Title: Collide
By: Caster
Pairimg: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13
A/N: I'm slightly nervous about posting this. Actually, "frightened" might be a more appropriate term. Let's face it, folks: you're probably sick of my fluffiness and me. You're also probably sick of song fics and their predictable plot. But when I heard this, I immediately saw potential. This is my last one, I promise! But we've got to embrace the Nick/Greg love no matter what.
Disclaimer: The song? Howie Day's Collide. The show? CSI. I own neither. The first step is admitting you have a problem. The second is admitting you have no claim over anything except your own grip on reality. And that's where I start having troubles, because this "reality" thing just isn't working for me.
Summary: They'll always return to each other.

***

The dawn is breaking
A light shining through
You're barely waking
And I'm tangled up in you

The world was a strange, strange place to be these days.

When Nick entered the lab, the world outside had been dark and sprinkled with stars. It had been cold out; foggy, and the desert seemed to reach the ends of the Earth, where all of God's secrets were locked away. Over the horizon a small tinge of pink could be seen, hinting at a brilliant sunrise caused by a glaring star 93,000,000 miles away. It was moments like these that made the world seem better; it was the crime scene Nick just came from that made it seem worse.

He was tired. Literally, of course, and he felt the familiar urge to steal some of Greg's coffee as he often did. But it was also an exhaustion that had been creeping up on him for nearly six years, slowly and steadily and expectedly. It was the burnout that came with a long period of unrequited love. Perhaps some people reading this understand the feeling; those who don't might eventually. Either way, it's not a sentiment many wanted to keep for long. Nick himself tried to scrape it from his skin, tear it out of his heart, do whatever it took to get that pain as far away from him as possible.

It never worked.

Outside the crime lab, the strange world was waking. There was a collective hatred for alarm clocks and a shared desire for caffeine. There was the rush of traffic, panic of jobs, daily heart attack. It felt odd not to be part of the crowd; instead, Nick Stokes was an outsider, cleaning up the messes other people left behind. Sweeping up the mysteries and secrets, throwing away the lies and grudges until it was all finally uncovered. Only the truth remained untouched at the end of a case.

No one ever really wanted the truth.

And to Nick, that was strange as well.

But then again, Nick had frequently been accused of living in a consciously naïve state of mind. He was the good guy, the super hero, the designated driver, the one who'd watch his neighbor's kids on his one day off. He gave too much and expected nothing in return. To many, that was sheer stupidity. Nevertheless, Nick had always thought that life was never truly lived until you lived for something other than yourself, just as Einstein had said. Truth was important to him and it was almost insulting that someone would call him childish because he thought so.

"Hey Nick! Where've you been?" The voice held a hint of agitation and weariness, but Nick couldn't hold Warrick accountable for any regrettable action he may commit in the next twenty-four hours. The older man jogged up next to him, holding several folders and case files. They were both juked up on caffeine, nerves slightly frayed and, as expected, sleep deprived. Human beings in states such as those were prone to unexpected and irrational behavior. "You're ten minutes late."

Nick winced at the voice and suddenly his body felt heavy; a migraine was coming on. Why did he do this job again? It was a question he had been asking himself every night since he joined the graveyard shift –six years ago?- and the answer always came back the same: he owed it to the dead. The dead, after all, couldn't justify themselves and he'd never had any desire to lead a shallow, selfish life where his well-being was the only thing that counted. Other people mattered too. That was his stigma.

"Yeah, sorry," he replied back. "Just came back from a scene. Let me get some coffee and I'll be right with you."

Warrick sighed, shooting Nick an apologetic look for his harsh tone. "That's fine, man. Hey, better grab me a cup too. Just so long as it's not Sara's stuff."

"Beggars can't be chosers, Rick. Sara's coffee or no, I'm about to fall out. Just depends on how bad you need the caffeine."

Warrick rubbed his eyes but grinned slightly nonetheless, their banter the only thing getting him through the night. "Hell, bring me the leftover grinds. That's caffeine concentrate if I've ever seen it."

Nick laughed before turning. "You got it. One filter of leftover grinds coming up. To be used only by the truly desperate."

"And what are we?"

"Truly desperate."

