meisaal (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} meisaal) wrote in ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} nickngreg,@ 2008-06-16 03:35:00 |
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| Entry tags: | fic: immune to the stuff, meisaal |
Immune to the Stuff pt. 5
Immune to the Stuff, pt. 5
FRT (swearing and mild angst)
Warnings: uh, none
Summary: See previous installments for different summary takes (My lj problems are being complicated by RL and equipment problems; I'll try to get all the links up on one entry soon, but they're all pretty close together)
"I told you--because you had a bitch of a day, you need some rest, and you don't sleep by yourself--correction; on the extremely rare occasions you pass out alone from sheer exhaustion, you get screaming nightmares that turn you into even more of a ghost than no sleep at all would have."
"But you could have gone out with Mandy for just an hour or two. I'm used to getting by on less than eight hours; I've always been involved with school and projects and God, never-ending farm work, and training and--"
"Yeah, you're too used to it. You can't afford it right now, but you keep trying to make it on what's always been enough before, and then you don't even get *that*. In case it slipped your notice, Mandy *assumed* I was coming home with you, for the exact reason that I was coming home with you--so you'd get some rest. And you were the only one with a problem about it; *she* didn't bat an eyelash; she was fine with the rain check. I told you--"
"--that everybody's in a panic over me, yeah, that's such a comforting thought."
Greg watched Nick flop in disgust onto the midnight-blue velvet recliner that had taken three medium-large guys and, at a crucial point, one very small woman to maneuver through the front door. "You already knew all this, Nick. Mandy and Catherine and Grissom and Brass even, everyone else, they know I'm here a lot, and why. And they know I don't mind, and *they* don't mind, and I didn't think you minded either. Why is it bugging you now?"
"It's not *bugging* me, except in the sense it's been bugging me all this time, just not so bad, not so in my face." He gave Greg a look that was at once pleading and exasperated. "I want you to have your *life*, G. Not only is it the fair thing, it'll keep…" he stopped suddenly, closing his eyes; he rubbed them and leaned them into his hand, resting his elbow on the chair.
Greg stood very still, then stepped down into the living room proper and walked slowly over to the huge chair where Nick was. "As in, maybe, keep me from getting sick of this? Getting bored, giving up? I am *not* going to give up on you, Nick," he said, soft and intense. "Did you fake that pass--which I know you would have followed through on, if I'd taken you up on it--to keep me from getting bored? After all, it might have kept me interested--"
Nick lifted his head and glared. His very-dark-brown eyes often looked black, and they did now, and hard as chips of jet.
Greg said quietly, pointing briefly at Nick, "*That* is how I feel when you make comments like that. Like you want me to have a social life that takes precedence over helping you, in order to keep me from leaving you entirely. I'm *not*--Christ, you *can't* think I'm that shallow an s.o.b., previous generalized evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. Have you developed selective amnesia for the events of the last couple of months? I…you've become my priority because that's the way I want it." He thought of how well he knew Nick now, how different the dynamic was between them since the shift end when Greg had trepidatiously asked a grey-faced, baggy-eyed Nick if some company might help him sleep better.
Nick let his head fall against the chair back and closed his eyes. "I didn't mean to *insult* you, for God's sake. But you're a grown man. I'm a grown man. We're professionals. You can't spend the rest of your life this--"
"I don't intend for it to be the rest of my life. I don't believe it will be. Not precisely like this, at least."
Nick snorted mirthlessly. "Huh. Yeah. Warrick wants us to hook up."
Greg blinked. "What about Tina?"
"You and me, Einstein. He wants…he wishes he could do for me what you do, you were right about that, but I'm not certain if it's envy or…feelings of unfulfilled responsibility. Anyway, I'm starting to see his point. If we did, you and me…maybe this all wouldn't seem so fucking crazy."
Greg crouched by the chair, taking Nick's near hand; Nick let him, still blinking a little too fast. Greg said "This *is* fucking crazy, Nick, there's nothing normal about what happened or anything that's going to come after. You're pushing too hard. You're used to being able to turn things under and get on with life. This just isn't going to go away that fast, it won't *ever* go away totally, and it won't become as manageable as its going to get without work--and it *will* get manageable. I know that. I *expect* that the work is going to happen. Now you need to accept it."
