Boxing the Compass

by Emily Brunson

(c)2002

Fandom: Crime Scene Investigation

Pairing: Nick/Brennen

Summary: Everyone seems to be interested in fixing up Gil's love life, whether he wants them to or not

NOTES:. The timeline is indeterminate, but sometime in the late second season, and say it with me: "Before the season-two finale." My thanks to C and E for midwife duties and for being extremely cool folks.

This is obviously the first bit of a new story. More as time permits.

The only warning is an NC-17 label, and, well, it's fairly fluffy, at least so far, so's you know.

Comments of any ilk are always welcome, either on the list or in private. Hope you enjoy. Best, Em
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Boxing the Compass
by Emily Brunson
(c)2002

There's a bump in the basement
There's a knocking on the wall
In the pumping of the pistons
I swear I heard your call
There's a bump in the basement
There's a hole in the floor
There's a guard in the garden
Locking up the door
(Peter Gabriel, "The Tower That Ate People")



Cardinal Points
North


"Oooh. Evaluation time, I guess."

Gil glanced at Warrick and smiled. "Hey, you got your turn. Now I get mine."

"Fair enough." Warrick sat down in one of the chairs and leaned back. "So how'd I do?"

"Haven't done yours yet."

"Is it too late for bribes?"

Gil shook his head, grinning. "Technically, no, but I don't think you'll need one."

"That's good to hear. Any raises?"

"Possibly. I don't have the final decision on that."

"Because my rent's going up, man, I could use some extra cash."

"Just promise me you'll take the road more traveled for it, okay?"

"Ouch. Yeah."

Warrick didn't leave, and finally Gil frowned at him. "I didn't even ask you what you needed. Sorry."

"Nah, no big deal. Cath and me are heading out, gonna grab a beer. Wanna come?"

Gil surveyed his cluttered desk. "I shouldn't," he said heavily.

"Those ain't goin' anywhere."

"True. Sure. Why not."

Which was how he ended up in the postage-stamp bar they always went to after work, the one with normally very little cigarette smoke, few patrons, and a night bartender who never cut the drinks.

Warrick lifted his beer. "Good job tonight."

"Hear, hear," Catherine added, grinning when she clinked her glass against his.

"Absent friends," Gil said, and tasted his bourbon. Advantages of going to the same place all the time: Didn't have to tell the waitress what brand of booze he liked. "So where are Sara and Nick, anyway? Didn't want to come?"

Catherine sipped her martini. "Sara's still at work. Like you had to ask. No idea about Nick."

"Said he already had plans," Warrick told her.

"New lady friend?" Catherine smiled.

"Hell if I know."

"Hope so. Definitely adds some spice."

Warrick raised his eyebrows. "Sounds like there's a story there."

She winked at him. "There is, and conveniently enough he just walked in the door." She waved at a tall, stocky man near the entrance. "You guys behave yourselves, all right?"

"Don't we always?" Gil returned.

"More's the pity. See you bachelors later." She grabbed drink and purse and walked away, smiling.

"So it's just me and you, huh."

Gil nodded. "Looks like it." He took another pull off his bourbon, relishing the sweet heat in the back of his mouth. "So catch me up. Anything new?"

Warrick smiled and shrugged. "Not much. Staying out of trouble."

"Always good. Seeing anyone?"

"Man, you're really sociable tonight."

"I try to be, at least once a year."

"Annual thing, I get it. Yeah, I'm seeing somebody."

Gil nodded. "Anybody we know?"

"No one you know. Her name's Lola." He drank some beer. "Nurse over at Southwest."

"Sounds good."

"Yeah, we been out a few times. Great woman, gorgeous, smart. Now if we didn't work completely different schedules, maybe I'd get excited."

"Well, you could always put in for a transfer to Eck --"

"Don't EVEN go there."

Gil chuckled. "Forgive me my little amusements."

"That's torture, man, not amusement." Warrick shuddered theatrically. "And you?"

