Summary: Greg gets sick. Nick helps out. Pre-slash

Disclaimer: I so don't own the boys or CSI. If I did...well, lets just say that any and all subtext in the show between these two would be way more then it is.

A/N: This is just pointless fluff that I did from a list of words. They were: Crossbow, funny, nose, dagger, leopard, vampire, paper fan, books, bus, and knickknacks. As for Greg's apartment, well, despite this being so lacking in any thoughtful plot, I did spend a lot of time looking for the perfect place for him. I had seen these apartments in Omaha that were at an angle and while looking for the floor plans for such a place, I ran across the one I used in here and fell in love. It was totally Greg, in my opinion. So enjoy!

Greg blew his nose, wincing at the funny sound that emerged. What a time to get sick. He still wasn't sure if it was a cold or allergies, but he had taken some Nyquil that was stashed in his drawer. He was just glad that it had been so close to the end of his shift. He didn't need Grissom on his ass about passing out all over evidence.

He shifted his backpack on his shoulder and traipsed down the road to the bus stop. He stopped at the first crosswalk for a red light and then stared up at the gray sky with a frown. It was starting to rain. That was just peachy. Screw the allergies, this was going to become a full fledged cold if he didn't make it to the bus awning before it got any harder.

He hated taking the bus, but since his car was at the mechanic and he had taken stuff that'll knock him off his feet in about fifteen more minutes, he really had no choice. He would've asked Nick for a ride, as it was on his way, but Nyquil always seemed to loosen his tongue and he didn't want to take the chance of spilling anything.

Looking up again, he noticed the light change and crossed quickly. Greg quickly moved down the sidewalk only to slow to a complete stop halfway down the block. His bus was early. In fact, it was pulling away.

"Damn it." He muttered. He whirled around, intent on heading back to the lab but a bout of dizziness quickly dashed that plan and he looked around. There was the small coffee shop that he liked to inhabit during his dinner break. They had tables.

He headed inside and bought a bottle of water before collapsing at the wrought iron table next to the window. He dropped his bag and pulled out his cell phone. He rubbed his eyes with a groan. The Nyquil was kicking in and making his contact list all blurry. If he squinted just right, he could make out Nick's name.

Pressing the call button, he held the phone to his ear even as he sneezed into the crook of his other arm.


"Nick? It's Greg."

'What's up, G?'

Greg sniffled as he felt another sneeze come on, "You still at work?"

'Just heading out…you okay? You sound a little stuffed up.'

"I'm sick." Greg finally couldn't hold it back and sneezed three times in succession, "Listen, can I get a ride home? I missed the bus."

'Yeah, no problem. You walking back to the lab?'

Greg slumped down, resting his head on his free hand, "God no. I was lucky to make it into Alice's. Medicines kicking in."

'All right, I'll be there in a minute. I'm at the truck now. Cool?'

"Yeah. I'll try not to fall asleep." Greg hung up the phone and stuffed it back into its pocket. He took a gulp of his water and turned to stare out the window. Sure enough, Nick pulled into a parking space across the street less then a minute later.

Greg pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his things before stumbling out the door. Apparently, he looked worse then he felt, which had to be bad, because Nick was at his side and helping him across the road and into the Tahoe.

"Shit, G, what the hell did you take?" Nick asked, concern coloring his voice.

Greg blinked, "Um, Nyquil. Good stuff that. Knocks me off my ass though."

Nick laughed, "That's stating the obvious." He shut the passenger door and ran around to climb into the driver's side, "All right, let's get you home."

"Hey, Nick?"

Nick glanced over at Greg before looking the other way to pull out into traffic, "Yeah?"


"You know, Greg, we've been hanging out for two years and I have never seen the inside of your apartment." Nick observed as he pulled into the lot of the converted warehouse apartments.

Greg coughed and undid his seat belt, "Well, now is your chance. I'm going to need help with the elevator. I'm not going to be able to open and close the gate myself."

Nick followed Greg inside and whistled as he took in his surroundings.

Whoever owned the converted warehouse definitely had eclectic tastes in decorating. It felt almost as if he had stepped back into the nineteen fifties. The floors were a warm wood; the walls were dark red and bronze and clean; Pictures of the building in its heyday lined the walls around the lobby. Old train station benches sat along the wall, book ended by miniature tree's.

