Previous part of Dilemma.
***
"No, no...""Hey. Hey, Grissom-"
I felt a reassuring hand on my shoulder. That, and the soothing quality of Greg's voice gradually calmed me down. My heart was still beating fast, but I no longer had a sense of impending doom.
But maybe it wasn't just his voice that calmed me; maybe it was the fact that Eckley was no longer laughing at me and that instead of a phone, I was clutching something softer- a pillow.
A pillow?
I opened my eyes and sat up abruptly. I was in bed –my bed- and Greg was sitting next to me. He had turned on the headboard lamp. His hand still rested on my shoulder.
"You ok?" he asked, squinting a little because of the light.
"What?" I mumbled in confusion.
"You were having a nightmare," he explained.
"No kidding." I said breathlessly. I looked around; I had rolled to the edge of the bed and would have fallen off if Greg hadn't intervened.
A nightmare.
I was elated.
It was only a dream -Warrick didn't laugh his ass off at me; Sara didn't know about my relationship with Greg, and Ecklie didn't listen to our conversation-
Now I understood why my pancakes and my omelets had looked so perfect.
Thinking of omelets reminded me that I had not put the key in one.
"Thank God." I groaned, falling back on my bed.
"Whoa, you used the G word." Greg said admiringly, "That must have been a pretty bad dream."
"Yeah," I said ruefully, "It was."
"What did you dream of?"
"Well, I dreamed that I put a - Hum-" I paused. "I mean," I amended, "I was dreaming that you were-" I paused again.
"That you and I…? Yep, it sounds awful," he teased and then he smiled, showing off perfect, unbroken teeth.
Oh, thank God.
I sighed and closed my eyes in relief.
Greg gently shook my shoulder.
"Come on; tell me your dream."
I took a deep breath. I could do this, I thought. I only had to do some editing.
"Ok," I said. I rolled over until I was beside him, and lay my head on his lap. His legs weren't exactly cushiony, but he was warm and that was enough.
He laid a hand on my chest.
"Talk," he said.
I looked up.
"Eckley was there-" I started.
"Eckley?" he frowned, "You were dreaming of Eckley?"
"Well, it was a nightmare," I mumbled, "See, he wanted me to go back to the lab, and you wanted to call De-" I stopped. No way was I telling him that part, "A dentist." I finished. Greg was mystified.
"A dentist?"
"Yeah," I said morosely, "Why? It was a nightmare, after all."
He shook his head.
"That's it," he said dryly, "You're not eating sausages at night ever again."
"I won't," I said, putting my hand on top of his. "I promise."
We were silent for a while. He was massaging my scalp with one hand, but he was distracted; his focus was on the room we were in. He was taking in the sparse furniture, the white ceiling, the antique armoire-
He hadn't said much when we entered the bedroom, except to compliment me on the old Pink Floyd posters that I had framed and hung by the door. It was the only decoration, but as he said, with such a huge bed in the middle of the room, who needed distractions?
"This room is really quiet." He said, "It feels like we're miles away from the city."
"Uh, huh." I nodded. That was exactly what I liked about it.
"It's almost as if we were in a vault." He added with a wince.
Oh.
"It's soothing, I guess." He said doubtfully.
"It is." I said.
I turned a little and pressed my face against his belly.
This was soothing, too.
"So, you're not going to tell me more about your dream." He said.
"Uh, huh." I shook my head.
"Well, that's ok." He said good-naturedly, "As long as you don't dream too often about Eckley." He glared, "You don't have a thing for bald heads, do you?"
"Only yours." I mumbled.
He laughed and his tummy shook against my face. I loved feeling the slight vibrations.
"Hey," he said gently, "You wanna go back to sleep?"
"Mmmh," I didn't move.
"Are you going to be o-" he said before a yawn interrupted him, "-kay?"
Aw. The poor guy was tired and I was keeping him awake. Bad, bad, Gil.
I dropped a kiss on his belly and sat up.
"I'll be fine." I said reassuringly.
"Well, good," He said, picking up my pillow and fluffing it up, "And if you have the urge to dream again, try dreaming something sweeter." He added dryly, "I mean, come on," he scoffed, "Who dreams of Eckley? And a dentist?"
Ah, the dentist.
"Do you have a dentist, Greg?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said carelessly, handing me the pillow. "Why?"
"Well, hum-"
"Shit," he was suddenly alarmed, "Is there something wrong with my teeth?" he gingerly felt around with his tongue, "Do I have any cavities?"
"How would I know that?" I frowned.
"Oh, please," he snorted, "You performed a thorough examination with your tongue last night, remember?"
"Well, you examined mine too." I smiled.
"Yep." He patted my chest, "And your teeth are just fine, by the way."
"Apart from being crooked." I added.
"They're endearingly crooked." He said kindly.
Aw. I was leaning forward to kiss him, when I realized he had not answered my question. I pulled back.
"So, who's your dentist?"
"Dr. Ann Hoggard." He said. When he noticed that I was not satisfied with only a name, he added, "She's been my dentist since I was a kid." he added. "Why?"
"Nothing," I shrugged evasively, "I was just curious."
He shook his head.
"You're weird, sometimes."
"I know." I admitted apologetically.
"But I love you anyway." he said, leaning forward to give me a peck on the lips.
I looked at him.
I didn't want to turn all mushy, but it suddenly occurred to me that he looked good in my bedroom. Actually, he looked good anywhere, but what I meant was that his being there seemed to justify everything I'd done in my room- the colors I chose, the size of the bed, even the type of headboard light I bought. He made everything look better.
Even my nightmares were funny and relatively benign thanks to his being there with me.
Ah, beautiful man-
"Do you want me to turn off the light?" he asked, interrupting my thoughts.
"Yes." I said, "No." I added abruptly.
"Hey, make up your mind. Yes or no?"
"Not yet," I paused. "I have something for you." I said solemnly.
"I know," He smirked, "It's hot and half an inch shorter than mine."
I gaped and he burst out laughing.
"Not that," I glared.
I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the chest closest to the bed. I opened a drawer and felt around until I found a little oblong box that I'd kept under my socks for the last couple of weeks.
When I got back in bed I reached for his hand.
"This is for you." I said.
I put the box on his open palm and then sat back expectantly.
I'd been so sure that he would tear up the box in his haste to get at the contents, that his actual reaction sort of disappointed me: He stared at the object in his palm, as if he couldn't make out what it was.
I began to get impatient. Now that I'd taken this step, I couldn't wait for him to open the box.
"Go on." I said.
"What is it?" he asked without looking up.
"Just open it." I said, "It won't bite." I added good-naturedly.
He scowled at me, but at least he opened the box -gingerly, as if afraid of what he would find inside.
The little box's contents were harmless enough -a key and a white card with some numbers scribbled on it- but he acted like he had never seen anything like it before.
"It's the key to the front door," I explained, "And the security code." I waited for a reaction and got none, "You'll have to memorize the code and destroy the card, Agent Sanders." I added as a joke.
He gulped.
"The front door-"
"Of this house, yes." I finished.
He smiled faintly.
"Just like that?"
Ah, if he only knew…
"Sure." I mumbled, "I mean, you didn't expect me to put it inside a sandwich as a surprise, did you?"
"Actually, I didn't expect it." He replied.
He didn't look happy. He didn't throw his arms around me, and he didn't express his gratitude. In short, he didn't react the way I hoped he would. He just stared at the key. Maybe I should have told him about the dream; maybe then he would have been more enthusiastic about getting the key this way.
After a moment I took the box from him and placed it on the night table next to his side of the bed.
"Come on," I said, pulling the covers, "Let's get a little sleep."
The words made him react at least.
"Grissom… hum. Thanks."
"Sure." I said.
"I mean it." He insisted. "You just- You took me by surprise."
"I know."
I turned off the lights, and lay on my side of the bed. For a moment, we lay next to each other, in darkness and in silence.
After a moment, he snuggled closer to me and put an arm around me. We didn't talk. We were tired, but it took us quite a while to fall asleep again.
When I woke up the next day, he was already up. I could hear him puttering in the kitchen –and by the noises, I could tell there was a lot of activity going on.
I jumped out of bed and put on my clothes in a hurry. I hadn't planned for him to be alone in the kitchen –or anywhere else for that matter. I needed to see what he was doing.
It wasn't until I was reaching for the doorknob that I realized that I needed to back down. I'd offered him a key, now I had to show him that I trusted him.
I took a deep breath and decided not to overreact, no matter what I saw.
It was a big mess. He had taken out every pan I owned, although there were only two on the stove; the others were piled up neatly on the counter.
Ah, the counter. There were egg shells, open containers of milk and flour, wooden spoons oozing pancake batter lying on otherwise clean plates-
"Good morning!" he smiled at me, "Breakfast is almost ready!"
"You're cooking?"
"Yeah." He said carelessly. "Why? Guys cook too, don't they?"
"I didn't know you did." I said, approaching cautiously, "All I've seen you do is defrost and reheat."
I was being unfair. He did cook now and then, but this was the first time I'd seen him prepare so many things at the same time. As far as I could see, he was cooking huevos rancheros, pancakes, and hash browns, and it looked like he'd prepared everything from scratch.
He had used several pots to mix the pancake batter, and it looked like he'd used every knife on sight to chop up tomatoes, onions, and potatoes.
He seemed to know what I was thinking.
"Sorry." He said, "I tried several knives, but they were dull, so-"
"And the pans-"
"I needed one of Teflon and it was underneath the others." He explained.
"There was one on top." I said.
"It's too small," He said gently.
Of course. All the pans that were within reach were the ones I used to cook for one.
"But don't worry." He said, smiling mischievously, "I'll put everything back in its proper place. I took pictures of every cupboard. Now, do you want to help?"
We worked together well, just like we did when we were out in some crime scene.
Neither of us mentioned the key.
Later, we ate in companionable silence. There was a sense of expectancy in the air; I would look up now and then and catch him eyeing me speculatively. For a moment it was as if we were back at Loving Bear Donuts, with unsaid things between us.
I was wondering how to approach the matter, when suddenly he uttered the most dreaded words an insecure man in a relationship will ever hear.
"We need to talk."
***
"We need to talk.""Ok," I said calmly.
The words filled me with dread, but Greg wouldn't have guessed just by looking at me.
Keeping my emotions in check and presenting a bland façade to the world is an ability of mine that has been useful over the years. It helped me back in college, when I played poker to pay the bills, and it helps me now, when I deal with criminals. I can listen impassively to anything they say, and all they'll ever get from me is a detached, 'So, you dismembered the body and hid it under your bed? Uh, huh. What else?' and I never let them know how I feel about the horrors they tell.
So, that morning I calmly looked at Greg and vowed not to crumble, no matter what he said.
Greg was just the opposite; he was nervous and it showed. He would pick up a fork and then put it down, only to pick it up again. He used the fork to pick up a stray piece of pancake and then looked at it as if it held some important clue.
He was stalling.
"Greg?" I prompted him.
He looked up.
"Sorry," he said. "I'm still not sure how to say this." he admitted. He shifted in his seat. "I've been trying to tell you for days-" He said, "But I've chickened out at the last minute."
"I noticed." I said.
"Did you?" he paused, "You didn't say anything-"
Of course, I didn't. I'd been hoping he'd simply get over whatever was bothering him and return to normal.
"I thought you'd tell me, eventually." I said.
Greg looked at me and smiled sheepishly.
"Relationships are complicated, huh?" he said, "I bet you didn't think it would be like this."
I smiled back but didn't comment. He looked at the fork in his hand and then he spoke again.
"See, the thing is… We have fun, you and me. I don't want to lose that."
Okay, I thought cautiously.
"I mean, last night was really great, Grissom. Not just dinner, but the songs, and-" he smiled when I winced, "Oh, yeah," he added, "I'm not letting you forget that you sang –and danced. Hey, you have a nice voice," he teased, "Why be embarrassed about it?"
We smiled at each other, and then he took a deep breath.
"See? This is what happens every time I try to talk to you," he said, "I open my mouth to speak but before I do, you say something cute or do something cute; and then I start wondering whether I should mess up with this-"
Well, I thought, don't mess up with it, then.
"I had fun last night, Grissom." he said, "I mean, even the rain seemed to fit in your plans." He smiled. "I was in such a high that by the time I was in my sleeping bag, I'd already decided not to say anything." He paused, "But then you took me into your home, and-" He shook his head as if he still couldn't believe it,"And then you gave me your key-"
"Well-"
"And that changes everything, Grissom."
"Greg… It's just a key-" I argued.
"It's more than that," he said, and then he took his key ring from a pocket and put it on the table. He separated the newest addition from the rest, "This key says that you trust me."
"Yeah," I nodded cautiously, "I do."
"Well, I want to deserve that trust." He said firmly, "And that means I have to tell you something I did, even though it's gonna piss you off."