Warrick grinned and nodded before turning towards the other direction. He had seen the pain in Nick's eyes, the pale look to his skin. He wasn't feeling well, but Warrick would have only made it worse had he called him on it.

The Las Vegas Crime Lab was a world in its own right. It had no sunrises and stars; it was death and science, truth and deceit, darkly clustered lives brought together by a desire to piece together the undeserved endings of good people. Normal citizens, the regular, battered American workforce would find it to be a sickening and grotesque occupation, but it was Nick's life. It wasn't strange. The other world, the one outside the lab walls was the world that was so twisted and unnatural.

With a sigh, Nick turned back and began towards a place where his feet often led him when his mind was on autopilot.

That is, Greg's lab.

It wasn't as if it belonged to him, but people knew all the same. Even with his becoming a Level 1 CSI, techs and janitors alike still referred to the room as "Sanders's laboratory- don't forget your ear plugs." It used to be Greg's un-strange world. But he had taken a chance and ventured to successfully become what he'd always wanted: a CSI. It ultimately meant he had to emerge from his glass castle into the world that was so odd and star-sprinkled and warped, but he never seemed to mind. He loved people and, even more frightening, believed in them.

Nick opened the glass door and stepped inside the lab. The sounds of beeping machines and whirring equipment greeted him; even better, though, was when Greg looked up and gave him a bright smile. He had been stooped over a microscope and jotting down chicken-scratch notes with numerous spelling mistakes before Nick's presence had broke him from his concentration.

"Hey Nick! What's going on?" Although his voice didn't hurt Nick's head like everyone else's, his shirt was another story. In the beginning, when Nick had first met him, he had worn the craziest, ugliest clothes known to the human race. He had eventually toned it down before turning slightly bland. And one day, it was as if he had been inspired again; even though he was CSI now, not just some lowly tech, he wanted to be who he was before the explosion and before the world of law enforcement had tried to conform him. He was Greg Sanders and he was damn proud of it. He made no apologies.

Nick blinked and glanced at his shirt again. Migraines were known to be irritated by light, sound, smells, and bright shirts, obviously.

"Not much, man," he replied, grinning at Greg's fashion choice before continuing. "Just here to steal some coffee."

"Not to worry. I made some extra. Based on past experience, this is the time of night you usually trod through here like a zombie hungering for human flesh."

Nick stared a moment, thinking the description over. The image of him and Warrick with their arms jutted forward like in some bad 80's movie was amusing, especially when he considered what Grissom would do. "No one panic. Greg, get some swabs. We need to take their DNA."

A moment passed before he realized Greg was staring at him worriedly. He supposed his silence was odd to the other man, as they were always bantering, laughing, arguing over something.

He let out a small laugh and shook his head as he headed towards the familiar coffee maker, forgetting the odd notion. "Man, you really are weird. I'll have you know that I'm just an over-worked employee in need of some coffee."

"That's what they all say. But you and I both know it's really just an excuse to come and see me," said Greg, giving Nick a teasing grin before batting his eyelashes in a playful manner.

Nick laughed again, thanking his lucky stars that he was turned away from the younger man, pouring two cups of the scalding brown liquid. The last thing he wanted Greg to see was the distinct pink tint that was gracing his features; after all, Greg hadn't been completely wrong with his joke.

"I see you've been working on your humbleness," Nick observed.

"And I see you've been working too hard in general. Nick, you look beat. You've gotta stop taking these double shifts."

The world was a strange, strange place these days and the only way Nick knew how to deal with it was to plan out everything very carefully, armed with nothing but truth and stars. He wasn't spontaneous. He wasn't adventurous. And he certainly wasn't a natural when it came to romance.

Very rarely, however, he felt safe enough to voice his thoughts. He knew it had to be all the caffeine and exhaustion that was shorting out his brain cells, making things seem more probable than they actually were. But Greg was looking so genuinely concerned; so sincere in his worry that it felt, for one moment in time, like he could possibly return Nick's feelings. So when Nick turned and asked, "You wanna grab breakfast after shift?", it wasn't only spontaneous, it was unexpected to even himself.

It was strange the way Greg looked crestfallen.

