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Once more with less random panicked deleting of the post.
I've been in CSI for TWO WHOLE WEEKS now, and so it should surprise no one that I was lying in bed last night, haunted by thoughts of Nick's mustache, and fic happened. I have been offered assurances that it's more or less fit for human consumption, so here you go!
Season 6, Nick/Gil, PG. Warning for mustache.
Nick hesitated just outside the break room, listening.
Conversation Piece
"Cry for help." Sara's voice was brisk, authoritative. Nick hesitated just outside the break room, listening.
"Aww, no, come on," Warrick replied. "He's just experimenting. I mean, it's a disaster--"
"Which is what makes it a cry for help," Sara insisted. "If he can't tell it's a disaster, we should be checking his vision."
Nick closed his eyes, placing them by the sounds of their voices. Sara and Warrick were both sitting at the table, their backs to the door.
"I think it's somebody else who's blind," Cath said. Also at the table, side on to the door. "Dollars to donuts he knows somebody who finds it desperately attractive."
Nick smiled and rubbed a thumb over his mustache. He'd always liked Cath the best, really.
"What about you, Greg?" Sara demanded. She turned her head to speak, so... "What do you think?"
"I'm with Cath," Greg said, from over by the coffee maker, yeah, there was the little clink of the pot being set down. "The love of a lady will make a man do crazy things. Especially when it comes to personal grooming."
"How--" Nick winced and considered stepping inside, if that was what it took to stop Greg from discussing crazy personal grooming, but apparently Sara was with him on that. "No, you know what, don't answer that."
A little silence fell, then, and he could almost hear all their heads turning toward Grissom, mutely requesting his judgment. "I think..." he said, slowly. Grissom would be leaning against the counter. Definitely facing the door. Nick kept very still. "I think he prefers, if everyone is going to be talking about him behind his back anyway, to set the topic of conversation to something other than the worst day of his life." Nick flinched a little--it was never a comfortable thing, getting dissected by Grissom. Even if he wasn't exactly on target he cut you up.
"I don't know," Sara said, "that makes Nick pretty devious."
"Well, I don't think we should underestimate him," Grissom said, starting to sound amused. "What do you think, Nick?"
Nick couldn't help smiling then--Grissom would have known he was there the whole time, of course, being Grissom. He leaned toward the doorframe, careful not to let anything below the bridge of his nose show beyond the jamb. Sara was looking at him wide-eyed; Warrick had ducked his head. Cath was smiling a little ruefully into her coffee, and Greg looked as brightly curious as if Nick were an interesting sample under his microscope. Grissom just looked like Grissom. "I was just wondering how long it would take to get a betting pool running," he said. "You know, in between lifting eighteen prints and four distinct fiber samples while I processed a scene by myself because apparently everyone else is busy."
Grissom's eyebrows went up slightly at that, and the upward twitch of his lips might have been approving. Sara said, "Uh, yeah, actually we--" and left the room without making eye contact.
Warrick straightened up, visibly squaring his shoulders as he stood and turned to face Nick, and he said quietly, "Seriously, man. Disaster."
Nick grinned. "You couldn't tell me that sooner?"
Warrick grinned back. "I was waiting for you to figure it out for yourself. Salvage a little dignity."
Nick shrugged and Warrick stepped outside, Greg on his heels. "It's not that bad, Nick," Greg said. "I've got your back."
"Yeah, thanks," Nick said, and instantly resolved to shave as soon as he had five free minutes. The way his night was going, it would probably be sometime next week.
Cath just shrugged as she passed him, still smiling that Mona Lisa smile that reminded him she hadn't said a word about what she thought of it herself. That just left Grissom in the break room, and Nick stepped inside without showing any hesitation, walked over to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup. Grissom didn't say anything, didn't move. Nick glanced up at him sideways as he stirred in sugar. "You know, if your theory's right, you just totally screwed up my brilliant strategy to deflect attention from my trauma."
Grissom's mouth flickered into and out of a small, tight smile, and he nodded slightly. Nick looked back down at his coffee. "That would probably obligate you to help me come up with a new one. If you were right."
"Mm," Grissom said, and Nick thought he was about thirty seconds away from explaining about running out of shaving cream and about looking into the mirror, thirty-four years old, and seeing the same face he'd seen all his adult life, still boyish and bare, and wanting to look different--be different--for once, even if different turned out to bear a strong resemblance to a used car salesman. But Grissom's hand landed on his shoulder and Nick looked up, turning toward Grissom automatically as he stepped closer. Nick opened his mouth without a word in his head--vaguely aware that that was always bad, Grissom always jumped on the things you said at moments like that--but Grissom didn't let him say a word.
They were a couple of seconds into the kiss before Nick stopped wondering what the trick was and started thinking Grissom is kissing me, and then Grissom was already stepping back, squeezing his shoulder briefly before letting go. Nick's mouth was still hanging open. Grissom picked up his own coffee, took a sip, and said, "That should do." Nick blinked, and Grissom smiled at him--a real honest-to-God full-out smile that made Nick smile back inescapably, like blood lighting up under Luminol--and then walked out of the break room before Nick could think of a single thing to say.
