Author's Note: This is a continuation of the story "Eight Years into Never". I know it took me a long time to write, but I'm more of a sporadic writer, complete with random plot bunnies around every bend.

Continuation/Oneshot. Angst. Nick/Greg. Alternating POV. Slash.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters mentioned, except Zane, who was named after a character from Scott Westerfeld's "Pretties" and "Specials". (Go read those books!)

Acknowledgements: A wonderful and heartfelt thank-you goes to Amanda, as always.

Summary: Greg's ruined the one thing that truly mattered to him: His friendship with Nick. With nothing to lose, he sends the Texan a text message saying 'I'm sorry'. Continuation of "Eight Years into Never".

Forgiveness

Greg leaned his head back against the light gray wall, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow and ragged. In his trembling right hand he held his cell phone, turned on, and his fingers were hovering over the keypad to send a text message.

A text message to Nick.

A pearly tear rolled down his cheek and landed on his lap, but no one was here to see his pain. No one was here to calm his feelings. He was completely alone, in every sense.

Greg had ruined everything. There was no other way to put it—everything was completely destroyed because of him. He couldn't even think of finding someone else to blame for this, because it was entirely his fault.

He wouldn't be feeling like this if he hadn't … if he hadn't tried to rush Nick … if he hadn't told Zane that he loved him …

If he hadn't ...

Those three words that were condemning him, those three words that were killing him.

Greg drew his knees up to his chest, his whole body shaking and trembling, almost as if he was shivering.

He had ruined his friendship with Nick. He had put too much into his relationship with Zane and now that that was over, what did he have left? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He probably wouldn't even have a job if Grissom found out that he had been skipping work, calling in sick because he couldn't let Nick see how horrible he was feeling. Somehow the Texan could always tell what Greg was thinking, how he was feeling.

Greg hadn't spoken to Nick since they had both been at Frank's Restaurant that day. The day that Greg had chosen Zane over Nick … the day that had sent everything spiraling into hell.

While he was still going out with Zane, Greg had happily ignored Nick, thinking that he had Zane and that was good enough for him. He didn't need the Texan any longer.

He had no clue how wrong he was.

Everyday Nick would try to say something to Greg, but he would just blow off his old friend. He wouldn't say anything to the older man unless he absolutely had to, and Greg would never forget the look of extreme hurt in Nick's eyes every time the barrier of silence grew between them.

Nick finally just gave up, and even from afar Greg could feel the Texan's heartache.

Greg raised the cell phone and quickly keyed in 'I'm sorry'. He then pushed send.

Nick was in the layout room, combing a comforter with the ALS when his cell phone suddenly vibrated. He quickly turned off the ALS and pulled out his cell, a thrill shooting through him when he realized that the text message was from Greg.

He flipped open his phone and read the message.

"I'm sorry …" he whispered aloud, wondering what that could mean.

Was Greg sorry for what he had done or something he was about to do? He hadn't been showing up to work lately, and no one had had any contact with him … could that mean …

All the air rushed out of Nick. He turned on his heel and raced through the building towards the trace lab, where Warrick was working with Hodges on their case.

"Warrick!" Nick's frantic voice burst through the doorway. "I need to talk to you. Now."

Warrick didn't even give Hodges a second look as he hurried out into the hall.

"Nicky, what's up?"

"I just got a text message from Greg. He said he's sorry. No one's seen him in days. Catherine said she's tried calling him, but he won't pick up, and now I get a text message saying he's sorry? What if something's wrong? I need to go see him!" Nick said quickly, not even drawing a breath.

Warrick rubbed his forehead for a second, plainly thinking about what should be done.

"Okay," he finally relented, "I'll cover for you. You have to call me as soon as you get this whole thing figured out, though."

Nick nodded and hugged Warrick briefly before sprinting off towards the car park.

I'm sorry … I'm sorry … I'm sorry …

Those two words raced each other around Nick's blurred mind as he drove towards Greg's apartment building. He knew he was speeding, but he didn't care. He needed to get to Greg's … he needed to see him.

What if Greg had tried to kill himself? What if he had already done so?

Nick shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind, focusing on his driving. It would do no good if he never got there because he had gotten into an accident on the way. Actually, it'd be kind of ironic. While rushing to stop his friend from killing himself, Nick died on the way.