Greg clanged his mailbox shut and smiled at Nick, "Pretty amazing huh."

"God yeah." Nick took one more look around before stepping over the old fashioned lift in the far corner, "Wow. You know, I don't think I've ever seen these outside of movies."

"Just pull at the handle for the first gate, then lift for the second."

Nick did as suggested and they both bustled in before Nick shut them. Greg pressed the fifth floor button before sagging back onto the comfortable bench that lined the back of the lift.

"How the hell did you find a place like this?"

Greg's grin felt a little silly. Maybe he didn't take enough Nyquil. He should have been passed out by now, "My cousin Andy had an apartment here. Actually, it's his place I moved into. He sub-let it to me until his lease ran out and then I just took over. It was nice. Didn't even have to look for a place."

"You should have seen my first apartment here in Vegas. I was afraid of walking outside at night. There had been a shoot out down the block, which is what prompted me to find another place. That's when I found the house." Nick said, as they came to a stop on the fifth floor. Nick pulled open both gates and Greg let Nick proceed him, knowing the kind of reaction he was going to get.

"Holy shit G, the wall's are curved."

Greg snickered, "I can see why you made CSI. Here, open the door. Five-D." He passed off the keys. His lock stuck sometimes and he wasn't in the mood to deal with it.

"Right." Nick led the way down, his hand trailing along the wall as if he couldn't quite believe the walls were actually curved. At the end of the hall, Nick unlocked the door and peeked inside before he opened it fully. It was all Greg could do to keep from laughing, "Well, it looks like you."

Greg pushed past Nick, pulling of his jacket as he did so. He dropped it and his back pack on the dining room table before continuing on to collapse on his very comfortable couch with a sigh, "Feel free to look around. I'm thinking about passing out."

Nick closed the door and did as suggested.

The front door had opened up into a very large open area that Greg had separated into three sections. The first, the one that he was standing in, was a small sitting area with a desk against the wall. Just beyond that was the dining area and then the living room which held the second largest fireplace he had ever seen outside of his parents house, with built-in bookcases surrounding it. Nick's eyes followed the walls, which were completely open with floor to ceiling windows. The back wall in the living room area also had floor to ceiling windows, but he could see a little handle and small silver frame outlining a door. The kitchen was up a step and open to the rest of the room, separated by an island and stools.

Next, Nick went on to peaking through doors. The first he opened, just past the kitchen and off the empty area between the dining room and small sitting area, was Greg's utility room which held a state of the art washing machine and dryer. The next door along the same wall was a decent sized three quarter bath that was spotless and devoid of any products beyond soap. Following that was a coat closet.

Nick headed down the hallway and shook his head as it started to decrease in size as he went along. The first door on the left led to a small guest room. He figured it was only a guest room because the windows on the far well weren't covered in blackout shades and it was decorated minimally. So, that brought Nick to the last door.

He also figured that there had to be at least one more bath, but since this was the last door off the hallway, he assumed that it was on the other side of Greg's room. After a cursory search, he knew he was right.

Greg's room was...unique. There was a plasma T.V. that was hung on navy blue painted walls, his bed was a king four poster made of very dark wood. The sheets were maroon and the very thick comforter was black. It was covered with over-stuffed pillows that, in an odd sort of way, actually fit Greg, as well as a tatty, old stuffed leopard.

The slanted wall from the hallway continued through the bedroom, so his T.V. was actually facing the bed somewhat. There was no dresser, but Greg did have bookshelves along the walls that were stuffed to the brim with books and CD's, unlike the built in ones in the living room that held knickknacks and memento's along with his stereo system.

The bathroom was mixed Greg in Nick's opinion. He couldn't see Greg with such an opulent tub or another TV on the wall at viewing height for the tub, but the wide counter that was covered in hair care and skin care products was definitely him. Looking through another door, Nick finally saw why Greg didn't have a dresser. The large walk-in closet had a built in one.

He headed back to the living room and smiled at the sight that met him. Greg had managed to cocoon himself in his throw so that only his shoe covered feet and part of his face was showing. Nick carefully removed Greg's shoes and then headed into the kitchen. He knew a sure fire way to help Greg feel better faster, but he knew he would have to go shopping. It was just a matter of seeing what Greg had and didn't have.

