One Step at a Time

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you, as always, for your continuing patience and support. Classes are keeping me so busy, I don’t even have time to procrastinate anymore--and isn’t that just messed up? I hope you enjoy this next installment! Love, D


Chapter 20


Jack abandoning them like that, so unexpectedly and without any sort of warning, completely disrupted the fragile sense of peace that had started to grow in the house. Warrick somehow managed to persuade Greg to keep putting everything back in order, but it had taken a lot of convincing layered with a lot more reassurance which even Warrick himself wasn’t entirely sure he felt. Discovering Jack had taken off had come as something of a shock--they’d both thought the three of them were finally on the way to recovering everything they’d once had. If he was gone, did that mean that what they’d had meant nothing?

Of course, they had no proof that Jack had abandoned them, which is what Warrick kept telling Greg. He could have just gone for a drive--his first time with access to a car in months, why wouldn’t he? He could have gone to pick up dinner, or maybe he just needed a break. Things had definitely gotten a little tense that evening, and Jack wouldn’t have been the only one to feel the need for a little air. It’s why Warrick had been so grateful for the trip over to Greg’s house to pick up Jack’s instruments.

They really needed to get a bigger place, Warrick thought as he set the instruments back up in the living room. If the three of them were really going to make this work, it was pointless for him and Greg to have their own houses, and Jack’s place was too crowded for all of them and their stuff. If Jack returned, if they were able to smooth things out and keep their relationship from falling apart, maybe he should suggest it. Having their own spaces while still living under one roof might help to ease the tensions between them.

Assuming, of course, the three of them still existed.

He walked to the kitchen to get a bottle of water, passing the bedroom and then pausing in the middle of the hallway before turning back around to look inside. Greg was standing completely still in the middle of the floor, an armful of shirts overflowing in his grasp. He was staring at the dresser, wooden drawers hanging open waiting to be filled again, but it was as if someone had pressed the ‘pause’ button on the DVD. Warrick had to eye him closely to see if he was even breathing.

“Greg? Everything all right?”

“What?” He blinked, startled. “Oh, yeah. I’m okay. Just thinking.”

Warrick walked into the room and took the clothes from him, placing them in the first available drawer. “Thinking about what?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“You don’t get that look on your face for nothing in particular,” Warrick said, wrapping his arms around Greg. “You’re not. . . are you having second feelings about all this?”

“Why?” Greg asked, quickly looking up into the green eyes. “Are you?”

“All the time,” he answered with a smile. “With everything that’s happened, I’d be surprised if you didn’t have doubts. I mean, every time we finally start making progress, all I can think about is that now there’s even more that can go wrong.”

“That’s a remarkably pessimistic way to look at our life. You do realize this, don’t you?” Greg said with a shallow grin.

“I know. But then I think of everything that could go wrong and I realize that any steps backward we might end up taking, we’ve already overcome them once before, and they’ll be just that much easier to overcome the second time, or the third, or the fourth, or however many times it takes.”

“I guess that makes sense,” he nodded, then tilted his head with a frown. “Sort of. It’s kind of the ‘been there, done that’ look at relationships. Though, to be honest, I don’t really want to go through this again.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Warrick chuckled, leaning forward to give him a quick kiss. “How much more have you got to do?”

Greg looked around the room and shrugged. “I got the bed cleared off, but the rest of it, I think I’d rather just let Jack deal with it. It’s his mess after all.”

“Sounds good to me. Come on, let’s go get a drink. We’ve got the night off; we should take advantage of it.”

“Now that is the best idea I’ve heard all evening,” he grinned.

Entering the kitchen, they stopped short at seeing Jack standing by the counter removing boxes of Chinese take-out from half a dozen plastic bags.

“It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” he asked, giving them a tentative smile. “I know I went a little overboard, but I haven’t had Chinese in so long that I couldn’t resist indulging a little. Or a lot. Face it, we’re lucky I didn’t bring home the entire restaurant.”

“You brought food,” Greg said, and Jack looked at him, puzzled.

