Nick/Greg Love

Not so Innocent ch1/1

2008-06-29T19:21:33Z

Not so Innocent
Rated PG
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Summary: A little drabble written for the innocent challenge at 'Subtext is Everything'

“Nick, whatever it is, I didn't do it.” Greg protested.

Innocence Challenge

2008-06-19T00:20:24Z

Hey All,

This was written for the Innocence Challenge at nickngregso i figured i'd cross post it here.

Title: Completely Innocent
Pairing: Nick/Greg (but of course)
Rating: G/PG it's really nothing bad
Summary: Greg helps Nick the only way he knows best.

“Hey Nick.” Nick hears a familiar voice call out, footsteps getting nearer.
“What‘s up Greg?” Nick asks in a tired voice.
“You busy?” Greg asks.
“Not really.” Nick says wondering what the point of this conversation was.
“C‘mon then, I wanna show you something.” Greg says pulling Nick along with him towards the parking lot.
“Greg, what? C‘mon, I just, what are we doing? Where are you taking me?” Nick asks, half heartedly trying to pull away from Greg.
“Just indulge me, please.” Greg says with a pleading look. All Nick can do is sigh and follow the young CSI out into the parking lot and to his car.
“So, where are you taking me?” Nick asks after a few minutes of silent driving. He watches as the scenery changes and waits for Greg to answer.
“It‘s a surprise.” Nick looks over at Greg and Greg smiles in return. “Don‘t look at me like that. It‘s cool. Don‘t worry, it‘s perfectly safe.” Greg assures him. Nick just sighs and returns his stare out the window.
“This is where you wanted to take me?” Nick asks looking over at the grassy field surrounded by trees.
“Yes, now just lay down.” Greg instructs as he lays a blanket on the floor.
Nick watches as Greg stretches out on the ground and looks up at the sky without another word. Nick sighs and lays down beside his colleague, shaking his head before looking up at the sky. His breath catches at the sight. “I‘ve never seen them so bright.” Nick states as he looks up at the stars, each one shinning brightly.
“I come here to relax. It‘s peaceful and quiet, a good place to think and just be.” Greg states. Nick nods in response, listening to sounds of the wind passing through the trees. He closes his eyes letting the peacefulness of it all flow through his body, and releasing his tension. “I thought you could use somewhere to think. I know you had a tough case today.” Greg says turning to look at Nick.
“Thank you.” Nick whispers turning his head to look at Greg.
“Your welcome.” Greg whispers back, his eyes not moving from Nick’s. Nick smiles before moving his hand down to find Greg’s. Nick entwines their hands and smile softly at Greg before turning his head back to the sky. Greg returns the smile and moves his head back to the sky as well. The two lay there in comfortable silence, reveling in each others company.

"Kjaere" (Nick/Greg, 8/12)

2008-06-18T11:39:24Z

Title – Kjaere
Author - black_dahlia63
Characters – Nick Stokes, Greg Sanders, various OC’s
Spoilers - Fannysmackin’
Rating – PG
Warning – Serious angst, but hey…people kind of expect that from me by now, right?
Disclaimer – not mine, don’t sue.
Thankyouz to elmyraemilie and bflyw for creative input and moral support.

AN: The story covers the time span of a year, and will update by one month each chapter.

Previous instalments here.

May 7th, 6.15 p.m – Ponce Inlet, Florida

“Do you need the flight numbers again?”

“No, I got all that in your email,” Luke said as he sat in a lounger on the balcony with his feet propped on the railing. “It’s stuck on my fridge - are you faxing me back the consent form?”

“You have to stop putting my kids on your show, you know,” the voice at the other end of the phone responded, and there was a gurgle of laughter that brought a smile to Luke’s face. “Do you have any idea how many calls we were getting from girls wanting to talk to Max the last time they were up there?”

“Wasn’t it about fifty?” Luke responded. “That’s what he told me.”

“It was more like fifteen,” his sister replied, and there was a distant “Mo-om!” at the other end of the line. “Max, go finish packing, okay?” and after a short silence she spoke again. “Seriously, Luke -”

“I won’t go over the top,” he said. “You know that, Faith, I’ll look after them like they were my own.”

“I know you will,” was the answer, delivered in a slightly softer tone. “You need some of your own, though – I mean it.”

“What do you want me to do? Fly out to Malawi and buy them?” but despite the jovial tone in which the words were delivered, there was a tightness in Luke’s chest, because he and his sister had had this conversation more times than he could remember. “That’s fine for some people, but -”

“Why couldn’t you adopt? Plenty of people do, people with a lot less money than you,” Faith told him. “I see how you are with my two, you’re so good with them -”

“I get to give them back, though,” he replied, shaking another Marlboro from the pack and pausing to light it. “I’d need someone with me if I had my own, because I’ve seen -” and he swallowed hard. “You can’t raise a kid on your own, sis.”

“Get someone with you, then,” was the uncompromising answer. “You know what I think about that, all those – pickups of yours -”

“Yeah, and I get to give them back too,” he told her. “Face it, I’m over forty now - I’m not going to change, am I?” and before he could continue speaking there was a shrill beeping at the other end of the line, which was quickly followed by a cry of, “Mom! Ben burnt a Pop Tart in the toaster!”

“Go on,” Luke told his sister. “Go sort those no-good boys of yours out.”

“Smartass,” was the affectionate response. “I’ll call you tomorrow once they’re on the plane – love you, baby brother.”

“Back atcha,” Luke said, and once he’d ended the call he swung his feet down to the floor; stubbing out his cigarette, he rose from the lounger and headed back indoors.

There was a wall in the living room that was almost full of framed newspaper clippings, magazine articles and photos. Some of the photos were black-and-white, slightly fading shots of family members who had died before Luke had gotten the chance to know them; there were pictures of his parents, pictures of two of his sisters and their children, scattered randomly among snapshots of Luke with the Hog Heaven team and with the various celebrities he’d encountered while filming Road Trip. He’d never been the type to fill albums with photos, but he liked this wall; he could look at it and track his entire life, from a grainy photo of a small boy to the man that boy had become.

Standing in front of the wall now, he shoved his hands in his pockets and studied the display for some time. Eventually, his eyes were drawn to a photo he had added five weeks previously; it had been one of a series he’d burned to a CD and given to Nick and Emily to take home with them, and for some reason he’d printed a copy of this picture and framed it.

It had been taken on the day when he’d brought Emily to the shop with him; she was sitting on an upturned packing crate, half her hair free of its ponytail, leaning forward with an intent expression on her face as she looked at something – and, from the heavily-tattooed forearm that appeared in one corner of the picture, Sol had been showing her whatever the something was.

Looking at this photo now, Luke thought about the phone call he’d received just over a month ago; he’d been stressed and tired after a week where he couldn’t remember sitting down for more than five minutes at a stretch, and when his cell had rung for what seemed like the thousandth time he’d barked, “What?” without looking at the number. A split second later, though, he’d seen Nick on the display, and an apologetic Southern accented voice had said sorry if it’s a bad time, but she wouldn’t get ready for bed until I let her call everyone and tell them - and then the little girl’s shrill voice had half-deafened him.

“Luke! Luke! Greg held my hand!”

There had been no more calls since then, but emails had gone back and forth between them on a regular basis – and the messages from Vegas had done nothing to bear out Luke’s hope that Nick’s little family would come out of this unscathed.

He looked at us today – really knew we were there.

Hardly any movement on his right side.

He keeps trying to speak, but he can’t manage more than one or two words I can understand.

Emily’s back to sleeping with me at night - and it had been this that had brought a lump to Luke’s throat, because he’d recalled an afternoon when he’d returned from the shop an hour earlier than planned. Nick and Emily had been down on the beach, unaware of his presence, and he’d watched from the balcony outside his room as Emily had shrieked and giggled when her father had chased her – and the cloud that had been lifted that afternoon was now wrapped round them like a blanket.

And no matter how much Luke might want to help them – as the unwelcome little voice kept reminding him – it wasn’t his business, but listening to the voice was becoming harder to do with every day that passed.

*************

Desert Palms – May 12th – 5.00 p.m

“Hi, G,” Nick said, leaning over the bed; brown eyes focused on him and he felt his stomach lurch, exactly the way it had done the first time he’d ever seen Greg at the lab. “How are you?” and when the confused expression in his lover’s eyes changed to one of alarm Nick felt something clutch painfully at his heart.

“No, you’re okay,” he said softly, placing a hand on the bedcovers and feeling Greg’s fingers clench tightly around it. “It’s Nick, you’re safe,” because the doctor had talked to him about the “constant need to re-orientate Mr. Sanders” - for Christ’s sake, Nick had wanted to tell the man, can’t you just say we’ll need to keep telling him the same thing over and over?, but he had managed to bite his tongue. “Look, I’ll show you the calendar,” and he stretched his free hand out towards the bedside table.

“See?” Nick said, holding the calendar in front of Greg; eleven days had been neatly crossed out, and the picture this month showed Emily as an infant - dressed in a tiger striped sleeper with a hat bearing a pair of pointed ears, nestled in the crook of Greg’s right arm. “It’s Thursday,” and he saw Greg’s eyes rivet themselves on the picture.

“Em.”

“She’s at Angie’s,” Nick said. “Remember? I have to go to work this evening, but I wanted to come and see you first,” and he set the calendar down before reaching into the Albertson’s carrier bag he had brought with him. “Look what I brought you,” he went on, managing to smile as he retrieved a small carton of ice cream – Haagen Dazs chocolate chocolate chip, which was one of the few things Greg would eat willingly. Initially, he’d refused to eat anything at all, but when the doctor had raised the spectre of the feeding tube being re-inserted into his stomach he had complied; and although he’d been unable to speak at all at this stage, the mutinous expression on his face when he’d seen the plastic cup of Jello the nurse had brought in had been enough for Nick to know that the stubbornness that had attracted him to Greg was still there.

