she touched them constantly, either wiping them or pressing just below. It looked like she didn't know quite what she was doing as she fidgeted with things on her desk.

On her desk was a name plate. It read, “Catherine Willows, Nightshift Supervisor.” Gil felt the instant pull of contradictory emotions. He’d always said that he wanted nothing more than to see Catherine advance, and of course he’d meant it. But he couldn’t stop, or quite explain, the possessive rush he felt seeing her in his place.

He didn't like the idea of not being at the lab anymore, wasn't quite sure what he'd do with himself when the day came that he finally had to leave. As much as he'd like to imagine that he could stick with it until he keeled over in mid-case, that just wasn't going to happen. You couldn't do this job with less than peak skills, and it was better to retire ten years too early than ten minutes too late.

"Hey Cath," Warrick said quietly. Catherine looked up, startled. As soon as she saw him, she smiled. It was too bright, too forced, and if it didn't fool Gil, it sure wasn't going to fool Warrick.

"Warrick," she said. "What's up?"

Warrick looked at her shrewdly, eyebrows raised and mouth slack in that way that made him look like he was literally chewing on an idea. Then he frowned and came over to the desk.

“I was going to update you on my drive-by, but I think that can wait.” He perched himself on the edge of the desk and put out a hand to touch her shoulder. His left hand, Gil noticed, that no longer had a wedding ring. Catherine reached up and touched him, and managed to maintain her composure for about a tenth of a second after that. Her face crumbled, twisted by grief that Gil couldn't begin to understand, but that still hurt him as much as if he'd been kicked in the stomach.

Warrick reacted quickly, pulling her close and cradling her against his chest. She stayed there for a while, sobbing. And then Gil noticed that Warrick, for all he was the one doing the comforting, looked an awful lot like a man in need of some comfort himself. Gil looked at the Spirit, hoping for some sort of clarification, but the Spirit only pointed back at Warrick and Catherine.

Finally they pulled apart. Warrick's shirt was wet with tearstains, and Catherine grabbed a tissue to wipe her eyes.

“What the hell’s wrong with me?” she asked, reaching for a tissue. “The service was three months ago. You’d think I wouldn’t still be bawling my head off.” Warrick rubbed her shoulder.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked. Catherine grimaced and propped her forehead up against her fist. She stared at the top of the desk for a long time.

“It’s the little things,” she said. “Just like when Eddie died.” She sat up and looked at Warrick, having managed to compose herself again. “I was just coming in from the field, and my mind was…wandering. I was thinking about calling Lindsay to ask her to meet me for breakfast, and trying to figure out what the hell that green stuff we collected might be, and then I thought of something I wanted to ask Nick and I…” She stopped, suddenly, and swallowed hard. Gil could see her eyes watering again.

“…and I walked past his office,” she said, but it came out in a weak, stressed voice.

Who’s office? Gil thought, instantly confused and concerned by Catherine’s story. Nick’s? Did Nick have an office now?

“…and I just…” Catherine tried to speak, but in the end settled for vague gestures indicating her current state. Warrick sighed and nodded in understanding.

But Gil was still confused. He had always thought that Warrick would be the next logical choice for a supervisor after Catherine, but Warrick had never expressed any interest that way. And Nick had certainly proved himself in the past couple years, a promotion would not have been at all undeserved. The thought made Gil happy, even as he was still worried about Catherine.

“Yeah, I know,” Warrick said. “It’s rough. Happens to me, too.”

"I just can't believe he's gone," Catherine said, crumpling the tissue in her fist. "It just doesn't seem real, yet."

Bile rose in Gil’s throat. “No. Oh, no,” he said, as he experienced the most sickening sense of horror, something worse than running out of his office to find Greg unconscious on the floor and a fire blazing in the lab, worse than the sight of Sara fighting for her life on the other side of a glass window, worse even than that soul-shattering moment when Walter Gordon had killed himself, taking with him all hope of ever finding Nick. Those had all been the horror that something might go horribly wrong, that something unspeakable could happen.

Someone had died. Someone they knew and loved had died.

"I really didn't think he'd let himself just...slip away like that," Catherine said. Warrick nodded, and Gil saw him swallow hard.

"You know, I think," Warrick said, and then he stopped, trying to collect himself and looking suddenly sick with grief. After a moment he said, quietly, "I think he'd been on his way out for a long time now."

