Title: What You Choose
By: Evan Nicholas
Pairing: Gil/Greg/Nick
NOTES:
(1) This is not really the sequel to What You Have, so don't get too excited. It's just a stupid little thing set in the same universe, just 'cause. The real one is still in pieces on my hard drive, heh heh heh. New Year's Resolution #1, I swear.
(2) Totally unbeta'd and no doubt full of stupid and ridiculous mistakes. This is because I am a master procrastinator (you wanna see my credentials?) and left this until, quite literally, the last possible minute. Tee hee oops.
(3) This is a Christmas present for a dear and wonderful friend of mine who made me a pretty powerpoint of sexy men that makes me laugh so hard my face hurts. Merry merry, babe. Mmmmriaow.

By the middle of December, Nick has realized – once again – that he isn't going home for Christmas. He isn't entirely sure how he feels about this yet. On the one hand, the centre of his life is in Vegas: his lovers, his job, his friends. On the other hand, every year he doesn't wake up amid his family feels like another year further from his childhood.

Gil, of course, isn't going anywhere. Vegas has been home for him for years, and he has no roots elsewhere. His mother passed away almost a decade ago, and with Catherine and Al and Jim in town, his constructed family is close at hand. He has never expressed an opinion either way as to whether Nick stays with him for Christmas or whether he goes home to Texas, but Nick has the sneaking suspicion that he'd prefer to spend the time together.

And then there's Greg.

Greg, whose family is no doubt waiting for him in California, who by miraculous drawn lots among the technicians has scored four days off in a row, who is the first to decorate the lab by draping a string of coloured lights over the GCMS, who has been wearing a Santa hat since Thanksgiving. Greg, who falls stubbornly silent when Nick asks him what his plans are for Christmas.

Nick and Gil are working on Christmas anyway, but in the strange rotations and shift-swapping that always happens around holidays, they both have the twenty-fourth off, free and clear. They aren't even on call.

An unspoken agreement exists between Nick and Gil to not pester Greg about whether he's going or staying. Gil, Nick knows, will not to anything that could be construed as pressuring Greg with regards to anything outside of work, and Nick himself knows the tug-of-war that Greg must be enduring between the pull of California and the comfort of Vegas, so he has decided not to interfere.

On the twentieth, though, when there's a lull at work and Nick has established a colony of paperwork in the breakroom, he looks up to find Greg watching him around the door. He's not actually in the room, but peering meekly around the corner as though he's trying to find a tactful way to ask his parents for a raise in his allowance.

"What are you hiding for?" Nick asks, leaning back in his chair and tossing his pen onto the mess of paper. He hates filling out all of these damn forms, but he wants to get as much of it done as possible before the new year.

Greg looks momentarily guilty, then glances over his shoulder to make sure no one is eavesdropping, and inches into the room. "I have a, uh, a policy question," he asks haltingly.

Nick blinks at him. Policy question? he wonders. If it's work-related, he thinks, he should be asking someone else. "Um, okay," he says.

Greg sits down across from him. "Um, it's about Christmas."

Ah. "Shoot," he says, thinking, Moment of truth.

"You know about my grandfather?" Greg asks.

"Papa Olaf?" Greg has regaled them all with countless – and generally inappropriate – stories about his grandfather's life and times.

"Yeah," Greg says. "Um. His wife passed away this year – his third wife, I mean – so he's kind of alone for the holidays, and family is really important to him. You know?"

Nick nods. So he and Gil will be alone for Christmas after all. He's aching to ask why Papa Olaf doesn't spend the time with Greg's parents, but he knows better than to actually put his curiosity into words. Greg doesn't talk about his parents, ever, and Nick respects the boundaries of his silence.

"I understand," he says, trying to keep the edge of disappointment out of his voice. "Family is important."

Greg sets his mouth in an unhappy line. "Um," he says, and squirms. "It's not – I don't, um, never mind. Stupid idea." He pushes the chair away from the table.

Nick watches the beginnings of the retreat. "Hang on," he says. "What – man, you've got to tell me what it is before you let me shoot it down." He's smiling when he says it, and he knows that his voice is smiling too, and it draws Greg back down into the chair.

"So?" he coaxes. "Spill."

"Um," Greg says, "I was thinking of maybe bringing him to Vegas, instead of, you know, going to see him. Um." Another squirm.

Nick waits for the part of this idea that he's expected to dislike, and when it doesn't come, he says, "I think that's a great idea."

"Um, yeah," Greg says, squirms again, smiles gamely and says, "Great. Okay."

