Chapter Text
Nick's nose was warm and red from the steam of his coffee. He was hunched over the break room table, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and warming the other on his mug. God. He hadn't had a good night's sleep since--well, he couldn't exactly remember when. But there had been something about last night that had really packed a punch, and he couldn't deduce what it had been. He knew he'd gotten drunk, but it was at home--no crazy drunken escapades through the Strip. He'd reclined on his sofa, watching late-night TV until dozing off and then waking up again several hours later. His DVR had shown that it was 12 PM so he'd gotten up, showered, changed into his underwear, done a few stretches, then dressed and headed to work.
Nick remembered dreaming, and he recalled waking up and immediately feeling weird about the dream he'd had, but weird why, he didn't know. He sighed, closing his eyes and resting his chin on his hand. Maybe if his mind had smothered the memory this much, it was worth forgetting.
"Hey, sleeping beauty."
Nick snapped up and saw Greg leaning down, placing a styrofoam coffee cup and takeout box on the table and sidling into the chair next to him. Nick gave an awkward half-smile.
"Mornin'," He responded, attempting to sound smooth. Sometimes, he'd try and flirt with Greg to catch him off guard. Not in a romantic way, more like a show of prowess. He liked it when he could throw Greg off his game.
Greg snorted. "Not even close." He opened his takeout box. Nick sighed. Burger and fries, lunchtime.
"You're here pretty early." Nick said.
"Mmm," Greg said over his first bite, "Scho arr you."
Nick leaned back, trying to put distance between his and Greg's faces.
"Yeah, well. I woke up at noon and couldn't go back to sleep."
Greg raised an eyebrow, dipping a fry into ketchup. "I have a hard time believing that." He said, pointing at Nick's slumped form with the fry.
Nick blew a puff of hair through his nose, patting Greg's back with one hand and sitting forward again. He gave Greg's neck muscle a light squeeze.
"Comes with our territory, I s'pose. Tired all the time, doesn't matter if you get a good night's sleep, when you do, if you do." His eyes glinted in the office lighting. Greg noticed. He looked away before Nick could see the pink in his face. Nick reached down and stole a fry, biting down on one end and holding it flirtatiously, the way women held straws in their teeth from across bars.
"Yeah, well. For your information, I'm in early due to work, not to steal fries like a big, muscular seagull."
Nick raised an eyebrow.
"Really?" He glanced down and noticed Greg was dressed in a black blazer and black button-down. There were little buttons at the end of his lapels--a little alternative touch. Very Greg. In all the years they'd worked together, Nick had never seen Greg in a suit. He assumed Greg wouldn't be caught dead in one. "You've got a prelim today, huh?"
Greg nodded, his mouth full. "Schurlock casche."
"Sherlock case?"
He nodded again.
"Well! Good for you, man." Nick glanced back down at Greg's outfit, taking it all in. Greg looked... good. A real ladykiller. And the fact that he'd kept his hair all spiked up and messy, well... Nick had to be honest, if he was a woman, he sure would--
Nick stiffened, his heart pounding, suddenly feeling like a rabbit caught in a snare.
He remembered what his dream had been about. It started coming back to him in pieces.
Charlie Rose.
He was sure Charlie Rose had been there, which wasn't a big surprise; it was what he'd been watching before he'd fallen asleep.
Charlie was behind the reception desk at a hospital. He was probably supposed to be a nurse, but he was in his usual suit rather than scrubs. Nick was sitting in a small waiting room, fidgeting with his hands. His mother was there, almost certainly. He didn't remember seeing her, but he could feel her arms wrapped around his left arm, and her voice soothing: "Let's hope he's okay... he's a strong guy, I don't think he'll leave us like this... he loves you, and you love him..." was she talking about his father?
Nick glanced up at Greg, who was halfway finished with his burger. Nick swallowed, hard, and looked down at his coffee cup, running his thumb over the ceramic.
She hadn't been talking about his father.
Nick remembered being called back, going into a hospital room, and Greg was sitting on the bed in jeans and a t-shirt. Nick had asked him if he was ready to go, but he couldn't recall what the context of the situation was. There weren't any burns on Greg's face, so it definitely wasn't related to the lab accident two years ago. Maybe there was no context, just random dream logic.
Nick faced away from present, non-dream Greg, taking a swig from his coffee.
He and dream-Greg had gone home. His home. Greg had kicked off his shoes and headed right to the kitchen, as if he lived there. When Nick followed him, Greg had put the kettle on the stove and gotten out a mug and tea bag. Weird. Nick didn't drink tea. Did Greg? Did Nick know that about Greg?
Nick glanced at Greg's styrofoam coffee cup. A string poked out from beneath the lid, and underneath it, a paper label: Earl Grey.
Nick's chest felt tight.