Oh, crap.
"Or maybe it won't;" he said with a frown, "It's hard to tell; I mean, you're kind of unpredictable, sometimes-" he shook his head, "Anyway, this is something that happened way before we got together, but it's precisely what brought us together, if you know what I mean-"
He was starting to babble and my bland façade was starting to crumble.
"Greg," I said impatiently, "Just tell me."
"I will," he assured me, "It's just hard, ok?" he paused as if to put his thoughts in order, "I mean," he added, "I know how much you value your privacy, Grissom. You like to keep your life to yourself and I understand that, but… a year ago I wasn't concerned about all that. At the time I was more concerned about my feelings for you, and- well, I can't keep things to myself, sometimes." He lowered his voice, "I needed someone to talk to, Grissom." He said slowly, "So- I told a friend."
I nodded, mostly to encourage him to continue.
"A good friend." He added, "At first it seemed like this was the last person I should talk to," he said ruefully, "But talking helped. I even got the encouragement I needed to go for it."
A friend, I thought; an encouraging one. In my mind, I started to picture a lightly freckled face, arrogant and handsome; the face of my nemesis, Dennis-the-Psychologist, who must have been playing the role of 'understanding friend' at the time.
"You see," Greg was saying, "I really love this friend and-"
Oh, crap.
"And she cares about me." Greg finished.
I froze.
It wasn't Dennis, then. It was a woman.
Was this good or bad?
"She's protective of me." he said, "She is very-" He paused, "Grissom?" he frowned, "Are you breathing?"
"Uh, huh," I mumbled, even though for a moment I'd forgotten to.
"Are you ok?" he asked.
I was not; the suspense was killing me.
"Can't you just tell me, Greg?"
"Right," He said, "Ok." He nodded, but it took him a while to say more, "So, hum," he hesitated, "I talked to her and ended up telling her that I had a crush on you, and-" he paused, "She froze," he said ruefully, "It must have been the last thing she expected from me, you know? I mean, I was always teasing her and flirting with her-"
Oh, no, I thought. Oh, no, no-
"I flirt with her 'cause she's pretty, you know? She is, but she doesn't know it, if you know what I mean," he said, "And if someone tells her, she just doesn't believe it, so -" he shrugged slightly, "I tease her all the time."
-no, no-
I didn't want to hear this.
"Not that she ever took me seriously." He added, "I guess she saw right through me." He mused, "One day she sat me down and asked me to be honest. I couldn't lie to her, so-"
I gulped.
"You told Sara." I said.
Greg held my gaze.
"Yes."
I glanced longingly at the hallway that led to my bedroom. I couldn't help wishing I was still asleep, having one of my oh-so-funny nightmares. When I looked back, I realized he was waiting for me to say something.
With an effort, I held on to my bland façade.
"You shouldn't have done that." I said calmly.
"She isn't going to tell -"
"That's not the point."
"She's ok with this, Grissom."
I looked down.
"Are you angry?" he asked cautiously.
"I'm not." I said eventually, "I'm only wondering how this is going to change things at the lab-"
"Nothing's going to change." he said quickly, "I mean, nothing has changed so far -"
But the truth is, I wasn't really concerned about the lab. I was thinking of Sara. There was a time when I had considered the possibility of being with her, only to pull away again and again –until she gave up on me, probably convinced that I just wasn't interested in romance. And now she knew that wasn't the case.
Greg was right; Sara was the last person he should have talked to about us.
"There's something else," He said.
Something else? With a sinking feeling, I looked up and waited for him to continue.
"Do you remember what Sara said last week about having lunch at La Lumière?" he asked.
"She said she had made the reservations…" I hesitated, "And something about turning a table for two into a table for four-"
"Exactly," he nodded, "She was inviting us, Grissom."
"She was?" I frowned, "Why would she do that?"
"We're her friends."
"But this is a romantic occasion; they should be alone-" I paused when I realized something, "Warrick knows about you and me." I said.
"Yeah," he nodded.
Amazing. Suddenly, my nightmares were coming true.
Wait a minute-
"Does Eckley know?" I asked abruptly.
"No!" Greg said immediately, "Do you think I'm that stupid? I only told Sara, and she's not going to tell anybody. Except Warrick, that is."
I sighed and closed my eyes for a moment.
"She really wants us to go." He said.
"Why?"
"It's her first St. Valentine's lunch, Grissom; the poor girl must be freaking out. Maybe she just needs our support." He paused, "Maybe she needs your blessing."
I looked at him.
"She doesn't need my blessing." I argued, "I made it clear I didn't have a problem with their relationship."
Greg snorted.
"Actually, all you did was warn her against working cases together." He said dryly. "I think she needs to talk-"
I winced. I didn't need to talk.
He noticed my expression.
"Shit. You're pissed off-" he said.
"I'm not." I said calmly. I wasn't exactly pissed off; I simply felt I'd been ambushed… And he hadn't even used the word 'Baby' to warn me.
I didn't want to deal with this. I took a deep breath and looked around. The sun was pouring in, lending a delicate golden glow to every surface in the kitchen. Even the mess on the counter looked picture-perfect. Too perfect, in fact. Maybe I was still asleep and dreaming?
Well, if I was, then this was about the right moment to wake up... but nothing happened.
Maybe pinching myself could help...?
Ouch.
I winced and he noticed.
"What are you doing?" he asked curiously.
"Nothing." I mumbled, "Just testing something."
He gave me another of his 'you're weird' looks, and this time I responded with my own, 'look who's talking' look.
He smiled faintly, but after a moment his smile faded.
"Are you ashamed?" he asked quietly.
The question took me by surprise.
"Ashamed?"
"Yeah. You know, of being with a guy-"
"No." I said honestly, "I just-" I hesitated, "I'd never had so many people aware of my private life before."
He looked at me.
"But that's only part of it, right?" he said slowly, "I mean, you said yes to me only after Sara started dating Warrick." He paused, "And Sara started dating Warrick only after I told her I was serious about you." He looked at me, "It looks like there was something between you two."
I nodded reluctantly.
"So," he said, looking down, "What happened?"
You happened, I was going to say, but that was only partly true. Even before Greg forced me to look at myself and accept who I was, I'd already realized that I couldn't love Sara.
"Nothing ever happened," I said, "I'm not the kind of man she needs –and not just for the obvious reasons." I said, "There were times when I thought I could try –and times when I wanted to try- but," I shrugged, trying to find the right words, "I couldn't. There are things I'd never do, not even for her. I never wanted to have kids, and-"
Greg snorted.
"I don't think Sara wants to have kids either."
"She may think so now, but once she opens up to Warrick, she might change her mind." I paused, "I would never change my mind."
"Uh, huh," he nodded thoughtfully, "So-" he said after a moment, "You simply assumed I didn't want to become a father?"
I gaped.
I couldn't believe this; Greg actually looked hurt.
"You…" I mumbled, "You want to-"
"Well," he shrugged, "There's something called adoption, you know."
"Yes, but-" I hesitated, "Well," I mumbled, "If you… I mean, if you really-"
He burst into laughter.
"Aw, man," he said, "Are you trying to say that you could change your mind?"
I was not! I opened my mouth to deny this, but didn't say anything in the end. My so-called bland façade was lying all around me, pulverized by emotions I hadn't been able to hold back.
But Greg –oh, he was enjoying himself immensely.
"Oh, man, I wish you could look at yourself right now." He chuckled. "Hey," he added, reaching for my hand and patting it reassuringly, "Relax." he said tenderly, "I don't intend to become a dad any time soon. I mean, come on!" he smirked, "Taking care of you is a full-time job."
Oh. Good. That meant I could start to breathe again.
"You look relieved." He noticed.
"You have no idea;" I said breathlessly. Then I glared, "Don't do that again, ok? My heart won't take it one of these days."
"Don't worry," he said, "I'll always take care of your heart."
I held on to his hand for quite a while. I needed the reassurance.
"Grissom," he said and he paused until I looked up, "I'd really like to go to La Lumière."
"Greg-"
"Look," he interrupted, "Sara is my friend, and I'd like to be there for her." He said quietly. "You should be there, too." he added. He rubbed my hand with his thumb. "And if you feel the need to apologize to her…" he said pointedly, "Then this is your chance." He paused, "Just think it over, Ok?"
"Do I have a choice?" I asked dryly.
"Sure, you do." He said, giving my hand a final squeeze.
He rose from his seat and began to pile up the dirty dishes.
"Don't bother," I said, "I'll take care of them later."
"Nah, I'll do it." he said good-naturedly.
"But I was hoping you'd help me feed my cockroaches-"
"Hell, no," he winced, "Those are your kids. You take care of them."
"Wimp." I muttered and he snorted.
"Hey, I'm not a wimp," he said, "But I made this mess and I have to fix it. As for your pets-" He put both hands on the table and leant forward, "Next time you invite me over, I'll change their diapers and feed them." He quipped, "I promise."
I smiled. I liked the fact that he was talking about a next time.
Resigned to the fact that he was not going to help, I went outside. I fed my pets and cleaned up their cages and for an hour my attention was completely focused on them. Once I finished my chores, however, it was time to face my new dilemma. A new decision was expected of me and I still didn't know what to do. The idea of facing Sara disturbed me. It didn't matter that she had known all about Greg and me for a year -I hadn't been aware of this, and I wished Greg hadn't told me.
I sighed. It was at times like this that I questioned the wisdom of entering a relationship. It pissed me off to feel vulnerable, insecure, and –why not admit it?- foolish. I mean, I'm a smart man; all my life I've relied on knowledge and science to get ahead and I've done pretty good. Cases may baffle me at first, but I know what to do to find the answers.
But when relationships and feelings baffle me, there is not one book I can turn to.It's frustrating.
I still hadn't decided what to do when I went back inside the house.
Greg had done a great clean up job in the kitchen. He was still there, putting the pans back in the cupboards and muttering something to himself.
I smiled as I watched him. It suddenly occurred to me that, baffled or not, I'd been having fun since we started this relationship.
I walked until I was standing just behind him.
"Hey," I greeted huskily.
"How the hell do you manage to get these inside?" he asked impatiently, "I can't make them fit-"
"That's ok." I said, "Leave them and I'll-"
"No way," he interrupted, "I said I'd return everything to its place, and that's what I'm gonna do!"
He was determined, and I knew better than to interrupt him.
I needed a shower, anyway.
But when I returned to the kitchen ten minutes later and found him in the same position I'd let him before, I knew it was time to intervene. I brought the box of chocolates he gave me and waved it in front of his eyes to entice him away.
Response: A distracted, "Thanks, but I've got to finish this." And he turned his attention back to the cupboard and the photo he'd taken with his cell phone.
I playfully kissed his stubbly cheek.
Response: An exasperated "Do you mind?" followed by a mutter, "I don't get it. For some reason I can't make all the pans fit. I must be doing something wrong, but-" and he forgot all about me.
Crestfallen, I returned to my room to get dressed.
I was about to take off my bathrobe when I looked at the unmade bed.
And I smiled.
I walked out of my room and stood in the hallway.
"Hey, Sanders?" I called out, "You finished there?"
"Not yet!"
"Well, what are you going to do about the mess in the bed?" I asked sternly.
"What mess?" he asked incredulously.
"Come down and see for yourself!"
He immediately abandoned his task in the kitchen –just as I knew he would- and by the way he stomped down the hallway, I could tell he was in a combative mood.
"What is it?" he asked as he entered the bedroom, "Well?" he asked as he looked at the bed, "It's unmade -big deal! There's no mess in here-"
"Well," I interrupted calmly, "Shouldn't we making up one?"
Greg winced and for a few seconds he only stood there, with his mouth open, hesitating between one word and the next. But whatever words he had planned to say, they died away. He closed his mouth with a snap, and then he rolled his eyes.
"You tricked me." He said, smiling reluctantly.
I nodded.
"I love you." I said, and I took a step closer. "Shall I count the ways?"
He snorted.
"Nah," he said, "Just show me."
***
"Give me a truffle, will you?"I pretended not to hear. I didn't want to move; I was too comfortable, lying on top of him, with my head resting on his flat belly and my arms wrapped around his thighs.
"Hey, Grissom?" he said softly.
I didn't stir. If he wanted a chocolate, then he would have to get up and get it himself.
Of course, to get up he'd have to make me move off him first... And that was going to be difficult.
But he knew that already, and that's why he played dirty.
"Hey," he said, gently touching my shoulder, "Are you awake, baby?"
Oh, that damn word. I melt faster than chocolate whenever he uses it.
I tried to resist.
"Those are my chocolates, you know." I mumbled.
"If you didn't want to share, then you shouldn't have opened the box." He said cheekily, "I warned you, remember?"
