Title: A Distinguished Man
By: Chapin CSI
Pairing: Gil/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Warning: I don't speak English and it shows in my stories; luckily, my readers are very forgiving. Thanks!
Summary: Greg's mom was ecstatic. After years dating losers, Greg had finally found a good guy: his own boss. She was happy; Greg was happy... And then Grissom ruined it all.

***

"Wow," I whispered as I stepped into the balcony. Las Vegas looked wonderful at night. Leaning over the railing, Karen, my older sister suddenly spoke.

"Oh, I absolutely adore Gil Grissom!"

To hear her, one would think Gil Grissom himself had personally arranged for Las Vegas to look stunning just for us.

Behind her, May Darren, Karen's best friend, rolled her eyes in exasperation, then smiled at me in complicity. I didn't smile back, though the temptation to roll my eyes was strong. Karen had been telling us what a wonderful man Gil Grissom was for weeks now. Never mind that she had never laid eyes on the guy, or even talked to him over the phone; all she knew was what Greg had told her, and that was enough for her.

" –and he's a scientist," Karen went on, "An established Entomologist –one of the best in the country."

She was openly bragging now, and who could blame her? It wasn't every day that she got to boast about her only son's love life in front of May Darren.

Poor Karen.

Or should I say poor Greg instead? After all, he's been a pawn in the ongoing competition between his mother and May, whose only son Ken is Greg's age, too. From the moment the two women met, there's been an ongoing rivalry that shows no sign of waning. They've argued over whose boy is the better student, whose boy is the better looking, and who's the more successful of the two.

Fortunately, none of this affected the boys; they remained friends through it all. It helped that they were successful in markedly different ways: Greg shone in science; Kent preferred languages. It probably helped, too, that both of them were gay. From an early age, they realized they were lucky to have each other to turn to. In fact, when both boys announced they were gay, their mothers, rather than reacting with tears and denial like the boys feared, practically jumped with joy. First, because no woman would ever be good enough for their boys anyway, and second, because it looked like they'd found their match.

Unfortunately for the women, the boys weren't interested in each other that way. They were friends –period.

So, after a brief respite, the competition was on again. In time, Ken became a lawyer and Greg a DNA Analyst. They were both successful in their fields, but there was one area where Ken was the clear winner, much to Karen's chagrin: While Ken got involved with perfectly respectful members of society, (like straight-A students, and later doctors or lawyers), Greg dated losers. Well, not losers, per se. They all looked like perfectly normal guys to begin with; sure, they weren't lawyers or doctors, but at least they held jobs or promising scholarships. Then, a few months into the relationship, for reasons never fully understood, things started going downhill. Some lost their jobs, others lost their scholarships.

They all ended up hanging out at Greg's place, eating his food, and watching ESPN in their underwear all day.

The Greg Sanders jinx we called it.

And oh, how May enjoyed it when she found out -and she always did. She'd smile at Karen in her condescending way, and sweetly ask, 'Tell me, Karen, how are Greg and his boyfriend doing these days?"

It's not a surprise that Karen would be overjoyed about Greg's new boyfriend, Gil Grissom. True, she initially balked at having a prospective son-in-law that was only about a decade younger than herself –and her son's boss, no less. But even that didn't matter much when she realized this guy was a professional; a respected member of society who'd never end up sponging off her son.

I was more cautious. Sure, I was impressed by the fact that after six months, Gil Grissom still had a job. Heck, just the fact that they'd been together six months meant a lot. No one had ever lasted this long, which meant that maybe -just maybe- Gil Grissom was immune to the Greg Sanders jinx. So, that was great.

But every time Karen said something new about Gil Grissom, I found myself wondering. I mean, an Entomologist? I'd never thought Greg would fall for a pale, puny guy holding a net. Greg preferred his guys big and burly; the kind of guy who likes sports and beer.

I couldn't imagine what he could see in a butterfly-catcher...

"HE'S OLD!" The shriek made us all jump. Papa Olaf. He was sitting in an armchair, nearly buried under a pile of blankets. We thought he was dozing, but he was not. He was smiling, pleased by our reaction.

His face was as wrinkled as a raisin, but that smile made him look like a naughty five-year-old boy.

If we had been alone, Karen would have given him a sharp retort. But with May there, she had to be gracious.

"He's older than Greg, yes," she said with dignity, "But he's not old. Not at all," she added as if we needed reassurance. "He's very respected in his field. Oh, and he's a successful criminalist, too. He's a very, very distinguished man,"

Distinguished? 'Oh, God', I thought, 'what has Greg gotten himself into?' I knew my nephew; he didn't fall for distinguished men, old or young. He liked to have fun; he liked to party. This Gil Grissom had begun to sound like a stuffy old man; the kind who peppers his conversations with phrases in Latin, and smells of old books and mothballs. Someone who has sex with his clothes on and won't kiss his partner until he's gargled with a strong mouthwash.

I didn't want to think that Greg got involved with this guy only to give his mom a chance to rub her nose at May, (though if he did, he'd certainly succeeded: May did look a bit ruffled when hearing about this paragon of virtue that was Gil Grissom); but if he did, then it was time for me to put a stop to it.

After all, I was more like a sister than an aunt to him.

He'd listen to me.

--------

Greg dropped by later that day, and Karen literally ambushed him at the door. Even May couldn't hold back; she wanted to meet Gil Grissom; she wanted to look at him him, talk to him, maybe even poke at him to make sure he was a living person, not some figment from Karen's imagination.