Gil looked up. "Me what?"

"Nice try, Grissom. You, seeing anyone?"

"Do you think I am?"

Warrick sighed, but his lips curved in a wry smile. "Gonna have to be on a damn rollercoaster before you spill, huh?"

"Hasn't been nine years yet," Gil reminded him.

"Right, right. So are you?"

"No."

"Too bad, man. All work and no play, know what I'm saying?"

"I've made my peace with being dull."

"Hey, Mona's got a friend. A doctor friend."

Now Gil laughed out loud. "Come on, Warrick, stop trying to fix me up."

"Can't blame a brother for trying."

"Thanks."

Warrick finished off his beer and glanced at his watch. "I gotta get. Coming?"

Gil lifted his drink. "Not done yet. I'll stick around for a while."

"Understood. Later, okay?"

"Later, Warrick."

He watched Catherine across the room, laughing at something the tall guy said. Good for her. Maybe this one might work out for her. God knew she deserved something to go right.

When his drink was gone he moved to the bar. Patrick came over, towel in
hand. "Hey, Grissom."

"Hi, Patrick."

"Another?"

Gil slid his glass forward. "Sure."

He watched Patrick pour, smiling when a fresh drink appeared in front of him. "Thanks."

"Flying solo tonight?"

"Don't you mean this morning?"

"Hey, it's about noon for me."

Gil chuffed a laugh. "Little later than that for me."

"God loves the night shift."

"Sometimes."

"Got any new gossip for me?"

Gil lifted an eyebrow. "Aren't I supposed to ask you that? You're the bartender here."

"Not after May. Bar exam. And I intend to pass on the first try."

"Good for you. You sure you want to leave all this behind?"

Patrick laughed. "Ohhhh yeah. Melissa's tired of seeing me about ten minutes a day. I'm tired of seeing her ten minutes a day."

"How's she doing?"

"Great. Did I tell you she was pregnant?"

Gil's eyes widened. "Congratulations. When?"

"About the same time I plan to become a lawyer."

"That's great, Patrick. Glad to hear it."

"When you gonna finally settle down, huh? Get married, buy a dog."

Gil looked at him. "I'm not the marrying type, remember?"

Patrick snorted, ignoring the customer waving at him from the other end of the bar. "Who says it's gotta be a woman?"

"True."

"Granted I see you about once a month, tops, but you seem like a nice guy. So you meet another nice guy and before you know it --"

"What? I'm supposed to marry him?"

Patrick shrugged. "Well, you could still get a dog."

"Actually," Gil said, laughing a little, "I could skip all the other parts and just get the dog."

"But ya miss all the fun parts in between." Patrick rolled his eyes at the guy down the bar. "Coming! That's it, one more, this guy's cut off." He walked away, shaking his head.

The second bourbon went down as smooth and sweet as the first, and then he drank a fast cup of coffee before heading out. At some point Catherine and her date had disappeared, so he walked alone to his truck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had all started as a joke. Or, well, maybe not precisely a joke, but a prank, a dare, something he did because someone said they didn't believe he would. That he COULD.

Shit, throw down a gauntlet like that and what was he supposed to do? Cave? No way.

So because it was completely out of character, everyone knew that, and above and beyond that a dare, and above and beyond THAT because everyone at the party was shit-faced drunk and nobody would remember most of this the next day, he did it.

And it really wasn't that big a deal. Kissing a guy felt quite a bit like kissing a girl, except with beard stubble. Wasn't much of a kiss, anyway, one smack and everyone cheered and he did a couple of shots, to either clear his head or muddle it further, never mind which, and that was that.

Might have been the shots, later, or something, had to be some kind of excuse for him making out with the same guy a couple of hours later. No big deal, right? He never even found out the guy's name, and nobody came anyway, so it wasn't like it was sex. Just kind of -- an experiment. One he never really planned on repeating. Not when there were women around, that was for sure.

