Title: Pixie
By: geekwriter
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG
Summary: Greg makes an impression on one of the female member's of Nick's family.

She's been eyeing him since they met. At first he thought he had something on his face—a smear of ketchup from the burgers they'd grabbed on the way from the airport or maybe even a booger hanging out of his nose—God forbid—but he's had time to check and he's clean, so he doesn't know what it is that's making her stare at him.

Maybe she's trying to figure out why Uncle Nicky has a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend, but she's something like three years old and Greg's pretty sure Nick's sister hasn't yet set her down and given her the, "when a man falls in love with another man," speech. Besides, he's not entirely sure which family members know the truth and which ones think that Greg's just a friend who didn't have anywhere else to go.

Maybe she's just shy around strangers. Although, none of the Stokes clan seems the least bit reserved, a fact Greg realized once he'd been hugged and kissed and pinched by all of Nick's sisters, cousins, and sundry other family members. The entire family is physically affectionate, hugging and touching and sitting close together in groups on the Stokes' back patio as Nick's father and uncles barbeque and talk about sports and guns and criminal law.

It's apparently tradition to gorge yourself not only once, but repeatedly throughout the week and though it's the day before Thanksgiving, the entire clan is gathered for a feast. Greg can hear their voices rise and fall like so many large birds; the sound carries all throughout the house, even into the study where he's hidden himself away, overwhelmed by the noise and the touching and the sheer number of people who share Nick's DNA.

Only, he guesses he hasn't done a very good job of hiding because she's standing in the doorway, staring at him again. He keeps his eyes on the page as he watches her out of the corner of his eye.

She's barefoot and wearing a pink cotton sundress that hangs on her loosely. He thinks it must be a hand-me-down that doesn't quite yet fit. Her light brown hair hangs loose and wild down her back, small tendrils curled around her face. Her hands and feet are dirty, and she's got scrapes on her elbows and knees. She's a tomboy, he can tell. She's been playing hard in the dirt, but now she's standing in the door to the study staring at him just like she has since they first met that morning.

"I can use the potty," she says finally.

Greg looks up at her. "Cool," he says. "Me, too."

She smiles at that, seemingly happy that they have something in common. She bounds across the room and climbs up onto the couch and settles down right next to him, pushing his arm down so that she can see the magazine in his lap. "What are you reading?"

He shrugs. "Just stuff for work." He closes the forensics journal, glad he hadn't been on a page with pictures, because those were definitely not the types of pictures little girls needed to see.

She grabs on to his shoulder and uses it to pull herself up so that she's standing on the couch cushion. She's got that look on her face again, the one that made him paranoid that he had a booger hanging out of his nose, and she very, very slowly raises her hand.

Greg doesn't move, doesn't even really breathe. She has such an intense look of concentration on her face that he knows whatever it is that she's doing must be important. He can see the pink tip of her tongue poking out between her lips and her clear blue eyes are wide as her hand continues to rise and move towards his head.

The first touch is tentative. Greg can barely feel it as her palm brushes across his hair. She does that a few more times, barely touches his hair, and then she presses down harder until he can feel her tiny hand against his scalp.

She pulls her hand away and seems satisfied. "Nope, not sharp," she says, jumping down off the couch. Then she skips out of the room and Greg looks at the empty doorway for a while with a grin on his face.

He laughs and reaches up to touch his spiky—but not sharp—hair before he opens the journal again and tries to find the page he'd been on before she came in.

Nick finds him half an hour later. He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms and grins, and his dimples make Greg a little giddy like they always do. "Hiding?" he asks, clearly amused.

Greg shrugs. "Maybe."

Nick walks into the study and closes the door behind him. "Overwhelmed?"

"A little bit," Greg admits. He smiles as Nick sits next to him and slides his arms around Greg's shoulders.

"They like you," Nick whispers before kissing Greg gently. "You don't have to be nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Greg says. "There's just...a lot of them."

"I told you there would be."

"I know. What's your niece's name?"

Nick smirks. "Which one? I've got fourteen."

"The tomboy in the pink dress."

"Nikki," Nick says. "Well, Nicole, but she only answers to Nikki."

"Hmm," Greg says.

"Why?"

"It's fitting, that's all. She's my favorite."

"Oh, yeah? How come?"

It's on the tip of his tongue to tell Nick about how she'd stared at his hair all day wondering if it was sharp. It's on the tip of his tongue to tell him about how intense she'd been when testing her hypothesis, but for some reason he wants to keep it to himself, likes that he and Nikki share a secret. He shrugs and just says, "I like her spunk."