I moved just enough to glare at him, but my heart wasn't in it. He was right after all; he had warned me.
Resignedly, I crawled to the edge of the bed and reached for the box. We'd been sampling truffles between naps, and we'd already finished off the top layer. Even our bed smelled of chocolate now.
That thought made me pause. Our bed? I couldn't believe I was thinking in those terms.
I shook my head and he noticed.
"What?" he frowned.
"Nothing," I muttered, "Just thinking."
"That's a bad sign." He mumbled.
"Here," I said, pushing the box towards him, "Take one," I said, and before he touched it, I added, "And I mean it, Greg. One."
"Man, you're so selfish," he muttered as he looked into the box.
"Hey, I'm only trying to keep the sheets clean."
"It's too late for that," he quipped.
He was right. We were lying on a relatively clean corner of the bed, but the rest was damp and rumpled. I didn't mind.
"Are you finished, yet?" I prompted him.
"Don't rush me," he glared, "This is the last one, so I have to choose one I like." He paused, "They all look good."
"Here," I said, picking a truffle and tossing it to him. He frantically caught it in the air.
I put the box back on the table and resumed my former position, only this time I held him more tightly.
"Mmmmh, it's an orange crème-" he mumbled as he munched on the truffle. "Hey," he said after a while, "This is great, isn't it? Eating in bed, I mean. It's sooo decadent."
I looked up and watched as he licked his fingers.
"Maybe we should always keep some food around," he said, "You know, grapes, little cubes of cheese, wine, truffles-"
"Some BBQ sauce-"I suggested.
He snorted.
"Ugh," he glared, "That doesn't sound appetizing."
"I've heard it goes well with ribs," I said, and before he knew what was happening, I dug my fingers into his ribs and tickled him.
"Shit!" Greg gasped, and then burst into involuntary laughter.
"Oh, yeah," I cried trimphantly, "I like these ribs-"
Greg squirmed under me and managed to push my hands away.
"Don't do that, Grissom!" He warned, "I mean it, ok? I'm very ticklish, and-"
"Good," I retorted, "Thanks for the information!" I added, launching a more serious attack on his ribs and belly. Greg is pretty strong and tried to push me off him, but he was no match. Let's just say I outweighed him a little.
But he was smart and sneaky; he realized he couldn't get me off, so instead he did something more vicious: he tickled me just as hard. The tickling promptly degenerated into wrestling, and after an even match, we ended up lying side by side, exhausted and breathless from laughing so much.
"Ew," I chuckled, "You drooled chocolate all over yourself."
He quickly wiped hismouth with the back of his hand.
"It was your fault!" He protested indignantly.
"No, it wasn't-"
"Hey, you started the fight, remember?" he said, and then he shook his head, "You're like a kid, sometimes-"
"I wish," I muttered unguardedly.
He looked curiously at me.
"You do?" he asked.
Oh, crap. This wasn't the kind of thing I intented to admit in front of him.
Greg turned and put his arm under his head to better look at me.
"Do you wish you were younger?"
"Sometimes," I said reluctantly, "Just like everbody, I guess." I paused, "Not that I'd like to be thirty again-" I added.
"What's wrong with being thirty?" he smiled. He was turning thirty this year (as he kept reminding me; I had the feeling he was expecting a big gift from me.)
"There's nothing wrong." I said. I just didn't have good memories from that time. I looked at Greg, "Would you like to be eighteen again?"
He snorted. "Nooo, thank you."
"See?"
Greg smiled and then he looked at the ceiling.
"I can't imagine a younger you." he said after a moment, "I feel like this is who you were meant to be from the beginning: Gil Grissom, age fifty."
I gaped. What a nice thing to say.
I didn't even point out that I was fifty-two, not fifty. If he wanted to think I was younger, why should I contradict him?
"Do you have any pictures, Grissom?"
"Pictures of what?"
"What do you mean, pictures of what?" he smiled, "Family pictures, of course." He said, "Vacation pictures, graduation pictures... You know, the kind that you put in an album." He looked at me, "I'd like to know more about you." He said, "And no, I'm not talking about your work as a criminalist." he warned, "I'm talking about your history. I'd like to see pictures of your mom and dad, uncles and aunts-" he smiled, "Embarrassing pictures of you taking someone to the prom or playing naked in a backyard pool." He glanced around, "I'd bet somewhere in this house there are naked-baby pictures of you, waiting to be discovered." he looked at me, "I hope you let me see them some day."
Ha. Good luck with that. I didn't intend to let him see my pictures. I had several albums, by the way; they were well cared for and neatly labeled, but I never let anyone near them.
"That reminds me," He said, "You haven't shown me the rest of the house."
I wasn't too keen on that now. If I gave him a tour of my home, he was going to notice the absence of family pictures in the rooms, and that was only going to make him more curious about them.
Greg was looking expectantly at me.
"We'll do that next time." I offered.
I had the feeling that I was letting him down, so I chose that moment to tell him that I wanted to go to Robin's party.
He was surprised.
"You do?"
"Yeah."
"Ok," he said slowly, "Good. I'll help you choose your outfit." He said, eyeing the closet at the far end of the room, "I can't wait to take a look at your wardrobe, baby."
Oh.
***
We got late to Robin's party and it was Mr. Vain's fault; not only had he taken too long to fix his hair to a spiky perfection, he'd also fussed over me and my clothes -but he'd managed to make me look good, so no, I wasn't complaining.Robin's place was packed, and Greg and me got separated as soon as we walked in. He was quickly engulfed by his closest friends, and I was left behind to fend for myself. I felt a tinge of apprehension. I don't interact well with large groups of people –except when I'm with my own kind: entomologists, criminalists, and (let's face it) just plain weirdoes.
I was nodding here and there, when Robin came to my rescue. Soon I found myself sitting at the far end of the living room, surrounded by her closest friends, some of whom I'd met before. We had a lot in common: We were members of the older generation, we didn't dance, and most of us had younger partners who did. From our corner we could talk, see the dancing couples, and enjoy the music.
From there, I could keep an eye on Greg, too.
That morning I'd vowed not to succumb to jealousy, no matter what happened. Not even if Pete insisted on introducing his cousin to Greg (it was the first thing he did, by the way); not even if Dennis arrived at the party and immediately set to play the role of 'lonely ex-boyfriend' (which is exactly what he did), and not even if Greg set out to dance with everyone in sight.
Greg didn't dance right away, but only because he had work to do: First he prepared the punch he was so famous for, and then he took over as bartender while Pete took a break. Greg enjoyed both tasks; he made a big show out of everything he did, even something simple, like opening a bottle of beer for a friend.
He also made cracks about serving his punch 'shaken not stirred,' and although I could only read his lips, I knew he was doing his Sean Connery impression.
I had a great time watching Greg do all this, but there was also a downside to it: I got to see him greet his friends – girls and boys- with a kiss on the cheek. I winced every time he did it, but I'd promised myself I'd behave and I did. By the time he started to dance, I'd already numbed myself.
Actually, it was only when Dennis was around that I really paid attention. Dennis' behavior intrigued me. He was drinking more than he should; he butted into Greg's conversations, and when that failed, he simply steered Greg away from his friends. Then someone would take Greg back to one group or another and the game would begin again. He would also touch Greg, (even when they were not dancing); but he kept his touches casual and good-buddy like, nothing serious as far as I could tell (nothing that could be upheld in court, at least), so I kept quiet.
Apart from watching Greg, I was also studying Greg's gay friends. I've observed people's behavior all my life -single people, couples, entire families- without feeling any kind of involvement, but now I belonged to a new group and I had a new label: Not weirdo, but queer. I'd observed gay perps and gay victims before, but this was a chance to see gay men interact in a social gathering, and I was curious.
It was interesting –and funny. Like most people, their behavior changed once they were in a group. Just as straight guys suddenly try to out-macho one another when they're in a group, so were these guys acting out –the bigger the group, the gayer they became.
I didn't think much of it until I heard them playfully call one another 'bitch' and refer to their male friends as 'she'. It was just a ritual, but it got me wondering. It also gave me the perfect excuse to go looking for Greg.
I found him by the buffet table. He was fixing himself a sandwich. I stood just behind him and whispered, "I hope you didn't put any onions on that."
He turned and smiled.
"Hey," he said, "Have you eaten?"
"A couple of Swedish meatballs and lots of pretzels." I said. "I liked your punch, by the way."
"Really? Great." he seemed genuinely pleased. "So," he said, glancing around, "What do you think? Do you like the party?"
"It's ok." I said. It was noisy, the music was repetitive and loud, couples around us were moving frantically, and I still didn't understand why Robin needed to do this so often. But yeah, it was ok. "The decorations remind me of Loving Bear Donuts." I added. Indeed, Robin had decorated everything with red hearts –from the windows to the tiniest toothpick- only instead of paper, hers were made of satin and velvet.
"Are you having fun?" he asked, "I saw you hitting it off with Robin's inner circle."
"They're ok." I said, "I appreciate the way they try not to ask me about my job."
Greg carefully picked up his sandwich.
"Want some of this?" he asked, offering me the first bite. I bit into a corner, which was all I could manage since the sandwich had too many layers of ham, cheese, turkey, and veggies. In fact, it was so thick, it reminded me of one of the characters in Greg's old comic books. He and his sisters had been avid readers of comics and Greg had inherited them all. I'd been browsing through the piles he kept at his place; the one I was thinking of was this guy who fixed huge sandwiches.
"That looks like something fixed by Dagwood." I said.
He smiled mischievously.
"Would that make you my Blondie?" he teased before biting into his sandwich.
"That reminds me," I said, "Some of your gay friends were calling each other by female names."
"Uh, huh?"
"You don't have a female name for me, do you?"
He almost choked.
"No, I don't." he chuckled. "Why? Do you want one?"
"No," I glared.
He laughed.
"It's ok." He said, "You don't need one to belong."
I smiled at him and rubbed his face with my thumb. He hadn't shaved for the party and his jaw felt heavenly. He smiled knowingly.
"You have a thing for my stubble, don't you?"
"I do not." I lied indignantly, letting my hand slid down to his neck. I let it rest there.
He took a big bite out of his sandwich and chewed earnestly, showing his delight with exaggerated noises that sounded almost orgasmic.
"Mmmmh, mmmmh," he hummed, sounding just like he did when we had sex. I gulped. He was turning me on and he knew it. I narrowed my eyes as a warning; it wasn't the right place or time to taunt me like that. But he simply shrugged, "Hey, it's a great sandwich. Mmmh, mmmh."
I shook my head.
"You're so bad." I said affectionately. I leant forward and pressed my cheek against his. He smelled good. He was wearing a new scent and I immediately approved; it was woodsy and clean; not like that citrus mess he used to wear, the one that made me sneeze-
"People are watching." He said huskily.
I opened my eyes. I was holding him in my arms, something I'd never done in public. I pulled back to look at him.
"Hey, it's ok." He said, "We're with friends." He leant forward to peck my lips.
He tasted of mustard.
"Mmmmh, Grey Poupon." I mumbled.
"Oooh, you're speaking French," he teased. "That's such a huge turn on-"
"Is it?" I asked. "That's good to know." I paused, "Tu est très beau." I said.
"Wow. Go on." He said before taking another bite of his sandwich.
"Je t'aime," I said, and then I frantically searched for every French word I knew, "Faux pas, Vendredi, Mercredi, Dimanche-"
He chuckled. He put his sandwich back on the table and focused his whole attention on me. He touched the lapel of my leather jacket. He fondled it, actually.
"You look good."
"So I've been told." I said. "The jacket was a success, by the way." I admitted. He had insisted that I wear it. He had raided my wardrobe for something fashionable to wear at the party and had come out with the leather jacket and the blue shirt he'd given me for Christmas. I hadn't been too enthusiastic about the jacket –it was dressier than I was used to wear, but he had insisted, and well, he had been right –I looked ok in it.
"I told you." He said smugly. He took hold of both lapels and caressed them –and me.
"You have a thing for leather, don't you?"
"Oh, yeah," he admitted, pulling me closer. "Wanna dance?"
"I haven't danced in public since I stepped on a cousin's foot," I said ruefully.
He chuckled.
"You know I can take it." He said.
But we didn't dance; we simply stood close together, with our cheeks touching –an island of quiet in the middle of a chaotic dancing crowd.
"I like this," he muttered, as he slid his hands under my jacket, "I mean, I'm all for discretion, but there's something about being affectionate in public-" he paused.
"It's a chance to show off," I said. It was, at least for me. I knew I was the object of envy from some of Greg's friends. Envy and puzzlement: Every time we met, the look in their faces said it all: 'You are Gil?' 'You are dating Greg?'