"That you…that I can't make it go away, or that you expect to be here for the work?"
"Both, Nicky."
Nick was silent, his eyes tearing lightly.
"But, um…if I still can, if you'll still let me, I want to change my mind about something."
Nick glanced over at him so sharply a tear dripped from one eye; he wiped it away, barely noticing it. "What?" His grip on Greg's hand tightened.
"Nothing bad--it's something you asked me. I thought…I figured that it'd be easier on our friends at work who are covering for us, and easier on us if it came down to it, if…well, if I moved in, like you said, took over the downstairs bedroom suite. Then we'd be two bachelors sharing digs, not one guy sleeping over at another guy's place alone with him every night. Day. Whatever. We'd have a solid defense, if we needed one, against either the we're-lovers idea, which could get one of us transferred, or the you're-in-a-worse-way-than-you-let-on problem, which would get you put on mandatory leave. After all, this is pretty delicately balanced. It wouldn't take much for the wrong person to find out just by accident, considering how many people know."
Nick was motionless, staring at him.
Greg nattered on, "I mean, we'll say you bit off a little more than you could chew when you bought this place, after you moved out of the house the stalker ruined for you--maybe you were thinking of eventually getting married, or something--and I'm a former DNA maestro who's now a CSI 1, still learning to live on a painfully tightened budget, who could use the cheap rent I can get from a friend. There's plenty of room, and if I'm gonna be renting anyway it might as well be from you, to help you pay the mortg--"
He was quite content to stop babbling to let Nick kiss him, long and thorough; he lifted up a little to put some pressure and sensual reciprocation into it. The fake-pass kiss in bed had been just as warm and deep, and thoroughly enjoyable, sincere on a lot of levels, but this one was really firing his endocrine system, so naturally his dick got even harder than it had then, at which he sighed to himself. Hazard of having such a hot friend you loved so much, he supposed. And who loved you.
Finally they broke to breathe, brushed their lips softly together one more time, and stayed there over the arm of the chair with their arms around each other's shoulders, panting gently into each other's necks.
"We could do this in bed and avoid the eventual cramp," Greg, who was on one knee on the floor, finally pointed out.
"Uh. Yeah." Nick laughed a little, wiped at his face as he let Greg separate them, and said "Soon, you think?"
"I have a day off coming up," Greg said, "and I don't think it'll get swiped from me by work if I tell Catherine what I plan to do with it and why. I also doubt I'll have any trouble scaring up help. We'll get someone to look out for your stuff's interests if you can't get the time off, too."
"Shouldn't be a problem, G. Could you, uh, maybe head on upstairs?"
Greg stood, caressing Nick's dark head. "You know I don't mind."
"It's just sometimes *I* do, can't explain it," Nick shrugged, his voice already thick, and Greg nodded, bent to quickly kiss his cheekbone, and headed for the staircase, to let Nick cry by himself for a while. He'd cried all over Greg on numerous occasions--but this still happened at times, this need for privacy for it, and Greg didn't figure it for any kind of problem, especially when the tears weren't terrified or heartbroken; just overwhelmed, or confused, or maybe even happy.
Everybody just needed their privacy sometimes, even people who hated being alone for long. God knew Greg needed his alone time, too.
***
"Griss, c'mon, y'gotta hear me out on this."
"Nicky, this is, by your own definition of such things, weird; and I know you. You do not just suddenly go weird."
Nick frowned, sat motionless for a minute, and then said "Greg says nothing about what happened to me, or about what happens after something like that is nominally over, is normal; and I should expect the unexpected. Or maybe I'm just getting desperate. Either way, will you hear me out?"
Grissom was silent a moment, and actually had to work at not smiling; "Greg says" was becoming a catchphrase in Nick's vocabulary, though Grissom suspected Nick would expire of the ignominy if he ever realized anyone was noticing, or even became aware of it himself.