"Greg," he said, not realizing he was grinding his back teeth. "Do you always drink tea?"
Greg looked at Nick, confused, then followed his gaze to the styrofoam cup.
"Pretty often, yeah. Why? Don't tell me you need it for an experiment. Catherine once put a contraceptive in my tea."
"No, nothing like that." Nick broke his gaze from the cup, making eye contact with Greg and giving an over-assuring smile. "Just curious."
"'Kay, good. And don't ask me to take my socks and shoes off, either, I've learned my lesson with that."
Nick snorted. "Don't worry about it. I have absolutely no interest in anything to do with your feet."
And it was true. In his dream, the only part of Greg that Nick had been concerned with were his lips. He’d studied them with the touch of his thumb.
The memory came back to Nick like an electric shock. His expression dropped, stomach churning. Greg noticed, and cocked his head to the side in a puppyish way. Nick thought it was cute.
Oh, god. Nick thought it was cute.
He shoved his chair back from the table, so sudden it made Greg jump.
"What's wrong?" He asked. He was looking up at Nick, his eyes all wide and sweet and pretty--it was all too much.
"Nothing, I--er. I just realized--something, I forgot to file a report..." and before Nick could half-ass any more of his excuse, he dashed out of the break room and down the hall. He waited until he was out of Greg's sight before ducking into Grissom's office, silently begging for Grissom to not be in there.
Grissom was sitting behind his desk. Must've been pulling a double, the fastidious wretch.
"Nick--" Grissom looked up from his paperwork, startled. "What's the matter? You look as if you've seen a ghost."
Nick relaxed his shoulders and did his best to appear nonchalant.
"I'm alright. I just... I'm alright."
Grissom watched him carefully.
"Hey, let me ask you something." Nick started, moving closer to Grissom's desk. "Have you ever looked into the psychology of dreams? As in... theories about what they mean?"
He looked to the side as he thought about it for a moment.
"Well... Jung believed that the brain used dreams as a way of processing information. A time for us to work out problems, get ideas, and such. That's why some people keep a notepad by their bedside. But Freud believed dreams were representative of the things we desired. A fantasy world where we could fulfill our deepest wishes."
Nick swallowed, hard, his throat feeling like it was closing up.
"Freud was also the guy who believed little boys were in love with their moms, so. I guess he's not always to be believed."
Grissom nodded.
"The Oedipus complex, yeah--very controversial. But," Grissom pointed a finger and raised an eyebrow, "not entirely wrong. In a way, a boy's mother is the first woman he loves. Perhaps not with the intense sexuality that Freud theorized, but if you apply that same rule of thumb to a lot of his other principles, there's a grain of wisdom to be derived from it. He's the father of modern psychoanalysis for a reason."
Nick smirked, still trying to de-tense his shoulders.
"Makes sense. So, most guys believe that dreams are a way of working through things you want or need, right?"
Gil nodded. "Pretty much."
"Well... is there any way you could have a dream that's about something you definitely don't want?"
He squinted.
"Like a nightmare?"
"Sort of. It's like a nightmare 'cause it's really... weird, but... in the dream, it feels like you're enjoying it."
Grissom leaned forward and placed his hand under his chin.
"Weird how?"
Nick hesitated.
"Nick, is this for a case, or for your own... personal curiosity?" Nick recognized that ambiguous tone Grissom was using. It was the voice he used when trying to get a confession from a suspect, a suspect that the evidence had already convicted. Nick swallowed, feeling like a deer in headlights. If Gil knew what he was guilty of, Nick wasn't sure. But the look in his eyes, the one that seemed to convey Gil already knew, that was too much to bear.
"It's not for a case. Had a dream I got a promotion." Nick gave a biting sneer, despite the fact that his heart was racing. He felt unable to wrench out any more lies. He was an idiot for confiding in Grissom, Grissom was too smart to have anything kept from him. Might as well come clean, control the narrative while he still could. He dropped his smile and gave a heavy sigh. "Okay, no... it wasn't about a promotion."
Grissom beckoned Nick to sit in the chair across from his desk, which he did.
"Please, don't hesitate. I'm all ears."
"Okay..." Nick took in a deep breath as he gathered his thoughts. "I had a dream that... someone was in my house. Someone I really cared about, who was living with me, and we were... pretty serious."
Grissom nodded. "Do you find yourself thinking about marriage often? Perhaps your desire to find a wife has grown in the past few years."
Nick shook his head, avoiding Gil's eyes.
"The thing is... it wasn't just anybody."
Gil leaned back in his chair.
"Sounds like you have yourself a little crush."
Nick felt Grissom's remark hit him like a gust of wind, causing him to bend, but not break--the suspicion had started to grow, even before Gil had said it outright. It was one of those rare moments where he knew the answer before Grissom did.
