Takes place almost right after Grave Danger. Gil/Nick established relationship. Angst! On with the story:

 When Gil touched him, a sudden thought jolted through Nick's mind like a current, as though Gil's hands were live wires. 

How many bugs had Gil ever been in contact with?

The terrifying answer to that question -too many to count- and the aftermath of the psychological current made Nick's skin prickle like fiery red hot needles or like- like thousands of legs of fire ants crawling all over him.

With a choked cry, Nick jerked out of Gil's loose embrace and scrambled blindly backwards. He didn't even falter when he fell awkwardly off their bed, hastily retreating until his back slammed up against the corner of their room.  He needed to be far away from Gil and his insect-infested hands-- backed into the corner of the room wasn't far enough. Especially not when Gil was approaching with his hands outstretched.

In Nick's delirious mind Gil's hands were crawling with creepy-critters, swarming with species of all sorts. In the remaining logical part of his mind he remembered the times Gil let his damn pet tarantula walk across his palms. As for the rest of the insects, some were from past cases, others fictitious. All real and scuttling across and around and all over Gil's hands, in Nick’s mind. 

"Please don't touch me!" Nick's strangled voice screamed. "Don't... Stop coming closer!" Nick's voice ascended until it finally broke on the last syllable. Then huge, gasping sobs engulfed him and his breathing rate skyrocketed. His stomach constricted with so much agony and fear that vomit rose up his oesophagus, stopping momentarily at his throat.

--

Gil has been still for a moment after Nick abruptly broke their contact, shell-shocked and dumbfounded, then attempted to advance towards Nick's cowering form before Nick shouted, commanded, begged him to stop.

Hyperventilating dangerously and rubbing furiously at the spot on both upper arms where Gil had touched him, Nick whimpered, “Ants.. from your... hands, Gil.."

Now Gil understood. With the relief of that knowledge came fresh horror. Horror of what sickening flashbacks he had inflicted -was still inflicting- on Nick. His beloved Nick. Insects were just his job, Nick was the best part of his life.

In that single moment, he would have agreed to have his hands amputated -both of them- if it meant being able to cradle Nick in his embrace. He was willing to have a lifetime of prosthetics or whatever, just to hold his broken Nick when he needed support most.

But right then he could only hope that, maybe, maybe if Nick saw him scrubbing his hands hard enough with water and disinfectant and detergent and any other cleaning agent he could get his hands on, hard enough until they were red, sore and painful, Nick would relax around him enough just to let Gil go near to him.

Because right then touching Nick again was the last thing he could do.