Summary: I haven't come up with one yet. Prologue/26 chapters. Beta'd by 0creativity, and incidentally, written for him.
Greg kicked off his shoes and thought about flipping on the light for a fleeting moment, but decided against it and continued making his way to the bedroom. His body ached, and he was hungry, but if he stayed awake one moment longer than he had to he might just pass out.
He managed to stub his little toe on the pile of books stacked up in the hall and cursed loudly, regretting the decision to keep the lights off. He could have easily opened the curtains - the Vegas sun was already shining brightly, threatening the city with an impending heat wave.
His fingers fumbled with the button on his jeans for a second and he wasted no time in sliding them down past his hips and shimmying out of them while simultaneously yanking his shirt up over his head.
The space in between the covers was cool when he slid into it, but he felt like he was swimming in the vast expanse of space- his body was simply not used to sleeping alone, and Greg would rather it stayed that way. But Nick was in Searchlight (he had never heard of such a stupid name for a city) tonight with Grissom, chasing down the only evidence left in his open case. Not that he actually knew which case Nick was working on - he’d stopped listening the second Nick had informed him he might not be home for a few days.
Greg sighed and turned towards Nick’s side of the bed, reaching for his pillow and scrunching it against his. It even smelled like him, but there was something else, something Greg knew was familiar but couldn’t quite recognize. He lifted his head a little a sniffed Nick’s pillow once, twice, three times and smiled. Nick’s cologne. Of course he wouldn’t immediately recognize it, he’d only known Nick to wear it on occasion, and usually only if there was something to celebrate.
He slid his hand over it and smiled again when he felt his hand brush against the paper. Sitting up, he flipped on the bedside light and squinted and the small piece of paper he held in his hand.
I’ll miss you.
Nothing much, but he held it close to his heart anyway and placed it carefully on his nightstand with the intention of storing it in his super secret memory box in the morning. He chuckled a little at what Nick would say if he ever found his super secret box - he’d probably never live that one down.
He turned the light back off and laid back against the bed, yawning. He really hated sleeping alone, but at least he didn’t have to do it often. Turning, he buried his face back into Nick’s pillow and grinned. They had their whole lives - what was one night?
Somewhere in Las Vegas, Nevada, Greg Sanders was lying on a nice, comfortable bed in a perfectly air conditioned room, and his feet were probably poking out of the bottom of the blanket.
But Nick Stokes did not care about all that, because it meant that Greg was not with him, in the most boring city he had ever visited, lying flat on his back in the world’s hottest room, covers thrown completely off the bed.
Yet Nick didn’t feel guilty wishing Greg was with him, because if he knew Greg (which he did, and very well at that), he would sacrifice the nice bed and cool air to be wrapped up in each other in this stuffy, miserably hot room.
He had almost called him eleven times, but if the last few days had been any indicator, Greg would be passed out on the bed, fast asleep, and would stay like that for some time. And as much as Nick wanted to hear his voice, he didn’t want to be the one to drag Greg back into the world of the living.
He turned on his side and yawned, tired, but unable to sleep. He mused briefly if Greg had found his note yet, and if it had made him any happier, because Greg had not been very happy when Nick had called and hesitantly explained why he wouldn’t be home that night. Or the following night, if their search continued to yield nothing. Part of him - the CSI - wanted to search until they found something to tie this bastard that kept slipping through their fingers to the heinous crime he had committed, but a larger part wanted nothing more than to say, “well, we’ve exhausted all our options, now let’s go home.”
Grissom wouldn’t stand for that, anyway. Grissom. He was the reason Nick was alone tonight. He had been perfectly willing to drive the sixty miles back to Vegas, but Grissom felt that time was better used to search for evidence.
Nick shook his head and finally stood up, fully intending to take a long, hot shower. His overnight bag was still in the chair he had dropped it on an hour earlier, but as he dug out his towel he spotted a piece of paper crammed into the zippered pocket, and took it out, carefully smoothing out the creases.
If I’m not with you while you read this, I’m probably at home and thinking of you. I love you.
He smiled and dropped the towel, shower forgotten completely. Greg was at home, safe and cool, and Nick could be without him for one night. They’d just make up for it tomorrow.