Comfort
Disclaimer: Grissom, Cath and their merry band of men belong to CBS, Bruckheimer Productions, et al. I claim no credit for them, and fanfic is pretty much a not-for-profit business.
Greg sat on the bed idly flipping through the channels of the basic cable
package that the hotel provided, longing for the digital cable at Nick’s house.
He lounged with his back propped up against the two paper-thin pillows the room
came with, and the one large, downy pillow he brought from home. His boxer-clad
legs were stretched out and crossed at their bare ankles.
Giving up hope of finding anything other than reruns of late night talk shows,
he settled on David Letterman and dropped the remote on the small end table
beside the bed. The soft material of his favorite, well-worn t-shirt stretched
against his shoulders as he reached over to retrieve his watch beside the
remote.
Almost one o’clock. Nick had left to question Cassie (that was how Nick referred
to her--Cassie-- with the learned intimacy of a father or brother. The
kinship he felt towards her worried Greg more than anything else) going on three
hours ago. He would be back soon. Should have been back earlier. Greg once again
resisted the temptation to call him on his cell phone. He knew that after
talking to Cassie, Nick might need some time alone to regain his composure.
Greg closed his eyes, forcing himself to be patient. The low, sharp sound of
studio applause and laughter served as background noise as he waited. Fifteen
minutes later, he heard the heavy tread of Nick’s boots in the hallway, only
slightly muffled by the thin carpeting.
Greg shut off the television. When the red light on the lock turned green, he
pushed out of bed and met Nick just inside the doorway. When Greg saw his face,
he sighed. Nick looked exhausted and devastated.
Without speaking, Greg gripped the smooth, flat planes of Nick’s hips and urged
him forward until the back of Greg’s knees brushed the bed. Lifting one hand, he
unzipped Nick’s Crime Lab vest and slid it down Nick’s shoulders. As he started
to remove it completely, he saw a piece of paper clenched tightly in Nick’s
fist. Frowning, he let the vest puddle to the floor and tugged on the paper
until Nick loosened his hold on it.
Greg examined the contents and felt his heart sink. On the front, inexpertly but
earnestly drawn, was a picture of a house, overlaid with the words, “Thanks for
finding me” in the precise, blocked letters of a ten-year-old girl.
“Oh Nicky,” Greg exhaled, carefully setting the paper facedown on the table. He
forced himself not to speak again. Nick didn’t need his empty, sympathetic
words.
His hands went to the bottom of Nick’s shirt, and he untucked the fabric. Nick
raised his arms obediently and Greg skinned the black material up and over his
head to join the vest on the floor.
He couldn’t help the tiny grin that escaped at the sight of Nick’s disheveled
hair sticking up all over the place. After Nick shaved his head in a fit of
frustration during one hot Nevada summer, Greg begged him to grow it out again.
He lifted one hand and flattened the mussed hair back into its usual
well-groomed appearance, the corner of his lips still quirked up. Seeing his
expression, Nick tried out a smile in return, but his dangerously trembling chin
ruined the effect.
The grin slid off of Greg’s face. He returned to his task with intense
concentration. The leather belt came next, pulled slowly through thick belt
loops. Then he worked on the buttons of Nick’s jeans. With the pants undone, he
kneeled on the ground and removed Nick’s boots and socks. He peeled the loose
pants down over Nick’s lean, pale legs, and pulled them off, first one leg and
then the other.
Nick was down to only his black boxer briefs. Greg gestured for Nick to get in
the bed, positioning the good pillow under his head as Nick curled beneath the
comforter. Greg didn’t lie down himself. Instead he sat on top of the covers and
placed a reassuring hand on the back of Nick’s neck. He stroked the short hairs
there and listened to Nick’s hitched breathing, watched the wetness drip from
Nick’s eyelids to slide down the strong slope of his nose and seep into the
pillowcase clenched in his white-knuckled grasp.
Greg absorbed the sad, dismal moment, and he was so grateful. Happy in
that way he felt every single day since they dug Nick out of an early grave,
brought him back to Greg. So deliriously happy to be able to touch Nick and
track the strong, steady pulse at his throat with the pad of a finger.
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