Tonight, twelve years later and several hundred miles from Texas, mostly sober and with plenty of women around, he had absolutely no excuses.

"Oh, just kiss him already," someone had said at the club, he had no idea who, and so Brendan had. Enthusiastically. And yeah, he'd kissed back. Which left him here, in Brendan's apartment, half his clothes off and the rest in the process of becoming off, on his back on Brendan's bed with Brendan's tongue in his mouth.

Can't quite rationalize this one the way you did in college, can ya, Nicky boy?

"Uhh," Nick said weakly when Brendan came up for air.

"Yeah," Brendan agreed, and started a very industrious exploration of Nick's neck.

Kind of late to back out now, wasn't it?

It wasn't as if he'd intended to end up this way a few hours ago. Sometimes going out was like this, see? You started with a plan -- usually not that specific a plan, but at least a general idea of where you'd start, and an eye on where you'd like to end up. This had not been on the schedule.

Except hadn't it? One week after meeting Brendan at a friend's party, casual conversation crystallizing suddenly into what could only be defined as attraction, even though, well, he liked women, etc., etc. But Brendan was funny, rather smart, and, let's face it, just between us and the walls here, kind of a hottie. So Nick had gone to dinner with him, nice chitchat over a couple of medium-rare steaks, then the Club of the First Kiss(es), and now? Here.

And oh boy, there went his pants.

"I."

"Huh?" Brendan mumbled from some southerly portion of Nick's anatomy.

"Mmmmaybe we should slow down."

Brendan responded by putting Nick's cock in his mouth, and that sorta helped matters along.

He came embarrassingly fast, gazing down at Brendan's head bobbing between his legs, and he felt so good after that that he didn't much mind when Brendan stuck his finger up Nick's ass. THAT felt pretty damn good, too, in a weird sort of icky way, so he went along until it became obvious that fingers were not the only body parts destined to be up close and personal with his asshole, and then he shrank back against the pillows and closed his legs, prim as a virgin.

Which he was. Well, in this way.

"Come on, baby," Brendan groaned, prying at Nick's knees. "Let's do it. Come on."

He felt vaguely guilty for having a great orgasm while Brendan was still so obviously, er, raring to go. Not very fair, right? So he let Brendan get his legs apart and take care of a little preliminary business, and not too many minutes later he got fucked.

It wasn't until the next day that he could really think about whether or not he'd enjoyed it.

Staring at himself in the mirror while he shaved, he said, "I had sex with a guy." Face didn't look any different.

Body, now, that told the tale. Not loudly, not screaming WOW or OW or anything like that. He had some red places on his neck that were brand-new, oops, beard burn, and his ass could tell something invasive had been done recently. But nothing really hurt, and nothing really felt so good he felt really changed in any way.

He wore a turtleneck sweater to work and kind of forgot about it.

Until the next day, waking up after too little sleep to an erection and the evidence that at least one previous nocturnal emission had taken place, and the all-too-accurate camera in his mind replaying his little adventure in Brendan's bed. He willed the hard-on away, but it didn't pay any attention at all, so he finally jerked off thinking about Brendan's mouth on his dick and Brendan's cock up his ass.

After he came he lay flat on his back, breathing hard.

Hadn't been so bad, had it? In fact, pretty damn good.

What scared him was not the feel-good part, weirdly enough. What had him jumping off the bed like he had been lying on melted August hotpatch was the idea that he'd really, really like to feel that again.

And the companion idea that he knew exactly who he'd like to feel it from.

He showered briskly, and by the time he was done he'd decided not-thinking had a tremendous number of advantages over thinking. Chalk it up to experience, Nicky. That's all.

Yeah. Right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cardinal Points
East

Contrary to how it might appear to those he worked with, he did date. Sometimes. All right, rarely, and no one for the past four years. But who was counting?