Nick said nothing, only nodded. He lifted himself out of the chair and glanced at him as he started to leave.
"I should really get to work."
Grissom gave him a soft, knowing look--probably trying his best to look non-judgmental. Nick didn't exactly buy it, but it was fine--he didn't plan on talking about this again, ever, with anyone.
Greg had to admit, he wasn't used to being dressed up, even at work, but he felt good about himself. Catherine even told him he looked cute as she passed him on his way to the DNA lab. Cute wasn't exactly what he was going for, but it was something, he supposed.
He entered the DNA lab and sidled next to Mia. She had earbuds in and didn't notice he was there until he waved a hand in front of her face. She stood upright and pulled the cord from her ears.
"Let me guess, you're listening to something classy, like Jessica, or Ashlee." He said. Mia tried to hide a smirk, handing over one earbud. Greg brought it up to his ear, expecting girly punk pop but instead getting... French.
Greg raised an eyebrow.
"It's... Jean-Paul Sartre. Huis Clos?" Mia said, in what Greg assumed was a perfect French accent. Not that he was any wiser on that subject.
He angled his chin down and looked at her with big eyes, betraying his confusion.
"No Exit." She clarified, looking back at the microscope. "It loses something in a translation."
Greg smirked. "Oui, oui."
The corner of Mia's mouth tilted up as she glanced up at him, then back down. "The blood from the hairy wad that you found in the drain is consistent with the victim."
Greg nodded, his mouth open in the way girls did when they tried to appear starstruck by guys they were interested.
"And what about the semen from Martha's SAE?" But it was hard to make work talk sound sexy.
"That's consistent with the DNA from the first attack." She nodded. "You are looking at the same rapist."
Greg straightened, shifting his weight off of the lab table and looking away from her.
"I want to show you something." Mia said. Greg's eyes flicked back up, surprised.
"Really?" He said lowly, a smirk growing on his face. She watched him skeptically, moving backward and pointing at the microscope. Greg moved and studied the image within the scope. Funny: sperm cells and... antibodies?
"This guy's immune system doesn't recognize his own sperm." He mused. "Antibodies are attacking the little guys."
"Y'know," Mia said, "I read about this phenomenon in a forensic journal--"
"Uh--November 2003. A killer had a vasectomy, then had it reversed." He said quickly, eager to show off his recognition. Mia smirked.
"Oui, oui."
Greg felt a spark of motivation at the news.
"Thanks, Mia." He said, ducking out of the DNA lab. As he headed for Grissom's office, he spotted Nick coming back from the precinct.
"Hey!" Greg called, catching Nick by surprise.
"Hey." Nick responded absentmindedly.
"Feeling better?" He asked, cocking his head to the side and stuffing his hands into his front pockets.
"Oh, yeah," Nick avoided eye contact, rubbing the back of his neck. He hadn't thought about that morning until just now. He noticed now, too, that Greg's hair had been growing a little longer at the back, peeking out from below his ears. God, it was cute.
Greg nodded. "Good. Hey--have you seen Grissom recently?"
Nick blanched. Gil couldn't possibly...
"Grissom? No, no. Haven't seen him in a hot minute. You might want to check with Sara."
Greg sighed, shifting his weight onto one foot and tilting his hips.
"She's in the stain analysis lab right now. Guess I'll just have to wait." He glanced at Nick, trying to catch his eye. When he avoided, Greg's eyes narrowed.
"You okay?" Greg asked. Nick glanced at him, and then away again.
"Yeah, no, just had an interview with a juvenile. Detective was pretty hard on the kid."
Greg gave an empathetic expression.
"Sorry to hear that. Where're you heading now?"
Nick sucked in a breath, looking over Greg's head.
"Gotta compare shoe prints, we found one outside the victim's window, so..." he shuffled past Greg.
He turned and watched him start to leave.
"Hey," he called after him. Nick turned around, watching him warily; he hoped Greg wasn't about to ask him if he was okay again, he really couldn't stand all this lying. "Your hair's growing out." Greg pointed to Nick's buzzcut. "Looks nice." He grinned.
Nick chuckled despite the fact that his stomach felt like it was about to fall out, running a hand over the back of his head. "Yeah, thanks. Hey--if you have some downtime, you should probably add any updates to your report."
Greg nodded. "Thanks." He turned to leave.
"And, Greg?" Nick called after him. Greg turned to face him again, raising an eyebrow.
"Right back at'cha." Nick said, pointing a finger at his hair and winking.
"Oh--" Greg smiled bashfully, pinching the back of his hair between his fingers. "Really? I thought it was getting a bit too long."
"No, no." Nick flashed a gleaming smile, almost wolflike. "Keep it. It's cute."
Greg snickered, face pink. Nick turned, face dropping into an agonized expression as soon as he was away. Must've been a masochist with the way he loved to torture himself.