“Shall I help you sit up so you can have some?” and when there was a mm in response Nick reached towards the button that was pressed to elevate the top half of the bed.

And sitting next to the bed, helping Greg to hold the spoon in his almost-useless right hand so that he could scoop ice cream into his mouth – all Nick could think of was an afternoon when they’d been supposed to be asleep following a shift and Emily was still at school, when Greg had brought a pint of ice cream back to the bedroom and they’d wound up feeding it to each other with their fingers. The ensuing lovemaking had lasted long enough for them to have to scramble madly for their clothes and pray they wouldn’t hit any red lights during the drive to collect their daughter – and the first thing Emily had said after racing to hug them both was, “How come you have ice cream in your hair, Greg?”

He knew what the specialists had told him – that recovery was a gradual process, that Greg might try to do things and find that his body wouldn’t co-operate – but the reality of seeing the expression in those brown eyes, only being able to guess at the frustration and anguish behind them, hurt even more than what had come in the months preceding this day. But Nick swallowed this pain, the way he’d swallowed everything else over the past six and a half months; as he sat next to the bed he kept up a soothing flow of chatter – about what Emily had done at school, about the impending visit of Greg’s parents – and all the while he was aware of Greg’s eyes devouring each word.

“Just remember one thing,” one of the nurses – a middle-aged woman with greying hair, who Nick had often seen buying coffee from the wagon outside the hospital – had said a week previously, when she’d come into the room just as Nick had been telling Greg for what felt like the hundredth time in a row that it was Tuesday morning. “All this is going to drive you nuts, but he’s still the guy you love,” and this thought was foremost in Nick’s mind as he set the empty carton down and gently plucked the spoon from Greg’s hand.

“Time for me to go, G,” he said, taking a Kleenex from the box on the table and wiping Greg’s mouth. “They’ll have my ass if I’m late.”

“Em.”

“I’ll bring her tomorrow after school,” Nick replied. “And we’ll bring some of your CDs in too, how about that?”

“Yeah,” Greg managed to say, flexing the fingers of his left hand – and, seeing this, Nick reached to grasp that hand between both of his own. “N -” His eyes darkened in frustration as his mouth worked silently – and although it broke Nick’s heart to do it, he sat in silence and held Greg’s hand while he waited for the word to emerge. “Nick -”

“Right here,” Nick said, his voice faltering, and he leaned forward to kiss the corner of Greg’s mouth. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you, and I’ll see you tomorrow,” and he let his forehead rest against Greg’s for a moment or two before carefully disengaging his hands; and then, because he knew that the longer he stayed like this the harder it would be to leave, he straightened up and left the room without looking back.

************

May 20th, 8.25 p.m

“Would you like a drink, Martin?” Nick asked. “I have a few beers in the fridge.”

“Beer would be good, thank you.”

“Julie? Tea for you?”

“Thank you, Nick,” was the response, and Nick rose from his seat on the couch with a sense of foreboding lodged in his gut. The conversation that had flowed with its habitual ease during supper had flagged since Emily had finally been persuaded to go to bed – the deal cemented by her grandmother’s promise to read a chapter of Mormor og de åtte ungene i skogen - and for the last quarter of an hour the three of them had been reduced to stilted comments on the weather and how work was going.

Something’s up, he told himself as he set about boiling water and getting two beers from the fridge. He set these on a tray, along with a cup and saucer and the honey he knew Julie liked in her tea – and once he had thrown two teabags into the teapot and poured boiling water on top of them, he carried the tray back into the living room.

“Listen, whatever’s on your mind, I think we should talk about it,” Nick said once the drinks had been dispensed, and when he saw Greg’s parents exchange glances his heart sank. “You’ve hardly said a word since Emily went to sleep, so I know something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Nick,” Julie said, setting her cup and saucer down on the coffee table. “We just – well, we were wondering whether you’ve managed to get anywhere with the insurance company about rehab facilities yet.”

“Oh, don’t start me,” Nick said, almost managing to smile. “The places they will pay the full cost of I wouldn’t put my dog in, and the good ones…”

“What do you think about this?” Greg’s father asked. “Julie heard about it from some friends of ours - their daughter-in-law works there,” and a slim folder appeared in his hand as if by magic before he held it out to Nick. “They have apartments for the patients, they’d send someone here to evaluate Greg -”

“Hold on,” Nick said, and his chest was squeezed so tight that for a second or two he found it hard to breathe. “Hold on a second,” and as he looked at the glossy cover of the folder everything on it seemed to blur except for two words.

Encino, CA.

**********

10.45 p.m

He lay in bed, and although he’d just worked a week of nights Nick was unable to sleep – because what had happened earlier that evening would not leave his mind, and try as he might he couldn’t close his eyes and forget it.

He’d sat on the couch, trying to tell himself that he wasn’t hearing what he thought he was hearing; but he’d soon realised that he was, and disbelief had rapidly turned to anger.

They want to take him away.

They knew he was doing the best he could, that’s what they’d told Nick as his beer sat forgotten on the coffee table in front of him – but they knew how hard it must be, what with Emily and work and all, and why didn’t he just think about this? That was all they wanted him to do, think about it. Martin had shares in his business that he could sell, so funding care wasn’t going to be a problem; and Julie was home all the time, she could be with Greg as much as he needed her…

“What about us?” Nick had said, pitching the words at a low hiss because his daughter was sleeping just down the hall and didn’t need to wake up and hear this. “When would we be with Greg? Every other week or so, when I have more than one day off in a row and we can drive four hours each way? Or do you want to take Emily as well?” he’d continued. “Don’t you think I’m doing a good enough job with her either?” This had been when Greg’s mother had begun to cry, and although this had made Nick feel like a complete asshole he’d kept going – because all he could think of was the way that brochure had just jumped into Martin’s hand, and it seemed that Greg’s parents had been doing a hell of a lot more than just thinking about this.

“I didn’t do this to him,” he’d said, tears smarting behind his eyes, but damn it he was not going to cry now. “Those kids did it, none of this is my fault, and you’re not splitting my family up,” and before either of Greg’s parents could say anything Nick had asked them to leave. He’d sat frozen on the couch, watching them collect their coats, and once the apartment door had closed he’d fastened the chain and the deadbolt before turning off the light and walking down the hallway – and now he lay in bed, staring into the darkness, and when his cell rang in the pocket of his jeans a few yards away he ignored it the way he’d ignored the phone ringing in the kitchen as he’d turned the light off half an hour previously.

The bedroom door creaked open, sending a thin sliver of light into the room, and Nick pushed himself up on one elbow as a small figure approached the bed.

“What is it, sweetheart? Couldn’t you sleep?” and Emily shook her head. “Come on up here, then,” and Nick lay back down as his daughter climbed up onto the empty side of the bed. She curled up against his side as he put an arm round her, and within minutes she was asleep – but Nick continued to stare up at the ceiling, and it was a long time before he allowed his eyes to close.

To be continued

"Kjaere" (Nick/Greg, 7/12)

2008-06-10T11:25:33Z

Title – Kjaere
Author - black_dahlia63
Characters – Nick Stokes, Greg Sanders, various OC’s
Spoilers - Fannysmackin’
Rating – PG
Warning – Serious angst, but hey…people kind of expect that from me by now, right?
Disclaimer – not mine, don’t sue.
Thankyouz to elmyraemilie and bflyw for creative input and moral support.

AN: The story covers the time span of a year, and will update by one month each chapter.

Previous instalments here.

April 5th – Desert Palms, 3.35 p.m

Three pages had been torn from the calendar that had been a Christmas present, and the current picture showed the little red-haired girl who came to visit Greg several times a week. She was sitting on a horse, her hands gripping the reins and a delighted grin on her face – and the nurses who took care of Greg would look at this picture with heavy hearts, because it had been a long time since the little girl had smiled like this. She had done in the beginning, when she and the man who always accompanied her must have had faith that Greg would wake up, but that had been far too long ago; when the little girl came to visit now – not as often as she had done in the beginning, and she didn’t stay for nearly as long – she would stand next to the bed, both of her hands clasped round one of Greg’s, and the sadness on her face was almost too much for the nurses to look at.

Several helium balloons were tied to the bed, and the pictures on them – SpongeBob, Winnie the Pooh and Hannah Montana - were mute testament to the fact that they had been chosen by the little girl, and the wall behind the bed seemed to be a tableau of everything that had taken place during the preceding five and a half months. Get Well Soon cards, some of them now fading at the edges, jostled for space with drawings in pencil and crayon – all of which bore the name Emily in stick-like printing - that had improved in proficiency as time had passed. There were certificates from kindergarten, the latest of which commended Emily Sanders Stokes for “awesome work on her Florida journal”, and there were photographs; one of these, a Polaroid added several days previously showing the little girl surrounded by five other people, had prompted one of the young male interns to ask, “Hey, aren’t those the guys from Road Trip?”, but nobody had dared try and find out if he was right.

The hospital staff had become used to people visiting Greg at weird hours, and they permitted it – although, strictly speaking, it was against the rules.

The woman sitting next to the bed now was someone who’d become very familiar, still showing up almost every day in a way that some of the other visitors no longer did; tall and slender, with reddish-blonde hair that hung almost to her shoulders, she walked with a dancer’s grace and had been watched covertly by more than one of the doctors. She sat next to the bed now, her hands in her lap as she talked animatedly about a court case she’d apparently been a witness in – and if she felt the same despair that the little girl did, she didn’t show it.