Besides, Gil thought, rinsing his razor in running water and making his daily peace with the new gray that encroached so steadily on his dark hair, he was old. Medium-old, at least. And set in his ways, oh, most definitely. Dating was for the young. He was old enough to have lost his taste for the weirdness of it all. The incomprehensible nature of attraction. And didn't he see the results all too often of "attraction" gone most terribly wrong? Anything from Cath's dismal post-divorce trauma, now thankfully mostly resolved, to last night's homicide. Not particularly gruesome as these things went, but dead was dead, and passion was the main reason.

Not that his few relationships had ended in murder. Not that he knew of, anyway. It was simply easier this way. No need to make room for someone else's demands. Entertain their quirks, make compromises for the sake of togetherness. Had tried to, a few times, in his rather fumbling way. Not enough, of course, as these once-ago lovers had succinctly informed him.

He toweled his face dry and put the bathroom to rights. No, it really was better this way. Pluses outweighed the minuses. And all of that before he even had to tackle the idea that his romantic partners had been singularly male. Not that any of his current colleagues knew about that. He made sure of that.

He felt out of sorts going to work that afternoon. Still nagged a bit by what Warrick and Patrick had told him. Get a dog. Why would he get a dog when he had pets already? So they were bugs. It was a little tiresome that no one could appreciate the many positive qualities inherent in insects. And you didn't have to take them out in the middle of the night to piss, either.

Catherine was waiting for him, foot tapping impatiently.

"Late for a fire?" Gil asked calmly, opening his office door.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. How are you?"

He smiled and walked inside. "Fine, and you?"

"Great. Listen, I need a couple of hours off."

"You're not even on yet."

"I know. That's why I'm asking."

He dropped a pile of interdepartmental mail on his desk and pulled out his chair. "So take a couple of hours. Unless somebody's called in, I don't see a problem."

"Hey, Grissom?"

He looked up and smiled at Nick. "Yeah."

"Heard about the award. Congratulations."

"Thanks. How'd you hear about it?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, I got connections." Nick smirked.

"Award?" Catherine asked.

"No big deal."

"Like hell," Nick crowed. "I mean, it's not like I know exactly what you did to get it. But still."

"Get what?" Cath sounded a little plaintive now.

Gil smiled and sat down. "It's a certificate of distinction. The stuff I was doing with blowflies last year."

Catherine made a face. "Yum."

"Cochliomyia macellaria, otherwise known as the secondary screw worm."

"So who gave you the certificate?"

"The International Congress in Entomology," Nick pronounced with satisfaction.

"Calm down, Nick, it's a piece of paper."

"Aw, come on. More than that."

Gil chuckled. "Don't you have work to do?"

"All right, all right. But still."

"Go away, Nick."

Nick grinned and left.

"Man," Catherine said softly, watching him go. "I wish I had that effect on people."

Gil glanced up from his stack of memos. "What effect?"

"The one you have," she replied dryly, taking a seat across the desk from him.

"And that would be?"

"Come on, Gil. Half the people in the lab have crushes on you."

He blinked at her. "*Crushes*?"

She grinned and nodded. "Ohhh yeah. Don't tell me you hadn't noticed."

"I hadn't noticed," he said helplessly.

"Trust me."

"Wait a second. Crushes?"

"Very much so."

"As in...."

"Yep."

"But -- Who?"

She leaned back in her chair and laced her fingers together. "Oh, where to start? How about Nick?"

"WHAT?"

Catherine laughed, shaking her head. "Major hero worship. If you told him to jump off the building, he'd do it without even blinking. You got him right here." She tapped the palm of one hand and closed her fingers.

He drew back a little. "You're exaggerating."

"Whatever you say. But I'm right." She grinned.

"I." He looked at her warily.

"Relax. It's just a crush. Look, I gotta head out. Back in a couple of hours, okay? I'll call you when I'm done."

"Okay," he said weakly.

"Congratulations!"

"Thanks."

After she was gone he stared blankly at a policy memo.