Nick didn't want to hear the rejection; the inevitable "I don't feel that way" routine. But did he have a choice? Unless he turned and sprinted out of the room like a cowardly madman, he was going to have to hear it anyway. But Nick could always fake it; brush it off when it hurt like hell. His mother had taught him how to be proper; his father taught him how to be tough. Combined, he could make it through almost any situation with a decent amount of dignity still in tact.

Greg opened his mouth and then shut it again, giving Nick a strange, almost disbelieving look. "I'd like to, but I've got a… Sara and I are grabbing some grub today," he replied. "At some fancy place."

And Nick smiled, trying to fight off that damn feeling tearing at his skin and heart and mind. He shrugged, coffee in hand, before responding (as nonchalantly as possible), "Maybe some other time."

"Some other time" meant, of course, never. Because he would never, ever ask again. It took him six years and a state of slight insanity to get him to finally say something; it'd take another six years and several dozen alcoholic beverages to tread that territory again.

"Nick, did you mean like- like a date?"

Nick wanted to deny what he meant. But he did mean "like a date" and he was too burned out; too humiliated to refute it.

"I'm sorry, Greg," he replied, trying to brush it off with a smile, hoping Greg would forget it and they could return to who they were ten seconds ago, before Nick had opened his big mouth. With actions came consequences and he knew his request would only prove to make things awkward. Why hadn't he thought this out? Where had the question come from? Did his mouth suddenly work independently from his brain?

"It's no big deal," he continued. "I just read the signals wrong."

"Signals?" Greg choked out, looking as if his dog just died and he won the lottery at the same time.

"Yeah." Laugh, smile, pretend it was nothing. You can break down later. "Listen, I'm really sorry. Forget I asked. I don't know what the hell I was thinking."

Greg looked lost, as well he should. After all, Nick himself had no idea what he was doing and very rarely could he wing it without the predictable crash and burn.

"You and Sara have a good time," he said, giving Greg one last smile, praying to God that he wasn't completely transparent. "I know you've had a thing for her. I'm just… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have put that on you."

Before Greg could really say anything, Nick muttered something about Warrick and being late and left Greg alone in his glass castle. And because Greg wasn't an idiot, he could tell Nick was horrified and probably kicking himself, but it's been six years and Greg had spent more than half a decade trying to rip away that painful feeling that came with Nick. And suddenly here he comes, waltzing in and asking for a date. Greg was elated and sick to his stomach.

Two hallways away, Nick realized the reason he found truth to be so helpful was that one rarely had to take chances. If you know the answer before you ask the question, there's very little risk of being wrong. He had thought that maybe once, a long while ago, Greg might have felt the same.

Warrick looked up and smiled, thanking him for the coffee and, after a moment, asking if he was okay. And because Nick was both tough and proper, he brushed off Warrick's concern with something witty before sitting down and asking for the tox report of a girl found in the desert.

Nick used to find it unsettling that he and Greg were always tangled up in each other, no matter what they did.

Then he found it comforting.

Now he just wished he could die.

I'm open, you're closed
Where I follow, you'll go
I worry I won't see your face
Light up again

After moments, seconds, minutes, hours; who knew how long he really sat there, staring out the glass doors? He wasn't even sure himself. All he knew was that Nick Stokes had finally, finally made a move and when Greg thought he could finally, finally resist and separate himself from their strange relationship, he instantly knew he couldn't.

He said he had a date with Sara. Which he did. Which was what he had wanted.

Or, at least, thought he wanted.

He knew Nick was a pretty closed up guy, harboring a lot of secrets he would prefer to be kept hidden away in the back of his mind. He couldn't keep them but he couldn't seem to let them go. Greg was, however, an open book. He could tell strangers his secrets and still face himself in the morning.

When he got the restaurant, he wasn't as nervous as he'd thought he'd be, and even if he was, it wasn't because Sara was there. The sky above the building was pink and orange, and the stars were fading away in favor of the sun, a blazing star 93,000,000 miles above them.

Sara smiled at him from the table. Any other man would be smitten and Greg thought –knew- she was the most beautiful woman in the room, if not Las Vegas.

But when he sat down, she frowned a little. Maybe it was his slightly trembling hands or his strained smile or his inability to look her straight in the eye, but she was a CSI and of course she would notice.

"Is everything okay, Greg?" she asked.

And because Greg is open and Nick is closed, he blurted out "I'm in love with Nick" before he could even think about it.