Catherine made an angry noise, which Warrick acknowledged with the slightest nod before continuing. "When a man gives up like that...I don't know that there's any way to turn him around."

He was trying so hard to hold himself together, and Gil was nearly frantic with the need to know what had happened. Gil had seen Warrick upset before, seen him angry, seen him near tears, but the only time he'd seen him this far gone had been when Nick had been kidnapped.

Gil sucked his breath in, suddenly horrified as something Catherine had said clanged in his ears.

“I thought of something I wanted to ask Nick and I…I walked past his office…and I just…”

She just fell apart. Because of something to do with Nick. Something that had caused the young man to just…slip away from all of them.

Gil’s knees went weak, and he sat down in one of the chairs.

What if he'd been wrong in assuming that Nick was recovering just fine? Trauma on the level Nick had experienced could wait years, decades before coming home to roost. He thought back to the easy switch from visibly upset to fine and chipper that he'd seen in Catherine's kitchen with Zee. Good lord, if something went wrong with Nick, would anyone even know until it was too late?

Gil knew he certainly wouldn't have.

never meant to disappoint you

Was this his fault? If he had never bothered to give Nick what he needed, if he had just let him continue through his life with this horribly false sense of his own worth, then in wasn't at all difficult to imagine what kind of downward spiral Nick might find himself caught in.

“Spirit,” Gil said, “I need to see the rest of them.”

The Spirit nodded, and Catherine and Warrick were already beginning to melt away, back into the darkness. The Spirit pointed, and Gil turned, seeing another image appearing and rising to meet them. He watched, stomach twisting in sick anticipation.

It was Sara. She was sitting by herself in the layout room, her face a furious mask of concentration. Gil craned his neck around, curious to see what she was working on, and smiled. She had photos of insect larvae laid out in front of her, and was clearly constructing a timeline. Despite his lingering worry, he felt another stab of pride.

"Hey," said a familiar voice, and Jim Brass walked in. Gil was surprised to see him; if this was far enough in the future that Gil himself had finally given in and called it quits, he was sure Brass would have beaten him to it. Maybe this wasn’t such a distant future. Maybe he'd finally just told Ecklie to screw himself and taken another job. At the moment he couldn't imagine doing so, but he'd considered it enough times in the past.

Sara didn't look up. "Hey," she said. "You check in on the wife?"

"Yeah," Brass said, coming to look over Sara's shoulder. Sara looked up.

"Jim?" she said.

"What?"

"You're kinda in my way," she said, reaching around him to retrieve a photo. Jim stepped back. "What did you find out?" she asked. Jim sighed.

"She confirmed the alibi," he said, in a bit of a rush. "Look, Sara, that's not why I stopped by."

"Oh?" Sara said. She straightened up, and her posture managed to convey exactly how much pent-up energy and tension she was trying so hard not to betray. "I'm kinda in the middle of something right now..." she said, gesturing to her project.

"That's why I'm here," he said. "Look, you're running yourself into the ground. Don't think I haven't noticed." Sara shrugged.

"It's been crazy around here," she said, and smiled. But the smile had rather the opposite effect of what she intended, as it only called attention to how dead and sad her eyes looked, how tired she really must be if that smile looked so out of place. She was trying to deflect him, and Gil recognized the maneuver.

He wondered how long Sara had been trying to protect herself from this pain and guilt. Had she even allowed herself to grieve for Nick? Or was she just trying to tough it out like a good little soldier?

"Not that crazy," Jim said, crossing his arms. Sara sighed, heavily and with great exasperation. Gil thought he saw the slightest eye roll as well.

"Fine," she said. "I'm not okay. Can you blame me?"

"No, I can’t,” Jim said. He looked so incredibly kind in that moment, so like the father every child deserved to have, that Gil felt unexpectedly touched just by being in the same room with him. Sara let some of her guard down then. "Look Sara, we all loved him-"

Sara brought a hand up, sharply cutting him off.

"Don't," she said, and her voice was tight. "Just don't go there," she said. Jim nodded, conceding.

"But you have to let him go," he said. Sara looked suddenly furious, and she turned away, looking back at the photos on the table.

"I don't want to," she muttered.

“Hey, you think I do?” Jim said, and only then did Gil see the deep-seated emotion in Jim’s eyes. Pain, regret, remorse, and so much more. He suddenly ached for what Jim must be feeling, for the good, strong man who’d lived through more than his share of this kind of thing, seen more people he cared about die than was in any way fair or just.