Nick frowns. He knows Greg's body language well enough to know that he is deliberately leaving something out, that he has chosen the easy road rather than say whatever it is that brought him here in the first place. Whatever it is that had him seeking a policy decision.

"What is it, Greg?" he asks. "What is it you don't want to ask me?"

Another flash of guilt, and he can see Greg making a decision, setting his shoulders with determination. "Okay," he says, taking a deep breath. "I want to bring him to Vegas, for Christmas, but I want to spend Christmas with you." And Gil, it goes without saying; they don't discuss that part of their relationship openly at work, but it is always understood.

"Hm," Nick says. "Well, we'll find some way of doing that." He doesn't know how, exactly. The best idea he can think of is to postpone the communal Christmas until after Papa Olaf goes home. Nick is okay with that, and he's pretty sure that Gil will be, too. It's a compromise, and he knows that compromise is the secret of a happy relationship.

"No," Greg says, "I meant, um... maybe he could stay with us?"

With us. Oh. Not with Nick-and-Greg, which could be feasible. With Nick-and-Greg-and-Gil. Oh.

Policy decision.

"Um," Nick says. "That's, uh, huh." He drums his fingers on the edge of the table. This is new territory for them, the inclusion of any kind of outside family in their house. Jim and Al know, but they're – they're not exactly outsiders. They're more peripheral than anything.

"Right," Greg says, nods stiffly, and stands up. "I'll, uh, I'll go see him."

"Greg, wait," Nick says.

Greg reaches the door before he stops. "No," he says, "I get it. It's pushing it, I know. I thought I should just check, though. In case."

"Don't-" Nick says, but don't what? Don't book your ticket? Don't do what you need to do? "Don't do anything hasty," is what he settled on. "I'll ask Gil." It's breaking one of their rules about using Gil's name – as opposed to Grissom – at work, but Greg is right. This is a question of policy, and there's no one else around to hear them anyway.

Greg looks a curious mix of grateful, hopeful and realistically pessimistic. He nods, and slouches off back to the lab.

Nick watches him walk down the hall and disappear around a corner, into the cheerful corner of the world where the Boney M Christmas album plays on an endless loop under lights and silver garlands. He looks like he's walking to his death.

***

He waits until the night is almost over, when the December sun is struggling up over the mountains and everyone is lost in their own little worlds, and when Gil is alone in his office, caught in the nightly ritual of feeding his diurnal insects.

"Hey Griss," he says from the doorway, "you got a minute?"

Gil looks over his shoulder at Nick, and does one of his rapid-fire assessments and recognises that this is not a work conversation. "Sure," he says, turning back to his ant farm. "Close the door."

The veneer of professionalism they wear at work always makes Nick feel juvenile, but it works. Partly it works because everyone knows that Nick and Greg are a couple, partly because everyone knows Grissom is celibate, and partly because Gil always sounds distracted when he has to deal with work issues.

Nick closes the door, and settles onto the couch while Gil finishes what he's doing. Nick has never learned to love insects the way that Gil does, but he will grudgingly admit that they're interesting. He would rather have a dog, or a cat, or even a gerbil – something you can cuddle from time to time, but Gil's pets have always been six-legged and they always will be. Nick thinks it's kind of cute.

When Gil closes the lid on his jar of sugar and sets it on a shelf, he turns and perches on the edge of the desk, his arms crossed. "What's going on?"

Nick takes a breath and wonders how to broach the subject. "Greg is making decisions about Christmas," he says.

Gil nods. "And what is he deciding?"

Heh. "Well," Nick says, leaning back and letting his legs cross at the ankle, "he's got two choices. One: go to California and spend Christmas with his grandfather. Two: fly his grandfather to Vegas and spend Christmas with him here."

Another nod. "And?"

"Well..." Nick scratches at his earlobe. "Option two has a codicil."

Gil raises an eyebrow. "And what is the codicil?"

"Christmas with Papa Olaf includes us."

A moment, and then Gil blinks. "You and Greg?"

"And you."

"Ah," Gil says, and then, "Oh." He leans forward as though he's about to push away from the desk, but doesn't.

"Yeah." Nick sighs. "I'm sure that if Greg thinks it's a good idea, then Papa Olaf won't flip out about the domestic arrangement," he says without much conviction.

"But," Gil says.

They look at each other for a long time, not saying anything, but reading each other's thoughts as written across their faces. Gil doesn't want to disappoint Greg but this will be a departure from established procedure. Nick wants to believe in Greg's estimation of his grandfather but he is inevitably thinking of his own family. They are both frozen.

Eventually, Gil says, "If I talked to him – how do you think it would go?"

