One Step at a Time

Warrick and Greg stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out, and even then, it was a while before they emerged. Once they’d stumbled dripping into the bathroom, Warrick enjoyed the distinct pleasure of drying Greg off, in rubbing the navy cotton towel over those pliant long limbs, in covering those same limbs with kisses. From the rather dazed smile on Greg’s face, he didn’t exactly hate the experience either.

They both wandered into the kitchen to find Jack wrapped in the blanket from the sofa, staring blankly at the coffee maker with half-lidded eyes. He was weaving slightly in place as if he were about to fall asleep and Warrick was half tempted to stick a chair under him, just in case.

“You’re awake,” Greg said, kissing the unresponsive lips. Jack answered with a grunt, making it seem like it took all his energy to make that single sound. “Okay, maybe not. ‘Rick, we’ve got a zombie Jack on our hands.”

“I guess we’ll have to cut his head off.” The half-lidded eyes became narrowed eyes and Warrick shrugged innocently. “Isn’t that what you do with zombies?”

Jack answered with another grunt, this one clearly an insult to Warrick, his intelligence, and a prediction of how likely it was he would be getting a blowjob in the future.

“You know you didn’t mean that,” Warrick said, stealing a kiss of his own.

“Babe, maybe you should go back to bed.”

Jack shook his head at Greg then nodded towards the coffee maker, insinuating that all he needed was some caffeine and he’d be fine. Biting back a smile, Greg reached in front of Jack and pressed the coffee maker’s ‘ON’ button.

Jack stared at the now percolating machine and sighed, his shoulders somehow managing to sink another couple inches under the weight of this discovery. Grumbling something under his breath, he lumbered out of the kitchen towards the bedroom. A few seconds later, they heard the sound of a heavy weight hitting the springs of the mattress and assumed the musician had given up on the morning.

“Damn, ‘Rick,” Greg said, turning to his remaining lover, “what did you do to him last night?”

“I made him a very happy man.”

“Sure you didn’t fuck his brains out?”

Warrick smirked. “Isn’t that what I said? Listen, can you take me to go pick up my truck? I had to take a cab home last night, and I’ve got an errand I need to run, but then you can come back here and wake up sleeping beauty.”

“Not a problem. In fact,” Greg said with a wicked gleam to his eyes, “it’ll be a pleasure.”

“Thanks man,” he said, glad he wouldn’t be here to witness whatever Greg had planned. “I appreciate it.”

After having Greg drop him off, Warrick showed up at Nick’s place with a bribe in the form of coffee and doughnuts. Nick opened the door looking quite a bit the worse for wear, again causing the guilt to well up inside of him, but he forced it down. Warrick had talked with Greg and agreed to stop acting like Nick was totally helpless without him. He was no longer going to be the vulture sitting on the fence waiting for something bad to happen. He was going to be Nick’s best friend, and nothing more, because Nick’s best friend was a pretty good thing to be.

“Hey,” Warrick smiled.

“Hey.”

“I’m sorry about last night.”

“No, man, it was my fault. Too much to drink.”

“I hear you. Peace?” he said, holding up the coffee and box of Krispy Kremes.

“Hell yeah,” Nick grinned, holding open the door and the newly scavenger-free Warrick walked inside.


Greg whistled as he boogied down the hall, swinging his hips one way and then the other, adding a little hop to his steps, waving jazz hands in front of Hodges and winking at the other man’s confusion.

Why was Greg Sanders so happy? the lab’s denizens might wonder.

Well, if they’d bothered to ask, this is what he’d say:

For the first time in a long time, everything was perfect. He loved his job, he loved his boyfriends, his boyfriends loved him, and he’d found the key evidence to solve his and Sara’s case, earning oodles of praise from his coworkers. For Greg Sanders, life couldn’t get any better than this.

“Howdy Grissom,” he grinned, leaping in the air and kicking his heels as he walked past his boss.

Grissom looked as if he was about to say something, then stopped. He shook his head and buried his face back in the file in his hands to hide his smile.

“Catherine, light of my life, you’re looking absolutely gorgeous today,” Greg said, slipping an arm around her waist and spinning her in a circle. “How do you do it?”

“Greg, have you lost your mind?”

“Not lately,” he said, kissing her cheek, and continued on into the laboratory where Nick and Warrick were going over evidence. “Ah, my stalwart companions, my fellow soldiers in this fight against injustice, how are you today?”

“Too much coffee again?” Nick asked with a grin.

“No. Just too much sex,” he said with a wide smile, earning him a warning glare from Warrick.

“No such thing,” Nick countered. “But would you mind toning it down? Some of us here don’t need it rubbed in our faces.”

“Aw. . . Nicky! Are you feeling the pain of celibacy? You know you can always come to me--for you, I’m open twenty-four hours.”

