by Dira Sudis
Ha! I am first in the first challenge! If I were Sara I would totally give myself a gold star for this, but sadly I have no stickers. I do have 1,501 words of Gil/Nick, set vaguely in season six, PG-rated. Thanks to merryish and iuliamentis for audiencing!
First Things First
The first Nick knew of it was when Ecklie grabbed him, barely inside the door. He said, "Come with me," and hauled Nick into his office and shut the door. Nick stood in front of his desk, blinking, while Ecklie went around behind it.
"For the record," Ecklie said, not meeting Nick's eyes. "My personal and professional policy has always been that I don't want to know, so until I'm again reduced to hearing about your DNA being tested by this lab, we'll just assume I don't."
Nick looked at Ecklie more carefully, but there didn't seem to be any visible sign of dementia or disorientation. Kristi had died nearly five years ago. "Yeah," Nick said, "okay."
Ecklie nodded firmly. "If I did know, of course, in accordance with department, city, and state non-discrimination policies and recent federal court rulings, you should know that I very much don't care. But if you ever do anything to compromise the integrity of this lab you'll be out on your ear so fast you'll leave skid marks in the parking lot."
Alarm bells had already been going off; now the air raid siren started up. Something very peculiar had happened while Nick was home sleeping off that triple. "Yeah," Nick said. "Of course. I would never--"
"Good," Ecklie said, "then we understand each other." He looked straight at Nick for the first time and said, "At least your taste has improved." Then he sat down, shuffling papers, obviously dismissing Nick from his attention. Nick started backing toward the door, watching him and wondering what the hell was going on and why Ecklie, by Ecklie's standards, was being so damn nice about it.
It was the most Ecklie had spoken to him since he'd stopped by the hospital, months back. Nick had been pretty heavily drugged at that point, but he remembered Ecklie giving him a little speech in this same kind of tone, a top layer of just doing my job with a howling undertone of really glad you're alive, don't ever scare us like that again. Nick had thought he'd hallucinated the whole thing, but he'd gotten independent confirmation later on. "Conrad," Nick drawled, "are you falling in love with me?"
Ecklie didn't look up. "Out of my office, Stokes, before I terminate you for sexual harassment."
Nick grinned. Yeah, Ecklie definitely had a soft spot for him since he'd been kidnaped. But that was only a collateral issue, so when Nick let himself out he headed straight for Evidence without making eye contact with anybody, headed all the way to the back wall and only then stopped to try and think it out.
He'd worked a triple on the rape and murder of a pretty girl who had been the mayor's niece's maid of honor. He'd just made what he thought was an important break--directional spatter on the windowsill, a partial in dust on the underside--when swing shift ended. Grissom had cornered him in the hallway and told him to go home. We're not surgical residents, he'd said, with a bleak weary smile of his own. We don't work four straight when we don't absolutely have to. Go home and get some sleep, I don't want you in the lab like this.
And Nick had known it was plain truth, and nodded, and--
Nick stood up straight, looking sharply toward the door, but he was still alone with his idiocy. He turned and banged his head gently against the wall.
He'd leaned. Right there in the corridor with swing going off and grave coming on, he'd leaned into Grissom's hand on his shoulder. He'd been tired, was all, making to step past Grissom and away--but no. He'd leaned. After all these years, of all the stupid ways to give himself away.
Two shifts' worth of techs and CSIs coming and going, and obviously the whole lab knew by now, if Ecklie knew. But Nick had woken up after his first six hours' sleep to a voice mail from Grissom, telling him they'd wrapped the case thanks to his break, and not to bother coming in until midnight. Grissom had sounded completely like himself, not like he was trying to warn Nick off or get him out of the middle of something: so if there was anybody left in CSI who didn't know, it was probably Grissom.
Nick thought for a minute about trying to catch him in his office before assignments to warn him--but that would look like they were trying to get their story straight, when really there was nothing there. Nothing but wishful thinking on Nick's part, buried so long and so deep that it had sunk into his bones: and now they'd betrayed him.
***
Nobody said anything to him about it. Warrick punched his shoulder lightly in the locker room, which Nick decoded as a silent expression of sympathy, support, and continued heterosexuality. Cath gave him a sad smile, almost pitying; if they'd been alone he had the feeling she'd have ruffled his hair and called him Nicky. Greg was, mercifully, running late, so Nick didn't see him until assignments. With Grissom right there, brisk and apparently still oblivious, Greg just winked and then headed out to his robbery.
Nick carefully avoided looking at Sara. He got the feeling she wasn't looking at him either.
He headed out to the crime scene, where Sofia and some uniforms were waiting for him. It was almost disorienting when none of them looked at him sideways--but no, the lab kept its best gossip to itself, and protected its own. Nobody was outing him to the officers, though Brass would inevitably find out and then maybe he'd have trouble with the detectives. In the meantime, Nick had work to do.