Nick nods slowly. "It would be okay," he says. "As long as you don't scare him."

"I'll try not to," Gil says dryly, although he knows perfectly well that it's a realistic possibility. That Greg has even raised this question of family honesty says a great deal about the evolution of things between them, but ultimately he chose to ask Nick, and that says something, too.

"Okay," Nick says. "You want me to send him in here, or...?"

"I'll find him," Gil says.

Nick nods. Sending Greg into Gil's office would seem to Greg like he was being called up to see the principal. "If it seems to you," he says carefully, "like it would be okay to do a family Christmas, then I'll go along with it."

Gil returns the nod. "Okay," he says.

And because they're at work, that's all they say about it. Nick gets up and goes back out into the hall, back towards his paperwork.

***

Greg spends most of the night staring at his computer, trying to decide what to do. He's got two travel itineraries tentatively booked: one from Vegas to San Gabriel, return; the other from San Gabriel to Vegas. He toggles between the two, wondering if he should be realistic or hopeful, and worrying that he's leaving it too late to book either.

Work is light tonight, and what little DNA trickles down to him gets analyzed in record time and returned to whoever sent it. He's too distracted to linger over interesting results or work out thematic displays, which he's been doing for the past couple weeks. Usually his themes have involved elves.

So when someone taps at the door of his lab he doesn't even look up. "Blood or tissue sample?" he asks, flicking from Vegas to San Gabriel and letting his finger hesitate over the mouse button.

"Is there a third option?" Gil asks from the doorway.

Greg looks up, blinks, and knows perfectly well that he pales a little bit. "Depends," he says, trying to sound less than terrified.

"On?"

"Whether you're mad at me or not."

Gil smiles and comes into the lab. He doesn't close the door, because that would certainly arouse suspicions; he leans across the work counter instead, looking like he usually does when he's after a long-winded answer to a complicated question.

"Tell me about your grandfather," he says.

Greg swallows. "Um," he says. "He's eighty two, he drinks rye, he's allergic to almonds and he plays a mean game of pinochle."

"Do you think this is a good idea?" No need to mention what he's talking about.

Greg mentally psyches himself up. "I don't know," he admits, "but – next to you guys, he's the most important person in my life, and I'd – I'd like to able to bring the three of you under one roof. Just for a couple of days."

Gil considers him thoughtfully for a bit, and Greg tries not to squirm under the appraisal. He should be used to this by now, used to having his subatomic structure analyzed and catalogued like this, but it still unnerves him. He knows intellectually that Gil is not going to find him lacking, but his instinct is to brace for the worst. He's still surprised that Gil and Nick have not yet washed their hands of him, and he's still trying to keep up the defenses that will allow him to survive a rejection.

Finally Gil says, "Then you'd better book that flight before they run out of seats."

Greg gawks at him. "Which flight?" he finally asks.

"For your grandfather," Gil tells him. "I look forward to meeting him."

***

Nick ends up driving to the airport. This is the last shift that Greg has to work before his holiday begins, and no amount of begging and pleading on his part could convince Hodges to cover for him. So he will be at the airport to meet Papa Olaf, and then Nick will drop him off at the lab on the way home. Greg has resigned himself to being twenty minutes late, which will piss off the swing shift tech, but Greg will buy him off with twenty bucks and a promise to come in early in some time in the new year.

"Honest," Greg says as they sit through a traffic jam less than a mile from the airport. "You'll get along fine with him."

"Uh huh," Nick says. Greg can tell that he's still vaguely uncomfortable about this.

"He'll see that I'm happy," he says, "and that's enough."

"Uh huh."

Greg sighs, and slouches down in the passenger seat. Papa Olaf had been delighted to hear that he was coming to Vegas, to be able to see Greg at Christmas and to meet his friends. Greg hadn't gone into detail about Gil and Nick, not because he was afraid of the reaction but because he didn't know how to say it in Norwegian and didn't entirely trust the combination of poor phone connection and Papa Olaf's English to get it across. So he had settled for, "I don't live alone."

And Olaf had laughed and said, "Good."

Olaf was the first person Greg had told, at the age of fifteen, that he had a crush on a boy. To this day he isn't entirely sure why he had blurted it out to his grandfather of all people. He thinks maybe it was a combination of fear of being hated, of being angry at his parents for a whole raft of offenses, and of desperate loneliness.

The afternoon is still burned bright in Greg's memory. It had been late in October, unseasonably cold in San Gabriel with an icy wind whipping out of the mountains. Greg had had another screaming fight with his mother and retreated to the comfort of Papa Olaf's rambling house on the other side of town. He can still remember the weight of unfairness that was driving him into the ground, and when he had blurted out the awful truth to his grandfather, Olaf had nodded very seriously, made a pot of tea and sat him down to talk about the nature of love.