“Well, yeah. I was supposed to order dinner, right? Admittedly, I did a little more than just order, but as long as it’s been since I’ve had Chinese, it’s been even longer since I was able to drive and I got a little carried away behind the wheel. Sorry I was gone so long. I didn’t worry you, did I?”

They hesitated a split second too long for their following reactions to be honest, but they tried anyway.

“Not at all, baby,” Warrick said, moving to slide his arms around Jack’s waist and peering over his shoulder at the boxes. “So, what’d you get?”

“Whatever it is, it smells great,” Greg said, giving Jack a kiss on the cheek. “You done good.”

“Thanks, beautiful. So, dig in,” he said, grabbing a couple boxes and some chopstick before slipping away from Warrick’s grasp. Sitting down at the dining room table, he opened up the cartons and plunged in.

Trying not to feel unnerved by his abruptness, Warrick picked up a carton of sesame chicken and handed it to Greg while taking a sweet and sour pork for himself. They both grabbed a set of chopsticks and sat down across from Jack.

“Oh, this is good,” Jack said with a blissful sigh as he swallowed a mouthful of lo mien.

“Just don’t eat too much of it,” Greg said, and at Jack’s baleful glare, pointed at him with his chopsticks. “Don’t you give me that look, mister. This has nothing to do with your injury but the fact that you always eat too much and then you spend the rest of the evening moaning about how your stomach hurts and I don’t want to hear it.”

Blushing, Jack stared down into his noodles. “Oh. Sorry.”

“You should be.”

“And I don’t spend all evening moaning,” he said testily, then looked up at Greg with a smirk. “Just a couple hours.”

“And then you go stuff yourself with more food and we have to listen to it all over again.”

“Like you don’t do the same thing,” Warrick grinned and Greg ‘hmphed’, but the twinkle in his eyes showed he wasn’t really offended. All the teasing was too similar to their old interactions, like slipping back into a comfortable pair of shoes after spending months wobbling around on six-inch heels, for him to feel anything but relieved.

“Yeah,” Greg said, “but at least I don’t expect sympathy for it or for someone to spend half an hour rubbing my stomach until I feel better again.”

“If you want your tummy rubbed, beautiful--or anything else, for that matter--all you have to do is ask.”

At the wicked note in Jack’s voice, Greg’s mouth went dry and he found himself having a hard time swallowing.

“Need something to drink there, Greg?” Warrick asked, clearly amused at Jack getting the upper hand.

“Thanks, but I’m fine. And you,” he glared at Jack, “no more talking about rubbing things.”

“I’m sure at least some rubbing will be in order.”

“I don’t know if you’re up to rubbing.”

“Rubbing doesn’t require that much effort--or at least, it never has for you.”

“Are you saying I don’t know how to rub things properly?”

“I’d never say that. I’m just implying that.”

Warrick chuckled, leaning back in his chair and reaching for another carton on the counter. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Admit it. You’ve missed this,” Jack said, and both his lovers nodded.

“I know we have,” Warrick answered. “And speaking of things missed, your instruments are in the living room waiting for you when you’re ready.”

Jack’s brown eyes lit up with excitement and he didn’t even hesitate but dropped his chopsticks and ran out of the kitchen. Within seconds, they heard the sound of him tuning the cello and exchanged smiles.

“It’s good to hear that again,” Warrick said, and Greg nodded.

“It is. So, where do you think he really went tonight?”

“You know, I’m not going to question. I’m just going to accept.”

“In other words, we’ve moved from ‘been there, done that’ to avoidance?”

“Got it in one,” Warrick and was about to take a bite out of an egg roll when a noise from the living room made him pause. “Is it me, or does he sound. . . bad?”

“Yeah,” Greg said sending a worried glance towards the source of the noise. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him play like that.”

“You think he’s all right?”

“Let’s go see.”

Bringing the cartons along for the ride since they were too hungry to stop eating, the two CSIs made their way to the front of the house. They paused in the doorway to the living room and watched as the musician struggled to tame his music.

