a/n I promise I haven't given up on Puzzled or What Did You Do, Mr. Stokes. They are just hybernating, waiting for inspiration. I know how I want each of them to end, I'm just debating routes to het there. I'm so enamored with those projects, whether or not they actually deserve it, that as they each near completion I get more finicky about each chapter and it's quality. They just have to feel right, and I won't publish them until they do. I thank you for your continued patience. This is a plot bunny that started mucking about in my brain when I was trying to map out the other two. And, as always, I don't own.

Love, Unwilling

It had been a long time coming.

That's the only way he could describe it. Any other way just didn't make any kind of sense, at least in his head. Not that he would ever try to describe it outside his own mind…it would just be too ludicrous.

And yet, after all this time, dancing around it, here they were.

After one really, really, really fucking bad case, they'd ended up in a brief, comforting embrace, that somehow down-graded into an aggressive grope fest/make-out session, the two of them flat on the couch grinding together like hormone riddled teenagers, Nick's shirt bunched around the top of his torso, Greg's having already found it's way to the floor. From beneath him, Nick dug his fingers through Greg's hair almost violently, gripping the sides of his face harshly, his eyes remaining closed as he tore at Greg's mouth. Greg let out a low growl as he roughly grabbed the writhing hips beneath his and ground his pelvis down into the answering hardness.

And then it all went to shit.

Nick's eyes flew open as he suddenly seemed to realize what he was doing, and with whom.

And then it really all went to shit.

The look on Nick's face as he pushed Greg off of him was akin to horror. Wide-eyed, wild haired and rumpled, he backed himself to the corner of the couch as he absently ran the back of his hand over his mouth. Greg managed to pull himself into a sitting position and crawled away until his back hit a wall, bringing his knees up and resting his forearms on them, long fingers dangling between his legs. He let his head fall back and hit the wall, hard, twice. Fuck.

Nick stood and leaned heavily against the bookshelf filling the side of the room, his back to the room and his fingers gripping the shelf hard enough to whiten his knuckles, the force eventually knocking the shelf off of it's support, the books that had been on it hitting the floor with dull thuds. Greg ran one hand roughly through his hair, pulling it by it's roots and leaving it standing on end. One more time he let his head hit the wall as he drew in a harsh breath, flaring his nostrils at the stinging sensation at the back of his sinuses. He felt his eyes well up, his chin wobble, before locking his jaw and blinking rapidly. Fuck no, he wouldn't cry for this man. He wouldn't. He flexed his legs and slid himself up the wall, wincing as the textured plaster dug into his scarred back. Nick turned to look at his colleague, guilt and fear consuming his handsome face.

"Greg…"

Greg whipped his shirt off the floor and tugged it over his head awkwardly before responding, "Don't."

"But…" Nick stammered, uncharacteristically verbally awkward.

Greg put both his hands up, silencing the other man. "Just, don't. Just fucking don't. I get it. Just let it lie. We'll just forget it happened."

Nick stared at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as Greg grabbed his keys and slammed his way out of Nick's apartment. Nick let his knees buckle and collapsed onto his couch in a heap, rubbing the heels of his palms over his eyes. "Fuck."

Greg put his car in gear and drove carefully home, almost too carefully, like someone just a little too tipsy to drive. He hyper focused on every aspect of the drive in order to block everything else out. When he finally reached his home, he allowed himself one single moment of silent misery before getting out of his car and heading for his apartment. He threw his keys and phone in the dish on the table at the side of the door after turning the ringer on his phone off, and then allowed himself to slump into the corner of his worn leather sofa, remote in his hand. Clicking idly through the stations repeatedly managed to numb his brain for a bit, but after an hour he clicked the television off in disgust and stood, stretching, considering. He headed for his bedroom and began digging through the bottom of his closet until he pulled out the running shoes he hadn't worn in well over a year. After pulling on a pair of shorts and lacing up his trainers, he headed out into the cool Vegas night to run off what was eating him.

When he returned home, he felt better. He felt resolved. Alone was okay, but he would be better, faster, stronger. After a long hot shower he set his alarm and fell into a fitful sleep.

The next day, thankfully, he wasn't scheduled to work. The first thing he did was empty out his refrigerator. No beer, no twinkies, no fruit loops, no more take out. He threw some clothes on and headed for the market, loading up on protein shakes, protein bars, Gatorade and bottled water. He added some raw fruit and veggies, as well as a couple of gallons of skim milk. Better, faster, stronger. He kept repeating it in his head like a mantra. He didn't need anyone, particularly a certain colleague. He would be fine. He would be better than fine.