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills my mind
I somehow find
You and I collide

She was wearing a black sheer dress with chandelier earrings and sparkling brown eyes. Greg has been considered insane by most; a crazy scientist who had been around too many chemicals in poorly ventilated rooms for far too long. He heard his words "I'm in love with Nick" echo off the walls of the universe and God took them; stored them away with the rest of his secrets that he kept at the ends of the Earth.

Sara glanced around at those who had heard him and were now staring; Greg covered his face with his hands, completely humiliated at his confession to an entire wing of a restaurant. But Sara Siddle had a secret weapon that was feared by many and brought the bravest man to their knees: The Look. It was a What the hell are you staring at? Can't you see that I don't give a damn about what you think? look that usually got the point across. The eavesdroppers obviously got the hint and quickly went back to their meals, ashamed not at listening but at being caught.

She promptly returned her attention back to the man across from her as he shook his head and gave her a heart-breakingly sincere apologetic look before returning his gaze back at what seemed to be a fascinating tabletop. His knee was jiggling, his fingers tapping the table erratically. He looked as if he were about to combust with all of his extra nervous energy.

She took a small breath, aware it was a situation to approach with caution. "Greg," she began, slowly, shaking her head and hoping she didn't seem intimidating. "I'm not sure what to s-''

"I'm sorry!"

In his voice, she could hear six years of anguish and lessons learned. The Greg in front of her wasn't the secure, slightly unbalanced Level 1 CSI that everyone knew. This was the insecure, confused, in-love-and-hating-it adult who had nothing but his fish to keep him company when he went home in the morning. It was Greg when the rest of himself fell away, the Greg no one even knew existed.

"What are you sorry for?" she asked softly.

"For doing this to you. I mean, finally after six years I get over him. Or I think I get over him. But he asks me to breakfast and all of a sudden I'm back to square one. And here you are, absolutely stunning and-and I can't seem to break away from him, you know? I look for someone else but it never works. It's just- it's driving me crazy."

"You'll always go back to him, right? Even if he doesn't know it," she supplied, smiling slightly.

"Yeah," Greg replied, quietly, shaking his head and comforted by her even voice. "I swear it's not you. I must be crazy for telling you all this because tonight you're just… wow. Stunning. I was going to tell you, but then I had this spontaneous nervous breakdown," he said, grinning and falling apart.

"Greg, I've got to say that it's about time."

"About time for what?" Greg questioned. She smiled again. As hard as he tried, his suit was still slightly wrinkled and his hair was sticking in every degree and angle possible. The world tried telling him to grow up and get serious. This was a shame, because "growing up" and "growing old" were two very different things. Greg had changed everything about himself to try to please his peers; change his wardrobe and opinions, his attitude and personality. He tried too hard and got nothing in return except the repeated requests from various personnel to straighten out his hair.

"About time you admitted your feelings for Nick," she answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in all the world.

He supposed it was.

I'm quiet you know
You make a first impression
I've found I'm scared to know I'm always on your mind

Nick's apartment was dark. His blackout curtains certainly did their job and for that he was grateful, because he was sick of the cold and fog and desert; he was sick of that burning star 93,000,000 miles away. But more than anything, he was sick of himself; of his stupidity and faith.

He closed his eyes and asked himself for what seemed to be the millionth time: What were you thinking? That question merely led him to the next inquiry of Were you thinking at all? Truthfully, he wasn't really sure if he was or not. He could remember every second of that day and, unfortunately, every millisecond of his time spent with Greg.

You wanna grab breakfast after shift?

Nick, did you mean like- like a date?

Across from his apartment complex, there are houses all lined up behind a white picket fence, no joke. He could only imagine what went on in some of them, because the White Picket Dream had its snags and glitches. There were too many women with bruises, too many children with vacant eyes. Nick wished he could be normal. Other men wanted some hot chick that they sometimes ended up marrying. Normal men wanted to play golf or go fishing; they wanted food, sex, and sleep.

But Nick wasn't normal. He never had been, now that he thought about it. He didn't want a casual fling and he didn't want to play sports or impress his friends.

He wanted Greg.

He just wasn't sure why.

