Title: The Fall
By: quettaser
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Pairings: Nick/Greg
Warnings: Spoilers for "Play With Fire."
Summary: Done for csi_missing_500. Post-Ep for "Play With Fire." Greg doesn't have time to debate the number of words in a phrase.

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Life's too short.

That's just what it comes down to. Three little words...okay, really its four words, but the contraction makes it three. But that's just it; he doesn't have time to debate how many words are in a phrase.

Life's too short.

He knows that now, knows it all too well. Fuck, he got blown up.

Blown up.

Sometimes he forgets, forgets it ever happened, doesn't remember the sound of it, the eerie silence just before his world exploded. Forgets until he moves, new skin pulling along his shoulders and back. Then he remembers all too well.

He's caught up in it again, pain alighting across phantom wounds, blood pounding in his ears and hands shaking into fists. But he has to fight it, push through, because he's been standing on Nick's doorstep for nearly five minutes and he's starting to feel a little stupid.

More than a little stupid.

What gives him the idea that Nick would ever be interested? God, he doesn't even know if he likes men...actually, there's a lot he doesn't know about Nick. And that's scary.

He tells himself to shut up and just knock, godamnit.

Life's too short.

Too short to stand on someone's doorstep, stuck in limbo, too afraid to know for sure.

He knocks, a hollow sound in the empty street. And then there he is, standing in the doorway, looking tired and beautiful and he can't remember anything he was going to say.

"Greg?"

All he can manage is a timid, "Hi."

Nick's looking, seeing. He hasn't done that, not in the three months since the explosion, hasn't really looked at him. He'd noticed. He always noticed his looks; long, smiling, secret, exquisite. And then they just stopped.

But now he's staring, eyes flush with pain and sadness, like he'd been the one blown through a wall, not the other way around.

He's been invited inside and it takes him a second to gather his thoughts, pull himself together, try to make his movements smooth as he walks in. He tries not to stare, not to catalogue every item, every scent, because he doesn't know if he'll ever see this again.

They sit on the couch. He's not sure where to look, what to say, his mouth is dry and he can feel Nick's eyes on him. He wonders why he wanted Nick looking at all.

Then he feels it, the soft brush of skin. Nick's touching him, tracing the light scar that curls up the side of his neck. And he can't help it, lets out a puff of air in a light sigh and leans into the touch. He lets his eyes drift shut, savoring the moment because he knows it's going to end, and fast.

And all of a sudden, he's tasting, and he's not prepared for that; for the taste of Nick's lips and mouth, his closeness. He arches towards him out of habit and need and parts his lips, let's himself fall.

It's short, anything less than forever would be too short, but Nick pulls away and he can't help but give him a questioning look because this isn't what he expected.

Then Nick's smiling, flashing his brilliant teeth, his eyes still soft, and he's never felt so raw, so exposed, like Nick can see straight into his core. He almost misses the whispered words that fall from his mouth.

"Life's too short."



Fin.

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