***********

4.25 p.m

“Catherine!”

“Hello, you,” Catherine said with a smile as she turned round, and she lifted the little girl into her lap before turning to face the bed again. “Look, Greg, Emily’s here – are you close enough, sweetie?” and there was a nod as Emily reached out to hold one of Greg’s hands between both of her own.

“Are you gonna hold my hand today, Greg?” the little girl said. “You want to hear about the picture I drew in art time?” and she chattered away, seemingly forgetting that there was anyone else in the room.

“Hi, Nick,” Catherine went on, not looking up as a hand rested on her shoulder for a second or two. “How are you guys?”

“We’re good,” Nick said, although he didn’t really feel he was telling the truth. “Do you want me to get you some coffee?”

“That’d be great, actually,” was the answer. “Let me get my purse.”

“Don’t!” Emily shouted as Catherine moved to get up. “He can’t reach my hand if you put me down!”

“It’s only for a second, baby, I need my bag.”

“No! He’s holding my hand!”

“Emily, you stop that, now,” Nick said wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose as he reflected that the happy child who’d flown back from Daytona several days previously seemed to have been spirited away overnight; he’d practically had to drag her out of the truck outside school that morning, and her temperament evidently hadn’t improved during the course of the day. “Let Catherine get up,” then in the next instant he looked at the fingers that were curled round his daughter’s wrist and felt as though his heart was going to stop.

************

“Mr. Stokes,” the doctor said, fiddling with the pen in his pocket the way someone does when they don’t know what to do with their hands, “for Mr. Sanders to be -”

“His name’s Greg,” Nick said, his temples throbbing with the onset of another headache. “You never call him by his first name, do you?”

“For – uh – Greg to be considered to be emerging from this situation,” the doctor went on, clearly flustered, “we need to establish that we’re dealing with complete awareness, and for that we need reactivity and perceptivity. That means -”

“I know what it means,” Nick said, and he wished he didn’t know – but during the preceding months, he’d learned more medical terminology than he’d ever picked up as a CSI. “You don’t have to go over it again.”

“Well, Mr. Stokes, what I’m trying to explain to you is that the movements you say you noticed could easily be reflexive, the same type of thing as the opening of the eyes,” the doctor said. “You saw that he didn’t respond when I tried to elicit the movements.”

“Maybe you weren’t asking him nicely,” Nick said, trying to keep a lid on his temper but knowing he could only go so far before he snapped - because he’d pegged this doctor as a smartass from the day he’d taken over Greg’s care a month previously, and the young man’s bedside manner was doing nothing to improve this state of affairs now. Turning away, he headed for the door and opened it; he stepped out into the hallway and moved to where Catherine sat on a plastic chair with Emily in her lap.

“Emily,” Nick said gently, dropping to one knee. “Can you come back in with me?”

“Nuh-uh,” Emily said, her entire body still heaving with sobs. “I don’t want that doctor to stick him with a pin.”

“I know you don’t,” Nick said, his throat closing up; when the doctor had brought out a pin to test Greg’s response to pain, Emily had become so distraught that Catherine had had to take her out of the room. “I don’t want him to either,” he whispered, reaching into his pocket for a Kleenex and wiping his daughter’s face. “Can you come back in with me?” he asked again - and when, after some time, there was a tearful nod, he lifted his daughter into his arms and carried her into the room; sitting down in the chair next to the bed, he held Emily on his lap and hugged her tightly to reassure her.

“Can you see if you can get Greg to hold your hand again?” he asked softly, and Emily glanced warily at the doctor who was standing a foot or so away. “No, honey, you pretend he isn’t there, okay?”

“He didn’t believe me,” Emily said, her lower lip trembling. “Greg was h-h-holding my hand.”

“I believe you, sweetheart,” Nick told her in a whisper, and then he fell silent; for what seemed a long time, nobody moved or spoke – and then Emily leaned forward to take hold of Greg’s hand again.

He watched Greg’s left hand enfolded between both of Emily’s, and he heard Emily speaking as though the words were coming through layers of cotton wool. He thought about how it had been during the days right after they’d brought their daughter home after she’d been born, when Greg had been too afraid to give her a bath in case he dropped her; but a bond had sprung up between them, one that had been cemented with every day that passed, and Nick only needed to look at Emily now to realise how strong that bond was….and to know that if it was severed, he would have lost not only Greg but their little girl as well.

“Hi, Greg,” Emily was saying now. “Will you hold my hand again? The doctor doesn’t believe you did it before, ‘cause he didn’t see it.” The tone of her voice became conspiratorial, the way it had done so many times when she’d talked to Greg before - when she’d managed to talk him into letting her stay up late, letting her have an extra cookie, letting her watch “Billy and Mandy” even though she always ended up sandwiched between her fathers in bed afterwards because she was afraid to sleep on her own. “Come on, Greg, if you do it you can come home and play Raving Rabbits on the PS2 with me -”

…and then, through a mist of tears that spilled down his cheeks, Nick saw the finger that bore the silver band twitch upwards before it was joined by its fellows as Greg’s hand curled round Emily’s and held on tight.

*********

7.30 p.m

“Do you want a story?” Nick asked, kneeling next to the pink-draped bed, and his question was met with a silent shake of Emily’s head; she hadn’t said a word since Nick had finally told her they would have to leave the hospital so she could go to bed, and as Nick remembered how Greg’s fingers had been slowly prised away from their daughter’s hand he felt tears stinging the backs of his eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I wanted him to talk to me,” Emily said in a tiny, wavering voice as she lay in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin. “He held my hand, why didn’t he talk to me?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Nick said, and he rose to his feet; sitting down on the edge of the bed, he held out his arms and waited for Emily to climb into his lap. “He will talk to you, he just can’t do it yet.”

“Why?” Emily asked, her voice muffled against her father’s chest, and Nick thought about something Luke had said to him the previous week.

I think she’s probably figured out that things aren’t as cut and dried as you told her they would be…

“You remember what I told you about his head?” Nick asked his daughter, and there was a nod. “When something happens to hurt someone’s head, it hurts their brain, too – you know? The bit where you keep all the stuff you learn?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, that’s what happened to Greg, and it means that he won’t be able to talk to you right away,” Nick went on. “He might even need us to help him learn to speak again.”

“What? Like Alicia?”

“Just like that,” Nick said, managing to smile as he recalled Emily’s fascination with her one year old cousin. “But you know what?”

“What?”

“He held your hand this afternoon, right?”

“Two times.”

“That’s right,” Nick said, stroking Emily’s hair. “Well, that means he still knows he’s got a little girl, even though he can’t say anything yet,” and his heart ached as Emily looked at him and he saw the uncertainty in her eyes. “Did he hold my hand? Or the doctor’s hand?”

“No,” Emily said, and her lower lip quivered before she finally managed to smile.

“See?” Nick told her. “It might take him a long time to do a lot of the things he used to do before he was hurt, but he remembers you already, doesn’t he? Come here,” and he wrapped his arms round Emily and held her tightly. “Now, do you want that story?”

“Yes, please,” Emily said, and she allowed herself to be tucked into bed again before looking up at her father expectantly – and Nick leaned down to kiss her forehead before sitting cross-legged at the side of the bed. He began the story, the way he had done so many times now –

“One evening, Cowboy Bill was riding around his ranch when he saw something a long way away.”

“Was it the horse thieves?”

“No, it wasn’t, miss know-it-all,” Nick told her, and he was rewarded with another smile. “It was a bobcat – a great big one, with stripes on its head and spots on its body and eyes that glowed in the dark,” and as he continued the story, he told himself that the real struggle to get Greg back was only just starting.

To be continued.

nickgreglove @ 2008-06-05T18:16:00

2008-06-06T01:18:33Z

Hey all,

So i'm a first timer, well when it comes to writing nivk/greg anyways. i've been a fan for awhile and absolutely L.O.V.E CSI. Which by the way comes on tonight (gotta catch up on this last season, i didn't get to really watch it the first time around). But i do come bearing gifts. A little drabble that popped into my head that i just had to write because i could not fall asleep until i did. So here it is. Hope you guys like it. And feedback is gratefully welcome.

-Aly

Title: Untitled
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: G It's angsty though just to give you a heads up
Summary: Nick has to learn to let go

http://smerky13.livejournal.com/16997.html#cutid1

"Kjaere" (Nick/Greg, 6/12)

2008-06-03T17:11:52Z

"Kjaere" (Nick/Greg, 5/12)

2008-05-21T10:38:49Z

I’m just all sorts of happy that this story seems to have gathered regular readers – here’s the next chapter, and I apologise for the delay, but…work. Ick.

Title – Kjaere
Author - black_dahlia63
Characters – Nick Stokes, Greg Sanders, various OC’s
Spoilers - Fannysmackin’
Rating – PG
Warning – Serious angst, but hey…people kind of expect that from me by now, right?
Disclaimer – not mine, don’t sue.
Thanks to – elmyraemilie for creative input and moral support.

AN: The story covers the time span of a year, and will update by one month each chapter – except this instalment and the next one, which have one month split between them.

Previous instalments here.

March 4th

Hey Nick –
It was good to get your email yesterday, although I’m sorry there’s still no change. I’m not sure what to say that everyone else hasn’t already said a thousand times, but hang in there, okay?

Things are still pretty much the same here, only busier – and yesterday I got a call about doing a calendar for next year. Can you believe that?? I’m still just a guy who likes tinkering with bikes, and the idea of my picture being on someone’s wall for twelve months is something I can’t quite get my head around. Also means I’ll get recognised in public more than I do now, which is something I pretend to like but really don’t. That’s why I think I’ll be making an effort to spend more time up in Salem – people let you mind your own business there.