Grissom finally leaned back in his desk chair, crossed his legs, and did his Spock eyebrow. "I suppose that's likely true. I'll hear you out. But I'm not making any promises, and I'll tell you right now--no means no. Plus, I get to ask questions." He gave Nick a don't-fuck-with-me stare.
"Fine. You listen 'til I'm done, and ask whatever you want, and if you still think it's cracked, I'll drop it, no argument."
"My first question is whether Greg put you up to this."
"In a sense. He taught me the ouija thing."
Grissom sighed, his eyes closing. "Please, Nick. Wu Ji. It's called standing Wu Ji."
"Uh, yeah, that. Now, you were right that it's not ordinarily the kind of thing I'd go for. But it's done some amazing stuff for me, that and the breathing exercises. It's like…" Nick pondered. "When I was a kid, I was afraid of the water, and my older sister taught me to swim by teaching me to float on my back and kick. I felt fine if she was in the water with me--she's a real maternal type, and she was way bigger than me at the time. She held me up with my front out of the water with her hands under my back, and I'd guide myself with my arms and kick real gentle underwater like she told me to; and one day, I was focused on what I was doing, listening to the water sounds, and I opened my eyes and I was about to bang my head on the other end of the pool. I'd been swimming on my own for ten minutes before I even realized she wasn't holding me up any more, and it hadn't felt any different at all from when she *had* been holding me. And I was afraid I'd sink, and I splashed, but she said just grab the side, turn around, roll on your back and keep kicking--if you keep breathing and kick real easy, guide with your arms--in a still pool of water, you *can't* sink. So I kept on, and she was right. I was never afraid of the water again. I learned all the team strokes, did diving, everything, because I *knew* all I had to do to keep from drowning was that one thing--kick to the surface and float on my back. The panic just…went away. This is like that."
"So…" Grissom thought back through the little speech, wanting to make sure he was interpreting correctly. He didn't think Nick was trying to tell him Greg's instruction in standing meditation had cured his PTS. "…you're saying that Greg taught you to stand Wu Ji, which, if he didn't tell you, is a Taoist standing meditation for Tai Chi, and did some of the preliminary breath work with you, and you believe that has the potential to…keep you from panicking, give you a safe way to rest--like floating on your back--while you learn more about it, and about how to cope with your trauma stress."
"Yeah. Yeah, a lot like that. Like I said, I know it's not the kind of thing I'd usually go in for; I mean, Greg is into a bunch of utterly weird shit--which is okay, really, it's great--like this Eastern stuff that I'll never understand the way he does…but then, he's from, you know…"
Grissom half-smiled. "Is 'California' a dirty word in Texas?"
"Almost." Nick smirked. "In particular, 'San Francisco'."
Grissom's mouth pursed slightly. "You never answered my question."
Nick looked blank.
Grissom repeated patiently "Was it Greg's idea to bring it up to me? Does he plan to instruct you?"
"Huh? Oh, no. No, not at all, he doesn't…"
"He doesn't plan on it?"
"He doesn't actually know I'm saying this. Asking this. Asking you about this. Yet, I mean--I'll tell him. At home. Tonight. Today. You know."
Grissom took off his glasses slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing it a bit. "Nicky…has it occurred to you that one reason this particular form of meditation might seem like such a natural easement to you is that you do it standing up?"
Nick was silent a moment, then said "We do the breathing sitting down. He does it in lotus, but the right half of my ass goes dead when I do that and he says lotus isn't necessary any--"
"And you don't do any of it lying down."
"Um. Not meditation per se, no. But he says we *can* do the stuff you learn seated lying down, when I feel ready to, when I've got the forms right. He says it even helps when you're learning one of the harder parts, breathing into the kidneys. My kidneys? I gotta admit I never knew breathing could be so complex."
"I've gotta admit I would never have said you'd have anything to do with back breathing."
"There was a time not long ago I wouldn't have. As far as lying down, there are meditations specifically designed for that, but he says they're advanced and he doesn't know them. Um, more specifically, that he's tried them, but he falls asleep, which I guess must not be right."
"What do you intend to do when you get that far?"