It was from Olaf that Greg learned about sex, although not on that particular day. Olaf has taught him about friendship, about honesty and courage, about laughter and love and sharing. When Greg thinks of family, it is Olaf who comes to mind, always Olaf.

But he doesn't know how to put that into words that will soothe Nick's worries, so he's stopped trying. Gil seems to be more trusting in this, but maybe that's just because Gil is old enough to understand that even if this goes badly – which Greg knows it will not – that it's not the end of the world. That this is just a thing, just an event, that will happen and then will be over. One way or the other.

***

When they finally find a parking spot that Greg likes and actually make it into the arrivals area, the flight from San Gabriel is listed as having already arrived. They make it to baggage claims at the same time as the passengers, and Greg points out a greying man pushing a luggage cart towards a break in the throng around the carousel.

He leaves Nick's side and pushes through the crowd of manic holiday travellers, and Nick watches him. Papa Olaf is shorter than Greg but not by much, almost absurdly skinny and he moves like an old man. But his laugh is loud and so full of delight at his sudden armful of Greg that he seems younger somehow than his body.

Nick hesitates at the periphery of the crowd, unsure of what to do. He settles for standing with his hands in his jacket pockets, trying to look friendly. Approachable. Not at all like the kind of louse who seduces young coworkers and turns them gay, which is what he's pretty sure Olaf is going to think he is.

He can't let go of his own family's reactions when he had haltingly told them he was gay, of their tight-lipped disappointment and his brother's offer to find the guy that 'turned' him and teach him a lesson or two. Nick's sexuality has now passed into that realm of Stokes family etiquette where it is simply Not Discussed. His parents have stopped asking him if he has a girlfriend, but they stop short of asking if he has a boyfriend.

In his mind, Nick is quantifying their reaction, and then multiplying it by ten to account for the generation difference. It's not a pretty picture, and when Greg finally emerges from the tourists with a black bag over one shoulder and Olaf right behind him, Nick feels his heart speed up.

Oh shit, he thinks. He's never met the in-laws (out-laws? he wonders) before, and he suddenly can't shake the feeling that this is a bad, bad, terrible idea.

"Papa," Greg says, "this is Nick. Nick, this is Papa Olaf."

He tries to smile, and holds out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," he says, slightly irritated that his drawl has thickened as it always does when he's nervous.

Olaf takes his hand and hauls on it, startling Nick into half-falling into the hug that Olaf has waiting for him. Nick is surprised at how strong the man is, and how fierce his embrace is.

When he finally releases Nick, he steps back and holds him at arm's length. "You," he says in a raspy accented voice, "you, I like better already than Stephen."

"Papa!" Greg laughs. "That was eight years ago."

"So?" Olaf asks. "Stephen was no good. Nick I can see is a good man." He beams a smile at Nick that reminds him of Greg's grin when he's overly excited about a dinner party, and Nick relaxes a fraction. Only a fraction, though, because he knows that there will still be a reckoning when Gil shows up in the morning.

***

Nick's plans for his night off on the twenty-third had not originally included babysitting Olaf. He had planned on playing some video games, sending out for pizza, wrapping some presents. But in the name of compromise, he accepted his duty as part of being in a happy relationship, and had drawn up a list of things that Olaf might like to do.

But that list, while extensive at one point, seems ludicrous now that Greg has been dropped at work and Nick is driving across town with Greg's grandfather in the passenger seat.

The drive to the lab had been full of rapid-fire Norwegian from Olaf and slightly broken replies from Greg in the same language. Nick had listened absently as he dealt with traffic, trying to decide if he liked the gutteral sounds of Norwegian or not. On balance, he decided, he didn't mind them, especially not when it obviously made Greg happy to have a chance to practice.

But now it's just him and Olaf, and a slightly strained silence in the car. Mostly the strain is on Nick's end, because Olaf seems content to watch the city slide past his window. He's still wearing the same smile he's had on since the airport, and every now and then he looks over at Nick and grins even more.

Nick has decided that their first stop should be at the house, where Olaf can settle into the guest room and freshen up if he wants, and where Nick can drastically revise his list of possible activities. What do you do with the eighty-two year old expatriate Norwegian grandfather of one of your lovers? Take in a show at one of the casinos? Rent a Doris Day movie? Listen to Mozart?

He pulls into the driveway and shuts off the engine. Olaf is peering through the windshield at the row of townhouses. "Very nice," he says with another grin, and levers the door open.

