Title: Trilogy – One: Fight Night
Author: Dee
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2542
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Characters: Gil Grissom and Nick Stokes
Warnings: AU and v.fluffy!
Spoilers: Mild to nothing for S30E07 – Fight Night
Disclaimer: In my dreams they are like, totally mine!
Unbeta-ed: All mistakes will be mine.
A/N: A bit of an idea I had on holiday! Three episode related fic from the series and snapshots of how the relationship is between Gil and Nick at that at particular time.

Nick looked down at the congealed and rapidly cooling food on his plate.  There was no way he could eat it.

 

The rest of the team seemed to love this place, it was cheap and cheerful, but Nick was used to eating better, healthier food.  Usually, he was able to eat some or most of the breakfast, but today, this morning, he just couldn't summon up the bravado needed to put this poor excuse for food into his mouth.

 

“What's wrong, Nick?  You haven't touched your breakfast at all.”   Catherine sounded concerned about Nick's lack of sustenance.  “You look a bit flushed, are you okay?”  And with that she put her hand on his forehead. 

 

To Nick it seemed exactly as a mother might check the temperature of their child.  He didn't mean to snap at Catherine, it wasn't her fault, but it was the final straw.

 

“For God's sake, Catherine, I'm not a kid.  I'm not hungry, certainly not for this congealed mess.”  He shoved the plate away, and was aware of the deathly silence that follows when someone does something ill advised.

 

“Okay, don't bite my head off, I was concerned, that's all.”  Catherine responded, tartly.

 

“I'm off.”  Nick stood up, put down a ten dollar bill and walked out, leaving four pairs of eyes watching his back.

 

As soon as he was out in the fresh air he regretted the scene he'd made, but he was just pissed off with it all, with all of them.

 

Catherine playing Momma.

 

Warrick, the teacher's favourite.

 

Sara who couldn’t put a foot wrong.

 

And Grissom.  The worst of the lot, sitting in judgment and making assumptions.  He was a hypocrite; he forbade anyone to make any assumptions about work but none of his rules applied to himself, or Catherine, or Warrick and especially not Sara.

 

Nick was pissed and tired and he was hungry.  He jumped into his truck and went straight home.  He made himself a fresh fruit salad topped with natural yoghurt.  He didn't even enjoy that...thinking about the scene he’d made.  He did some laundry, cleaned his bathroom, checked his e-mails and read an article by Grissom.  It was good, he had to give him that.

 

And when he went into work that night he was determined to apologise and would have done, except Grissom called him into his office.

 

“Nick, what's wrong?”

 

It was the red rag to a bull syndrome.  His apology forgotten and his mood worse than it was that morning.

 

“Let me ask you a question, Grissom.”  He spat the name out.  “Do you ask Sara that question every time she mouths off at you, one of us, a suspect, anyone?”

 

Grissom looked as if he'd been struck, clearly shocked at Nick's outburst.  He opened his mouth to speak but was silent.

 

“I thought not.”  Nick answered the question himself, turned on his heels and walked out of the office.

 

Within a few minutes, sitting in the unusually quiet locker room Nick had calmed down enough to be seriously worried about what would happen to him.  Okay, Grissom was useless at discipline, they all knew that.  They'd lost count of the number of times Sara had got away with bad behaviour.  And a couple of years ago Warrick was indirectly responsible for Holly Gribbs' death and had hardly had his fingers rapped. 

 

But Nick could feel the contempt Grissom had for him, and he'd thought for some time that his days on graveyard were numbered.  And just like that he knew what he'd do...pre-empt the inevitable and request a transfer to days or swing.

 

Then he wondered if Grissom would make him stay and then compulsorily transfer him, anyway.  Make him look bad.  That's what Grissom would do.  Nick suddenly realised he was going to be late for the shift briefing and rushed to the conference room.

 

Grissom and Catherine were missing so he was okay.  Nick didn't speak and neither did Warrick or Sara.  Grissom came bustling in a few minutes later. 

 

“Catherine's had to take a day off, Lindsay and her mother are both sick.  So we'll all be solo tonight.”