Most of them didn't understand our relationship, either. They assumed that we had a sort of teacher-pupil relationship, where I was the teacher and Greg, the pupil. But it wasn't so. Most of the time, he was the guide and I was the one who followed. It was cozy for me to have someone taking the lead. Cozy and reassuring.
I felt his hands move from my back down to my butt. I smiled to myself. Suddenly, I felt like bragging – Hey, take a look at us, boys and girls.
Greg pulled back to look at me.
"Hey," he said, "I was talking to Robin about our date tomorrow. She says there's a Deli section at La Lumière; so I was thinking, since Sara and Warrick are footing the bill for our meal, maybe we could get them something," he said earnestly, "A bottle of champagne and strawberries sound good, right? Or maybe a basket of fresh fruit. What do you think?"
Waaait a minute… I didn't say I wanted to go to La Lumière.
Greg stiffened when he noticed my hesitation. He knew what it meant.
He gradually released the hold he'd had on me.
"You're not coming." He said.
"Greg-"
He took a step back, as if he needed the distance to better look at me. There was an incredulous look on his face that was quickly replaced by one of anger.
"Damn it, Grissom," he hissed.
His reaction took me by surprise.
"Hey," I said, "You said I had a choice-"
"Yeah, but only because I thought you'd make the right choice!" he retorted, "I mean, come on! Do you really think you can keep ignoring this?"
Well, yeah; I was hoping I could.
"Greg," I said slowly, "I know you mean well, but this is between Sara and me."
He looked at me, long enough for his anger to turn into disappointment.
"You're wrong," He said. "It involves me, too; it involves Warrick."
He waited for me to say something, but all I could do was gaze back in silence.
The tension was palpable and for a moment I had the impression that time had stopped and we were the center of everybody's attention. It wasn't like that, of course; couples around us continued talking and dancing, completely oblivious to us. But then, we weren't the first to have a fight at the party; I'd already witnessed several outbursts of bickering here and there.
I just never thought it would happen to Greg and me too.
"You've got to think about this, Grissom." He said, and then he turned away and went back to his friends.
In a daze, I returned to my seat and to Robin's friends. We avoided each other after that. He was pissed off, and I had nothing to say –nothing that would placate him, anyway.
Why couldn't he understand that I couldn't do this? Talk to Sara, that is. I mean, I could speak to her and I already had, the night before. We'd met at a crime scene and we acted as if nothing had changed between us; not once did she mention lunch or La Lumiere, and not once did I tell her that I knew that she knew all about me now. We worked side by side, in harmony.
But that was only because we were working; she has such a deep respect for her job –and me- that this new knowledge we had of each other would not interfere at all. But if we stepped out of the lab and went to a fancy restaurant… well, then we'd have to talk, and we'd surely end up hurting each other. I didn't want to hurt her.
But deep down, I knew I'd already had.
I just didn't want to know for sure.
We were supposed to stay for dinner, but now I couldn't wait to get away. I needed to go to the one place where I knew where I stood, no matter what. The lab.
I was thinking of this and listening half-heartedly to Robin, when Greg came over.
"Hey," he whispered, "I need to talk to you."
'Oh, crap', I thought. 'What now? '
I followed him to a corner. I was frantically thinking of something to say, but he beat me to it.
"Grissom," He said, "Can I have your car keys? I need to take Dennis home."
'Whaaaaat?'
"What?" I asked aloud, "Why?"
"He drank too much," Greg said ruefully, "He can't drive like this-"
"So, call him a taxi." I said uncharitably.
Fortunately for me, Greg thought I was joking.
"I can't do that," He chuckled, "If I put him in a taxi or if I drive him in his own car, he'll simply continue the party somewhere else. I need to make sure that he gets home and stays there."
He had to be joking.
"Greg," I started, "You're not his babysitter-"
"I know," He said patiently, "But he's in really bad shape, Grissom. I can't let him leave alone." He glanced at a point behind me, and I turned. Dennis was there, leaning against the door and looking appropriately wasted.
And suddenly, I realized I'd underestimated Dennis. He had been drinking steadily since he came to the party and he'd been eyeing Greg with a sad expression all along. I'd dismissed these actions as pathetic, and only now I realized they were anything but. He had simply been playing a part. He'd looked lost and lonely –a tragic figure. It was a masterful performance, fit for an opera.
I could even imagine the marquee: Dennis the Psychologist plays Pagliaci
Well, I wasn't buying it.
"Any of these guys could take care of him, Greg."
"They're not his friends, you know that," he said patiently, "Look," he added, lowering his voice, "The truth is, Dennis is feeling a bit lost right now, ok? He's sort of depressed, and-"
"Well, if he is, then he should know how to handle it," I said irritably, "He's a psychologist-"
"I know-" he interjected.
"I mean, what kind of therapist is this guy?"
"Actually, he's quite good," Greg said dryly, "He has great insight where others are concerned." He paused, and then he looked pointedly at me. "He's just clueless about himself."
Uh? I frowned. Was he suggesting something…?
I refused to examine that thought. I was more concerned about not letting those two alone, so I tried to compromise.
"Ok." I said, searching for my keys, "We'll take him home, then. I'll drive."
"Hum." Greg hesitated. "Actually, it would be better if you didn't come."
I froze.
"Why?"
"Because-" he started and then he paused.
I looked closely at him, waiting for an explanation.
"Look, it's my fault." he said, "I dragged you here, and, well- Dennis didn't expect to see us together today. He, hum, isn't handling it very well, and-"
I gave him a look of incredulity.
"Greg, you can't possibly feel responsible for-"
"Maybe not," he interrupted, "But he's hurting, Grissom; I have to do something about it." He said firmly.
"It's not your fault-"
"That's not the point," he said, and then he lowered his voice, "Look. I can't pretend none of this is happening, Grissom." He said slowly, "I can't just cross my arms and hope that things will get better or that they will go away, like you do."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
It was his turn to look incredulously at me.
"You know," he said, "Sometimes it's cute, the way you seem to go through life, clueless about everyone and everything," he paused, "But sometimes it's not so cute-"
"Oh, I am clueless?" I retorted, "What about you? Dennis is manipulating you and you don't see it!"
Uh, oh. I don't know much about relationships, but by the look in his face, I realized that badmouthing a former lover was a bad idea.
Greg visibly forced himself to speak calmly.
"Look," he said, "I just want to take him home. I'll be back in half an hour-"
"You don't see what he's doing?" I insisted.
"He needs me, Grissom."
Greg really believed what he was saying.
Dennis was winning, and I thought I knew what he was going to do next. He was going to have a little talk with Greg –similar to the one he'd have with me, only this time it would be about me.
I wondered whether Greg would resent him for badmouthing me.
And then a sudden thought occurred to me; a thought that explained why everybody seemed to dislike Dennis so much: He had talked to all of them, Greg's boys and girls, and he had pointed out their flaws until they felt they weren't good enough for Greg.
And when that failed, he'd simply played the part of the lonely ex.
"He's done this before, hasn't he?" I whispered. "Whenever you find someone, he does everything possible to get you back. All he needs to do is act like a little kid lost, and you come to the rescue. It's emotional blackmail, Greg."
He stared at me for a moment.
"Whatever." He said softly. "The point is that right now he needs me more than you do." He looked down at my hand, "Can I have your car keys?"
I wanted to say no, but it suddenly occurred to me that saying 'no' was what had got me into all this trouble. I should have offered to go to lunch, I should have-
A brilliant thought came to me then: 'Maybe if I promised to go to La Lumière, he would feel compelled to stay with me-' but the voice of reason immediately intervened: 'Oh, nice, Grissom.' I thought. 'You're willing to use blackmail too.'
"Can I have your keys?" he repeated softly, interrupting my thoughts.
They were dangling from my fingers, but I couldn't just hand them.
"Do you need him more than you need me?" I asked.
Greg winced but didn't answer. He gently pried my fingers open and took my car keys. That's what he needed.
After that I didn't think I could stay at the party, and I mechanically said my goodbyes to Robin and her friends. I didn't give many explanations, and by the look on Robin's face, it was clear she knew what had happened. She gently patted my arm and gave me a Tupperware container.
"Here's dinner." She said. "And hey, I'll talk to him," she added. I vaguely nodded, but I didn't stop to ask what she meant by that. I just wanted to leave.
I wasn't in a hurry, so I took the stairs instead of the elevator.
I did my best not to think of Greg and Dennis, driving away together.
To distract myself, I started counting the things I needed to do before driving to the lab. First, I had to go home to change clothes -it wouldn't do to walk into CSI quarters, ostensibly looking as if I'd just been to a party, right? After that, I had to pick up a couple of books that I'd ordered -my belated gift for Greg-
I stopped in mid-step. I didn't want to face the possibility, but... what if Greg didn't come back? Yes, he would come back –he was driving my car, after all- but what if he decided not to come back? What the hell was I going to do? I had grown so used to our relationship - what were the words I'd used earlier? Ah, yes. Cozy and reassuring.
I couldn't imagine not having that in my life.
I almost laughed at myself then. Back when we started this relationship, I'd promised myself not to expect more than I reasonably should. At the time, I was so sure we would not last more than a few months, that all I hoped was that our working relationship would survive. I thought I'd be prepared for a break up. I was sure I'd accept it and move on…
I would have laughed, but the possibility of a break up hurt too much.
I left the building. The sun was fading away, but the street lights supplied enough glare to make me squint a little. I looked to my right and to my left, but there was no sign of Greg yet.
I glanced at the parking lot, mostly because there was nothing else to look at... and did a double take. I started walking towards it, not sure of what I was seeing, but hoping that it wasn't just my brain (or my heart) playing tricks on me. For there, in the same space I'd left it earlier in the evening, was my car. And Greg was there, too.
He was sitting on the passenger seat, and he seemed to be lost in thought.
He looked up when he heard my steps.
"I put him in a taxi." He said.
***
"I put him in a taxi."Yes! I wanted to jump and raise my fist high in triumph but I held back as soon as I saw the gloomy look on his face; he was clearly not in the mood for a celebration.
I acknowledged his words with a mere nod.
"Here," I said, handing him the Tupperware container, "Robin asked me to give you this."
He took it and muttered his thanks.
I walked around the car and took a deep breath before I got in.
I had braced myself for a fight, but to my surprise, he didn't say anything. In fact, he didn't even glance at me.
I studied him surreptitiously. He was leaning against the passenger door, staring at the opposite wall as if it held some important message. There was nothing there, though; nothing except some graffiti - 'Mueran Salvatruchas!' - written in surprisingly beautiful letters by some gang member with a knack for calligraphy.
Silence rarely bothers me but this time it did; Greg had never used silence to make a point -on the contrary: words are his forte.
Seeing him like this was disturbing to say the least. I wanted to say something or do something about it, but I didn't know what.
It was at times like these that I regretted the way I'd lived my life; I had a profession –several, actually- and I had acquired knowledge, but I'd never learned to deal with people on a personal basis.
I knew very little about love and relationships. I' d read extensively about both in order to understand people who committed crimes of passion, but no textbook had prepared me for this.
Relationships were confusing and exhausting.
The silence got to me after a moment. On an impulse, I turned on the radio, hoping to get some distraction from the news. Unfortunately, what I heard first was an old song:
And it's too late, baby, now it's too late
Though we really did try to make it
Something inside has died and I can't hide it I just can't fake it-
Uh, oh.
I tried another radio station:
We've been through this such a long, long time
Just tryin' to kill the pain
But lovers always come and lovers always go
And no one's really sure who's lettin' go today
Walking away
Was fate trying to tell me something?
I turned off the radio and glanced at Greg again. I couldn't read the expression on his face; he wasn't angry –a feeling I could have easily dealt with- but he wasn't sad either. The more I studied his face, the more I realized that he looked resigned; he looked almost as if-
As if he had reached some decision and was at peace with it.
Oh, no.
I could imagine what that decision was.
I mean, we'd been threading on shaky ground these past two weeks but Robin's party had finally highlighted the differences between us: He liked parties and noise and I did not; he believed in talking things over and I did not. Just as I'd questioned myself for entering a relationship I was ill-equipped to deal with, so had he probably questioned himself for getting involved with me.
Maybe we'd simply reached a point where we needed to go back to our old lives. I knew I missed mine. Back then, silences had been a source of comfort, and I'd been able to close the door on the world without having to worry about someone else's feelings. The idea of going back to that life appealed to me.
Suddenly, the idea of a break up didn't seem so tragic-
I stopped that line of thought; I was surprised at how calmly I was taking the possibility that I might lose Greg. It was hard to believe that after my earlier angst and after all I'd done to keep this relationship going (I'd taken him into my home and I'd sung to him, for God's sake!) I was ready to throw in the towel.
Could it be that my feelings for him weren't as strong as I'd thought before?
Or maybe I was simply doing what I did every time I was confronted with an emotional situation: Put a distance between myself and the source of pain. I had done it so many times that I easily got to a point where I felt nothing.