"Well, see," Nick said, leaning forward eagerly in the chair and lifting his hands to talk with, "we're going to find a thoroughly versed Tai Chi instructor who understands--uh--" Nick snapped his fingers a couple of times, eyes squinched and forehead furrowed, "--something that makes me think of a Chinese horse--"
"Nei gung?"
"Yeah, that, all the steps and purposes of each step of that, and Greg's going to study it with me, 'cause he's always wanted to anyway, he says. And I'm inclined to believe him, because he knows an awful lot about it for someone to have learned on their own. He kept out the box with his books on it when we were moving him in, and he has about two dozen of the things, all about different aspects of nei gung, chi gung, and the internal martial arts--um--"
"Ba gua chang, Tai Chi and hsing-i."
Nick coughed. "Yeah. As opposed to external martial arts like karate, aikido--they're Japanese--or even shaolinquan, which is Chinese. They're considered inferior because they're not as well balanced. First I'd heard of it, but whatever. I've been reading a book that's not about the actual martial arts so much as other stuff that comes first with the internal group, and it talks about learning to maintain mental clarity, and clearing energy blocks created by mental ruts and emotional programming and trauma and expectations, and a bunch of other stuff that makes it sound like Chinese for 'therapy'. In fact he's got one on the similarities between western psychological therapy, kundalini--East Indian stuff--and the Chinese versions, but I haven't read that one."
"Well, discounting the martial arts aspect of it, therapy is very nearly exactly what it is, Nick; it trains you to naturally feel, conserve and use different kinds of life-energy in an informed, sensate fashion. Have you read anything about the energy gates or the Three Treasures?"
Nick frowned. "Like in the Tao te Ching? 'I have three treasures that I hold and keep…?'"
Grissom gazed at him a moment, then smiled slowly. "'I have three treasures that I hold and keep,'" he repeated. "'Compassion, economy, and daring to deliberately not put myself ahead of others'."
Nick smiled a little, and said "'From compassion comes courage, from economy comes generosity, and from humility comes leadership…' I didn't know I remembered that much of the verse."
"So, you've been reading translations of the Tao te Ching, Nick?"
"Um…" Nick squirmed in his chair.
"It's not a crime. I was getting ready to be impressed, in fact."
"Greg reads to me," Nick blurted. "Sometimes. I kind of…it's not meditation, but I practice lying down, with the lights on, but without trying to sleep, and without a distraction like the TV. Just…trying to get comfortable in the position, you know, without…"
"Without Greg touching you anywhere. It's not surprising human touch calms that panic, you know. Someone else touching you would prove to even the lowest levels of your reflexive mind that you aren't where you were afraid you might be."
"I know," Nick said softly. "He says the same thing. So does my shrink, not that his opinion's worth much, no more than I give him to go on. For all I know, he's Ecklie's cousin. Anyway, Greg's voice just…works better than listening to music, for some reason."
"A similar sort of proof that someone--who cares about you, who's safe--is really there," Grissom nodded. "A broadcast or a recording wouldn't provide that. In any case, I was speaking of a different three treasures. That's been a source of confusion for non-Chinese speakers for thousands of years. I meant three Taoist treasures involved in what you're talking about working with. They're called jing, chi and shen, or--"
"Essences of the material body, the vital energy, and the spirit," Nick said, nodding rapidly, and tapping his lower belly, his chest and his forehead in rapid succession. "I don't really get that part, because nothing calls them all the same thing, but I remember that one interpretation. That's where they're supposed to be, though. The centers in the body, I mean."
"Yes, I know. Well, don't feel bad--trying to learn things like this from assorted sources, which means different translations, isn't easy; if Greg hadn't done some of the early sorting for you…" Grissom leaned back in his chair and looked pensive as only he could look. Nick waited.
Finally Grissom said "You know that if Ecklie finds out about this being your therapy option, he's going to send in the Spanish Inquisition and we'll all end up in the comfy chair."