Nick is torn between the urge to help Olaf and the feeling he has that, although he's certainly not going to win any speed competitions, he could probably hold his own in an endurance event.

He settles for taking the black travel bag out of the back seat and following Olaf's steady but sedate pace up the front walk. The old man stops and inspects the potted cactus that Gil has for some reason just outside his door, and Nick squeezes around him to get the key in the door.

"This is the entrance," he says needlessly, because he could tolerate the stone silence in the car but he doesn't want to face an evening of it.

Olaf toes off his shoes and lets Nick take his coat, and then he wanders into the living room, his keen eyes taking everything in. He stops next to the guitar on the living room table and he turns to Nick.

"Greg's?" he asks.

"Yeah," Nick says.

"Does he practice?"

"All the time," Nick says, which is sort of true. Whenever they're not doing something else, Greg is in here with the guitar, making noise of some sort. Sometimes it's even what he and Gil consider 'music'.

"Good," Olaf says. "When he was a boy, he never practices. Every day I tell him he has to practice to get good." He shakes his head at the folly of his grandson. "He says, 'I don't want to get good. I want to be rock star'."

He laughs, and so does Nick, and somehow the ice is broken. Nick shows him the rest of the house, answers Olaf's questions about the insects in their terrariums as best as he can, and shows him to the guest room.

Olaf sits on the edge of the bed and bounces a couple of times, pronounces it satisfactory with another big grin, and declares his intention to take a shower and then a nap. Nick leaves him to it and retreats to the living room to take a look at the newspaper.

***

Greg's twenty dollar bribe goes over better than his solemn oath to come in early one of these days, and he spends the a good hour of his truncated shift wondering if he should call Nick and check up on him.

Then Warrick and Sara start coming in with evidence, lots of it, blood and semen and hair, and he's too busy to think about it. He gets caught up in the geneology of the victims, and succeeds in working out their complicated family tree before any of the CSIs do, which earns him a congratulations from both Gil and Ecklie, who has come in early to give Gil a lecture about something or other.

When morning finally comes and Greg finishes his packet of instructions for whoever will end up working his shifts for the next four nights, Gil is standing in the doorway to his office trying to shoo Ecklie out without actually waving his hands.

"...which isn't something you should necessarily worry about," Ecklie is saying as Greg wanders up.

"Okay," Gil says, "I won't worry about it."

"Of course," Ecklie continues, "I don't want you to be ignorant of it, either."

"Well," Gil says and Greg swears he can see the muscles bunching in his jaw, "now that you've brought it to my attention, I can keep an eye on it. Thank you," he adds, in case this is the magic phrase that will get rid of him.

Ecklie nods distractedly. "All right," he says. "I just thought you should know."

"Absolutely," Gil says with finality, "thank you."

Ecklie says something that might be 'you're welcome' but sounds rather more like 'don't fuck this up' and steps neatly around Greg without apparently noticing him.

Greg smiles uncertainly at Gil. "What was that about?"

Gil rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "I have no idea," he says. "The man talked for almost half an hour and I don't think he actually said anything. I wish he'd just sent me a memo."

Greg follows him into his office. "I, uh, I know we're not supposed to, you know – be seen together, but I don't have my car here-"

"I'd be happy to give you a ride, Greg," Gil says, locking the drawer of his desk where he keeps his scientific notebooks and pocketing the key.

"Thanks." Greg watches him pull his jacket off a hook, and then follows him out into the hallway.

"Did your grandfather arrive safely?" Gil asks, locking the door behind him.

"Yeah," Greg says. "I left him with Nick. I hope they're okay."

"Why wouldn't they be?"

"I don't know." Greg crams his hands into his pockets as they walk out through the lobby and into the rising dawn. "Nick seemed nervous."

"I can imagine."

"I told Papa Olaf to behave himself," Greg says, and smiles when Gil chuckles.

"Oh?"

"He's, uh, a bit of a practical joker sometimes."

Gil unlocks the truck with his fob and he drops his jacket and briefcase onto the floor behind the driver's seat. "Should I be worried?" he asks.

"No," Greg says, only a little worried. "He promised he'd be good."

"I look forward to meeting him."

***

For the past sixteen years, Gil Grissom's Christmases have been strictly traditional, albeit a tradition particular to him. He buys seasonally-coloured sugar crystals for his ants, fancy lettuce for his herbivores, and the expensive crickets for his tarantula. He doesn't have a tree, but he does decorate a potted hibiscus that is almost as tall as he is, and he bakes himself an apple pie like his mother used to make. She passed away almost a decade ago, and Christmas is one of the times that he misses her most.