"Look," Sara said, turning back and speaking slowly and deliberately, each word laced with pain and anger. "It wasn't supposed to happen like that." She paused for a minute, daring Jim to argue. When he didn't, she relaxed again, looking placated.

Then she turned back to the table, picked up her Sharpie, uncapped it with her teeth, and stood there. Her hand hovered over one of the pictures, but didn’t mark anything. It didn’t seem like she was seeing what was actually in front of her.

Finally, she looked back at Jim.

"I mean," Sara said, "What's the point of carrying guns, and putting the creeps behind bars? We protect each other, save people -- save Nick -- and then he thinks he can just go off and-" her voice finally gave out on her, and she crumpled in on herself, arms folded across her chest and fist pressed against her mouth.

"Commit suicide," Jim said, softly.

He may as well have stabbed Gil as say those words.

You knew, came that ever-present little voice, and Gil nodded. He’d suspected. But even though he’d prepared himself for that possibility, it didn’t hurt any less. Death was inevitable, yes, and a very real possibility in their field. Everyone knew it, and they’d all looked it square in the eye together before. But that was different.

It was horrible enough to lose someone in a gunfight or to an insane criminal, but losing someone to their own sense of despair was unthinkable. And it was too easy to imagine Nick going that way, too easy to explain.

Sara’s eyes flashed at Jim’s words, and for an instant Gil was a little afraid for him. "Don't say that," she said in a low, dangerous voice. "Don't you dare say that."

"It's the truth, Sara," Jim said, but Gil could see how much it hurt him to say that. "He wanted to die, and he found a way. And you can't keep trying to make it make sense."

Gil turned away, unable to take it anymore. "I want to see Nick," he said. "Where ever he is, whatever I can see. I want to see him now."

The Spirit pointed, as Sara and Jim faded, to the largest, brightest image Gil had seen yet. They were inside a cathedral, the pews packed with people. The funeral, Gil realized. Which must mean that this had taken place before the conversations he’d just witnessed. Three months before, going by what Catherine had said. A quick scan of the church decorations, devoid of stars or angels or any other Christmas images, confirmed it.

Only then did he notice the people.

So many people, from so many obviously different walks of life. Gil realized how proud he was to have known Nick, someone who inspired this kind of loyalty and love in so many people. He looked at some of the faces, wondering who they were. Family? College friends? There was no way to know.

It was still hard for him to make out what was happening. Everything was still fuzzy and swimmy, and he wondered if the Spirit had meant to show him this, seeing as it seemed out of sequence. But what Gil could see only left him with more questions.

There didn’t seem to be a casket, but of course there were reasons for that. Cremation, possibly. He had no idea what Nick’s thoughts on the subject were. Gil kept walking towards the front of the church, only because it seemed like the thing he should do.

When he was about halfway up the aisle, a man three pews in front of him got up and headed for the pulpit. He was carrying a piece of paper. Gil wondered if this was Nick’s brother; there was something in his build and the way he moved that said ‘family.’

Gil slowed down as the man approached the podium. He turned to face the assembled people, and Gil froze in mid-step.

The man wasn’t Nick’s brother. It was Nick.

“What-” Gil breathed, and his heart started pounding faster. If it wasn’t Nick… Gil turned around frantically, meaning to take role and find out who was missing, but the faces were indistinct. He thought he saw Catherine, was sure that was Ecklie over on the right side, but the rest washed together and blurred.

The only one unaccounted for was…him.

At the front of the room, Nick smiled, and a slight laugh rang out through the sound system. Gil turned at the sound. Whatever emotion it was that had inspired that smile, that laugh, it was not joy. It could just as easily have manifested itself as a sob.

“Wow,” Nick said. “I knew there’d be a lot of people here. Just didn’t think there’d be quite this many.” Nick paused and looked down for a moment, gathering himself.

“You know I tried to write out what I wanted to say,” Nick said when he’d looked up. “Tried about six times, actually. But I don’t even know where to begin.” Another pause. Nick’s eyes were dry, but Gil could see the redness in them, could tell from the way he kept blinking that he was not as calm as he tried to pretend he was.

“I just gave up. So I’m winging it, folks. Sorry,” Nick said, trying his best at a self-depreciating tone. That got a tiny laugh from the congregation.

