fic: For Future Reference
Title: For Future Reference
Author: 0creativity
Fandom and Pairing: CSI, Nick & Greg
Rating: G
Claim and Prompt: laconic; 041. Sight; table here.
Spoilers: Small reference to "Grave Danger", knowledge of "Spellbound" will help you understand what's going on
Summary: Sure, Nana Olaf can see the future, but that doesn't mean she likes what it shows her.
He's sitting on a sofa wrapped in a protective plastic covering, trying his hardest not to think at all. He fidgets with a stray string dangling from the bottom of his shirt and he avoids eye contact with the petite, gray-haired woman sitting opposite him. She's wearing a shawl even though it has to be eighty degrees in the room and her glasses magnify her already rather-large eyes to a level that's beyond funny-- it's just plain frightening. He looks up as the door leading from the kitchen swings open and he gives a sigh of relief when he sees the large, balding man carrying a tray with glasses full of iced tea.
He doesn't even wait to be offered one, just grabs the glass closest to him before they're even set on the coffee table. He takes a big gulp, downs half the glass and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before setting the half-empty glass down on the table a little too firmly. The absurdity of what he's just done doesn't even hit him until he sees the two confused and bemused gazes fixed squarely upon him.
“Thirsty?” a gruff male voice asks him.
“Yeah,” Greg says and he raises his eyebrows and opens his eyes wider to convey mock-sudden realization. Also, because he's always been a smart ass and never knows when to act like a mature adult, as his grandmother is so often telling him. “I guess I was.”
“I'd ask,” his grandmother starts, and, really, if his parents hadn't told him that she was actually from Norway, he never would have guessed because she doesn't have an accent at all, “if you were raised in a barn, but I know you weren't.” Her English is so perfect he's reminded of some hoighty-toighty well-to-do rich businessman's wife from New York in the forties or something and the way she's holding her glass, with her pinky finger extended, isn't really helping to erase that image from his mind. He'll never understand what Papa Olaf sees in her.
He just rolls with the punches, though, and says, “I knew you were going to say that.”
If possible, her already thin lips become even thinner and she narrows her eyes. She takes another sip of her tea and sets the glass delicately on an expensive coaster, although he's sure she probably calls it something fancier. It's long been thought that Greg inherited her ability to see the future, but she's never been a fan of this theory. He wouldn't apply himself, she'd said. He'd never realize his full potential. He'd treat it as some sort of party trick, reading the minds of his friends while drunk. She hates when he alludes to the idea that he might have her powers.
“Of course you did, dear,” she says sweetly, “I say it over and over again every time you visit.”
Greg scrunches up his face and flashes her an obviously fake smile. The only noise in the room comes from the ancient grandfather clock ticking and tocking in its corner by the television. The clock was one of the only relics from her past life that Nana Olaf had seen fit to keep. Everything else that had had any ties to their time in Norway was tossed shortly after they were. It's an evil place, she'd told him when he had expressed an interest in visiting it in an attempt to become more familiar with his roots, and I won't have you going there.
Like she has any sort of control over him. He snorts into his tea at the mere thought of it and then fakes a cough to avoid having to answer a lot of very awkward questions.
“You know, it really is quite interesting,” Nana Olaf says with the air of someone who deals with such frivolous things so often that she finds it more mundane than interesting, “I was just telling your grandfather the day before you called that I had the strangest feeling that you were going to contact us before the week was up. Well,” she chuckles-one of those forced, rich-person chuckles that are clearly only there to make you feel inferior-and takes a sip of tea before continuing, “imagine my surprise when I get back from the supermarket the next day and find out you've called!”
“Really?” Greg asks, trying to sound legitimately amazed, but it comes out so over-the-top that he's surprised she doesn't call him on it. “You know, one day I was absolutely sure Nick was coming down with appendicitis. After the third straight hour of him complaining about how much his stomach and side hurt, I said, 'Nick, we're going to the hospital and you're going to have to have your appendix removed. I know it.' Now, of course this was just a couple of months after he got released from the hospital after the abduction, so he wasn't too thrilled with the idea of going back, but I told him, 'Nick, this could kill you and wouldn't you feel foolish dying from something that's so easily treatable after you've survived all that other stuff?' Well, he couldn't really say anything to that, so we got in the car and I drove him down to the ER.”
Nana Olaf sits on the edge of her seat, one hand covering her mouth, her eyes open wide, appropriately horrified. Minutes pass and Greg doesn't bother to continue on with the story so she asks, “Why, my boy! What happened?”
“Oh,” Greg says, waving his hand dismissively, “it turned out just to be gas. Boy, was my face red.”