Crush?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was both great and awful that Grissom picked him to work with that night. Great, because well, working with Grissom was an education every time. Never mind Nick felt kind of substandard by comparison. Everyone was substandard by comparison. The guy *ruled*. Kind of hard to do anything but play second fiddle to that.

Awful, because of other things.

Take now, for instance. Watching the way Grissom took in the scene, knowing it was macro and micro. Knowing no matter how much he tried, he was never going to see as much as this guy did.

Sometimes it was fairly amazing how attractive intelligence could really be.

"Are you working or meditating?" Grissom's dry voice said.

"Oh." Nick smiled sheepishly. "Working. Yep."

"Good. Got film?"

"Of course."

He concentrated on the pictures. Not everyone appreciated the value of good crime-scene photography. Especially nighttime shots. Wasn't like you just grabbed your Instamatic and started popping off pictures. If he couldn't be the all-knowing Grissom, at least he took good pictures.

And if it kept his mind off other matters, no harm there, either.

Off to the side he could hear Grissom and Brass going over the situation.

"No shortage of people who might have had her on their shit-list. Worked for PETA. Evidently a pretty radical animal-rights activist."

"Well, PETA tends to feature those," Grissom said dryly. "Anyone special on your list?"

"Husband out of town. Tokyo, business trip. No kids. Looks like maybe a B&E."

"They left her rings. I doubt it."

"You're the master, Yoda."

Nick listened to Grissom's quiet laugh. "She must have had animals. They might have witnessed the murder."

"Two dogs, in the back yard. Three cats, but I think they're hiding. Plus various assorted -- things. And a partridge in a pear tree. I don't think you'll get much out of interrogating them, though."

"You never know. Animals sometimes make excellent witnesses. Scent recognition, for one. Don't underestimate them."

"Whatever you say."

He caught a glimpse of Grissom leaning over the body, face utterly intent. "There's a zen koan that asks, 'Does a dog have Buddha-nature?'"

"I think that's a little out of my baileywick."

Nick smiled to himself. "Mu," he whispered, focusing the camera.

"What?"

He took the shot and belatedly looked around. "Huh?"

Grissom looked bemused. "You know that koan?"

Nick's face felt hot. "Read about it," he said awkwardly.

"You're studying Buddhism?"

"No, no." Nick shook his head, feeling idiotic. "Nah, I just read some stuff. You know. After that case."

"Right. The monks."

"I was curious."

Grissom smiled, and Nick flushed harder. "That's great, Nick," Grissom remarked. "It's a fascinating discipline."

Bewildering, more like, but Nick wasn't going to quibble. Not while he let himself bask in Grissom's brief warm regard. "Yeah, I guess it is," he said weakly.

And that was that, but even when he was packing up his stuff and stowing it in the Tahoe, he found himself still smiling. So, okay, one kind word from Grissom and his evening was pretty much made. Nothing new in that.

He flashed on his guilty afternoon fantasy and felt the smile slip away. No, nothing at all new. It was always like that. And right now, staring at a bunch of camera cases in the middle of a crime scene, it hit him hard. Always like that. Always, because he admired the guy? Was pretty much convinced that if anyone hung the moon it was Gil Grissom?

Or because of other things?

Nick closed the back of the Tahoe with cold hands and made a face. Other things, sure. Okay, it was possible. Amend that; more than possible, try probable. So what? Not like anything would come of it. Could. Grissom might have hung the moon, but he was about that far away, too, and besides, he was the boss. And Nick wasn't --

What? Gay? Of course not. Except for last night's aberration, and that was all it was. An aberration. A very hot aberration, maybe, sure, but nothing else.