Gil turned to the Spirit, who was suddenly at his elbow. “If it wasn’t Nick, who was it?” he asked, urgently. The Spirit just pointed back at the front of the church. At Nick.

“My name is Nick Stokes,” Nick said. “I didn’t realize there would be so many people here that I didn’t know.” Nick smiled, sadly. “Doesn't surprise me. Whatever else you want to say about… About…” Nick broke off, and Gil realized, with frustration, that he couldn’t bring himself to say the name of the man he was talking about. Finally, Nick swallowed and looked out again.

“Whatever else you want to say about him, he had lotsa people who loved him,” Nick said, with determination firing his eyes and voice. “People whose lives he changed.” He paused and took a deep breath.

“I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for him.”

Gil shook his head. No. It wasn’t possible. These words weren’t for him.

Not possible? the voice said. Really?

Gil frowned and shifted impatiently, willing the voice to go away. It did, but not without its trademark departing chuckle. Gil didn’t care, because Nick was speaking again.

“That's what hurts the most, I think,” he said. “Not just that it wasn't his time yet, that his day was still a long way off, not just that he made a decision that hurt us all. Not even that lots of us didn’t get the chance to say goodbye. Not the way we wanted to. It’s that he's gone and we're all still mad at him.

“Or we think we are. The truth is, we're really mad at ourselves. We're mad that we couldn't be there for him. That he was there for us, whenever we really needed him, but we couldn't help him. That it never occurred to us that behind all that strength, that intelligence, that courage and…”

For the second time, Nick broke off in mid-sentence. He closed his eyes and pressed his mouth into a hard line. Gil knew he was trying, forcing himself, not to cry. It triggered an image, one that he didn’t want right now, of that exact struggle playing out on Nick’s face while he lay in a box.

Nick went on, “…and that fierce, brave kindness...there was a human being. Someone who needed us just as much as we needed him, but never knew how to ask. And we…”

Nick’s voice gave out on that last, making his last two words nearly inaudible. But Gil didn’t need any lip-reading abilities to know what he’d said;

“…we failed him.”

“Who are you talking about, Nicky?” Gil whispered. His hands were starting to grow cold and numb, as numb as he felt inside.

You know, the voice said. Youknowyouknowyouknow.

But he didn’t. He only thought he might know. He had no evidence. All he had was the sad, desperate wish that Nick Stokes would ever speak that way about him.

“So what do we do now?” Nick continued, stronger now. “How do we say goodbye when everything about it feels wrong, when we know in all our hearts it's much too soon? What right do we have to celebrate the life of someone who always gave when we know he never got any of it back?”

He stepped back from the microphone and pulled out a piece of paper. “I don’t know about all that, but I do know what we do now,” he said. He unfolded it and held it up for everyone to see.

“This is from his letter to us. The last thing he did to lead us.” He set the paper down in front of him. “I’m going to read you part of it.”

Nick swallowed, clearing his throat. Then he read, in a calm, confident voice,

“'I know you won't forget your purpose, that you'll never forget those who can't speak for themselves. And because of that, you'll still be the best lab, the best team I could ever imagine. Don't ever lose that.'“

Gil closed his eyes. There was no way to hide anymore. The truth stared him in the face, even though he had no idea what to do with it or about it.

Nick looked up, folding the paper and slipping it back into his jacket pocket as he did so. His expression had changed while he read. He was more focused now, less at the mercy of whatever emotions were battling inside him.

“We won’t,” he said, gripping the sides of the podium. He had a purpose now. “And it's my job, right here, right now, to speak for someone. There's no mystery to solve here, nothing science can tell us, but we still need to put this to rest.”

He looked back and forth over the congregation and Gil could sense the air of expectancy from the listeners. Nick was going to be a tremendous leader someday. Or rather, it looked like he already was.

Gil knew he’d have followed Nick anywhere.

“We move forward,” Nick told them. “We don't forget, because I don't think any of us ever will, but we move past the anger and the hurt and remember everything he ever taught us. We remember how to be just. And fair. And honest, no matter what it costs you.”

His voice softened before he continued.

“We remember how to give second chances. Or as many chances as it takes,” he smiled. “And to never…”

Suddenly, Nick choked, his breath caught, and he raised a hand to cover his eyes. He stood like that for a long time, shoulder trembling slightly, and Gil thought that he might not be able to finish speaking. But then he looked up. His face was twisted into a grimace of unimaginable pain, but he spoke clearly, each word pointed and direct.