Lucky for him, Papa Olaf has a sense of humor, and his loud, booming laughter drowns out whatever admonitions Nana Olaf is spouting in his direction. Finally, after her husband is able to breathe normally again, she says, “Tell me, Greg. How do you sleep at night?”
“Quite comfortably, actually,” Greg replies and, really, if he's still in her will, he's sure he's out of it after this little conversation. “We got one of those Sleep Number mattresses a few months back. It's like sleeping on a cloud.”
She throws her hands up in the air and yells, “Honestly! I don't even know why I bother with you, sometimes.” Her nostrils are flaring and she's breathing heavily and Greg's afraid she might stroke out or something. “It's quite obvious,” she says, more calmly, “that you're never going to live up to your potential. That is,” she adds, “if you even have the Gift in the first place.”
“Well, in my defense... shouldn't you have seen this coming?”
She storms out of the room and Greg thinks that maybe he does have the Gift after all, because that's one thing he definitely knew was going to happen. He looks over at Papa Olaf apologetically, and he just shrugs his shoulders and says, “She's always been a little too serious.”
“Well,” Greg says guiltily, “maybe I should have played along. You know, let her have her Spider-Man moment.”
“Spider-Man moment?”
“Yeah, you know. 'With great power comes great responsibility',” he says gravely and Papa Olaf can't help but start laughing again.
“I'll never understand what made you think she was the one.”
“I knocked her up,” Papa Olaf says thoughtfully. “I've been stuck with her ever since.”
Part of Greg wants to ask if he's being serious or not, but then he remembers back a few years ago when Nana had been in the hospital, the cancer dangerously close to claiming her life. He remembers how sad, how defeated, how lost Papa Olaf had looked and he decides that there's no predicting love.
“You guys are so different,” he says, thinking of him and Nick. “How have you managed to still be in love after so long?”
“Well, you see... it's... the whole relationship's quite laconic, really,” Papa Olaf finally manages.
“Lacwhat?”
“We don't talk much,” Papa Olaf says simply.
“And that's healthy?” Greg asks skeptically. He can't imagine only talking to Nick when he absolutely has to. He loves talking with Nick, loves hearing his voice, loves watching Nick hang on his every word.
“My boy,” he says all too seriously, “it's the only possible explanation for why we're still together.”
Author: 0creativity
Fandom and Pairing: CSI, Nick & Greg
Rating: G
Claim and Prompt: laconic; 041. Sight; table here.
Spoilers: Small reference to "Grave Danger", knowledge of "Spellbound" will help you understand what's going on
Summary: Sure, Nana Olaf can see the future, but that doesn't mean she likes what it shows her.
He's sitting on a sofa wrapped in a protective plastic covering, trying his hardest not to think at all. He fidgets with a stray string dangling from the bottom of his shirt and he avoids eye contact with the petite, gray-haired woman sitting opposite him. She's wearing a shawl even though it has to be eighty degrees in the room and her glasses magnify her already rather-large eyes to a level that's beyond funny-- it's just plain frightening. He looks up as the door leading from the kitchen swings open and he gives a sigh of relief when he sees the large, balding man carrying a tray with glasses full of iced tea.
He doesn't even wait to be offered one, just grabs the glass closest to him before they're even set on the coffee table. He takes a big gulp, downs half the glass and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before setting the half-empty glass down on the table a little too firmly. The absurdity of what he's just done doesn't even hit him until he sees the two confused and bemused gazes fixed squarely upon him.
“Thirsty?” a gruff male voice asks him.
“Yeah,” Greg says and he raises his eyebrows and opens his eyes wider to convey mock-sudden realization. Also, because he's always been a smart ass and never knows when to act like a mature adult, as his grandmother is so often telling him. “I guess I was.”
“I'd ask,” his grandmother starts, and, really, if his parents hadn't told him that she was actually from Norway, he never would have guessed because she doesn't have an accent at all, “if you were raised in a barn, but I know you weren't.” Her English is so perfect he's reminded of some hoighty-toighty well-to-do rich businessman's wife from New York in the forties or something and the way she's holding her glass, with her pinky finger extended, isn't really helping to erase that image from his mind. He'll never understand what Papa Olaf sees in her.
He just rolls with the punches, though, and says, “I knew you were going to say that.”
If possible, her already thin lips become even thinner and she narrows her eyes. She takes another sip of her tea and sets the glass delicately on an expensive coaster, although he's sure she probably calls it something fancier. It's long been thought that Greg inherited her ability to see the future, but she's never been a fan of this theory. He wouldn't apply himself, she'd said. He'd never realize his full potential. He'd treat it as some sort of party trick, reading the minds of his friends while drunk. She hates when he alludes to the idea that he might have her powers.