"With all due respect, he can't do that. Greg and I are officially--we even have a lease for him drawn up so we can flash it if we have to--sharing a house for financial reasons. I won't say Ecklie's exactly welcome to drop over any time, but I will say I'm not worried about his catching us out doing anything improper. To even *try* to do that, he'd have to do something improper first, and it'll be hard to fall back on a 'can't make omelettes without breaking eggs' defense when what he'd have to do would involve *very* blatant spying for no reason for which any judge would issue a warrant. We aren't even cops, and we work for the city, which does have a nondiscrimination policy. I happen to know that it isn't worded such that it can be used to exclude--uh--anybody, if they don't have certain types of handicap that make them unable to perform the job for which they're applying, or certain types of criminal history.
"Now, I know the department doesn't want a lawsuit. We'd fight it, and we'd let it be known that if he won, we'd sue, no doubts--wrongful dismissal, defamation of character, loss of earning power, anything else our lawyers came up with. And the city would settle; it always does, in cases that make it look ugly. Ecklie'd get the boot; we wouldn't even have to make it part of the settlement. Assured Mutual Destruction, man. Except Greg and I would both be rich."
Grissom was waving a hand for a break in which to speak. "I know that, Nicky, but while Ecklie may prefer to do his self-aggrandizing by making a big show of sticking to the letter of regulations 'for the good of the lab', he's not above using certain unofficial channels, for something like this; he'd see the presence in his department of…anything he considered suspicious in a particular way, as a danger to his own advancement. As you say, he wouldn't take the risk by filing officially, but there are a lot of other things a man in his position could do that you'd be powerless against; and I wouldn't be able to help you. He could succeed in making it not worth it for one or even both of you to stay. If we were talking about, say, you and Catherine, one of you would be transferred, and that would probably be the end of it except for the automatic reprimand. But." He paused, let the word stand by itself, and then asked "Are you hearing me?"
Grissom hoped so; he noticed that neither he nor Nick, though they were obviously discussing the potential for Greg and Nick to either wind up suspected lovers or actually become known lovers, neither himself nor Nick had said that outright; not at work, even in the (presumable) privacy of Grissom's office. His mind was relieved entirely of the question at Nick's next words.
Nick blinked. "Gosh, sir, dunno what you mean. Greg and I are just saving us both some money, and there's plenty of room in that big-ass house, don't know what I was thinking when I sunk myself into it--I could spend the rest of my life paying that thing off. A trustworthy roommate to help out on the payments--a guy with my hours, even--hey, that's a Godsend."
Grissom nodded. "Just remember."
"I did before."
No mention of what, and certainly no mention of names. "Good. I'm glad for you, Nick. You're right--at this point in your life, a friend like Greg *is* a Godsend. Good luck."
Nick grinned hugely and stood up, leaning on Grissom's desk. "Thanks, man--"
Grissom suddenly leaned back in his chair, staring at Nick over the rims of his glasses. "Don't hug me again."
"Wasn't gonna, wasn't gonna," Nick reassured him hastily, holding both hands out in a no-threat-here gesture. "Just…just thanks, that's all."
"You're welcome. Now shoo, I have a meeting with Sofia."
"Right." Nick started for the door.
"And Nick?"
"Yeah?" Nick turned, hand on the doorknob.
"Keep me apprised. Of everything of which you think we'd both feel it appropriate to keep me apprised, that is, concerning your therapy progress. I have to note these things for your file, you know, make *some* sort of progress record, and your shrink, as you said, isn't giving me much. Details will be at my discretion, of course. And when you have one, I'll need a contact--just for me--for your instructor--"
"--henceforth to be known in these proceedings as my 'therapist'."
"Anyway, I'll come up with some…appropriate wording and e you the memo."
"Got it."
"Also, I may be talking to Greg about this."
Nick snorted. "I don't think you'll be able to avoid it unless you see him first. He's pretty excited."
"Oh, dear." Grissom looked just a bit cross. "Greg is excited?"
"I'm thinking about taking an interest in his coin collection, maybe spend some time talking about mint marks and steel pennies, leaf through some numismatics books; might calm him down some. It's not like I can take him surfing or diving or anything. He'd spit on the likes of the lake."
"Spending some time with Greg and his coin collection would be very kind of you. For Greg's sake, too."
"I just hope it helps, or I might have to take him parasailing."
***