This is gonna be short and sweet, I’m afraid – got a meeting with my accountant, and there are still about three documents he wants that I can’t find. Get back to me soon, though, and let me know how everything’s going – and I meant what I said, man. You and the kid should think about coming to Daytona for a visit, because I think it’d do the pair of you good. Especially her.

Take care –

Luke

March 15th, 11.55 a.m

“I don’t need to ask how you are,” the man with the greying beard said when Nick barely managed to refrain from slamming the door upon entering the room. “It’s all over your face – what happened?”

“Grissom,” Nick replied, letting himself fall heavily into the slightly threadbare armchair. “God damn Grissom, someone else who thinks they know what’s best for me,” and he clenched his fists painfully tightly before letting out a shaky sigh. “Sorry, Jack, I just – I came that close to smacking him -”

“Never a good idea, smacking the boss,” was the response. “I learned that at a young age, that’s why I started working for myself as soon as I could. Coffee?” Although previous visits had taught him that even the coffee from the machine at Desert Palms was better than the coffee he got here, Nick said yes – hoping that by the time it had been poured he would have calmed down a bit, although the likelihood of this happening was remote to say the least – and while his ears tuned in to the pouring of water and the rattling of spoons, he let his eyes wander around a room that had become familiar over the previous two months.

Besides the usual battery of diplomas on the wall behind the desk, there was a framed copy of the Beatles’ “White Album” - yes, it’s one of the numbered copies, Jack had said when Nick had remarked on it, and if I didn’t take it home with me every night my insurance premiums for this office would be a lot higher. A set of shelves in one corner of the room was filled with plants, and an aquarium occupied a large portion of the wall opposite the door; as Nick looked at this aquarium now, his mind distracted by the endless circling of the tropical fish it contained, a mug bearing a drug company logo was placed in his hand.

“Now, what did Grissom do to upset you?”

Nick had been to visit more therapists than he cared to remember before he’d found Jack Naumann and decided that he actually felt he could talk to him – unlike the other offices he’d sat in, where he’d been uncomfortably reminded of childhood trips to the principal’s study. Jack had salt-and-pepper hair, along with a beard that he said his wife was constantly encouraging him to get rid of; his ample belly strained at the buttons securing the pinstripe shirts he always wore - a mute testament to his addiction to candy, a big jar of which sat on one corner of his desk. Incongruously, his expensive suit and shirt were always complemented by an outlandish tie; today’s featured Bart Simpson being strangled by his irate father, accompanied by the caption Why you little…

“Greg would like that tie,” Nick said now. “He loves the Simpsons, but he -”

“Nick, you didn’t answer my question,” Jack told him, a smile twitching one corner of his mouth. “What happened at work?”

“We were at a scene last night,” Nick replied. “Suicide, at least that’s what it looked like, but we won’t know for certain until the autopsy results come back,” and he paused to take a sip of the dreadful coffee before he continued speaking. “Anyway, the woman’s husband wanted back into the house, kept saying he was an attorney and he knew what his rights were – and I – well, I raised my voice to him, and I would have put my hands on him too if Warrick hadn’t gotten the guy away from there,” he went on. “So we get back to the lab, and Grissom asks me to come into his office – gives me some bullshit speech about how he knows what kind of pressure I’m under,” and he swallowed down the lump in his throat. “He’s got no idea what kind of pressure I’m under,” he said, almost under his breath. “If he had to go into that damn hospital every day and sit next to that bed and be told there was no change -”

“What else did he say?”

“He told me I should take some time off,” and a bitter laugh escaped Nick’s lips. “Now.”

**********

3.45 p.m

“Nick!” Emily shrieked, her face lighting up, and she raced down the path to jump into her father’s arms. “I thought Angie was picking me up today!” and she covered his face with kisses, bringing smiles from the other waiting parents; after a moment or so, she drew her head back and studied Nick’s face, her brows creased with concern. “Does your head hurt?”

“I’m okay, sweet pea,” he told her, ruffling her hair; his headaches had been getting worse lately, making the light hurt his eyes and killing his appetite – and although he’d tried to conceal his discomfort, he obviously hadn’t succeeded. “Shall we go home?”

********

7.40 p.m

“Are we going to go out for pie?”

“You have to go to work.”

“No, honey, I don’t,” he told Emily. “I’m on vacation for a little while.”

“Yay! Where are we going?”

“We’re not going anywhere,” he replied, somehow managing to smile. “It’s not that kind of vacation,” and he saw a puzzled expression appear on his daughter’s face. “You remember Mr. Grissom from work?” he went on, and there was a nod in response. “Well, he thinks I’m getting tired, and he told me I should take a little break.”

“Does that mean you get to take me to school?”

“Yes, it does.”

“And pick me up? Every day?” Emily went on, and when Nick nodded she flung her arms round his neck; he wrapped his arms round his daughter, holding her tightly, and when he’d blinked away the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks he let go of her again.

“Shall we go and get our snack, kiddo?”

“Yes!”

“Well, go and get your jammies on, then -”

********

9.30 p.m

The painkillers he’d taken an hour previously were finally beginning to kick in; Nick lay stretched out on the couch in his pyjama bottoms and a T shirt, while a show he couldn’t remember the name of and wasn’t really watching anyway unspooled on the TV. Emily had gone to sleep in the truck on the way back from the diner, and hadn’t stirred when he’d unfastened her seatbelt and carried her upstairs; she lay in her pink-draped bed, her mouth smeared with cherry pie filling, and as Nick had stood in the bedroom doorway looking at her his eyes had filled with the tears that were never far away these days – because Greg should have been here looking at their daughter too, an arm round Nick’s shoulders and his lips against Nick’s ear as he whispered c’mon, Nicky, come to bed…

…but he wasn’t, and how much longer was Nick going to have to do all this by himself?

Weeks?

Months?

For ever?

“Nick?”

“Hey, sweetie,” he said, sitting up on the couch – and as he did so, the sight of Emily’s drawn, unhappy little face hit him like a blow to the gut. “Come here,” and he held out his arms and waited for the four year old to climb into his lap. “What’s wrong?” but he received no answer; holding her close, he stroked her back and planted a kiss on top of her head before rising to his feet. “Shall we get you back to bed?”

“Wanna sleep with you,” Emily replied, the words muffled against Nick’s T shirt, and so he carried her along the hallway to his own room. When he bent to set her down on the bed, she clung to him and wouldn’t let go – so he climbed into bed and lay down, still holding onto her, only reaching out to turn off the light.

********

March 16th

“Nick,” a voice whispered. “Nick, wake up,” and he forced his eyelids open to see Emily standing next to the bed with an anxious expression on her face; she was holding a cereal bowl in her hands, and milk was slopping from it onto the carpet. “It’s ten zero zero.”

“Ten o’clock?” he said, pushing himself upright against the pillows, wondering how he’d managed to sleep for so long and still feel so tired. “Is that for me?” and when his question was met by a nod he took the bowl from his daughter. It was full of Lucky Charms, a cereal he wouldn’t have eaten on a bet - but Emily’s eyes were on him, so he picked up the spoon.

“Have you got your ballet bag ready?” he asked, once he’d managed to force down several mouthfuls of cereal containing so much sugar it made his teeth hurt. “I’ll just fix your hair and get dressed, and we -”

“Don’t want to go.”

“What? You like your lessons.”

“I want to stay with you,” Emily told him, her voice wavering slightly. “Please.”

“Come here,” Nick said, setting the bowl on the nightstand; he wrapped his arms round his daughter as she crawled into his lap, one of her arms going round his waist and her face burrowing against the T shirt he always wore to bed. It was one of Greg’s old ones, and if Emily realised this she’d never commented on it; but as Nick looked down at her now, he realised that she was rubbing the hem of the shirt between her thumb and forefinger – exactly what she’d done for years with a tattered cloth diaper whenever she needed to comfort herself.

“If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to,” he told her. “Should we just stay here?” and when the arm round his waist tightened its grip a lump rose in Nick’s throat. He’d tried his best to keep things normal for Emily, but he knew that this relentless round of rushing between school and the sitter and everything else that made up their lives was going to have to stop – at least for a little while.

*********

“You’ve been in that bath a long time,” Nick said. “Do you need me to come in and help you with your hair?” and he smiled when there was a shrill “No!” in response. A week or so previously, a policeman had talked to Emily’s class about “stranger danger” and how the parts of you that your underwear covered were private; Emily had interpreted this with a literalness that only a small child was capable of, and ever since that day the bathroom door was kept firmly shut.

“Nick!” came a piercing shriek a few seconds later. “I got shampoo in my eyes! It hurts!”

“I’m coming,” he called out, pushing the door open and moving swiftly into the bathroom before kneeling by the side of the bath. “No, don’t rub your eyes, sweetie, that’s going to make it hurt even more – just lean back,” and he supported her with his free hand before reaching for the oversized plastic cup that floated in the water and filling it with clean water from the faucet. “Keep still,” he told Emily as he carefully poured the water over her face, and once he’d done this he grabbed a towel from the floor to pat her face dry. “There – better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Emily said solemnly, sitting up again and covering herself with her hands. “I can finish on my own now.”

“You finish up, then,” Nick told her, breathing in the scent of watermelon shampoo as he leaned down to kiss her forehead; getting to his feet, he left the bathroom, and as he closed the door behind him he recalled an email he’d received almost a fortnight since.

You and the kid should think about coming to Daytona for a visit, because I think it’d do the pair of you good. Especially her.