He glanced over at Grissom, taking his leave of Brass and Melody Schumacher's now-covered body, and had to swallow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NOTES: Gil's yenta treatment continues, and Nicky makes a new friend. No warnings, just still fairly fluffy. I don't know if Gil is short for Gilbert or not, and am not saying it is, but then these are just nicknames anyway. As it were. Thanks to C for talking me through a crisis. More to come. Hope you enjoy! Best, Em
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Cardinal Points
West

By the next week he had lost track of Catherine's cryptic remarks. Not forgotten, no, definitely not that. But lost sight of, yes. Work and research made ferocious demands on his time, and he was okay with that. More than okay; this was his life. He'd given himself permission years ago to be as absorbed by what he did as he felt like being, and these days that was pretty damn absorbed.

So it took him completely by surprise when a random phone call turned out to be from an old and very dear friend.

"Hola, chuy, como estas?"

Gil blinked. "Manny?"

"The one and only. How you doin', Gilberto?"

"I'm great," Gil said, leaning back in his chair and grinning. "My God. How the hell are you?"

"Muy bien, gracias, and I'm right here in town, so you got plans tonight."

"What brings you to Vegas?"

"My granddaughter Angie got married last week in Reno, so me and Cruz, we thought we'd take us a little vacation, too. Get away from all those fuckin' old people for a while."

Gil laughed. "Hey, you chose Florida, remember? Nice weather, close to Roberto and --"

"Yeah, yeah. It ain't so bad. Hey, I won me a few bucks at the casino. So what you say? Let us take you to dinner."

"Deal," Gil stated, still grinning. "I look forward to it."

"Me too, compadre. Been too damn long."

"That it has. What, five years?"

"At least. Want us to come pick you up? Get a look at that fancy lab I keep hearing about."

"That would be great. You know where we are?"

"No, but I bet the taxi driver will."

"True. Okay, say eight o'clock?"

"We'll be there. See you soon, chuy."

Gil grinned and hung up.

And it was flat-out great to see Manny and Cruz again. Took him back, way back, to California and a life he hadn't thought much about in too many years.

"Very slick," Manny observed, looking around with the same sharp-eyed gaze Gil remembered. There wasn't any black left in Manny's hair, not anymore, but turning seventy hadn't even begun to take away the edge. Still a detective, even if a retired one, and still one of the smartest, savviest people Gil had had the honor to work with.

"Looks like Quantico," Cruz added, sending a knowing smile Gil's way.

He nodded, putting his hand over hers and letting her take his elbow. The years hadn't been quite as kind to Cruz Covarrubias, but even as thin and fragile as she had become, he thought she was still beautiful. "Hopefully better than that," he returned with a grin. "Come on, I'll introduce you to my team."

He found most of them in the materials analysis lab, of course; more than enough for them to do tonight. Gil grinned and motioned his visitors inside. "Hey, guys. Want you to meet a couple of friends of mine, from way back."

"Way, WAY back," Manny said, shaking his head.

"Manuel and Cruz Covarrubias. Manny and I worked together in California."

"Warrick Brown." Warrick shook Manny's hand vigorously, and Cruz's a lot more carefully. "Nice to meet you."

Gil felt a ridiculous sense of pride, watching his new team mix with the leader of the old. Wouldn't trade a single one, not for anything.

"So I bet you could tell us a few stories about Grissom here," Nick said, grinning.

"More than a few," Manny replied. He elbowed Gil in the ribs. "Most of which I think Gilberto would pay me not to tell, am I right, compadre?"

"I take the fifth on that one."

After a much longer tour than he'd anticipated, and a hastily arranged deal with Catherine to cover him while he was gone, he took his old friends to the bistro he liked, and that too took a lot more time than he really had. But who the hell cared? It had been far, far too long since he'd sat here with these two people and just jawed.

"You look good, Gilberto." Manny gave him an approving nod. "Always knew you'd end up the boss."

Gil smiled and took a sip of his wine. "Not exactly the boss. But somewhat, yes."

"Take my advice: Don't let them take you out of the field. Worst decision I ever made."

"I thought you liked being deputy chief."

Manny shrugged. "It was all right. But it'll make you old. Old before your time."

"Didn't make you old."

"Ahh, flattery will get you everywhere, chuy."

