Author's Note: Six chapters. Hurt/Angst. Alternating POV. Slash. Nick/Greg.
Acknowledgements: Thanks goes out to Amanda for proofreading.
Disclaimer: I don't know any characters mentioned, except for one, and you'll know he's a figment of my imagination when he's brought up.
Summary: Eight years is a long time to love someone, and Greg decides that he's done with lusting after Nick without the Texan knowing how he feels. But, of course, things don't go according to plan.

Eight Years into Never
Chapter One
Greg's POV

June 12th

He had taken a chance. His heart seemed to almost explode in his chest, his limbs going numb, his mind a complete blank but he had done it. After eight years of deliberating, debating with himself and he had finally done it. Finally.

"Nick . . . would you, uhh, want to go out sometime?"

"What?"

"Umm, would you wonna go out sometime . . . like with me."

Silence.

"As in . . . a date?"

"Uhh . . . erm, yeah?"

Silence, even longer than the first one.

"Greg . . . I'm straight. I thought everyone knew that."

Greg hadn't even replied to that. His world was falling away, everything turning to a shady tone. Even Nick blacked out, his form highlighted in gray and all he could hear were the words "I'm straight" echoing in his ears over and over.

Eight years. Eight years of nothing. Eight years of friendship. Eight years of going home to sleep and waking up to find your pillow was wet because you had cried last night over him, the guy you thought you'd never be with.

Eight years of wishing, of hoping, of praying. Eight years of telling yourself today would be the day, and that day didn't come. Eight years of mixed signals. And then . . . and then you hear the honest truth.

He's straight. Straight, as in not interested in you. Not interested at all.

What are you supposed to do when the person you've loved for eight years just suddenly . . . isn't who you thought they were? Isn't the person you expected them to be?

How do you continue living, when you don't feel like you can? In that minute, that moment, when he says he's straight it's as if you aren't breathing . . . it's not real. It can't be.

It was.

--

July 3rd

Greg lay in his bed, just gazing at the white ceiling, his thoughts blank, empty. He should be sleeping, he knew that, but he couldn't. He was tired of waking up feeling even more exhausted than when he went to sleep. He dreamed of nothingness, dark, shadowy nothing. No people, no noises, no colors. Nothing.

Sometimes he was glad that he didn't dream. No more dreams about him. He used to dream of Nick constantly, dreams where everything would work out okay. Where everything would be perfect.

Ha. Right. Yeah, as if.

Then there were the times he wished he would dream, just so things could go back to normal. Before he had asked Nick out. Back when the Texan would put his arm on Greg's shoulder, or smile at him. Back then . . . things were different. But now things were different as well.

Nick wouldn't even look at him. They hadn't worked together on one case since that night two weeks ago. Greg had a sinking suspicion he had asked Grissom not to put them together anymore. Every time he walked by Warrick, he thought he saw a look of unease in the tall man's vibrant green eyes. Had Nick told, or was he too embarrassed?

Greg wanted his old life back, his old dreams. He didn't want to live with this new regret. His one mistake had ruined the one thing that was important to him: Nick's friendship. That had been jerked away in one heartbeat, one little flutter of his heart and it was gone, like a passing spring shower. Gone.

Greg had tried to be himself at work, to show no change in his behavior. He joked and played around, flirting cheerfully with Wendy and Mandy, but when he sat in the break room alone, he was silent. He used to talk on his cell phone, or go on break with someone else, but that was a thing of the past.

Catherine had wondered if his mother had fallen ill.

Grissom thought he was coming down with something, some sort of flu.

Greg knew what Nick thought.

Warrick, well . . . he didn't really talk to Greg much, anyways, but after a few days that look in his eyes still hadn't gone away. That look in his eyes that told Greg that he knew too much.

A cloud passed by the sun and Greg's bright room rapidly darkened, along with his mood. Did Nick have a clue how hard it was for him to open up to him? Did he know how hard it was for Greg to ask Nick out? No, he didn't have a clue. He would never know, because he was straight.

Anger surged through Greg, making the blood pound at his ears. He looked at the ceiling, but didn't really see it. He was sick of this. Tired of this. If he had gotten up the courage to tell Nick, why couldn't he come out to the rest of the team? Why couldn't he stop being a coward and tell everyone else that he was, in fact, bisexual?

Greg swung his legs over the side of his queen-sized bed, his bare feet dangling above the gray carpet. He was sick of this, and he was through with hiding. Hiding who he was, hiding a major part of himself.

The sun had emerged from behind the cloud, blinding Greg momentarily. As his eyes adjusted, he realized he was done with this part of his life. It was time for him to stop pining over a man he would never have—

("Greg . . . I'm straight.")

—and it was time for him to get out there. Nick wasn't going to come round to his house, announcing that he was madly, deeply in love with Greg. This wasn't some TV show or book. This was reality, and reality hurt. The truth hurt. Removing the man you had loved for eight years hurt, too, but Greg was going to do it.

Eight years . . . and no more.