Fifteen minutes later, Nick pulled to a stop outside Greg's apartment building. He leapt out of the truck, slamming the door behind him as he sprinted up the steps. He wrenched open the front doors and raced up the inner stairs, up to the third storey. Greg's apartment was number fourteen, and it was the first one on the landing.

Taking a deep breath, Nick knocked loudly on the wooden door, praying that the younger man would answer it promptly.

He didn't.

Nick knocked again.

"Greg?" he called, his mouth going dry. He quickly tried to open the door and, to his surprise, it opened easily.

Nick walked inside hesitantly, softly shutting the door behind him.

"Greg?" he called again, hoping (praying) that the other man would answer him.

Not a noise could be heard.

Nick was standing in Greg's living room. He'd only been in the house once, and that was a long time ago, but it appeared as if time had not altered the room at all. Even in the dimness, he could make out the tall TV stand against the wall, to his immediate right. On the floor in front of it was a Wii and an Xbox 360, both turned off. Greg's light green couch had its back to the kitchen, and a few of the neon orange couch pillows were thrown haphazardly onto the dark wooden floor.

The Texan took a few cautious steps into the house, his footfalls echoing ominously. As he moved towards the room he knew was Greg's bedroom, he saw framed pictures winking at him from the walls. He saw his own face, Catherine's, Grissom's, Warrick's … everyone was here, suspended in time at Greg's apartment.

He passed by the kitchen, and he could tell at a glance that Greg had not been in the mood for cleaning. Dirty dishes were piled up in the sink, and empty milk cartons littered the counter tops. From underneath the sink, he could see an overflowing garbage bag. This wasn't a good sign. The last time he'd been here, the place had been almost spotless.

Nick rushed down the dark hallway and stopped in front of Greg's bedroom. He felt his breath catch in his throat, a horrible feeling spreading from the pit of his stomach to his fingers, making them tingle uncomfortably. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it didn't work. He coughed once and called, "Greg?"

The Texan wasn't surprised when the younger man didn't answer him, and a wave of fury overcame his fright. He quickly opened the bedroom door and barreled in, straining his eyes to adjust to the nighttime like darkness that seemed to absorb his surroundings. He knew Greg was in here, he could sense him.

"Greg, what the hell is going on here?" Nick asked, his rage penetrating his voice. He heard Greg shift slightly, and he knew that the younger man was by the wall somewhere, but he still couldn't see him.

Angrily, Nick put his hand along the wall till he could find the light switch. Within seconds, Greg's overhead light had flashed on, chasing away the shadows. Nick felt his eyes go wide as he looked at the sorry figure hiding his face from the light. Greg was wearing grungy gray sweatpants and a baggy sweater. Beside him was his cell phone, and the Texan could tell that it was turned off. From where Nick was standing, he could also tell that Greg's hair was disheveled and dirty.

All the fight flew out of Nick, almost as if he had been punched in the stomach.

"Greg …" he began weakly, taking a few faltering steps before dropping down beside the younger man, "what—what's going on?"

Greg shook his head in response, his face still in his hands. Nick could see they were shaking.

"You aren't going to say anything?" Nick asked flatly, anger burning in his stomach once again. When Greg didn't respond, the Texan violently grabbed his forearms and jerked them away from his face. With one hand, he forced Greg's chin towards him, forcing the younger man to look at him. Greg's eyes were puffy and bloodshot with bags under them, and his face was pallid. He looked horrible.

"Why won't you say something?" Nick growled, forcing away the sympathy. He needed to be angry right now; otherwise, he might never get an answer.

"What is there to say?" Greg whispered hoarsely, not even trying to free himself from Nick's grasp.

"You could start with that text message you sent me."

Greg's face crumpled, and a tear spilled out of his right eye and rolled silently down his cheek. Again, he didn't say a word. His near-black eyes pierced Nick's and shook him to the very core. Greg's eyes had a haunted look, a look of soul searing regret. A look of pain that wouldn't relinquish.

Nick's resolve almost broke down, but he held strong. He needed to get to the bottom of this. He took a deep breath, forcing his eyes to stay on Greg's as he asked, "Why haven't you been at work this past week?"

"I just couldn't."

"Grissom said you were ill."