Since bringing Nick into his life, his Christmas traditions have been modified. Nick insists on a tree, but settles for a small one and has no objections to the hibiscus wearing a crown of white lights. Nick loves the apple pie but always makes a pecan one to go with, according to a generations-old Stokes tradition. Nick laughs at the sprinkle of red and green on the ant hill but it's a laugh full of love, and last year he bought a slick cricket terrarium and put it under the tree for the tarantula. Nick's traditions complement Gil's.

This is the first year that Greg has been part of their family, and Gil is unsure what to expect. He has a fair idea of the decorations that will be insisted on, based on the garish display of lights and tinsel all over the lab. It's not Gil's idea of Christmas, but he loves Greg and will happily put up with whatever makes him happy.

They haven't discussed the tree, but Gil suspects this is because until two days ago, Greg hadn't known where he was spending Christmas, and since they decided to have Olaf stay with them, he most likely thinks he's pushed his luck about as far as it will go.

Gil is a little unsure of how he feels about Olaf, but he hasn't actually met the man yet so he will reserve judgment. There's no denying that Greg is happy to have him in Vegas for the holiday, but a significant part of Gil shares Nick's worries. The family they have built for themselves is nontraditional to say the least, and Gil's experience with parents and grandparents – although limited to observing the interactions of other families – is one of fiercely guarded traditionalism. He wants to believe in Greg's boundless optimism, but is not sure he has the capacity to make this leap of faith. Not without evidence.

By the time they have turned into their driveway and Gil has pulled the key out of the ignition, he has psyched himself up for whatever lies ahead. They sit in the car in silence for a few seconds, then something makes Gil look over at Greg.

Greg smiles at him, the kind of smile that Gil doesn't see from him all that often. It's a beautiful smile of love and friendship, for once untainted by the thin line of fear and self-consciousness that is usually there when Greg smiles at him.

"Thank you," Greg says, and leans towards him.

Gil meets him halfway, and it's a warm and tender kiss, also something Gil and Greg have not shared all that often. Gil brings a hand up to cup the back of his head, and when they come apart, they sit for a moment with their foreheads resting.

"Even if it goes to hell," Greg whispers, "thank you for letting me try."

Gil kisses the side of his face. "Anything for you," he says.

"Lets go inside."

***

The living room has been rearranged, which is somehow the first thing that strikes Gil. Not hugely rearranged, but the easy chair has been pulled out of the corner and set squarely in front of the tv, and the couch has been moved further along the wall to fill in the gap.

Sitting in the chair with a look of delighted concentration and a Nintendo controller in his lap is none other than Papa Olaf. Nick is sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him, and the screen in front of them is split evenly down the middle, showing two cartoonish cars speeding along a ridiculous track.

Greg joins Gil in the archway, looks at the scene, and starts to laugh. He leans up against Gil and slips an arm around his waist, and although Nick glances over at them – briefly – their mutual concentration is still on the tv screen.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," Greg says.

Olaf holds up a hand. "Shhhh," he says, half-scolding, "I win. You distract me."

It doesn't take long before there's a spectacular crash on Olaf's side of the screen, followed almost immediately by an equally spectacular one on Nick's half. They both laugh, and Nick lets his controller fall to the floor.

"I think we'll call that a tie," he says, getting up and stretching. "Breakfast already?"

"I think so," Greg says.

Olaf puts his controller down carefully on the padded arm of the chair and pushes himself to his feet. He's taller than Gil expects, but he realizes belatedly that he shouldn't be surprised, given how tall Greg is. His hair is white and slightly out of control, which seems oddly appropriate on Greg's grandfather, and his eyes are a sharp blue that rake up and down Gil once, assessing him.

"Papa," Greg says, pulling Gil into the room, "this is Gil."

Olaf shakes his hand, half-frowning, and turns to Greg.

Gil listens to the exchange in Norwegian, and catches Nick's eye: this is what they have both been worried about, and neither of them supposed it would happen this way, with MarioKart music piping stupidly through the sound system. It seems so pedestrian, so mundane, for such a momentous moment.

Greg takes Gil's hand halfway through the conversation, and Gil feels inexorably drawn into something that he can't understand. He can read the body language, in a very general way – Olaf seems confused, then a little worried, maybe, then back to confused. Gil squeezes Greg's hand in a semi-futile expression of solidarity, and finds himself holding his breath.

Then Olaf's eyes open a little wider, and he turns to Gil. "Ah," he says, and reaches for Gil's hand again.