Or almost nothing: I was vaguely aware of a piercing pain in the middle of my chest.
But that could have been anything, from unbearable sadness, to the beginnings of a massive heart attack. Oddly, neither possibility worried me much. It was as if all this was happening to somebody else, not me.
Maybe Dennis was right; maybe I was only a mere spectator of my own life.
Thinking of Dennis gave me an opening.
"So," I said, "What happened to Dennis?"
Greg glanced at me.
"Nothing," He said evenly. Then he added, "He wasn't that drunk."
Ha, I knew it! Dennis the psychologist had been playing a part all along!
But my sense of triumph was short-lived. After all, I knew that he'd been playing a part, but Greg didn't. To him, Dennis was a friend in need. Just because he had put him in a taxi didn't mean he didn't care.
"You were right," he said after a brief pause. "About Dennis, I mean." he added reluctantly, "He was putting on an act and I fell for it. Talk about being clueless, huh?" he added with a mirthless chuckle.
Before I could make a comment, he continued.
"'Emotional Blackmail'" he recited, "Nice phrase, Grissom." He said, glancing at me. "You made it sound like he's been manipulating my feelings-"
"He has." I retorted.
He held my gaze for a moment and then he looked away.
"I guess," he conceded, "I never saw it that way," he added thoughtfully. "To me, he was simply being Dennis."
"You mean, he was being obnoxious." I muttered.
He chuckled.
"Yeah, I guess that would be the right word."
His light response irritated me.
"Doesn't it bother you that this guy interfered with your relationships?"
"No." he said. "Look," he added when he noticed that I wasn't convinced, "The truth is, I was glad that he interfered."
"I don't believe that."
He snorted softly.
"I didn't believe it either," he said, "But I've been sitting here, thinking about it, and I've discovered some things about myself, Grissom." he said quietly, "You see, all these years I depended on Dennis to get me out of trouble. Every time a relationship of mine went wrong, Dennis was there, providing me with an easy way out."
He glanced at me, "He really had a knack for intervening at the right moment." He said, "Sometimes I was in the middle of a fight and he would call, asking for help. He would be drunk or sick, or in some kind of trouble -it didn't matter; I was always glad that he called. Anything was better than facing an angry boyfriend." He added ruefully. "Maybe that's why my friends hate his guts." He added, as if the idea had just occurred to him.
As Warrick would have said, 'Gee, ya think?'
Greg's generous nature was his worst enemy sometimes. Dennis had probably engineered the fights with those guys, yet Greg never suspected, and he'd never believe it if I told him.
Or would he?
I was wondering whether to tell him, when he spoke again.
"He did it again today," He said, "Dennis knew we were having a fight, so he pretended to be completely helpless. He was giving me a chance to get away and I was only too glad to take it."
"But you didn't get away." I pointed out. "You even took my car keys to make sure you were coming back."
He looked at me.
"Yeah." He said after a moment. "It was a message to Dennis, I guess; a way of telling him I wouldn't stay with him this time. When he saw me walking to your car, he knew what it meant. He was pissed." he added, "We had a little argument, I got him a taxi-"
I had the feeling that it had been more than a 'little argument' but didn't say anything.
"-and now I feel guilty." He finished.
"Why?" I frowned.
"Because..." he hesitated, "Because he needs me more than I need him." He said at last. "And I feel kinda sorry for him."
I didn't believe 'sorry' was the right word.
"I asked you if you still loved him."
Greg was surprised by my words but didn't say anything.
"A week ago, remember?" I waited until he nodded almost imperceptibly, "You never really answered." I added.
I hadn't pointed this out before because I had the feeling that I was better off not knowing. But in my job I'd always championed truth above all else, and it was about time I did the same in my private life too.
It also seemed the right moment to do it, too; I still felt as if I was merely watching this scene unfold in front of my eyes. I was sure that nothing he said would hurt me.
"Just tell me." I said.
He looked at me for a moment.
"I don't love him." He said at last.
Oh. Good.
My hopes went up-
"But sometimes it's easier to be with people we don't love, Grissom." He added.
- my hopes went down.
Greg smiled bitterly.
"Dennis used to say that falling in love sucked-"
Nice guy.
"I always thought he only said it to piss me off, but he was right; love sucks sometimes."
Ok, that was enough.
"I don't get it, Greg." I said impatiently, "If you don't love this guy, then why are you mopping about him?"
"You think this is about Dennis?" he asked incredulously. "It's not, Grissom. This is about you."
I looked at him, hoping he would give me a clue on what was exactly bothering him, but he simply looked back.
"Greg..." I said, "I don't know what you want me to say-"
He snorted.
"Jeeze, Grissom; I don't want you to say anything." He retorted, "If you have something to say, just say it."
Well, when he put it like that- I couldn't think of anything.
Up until then Greg had kept an air of calm detachment that practically mirrored my own; but now he shifted in his seat and turned his full attention to me.
"Just tell me this," he said, "The reason why you don't want to have lunch with Warrick and Sara… Is it because you can't stand the idea of seeing her with another man?"
I hadn't seen that one coming.
I gaped.
Greg looked away, seemingly embarrassed by his emotional outburst.
"I'm pathetic, I know," he muttered morosely. "It sucks, Grissom," He sighed dejectedly, "I never cared this much about anyone, and now I'm acting all needy and possessive… and jealous-" He added, shaking his head in disgust.
I was too surprised to say anything.
He glanced at me.
"I raked my brains these past days, you know?" he said, more quietly now, "I kept wondering why you couldn't face Sara. I kept coming up with all kinds of reasons, but this one actually made sense." he took a deep breath. "And now I have a hell of a dilemma." he said softly, "I mean, I love you, but I love Sara, too. She's my best friend, Grissom." He added more firmly, "She's had a crappy life and she deserves a break. If you love her, then you should tell her."
He looked expectantly at me.
I stalled.
"You assumed all this just because I didn't want to go to La Lumière?"
"And you still don't understand why this is a big deal, do you?" he asked impatiently, "Grissom, for years you were the love of Sara's life. How do you think Warrick feels about that? Hell, how do you think I feel?"
"But I've been with you all this time." I protested.
Greg snorted skeptically.
"You're with me just because I was stubborn and didn't let go until you said yes." He retorted.
Uh, that was true.
"If Sara had tried a little longer or a little harder, you would be with her right now."
Not true. No, not true at all.
He turned earnestly to me.
"Did you ever do something like that, Grissom?" He asked, "Pursue someone despite being told time and time again that they didn't want you?"
That's what he had done; pursue me until I finally said yes.
He didn't wait for an answer.
"Did you practice in front of a mirror," he continued, "Planning what to say and how to say it, feeling a combination of joy and terror at the prospect of saying 'I love you' to someone for the first time?"
No, I'd never done anything like that.
The pain on my chest was spreading, spreading-
He spoke again, but in a softer tone.
"I guess you simply remained on the sidelines, watching as people you loved disappeared from your life. Maybe you didn't believe you could love them-" he said softly "Or maybe you didn't think you deserved to be loved. The fact remains- You never did anything." he paused, "You simply let life happen to you."
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly –very slowly, to ease the pain in my chest, but also to avoid having to speak.
All I could think of was that Greg knew me.
I didn't know if I could deal with that.
"You need to find out what you want, Grissom." he said quietly, "And do something for a change."
"I just want life to be simple again." I blurted out.
I just wanted to be a spectator of my life again. It was so much easier…
But I was bluffing. I knew it, and I guess Greg knew it too, despite the look of apprehension on his face.
I mean, who was I kidding? I liked this life too and it was all because of him.
Now, when I slept alone, I needed to hold onto a pillow to lull myself into believing he was with me. Even at work, I felt better when he was there -up to his elbows in blood, or grime, or even shit- making comments, surprising me with bits of information, or simply keeping a respectful silence.
I couldn't even go home and close the door on the world anymore; too late did I realize that I was doomed the minute I let him inside my home, my last sanctuary. I had stopped being a spectator of my own life the minute I said yes to him;that's what the pain in my chest was all about. The prospect of losing what I had -or what I thought belonged to me- was daunting,
I opened my mouth but fortunately, I didn't say anything. Otherwise, I would have babbled all sort of romantic mush that I would have regretted later.
It took me a while, but I finally found something safer to say.
"Do you remember those gingerbread cookies we baked after New Year's Eve?"
He was understandably puzzled by my question.
"What?" he asked.
"Do you remember?" I insisted.
"Yeah." he nodded, not sure of what that had to do with anything. We had spent an afternoon making a mess in his kitchen; we'd used his grandmother's cookie cutters and some leftover dough from his Christmas party. Later, we'd gorged on dozens of misshapen cookies.
I still smiled at the memory.
"You insisted on baking anatomically-correct gingerbread men." I said.
He chuckled.
"Ah, yes," he said, "I remember yours were especially well-hung."
"I'd never done anything like that in my life." I said. "I never told you this, but… I was glad," I said, "Glad that we were together, I mean. Happy," I added, as if it were a foreign word I'd never pronounced before.
"Ok," he said slowly.
"I love you." I said, and it sounded almost like an accusation. "I thought you knew that."
He nodded reluctantly.
"I did." He said quietly, "I do," he amended, "But I had my doubts." He looked at me. "Look," he said solemnly, "I love you, but there are other things that are just as important as love. Respect, for instance. We have to earn each other's respect, and for that we need to grow up, you and me. And Dennis, too," he added almost to himself. He looked at me, "I started today by not hiding behind Dennis anymore. Now it's your turn."
He looked expectantly at me, and to my own surprise, I started talking.
"I don't know what to say to her." I confessed.
He nodded.
"I mean," I continued, "I'm glad that she found Warrick, but I'm afraid that if I tell her, she'll think I'm just relieved, you know, as if Warrick had got her off my back. That's not how I feel."
"I know."
"I'm not proud of the way I handled my relationship with Sara." I admitted, "Telling her that I'm sorry' doesn't seem enough."
"Well… Sara's the most forgiving woman I've ever met, Grissom." He said, "She'll understand. If you feel guilty, then all you have to do is apologize."
Apologize? I'd never said yes to Sara, and I'd never said no either; I'd only kept her in a sort of limbo –just close enough to enjoy her friendship, but not so close that she could ever get to know me. To say that I owed her an apology was an understatement.
"She'll forgive anything, except your indifference, Grissom." He said.
He was right.
I took a deep breath and after a brief pause- I really needed a moment to gather the courage- I reached for my cell phone. I forced myself not to check on my messages; there was something more important I needed to do -dial Sara's number.
To my surprise, a male voice answered with a court, "What!"
"Warrick?" I frowned, "Is Sara there?" I paused while he angrily reminded me that it was her night off, "I know," I said apologetically –and a bit gleefully, too; I mean, how many times had he called just when I was starting to get cozy with Greg?
"Relax," I added to placate him, "I'm not going to ask her to come to the lab. I just need to talk to her." I waited until she answered, "Hey, Sara?" I said, as casually as I could, "Is that lunch invitation still standing?"
There was a brief moment of silence and then she answered – and I knew she was smiling widely when she did- "Yeah!"
I held the phone closer to my ear, "Thank you, Sara." I said gratefully, "We'll be there." I paused, "Oh, and Sara? It's your night off, so TURN OFF YOUR PHONE!"
I hung up and glanced at Greg. "Are you happy?" I glared.
"Yeah," he nodded casually, "I am." He looked closely at me, "Are you?"
I nodded reluctantly, and then I leant back on my seat and closed my eyes. The phone slipped from my fingers.
"Tired?" he asked.
Ha. Tired was not the word I had in mind. At least the pain in my chest had receded.
I shook my head almost imperceptibly.
Almost. He did notice.
"What?" he frowned.
"Nothing," I muttered, "I just..." I shook my head again, "I never thought I'd do something like this. Ever."
He was silent for a moment.
"You thought being with a guy would be easier than being with a woman." He said.
I looked up sharply.
He smiled faintly.
"You never thought a man would elicit deep feelings from you." He added.
He wasn't asking; he knew it was a fact.
I stared at him. I'd often wondered why I'd said yes to him of all people, and now there was my answer -and in just a few words. It was amazing. I looked at him with admiration, but with some discomfort, too. I mean, it stung to realize that while I was the older man in this relationship, he was wiser in many aspects.
If it was true that we both had to grow up, then I had a lot of catching up to do. As far as emotions went, I was really immature.
"So," he said after a moment, "This isn't what you expected, huh?"
I snorted. That was an understatement.
"I never thought I'd have to talk." I admitted morosely.
Greg smiled.
"You never thought you'd be celebrating Christmas and Valentine's Day-" he said, "You never thought you would be meeting your in-laws -"
"Or your ex-lovers," I added mournfully.