************

“I’ve got an idea,” he said as he sat facing Emily on her bed and brushed the tangles out of her damp hair. “How would you like the two of us to go away for a few days?”

“You said this wasn’t a vacation,” Emily replied. “Where are we going?”

“I don’t know if you remember when we were at the ranch just before Christmas,” Nick told her. “Someone came to visit grandma Jillian -”

“He called me Miss Emily.”

“Yes, he did,” Nick said. “You remember a lot of things, don’t you? You’re pretty smart,” and he saw his daughter’s cheeks flush pink with pride. “Well, he lives in Florida, and he told me that we should go out and visit him any time we wanted to – what do you think about doing that?”

“When?”

“Well, I have to call him and make sure he isn’t too busy,” Nick told her. “We need to get plane tickets, and I need to make sure somebody can go and see Greg every day while we’re gone,” and he set the hairbrush down. “You think about it, and if you don’t want to go then we won’t -”

**********

Desert Palms – March 25th, 1.25 p.m

“We’ll be back on Thursday evening,” Nick said, lacing his fingers with the motionless ones resting against the bedcovers. “I’m going to call the hospital every day while we’re gone, and Catherine and Warrick said they’re going to come and make sure you’re okay – right, kiddo?” he went on, turning his head to the side, and Emily nodded. “Em’s teacher gave her some work to do…”

“It’s colouring in.”

“Well, some colouring in,” Nick said, smiling even though it hurt him to do it – but this was a skill he’d mastered over the preceding months, so doing it came a lot easier now than it had in the beginning. “We’re going to think about you all the time while we’re gone,” he said, rising from his chair and leaning over the bed, and he let his lips touch Greg’s ear before he continued speaking. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you with all my heart, G, don’t you forget that,” and then he turned to Emily. “You going to give Greg a kiss, sweetheart? We need to get to the airport, or we’ll miss our plane -”

**********

Daytona International Airport – 7.25 p.m

Their flight had been delayed by almost an hour, meaning that by the time they retrieved their luggage from the carousel it was close to Emily’s bedtime; this had rendered the little girl scratchy and irritable, whining steadily as she trailed behind Nick and dragged the toes of her shoes along the floor. It was too hot, her feet hurt, her bag was too heavy – and this last complaint had resulted in amused smiles being directed at Nick as he headed towards Arrivals with a bright pink suitcase in one hand.

“I wanna go home,” Emily was saying now, the words delivered at a pitch that was hurting her father’s ears as the pneumatic doors opened onto Arrivals. “I don’t wanna go to stupid Daytona Beach, I don’t like it here.”

“This is just the airport, the rest of it’s different,” Nick said wearily, and he caught sight of Luke standing amidst the waiting crowd; his left hand was holding up a piece of card saying HI NICK AND EMILY!, while a helium balloon with a picture of Barbie on it was tied to his right wrist. “Come on, it’s not much further,” he told his daughter. “Em, stop dragging your feet like that, or you’ll -” but before he could finish his warning Emily tripped and went sprawling on the polished tile floor, where she burst into tears.

“Oh, sweetheart, come here,” Nick said, juggling their suitcases as he dropped to one knee next to his daughter; a sneaker-clad foot flew out, striking him square in the right shin as Emily’s wails escalated – and then, out of the corner of his eyes, Nick saw someone vault over the nearby barrier and move swiftly towards him.

“Give me those,” Luke said, lifting the two suitcases. “You take her,” and he led the way towards the exit as Nick rose to his feet with Emily kicking and sobbing in his arms; they came to a stop at the nearby Starbucks stand, where Nick set the four year old down on the floor.

“Let’s have a look at your knees, kiddo,” he said softly, rolling up Emily’s pants legs one at a time. “See? No blood – you’re fine.”

“Wanna – go - home!”

“Now, Miss Emily,” Luke said gravely, raising his voice slightly so as to make himself heard over the little girl’s protestations, “If you go home now they won’t let you take this on the plane with you,” and he lowered his right hand so that Emily could see the balloon tied to his wrist. “I’ll have to carry it all the way back to my house, and everyone’s going to laugh at me,” he went on; when Emily’s sobs began to tail off, he pulled the loop of string down over his hand and held the balloon out towards her, only to have her press herself against her father’s side.

“Want Nick to do it,” Emily said, her chest still heaving, and Nick was cringing inwardly as he took the balloon and bent to tie the string loosely round his daughter’s wrist.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he stood up, telling himself – not for the first time tonight – that this trip had been a bad idea. “She isn’t usually…” but his voice tailed off as a hand was held up to silence him.

“Tell you what,” Luke said, reaching into his pocket and producing his wallet, “you get me a coffee, and I’ll bring the car round,” and he passed Nick a twenty dollar bill. “Just a plain coffee with cream, none of that fancy crap, and get whatever the two of you want – something wrong?”

“I forgot the car seat,” Nick said, running a distracted hand over his hair. “It’s still in the Denali.”

“I went and rented one,” Luke said. “Just in case the airline lost yours,” he added tactfully, and he pointed towards a set of automatic doors. “Meet me out there, okay?” and he had grabbed the suitcases and walked away before Nick could say anything.

“He said C-R-A-P,” Emily said, her storm of rage finally eclipsed by the fact that someone had done something she perceived to be wrong. “That’s a bad word, right?”

“Yes, it is,” Nick said as he joined the queue at the Starbucks stand. “You don’t need to tell him that, though.”

“Why not?”

“He already knows it’s a bad word,” Nick told his daughter. “And when people get to be adults they can decide whether they want to use bad words or not, even though they know they shouldn’t.”

“So I could say it?”

“When you’re fifty,” Nick said, feeling the beginnings of another headache pulsing at his temples as they reached the front of the queue. “What do you want to drink?”

“Coffee.”

“You’ll get that when you’re fifty as well,” Nick replied, and he heard a snicker of laughter from whoever was standing behind him in the queue. “Uh…yes, ma’am, can I get two tall coffees and a strawberry milkshake, please?”

*****

Ponce Inlet, 9.30 p.m

Luke’s “car” had turned out to be a Hummer – an H3 Alpha, painted jet black with red and yellow flames licking along the sides – and Emily had been so impressed by this that she’d forgotten to complain about having to sit in what she always called a baby seat. Once they were on the road, she’d taken three sips of her milkshake before putting it in the cup holder and falling asleep; Nick, who was sitting in the back next to her, had only stayed awake long enough to drink half of his coffee before he’d allowed his eyes to close too – and when he woke up again, he was looking at white brickwork that seemed to fill most of his field of vision.

“Is that his house?” Emily asked in awe. “It’s big.”

“Not all of it’s mine,” Luke said, smiling into the rear view mirror. “Just a little bit of it,” and he reached out to press a button on a small device that was fastened to the dashboard. The brick-red doors in front of them slid open, and moments later they were in the garage; by the time Nick had unfastened Emily’s seatbelt and helped her down to the ground, their host had retrieved the luggage from the back of the Hummer, and made no attempt to let them carry it themselves.

“Come on,” Luke said, as Emily yawned mightily; she was holding something in her free hand, but concealed it behind her back when she saw him looking at it. “The sooner we get you guys inside, the sooner you can get some sleep,” and the three of them walked through a door into a hallway with a black and white tiled floor – and although he suddenly remembered something his mother had told him when he was a kid about it being rude to stare, Nick had to struggle not to let his jaw drop.

“Nick,” Emily whispered, tugging on her father’s arm, “Nick, his house is huge.”

“Ssh,” Nick whispered back, but he knew that his admonition had come too late when there was a chuckle from behind them.

“You speak your mind, don’t you, Miss Emily?” Luke said with a grin. “You want to see where your room is?”

“You can answer, sweetie, he won’t bite you,” Nick told his daughter as she hid her face against his hip, and he looked up apologetically. “Sorry,” he said, for the second time that evening. “She…”

“She’s just tired, aren’t you?” was the matter-of-fact response. “Come with me, guys, and we can get rid of this luggage,” and when Nick turned towards the nearby stairs a hand caught hold of his arm. “It’s quicker this way,” Luke told him - and he pressed a button on the wall, as though having an elevator in his house was the most natural thing in the world.

*******

“Let’s show you your room first, shall we?” Luke asked Emily as the three of them stepped out of the elevator, and even though he received no answer he led the way across an expanse of plush blue carpet before opening a door – and Emily, who hadn’t been drilled in discretion as long as her father had, let her thumb fall out of her mouth with an audible ‘pop’.

“One of the guys at the shop did it for me about a year ago,” Luke told Nick. “My nephews thought it was just about the coolest thing they’d ever seen.”

“I think she’ll get nightmares,” Nick said doubtfully, studying the mural that had been painted on three of the bedroom walls. A line of skeletons, each of them riding a motorbike, was filing away into the distance on a desert road; a sign next to the road said Route 666, and a coyote was howling at the full moon to the right of one of the bedroom windows.

“No I won’t!” Emily piped up, making both men turn and look at her. “It’s awesome!” and then she caught sight of something. “Look, Nick!” and she peeled herself away from her father’s side to approach the bed, where she picked up a small white bear. “It’s a Beanie bear! Whose is it?”

“Well, it’s yours now,” Luke replied, winking at Nick out of Emily’s field of vision. “One of my sisters told me that little girls like these things, and I kind of figured you might like a new friend.”

“It has a sun on it,” Emily said as she rejoined Nick. “And some flowers, look – what’s it called, Nick?”

“Her name’s Ariel,” Nick told her after squinting at the tag in the bear’s ear. “What do you say to Luke?” and there was a long pause before Emily lifted her head.