 

Nick felt relief at being let off the hook, at least for one night.  But he was staggered to be given a four-nineteen.  Solo.  Sara got a burglary and Warrick a missing husband.  Sara was pissed, Nick could tell, but why had Grissom given him a solo murder?  More than likely to make him look a fool.  Prove to himself that Nick wasn't equal to Warrick and Sara.  Would Grissom behave like that?  God only knows.  He treated Nick differently from everyone else.  That was the only thing Nick knew for sure.

 

Nick worked with Jim Brass and they got on really well together.  They liked each other.  Jim had had run-ins with Grissom, Warrick and Sara that Nick knew about.  Nick tried to do his best for Jim and himself, but especially for the victim.  No one deserved to die violently at aged forty three. 

 

Nick was diligent and interpreted the evidence at the scene and in no time at all, there was a link to the husband and his cousin. They were both arrested.

 

They fell apart when confronted with the evidence.  The cousin had killed the wife and had also used the same gun to shoot a store owner's wife in a bungled robbery.  It was all for money.  They even found the gun.

 

It was a good night and Nick felt good; mostly for avenging the victim and when he was just about to go into the break room he heard Jim telling Grissom what a good job he'd done.  Grissom had said, 'that's what he's trained to do, his job.'

 

Nick didn't know if he'd been seen, he moved past the door and went along the corridor, but Grissom's reply to Jim's praise was exactly what he would have expected and exactly what he got.  It made up his mind.  He'd request a transfer, before he went home today.

 

He was writing up his report when he realised his shift was over.  He decided to complete the report during his next shift, so he could write his transfer request.

 

He thought for a few minutes and decided on short and sweet.

 

'I wish to request a transfer to either day or swing shift, as soon as possible. Nick Stokes.’  And then as an afterthought, he added, 'Thank you.'

 

He put it in an envelope, sealed it and in his neatest script he wrote, 'G.Grissom'.

 

He packed up his work and made his way to the locker room, via Grissom's empty office, though with papers still strewn around the desk it looked as if he was still somewhere in the building.  He dropped the letter on top of the files in his in-tray and left.  No doubt he would face the music tonight.

 

But he didn't. 

 

Grissom didn't say a word that night or the next, but on the third night, when Nick was getting decidedly twitchy, Grissom came wondering into the sound lab where Nick was trying to separate some voices on a tape.

   

He had a letter in his hand and Nick thought, he's just opened my request, it's taken three fucking shifts to open an envelope.

 

“Nick?  What's this?”

 

Should he be sarcastic?  Why not?  “A sheet of paper?”

 

“I'm aware of that.”  Grissom's tone was icy.  “Why are you requesting a transfer?”

 

Tell the entire lab, why don't you, Grissom?  What's happened to confidentiality, or doesn't that apply to me, along with all the other rules that he flouts for his preferred staff and then suddenly remembers for Nick Stokes.

 

“I think I've gone as far as I can on this shift.  It seems I will never attain the standard of your fav...your preferred CSIs.”

 

“What?  What are you talking about?”

 

“Do you think we could have this conversation in...private?”

 

“My office.  Now.”  Grissom walked away.

 

A braver Nick spent a couple of minutes putting away his evidence and had almost completed the task when Grissom returned.  “What don't you understand about the word, now, Nick?”

 

“I thought that the preservation of evidence took priority over everything, even a summons by you, or has there been a change of rules I've not heard about?”

 

Nick knew he was right, as did Grissom, but really all Nick had done was further antagonise the man,   Probably not the best idea he'd ever had, given that he now had to face the music he'd expected to face three shifts ago.  Grissom turned away and presumably went back to his office.

 

But Nick felt empowered, he'd actually done something about his situation and he felt good.  And he intended to answer all of Grissom's questions honestly and damn the consequences; it would at least ensure he was transferred...he just hoped he wouldn't be fired.  That thought made his stomach drop, but he figured he'd already gone too far to stop.

 

'Tell the truth and shame the devil', his father had often quoted that to him and as he got older he'd tried to stick by it, if you did lie you generally got caught out.  He did, anyway.

 

He took several deep breaths, letting the air out slowly as he walked to Grissom's office.  He felt remarkably calm as he walked through the open door and closed it behind him.  He walked to the front of Grissom's desk and stood there.

 

Grissom looked up over his glasses, pointed to a seat with his pen and said, “Sit.”

 

Like a good dog, Nick sat down.