“And to never give up on someone who needs you.”

Gil’s mouth fell open and tears pricked his eyes. “Nick,” he said. “I --”

“Most of all, we hope that someday, if we're lucky, we'll get another chance. That we'll meet another Gil Grissom, and this time, we'll know how to do right by him.” The meltdown had passed, and even though Nick’s eyes betrayed him, he spoke these last words with dignity and grace.

“And for now, we can send this one our love, and hope that wherever he is, he can receive it.”

Nick bowed his head for a moment. Then he left the podium and walked straight towards Gil.

“Nicky,” Gil said, but Nick didn’t react. Of course. He returned to his pew and took a seat. Gil hurried forward, but the images started to swim before his eyes. He turned to the Spirit.

“No!” he hissed. “I’m not ready yet.” But it didn’t stop anything. The room faded to black

When light returned, cast by whatever else the Spirit wanted him to see now, Gil didn’t turn.

“I don’t care,” he said. But the Spirit insisted, pointing away to Gil’s right, and finally Gil closed his eyes and relented.

When he opened them, they were outside, standing next to a young, tree. At the base was a brass plaque. It read, “Given in Memory of Gil Grissom. August 17, 1956-October 8^th, 2011.” The ground at the base of the trunk looked settled, and Gil guessed that it had not been recently planted. Perhaps it had been there a year. Possibly more.

Next to the tree, Greg Sanders sat on a wooden bench, staring blankly forward. He looked so lost, and worse, like he didn’t care to find his way back again. But Gil’s heart had already been torn out, and he found it barely made him feel anything but cold, pale regret.

When Nick appeared behind him, wearing his own mask of numb, lifeless grief, Gil knew true helplessness for the first time in his life.

“Hey, Greggo,” Nick said, in a voice that only just managed to stay stead. Greg jumped, obviously unaware of Nick’s arrival, and turned.

“Hey,” he said. Nick came a step closer and put a hand on the back of the bench.

“You mind if I sit?” Nick asked. “Or did you want-”

“No, it’s okay,” Greg said, scooting over to make room. “I was just…thinking.”

Nick nodded as he sat down. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been doing that a lot.” They sat there, staring ahead at the tree.

Gil found himself wondering what each man was thinking, why his death was affecting them so greatly. But at the same time, the possible answers scared him deeply.

“I saw Sara here yesterday,” Nick said, after a time. “And Warrick before that. You’d think we’d come here in October.”

Greg made a soft, huff of acknowledgment. “Holidays are harder,” he said, like he was reciting something that he’d been told.

A car horn made all three of them jump then, and Gil finally looked around to see where they were. It didn’t surprise him to see that they were outside the lab. He smiled, wryly. Really, where else would they put a memorial for him?

Nick made a sound of amused irritation. “What I wouldn’t give for a nice, quiet cemetery right now, huh?” he said.

Greg didn’t smile. “What, you don’t want to visit a nice, quiet body farm?” he asked, and Gil winced at the bitterness in his voice. “Bet he thought we wouldn’t care.” That stung even more; Greg was right; up until today, that was what he would have thought.

“He probably did,” Nick thought. “Or he didn’t want us to dwell on it. Hang around a grave.” They lapsed back into silence for a while, then Greg spoke again.

“We were the same blood type, you know,” he said. Nick turned, puzzlement on his face.

“Greg…?” he said.

“When I was in the hospital,” he said. “Grissom was the first one in there, volunteering himself as a donor. If I had needed blood or anything. Because I didn’t have family here. I didn’t need it, but I remembered that we were matches.” He made a tight, choked sound. “It’s just a good thing to know, right? In this line of work.”

Nick nodded. Then he frowned. “Greg,” he said. “It’s not your fault he-”

“I could have saved him.” Greg didn’t actually shout, but his tone was just as emphatic. He stood up and paced for a few steps. “Or at least helped. All he needed to do was ask.”

Nick took several deep, shaky breaths. “Greg,” he said. “Even if he had, you don’t know-”

“Actually, I do.” Greg cut him off, clearly not interested in Nick’s words of comfort. “A bone marrow transfusion would probably have saved him. But he doesn’t have any family, and he wouldn’t ask any of us.” Greg scowled. “I did my homework on it. After it was too late, of course. I guess I…wanted to understand what had happened.” He grinned, darkly. “Scientists, right?” Then he sank back down on the bench.