Once he'd gotten home and unloaded his groceries, he headed down to the previously unused weight room. He eyed the equipment with distaste but squared his shoulders and headed for the free weights lined up along the mirrored wall, picking up a single twenty pound dumbbell before climbing onto the incline board. He held the weight to his chest, somehow relishing how it pressed down on his sternum and began a routine of crunches, only stopping when his abs physically gave out. After a moment, he moved to the leg press and repeated the experience. When his quads finally gave out, he hauled himself back to his apartment and into a long, hot shower.

Greg downed a protein shake and a protein bar without tasting it, chasing it with a Gatorade standing at his kitchen island and staring listlessly into space. His eyes fell on the mess on the kitchen table and he cocked his head as he considered his project. He hadn't worked on it in well over a month. It would fill up the rest of his weekend nicely. Better than wasting it playing video games or watching movies. Better, faster, stronger. He turned, resolutely, to his television set, pausing for only a moment before pulling out his games and game systems, disconnecting them and piling them haphazardly on the coffee table. Greg considered them for only a moment more before piling them carefully into a packing box he'd found in his spare bedroom and setting the box by the front door with the intention of dropping it at a donation site on his next trip out. He smiled to himself, grimly, and turned back to the project laying neglected on his kitchen table.

XXXXXXXX

Two days later Greg rounded the corner into the locker room at work, realizing too late that Nick was already there, his locker open as he hung his bag and jacket up. Nick jumped a bit, almost imperceptibly, when he realized Greg was in the room. Greg froze for an instant, unsure how to react, but then calmly, cautiously turned to his own locker and slowly opened it.

"Hey, man, about the other day…" Nick started.

Greg's eyes snapped to the other man's. "I said forget it," his voice riding the line between icy and wooden.

"So, are we okay then?" Nick asked tentatively, glancing quickly at Greg as he removed his jacket, then averting his eyes back to his own locker and furrowing his brow.

Greg gritted his teeth. "Sure. We're fine," the muscle in his cheek tense, wondering briefly why no one ever said they were fine and ever, in his memory, sounded like they actually meant it.

Nick whooshed out a sigh of relief. "Great, G." He reached out to clap his friend on the shoulder, only to be rebuffed as Greg jerked out of the way of his hand.

Eyes like lead instead of their usual gold met Nick's, "Don't. Touch me."

Nick pulled his hand back as though burned, understanding finally that the damage done was worse than he thought, but he had no idea how to fix it. He nodded grimly and looked at the floor, closing his locker and giving Greg a wide berth as he left the room, saying softly "I'm really sorry" just as the door closed behind him.

Greg let out a long ragged breath and let himself collapse onto the bench in a sloppy pile. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Better, faster, stronger. Pulling himself together he straightened his back and allowed his eyes to unfocus as he his mind sharpened. He stood and headed to Ecklie's office, knocking and closing the door behind him. Ecklie looked surprised when Greg spoke his piece, but nodded and pulled the appropriate paper work out of his drawer. Greg filled it out quickly and efficiently, Ecklie checked it over and handed him a voucher to take to the armory and a card with an appointment on it. An hour later, Greg sat at the break room table, waiting for assignments with the rest of the grave shift, his new gun nestled in it's holster on his side.

Nick had carefully chosen a seat farthest away from Greg, with Sara blocking his view, though he frowned when Greg removed a bottle of water from the fridge. He'd never seen the man drink anything but coffee, at least in this room.

Grissom handed out assignments and thankfully, Greg was paired with Sara. She never noticed how quiet he was, just that he seemed super efficient and focused. She didn't notice the addition to his gear, either. They gathered their evidence in relative silence, speaking only when necessary to share information. Sara was usually so focused, anyway, Greg mused. He had learned a lot from her over the years. Better, faster, stronger, he repeated to himself. Sara and he worked together for the next three days to solve the B & E turned double homicide. Greg couldn't remember ever being so glad to not see Nick. He wondered, briefly, if he'd get over this painful awkwardness he now felt around his one time friend, his colleague. He'd worked so hard to become an asset to the team. He'd be damned if he would let some emotional complications take that away. Better, faster, stronger. He'd be fine. He swore it.