All he really knew was that his affection for Greg was just another mystery God had stored away somewhere in an untouchable horizon. And although he tried to find someone else, he always seemed to turn up back at the lab where Greg was scribbling something down in Greg Code and brewing expensive coffee.

He spoke both English and Spanish, but he couldn't speak Flirt. He had always thought that Greg liked him; Greg flirted, but that was his personality. That was Greg being naturally curious about people. The pure and horrifying truth was that there had been no signals; what made it worse was that Nick thought there had been. Greg didn't feel anything except friendship; a friendship, Nick was certain, was going to be strained and awkward from here on out. Would Greg be uncomfortable to know that Nick was always thinking about him? About their chances and possibilities?

But he was a scientist, after all. If he avoided Greg and threw himself into his work; if he really concentrated on other people and their messes instead of his own, then maybe they could both forget about his irreversible error and parade around, pretending to be happy. Maybe time and conscious forgetfulness could heal this wound. He had no Plan B to begin with and this was all he had as a last resort.

He heard a knock on the door.

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the stars refuse to shine
Out of the back you fall in time
I somehow find
You and I collide

When Nick was a child, it used to be common knowledge that if it was dark inside the house, it meant it was dark outside as well. Perhaps that particular logic was somehow ingrained within him, but when he opened the door, the first thing he did was look away. The sun was shining so brightly that he wouldn't have been able to see who it was anyway. Not until his pupils dilated a little and he could adjust his sight, at least. And even then, he was fairly sure that the visitor was wishing they hadn't stopped by at all. Nick was dressed only in a dark t-shirt and black cotton pajama bottoms that were tied loosely around his waist. His hair was messy and he was slightly groggy, being half dead and half buzzed and entirely displaced.

"Nick?"

But the voice brought him straight back to Earth.

"Greg?"

Greg shot him a nervous smile from his doorstep. "Hi. Did I wake you?"

"No," Nick replied quickly, because it really wasn't a lie. "I was already awake. Can't fall asleep."

"Well, I was thinking," Greg began, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets awkwardly, "If you're already awake, maybe we should talk."

Talk? Jesus Christ, Greg wanted to "talk." Nick felt his heart accelerate before nearly stopping all at once. Talking was never a good thing; when Greg was serious like that, it usually spelled disaster. To add to this doom, Greg was at his doorstep, seeking entry. In the back of his mind, Nick couldn't help but remember that he hadn't done the dishes in almost three days and that his house was in no state to occupy company.

"Can- can I come in? I mean, we can do this another time," the younger man said, shooting Nick another anxious look before glancing back at his red and black checkered sneakers, so Greg-like in their uniqueness.

Another time. Nick smiled slightly; he couldn't blame Greg for being nervous. Nick had actually been in that position once or twice; someone liked him but there was no way he could feel the same. But another time would mean he would walk on eggshells until then and he was too tired to try that. It was best to get it over with, even if his confidence and dignity and heart shattered in the process.

Nick shrugged, hoping to appear at ease. "I could let you in," he agreed lightly, aiming to lift this cloud from above them. "But I've got a pretty good idea as to why you're here and I can make this a whole lot easier for you if you'd like."

Greg sent him a crooked smile. "And how would you go about that?"

Nick took a long breath and suddenly wished he were wearing more than his P.J.s. It seemed more dignified that way.

"I asked you out today and I'm sorry. It was irresponsible of me because office dating is a recipe for disaster. Second of all, I realize there were no signals. That was probably more wishful thinking on my part anyway. You're not interested. I get it." Nick took a quick look at Greg's caught-in-the-headlights look and grinned slightly, embarrassed. "So can we just pretend I'd kept my big mouth shut? I mean, this won't… it won't change anything, will it? I mean, I can understand why you would feel uncomfortable. But I- well, it's not like I'm going to try and jump you or anything. But if it really bothers you, I can…"

There was a silence. He had stumbled over his words and tripped into oblivion. But the way Greg was staring at him was driving him crazy and he felt the urge to slam the door shut and take a few deep, calming breaths and then a cold shower.

"You really are a gentlemen, aren't you?" Greg asked. The answers Nick had lined up and readied for employment were useless; that was a question that he certainly hadn't expected.

"It's what I've always been taught, I guess. Is that a bad thing?"

Greg shook his head in response before saying, "Listen, Nick, can I come in?"