Jack was sitting with his back to them, his cello cradled reverently between his legs. The bow moved back and forth across the strings, but his two lovers didn’t have to be music experts to realize Jack lacked his usual grace. It was expected that he would be a little rusty after not playing for so long, but there was something lacking even they could tell had nothing to do with practice.

With a frustrated growl, Jack smashed the bow against the strings, hitting all four at once in a mess of screeching notes. Taking a deep breath, he shook out his left hand and placed his bow on the strings to begin again. The sounds started out soft and flowing, but then both Warrick and Jack would cringe every once in a while when a note came out a little too flat or a little too sharp. Before long, all the notes seemed off and even Greg, whose music often sounded like a string of sour notes, had joined in their cringing.

They watched this painful process repeat half a dozen times, afraid to say anything, not knowing what to say. Jack’s shoulders grew more tense every time he forced himself to start over until he finally broke.

A strangled cry emerging from his throat, Jack threw the bow across the room where it hit the wall with such force that it shattered. Warrick quickly handed Greg his carton and rushed over to their lover, removing the cello before Jack could take his frustration out on it as well.

“Jack,” he said, placing the cello carefully out of harm’s way before resting a hand on Jack’s knee, “it’s okay, baby. You’re just out of practice. Give yourself some time. It’ll be all right.”

“Like hell it will!” Jack snarled, launching himself away from Warrick. “I knew this was going to happen! This is all your fault, the both of you!”

“What?” Warrick said, eyes narrowing. “How is this--”

“You destroyed me! You smothered me and you controlled me and you stole my freedom and you completely ground me into the dirt! And now I’ve lost it,” he said, his voice filled with despair as his fingers tore at his curls. “I’ve lost it all! My music, my life, my independence--it’s all gone and it’s all your fault! I can’t take this anymore!”

“Jack--”

“Shut up! Just shut up and leave me alone! I hate you!” he shouted, moving past Greg and into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Warrick and Greg stared at each other in a stunned silence, and then Warrick snarled, “I don’t have to take this fucking shit from him! He hates us?! After everything he’s done, HE hates US?”

“Warrick,” Greg said softly, setting the cartons in his hands on the table, “it isn’t us and you know it. He doesn’t hate us. He’s just afraid.”

“Afraid? Afraid of what? Getting shot again?”

“Of losing his music, Rick. Music is his life. All he’s had--all he’s ever had--is his talent. If he can’t play, he has nothing.”

“Nothing, huh? So what are we?”

“Warrick, you know that’s not what I meant. He’s been living and breathing music since he was old enough to hold a bow. It’s been the one constant thing in his life and this is the first time he’s ever had to live without it, and now he’s afraid he’ll never get it back.”

“I know,” Warrick interrupted before the younger man could keep making excuses for Jack. “Trust me, Greg, I know. It’s just that--man, where the hell did that come from?”

“Shouting at us like that?” Greg frowned. “Your guess is as good as mine. He probably just needed someone to yell at.”

Skeptical green eyes focused on him. “You really think that’s all there is to it?”

He shrugged, shaking his head. “Well, we’ll give him some time to cool off and then see if he apologizes.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then I’m going to be the one yelling,” Greg said darkly. “Come on, let’s go put the food away. I’ve lost my appetite.”


When Jack didn’t appear again that evening, they finally gave in and checked on him. They opened the bedroom door to find their lover asleep, curled up into a ball in the middle of their large bed. From the way he was shivering, it was clear he was caught in the depths of some horrible nightmare. Seeing Jack so terrified and alone, the ice around Warrick’s heart melted a little and he quickly joined Greg, who was already on his way over to the bed. They crawled in on either side of him, wrapping their arms around him and holding him until the nightmare passed.

Slowly, Jack emerged from the shivering ball to stretch out between them, the lines on his face easing as he relaxed in his lovers’ embrace. An hour passed before Jack woke up surrounded by their warmth, the two of them now fast asleep. His mind still foggy with dreams, he forgot about everything that had happened before, and smiled. Drawing Warrick’s arm tighter around his chest, Jack drew Greg closer to him and settled back down to sleep.

[October 14, 2005]