A glance into the fridge showed Greg was not a food shopper. There were two take out containers and a pizza box. Soda lined the top shelf and one egg sat in the egg tray in the door. Nick shut the door with a wince and grabbed the notepad that was attached to fridge by a magnet. After a quick phone call to his mom, he had a list of necessities made out. Anything else he bought would just be grab and go as he went, but he needed the essentials. He wrote out a quick note on the sticky paper and, in a slightly jovial move, attached it to Greg's forehead.

Greg stirred awake, holding back a cough. He opened his eyes and instantly crossed them to see a piece of paper floating barely a centimeter in front of them. He scrambled out of the throw and pulled the paper from his forehead.


Ran to the store. Your fridge is bare, man. Be back soon. I'll remember the medicine and tissues, don't worry.


Greg felt the blush climbing up his neck. Nick was not supposed to treat him this way. Yeah, sure, they were friends, but Nick was buying him groceries! Hell, he couldn't even cook. Well, he could, but easy things. Okay, amending that even further, he could bake and he made some fantastic dishes that his grandpa Olaf taught him, but hell, he burnt spaghetti sauce. His own mother had actually banned him from the stove when he set an omelet on fire. If it required by the eye timing, he couldn't do it.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked around. He wondered what Nick thought of his apartment. Did he catch the crossbow and daggers that decorated part of the island that didn't have a stool? Or the authentic Japanese paper fans that lined the hallway? If he did, just how much did it accent on his weirdness?

He got up and trudged to the bathroom, finally noticing the lack of shoes and cold wooden floor. He hated late fall. The downside to this place was that the wooden floors held the cold all to well.

Shaking his head and wondering how Nick gotten his shoes off without him waking, he trudged through his room to the bathroom. He didn't much use the one off the dining room because he hated to clean, and if he used it, it would have to be cleaned much more regularly then it was already.

Boy, did being sick put him in a gloomy mood. He seemed to hate everything at the moment. He used the toilet and changed into large, open ankle sweat pants, a baggy t-shirt and his ratty flannel robe. Or his 'sick robe' as he called it. He washed it and his blankets in a special detergent that he made his mom send him twice a year. It was comforting and reminded him of California and home.

He grabbed a book off of his shelves after he realized he wasn't going to be able to sleep until Nick got back with the medicine. A sneeze made him detour through the kitchen to grab some paper towel before he finally collapsed back onto the couch. He set the book on the table and smiled when he saw his bottle of water sitting right in front of where his face had been while he was lying down. He took a quick swallow to ward of a coughing attack he felt tickling his throat and then settled back into the cushions, opening the book to its bookmarked page halfway through.

Greg had barely made it into the next chapter when he heard his door lock creak, a sure sign that it was going to be stubborn. Curious to see Nick's reaction to this, he stood up quickly and, ignoring the bout of dizziness accompanying the sudden movement, headed into the sitting area, just in time to hear Nick start cursing rather colorfully at the door.

He laughed to himself and turned the lock, opening the door before Nick could kick it in. He enjoyed the brief look of surprise on Nick's face before holding his hands out for the two plastic and three paper bags Nick had lugged up in one trip.

"Thanks. Got a few more bags in the truck yet."

Greg's mouth dropped open even as he took the bags. Nick smiled and turned on his heal, heading back to the elevator. Greg left the door ajar and brought the bags into the kitchen, intent on going through them. He unpacked a few of his favorite pizza's from the first plastic bag, a grin lighting his face at the thought that Nick had remembered him raving about them. Next were a few individual pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream, hash browns, and Popsicles. The other plastic bag held a four pound pack of ground meat, making him wonder if Nick was planning something. Four pounds was a lot for one person.

He then turned to the paper bags. One held a wide assortment of seasonings, surprisingly the expensive kind, as well as condiments and dressings. The next he found refrigerated items, like two containers of his coveted cottage cheese, juice, pudding, sour cream, and a few packages of different cheeses. The third bag held a full pack of chicken ramen noodles, which was his favorite, peanut better and a few kinds of jelly, syrup, bisquick, a couple canned fruit and veggies, and two bags of egg noodles, all topped off by a loaf of bread. After putting everything away, he had to laugh. Only Nick would pack his bags by where the food was supposed to go.