Season 6, Nick/Gil, PG. Warning for mustache.
Nick hesitated just outside the break room, listening.
Conversation Piece
"Cry for help." Sara's voice was brisk, authoritative. Nick hesitated just outside the break room, listening.
"Aww, no, come on," Warrick replied. "He's just experimenting. I mean, it's a disaster--"
"Which is what makes it a cry for help," Sara insisted. "If he can't tell it's a disaster, we should be checking his vision."
Nick closed his eyes, placing them by the sounds of their voices. Sara and Warrick were both sitting at the table, their backs to the door.
"I think it's somebody else who's blind," Cath said. Also at the table, side on to the door. "Dollars to donuts he knows somebody who finds it desperately attractive."
Nick smiled and rubbed a thumb over his mustache. He'd always liked Cath the best, really.
"What about you, Greg?" Sara demanded. She turned her head to speak, so... "What do you think?"
"I'm with Cath," Greg said, from over by the coffee maker, yeah, there was the little clink of the pot being set down. "The love of a lady will make a man do crazy things. Especially when it comes to personal grooming."
"How--" Nick winced and considered stepping inside, if that was what it took to stop Greg from discussing crazy personal grooming, but apparently Sara was with him on that. "No, you know what, don't answer that."
A little silence fell, then, and he could almost hear all their heads turning toward Grissom, mutely requesting his judgment. "I think..." he said, slowly. Grissom would be leaning against the counter. Definitely facing the door. Nick kept very still. "I think he prefers, if everyone is going to be talking about him behind his back anyway, to set the topic of conversation to something other than the worst day of his life." Nick flinched a little--it was never a comfortable thing, getting dissected by Grissom. Even if he wasn't exactly on target he cut you up.
"I don't know," Sara said, "that makes Nick pretty devious."
"Well, I don't think we should underestimate him," Grissom said, starting to sound amused. "What do you think, Nick?"
Nick couldn't help smiling then--Grissom would have known he was there the whole time, of course, being Grissom. He leaned toward the doorframe, careful not to let anything below the bridge of his nose show beyond the jamb. Sara was looking at him wide-eyed; Warrick had ducked his head. Cath was smiling a little ruefully into her coffee, and Greg looked as brightly curious as if Nick were an interesting sample under his microscope. Grissom just looked like Grissom. "I was just wondering how long it would take to get a betting pool running," he said. "You know, in between lifting eighteen prints and four distinct fiber samples while I processed a scene by myself because apparently everyone else is busy."
Grissom's eyebrows went up slightly at that, and the upward twitch of his lips might have been approving. Sara said, "Uh, yeah, actually we--" and left the room without making eye contact.
Warrick straightened up, visibly squaring his shoulders as he stood and turned to face Nick, and he said quietly, "Seriously, man. Disaster."
Nick grinned. "You couldn't tell me that sooner?"
Warrick grinned back. "I was waiting for you to figure it out for yourself. Salvage a little dignity."
Nick shrugged and Warrick stepped outside, Greg on his heels. "It's not that bad, Nick," Greg said. "I've got your back."
"Yeah, thanks," Nick said, and instantly resolved to shave as soon as he had five free minutes. The way his night was going, it would probably be sometime next week.
Cath just shrugged as she passed him, still smiling that Mona Lisa smile that reminded him she hadn't said a word about what she thought of it herself. That just left Grissom in the break room, and Nick stepped inside without showing any hesitation, walked over to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup. Grissom didn't say anything, didn't move. Nick glanced up at him sideways as he stirred in sugar. "You know, if your theory's right, you just totally screwed up my brilliant strategy to deflect attention from my trauma."
Grissom's mouth flickered into and out of a small, tight smile, and he nodded slightly. Nick looked back down at his coffee. "That would probably obligate you to help me come up with a new one. If you were right."
"Mm," Grissom said, and Nick thought he was about thirty seconds away from explaining about running out of shaving cream and about looking into the mirror, thirty-four years old, and seeing the same face he'd seen all his adult life, still boyish and bare, and wanting to look different--be different--for once, even if different turned out to bear a strong resemblance to a used car salesman. But Grissom's hand landed on his shoulder and Nick looked up, turning toward Grissom automatically as he stepped closer. Nick opened his mouth without a word in his head--vaguely aware that that was always bad, Grissom always jumped on the things you said at moments like that--but Grissom didn't let him say a word.
They were a couple of seconds into the kiss before Nick stopped wondering what the trick was and started thinking Grissom is kissing me, and then Grissom was already stepping back, squeezing his shoulder briefly before letting go. Nick's mouth was still hanging open. Grissom picked up his own coffee, took a sip, and said, "That should do." Nick blinked, and Grissom smiled at him--a real honest-to-God full-out smile that made Nick smile back inescapably, like blood lighting up under Luminol--and then walked out of the break room before Nick could think of a single thing to say.