"Ah, poor baby." He commiserated. "You were conned, huh?"
He reached out and cupped my jaw, making me turn and look at him.
"If it's any comfort to you," he said, "I had my own preconceived ideas about you. But I'm glad to say you proved me wrong time and time again."
"Really?" I asked.
"Yeah… " he said, "For instance, I thought you'd be a clean freak who'd wash his hands immediately after handling my dick."
I snorted loudly.
"Yeah," he laughed, "I was sure you'd keep a stash of wet wipes close by." He said "Or that you would insist on bringing your own sheets." He rubbed my chin, "I thought you would insist on taking a shower immediately after having sex-"
"Well, I would if I didn't end up so exhausted." I said with a glare that didn't carry much conviction.
I covered his hand with mine and held it against my face for a moment. Then I kissed his palm.
"I had my own preconceived ideas about you too." I said, holding his hand in mine.
"Did you?"
"Yeah. I thought you'd be more respectful." I said, "I mean, you keep forgetting that I'm your boss."
He lost his smile and froze. He looked horrified.
"Grissom, I just-"
"And I like that." I interrupted.
"You do?"
"Yeah."
He smiled –the bashful smile that melts me time and time again. I looked away momentarily; I didn't want him to notice the effect it had on me. Instead, I tried to joke.
"Love sucks, Greg?"
He rolled his eyes.
"You're not gonnalet me forget I said that, are you?" he sighed.
"It sounds like the title for a punk love song." I teased, "In fact, it sounds like an old song from the seventies," I added, and I sang plaintively:
Love hurts, Love scars, Love wounds and mars-
Love is like a cloud, it holds a lot of rain
Love hurts, Ooo-oo Love hurts
He scoffed.
"Hey, if you're going to quote me a song, at least use one from this century."
He'd teased me about my age now and then and I had always laughed along with him, but that day it stung a little.
I didn't say anything. Instead, I idly examined his fingers. I liked them; they were long and graceful, and oh, so capable. They did magic in the lab -and everywhere else. I rubbed one of the little patches of scarred tissue that marred several of his fingers, souvenirs from his days as a lab technician, when despite every precaution he'd suffered burns while handling acids and other dangerous substances.
"You know," I said without looking up, "I'm really not the best thing that could happen to you."
His hand had lain motionless in mine, but now his fingers curled up around mine and squeezed.
"You're doing fine, Grissom." He said. "Really."
"I'm too settled on my ways, perhaps," I mused aloud, "I don't know if I'll ever be able to really open up-"
"I know," he interrupted, and then he added, with an insight that spooked me a little, "You don't have to tell me everything about yourself, Grissom. You don't have to open every door in your home for me-"
What a relief; that was exactly what I needed to hear.
We held hands for a while, too emotionally drained to do anything else.
"So, what do we do now?" he asked after a moment.
"We have to go home and change." I said distractedly.
"I'm talking about tomorrow, Grissom."
I frowned. I thought it was already settled.
"We'll have lunch with Warrick and Sara." I said, "We'll buy them a basket at the deli, and then..." I paused, and then I added as casually as I could. "And then I'll give you your Valentine's Day gift."
He perked up.
"You got me something? What is it?" he asked, glancing at the back seat, as if I had stashed the gift there. "I hope it's something leathery for my toy box-" he added, deliberately bating me.
I glared.
"I'm not getting you any kinky stuff."
"Aw, come on-"
"Hey, I have to think of my own health too, you know. I'm not putting myself at risk just so you can play sick games."
"My games aren't sick." he said with as much dignity as he could muster.
I rolled my eyes and was about to make a joke about Greg's toys, when I realized there was a discussion we hadn't finished.
"What about Dennis?"
"Dennis?" he frowned, as if he'd never heard the name before.
"Yeah, the psychologist." I said dryly. "Will you ever tell me why this guy is so important to you?"
"Jeeze, Grissom, I already explained-"
"No, you didn't."
He looked at me with some indecision.
"Well..." he started, "He's always been around-"
"That's what you always say." I interrupted.
Greg looked at me.
"Ok," he said slowly, "I'll tell you the whole story, then." He paused, "We met in College." He started.
"I already knew that."
"Well, you probably didn't know that he was the coolest guy on campus," he said, "He was good-looking, he was smart, he was at the top of his class -"
Translation: Greg had had a crush on him from the start.
Maybe I didn't want to hear this.
"I knew Dennis," he continued, "Even though he was a couple of years ahead and we didn't take any classes together. But then, he was hard to miss." He added, with a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes that irritated me.
Translation: Greg had had a huge crush on him.
"One night he came to the chess club," Greg said, "We were playing against UCLA. I was the team's captain, and-"
"And he noticed you." I interrupted.
"No, not then," he said, smiling, "I was a nerd, Grissom."
"Weren't we all." I muttered.
"Oh, no; believe me, I was the poster kid for Nerds in America." Greg insisted. He lowered his voice, "I was also a virgin." He said, "Apparently, the only virgin kid on campus," he added, smiling self-deprecatingly, "I mean, everyone was having fun but me. Nobody seemed interested, until Dennis came along."
Oh.
So, Dennis was the first.
Funny; I'd never even wondered or cared about Greg's first lover's identity. Now that I knew, I had yet another reason to hate Dennis.
"Boy, was I flattered." Greg muttered, almost to himself.
There was another piece to the Dennis puzzle. Dennis had saved Greg from freakhood, and for that, Greg would always be grateful. Little by little the full picture was coming together.
"There were times when he was the only person I could count on, you know?" Greg said, "I mean, apart from my family. Being with Dennis was like having a friend, a boyfriend and a therapist, all rolled up in one."
I'd already had a sample of Dennis' therapy techniques, so I didn't find those words reassuring. At the very least, he had made it seem like he was the one constant in Greg's life, while the very opposite was true.
"This guy cheated on you." I said. "Yet you act as if you owed him something."
"Well... I do, in a sense," He said, "I mean, we used to have a symbiotic relationship; we took what we needed from each other and it worked out fine, but we were acting irresponsibly, Grissom." He said. "We kept each other from growing up." He paused, "Then one day I found out that I wanted you, and that was that."
"He did nothing to stop you."
"He didn't think I was serious." He shrugged. "But I was, and I moved on. The problem is that he didn't move on; he still expects me to be there." He looked up, "After all these years, I guess he needs a little time to get used to it. What do you think?"
What did I think? He had to be kidding.
I firmly believed that the best way to get rid off Dennis was to apply the 'band aid technique,' and to rip him off Greg's life fast and mercilessly.
But I couldn't forbid him to see his friend. That would have been childish. And I didn't have it in me to be cruel to anyone either, no matter how tempting. Breaking off with Greg had to be a painful experience but having to do it cold turkey constituted cruel and unusual punishment.
Besides, I didn't want to give Dennis any excuses to continue acting like a victim.
I smiled to myself.
"Well..." I paused, as if I was really thinking it over, "He's your friend and he needs you," I said magnanimously, "As long as he knows you're not going back, then anything you do is fine."
Greg stared at me.
"Thanks." He said cautiously. He had not expected me to cave in so easily.
"You're welcome," I said.
I should have left it at that, but I overdid it.
"We could take him to a basketball game, now and then." I offered, "It will cheer him up, don't you think?"
I was willing to pay for those tickets. I'd enjoy being nice to Dennis…
It would drive him nuts.
Unfortunately, Greg saw right through me.
"You're evil." He muttered, shaking his head in disapproval.
"I'm not evil." I protested. "I'm just..." I shrugged, "Possessive."
He did a double take.
"Possessive?"
"Yeah."
"Oh." He frowned. "You too?"
"Yeah," I said, sheepishly.
He thought about this for a moment and then he smiled faintly, "Ok."
I couldn't believe it; he was actually pleased.
What a relief.
"Possessive." He repeated as I turned on the engine. "I like the sound of that."
***
February 14 arrived at last and Greg and I greeted the holiday covered in mud.No, we were not playing one of Greg's sex games; we were working. We had spent half the night looking for evidence in the sewage system of an old apartment building. We were up to our elbows in mud and worse, but we had managed to recover parts of a human body.
Residents had complained separately about a peculiar smell permeating the building and about a neighbor's sudden disappearance, but nobody had made a connection. Fortunately, Brass had been assigned to investigate the missing person's report. He had worked at CSI long enough to ID the smell. Somewhere in the building, there was a body decomposing.
Once a cadaver dog pinpointed the area involved, Brass gave us a call.
After hours of hard work we'd been able to recover pieces of flesh and bone, but we kept looking; I was hoping to find something more definitive, like a piece of personal jewelry, or teeth.
And then Greg announced that he'd found what looked like a dirty glove.
"A grayish glove?" I asked.
"How did you know?"
I turned just in time to see him picking up the glove out of the muck.
"That's a human hand." I said.
He winced and almost dropped it. And then he smiled.
"Fingerprints." He said.
"Exactly." I said, "I think we can leave, now."
"Great!" he said, and then he lowered his voice, "I still got to pick up my suit from the cleaners, Grissom."
"Relax," I said, "There's time."
Still, taking our evidence back to the lab and processing it took us almost all morning, and by the time we left it was almost eleven. We went our separate ways, but Greg phoned me almost immediately with an offer to pick me up.
"Thanks, but no, thanks." I replied, "I don't want to be late."
"Oh, come on-"
"I know you; just combing your hair will take you an hour."
"No, it won't."
"Yes, it will."
"No, it -"
"Greg?" I interrupted, "I'll meet you there, ok?" And then, just to reassure him, I added, "I promise." and hung up.
I arrived at La Lumière about an hour before we were bound to meet.
It's not that I am obsessed with punctuality –despite what Greg might say- I just wanted to spend some time by myself.
A busy parking lot was not the best place to meditate, however, and I was easily distracted by the number of people who came and went. I watched men and women get off their cars and walk hand in hand to the restaurant.
Back when I was single, I'd watch couples and wonder what made those people stay together. Was it mutual derision or fear of being alone? Respect? Admiration? Love? And if it was love, how long before it went sour?
These people looked happy, but I couldn't help wondering whether they were simply acting a part in honor of the day.
I shook my head. Being in love hadn't changed me much. I was still skeptical.
I was also getting restless. Maybe getting there so early had been a bad idea. Idly, I picked up my phone to check for messages, but put it down when I remembered that I'd asked our receptionist to take them for me. (The poor woman's jaw had dropped when I'd told her I had a lunch date and didn't want any interruptions. Usually, it was the other way around, with me begging her to get me out of boring lunches and meetings).
But now I wished someone would call; I needed the diversion. I turned on the radio and fiddled with the dial, trying to find a radio station that wasn't playing sappy love songs. I was losing my patience, when someone tapped on the passenger's window.
Greg.
"You're early," he said, smiling widely. He looked pleased. And relieved.
I opened the door, but he didn't immediately get in. First he gave me a once-over look.
"You look hot," he announced.
I scoffed in self-deprecation.
"Hey, I'm serious," he insisted. "You look good in that suit."
He'd chosen that suit. He couldn't afford it, so he'd talked me into buying it –or, more precisely, kept pestering me until I did.
I try not to give in to his demands too often, but this time I was glad I did.
Now it was my turn to gaze at him. He'd gone for Italian chic. He was wearing his Armani suit and a white silk shirt open at the neck; and best of all, he was also wearing my favorite accessory: a five O'clock shadow.
"You look good," I said wistfully.
It was an understatement, but he seemed genuinely flattered. That's one of the things that mystifies me about Greg: compliments surprise him, as if he is completely unaware of his physical appeal.
It makes me wonder what he sees when he looks in the mirror.
He slid closer and kissed me on the cheek.
"Hey," he muttered, "Thanks for the books."
I'd given him his Valentine's Day gift earlier that morning, but I hadn't stayed around to see him open it. Two books on his favorite musicians didn't compare to the sex toys he had asked for, but if he was disappointed, he didn't show it.
"I got them at the Barnes & Noble we visited about a year ago."
"The one you swore never to enter again?" he smirked.
"The cashier recognized me, by the way. He told me there were some Tyra Banks calendars on sale. 'In case your son still wants one, sir,' he said."
"Really?" he glanced around, "Did you get me a calendar?"
"No."
He gaped.
"You couldn't spend a couple of bucks on a calendar for me?" he asked incredulously, "What's the good of having a sugar daddy if he's not gonna spend a little money on his sugar boy?"
I gaped at being called a sugar daddy.
Greg kept a straight face for as long as he could, but soon he started shaking with laughter.
"Oh, man," he said when he was finally able to speak. "Just relax, will you? I was kidding!"
"I know that," I replied mechanically, but I was not so sure.
Greg chuckled and after a moment he glanced outside.
"So," he said after a moment, "Are you ready for lunch?"
Hell, no.