"Is it time for me to remind you how much I hate that nickname?"

Manny's eyes twinkled. "That's why I use it."

"So Gilberto." Cruz's voice was soft, tinted with Mexico even after all these years. "You need to settle down. Find someone special."

Gil kept his smile firmly in place. Neither one of the Covarrubiases had ever said anything to him about his lifestyle choices, and he had always been grateful for that. They didn't approve, that he knew. But the initial don't-ask, don't-tell policy had softened over the years they'd worked together, and now, many years after Gil had said yes to the job in Vegas and goodbye to California, pretty much for good, he couldn't feel a trace of censure.

"Maybe one of these days," he answered lightly. "Work keeps me pretty busy."

"Work." She made an elegantly distasteful grimace. "Work will always be there. People, they won't, hijo. People, they don't stick around." She reached out and patted his hand, her cool slim fingers absurdly welcome. "Find yourself a nice boy, Gilberto. Plant a garden. Manuel has a wonderful garden, did he tell you?"

Manny rolled his eyes a little. "Not that tough in Florida. Throw out some seeds and wait. You have a tree in the morning."

Gil grinned. "I'll definitely keep it in mind." The grin faded when he took in Cruz's determined expression. Oh, no. Evidently something had changed, after all, because it didn't look like she was ready to drop the subject just yet.

"I can see it in your eyes," she observed quietly, not teasing this time. "There is somebody, isn't there?"

He felt his face coloring. "No. I wish there were, but no. No one."

"But someone you wish?"

Gil looked down at his veal. "I don't know. Maybe."

"So what are you waiting for? A sign from God?" She crossed herself automatically. "Maybe, but in the meantime God wants you to look out for yourself, hijo mio. Eh, Manuel?"

Manny leaned over the table. "Forgive her, Gil. Old women, they like to play matchmaker."

Gil gave him a flustered nod, and Cruz smacked Manny's wrist. "Do you blame me? Such a handsome man, and nobody to come home to at night." Her black eyes met Gil's squarely. "So tell him. What have you got to lose?"

He ducked his head, forcing a smile. "I'll think about it. All right?"

She flapped her hand dismissively. "Nothing to think about. Do. That's all."

"Cruz Maria, stop it. Can't you see the man is embarrassed? What he does with his life is his business, not ours."

"All right. But you think about it, Gilberto. Time flies like a bird. Next thing you know, it's over. Don't waste it on work."

After a moment Manny interrupted with some tales of folks they'd worked with in Santa Monica, and fortunately Gil's private life was left alone. Good dessert, excellent coffee, and he could see both his friends were tired.

Outside, Gil frowned at Manny. "I can take you back to your hotel. You don't need --"

"Go back to work, chuy," Manny said mildly. "We'll be just fine."

A ridiculous sense of loss crept over him. "I miss you," Gil said, shaking his head. "Don't wait another five years, you hear?"

"Nothing stopping you from coming to Florida." Manny grinned, showing bright white teeth. "Any time, Gil. We'd love to have you."

"I'll do that. I promise."

He hugged Manny hard, and Cruz not so hard but with no less love. And stood watching while their taxi hove away through brisk traffic, until he couldn't tell which taillights were theirs anymore.

With a lump in his throat he climbed into the Tahoe and just sat for a moment, thinking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He finished up late and tired, but feeling pretty good nonetheless. Not every night you broke the case in less than six hours, and it hadn't been a piece of cake, either.

Hell, at least it hadn't involved getting shot at, aimed at, or otherwise having his life directly threatened. These days that was a definite plus.

"Hey, Nicky."

Nick looked around and grinned. "Hey, Mike. What're you doing hanging out here?"

"Relishing the sweet flavor of success." McAda slouched against the wall, slanted smile fully in place. Looked about as tired as Nick felt, but with that same tinge of triumph. "That was some good work you did out there. Very nice."

"Thanks." Nick finished buttoning his shirt, and closed the locker door. "I've had a great teacher."