 

“So is it something Catherine has done?”

 

That took Nick completely by surprise and he wasn't sure what Grissom meant.  “Sorry?  What do you mean?”

 

“Don't be obtuse, Nick.”

 

“I don't now what you're talking about in relation to Catherine.”  But Nick had realised; Grissom was quite prepared to blame his own shortcomings on anyone else...in this instance, Catherine.

 

“It was Catherine you shouted at the other morning in the diner.”

 

“No, she just managed to pour salt into the wound...the wound that you'd made.”

 

Grissom looked surprised.  “What did I do to you at breakfast?”

 

“Nothing at breakfast.”

 

“So...”

 

“Do you remember fight night?  When you all worked the death of the boxer and I was allowed to work on my own?”

 

“Yes.  And?”

 

Nick could see Grissom working through what happened and trying to come up with an answer.

 

“I told you about the Pifflings.  And you assumed I knew about the birds because I watched Discovery or Animal Planet.  It never occurred to you that I might know about birds, that they're my hobby.  It was a stupid little incident...”

 

“...yes it was, and you want a transfer because of that?”

 

“It was the final straw, Grissom.  The last time.  I haven't got a gambling problem, or pulled my gun on a victim's husband, before he was a suspect, or dealt with a suspected rape case with my ex-husband as the accused, or even left anyone alone in a house with a murderer.”  Gil looked at Nick as he said that.

 

“You slept with a prostitute.”

 

“Yeah, I did.  I didn't pay her and she didn't deserve to die; Catherine saved my skin, would you have bothered to do that for me?”

 

“I think you're making the most out of petty grievances and I thought you were better than that, Nick.”

 

“I should be better?  Why?”

 

“All of the team, except you, have had to put up with hardships in their lives and have made it anyway, without the privileges you've had.  They've learned to take hard knocks and pick themselves up and carry on.  You have to learn to do that.  To prove my point, instead of getting on with the job, you're calling it quits because you feel hard done by.  You need to toughen up and take the rough with the smooth.”

 

“You think I had a privileged life?  I can see how you can make that analogy, a big house, a lot of money. 

 

“Let me tell you a bit about my life, Grissom.  I'm the youngest, by a number of years, of seven.  My eldest sister once told me that Mom nearly had an abortion, but would have to have gone out of state and people might have found out, so she had me.

 

“But I interfered with her career that she was trying to build after having six children.  So the housekeeper looked after me.  I loved her like a mother and when I was seven she was there one day and gone the next and I never saw her again.  I learned when I was about twenty that she was diagnosed with cancer and Mom decided to let her go straight away, to stop me seeing her suffer.

 

“I was an obnoxious uncontrollable little boy, without proper guidance and direction.  I used to lie and steal stuff, just to get noticed.  I got noticed alright, by my Father, and my first beating with his strap was when I eight.”

 

Grissom was listening with a look of growing horror. 

 

“When I was nine a last minute babysitter sexually abused me.  I told Mom and Dad when they got in and the woman had left, but I was the little boy who'd cried wolf once too often.  They didn't believe me and when I finally confessed under interrogation from my father, that I'd made it up, he beat me for lying.  It was never spoken about again.

 

“I never lied after that, or even got into trouble.  Instead of becoming rebellious like a lot of kids might have, I became a straight A's student.  I don't think they really noticed, they were so busy.  There's a lot more, but it won't serve any purpose to tell you. 

 

“You’ve surprised me, Grissom, you were the last person I thought would be judgmental about money equating privilege.  I would never have believed you were quite that bad.  You live and learn, I suppose.

 

“Look, forget about the transfer.  I'm going to leave Las Vegas.  It's clearly not working.  I might see what vacancies there are at Quantico.”

 

Nick's quite passionless delivery refuting his privileged upbringing had stunned Grissom into silence.  Nick got up and walked to the door and was about to open it when Grissom spoke; he stood up and made his way towards Nick as he spoke.

 

“Wait, Nick.  I have misjudged you.  Will you accept my apologies, and stay?  I had no idea that you really liked birds?  Oh, and Nick?  That breakfast, I know it's tradition and all, but you were right, it was a congealed mess.”

 

Next story in series- "Trilogy – Two: Grave Danger"