Greg obviously heard the accusing tone in Nick's voice, because he jerked away from his long time friend, his eyes burning like coals against his pale skin. "Why are you even here, Nick? I didn't ask you to come over. I don't need you to tell me I skipped work. I already know that."

"Friends are there for each other," Nick retorted, stung by Greg's words. "It's obvious that you need someone right now."

Greg set his jaw in defiance and turned away. He pulled his knees in tighter to his body and he wrapped his arms around them. Nick couldn't stand the silence, so he told Greg how he had felt when he had received the text message.

"You thought I was going to kill myself?" Greg murmured, still not turning to look at Nick.

"To be honest, it still looks like you're thinking about it."

Greg chuckled, but it wasn't his regular laugh. It was strained, and there was note of desperation in it. The sound put Nick back onto high alert, his mind sharpening.

"G, I need you to tell me what's going on. No more silence. No more shaking your head."

Greg's lips started to tremble as he said, "I'm sorry."

"Why? About what?" Nick asked in confusion.

Greg glanced at Nick for a second before quickly staring at the far wall again. His shoulders were quaking now, and the Texan could tell he was close to the breaking point.

The younger man's voice was soft as he said that he was sorry for everything, that he had ruined everything. Nick waited for Greg to expand on that statement, but he didn't.

"I still don't understand, Greg."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Never mind, then."

The Texan reached forward and placed his hands roughly on Greg's shoulders, and he felt his cheeks start to burn in fury. "No, Greg. No 'never mind'. Tell me what's going on. Tell me so I can understand."

Greg stared pointedly at Nick's hands on his shoulders, and his silence was expected. The older man didn't pull away.

"I'm not moving or leaving until you tell me what the hell is going on. Why can't you tell me?"

"Maybe …" Greg whispered, his lips trembling, "maybe it'll point out how wrong I am. How wrong I was."

Nick relaxed his grip and pulled away. They were getting somewhere. Finally. He asked what Greg was wrong about, and the younger man rolled his eyes again.

"Everything. You, me … Zane …" he responded slowly.

Nick settled down across from Greg, his back leaning against the headboard of the bed. "Did he break up with you?"

Greg took a deep, shuddering breath. "It's not our breakup that's the problem."

The older man felt his mind blur in confusion. "Then what is? Greg, please, can't you just tell me?"

Greg bowed his head, his words coming out muffled. "I wish this had never happened. I wish I had done things differently. This is all my fault, but I can't go back to the beginning to fix any of it."

The Texan observed his friend thoughtfully for a moment before gently asking if this had to do with the break up, and Greg shook his head in response.

"No, I mean with us, as in you and me. We haven't spoken to each other in a long time, Nick, and you only came over here when you thought I was going to kill myself. This … I had never wanted this to happen."

A wave of emotion crashed over Nick. They were on the topic that he had wanted to discuss forever. He wanted to agree with Greg and say that it was all his fault, but Nick couldn't do that. He had given up on trying to speak to the younger man. It was his fault, too.

Nick cleared his throat and said, "It's not just—"

"No, Nick. It is my fault. I wanted everything to go so fast, and I wasn't willing to wait for the one person I really loved: You."

The older man felt his heart skip at these words, but he ignored it. Greg had put him through hell those past few weeks; why was he so willing to forgive him? Nick had nothing to say to the younger man, so they fell into silence. The Texan was sure that Greg could tell what he was thinking, because the younger man shifted and stared at him steadily.

"You know why Zane dumped me, Nick?" Greg asked, his voice wavering. He didn't wait for an answer. "It was because he thought that whenever we were together, my mind was elsewhere. And it was true. I was always wishing that it was you there with me instead of him. Every single time."

Nick felt as if he had another punch to the stomach. He hadn't been expecting this kind of confession from Greg—nothing like this at all. His voice was weak when he told Greg he didn't know what to say, and Greg's hands curled up into tight fists at those words.

"Say that it's my fault that I'm feeling so horrible, because it's true. I did this to myself. I screwed up the one thing that meant so much to me; I deserve this," he muttered, his voice low and fraught with pain. He took a deep breath and his eyes found Nick's once again. "I'm so sorry, Nick. If I'm feeling horrible, this must be a hundred times worse for you. I just think that if I say I'm sorry, then maybe things will go back to the way they were. Maybe you'll see me the same way you did before all this happened, but I know you won't."