“He should have given me the chance,” Greg said, sounding defeated. Nick sat back, completely still and straight.

“Yeah,” Nick said, face grim. “Yeah, he should have.”

Greg made a sound that could have been a laugh or a sob. Gil suspected it was both. “You know why he didn’t?” he asked.

Nick frowned. “Well, Catherine said that by the time he finally went to the doctor, there was nothing-”

“No. They had options. It wasn’t one hundred percent,” Greg shrugged. “Of course, it probably would have been a better chance if he’d caught it sooner, like, oh, when he’d started getting sick.” Greg dropped his head onto his chest.

“I think he didn’t ask because bone marrow donation is so painful,” he said, almost to himself. “And he didn’t think he was worth it for one of us to go through that.”

“That’s so….Grissom,” Nick said. Greg nodded. And then it seemed like something erupted inside him. He pushed himself off of the bench.

“How could he not know? Jesus, it’s like he was freaking omniscient the rest of the time! …but he couldn’t figure out that we’d do anything for him?” He stared at the tree. Out of nowhere, he punched it.

“And now we’re sitting here, talking to a damn tree because he didn’t want a funeral. Because he’s a decomp being studied by…by little mini-Grissoms somewhere,” Greg shouted. Then he looked at Nick. His eyes had never looked so big, so full of helpless misery.

Gil had never felt so guilty in his life. He’d never asked for this, had never, ever wanted to cause people this kind of pain.

“I’d’ve given him one of my eyes if I thought he needed it,” Greg muttered, and sat back down, hard, rubbing his hand. The bench rocked a little when he did. Nick just put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a little squeeze.

“I know man,” he said. “I know.”

Suddenly, Greg looked at Nick with new, panicked eyes. “Oh, shit,” he said. “Jesus, Nick, I’m sorry. Of course you know. I mean, I know we all miss him, but you-”

“It’s okay, Greg,” Nick said. “I made my peace with it long ago.”

Gil whipped his head around, staring at Nick. “With what, Nick?” he asked. “What did I do wrong?”

“Shit,” Greg said suddenly, standing and glancing at his watch. “Look, I gotta go. Are you-”

Nick smiled. “I’m fine, man,” he said. “You go.”

Greg nodded and, looking like he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do now, turned slowly and walked away. Nick watched him for a while, then, with a deep sigh, leaned back on the bench. After a moment’s hesitation, Gil came over and sat next to him. And even though he was afraid of what he might see, he raised his eyes to look Nick in the face.

He’d never seen that look on Nick’s face before, but he recognized it in his heart all the same. It was the same devastation that Gil felt every time he looked at Nick. It was the face of heartsickness.

Nick jumped then, and Gil with him. Both looked down to see what had caused it.

A ladybug had landed on the back of Nick’s hand. Nick rolled his eyes in tired disgust with himself.

“Six years and you guys still freak me out,” he said, but managed to smile. Then he started to flick it away.

“Oh, don’t,” Gil said, and Nick stopped. Gil froze, staring wide-eyed in amazement that Nick seemed to have heard him.

But Nick was raising his hand to his face, a private smile creasing his lips. “Hey,” he said. “You’re the real deal, aren’t you?” Gil grinned. It was quite a treat to find an honest-to-god ladybug since the infestation of Harmonia axyridis.

“You’re a hell of a lot prettier than those nasty beetles,” Nick said. It was true. The red was brighter, the spots fewer and bigger and darker.

“And they don’t bite either, Nicky,” Gil said.

Nick watched it wander across his palm for a while, then stood and brought it over to the tree. Gil’s breath caught at the gentleness in Nick’s hands, how carefully and delicately he moved to set the insect on a leaf. If he hadn’t fallen for Nick Stokes long ago, there was no doubt that this moment of quiet kindness would have stolen Gil’s heart completely.

“I hope you stick around,” Nick said. “He’d like having you here.”

I like having you here, Gil thought, but even now couldn’t bring himself to say it.

What are you afraid of? he heard in his head.

Afraid of being wrong about this. Afraid of being right… He shook his head.

“I can’t do this again,” Gil whispered.

“Gil,” Nick said, and Gil turned, mouth wide and heart breaking at the sadness in Nick’s voice and the cold knowledge that he had put it there. Nick should never sound like that. Nick should always smile, always be happy. Gil knew he would do anything -- legal, illegal, immoral or impossible -- to make sure Nick knew only joy for the rest of his life. If only he knew how.