"Yeah," I said, trying to muster some enthusiasm.
"Never thought this day would ever come, huh?"
"Tell me about it," I mumbled, almost to myself.
"What?"
"Nothing," I said, and I started fidgeting with the radio dial again.
Greg stared at me.
"Wait a minute," he said slowly, "You look like a guy who's about to face a firing squad."
"That's how it feels." I said, looking up.
He narrowed his eyes.
"You're not having second thoughts about this, are you?"
"Would you let me go if I told you I am?" I asked hopefully.
"No." He glared.
Damn.
"I could just drive away, you know." I said.
"Sure," he retorted, "If you're willing to face my wrath."
I scoffed.
"Greg," I said, "We both know that I can easily turn that wrath into purrs."
He shook his head.
"Charm won't get you out of this, Gil."
Funny; just as I call him 'Sanders' whenever I'm displeased about something, so does he use 'Gil' to let me know when I'm walking a fine line.
But he was in a forgiving mood. He rubbed the back of my neck.
"I know it's hard." He commiserated. "You're not only going to face Sara; you're also going to come out officially to a male coworker, and-"
I frowned.
"I hadn't seen it that way," I said, "Now I've got something else to worry about; thanks a lot." I glared.
"Well, if it's any comfort to you, this is making me nervous, too." he admitted. "I mean, Warrick's got to know by now, but he's never broached the subject. I know he's a good guy, but-" he shrugged, "Who knows? He might not be thrilled at having a gay colleague."
For the first time it occurred to me that he needed my support as much as I needed his.
"Warrick is a good guy," I said to reassure him. But he was right; one never knew. I looked at him, "I wasn't going to chicken out, Greg." I said, "I was just-"
"-fantasizing about leaving things the way they are." He finished.
"Exactly."
"Well… Things could change for the better, Griss."
They could also get damaged beyond repair.
"It'll be all right," He said confidently, and then he reached and cupped my jaw, "You'll see," he said, "Baby."
Oh, that damn word.
"Ah, the coup de grâce," I mumbled in defeat.
"Hey," he said, "If you're gonna quote French to me, at least buy me a dictionary."
"Fine," I said, "Let's go to Barnes & Noble after lunch and I'll get you one."
"Will you get me a calendar too?"
"Only if you eat all your vegetables," I replied playfully.
"Deal." He said. "And I promise not to check out your butt while we're in there."
"Why not?" I protested, "Let's put on a show for that guy; let's kiss on aisle three."
He chuckled.
"You know," he said a moment later, "I never had this much fun in a relationship. Everything we do is-" he hesitated, "Unscripted." He said, "That's the best term I can come out with. We don't do the club thing or the cocktail hour thing, which is what everybody else does. Instead, we go to Loving Bear Donuts or to a book store-"
I frowned.
In other words, we were cheap lovers.
But hearing him talk made me think of the things that he'd given up when he started a relationship with me. I'd never asked if he missed them, and he probably would not tell me if he did. But even if he didn't miss going to a bar or to a club, it didn't mean that we couldn't go, one of these days.
An idea started taking form in my head. His birthday was coming up, after all.
We could start by having drinks somewhere discreet, and then we could eat a five-course dinner at some fancy place; then we could go dancing-
Or maybe not. But two out of three were good enough. Drinks and dinner.
That would surprise him.
"They're here." he said, interrupting my plans.
Warrick and Sara arrived in her car –fifteen minutes before we were supposed to meet.
But then, Sara is as obsessed about punctuality as I am.
The four of us got out of our cars seemingly at the same time, and both couples walked towards the center of the parking lot until we were only a few feet apart.
It was eerie; from a distance, people might have wondered what our intentions were: We stood frozen in our places, looking like we were either going to break into hugs or draw guns and shoot.
We were staring at one another as if we hadn't met in months. Maybe it was the clothes –we were all dressed up, something that didn't happen often.
Warrick broke the silence.
"Hey, Griss," he said pleasantly, "Greg?"
"Hey, Warrick." Greg smiled back, "Sara?"
"Hey!" Sara greeted, and her voice sounded a little too high.
The three of them glanced at me, but I was tongue-tied from the start.
I smiled sheepishly at Sara and she smiled back at me. She understood.
Warrick intervened again.
"Hey, people, let's go inside, ok," and he gently steered Sara towards the entrance.
We were technically on the clock, so we skipped the cocktails; the Maitre d' immediately led us into the dining area.
I liked La Lumière. Groups of tables were set apart by narrow planters filled with green foliage, which created an illusion of privacy. This sensation was enhanced by the fact that most of the light came from the centerpieces -tall crystal vases containing white candles floating on water. It was the restaurant's theme, of course. La Lumière means 'the light'.
"I like this place," Sara said, eyeing the greenery.
"I like the smells." Greg added, sniffing at the tray that a waiter was carrying.
The maitre d' led us to our table, and he ceremoniously pulled a chair for Sara.
Uh, Oh.
Greg, Warrick and me froze in our places.
Predictably, she refused at first.
"That's ok," she said, "You don't ha -" but she paused in mid-word when she realized we were looking at her. For a couple of seconds she stood there, with a silent 'a' frozen on her lips. And then, surprisingly, the 'a' turned into a warm smile, and she slid into her seat. "Thank you," she said.
When the Maitre d' turned to us, Greg reached for a chair and joked, "That's ok, we'll manage on our own."
The man bowed and left, and once he was out of earshot, Greg taunted Sara, "For a minute I thought you were going to sock him."
"I would have," Sara replied cheerfully, "But he was only doing his job." She glanced at the three of us, "Take a seat, guys."
Easier said than done. Warrick and me reached for the chair opposite Sara at the same time, and then we quickly withdrew our hands and reached for the other chair.
"Take it, Griss." He said, motioning me to take the first seat.
"You take it," I said. It was more appropriate for Warrick to sit there, anyway.
"No, you take it."
"You take it," I repeated.
"You take it," he insisted.
"I'll take it," Greg said, solving the problem.
But once we sat, we faced another problem: what to talk about. We glanced at one another.
Warrick cleared his throat.
"So…" he said.
"So..." Greg said.
"So…" Sara added.
I still had nothing to say.
"You know-" Greg said, and the three of us looked at him. "I think-" he glanced at me, "I think I left my lights on." He said, and to my dismay he abruptly rose from his seat and left.
That was weird.
I glanced at Sara and then at Warrick, then at Sara again. I was fishing about for something safe to say, when Warrick cleared his throat again.
"Hum," he started, and then, carefully avoiding Sara's gaze, he said, "I -hum- think I forgot my wallet in the car."
"Your wallet?" Sara frowned.
"Yes. I'll be right back." He said, rising from his seat.
Sara looked up in alarm.
"Warrick, we can use my credit card -" she offered.
"No, babe," he said gently, "It's ok, I'm sure I left it in the car."
And to her dismay, he left too.
She gazed at his retreating back until he was out of sight, and then she glanced at me.
"Do you think he really forgot his wallet?" she asked.
"No."
"Me, neither."
"And Greg didn't leave his lights on." I said.
"No."
She sighed.
"They want us to talk."
"Yes." I said.
"Well," she smiled faintly, "It is sort of the point of this lunch, after all."
"Yes." I said, "It is."
She shook her head.
"They could have concocted better excuses, don't you think?"
"I agree."
"I mean, who leaves the lights on these days?"
"Nobody does." I said.
"The cowards," she added indignantly, but there was a little smile tugging at a corner of her mouth, and after a moment we smiled at each other.
"They must be hovering nearby, watching our every move." She said.
"Do you see them?" I asked, since she was facing the entrance.
"No. But this place is so gloomy, they could be anywhere." She said, and she discreetly glanced around.
I took the chance to study her.
She was wearing a black silk pantsuit with a gauzy, see-through top. The color was a bit severe, but the colorful embroidery around the neck and around the wrists made it lively. It suited her.
She looked pretty and healthy.
Now that she loved someone else, I found it easier to notice these things.
She was nervous. She couldn't keep her hands still –she picked up a glass and then put it back, only to pick it up again. After a moment, she touched the surface of the crystal vase and tentatively pushed it, but she panicked when it tilted. She left it alone, but she was restless and was reaching for the glass again, when a waiter's arrival interrupted her. He handed us the menus, and then he offered her a single red rose.
"For you, mademoiselle." He said gently.
Sara took it before she realized what it was.
"I don't want it," She said, but the waiter merely smiled and left. He probably didn't even register her words.
Sara looked at the rose and then she put it on the table.
"I hate it when they do this." She said morosely, "They think seeing a poor rose dying a slow death is romantic, but it's not. It's such a waste-"
I let her talk. Whenever she acted like this, the best anybody could do was to sit back and keep his mouth shut.
At least, that's what I did.
But what about Warrick? Somehow I didn't think he'd simply let her talk; in my mind, I saw him arguing and objecting to her pessimistic points of view -getting involved, in other words.
Sara glanced at me after a moment.
"I'm ranting." She said. "Sorry."
"It's ok."
"No," she said, "It's not." She shook her head almost imperceptibly, "Warrick says I take these things too seriously."
I picked up the rose and handed it to her.
"Take it, Sara." I said, "Share its beauty" I added, "Enjoy its scent. For the rose, indifference would be the worst fate of all."
She gave me a look but she took it.
"I guess you're right." She said after a moment. "Poor rose." She said, delicately touching a petal.
Ah, Sara. To me, she was so much like a rose -thorny, yet vulnerable. She was a strong woman, but I'd always been afraid that a single word from me could shatter her.
Ironically, it was my silence that hurt her the most.
It was time for me to say something, but I still didn't know what. And then, just as I had finally found something to say, she spoke too.
"I should have told you-"
"You should have told me-" She said.
We both smiled, despite ourselves. We were so alike-
"I should have told you," I repeated, "Except that -" I hesitated.
"-Except that it was too personal?" she finished for me.
I nodded.
She looked down.
"I understand," she said. "It's got to be difficult for any man to tell a woman he can't love her because he's gay."
But being gay had had nothing to do with it. After all, I had ignored my true nature for so long that it had not been an issue at the time.
I looked at her, wondering how to explain that while there were many reasons why I could not love her the way she wanted me to, there was only one reason for me not to tell her: I was afraid that she'd leave, once she realized that there could be nothing between us.
And I didn't want to lose her.
It was a selfish thing to do, but there's something in me that makes me hold on to people I care about -my coworkers.
Over the years, I've refused to let them go; I've refused to lend them to other labs, and I've refused to fire them, even when they deserved to be. I've been protective of them... But I've also kept them at arm's length.
And all because I can't bear to say goodbye.
"I wish I'd known sooner, though." Sara said softly. She looked up, "Did you think I would not understand?"
"Sara, I just didn't want to talk about it –with anyone." I looked at her, "But I should have known that you would understand. You've always been generous with me."
She smiled faintly. She looked down again.
Her silence bothered me.
"Were you-" I said, just to keep the conversation going, "Were you surprised?"
She paused for a second.
"No." She said.
I frowned.
"What do you mean, no?"
Her smile widened.
"It's not that you're obvious about it, Grissom." she said quickly, "It's just that… You've always been so secretive. There had to be a reason, and suddenly there it was. Things made sense at last.
"I was disappointed," she admitted, "But no, I was not that surprised. Even at the beginning, when Greg first told me he had a crush on you, I didn't question his assumption that you might be gay. What I thought was, 'Poor Greg. He doesn't know what he's getting into.'"
She softly scoffed, "Imagine my surprise when I found out that he'daccomplished in just a few days what I couldn't in five years. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes."
"What do you mean?"
"I saw you two by accident one afternoon," she explained, "You were coming out of a new Barnes & Noble store that I wanted to check out. You were walking fast, as if trying to get away from Greg. I thought you were having a fight, untilyou got in the car.There, instead of arguing, you burst into laughs."
She smiled at the memory, "It was amazing; I mean, you were laughing so hard. And I thought, 'He's never laughed like that in my presence. I've never made him this happy.'"
"That's not fair, Sara." I said, "I never let you make me happy. And I never made you laugh, either. It works both ways." I paused, "I have never been a source of happiness in your life, and that's a fact." I added regretfully.
"Oh, Grissom," she sighed, "That's not true. Really, it isn't. You've been a friend; you've taught me a lot." She looked down, "I just wanted more than you could give."
"Sara-"
"It works both ways, like you said." she interrupted, "I couldn't give you what you wanted, either. I mean, after seeing you and Greg together, my first thought was, 'What does Greg have that I don't?'" she smiled sheepishly, "And the answer was so obvious, that I laughed. That's when I told Greg to go for it."
She smiled, "I was finally able to let go, and it was easier than I thought. Maybe because it was Greg?" she said as if she had just come to a sudden realization. "I mean, if you had fallen in love with some leggy blonde-" She narrowed her eyes, "I don't think I would have found it so easy to forgive you."