Mike lifted his chin. "Yeah, Grissom. The best. So come on, lemme buy you a drink."

"It's 10:00 in the morning."

"Not to me it ain't."

"Me, either. What the hell. You're on."

He waved at Sara when he saw her down the hallway, but the state of her lab coat suggested she wasn't anywhere near ready to split. "Man, she works too much," he observed, shaking his head. "Practically lives here."

Mike smiled. "Sounds like my partner."

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, fine. Just a scratch or two. He'll live."

He spied Grissom around the corner and grimaced at the immediate panicky twinge in his chest. No need for anything but bragging this time, Nicky-boy. You done good, and even Griss knows it.

As the man demonstrated about four seconds later.

"Nice job, Nick." Grissom smiled beautifully. "Most people would've missed the burn marks. Good catch."

"Thanks," Nick said awkwardly. "Did the same thing to my car once; guess it stuck out."

"Mike." Grissom shook McAda's hand briefly. "Good to see you."

"Same here. Been a while."

"And yet so little has changed."

McAda shrugged. "We ain't ever gonna be out of a job, that's for sure. You still playing with bugs?"

"What can I say? It's a hobby."

The detective gave Nick an eloquent look, and grinned. "Me and Gil here used to work some together, back when I first came out here from LA. Hey, Grissom, stay out of trouble, all right?"

"I'll do my best," Grissom said gravely. "You off, Nick?"

Nick nodded. "Sara's still around."

Grissom rolled his eyes. "There's a surprise. I'll go pry her hands off the microscope. See you later."

"Later."

McAda's car turned out to be a perfectly cared-for convertible Lincoln, and Nick whistled a little, taking it in. "My dad would murder to get his hands on this," he exclaimed, stepping back for a look. "Very classy. What, 1961?"

"You know your cars."

Nick grinned. "Rubbed off from my dad. He's the collector."

McAda gave him a smile in return.

They had a couple of beers at a restaurant that probably shouldn't have been serving alcohol with breakfast but did anyway. Nick ate ravenously, distantly aware Mike was kind of watching him, not really thinking about that yet. It felt really good to hang out with Mike, listen to what he had to say about working here, and LA, and NYC.

"So you're from New York?" Nick asked, when breakfast was done and he came up for air.

"Born and raised."

"How in the hell did you wind up here?"

Mike grinned his slanted grin again. "Don't we all ask that question?" He sipped his third beer. "Wife wanted to move to LA. She was an actress."

"And?"

"Worked with LAPD for a couple of years. Got divorced, hated LA, got a job here."

"You miss back east?"

Mike shrugged. "Sometimes. It ain't so bad here. Shitload better than LA."

"Have any kids?"

"Nope."

In his turn he responded to Mike's questions, telling a little about his own life. Not that much to tell, so it didn't take long.

"So what kind of plans you got?" Mike asked.

"You mean, for the future?"

"Sure."

"I have no idea," Nick admitted, grinning and shaking his head. "Do what I'm doing now, I guess. I like it. Mostly."

"You're good at it." Mike wasn't smiling. "Real good."

"Thanks," Nick said weakly.

"Okay, I'm beat. Gotta head out." He eyed Nick's two dead beers on the table. "I'm guessin' you're okay to drive?"

"Sure. No problem."

"All right." Mike killed his last beer, dropped some money on the table, and dazzled Nick with a wide grin. "Lemme take you to dinner sometime, huh?"

"Uh. Sssure. That's -- Okay."

Mike stood up, and touched Nick's shoulder on the way by, just a fast, friendly squeeze. "Later, kiddo."

Nick just sat there after he left. Tired brain trying to make sense of that. Mike McAda didn't seem like -- But that was -- And the guy was, okay, good-looking: nebulous mid-forties-age, blue eyes and black Irish hair shot with silver, good shape, confident, and put that all together and it sounded a lot like --

"Oh, crap," Nick whispered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

END PART 3