The shutting of the door clued him into Nick's return and he pointed to the meat and raised an eyebrow, "What's with all the beef?" He asked, then winced. It seemed his throat was also going to join in the fun, if the scratchiness was any indication.

Nick winced as well and pulled a bottle from one of the bags he was carrying and handed it over, "You can freeze it. All that take out can not be good for you."

Greg looked at the green bottle he was holding before setting it off to the side, hiding a sneeze in his shoulder. He may have needed it and the sleep that accompanied it, but he didn't quite want to drop just yet. Nick -was- planning something, he knew it, he just had no clue what, and he really wanted to find out.

"Nick, the only meat dishes I know how to cook take many hours and full beef cubes and stuff, not ground. I can't make anything with ground beef." He sniffled, then laughed as Nick dug back into the bag, producing those funky, germ killing tissues, "Trying to tell me something?"

Nick shrugged and set that bag down as well as a couple others and a potato bag, all three of which thumped when they hit the island.

Curiosity peaked, Greg pulled down the edge of the bag closest to him and found a large, frozen chicken, "What in the world?" He looked up at Nick and was surprised to see Nick's cheeks and ears flush red. He had never seen Nick blush, but had heard stories and they were right. It was totally adorable. It made you want to see if it could get darker or spread even more, "Nick?"

The Texan sighed and ran his hand over his head, "I'm gunna make you some of mama's get well soups. One's chicken noodle and the other is strogonoff. We'd always get sick of eating one, so she'd make the other. That's what most of the beef is for."

"Oh, well, don't let me stop you. Just, you know you really shouldn't use a frozen chicken, right? I do know that much."

Nick rolled his eyes, "I'm going to make the strogonoff first and put this one to thaw in water."

Greg smiled and his eyes weld up. Well, that was a new one. Apparently he got mushy when he got sick. Oh, well. Might as well go with the flow, "Thanks, man." He whispered and gave Nick a hug.

Nick returned it and Greg could have sworn he felt lips brushing his ear, but that had to be the cold talking. There was no way Nick felt the same way he did. He pulled away a few seconds later when he felt another bout of coughing tickling at his throat.

"This'll take awhile to cook, G. Why don't you take some medicine and crash." Nick suggested, his tone sympathetic.

Greg nodded. Now that he had wormed out Nick's little cooking secret, he was definitely going to make use of that suggestion. He grabbed the bottle and tissues and headed over to the couch. He sat down and opened the tissues then the bottle, dropping the wrapper on the table. Taking the prescribed amount, he grabbed his book, planning to read until the medicine kicked in.

"What'cha reading, G?" Nick asked, as he prepared the seasonings and vegetables he was going to need for both soups.

"Bloodlist." Greg replied, already deep into the plot.

Nick raised his eyebrows, "That doesn't tell me anything more then the fact that it sounds pretty gory."

Greg shrugged and finally looked up, "It's not all that bad. It's a vampire novel. This guy was turned into a vampire but he doesn't remember who did it or how he died. He also doesn't feel right feeding on humans, so he does so off of cows and stuff."

"You don't strike me as being into the whole supernatural stuff."

"Nah, not so much, but I like thrillers and my cousin left it behind when he left. I finally exhausted my books a few weeks ago so I decided to try it." Greg replied. His eyes were starting to droop, so he replaced his book mark and stood briefly to remove his robe before laying down and covering himself in the micro-fiber throw.

"Wouldn't your room be more comfortable?"

Greg yawned and grabbed a tissue when the yawn turned into a sneeze, "I like the couch better when I'm sick. I sleep in my room and I feel like I'm missing something." Greg allowed his eyes to partially droop and watched as Nick hummed in response.

Greg was partially to surprised to see Nick move around his kitchen comfortably. He could see his arm moving steadily as he peeled and chopped the vegetables for the chicken soup. He sighed a little to himself and snuggled deep into the thick cushions of his couch. What he wouldn't give to be able to watch this scene everyday for the rest of his life, was the last thought to cross his mind as he dropped to sleep.


A/N: So whatcha all think? My first posted CSI fic, so insight would be appreciated.