Gil lets him take his hand, and without warning he's pulled into a fierce hug. He lets go of Greg's hand and belatedly returns the embrace, a little uncertain of what's happening but knowing that things could almost certainly be worse than this, than a hug from his lover's grandfather on Christmas Eve.

He feels aged lips brush against the line of his cheekbone and then he's released from the hug, and Olaf takes Greg's hand and pulls him towards the kitchen. "Waffles," he declares, and they disappear around the corner.

Gil and Nick look at each other for a long moment, and finally Nick says, "I think we passed," but it sounds more like a question. He takes a step towards Gil and catches him in a hug.

"I think so," Gil agrees, and lets his arms settle around Nick's back. They stand together, looking at the tree and the hibiscus and the heap of presents under both, and listen to the mix of Norwegian and laughter trickling out of the kitchen.

"Is it okay?" Nick asks eventually.

Gil considers it for a moment. "Yes," he finally decides. "I think it is."

***

After breakfast, which consists of waffles, eggs, a hamburger for Greg and a Greek salad for Gil, Olaf declares that he needs a chauffeur and looks pointedly at Greg.

Nick and Gil take advantage of their departure to get some sleep, and Nick is lying on his back in bed when Gil comes out of the shower and flops down next to him.

"Was this a mistake?" Nick asks.

Gil turns his head to peer at him. "I don't think so," he says. "Why?"

"Things just felt a little, I don't know. Forced. At breakfast." He stares up at the ceiling, illuminated in stripes by the morning light sneaking around the heavy curtains.

"That was mostly the language barrier," Gil says.

"And now Olaf's got Greg on his own, God only knows what reaming out the poor guy's gonna get now."

Gil takes Nick's hand and laces their fingers together. He can still feel the hug in the living room, the protective crush of a grandfather's love of his grandson and the hesitant acceptance of the stubbled kiss. "I think it's okay," he decides, and rolls towards Nick so that they're pressed together.

"I hope so," Nick says, pushes back against him and relaxes towards sleep.

***

A few hours later, Nick is awaked by Greg crawling into bed next to him. He snakes an arm around his waist and is almost asleep again when he remembers Olaf and wakes up with a start.

"What happened?" he asks, pushing himself up on one elbow. Behind him, Gil mumbles and twitches and presses against him again.

"Hm?" Greg asks, settling onto his back and peering up at Nick through half-lidded eyes.

"With your grandfather," Nick says.

"Oh." Greg smiles and lets his eyes close. "He made me take him to a mall, and then he bought me a breakfast sandwich at the food court and ditched me."

"He what?"

A chuckle from Greg. "He took off, told me not to go anywhere, and came back an hour later. Very secretive."

"Where is he now?"

"Playing on the internet," Greg says. "I let him use the computer in Gil's office, figured he wouldn't mind." He sighs and tugs at Nick's shoulder, trying to get him to lie down. "He's probably surfing for porn. Don't worry about it."

"Porn?" Nick asks. This does not jibe with his familial expectations and, half-asleep as he is, he is struggling with it.

Greg chuckles again. "You think he got the penile implant for fun?" He tugs again at Nick's shoulder, and Nick lets himself be pulled down to the mattress. "He knows we work nights, I told him we needed to sleep, he said no problem."

Greg's words are slurring towards unconsciousness, so Nick lets him doze off. He lies on his side and watches the lines of the day fall out of Greg's skin, the crinkles around his eyes disappear into lassitude. He loves watching Greg sleep, loves sleeping next to him.

From behind him, Gil mutters, "Told you it was okay. Go to sleep."

Gil's arms cage around him and Greg rolls tight against him, and surrounded by warmth and worried about Olaf, Nick allows himself to drift.

***

There are stockings when they wake up, which they are not expecting.

Gil's townhouse doesn't have a fireplace, or a mantel, so the three socks are lying on the sill of the bay window, and Olaf is sitting meekly with a cup of coffee and the newspaper open to the funnies.

It's almost four in the afternoon before they show up downstairs for what they have unanimously decided is Christmas, even if it's a day early. Greg's focus is on coffee and he staggers into the kitchen, functioning on automatic. Gil goes straight to his stick insects, and Nick is the only one to actually notice the stuffed socks. He blinks at them uncertainly, because he hasn't had a stocking since he was fourteen, and then glances at Olaf, who winks at him and turns the page, practically whistling for all the false innocence he's exuding.

"Uh, guys?" Nick says, examining the stockings. They're labelled, one for Gregor, one for Nick, and one for Gill.

"Hmm?" Greg asks, wandering into the living room, the better part of his face buried in a steaming mug of coffee.