Every word Greg spoke was making this more difficult for him to handle. He closed his eyes. "Greg, I told you. You don't have to give me the speech. I totally understand."

Greg gave him a look, this time more nervous and solemn. "I don't think you do."

Nick didn't reply. Instead, he opened the door while wondering if he had caused serious, irreparable damage. I don't think you do. What did that mean? What had started out as anxiety and regret was beginning to turn into dread and fear, making him sick to his stomach. Greg could usually brush off things easily; take it all in stride. Why did this have to be any different?

"Would you like anything? I've got Coke and coffee. And water. And milk, if that's what you're in the mood for."

Greg rocked back and forth on his feet, hands still in his jacket pockets. "No, I'm cool. I just came back from some fancy-shmancy breakfast place with Sara."

Nick smiled, hoping it didn't look too fake. "Oh. And how'd that go?"

"I bailed early."

"Hopefully not to talk to me. She'll kill me tomorrow." Still, it was almost gratifying to hear those words. I bailed early. Perhaps it had been because of Nick's stupidity, but he had still bailed and that almost made it worthwhile.

"Actually, I had her blessing. Just so long as I don't bail out early on this."

Nick wasn't really sure what to say; instead, to distract himself, he began clearing off his couch so they could at least have a place to sit. That's what he told himself, because he was pretty certain Greg wouldn't want to hang around any longer than necessary.

"And what's "this", exactly?" he asked, his voice cracking at the end. He wanted to die; surely his weakness was pouring through the seams and flooding the room, soaking everything.

"About today. Nick, what you asked…" His voice trailed and he took another breath before looking up and meeting Nick's eyes. He had wanted to make this easier but words simply crowded his thoughts and mouth. He needed to be straightforward this time.

"When you asked me out, I thought I had gotten over you."

Nick choked on his own oxygen and asked, before he could think it through, "You thought you what?" It was almost comical and Greg let out a short laugh before sobering quickly, eyes moving from Nick to the walls to Nick to the floor and then back to Nick again.

"I thought I had gotten over you," Greg repeated. He took another deep breath. "I was going out with Sara today. Finally, after weeks of pestering her I succeeded. And then you finally make a move. At first, I thought I could deal with that and brush it off. I mean, I could tell you were actually serious and I just didn't want to be disappointed again. But you know the first thing I said when I sat down at that booth? She's beautiful, Nick. She's gorgeous. And I say, "I'm in love with Nick." Just like that, with no filter between my brain and my mouth."

Once again, Nick wasn't sure what to say. Part of him was too stunned to really speak; the other was too scared to interrupt or assume anything. I thought I had gotten over you. And maybe Greg had, but Nick wanted to make sure before he made any more of a fool out of himself than he already had.

Greg, obviously on a roll, began pacing around Nick's living room and ringing his hands, his words taking on a definite Greg-ness. Rambling, incessant, nervous.

"Do you know what she said? She says, "It's about time you admitted it." But she's a much better scientist than me; at least, she's more logical. So she put it to me this way. You and me? We've known each other for what seems like forever. We've been single just as long. One of us was waiting for the other to make the move but we were both too scared to do anything about it. We were afraid of reading the signals wrong. But I'll always come back to you and you always seem to come back to me. At the end of the day, we're always alone because we can't find anyone else that we feel this strongly for. We… we collide, y'know? We just always come back to each other, no matter what."

Every moment Nick had ever lived were moments he filled with words and silences. Words kept people occupied; silences kept them uncomfortable. He was too concerned with the messes they left behind; too busy being the "good cop" to really think about himself. But here Greg was, changing thirty-five years of a life half lived.

"You understand that, don't you?" Greg asked, almost meekly. "I just want to make you happy."

I just want to make you happy.

No one had ever said that to him before. It was a feeling of elation; to be truly loved by someone. Not one-sided and unrequited, not lonely and wandering. It was real and concrete and, best of all, it was Greg.

Most people think love takes some huge show.

But all it really takes are words.

Words, coupled with action, coupled with emotion, coupled with truth and stars was the sure fire way to get you anywhere.

Their lips finally collided.

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills your mind
You finally find
You and I collide

I just want to make you happy. Blissfully tangled, that was them.

FIN.