“Thank you,” she whispered shyly, her eyes huge and dark against her pale skin, and then she murmured something that was too quiet for Luke to hear.

“What did you say, hon?”

“I said where’s Nick’s bed?” Emily asked, and those lines of worry etched themselves into her face again. “When we go to grandma Jillian’s, he sleeps right on the other side of the wall from me -”

“Well, let me show you where his bed is,” Luke said. “It’s just across the hall – shall we leave your stuff here?” and when there was a silent nod in response he placed the pink suitcase on the floor. “Follow me, you two -”

************

“How come Nick gets a TV in his room and I don’t?”

“Because Nick’s a grown-up, and you’re not,” Luke told Emily. “But you get a neat painting on your wall, and he doesn’t,” and Nick offered a silent prayer of thanks as a situation that had resulted in conflict more than once at home was neatly defused. “Okay, guys, I’ll leave you to sort yourselves out, and when you’ve unpacked I’ll give you a tour of the place.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Emily -”

“I know you are,” Luke said, shooting a glance at Nick that silenced the admonition he was about to deliver. “You know what? If you get washed up and into your pyjamas, we can see about fixing you something to eat – how about that?” and once she’d been nudged by her father Emily mumbled a yes, sir. “Well, come down to the second floor when you’re ready,” and moments later Nick was alone with his daughter again.

“This is a pretty cool house, isn’t it?” he said, sitting down on the bed, but a glance at Emily’s face told him that she didn’t seem to think so. “Sweetie, what’s wrong? You don’t have to sleep in that room if you’re scared of the painting, you can come in here with me -”

“I don’t like it here,” Emily said softly. “Who’s going to look after Greg? We’re too far away.”

“He has all the nurses and doctors to take care of him,” Nick told her, reaching out to ruffle her hair. “And they know we’re here if they need to call us.”

“What if he wakes up and we’re not there?”

“Then they’ll phone me, and we’ll go straight back home,” was the answer. “Would you like me to call the hospital and make sure he’s okay?” and when his daughter’s nod was followed by an audible sniff, he lifted her onto his lap; digging his cell out of the side pocket of his cabin bag, he tapped in a number that he’d learned by heart months previously.

“Yeah, hi, this is Nick Stokes – oh, Kristen, hi. Didn’t think you were on this weekend – yes, we are in Florida, and I have a little girl here who wants to make sure Greg’s okay. Would you? Thanks so much,” and he handed the phone to Emily. “She wants to talk to you, kiddo.”

“Hi, Kristen,” Emily said, her voice pitched a shade too loud, and Nick bit back a smile as he pictured the nurse holding the phone away from her ear at the other end of the line. “Is Greg all right? Really? Will you call us if he wakes up? Thank you, Kristen, bye-bye -” and she passed the phone back to Nick, who echoed the thanks and ended the call.

“Happy now?” he asked, and his question was answered by a solemn nod. “Now, are you really hungry?”

“Yes!”

“Well, go and get your jammies on while I grab a shower,” Nick told his daughter as he set her down on the floor. “We’re going to have a good time here, aren’t we?”

********

10.15 p.m

“I went in her room and she was asleep on the floor,” Nick said, in response to the inquiring glance that was directed his way when he stepped out of the elevator alone. “Didn’t even wake up when I picked her up and put her in bed.”

“Figured something like that might happen,” Luke said. “I remember when my nephews were that age, they’d get to a point where nothing would work except getting them to take a ten hour nap,” and he led the way into a kitchen that was easily four times the size of the one in Nick’s apartment.

“How many nephews have you got?”

“Three I see, one I don’t,” Luke said, and when he turned round from his position in front of the fridge to look at Nick his eyes darkened momentarily. “One of my sisters married a guy who thinks being gay guarantees you a first class ticket to hell, and I guess blood wasn’t as thick as I figured in her case,” he went on, opening the fridge door. “Okay, I’ve been working eighteen hour days for the last week and I haven’t had time to go shopping, so we have leftover pot roast from last night - or leftover pot roast.”

“I’ll take the pot roast,” Nick said, sinking down onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table and yawning for what felt like hours. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “You’re not the only one who’s been working eighteen hour days.”

“Looks more like twenty four hour days in your case,” Luke said over his shoulder as he removed a Tupperware container from the fridge; retrieving a knife from a nearby drawer, he cut the meat into slices which he plastered with mustard and placed between slices of bread. “Here you are,” he said, setting a heaped plate on the table. “Cold pot roast sandwiches, best late night snack on the planet,” and once he’d taken a carton of milk from the fridge and filled two glasses he sat down opposite Nick. “Okay, while you’re here you can do what you want,” he said. “I have to be in at the shop on Monday, but the two of you can come and hang out if you want to,” he went on after taking a huge bite from his sandwich. “You’ve got the run of this place,” he said, waving his hand around the kitchen, “you can sit on the beach, and if you want to go out somewhere this weekend we can do that – but if you just want to sleep out on the balcony you can do that too,” and brilliant blue eyes fixed themselves on Nick. “And to be honest, man, you look like you need it.”

“That bad, huh?” Nick said, trying to smile and not quite managing it – because doing nothing but sleep for five days actually sounded pretty damn good. “I know I need to stop, but I can’t,” he said. “There’s just too much I need to do -”

“Well, not while you’re here,” was the response as the plate was pushed across the table – and when Nick took a sandwich and devoured half of it in a single enormous bite, he realised how hungry he was.

*********

“My god,” Nick said in awe as they stood in the den; they had toured the house from top to bottom, finally ending up in what was evidently one of his host’s favourite rooms. “How old is that thing?”

“Dates from the forties,” Luke said, running a hand over the polished surface of the jukebox. “I have a Wurlitzer at the Salem house, but I found this one in pieces in the back of the auto repair place when I bought it to knock it through to the bike shop - couldn’t tell you how long it took me to get it working right.”

“Wait a second, you restored it?”

“Every last inch,” was the proud response. “Only plays 78s, too,” and Luke reached into the pocket of his jeans for a quarter; he dropped it into the slot, and there was a few seconds’ silence before an unmistakeable voice echoed in the room.

“Basin Street, Basin Street,
That’s the place where my friends all meet -”

“My grandpa used to love Louis Armstrong,” Luke said. “I was only eight when he passed on, but I remember those old records,” and he chuckled softly. “The guys at the shop can’t understand why I’ve got this thing, but they don’t know me as well as they think they do - okay, you look as though you’re dead on your feet, and it’s after eleven, so let’s wind this up,” he went on, studying Nick closely. “Like I said in the kitchen, you’ve got the run of the house – and I can be in your pocket or I can stay out of your way, whatever the two of you want.”

“Thank you,” Nick said, and although he was smiling his eyes prickled with tears. “I -” but before he could say anything else, a raised hand cut him off.

“Don’t thank me,” Luke said good-naturedly. “This place is like Grand Central most of the time, I get lost without other people around,” and he led the way towards the door. “Stay in bed as long as you want - I’ll lock the elevator down so Emily won’t try using it by herself,” he went on, reaching out to place a hand on Nick’s arm for a brief instant. “Sleep well, okay?” he said as he pressed the elevator button. “I’ve got some stuff to take care of before I turn in, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

**********

Emily lay sprawled at the centre of a bed that was twice as big as the one she had at home, and the covers had all been kicked away; one thumb was in her mouth and her free hand clutched the white Beanie Baby, while the ever-present photo lay on the pillow a few inches from her head. Nick stood in the half-open bedroom doorway for a long time watching his daughter sleep, and eventually he tiptoed away to his own room.

Mack the Knife echoed faintly from the den as he undressed and put on the blue pyjama bottoms he’d dug out from the back of his underwear drawer at the apartment; once he’d done this, he walked across the room and opened the balcony window a few inches before climbing into bed. He turned the light off and lay in the dark, tuning in to the sounds of the ocean outside and the music coming from the floor below – and the last waking thought he had was god, G would love it here before exhaustion overtook him and he finally slept.

To be continued

Episode Discussion: "For Gedda"

2008-05-16T15:12:27Z

What really prompted me to make an episode post this time was, first, my dismay at this being the season finale, and second, Daddy Grissom's stern, pissed off voice when calling Warrick. Daddy is M-A-D :p

Right now I'm mostly of the feeling, um, yeah, you guys really already did an episode like this, so I'm pretty much over it... Of course, my curiosity is, well, curious as to what will happen to Warrick since we know Gary hasn't signed on for the next season.

My main supposition is that he'll be accused and arrested (for a felony), which means he can't be a CSI anymore, but they'll leave us hanging at the end, and tell us "what happens" in 5 months.

Hey, there's Greg! And Nick's getting even more wounded. But Greg is, too.

Warrick was framed?!!? Whoa! Who saw that coming? I did.

Okay, well, didn't quite see the end coming (saw that the guy was going to shoot him, though, in the scene), but I'd suspected it before the episode aired. Assholes. You see what happens when Nick goes after women? Seriously.

I'm sorry for the Warrick fans...I was never very attached to him, but I understand the attachment... It's going to suck for everyone else, too. It just sucks. I hate when they pull this crap.

Video

2008-05-02T05:52:24Z

So, this post is mainly for those of you who are both an Arok fan and a Nick&Greg fan.
I hope you enjoy this video as much as i did.....

http://smerky13.livejournal.com/14597.html#cutid1

"Kjaere" (Nick/Greg, 4/12)

2008-05-01T08:38:16Z

Grab the Kleenex…chapter four’s up…

Title – Kjaere
Author - black_dahlia63
Characters – Nick Stokes, Greg Sanders, various OC’s
Spoilers - Fannysmackin’
Rating – PG
Warning – Serious angst, but hey…people kind of expect that from me by now, right?
Disclaimer – not mine, don’t sue.
Thanks to – elmyraemilie and bflyw for creative input and moral support.
AN: The story covers the time span of a year, and will update by one month each chapter.