“Of course you did, dear,” she says sweetly, “I say it over and over again every time you visit.”
Greg scrunches up his face and flashes her an obviously fake smile. The only noise in the room comes from the ancient grandfather clock ticking and tocking in its corner by the television. The clock was one of the only relics from her past life that Nana Olaf had seen fit to keep. Everything else that had had any ties to their time in Norway was tossed shortly after they were. It's an evil place, she'd told him when he had expressed an interest in visiting it in an attempt to become more familiar with his roots, and I won't have you going there.
Like she has any sort of control over him. He snorts into his tea at the mere thought of it and then fakes a cough to avoid having to answer a lot of very awkward questions.
“You know, it really is quite interesting,” Nana Olaf says with the air of someone who deals with such frivolous things so often that she finds it more mundane than interesting, “I was just telling your grandfather the day before you called that I had the strangest feeling that you were going to contact us before the week was up. Well,” she chuckles-one of those forced, rich-person chuckles that are clearly only there to make you feel inferior-and takes a sip of tea before continuing, “imagine my surprise when I get back from the supermarket the next day and find out you've called!”
“Really?” Greg asks, trying to sound legitimately amazed, but it comes out so over-the-top that he's surprised she doesn't call him on it. “You know, one day I was absolutely sure Nick was coming down with appendicitis. After the third straight hour of him complaining about how much his stomach and side hurt, I said, 'Nick, we're going to the hospital and you're going to have to have your appendix removed. I know it.' Now, of course this was just a couple of months after he got released from the hospital after the abduction, so he wasn't too thrilled with the idea of going back, but I told him, 'Nick, this could kill you and wouldn't you feel foolish dying from something that's so easily treatable after you've survived all that other stuff?' Well, he couldn't really say anything to that, so we got in the car and I drove him down to the ER.”
Nana Olaf sits on the edge of her seat, one hand covering her mouth, her eyes open wide, appropriately horrified. Minutes pass and Greg doesn't bother to continue on with the story so she asks, “Why, my boy! What happened?”
“Oh,” Greg says, waving his hand dismissively, “it turned out just to be gas. Boy, was my face red.”
Lucky for him, Papa Olaf has a sense of humor, and his loud, booming laughter drowns out whatever admonitions Nana Olaf is spouting in his direction. Finally, after her husband is able to breathe normally again, she says, “Tell me, Greg. How do you sleep at night?”
“Quite comfortably, actually,” Greg replies and, really, if he's still in her will, he's sure he's out of it after this little conversation. “We got one of those Sleep Number mattresses a few months back. It's like sleeping on a cloud.”
She throws her hands up in the air and yells, “Honestly! I don't even know why I bother with you, sometimes.” Her nostrils are flaring and she's breathing heavily and Greg's afraid she might stroke out or something. “It's quite obvious,” she says, more calmly, “that you're never going to live up to your potential. That is,” she adds, “if you even have the Gift in the first place.”
“Well, in my defense... shouldn't you have seen this coming?”
She storms out of the room and Greg thinks that maybe he does have the Gift after all, because that's one thing he definitely knew was going to happen. He looks over at Papa Olaf apologetically, and he just shrugs his shoulders and says, “She's always been a little too serious.”
“Well,” Greg says guiltily, “maybe I should have played along. You know, let her have her Spider-Man moment.”
“Spider-Man moment?”
“Yeah, you know. 'With great power comes great responsibility',” he says gravely and Papa Olaf can't help but start laughing again.
“I'll never understand what made you think she was the one.”
“I knocked her up,” Papa Olaf says thoughtfully. “I've been stuck with her ever since.”
Part of Greg wants to ask if he's being serious or not, but then he remembers back a few years ago when Nana had been in the hospital, the cancer dangerously close to claiming her life. He remembers how sad, how defeated, how lost Papa Olaf had looked and he decides that there's no predicting love.
“You guys are so different,” he says, thinking of him and Nick. “How have you managed to still be in love after so long?”
“Well, you see... it's... the whole relationship's quite laconic, really,” Papa Olaf finally manages.
“Lacwhat?”
“We don't talk much,” Papa Olaf says simply.
“And that's healthy?” Greg asks skeptically. He can't imagine only talking to Nick when he absolutely has to. He loves talking with Nick, loves hearing his voice, loves watching Nick hang on his every word.
“My boy,” he says all too seriously, “it's the only possible explanation for why we're still together.”