Greg seemed pleased by their reaction. He smiled good-naturedly and answered their questions as best as he could, but he had some bad news.

"Grissom isn't in Vegas," he said, "He had to go to Chicago for a conference. But he's coming back the day after tomorrow," he added, "And you can see him today, if you want. He's gonna be on TV."

"Really?" My sister asked, her eyes as big as saucers, "He's going to be on the news?"

"Uh, no. He said he'd be at a baseball stadium for the opening ceremony. Baseball season starts today."

"Baseball season?"

Karen was frowning. Then, gradually, the frown turned to dismay. I knew what she was thinking; she was thinking of the loser boyfriends who used to hang out at Greg's place and watch baseball and football all day long. In her mind, a man who liked sports was a loser, and nothing would ever change her mind.

And it was clear that May was thinking the same.

She was smirking. "I thought you said he was a scientist, Karen."

I jumped in. "So?" I retorted, "Can't a scientist like sports, too?"

"I suppose," May said, the smirk still in place.

Greg, probably remembering the ex-boyfriends too, quickly intervened.

"Baseball isn't just a sport to Gil," he said, "He says it's a beautiful, orderly game."

May was still skeptical. "But he's there to watch the game, isn't he? I mean, what else would he be there for?"

"I don't know," Greg said thoughtfully, "He said it was a surprise."

"They probably asked him to give a speech," Karen said, obviously trying to be optimistic, "He lived in Chicago for a long period of time, didn't he? I am sure they consider him a distinguished citizen."

Distinguished. There was that word again. And I was confused; was Gil Grissom a distinguished scientist or a sports jerk?

----

"Hey," I whispered to Greg, "We need to talk. It's about this man, Grissom -"

"You're gonna like him," he said quickly.

"Forget about me; do you like him?"

"Sure," he said. "He's smart, he's responsible... He's a great guy!"

"Yeah, but isn't he a little, I don't know... Boring?"

He frowned over this.

"He's a quiet guy," he said slowly. "I need a little quiet, now. I'm not a kid, anymore, you know." He smiled.

I wanted to argue a little further, but Papa Olaf interrupted us in a big way.

"The game's on!" he shouted, waving at the screen. He even made an effort to sit up. It wasn't every day that the poor old guy got to watch a game.

We all grabbed a seat and waited for Gil Grissom to appear. We waited and waited… And then waited some more. Sportscasters kept talking about the event as if there were lives at stake there. Yet the people sitting in the stadium didn't seem to mind the waiting. It was raining lightly, but they all looked like this was the happiest day of their lives.

And suddenly, Greg sat up.

"That's Gil," he said, pointing at a man wearing a raincoat and gravely waiting for the announcer to introduce him.

I studied him. He was handsome; not the weakling I'd pictured -not at all- though with the grey in his hair and the serious expression on his face, I could see that 'distinguished' was the only word that could describe him accurately.

'Stuffy,' could apply too.

'Oh, Greg', I thought with a sigh, 'What have you gotten yourself into?'

Meanwhile, May and Karen were smiling idiotically at the screen, clearly charmed by what they were seeing.

I glanced at the TV again. I'd missed the presentation, so I didn't exactly know what Gil Grissom was there for. But when the sportscaster finally stepped away from the microphone, it was clear that neither one of us was prepared for what was about to happen.

First, Grissom took off his raincoat and handed it to an attendant, thus revealing what he was wearing underneath: an authentic baseball shirt with his name stitched on the front. Then he picked the microphone, and then he -

He yelled at the crowd.

"GOOD EVENING CHICAGO!"

People in the stadium cheered.

"ARE WE GOING TO HAVE A GREAT SEASON?" The crowd cheered again but he wasn't satisfied with the response, so he posed the question again. This time there was a resounding 'YEAAAH!' that brought a wide smile to his lips.

"YEAH!!" Grissom screamed back. "WE'RE GOING TO KICK ASS THIS YEAR!" And those words drove people into a frenzy. Some stomped their feet on the ground; others shook their arms like demented birds; most of them threw their caps into the air.

And distinguished Gil Grissom was yelling along with them.

I gaped.

I glanced at the others. They were gaping too, all of them. Even Greg. Clearly, he wasn't expecting his.

My sister sat frozen in place until she couldn't hold back anymore.

"Oh, my God," she moaned.

And then, to top it all off, Gil Grissom started to sing.

Not the National anthem, though.

Nelly Kelly loved baseball games,
Knew the players, knew all their names,
You could see her there ev'ry day,
Shout "Hurray" when they'd play.

He was on-key most of the time, but the sight of this man singing this childish song and waving his free arm to keep time, was just too much for Karen.

"Oh, Greg," she sighed mournfully, clearly disappointed.

May merely smirked.

But Papa Olaf was enchanted.

"I used to sing that song!" he yelled delightedly, and then he joined in, "- shout "Hurray -"

There was at least one Gil Grissom fan in the room.

As for Greg, well, I was afraid to look. I didn't want to see him disappointed.

But when I looked again, it turned out he was grinning.

And then he started to sing, too.

"Take me out to the ball game,
Take me out with the crowd.
Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack,
I don't care if I never get back,
Let me root, root, root for the home team,
If they don't win it's a shame.
For it's one, two, three strikes, you're out,
At the old ball game."

The end

***