It took a few moments for Nick to find his voice. His eyes were wet, and he swallowed hard before he could get the words out. "I'm not going to pretend that you didn't hurt me, because you did. A lot. I felt like my heart had shattered and I'd never be able to fix it, but it slowly mended. Not entirely, but it was healing.

"I used to blame you, Greg—" At those words, the younger man hung his head, a few tears dripping off his nose and landing on his knees. "—but I don't anymore. I wasn't ready to go public about who I am, but you were. You were ready to let the world know about us, and I wasn't. You tried to move on, and I didn't.

"Even after all the shit I've gone through, I still love you. My mind tells me that I shouldn't love you, that I have to get over you, but I can't. No matter what I've tried, I can't get over you."

Greg's head was still bowed, and he made a pitiful noise in his throat at the tone in Nick's voice, but he didn't speak. The Texan took that as an invitation to keep talking, and he took it. It felt good to just talk. To get how he was feeling out there. No more bottling everything up.

"You said I wouldn't see you the same way, and I don't. I've seen you go through something difficult, and it always leaves its mark on you. That mark will never wash away. That mark, however, doesn't affect how I feel about you, even though it really should. I guess my heart's overruling my mind."

Greg finally tore his gaze away from his knees, his mouth hanging open slightly after Nick's long speech. His eyes appeared even redder.

"How can you still love me after all this?" he asked thickly, more tears leaking out of his eyes.

Nick shook his head and sighed. "I don't know, but I do."

Greg's shoulders began to tremble violently, and his face crumpled yet again. "I never wanted this to happen," he whispered, the sobs breaking up his words. "I'm sorry."

Nick breathed heavily as he leaned forward and took Greg's freezing cold hands in his own. The younger man's hands were soft, and there was an underlying tremor in them.

"No, Greg," the Texan murmured, "I'm sorry too."

Greg stopped crying abruptly, his eyes shining. He quickly asked why Nick was sorry, an almost accusatory tone in his voice. He had done nothing wrong.

Nick shook his head again, saying that if only he had been ready for Greg, then none of this had happened. If only he wasn't afraid of what everyone would think of him, afraid of what the world would think of him.

Greg angrily shut Nick up. "No, Nick, stop it. You can't blame yourself for who you are. You can't blame yourself for not being ready. If I hadn't pressured you, if I hadn't been so goddamn selfish, then none of this would've happened. It's my fault."

Nick's voice was soft when he asked, "Why do you need to take the blame?"

A shiver tore through the younger man's body as he stared into Nick's eyes. "Because it's all my fault," he replied, his face bloodless and almost fearful.

"When two people love each other," Nick said steadily, "and something goes wrong, you can't just blame one person. You can't take all the responsibility for this. It's tearing you up inside, Greg, and I can't see you go through this kind of thing again. There's so much guilt in your heart, and I want to help you alleviate it, but you won't let me. You won't let me help you."

The younger man flinched at the desperation in Nick's last words, and he lowered his eyes. He softly let the air out through his lips. "I wish we would just go back to the way we were before," he muttered, more to himself than to the Texan.

Nick let his fingers trace circles onto the backs of Greg's hands. "But we can't."

Greg swallowed deeply, his eyes damp again. "I know we can't, but I just wish we could forget all about this. Forget this had ever happened."

The Texan let go of Greg's left hand, and he cupped the younger man under the chin, tilting his head back gently. Greg's hair fell away from his forehead, exposing his smooth, unlined skin. There were a few stray tears whispering down his cheeks, and Nick let go of the younger man's other hand to brush them away.

"We'll move through this. We'll let it go," Nick said, trying to get his tongue to work. Suddenly, his mouth had the feel of dry cotton. This always seemed to happen whenever his face was close to Greg's, but—

Within a millisecond, Greg's lips were on Nick's. Softly, sweetly, the younger man kissed him, his fingers wrapping around the back of Nick's neck, one hand snaking it's way into his semi-long hair.

"I'm sorry Nick. Sorry for everything. Do … do you forgive me?" Greg's breath was warm against Nick's ear.

So this was what the younger man was after. Forgiveness.

"Of course," Nick said, hugging Greg tighter. "I forgive you, and you need to forgive yourself."

The Texan felt the younger man take a shuddering breath before answering. "For you, I can do that."