“The last thing the world needs is a Greg convenience mart,” Warrick said, green eyes flashing dangerously. Greg just sidled up to him, placing a flirtatious arm around his waist and resting his head on his lover’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, ‘Rick. I’d never leave you out. The offer’s open to the both of you.”

“Yeah, well, ‘Rick, he’s all yours.”

“Thanks,” he said in a disgruntled voice, but Greg felt a subtle shift of hips against his own and as he removed his arm, he made a point of grabbing a little ass before he stepped away to look at his beeper. Two seconds later, both Nick and Warrick’s beepers also went off.

“Looks like we’ve got a live one,” Nick said.

“Or several dead ones,” Warrick said as they filed out of the lab towards the conference room where everyone was gathering.

“Damn. There went my high,” Greg muttered as he sat down, reminding himself to call Jack and let him know they were probably going to be late.


Jack stood on the stage, plucking the strings of his bass and nodding his head in time to the music. They were having a great night--the crowd was loving them, the band wasn’t too drunk yet, and the nineteen year old who was destined to be the next Billie Holiday (hopefully minus the tragic end) was singing her little heart out while stealing everyone else’s hearts away. Except, of course, for his. His heart had already been stolen by the two men off solving crimes somewhere in the city, the heroes of his life becoming heroes to others.

Yeah, he knew that technically, most probably wouldn’t consider them heroes, but being in love made him silly and sentimental, and he rather liked the feeling. He hadn’t had an excuse to be silly and sentimental for a long time and he was determined to enjoy every second of it.

The song came to an end and while most of the audience started applauding, the cessation of music made the argument going on at the booth in the corner much more audible. The six men had been discussing loudly whatever problem they had for the past fifteen minutes and, despite all hints from those around them, showed no signs of shutting up. In fact, the argument was growing increasingly heated with each passing minute.

Reggie looked around the band, meeting each of their eyes, and saw that no one would object to him standing up and saying a few words to the audience, particularly those in the corner.

“Evening ladies and gents. Once again, we’d like to thank you for coming to our show. In case you missed it, we’re The Kinsey Quintet with our special guest, the lovely Marguerite! Isn’t she amazing?” The part of the audience who was paying attention shouted their agreement. “You all keep an eye on her--she’s gonna be big one day, and we hope she remembers us little folks when she gets there. Until then, we are going to keep showing her off, and there’s no time like the present to appreciate her. In other words, keep coming to the shows.” Right on cue, the crowd laughed. “Now, if we could just get you folks over there in the corner to wait until after the show to finish your discussion, I think all of us here would thank you.”

The end of speech earned him a couple dirty looks from the men in the booth, but otherwise, did nothing to stop them.

Reggie gave the band an apologetic shrug and led off the beginning of ‘The Very Thought of You’ on the piano, the others falling in. Jack listened to Marguerite’s sultry voice weave a spell over the crowd and while waiting for his solo, let his mind drift to Warrick and Greg. He wondered what they were doing, pictured what he would do to them when they got home, thought that since they were busy, maybe he should join the band after the show for drinks. He’d been putting them off each time in his hurry to get home, but he knew his lovers wouldn’t be there till morning, so why not? It had been a while since he’d hung out with his friends.

Just as Marguerite’s voice trailed off and the band was about to begin their solos, the argument in the corner jumped up another couple decibels. The men were all on their feet, pushing table and chairs out of their way, and above the fading sounds of the band, Jack could hear the terrible click of a gun being cocked, followed by another, and another, and another.

The room froze for a split second before chaos erupted.

“No,” Jack whispered, carefully setting his bass on its side as the first shot hit the air.

“No,” he said more firmly as he stood back up.

Time seemed to slow before his eyes, people and events playing out as if it were happening to someone else.

It had to be happening to someone else.

This was not the turn his life was supposed to take. There were no more turns. Maybe the occasional fork in the road, such as an argument with Warrick or Greg, but those arguments would be resolved and he knew the forks would meet up with the main road again. That was the way things were supposed to be. He’d finally gotten his life going along the path he wanted, he’d found the love of those he was meant to share it with, and he wasn’t supposed to lose it all now.

But he knew that this. . . there was no good ending to this.

And then time sped up, but Jack continued to watch as if from a distance, still convinced it was happening to someone else.

He saw himself yell at Marguerite, grabbing onto her and pushing her towards the exit at the side of the stage.

He watched his white shirt burst into a spray of red.

He watched as his body was flung backwards, flailing arms knocking cymbals out of the way as he landed on the drums.

He saw himself hanging limply over the bass drum as the red continued to spread across his shirt.

He could sense the weight of his head as it tried to look up, the frustration of his body as it tried to roll off the drum bending his back in the most uncomfortable way, but he could tell it was like trying to get up in the morning. He just couldn’t find the energy to move. It was easier to just give in and go back to sleep.