***
When he got back to the lab, something had changed. He could feel it. Lab techs dropped their voices when he walked by, or turned away, but when they smiled in his direction it wasn't that sneaky sideways we-know-about-you smile. This was a joke they thought he was in on.
He kept his ears open while he processed evidence, picked up a half a sentence here, a choked back laugh there. He calculated the trajectory of the hastily averted looks, the flow of bets and payoffs from ballistics to video to fingerprinting to trace, and by end of shift, he knew what everybody knew, though nobody had told him.
Somebody had finally clued Grissom in, and Grissom had smiled.
Nick smiled too, working on his collection of fibers from the scene. The smiling thing had to be an exaggeration, but it didn't matter. The whole lab wouldn't get the gist wrong. The only worse romantics than cops were scientists, and Nick knew that for a fact because he'd been both in his time, but this was the best lab in the country. He trusted everybody here to find the truth, no matter how it was hidden, and to know it when they found it--they'd nailed Grissom on this one, dead to rights.
***
It was halfway through dayshift before Nick had his own actual case put away, which was when he remembered that Grissom had all the paperwork from his last case. Nick was going to have to go talk to him about that--they'd probably both wind up having to testify, and Nick wanted to be clear on exactly how the evidence he'd collected had wound up being used.
Grissom's office door was open, so Nick leaned in, one hand on the doorframe. "Hey, Griss--"
Grissom looked up, and Nick forgot what he was saying. Grissom was wearing his glasses, and God, it was a good thing he never wore them in the field or Nick never would have been cleared to work solo. "Yes, Nick?"
As an experiment, Nick smiled.
Grissom tilted his head, raised an eyebrow, and then slowly, slowly, smiled back. Nick tightened his grip on the doorframe. He was grinning now, and Grissom was grinning back, and in a second he was going to be laughing out loud, out here in the hallway where anyone could see him--but what the hell? It wasn't like they didn't already know. "We should really, sometime--"
"Yes," Grissom said, and Nick could hear the laugh in his voice, too--after all this time, as easy as that, no one even had to finish a sentence. Grissom's next day off was written in on the white board in the break room, right above Nick's. Grissom always had a scheduled day off, just like everyone else. He just hardly ever took it. But Tuesday they'd both be off. Together. Yes.
Grissom looked away first, reaching for a folder on his desk. "I have the paperwork on your case from the other day. We can go over it now, if you have time."
"Yeah," Nick said, and stepped inside. Work now; play later. Tuesday. Yes. "Now's good."
First Things First
The first Nick knew of it was when Ecklie grabbed him, barely inside the door. He said, "Come with me," and hauled Nick into his office and shut the door. Nick stood in front of his desk, blinking, while Ecklie went around behind it.
"For the record," Ecklie said, not meeting Nick's eyes. "My personal and professional policy has always been that I don't want to know, so until I'm again reduced to hearing about your DNA being tested by this lab, we'll just assume I don't."
Nick looked at Ecklie more carefully, but there didn't seem to be any visible sign of dementia or disorientation. Kristi had died nearly five years ago. "Yeah," Nick said, "okay."
Ecklie nodded firmly. "If I did know, of course, in accordance with department, city, and state non-discrimination policies and recent federal court rulings, you should know that I very much don't care. But if you ever do anything to compromise the integrity of this lab you'll be out on your ear so fast you'll leave skid marks in the parking lot."
Alarm bells had already been going off; now the air raid siren started up. Something very peculiar had happened while Nick was home sleeping off that triple. "Yeah," Nick said. "Of course. I would never--"
"Good," Ecklie said, "then we understand each other." He looked straight at Nick for the first time and said, "At least your taste has improved." Then he sat down, shuffling papers, obviously dismissing Nick from his attention. Nick started backing toward the door, watching him and wondering what the hell was going on and why Ecklie, by Ecklie's standards, was being so damn nice about it.
It was the most Ecklie had spoken to him since he'd stopped by the hospital, months back. Nick had been pretty heavily drugged at that point, but he remembered Ecklie giving him a little speech in this same kind of tone, a top layer of just doing my job with a howling undertone of really glad you're alive, don't ever scare us like that again. Nick had thought he'd hallucinated the whole thing, but he'd gotten independent confirmation later on. "Conrad," Nick drawled, "are you falling in love with me?"
Ecklie didn't look up. "Out of my office, Stokes, before I terminate you for sexual harassment."
Nick grinned. Yeah, Ecklie definitely had a soft spot for him since he'd been kidnaped. But that was only a collateral issue, so when Nick let himself out he headed straight for Evidence without making eye contact with anybody, headed all the way to the back wall and only then stopped to try and think it out.