“Gil, I’m so sorry.”

And he would do anything, anything at all to keep Nick from ever thinking he had to say those words to him again.

“Nick,” Gil said, and reached to touch him. It felt strange, like touching a moving sculpture. Gil couldn’t do so much as rearrange a hair on Nick’s head, but Nick’s skin was warm under his fingers, his hair soft. “Nick,” he said again, “don’t-”

“There’s so much I should have said to you,” Nick said. He spoke evenly, even more calm than he’d been at the funeral. Gil knew that look too; it was the look of resignation, the bleakness in one’s eyes and heart when there’s no longer any reason for hoping. Seeing it made Gil feel as though he were slowly dying.

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Nick said.

“Yes, it does,” Gil whispered, stroking a hand over Nick’s face. Nick turned away, sighing. Gil followed, hands still seeking Nick’s cheek.

“Do you have any idea how much I don’t want to go home tomorrow? It’s all your fault, you know,” Nick said, and Gil tilted his head, confused. “My whole family’s gonna wonder what’s bugging me, and they won’t let up, because you’re not allowed to be depressed on Christmas.” Nick scoffed.

“They know I miss you,” he continued. “They know I thought -- think -- the world of you. So do they, if you’re wondering. But they still won’t get it.”

Gil leaned in closer, so close that it couldn’t be called anything other than intimate. His heart was crying, weeping aloud. His gaze flicked back and forth, trying to look at both of Nick’s dazed, unfocused eyes at once.

“What won’t they get, Nick?” he asked, stroking Nick’s hair. It was impossible not to offer at least this small comfort, even if it couldn’t be felt.

Nick’s eyes closed then, and tears leaked from under the lids, the first tears Gil had seen him openly shed over this whole ordeal. Over him. When Nick opened his eyes again, they were deeply, richly dark and swimming.

“I wish,” he said, and stopped as more tears snuck down his cheeks. Gil felt them, warm and wet on his fingers, and Nick didn’t try to wipe them away. “I wish I’d told you I loved you.”

Gil froze in complete shock. For long seconds the words didn’t register. It was as if he’d forgotten what they meant, or as if Nick had spoken in a different language. He dropped his hands and stumbled back, wondering if there was any possible way this could truly be real.

Nick seemed to have recovered, the words taking what they could out of him and leaving him be. He put a hand on one of the branches and gave it a soft pat.

“I still do, Gil,” he said. “I think I always will.”

Then he turned, walked to his car, got in and drove away.

Gil had never felt so alone.

He sank to his knees. Everything he’d ever wanted had just stood in front of him and offered, and he had no idea what to do next. He looked down, and caught sight of the plaque. The date stared back at him expectantly.

This had been meant as an epiphany, to make him want to go back and change how he lived. And he wanted to, oh, how he wanted to. But could he?

Gil shivered, and only partly because of the cold, black fog that began to creep over him.

***

He didn’t know where he was when he opened his eyes. It was dark, and for a while he thought the Spirit had more to show him. But the Spirit was gone. Gil stood up and looked around, feeling far too drained and hopeless to be frightened. He turned around and stared.

Wherever he was, it was so black that he could make out neither features of this space nor its size. But about five feet from him was a pool of light cast by a tall, iron lamppost. Sitting in it, his back against a brick wall, was a man.

He was singing.

“These eyes are much older…And they’ve seen so much more than I ever can tell.”

He didn’t recognize the tune or the words, but the gentle, a capella baritone created a moment of stillness and peace that calmed him. The man seemed unaware of his presence, so Gil listened. Many of the words were lost, but the soft, quiet regret floated through the space and struck him deep in his heart.

“I didn’t want to lose the feeling. I didn’t want to feel the losing.”

Gil stiffened. Those words rung out clearly, and made his chest constrict and his eyes sting.

“I know I never can go back to how I was before.”

When the man finished the song, he turned, and Gil had the strongest sense that they knew each other.

He was not human, but Gil realized, with a smile, that he hadn’t been expecting him to be. No human could look so peaceful, so deeply thoughtful and untroubled. No human could look so delicate and yet so strong, so young and yet so old.

Then Gil smiled, unexpectedly comforted, and went to crouch next to him.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s you.”

Zee grinned.