Previous instalments here.

February 10th, 6.45 p.m

“Nick -”

“What is it, sweetie?”

“Will you help me with these?” Emily asked, looking up from the heap of Valentine cards that was scattered in front of her on the kitchen table. “My fingers are getting tired.”

“Not a chance,” he told his daughter, not looking up from the letter he was reading. “Your friends at school want to see Emily written on those cards, they don’t want to see Nick.”

“No!” Emily said, a rare smile on her lips. “You have to write my name!”

“Do you know what forgery is?” Nick asked, looking Emily straight in the face with mock severity, and he watched his daughter giggle through her fingers. “You wouldn’t be laughing if you did time for it, young lady.”

“What’s time?”

“Never mind,” was the resigned answer. “Give me a few of them,” and there was an expression of triumph on the four year old’s face as she slid more than half the cards across the table towards him; for the next few minutes they were silent as Nick signed the cards with his daughter’s name and then gave them back to her to put rows of kisses on them – but every so often, he would see Emily glance up as though she wanted to say something, and finally she spoke.

“Did you give Greg a card?”

“When?”

“So he knew you liked him,” Emily said. “Madison says you have to give a boy a Valentine’s card so he knows you like him.”

“Your little friend thinks she’s got all the answers, doesn’t she?” Nick said with a smile. “It might work like that when you’re in kindergarten, but when you’re as old as I was when I met Greg it’s a bit different.”

“How did he know, then?” Emily interrupted, and Nick sensed from the expression on her face that another ‘story’ was in the offing; she had always liked hearing little anecdotes about her family, and since Greg’s injury these requests had become more frequent – almost as though she was trying to hang on to the way things had been “before”, Nick thought, and the image made his throat tighten.

“Well, I didn’t make it easy for him,” he said. “I liked him for a long time, but I didn’t tell him.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because I didn’t think he’d be interested in me,” Nick said. “I guess I was shy,” and the words were rewarded with another smile. “What’s so funny about that?”

“You’re not shy,” Emily told him. “You catch all those bad guys, you can’t be!”

“That’s not the same thing,” he said. “Some people want to meet someone and stay with them all their lives and have a family -”

“Like you did.”

“That’s right,” Nick said, and he realised that Emily had dropped all pretence at ‘work’; her chin was resting on her steepled hands, and the look on her face said that she was hanging onto his every word. “But not everyone does, and I didn’t want to let Greg know I liked him in case he didn’t want what I wanted -”

“How come you liked him?”

“Well, because he was funny,” Nick said. “Remember I told you how he sometimes wears funny hats at work and makes all those jokes?” and there was a solemn nod. “We used to go running together after work, and whenever I knew we were going to do that I’d feel really happy -”

“Well, when did you tell him you liked him?”

“I didn’t,” Nick said, and although there was a lump in his throat he was smiling at the memory. “I didn’t say anything at all, and then one morning when we were all going home he followed me to the parking lot – and he stood in front of the driver’s side of my truck so I couldn’t get in,” and another giggle erupted from his daughter’s lips. “And he said…”

“What?”

“He said was there anything I wanted to tell him,” Nick said. “I told you he was smart, didn’t I, kiddo? He knew I liked him even though I hadn’t said anything.”

“Is he gonna remember that, Nick?” Emily asked, and her little face grew solemn again. “When he wakes up?”

“He might not,” Nick said carefully, and the advice the play therapist had given him was at the forefront of his mind. Don’t give her a big lecture, Ginny had said. If she asks you something about what’s happening, just answer that question, and the strawberry blonde woman had smiled. Kind of like the birds and the bees talk you’ll have to go through in a few years…“We might have to help him figure out a few things,” he said, and he watched Emily’s face fall. “He won’t forget you,” he said firmly, and he knew Ginny would probably frown on this white lie - but damn it, he was at least going to let Emily have this bit of comfort. “Where are you?” he asked, and he watched his daughter place a hand over her heart. “That’s right,” he told her. “That’s where Greg’s got you, and he’s got me there too, so when he wakes up he’ll still remember us,” and he reached across the table for Emily’s hand. “And he’ll figure the other things out too, even though it might take him a while.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because he’s stubborn,” Nick said. “Just like you,” and his heart lightened when he saw a tentative smile reappear on Emily’s face. “Now then,” he went on, “you know what tomorrow is?”

“Saturday.”

“That’s right,” Nick replied. “And I don’t have to be back at the lab until tomorrow evening, so what’s tonight?”

“I don’t want cereal before bed any more,” Emily said quietly, looking down at the table, and Nick squeezed her hand. He had maintained the ritual of a bowl of cereal before bed on Friday or Saturday nights when nobody had to be up early the following day, even though it had hurt him to look at the empty chair on one side of the kitchen table – but he had always been prepared for the fact that one day Emily might feel the same way, and it seemed that it had finally happened.

“Well, we don’t have to have cereal if you don’t want to,” he told his daughter. “Should we do something else? What about…” and he was silent for a moment or two before an idea occurred to him. “What about driving to the diner where we sometimes have breakfast? We could have a snack there, and then you can come back here and go to bed.”

“In our pyjamas?”

“Well, we’d have to go by the drive through and then eat in the truck -”

“Yes!” Emily said, her face brightening. “I want to do that! Can we get hash browns? I like those.”

“Not right before bed,” Nick said. “They’re too greasy, you’ll get a bellyache – what about a piece of pie?”

“Okay,” was the immediate response, and Emily let go of her father’s hand as she scrambled down from her chair. “Come on, Nick.”

“What about those cards?”

“You can finish those with me in the morning,” Emily told him. “We have to go get our jammies on,” and before Nick could come up with an answer he was looking at his daughter’s retreating back.

********

February 11th, 9.30 a.m

Nick’s eyes blinked open to the sound of Emily’s voice, and he yawned as he sat up in bed. The covers were thrown every which way, a mute testament to the fact that at some point during the night his daughter had climbed into bed with him – but he had been so exhausted by a combination of work and what was happening outside work that this hadn’t even woken him.

Climbing out of bed, he padded barefoot along the hallway until he was standing in the living room doorway; the TV was on, and Emily – unaware of her father’s presence - sat cross-legged on the floor with the phone in one hand and a half-eaten Snickers bar in the other.

“- and I asked Nick, but he says it’s all full up,” she was saying. “He said maybe after the summer there’ll be room,” and when Nick cleared his throat she looked round. “He’s awake now,” she said into the phone as she got up. “I’ll let you speak to him – ‘bye, grandma, I love you,” and she walked to the doorway to hand Nick a phone that was decorated with chocolate fingerprints. “It’s grandma Jillian.”

“Thank you, sweetie,” Nick told his daughter, but she had already redirected her attention to the TV. “Hi, mom.”

“Ballet lessons?” Jillian said in an amused voice. “My granddaughter’s growing up.”

“It’ll be something else on Monday once she gets back to school,” Nick told his mother as he walked back towards his bedroom. “It’s one of her friends, that’s where she got the idea from – last week it was a TV in her room, the week before that she wanted to wear nail polish -”

“It might not be a bad idea,” was the answer. “Unless the class really is full,” and Nick sighed inwardly.

“Mom -”

“If it’s a question of money…”

“Mom, we’re fine,” Nick said, and he reflected ruefully that at least when he said this now he was telling the truth. He and Greg had both taken out disability insurance policies, even before they’d become parents, but since Greg’s injury Nick had found out that it was a great deal easier getting an insurance company to take money from you than it was to get them to pay it out – and there were two thick folders of letters that had flown back and forth between the hospital and Nick’s attorney and the insurance company to bear this out.

He’d lost count of the number of times his family – not only his mother but his siblings too, especially his sister Maggie who was an attorney – had asked him if he was all right, and although they hadn’t added the word financially it had been implied nonetheless; and because he’d been determined to retain some small measure of control over his life, he’d always told them that yes, he was all right. In reality, though, he’d been dipping into his savings to pay the sitter, even though Angie had said he could wait until the insurance company cheques started coming in; and after a shift, when Emily was at school and Nick should have been asleep, he’d tossed and turned fitfully as the spectre of having to move to a smaller apartment crept into his mind.

“It isn’t the money,” he told his mother now. “It’s – well, the classes run on a Saturday morning, and if I’m not working I’m usually asleep,” and he sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed. “The sitter would have to take her more often than not, and that isn’t the way we planned to do things -”

“Sweetheart, neither of you planned on this happening, did you?” Jillian told her son. “What would you have done if it hadn’t? One of you would have taken her while the other one went to bed, wouldn’t you? You’ve just got to do things a bit differently now.”

“I’m just missing out on so much with her now,” Nick said. “Angie’s really good, we’re so lucky we found her, but we always said -” and he paused, lowering his head and pinching the bridge of his nose hard. “We didn’t go through what we went through to get Em just so someone else could do our job for us, mom – it feels like I’m giving up -”

“Shall I tell you something, Nick?” his mother said. “You’re a lot tougher than you think, and not just over what’s going on now – after what happened to you when you were nine, I never thought you’d leave that little girl with anyone else, and nobody would have blamed you if you hadn’t. When you have children, you learn to do what’s best for them even if it doesn’t seem like the right thing at the time – and no but, mom, Nicholas Stokes,” she added, and Nick managed a shaky laugh. “You let that little girl have her ballet lessons, and she won’t care that you don’t take her there all the time,” and the next sentence made Nick blink back tears. “She knows you love her, you and Greg, even if he can’t show it right now, and that’s what matters.”