He'd worked a triple on the rape and murder of a pretty girl who had been the mayor's niece's maid of honor. He'd just made what he thought was an important break--directional spatter on the windowsill, a partial in dust on the underside--when swing shift ended. Grissom had cornered him in the hallway and told him to go home. We're not surgical residents, he'd said, with a bleak weary smile of his own. We don't work four straight when we don't absolutely have to. Go home and get some sleep, I don't want you in the lab like this.
And Nick had known it was plain truth, and nodded, and--
Nick stood up straight, looking sharply toward the door, but he was still alone with his idiocy. He turned and banged his head gently against the wall.
He'd leaned. Right there in the corridor with swing going off and grave coming on, he'd leaned into Grissom's hand on his shoulder. He'd been tired, was all, making to step past Grissom and away--but no. He'd leaned. After all these years, of all the stupid ways to give himself away.
Two shifts' worth of techs and CSIs coming and going, and obviously the whole lab knew by now, if Ecklie knew. But Nick had woken up after his first six hours' sleep to a voice mail from Grissom, telling him they'd wrapped the case thanks to his break, and not to bother coming in until midnight. Grissom had sounded completely like himself, not like he was trying to warn Nick off or get him out of the middle of something: so if there was anybody left in CSI who didn't know, it was probably Grissom.
Nick thought for a minute about trying to catch him in his office before assignments to warn him--but that would look like they were trying to get their story straight, when really there was nothing there. Nothing but wishful thinking on Nick's part, buried so long and so deep that it had sunk into his bones: and now they'd betrayed him.
***
Nobody said anything to him about it. Warrick punched his shoulder lightly in the locker room, which Nick decoded as a silent expression of sympathy, support, and continued heterosexuality. Cath gave him a sad smile, almost pitying; if they'd been alone he had the feeling she'd have ruffled his hair and called him Nicky. Greg was, mercifully, running late, so Nick didn't see him until assignments. With Grissom right there, brisk and apparently still oblivious, Greg just winked and then headed out to his robbery.
Nick carefully avoided looking at Sara. He got the feeling she wasn't looking at him either.
He headed out to the crime scene, where Sofia and some uniforms were waiting for him. It was almost disorienting when none of them looked at him sideways--but no, the lab kept its best gossip to itself, and protected its own. Nobody was outing him to the officers, though Brass would inevitably find out and then maybe he'd have trouble with the detectives. In the meantime, Nick had work to do.
***
When he got back to the lab, something had changed. He could feel it. Lab techs dropped their voices when he walked by, or turned away, but when they smiled in his direction it wasn't that sneaky sideways we-know-about-you smile. This was a joke they thought he was in on.
He kept his ears open while he processed evidence, picked up a half a sentence here, a choked back laugh there. He calculated the trajectory of the hastily averted looks, the flow of bets and payoffs from ballistics to video to fingerprinting to trace, and by end of shift, he knew what everybody knew, though nobody had told him.
Somebody had finally clued Grissom in, and Grissom had smiled.
Nick smiled too, working on his collection of fibers from the scene. The smiling thing had to be an exaggeration, but it didn't matter. The whole lab wouldn't get the gist wrong. The only worse romantics than cops were scientists, and Nick knew that for a fact because he'd been both in his time, but this was the best lab in the country. He trusted everybody here to find the truth, no matter how it was hidden, and to know it when they found it--they'd nailed Grissom on this one, dead to rights.
***
It was halfway through dayshift before Nick had his own actual case put away, which was when he remembered that Grissom had all the paperwork from his last case. Nick was going to have to go talk to him about that--they'd probably both wind up having to testify, and Nick wanted to be clear on exactly how the evidence he'd collected had wound up being used.
Grissom's office door was open, so Nick leaned in, one hand on the doorframe. "Hey, Griss--"
Grissom looked up, and Nick forgot what he was saying. Grissom was wearing his glasses, and God, it was a good thing he never wore them in the field or Nick never would have been cleared to work solo. "Yes, Nick?"
As an experiment, Nick smiled.
Grissom tilted his head, raised an eyebrow, and then slowly, slowly, smiled back. Nick tightened his grip on the doorframe. He was grinning now, and Grissom was grinning back, and in a second he was going to be laughing out loud, out here in the hallway where anyone could see him--but what the hell? It wasn't like they didn't already know. "We should really, sometime--"
"Yes," Grissom said, and Nick could hear the laugh in his voice, too--after all this time, as easy as that, no one even had to finish a sentence. Grissom's next day off was written in on the white board in the break room, right above Nick's. Grissom always had a scheduled day off, just like everyone else. He just hardly ever took it. But Tuesday they'd both be off. Together. Yes.
Grissom looked away first, reaching for a folder on his desk. "I have the paperwork on your case from the other day. We can go over it now, if you have time."
"Yeah," Nick said, and stepped inside. Work now; play later. Tuesday. Yes. "Now's good."