"Looks like Santa paid us a visit," Nick says, feeling a little bit silly as the words leave his mouth.

"Huh?" Greg joins Nick in the window, then turns and levels a finger at Olaf. "I told you," he says, "not to do that."

Olaf shrugs unapologetically. "Prerogative of old lonely man," he explains without remorse.

Gil laughs, and joins Olaf on the sofa. "Can't argue with that," he says.

***

The stockings contain simple, fairly generic things: chocolate, an orange each, shaving cream (toothpaste for Gil), a pair of socks. As far as Greg is concerned, they're perfect, and he half-tackles his grandfather with a bear hug on the couch.

It spills over onto Gil, who accommodates Greg's bony shoulder the way he always does, by turning into it. Olaf extricates himself and gazes at the tangle of Gil and Greg with bemused affection. Greg accepts the scrutiny with easy comfort, and Gil reminds himself sternly to relax, to not get defensive.

Olaf turns his attention to Nick, who is sitting on the floor in front of the tree, pawing through the gifts under the tree, which have mysteriously multiplied overnight. He seems to feel the warmth of Olaf's attention, because he turns towards it and tries to smile.

"Come here," Olaf says, waving Nick towards the couch, and when he's close enough he pushes him at Gil and Greg, who catch his fall gracelessly at the same instant they hear the unmistakable click, whirr of an automatic camera shutter.

"What-" Greg asks, trying to worm his way through a gap between Nick's hips and Gil's chest, trying to push through to open air, and there's another click, whirr.

Olaf stands in front of them with a toothy grin and a camera in one hand.

Gil feels another laugh tapping at the inside of his chest.

***

After the usual presents of books, cds, clothes, alcohol and chocolate-covered insects are unwrapped, Olaf sequesters them back on the sofa for another photo shoot. Nick is wearing the hand-knit sweater his mother sent, Greg puts his feet up on the table to show off his ladybug slippers, and Gil models the heavy terrycloth robe unexpectedly from Olaf.

Click, whirr.

"One present more," Olaf says, pulling three slim boxes from the voluminous pockets of his robe.

"Papa-" Greg says, but his objection is forestalled by Olaf pushing a box into his hands, and giving one each to Nick and Gil as well.

"Hush," is all the old man says.

Gil feels Nick settle against him on one side, and Greg on the other, and turns the box over in his hands. He pulls the card out of its envelope, a small thing with his named incorrectly spelled out in a painstakingly neat handwriting. The card says simply, Take good care of him.

He looks up at Olaf, who is fiddling with his camera and not meeting anyone's eye. He catches Nick's eye, and then Greg's, and they all slip a finger under the thin line of tape on the back of their boxes.

Under the wrapping is a velvet box from a local jeweller's; Gil glances to either side and discovers that Nick and Greg have boxes from a different jeweller's, one in San Gabriel. He thinks, this is the errand he had to run. Whatever it is, there are three of them. Presumably, they match.

In fact, they do. They are three identical gold bracelets, fairly simple chains angled to catch the light, details picked out in white gold on every third link. Gil turns it over in his hands, letting it lie flat against his fingers, thinking, This is too much. We can't accept these.

"Papa..." Greg moves to get up but doesn't get very far because Olaf comes to him instead, and leans over him and kisses him squarely on his forehead.

He says something in Norwegian that brings tears to Greg's eyes, and Greg hugs his waist and pushes his face into his stomach. Olaf murmurs something and pats his head and neck, and Nick and Gil look at each other.

Nick shrugs with one shoulder, rubbing his thumb absently against the delicate bracelet, uncertain of what he's supposed to be doing. Gil is about to say something to him when Olaf's arms reach around his shoulders and he feels another kiss delivered to the top of his head.

"Family is what you choose," Olaf tells him softly, solemnly, "and Greg chose you. Family."

Gil feels his throat constrict strangely and then Olaf moves on to Nick, delivers the same hug and kiss and whispered welcome to the Hojem clan, and when he releases him and steps back from the couch, Gil sees that Nick is starting to get choked up, too.

He thinks, This is what Nick knows he will never get from his own family. This is what I can't get from mine. This is Greg's gift to us, given freely and without conscious decision, and it is more precious than anything under the sun. He pulls Nick and Greg in towards him, and holds them tight, his eyes shut against the push of tears that have risen from nothing more than a feeling of warmth.

He holds them tight, and enjoys the feeling of their arms around him, of their bodies pressed against his in the narrow stretch of furniture, of his love for them, and of their love for him.

Click, whirr.

~ fin ~