********

11.20 a.m

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see when we get there,” Nick replied. “It’s a surprise,” and he studied the sheet of paper that bore the directions he’d scribbled down an hour and a half ago. “You want the radio?”

“Yes!” Emily cried, and at the flick of a switch the truck was filled with music that made her face light up; she began singing along in a slightly off-key voice, and for a brief instant Nick’s world was normal again.

“I fell into a burning ring of fire…”

********

“Are we here?”

“Yes, we are,” Nick told his daughter. “Undo your seatbelt and out you get.”

“Where are we going?” Emily asked as she scrambled out of what she scornfully called her ‘baby seat’, but before she received an answer a smile wreathed her face when she spotted a familiar figure. “Look, Nick, I see Jessie! Jessie!” she bellowed at an ear-splitting level, and Nick had to bite his lower lip to suppress a smile as the fifteen year old hurriedly let a cigarette fall from her fingers. “Come on, Nick, come on!” Emily said, tugging on her father’s hand, and the two of them crossed the small parking lot to reach a two-storey red brick building.

“Hi, Jessie!”

“Hello, trouble,” was the answer, and Jessica smiled down at Emily; lengths of bright red wool had been woven into her hair, and she wore a Coheed & Cambria T shirt over a pair of black jeans. “Mom’s getting her nails done, she’ll be back in an hour,” she told Nick, and apprehension crept into her eyes. “Are you gonna tell her you saw me -?”

“That’s between you and your mom,” Nick said, still managing – just barely – to keep himself from smiling. “Where’s your sister?”

“The brat’s inside changing,” Jessica said, and she pushed open a door. “Come on, I’ll show you where you have to go.”

“Where are we going, Nick?” Emily asked again, still clutching her father’s hand as they entered the building; piano music was audible through a nearby door, and when it was pushed open Nick saw his daughter’s eyes widen as she saw a dozen little girls wearing leotards.

“Nick!” Emily stage-whispered. “Look! It’s Madison!”

“Hello there,” a voice said before Emily could speak, and a statuesque black woman with her hair in cornrows was smiling warmly as she approached them. “I bet you’re Emily,” she went on, bending down to Emily’s level. “I’m Miss Alicia - is this your daddy?” and the four year old nodded shyly. “Well, I spoke to him on the phone today, and he told me you’d like to try some ballet lessons – is that right?”

“Yes’m,” Emily said in a near-whisper, once she’d been nudged into answering, and then she looked up at her father. “Nick, I don’t have the special outfit.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter right now,” Miss Alicia said reassuringly. “You’ve got sweatpants and a T shirt on, and that’s going to be fine for today – and if you think you want to come back next week, your daddy can take you to buy the special outfit before then. How about that?” and once she’d received an enthusiastic nod in response she straightened up to look at Nick. “You can stay and watch if you like, but most of the parents don’t,” she said, and brilliantly white teeth flashed in a smile. “These little girls can get very squeaky – there’s a diner down the block, you might want to kill some time there -”

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Nick asked, crouching down to look his daughter in the face. “Shall I stay, or will you be okay if I leave?”

“You can leave,” Emily said, prompting laughter from the ballet teacher – and before Nick could stand up, arms were flung round his neck so tightly that he could hardly breathe.

“Thank you for my lesson,” Emily whispered. “I love you, I love you, I love you -”

*********

Pickering Wharf - February 18th, 10.15 p.m

He didn’t get here nearly as often as he would have liked to, and so the visits he did manage were sacred – as the people who worked for him, directly or indirectly, were told whenever he managed to escape. “Unless it involves dialling 911, it can wait till I get back,” he’d said, more times than he could remember. “If I get a call in Salem for some bullshit reason, you’ll get busted lower than buck private in the army,” and after he’d fired a hapless trainee who’d gotten him out of his hot tub to ask where the spare set of keys for one of the bikes was, the warning had been heeded.

He’d bought the condo just after he’d signed the contract with MTV to do Road Trip; his search for what he called his “weekend place” had taken several months, and just when he was starting to think he’d driven every real estate agent in Salem completely nuts, one of them had shown him round the Pickering Wharf place. “I know it’s a little over your budget, Mr. Morrissey,” she’d said, “but I remember you telling my boss you wanted a waterfront view,” and as soon as he’d stepped out onto the deck Luke had known he had to have the condo, no matter what it cost - if I was straight, I’d kiss you, honey, he’d said, and the diminutive woman had blushed scarlet.

While his townhouse in Daytona always seemed to have other people in it, nobody else had ever been to the Salem place, and that was the way he liked it. There was a TV, but it was hardly ever turned on; when Luke was here, a great deal of his time was spent sleeping in the antique sleigh bed or sitting on the patio of the Regatta watching the world go by – but he would have had to admit, if anyone had asked him, that what he enjoyed most was sitting on his balcony with its lakefront view.

There had always been something about looking out at water that had soothed him, whether it had been during childhood vacations or during escapes from the increasing pressures of work where he would sit on the deck with a drink – either the one beer he occasionally allowed himself, or a club soda crammed with ice and a squeeze of lime juice. He’d let himself tune in to the gentle sound of rippling water, and little by little the outside world seemed to slip into the distance.

This was exactly what he was doing now, despite the chill in the air; he lay stretched out on a teak lounger, a Marlboro slowly turning to ash between two fingers of his right hand and an empty glass on the deck at his left side. His ears picked up conversation and laughter from somewhere nearby – probably the Regatta, he guessed – along with the sound of water lapping against the shoreline and against the boats moored below the building…

…and just as his eyes were closing, drops of water began to fall on his face.

Well, enough fresh air for one night, he told himself as he scrambled out of the lounger and grabbed his glass along with his pack of Marlboros; he crossed the deck and stepped back into the condo, sliding the door shut just as the rain began to come down in earnest. He kicked off his shoes and lit a cigarette before padding across the living room and sitting at one end of the couch; reaching for his laptop, he booted it up and then logged in to MSN – and it wasn’t long before a small window flashed in one corner of the screen

Hi, Uncle Luke!

Shouldn’t you be in bed? he typed, a smile spreading across his face. It’s after eleven where you are.

It’s Saturday, came the reply from his fourteen year old nephew in Wisconsin. Are you at home?

I’m in Salem – just taking a break from work.

When can me and Ben come to Daytona again?

Ben and *I*, Luke typed in response. I’ll speak to your mom and dad, maybe we can do something over spring break.

OMG! came the instant response. Dad just busted me, got 2 go! and seconds later Luke was looking at a message telling him that MaxieD was no longer online; he was still chuckling softly when a soft ‘ping’ alerted him to a new email, and in the next instant his smile faded.

Luke -
I know it’s been a while since you rang and left that message, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to answer and let you know what’s going on.

There’s no real change in Greg – he got an infection around the incision they made to insert his feeding tube, but the doctor told me that’s about par for the course the first few months, and when I went in this evening his fever was down at least. God, “first few months” – I almost feel like I’m getting used to this now, all these medical things, you know?

Emily’s fine at school, she’s fine when she sleeps at the sitter’s or her friends’ houses, but when she’s at home she’s like a different kid. Like those whiny, scratchy ones you see at the grocery store - G and I always used to look at those kids and laugh and say that if our kid was ever like that she wouldn’t sit down for a week, but it’s different when there’s a reason for it. I just wish I could be sure I was doing enough to help her, you know? She’s too little to really talk about what she’s feeling, and sometimes she won’t speak at all – I feel like it’s my fault somehow, because I told her that if we went to see Greg and talked to him he’d wake up and come home. She won’t go and see him every day any longer – it’s down to a couple of times a week – but she always draws a picture for me to take in when she doesn’t want to come with me, and they’ve practically covered half a wall now.

I know this probably isn’t the kind of news you were hoping to get, and I know how you feel – it’s been four months now, give or take, and I thought he’d at least be awake by now. I haven’t given up, though, even if it looks like everyone else is starting to – it’s hard for the rest of the team to come and see G now, especially Sara, and I can’t actually remember the last time she was at the hospital if I’m honest.

I did listen to you about one thing, though – I see someone every week to talk about all this. He looks like Jerry Garcia in a suit and tie, he’s the last person you’d see on the street and peg as a shrink - but he lets me rant, and that’s helping. Not very much yet, but I suppose this kind of thing takes time, right?

I know I’ve rambled a bit here, and I’m sorry – but if you meant what you said about keeping in touch, I’d like that, because it’d be nice to hear from someone who’s not the hospital or work or my family once in a while.

Either way, give my best to your folks, and take care.

Nick.

To be continued.

Episode Discussion: "Drop's Out"

2008-04-25T15:14:29Z

Hey, this episode didn't totally suck! I might even go so far as to say it was....good!

Ya got Nick and Greg (with Greg disappearing, as always in the last half--that's a sucky part), Nick flashing some waist, running, angry, disappointed, and so on, and babies babies babies!

Didn't get to see the preview for next week, because somebody ended my Tivo early :(

coincidence?

2008-04-20T00:57:29Z

so I'm looking through YouTube videos and I come across a fantastic version of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" done by a collage a capella group. What really caught my attention was the goofy mop-haired blond boy on the right and the sturdy dark haired boy that seemed to be very fond of him. Coincidence? I'll let you decide for yourself!
look up
SoCal VoCals-total eclipse of the heart ~ posted by ChiroJoel,

not only is the singing great, you may even be inspired to write a fic!

Enjoy!
<3
K