Title: A Fluffy Moment
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: After solving the "Fannysmacking", case, Gil visits Greg at the hospital.

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I hesitated before entering Greg's room. He was in a more quiet area of the hospital, now, and he had a room all to himself. I'd seen him the day before, while the doctors were still examining for internal injuries, and earlier today, while the nurse came in to check on his vitals.

We hadn't had a private moment together until now.

I opened the door and closed it behind me. After a moment's hesitation I approached his bed and peered at him. He was asleep.

The bruises on his face looked more pronounced under the dim lights of the room. I could even make out the imprint of a knuckle on his forehead –

I looked away.

I couldn't bear this.

It was only when I told myself that 'it could have been worse,' that I found it easier to breathe and to get a hold on myself. I reminded myself –yet again- that I had to be strong for him. The bruises would heal, after all. He would heal.

----

There was only one chair in the room and it creaked when I sat on it. I shot an alarmed look at Greg, but fortunately, he didn't stir.

After that, I forced myself not to move, not to move, not even to open the book I'd brought with me. I sat staring at the opposite wall, and making a mental note on the things I should bring next time I visited: A seat cushion, perhaps. Oh, and a bottle of oil to lubricate this damned chair.

A while later, a faint rustling sound caught my attention. In the semi darkness I noticed that Greg was awake, and he was looking in my direction.

I knew I should go to him, but for some reason I couldn't move. And it had nothing to do with the fact that the chair was noisy; I just couldn't go to him.

"I thought you were asleep." I said instead.

"I was." he muttered, "I guess my medication's wearing off. Or maybe your thoughts were getting too loud." He added with a scowl.

I didn't know what he meant by that but I said 'sorry,' anyway.

"It's ok." He said. "It's not like I was having sweet dreams, anyway."

He started to stretch, but something -the pain?- made him stop abruptly. Then he frowned and looked at me.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"It's night time." I said simply.

"Shouldn't you be at the lab?"

"I took the night off."

He seemed surprised.

"You did?"

"I figured I'd be here, in case you needed anything." I said

His mouth was open but no word came out.

Well, well.

It wasn't every day that I was able to leave him speechless.

"Thank you." He said after a moment.

"You're welcome."

We were silent for a moment, and then he spoke again.

"You, hum, you can turn on the lights if you want -"

"It's ok," I said. "You should get some sleep."

"I'm fine." He said. "But I wish you pulled your chair a bit closer."

Pulling the chair would have made a racket, so I rose from it instead.

I approached his bed with some hesitation.

My hand hovered over his for just a second and then withdrew. I felt as if the slightest movement from me would somehow hurt him. It was an unsettling feeling. Me, who'd always been able to put some distance between me and victims of crime in order to do my job, couldn't even look at Greg in the eye now.

I fixed my gaze on a spot just above his head, and ended up talking to it.

"How are you feeling?" I asked solicitously.

"I'm ok."

"Good."

And that was it.

"It won't always be this bad, you know," he said after a moment.

I looked down at him.

His sane eye was fixed on me as he spoke.

"My face," he explained. "Doctors say the bruises will fade in a couple of weeks. If I'm careful, there won't be much scarring," he paused. He managed a faint smile as he added, "I may look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame now, but it won't be like that forever."

With his left cheek partially immobilized by stitches, the smile came out as a grimace. And all of a sudden, I realized that, despite his attempt at humor, there was a definite undercurrent of fear in the words he'd just said.

I tried to reassure him.

"Greg, you're going to be ok -"

"Oh, really."

"Yes, really." I said, frowning at the skepticism in his tone. "You don't believe me?"

"Do you believe it?" he said. "I mean, you can't even look at me for more than a few seconds in a row -"

I was appalled at the implication.

"Do you think a few bruises are going to turn me off?"

He shrugged –at least, he tried.

"That would never happen." I said. "You should know that."

But maybe he didn't.

"Greg, you're going to be fine," I said. I gulped. I didn't know what else to say, but I knew I'd better say something, and fast. "You… You're more than just a pretty face to me."

It was a clumsy thing to say, but he seemed impressed. His eye widened.

I felt silly, trying to explain my feelings to him.I'd never had to, before.

"I, hum, like what's on the outside," I continued, "But I also love this -" and I gently laid a hand on top of his head.

"My hair?" He smirked.

"Your brain, you idiot."

He mused on this.

"You love my brain but I'm an idiot," he said thoughtfully, "Interesting."

"You know what I mean," I said, hoping he did.

He smiled reluctantly.

"I know you love me." he said. "It's just- I don't know. I mean, you wouldn't even come near me. It's like you're freaked out by all this," he made a vague gesture.

It was true. I'd kept a distance between us, and it wasn't just because there'd been doctors and nurses coming and going.

"I'm afraid of hurting you," I said truthfully.

"Grissom, I'm already in a lot of pain," he retorted. "Believe me, I wouldn't notice it if you added to it."

I carefully sat on the edge of the bed and picked up one of his hands. I gently kissed the knuckles, one by one.

Greg shifted uncomfortably.

"Uh, Grissom," he said, tentatively tugging his hand away, "You better don't do that."

I glanced at him.

"Why? Do you think kissing a guy's hand isn't manly enough?"

"It's not that," he replied, then he lowered his voice, "But it's making me horny."

"Really?" I asked, glancing down at his crotch.

Yep, there was definitely something going on down there under the blankets. I wished I could do something about it…

He seemed to guess what I was thinking.

"This definitely not the place for hanky-panky, Gil," he warned.

"Ok," I said, and laid his hand on the bed again. "But it's good to know."

"What?"

"That you protected the family jewels," I smiled.

THE END

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