Her words held a veiled threat, but there was a glint of humor in her eyes. I realized she was being nice to me; nicer than I deserved.
"Sara..." I sighed, "You wasted all those years on me."
"I didn't waste them." She said kindly, "Grissom, I don't regret anything. I always needed someone-" she hesitated, "I needed to love somebody," she confessed, "I chose you-"
"But I was 'emotionally unavailable'." I said, quoting her own assessment of me. "You could have done better."
"Maybe," she admitted, "I don't know. So many things could have happened, who knows? Other men would have taken advantage of me, but you didn't-" she smiled, "I appreciate that." She paused for a moment, "I'd like to think that things worked out nicely in the end, Grissom."
I nodded.
"Warrick is a good guy-"
"Oh, yes." She said, "He is."
"Do you..." I said, since she didn't seem willing to say more. "Do you have cute names for each other?"
"No." she glared, "Thank God." Then she relented and made an admission, "He calls me 'babe', sometimes."
I was hoping she would say something about their relationship. Not that I wanted to intrude; I just- I just wanted to know if she was happy. I needed to hear her say it.
But she turned the conversation back to me.
"Greg seems happy," she said, "You must be doing something right."
"I can't take credit for that." I said, shaking my head, "Greg's just-" I shrugged, "He's a happy person. Nothing beats him down."
"Yeah, but you love him-"
I stared at her in silence. She frowned.
"You do love him, don't you?"
Suddenly, it occurred to me that Sara was the one person to whom I could talk freely.
"It's hard to put a name to my feelings." I said thoughtfully, "I mean, love is the easiest word, but sometimes it's the hardest. I just-" I paused and she looked curiously at me. I looked down, "The thing is… to me, love is like wearing someone else's clothes." I said, "I know they're either too big or too small for me, but everyone says I ought to try them on, so I do-" I paused.
"And?" she asked softly.
"And I try to make them fit-"
I stopped and, to my surprise, Sara continued.
"And you try to convince yourself that you look good in them-"
I looked at her.
"But all along, I know that I look ridiculous in them." I finished.
We looked at each other. We had just voiced a common fear.
"You feel like that, too?" I asked.
She nodded, and then she looked at me as if she wanted to say something but didn't know how.
"Have you ever…" she started.
"Yes?" I prodded.
"Have you ever felt that you don't deserve to be happy?"
I hesitated for just a second.
"Every day." I admitted.
"Me, too." she confessed. She shook her head, "I hate to feel like that," she muttered. "I hate feeling so insecure."
"We're just not used to this, Sara." I commiserated.
"But what if it's true?" she insisted, "What if we don't deserve this?"
Oh, damn. I'd been piling my own insecurities on top of Sara's, instead of giving her some reassurance, which was what she really needed from me.
I had to fix this.
"Sara." I said, "I don't know anyone who deserves love more than you do. Or anyone who is more capable of giving it."
She seemed surprised by my response.
"I'm serious," I said. "You're amazing. I mean, neither one of us had a happy childhood, but you rose above all that." Her eyes widened and I faltered a little when I realized what I'd just said.
I'd never talked about my childhood and I was not about to start. "I know I've criticized you in the past for letting your feelings intrude," I said, "But the truth is, I admire you. You care about others; you feel compassion for every living creature. That's amazing."
She was speechless.
"Hey," I said, "Look at it this way. Do you think Warrick's a smart guy?"
"Uh, huh," she nodded.
"He is." I nodded, "He fell in love with you, after all."
She smiled.
"You deserve to be loved, Sara."
"So do you." she said softly.
Now it was my turn to be surprised.
"You do." she insisted. She took a deep breath, "You and me…" she said, "We're damaged people, Grissom. We both need someone to take us by the hand and help us forget the past. A happy person, like Greg. Or someone like Warrick, who doesn't let me brood over things I can't change anyway. They're giving us a chance."
She looked expectantly at me, but maybe I didn't respond as quickly as she wanted, because she reached out and grabbed my hand. "Let's take it." She said earnestly, "Let's put on those clothes and make them fit."
"That was just a stupid metaphor, Sara." I mumbled.
"I'm serious." She insisted, "Promise me you'll try."
"Ok," I said.
"Promise." She insisted.
"I promise."
And then she held my hand so tightly that I winced.
"And I'm warning you, Grissom." she said, very slowly, "Greg's my best friend and I'm very protective of him. If you screw up, I'll make you pay."
I smiled gratefully.
"Thank you, Sara." I said, putting my free hand on top of hers, "Thank you for everything."
Warrick and Greg chose that moment to return.
"Oh, for God's sake, woman," Warrick said, pretending disgust, "I can't I leave you alone for one minute?"
"Hey, what's with the hands?" Greg added sternly, glancing at Sara and then at me until we let go of each other.
"Sorry," Sara said, pretending contrition. She had to bit her lip to keep from laughing.
"I didn't know you were into swinging, Grissom." Greg said.
"Grissom?" Sara repeated, "You call him Grissom?"
"Yeah," Greg shrugged as he sat, "Why?"
"You're not at the lab!" she protested, "You're in a nice restaurant; you should call him by his first name!"
"Why?" Greg repeated.
Sara turned to me.
"You don't let him call you Gil in private?"
"Well, I just-" I started.
"Hey, maybe it's for the best, babe," Warrick said, "Otherwise Greg might come into the lab and call him 'honeybunch'"
Sara burst into laughs.
"Or love bug," Warrick added merrily.
"I don't mind," I said, looking at Sara, "Greg knows I don't like my name-" I didn't want her to think that I was keeping Greg at arm's length or that he didn't have my complete trust.
Greg, on the other hand, seemed unconcerned by their ribbing. He was smiling good-naturedly, letting them enjoy their little joke.
He didn't speak until he saw Warrick pick up a glass to take a sip of water.
"Actually," he said quietly, "I call him 'God,' sometimes."
Warrick choked, Sara's eyes bulged, and I froze.
"Yeah," Greg continued, "I get a little vocal sometimes, and-"
"Greg," I said, giving him a warning look that meant he better not dare.
It was one look he knew well.
"What?" he asked innocently.
"You know what," I glared.
"Come on," he scoffed, "You didn't think I was going to reenact one of those 'Oh-God-Grissom' moans, did you?"
Oh, shit.
Greg smiled widely and sat back to enjoy the result of his naughty words: I froze again, and poor Warrick's coughing returned, forcing Sara to slap him on the back.
The waiter reappeared then, bringing a bottle of champagne. He studiously ignored our little spectacle and ceremoniously presented the bottle for our approval; when he realized that neither Warrick nor me were up to the task, he presented it to Greg.
Greg rose to the occasion, acting like a wine connoisseur and making all sort of appreciative comments.
"Excellent." He said, motioning the waiter to pour.
Meanwhile, Sara was still concerned about Warrick, who winced every time she smacked his back.
"I'm fine, I'm fine now, babe," He managed to say, catching her hand before she slapped his back again, "Thanks. Oh, man," he said, looking at me, "Greg's evil, isn't he?"
"You have no idea," I mumbled.
"You must be whipped, Grissom." Warrick said, shaking his head compassionately.
"Not yet," I said quietly, "So far, I've resisted playing some of his games."
This time it was Greg who almost choked, and then he laughed.
Warrick lifted Sara's hand and kissed it, thanking her for smacking his back so earnestly. Sara smiled at him and after a moment she looked at me. After a moment, I smiled back.
I'd never be as demonstrative as Warrick, and she'd never be as irreverent as Greg. Sara was right; incredibly, we had ended up with the right guys.
The waiter poured the champagne.
"All right!" Greg said enthusiastically
The four of us lifted our glasses.
"So…" We said it at the same time.
"For love?" Warrick suggested.
"And friendship," I finished, and the four glasses touched.
***
EpilogueI was catching up with some reports, when Nick and Greg dropped by. Greg was smiling widely –actually, he hadn't stopped smiling since I told him he'd passed his proficiency test.
He had officially become our newest CSI.
"Grissom," Nick said, "We're taking Greg to celebrate his promotion. Wanna come along?"
"I can't," I said, eyeing a pile of files, "I got some reports to review."
"You sure?" Greg asked.
I nodded. Actually, I could have come along, but I wanted to give him some space. He deserved some time alone with his friends.
Greg turned to Nick.
"I'll see you guys there, then." He said. He waited until Nick was gone to approach my desk.
"So, " I said, "How does it feel to be a CSI?" I asked.
"It feels weird," he said. "Being the center of attention, I mean. Everyone seems happy for me-" he said tentatively.
"They are happy for you. You did well."
"I did, right?" he asked, "That's what I keep telling myself-"
"What do you mean?"
"Well," he shrugged slightly, "I was just wondering, you know -" he paused.
I took off my glasses and put them on my desk.
"You're wondering whether our relationship had anything to do with this promotion." I said.
He nodded.
I cleared my throat.
"Greg, you've worked hard." I said firmly, "You earned this."
He nodded, but I had the impression that this was not what he wanted to hear.
Ok. I tried again.
"Look," I said, "When you failed the test five months ago, I decided to give you another chance because I knew you could pull it off..." I said, and then I smiled, "But also because I couldn't stand to see you disappointed."
He smiled again.
"Thanks, baby." He said.
"But from now on," I said, "Everything will depend on you."
His smile faded and he assumed a more solemn stance.
"Yes, sir," he said.
"You'll have to take a firearms course," I said, "If you don't qualify you won't be able to work with us-"
"I know." He nodded.
"As a CSI you'll have more responsibilities…" I said and then I gave him the little speech I give to new colleagues. He listened attentively. When I was finished, I smiled. "I'm glad you pulled it off."
"Thanks," he smiled. "You owe me a private celebration, by the way."
I should have known. This guy lives for parties.
"Of course," I said simply. I'd have to think of something –fast.
He leant on my desk.
"You sure you can't come with us?"
"I'm sure." I said.
"Ok." He said. "See ya later, then." He said, and he waved at me.
He was already on his way out, when I called out.
"Just take it easy, ok?" I said.
I guess I used a sterner tone that I intended, because he stopped in mid-step. His foot hovered in the air for a moment and then, instead of moving forward, it moved backwards, and then he retraced his steps until he was leaning on my desk again.
"And what does that mean?" He asked, using his own stern tone.
It's very effective, and for a moment I hesitated... But in the end I said what was in my mind.
"It means that you'd better not drink more than you can handle." I said simply.
His eyebrows rose. He seemed genuinely surprised.
"Excuse me?" he asked, "Have you ever seen me drunk?"
I gave him a look.
"What?" he frowned.
"Greg, you were drunk when you came to my place a couple of years ago. Don't you remember that?"
He actually paused to think.
"Oh." He said at last, "Yeah... You're right."
"Uh, huh," I nodded.
He smirked.
"So... are you afraid that if I drink too much I'll get overly affectionate with my coworkers? With Nick, perhaps?"
It was my turn to frown.
"I was concerned about your health, Greg. Now you've given me something else to worry about. Thanks a lot," I glared.
"Actually..." he hesitated. "I... hum...have a confession to make."
Every time he uses that phrase, my first thought is, 'oh, crap; what now?'.
"Ok," I said slowly.
"Well... the thing is... I wasn't drunk that night."
"You weren't?"
"No. I was only pretending."
"Oh, really?" I asked skeptically. "And why would you do that?"
"Well... Because I wanted to tell you about my feelings, and, well... I didn't know what your reaction was gonna be," he said, "I assumed you would be more tolerant if you thought I was drunk. I mean, you wouldn't punch a drunk guy for making a pass at you, would ya?"
"I'd never punch anyone," I said, "Period."
"Yeah, I figured that, but... It was just a little precaution; a chance to save face, so to speak. If you rejected me, then I could simply blame everything on alcohol."
I narrowed my eyes.
"You learned that trick from Dennis, didn't you?"
"I guess," he smiled sheepishly.
"So..." I said, "You were not drunk."
"No. I only had half a beer."
"But your mouth tasted like you had drunk all kinds of crap."
"That's because I drank the bottoms of my friends' drinks. It was disgusting," he added as an afterthought.
I was silent for a brief moment.
"So," I said at last, "When you leant on me as if you couldn't stand on your feet -"
"I was faking." He admitted cheerfully.
"And when I practically had to carry you into my living room, you were-"
"Faking."
"So... when you 'accidentally' touched my butt-"
He faltered a little.
"Well, I didn't know if I'd ever get another chance to get that close to you, so -"
"So you felt me up on purpose." I finished. I was silent for a moment. "I can't believe this."
"Hey, I'm not proud of what I did -"
"What I can't believe is that you didn't take advantage of the whole situation," I replied, "That night I would've- I mean, after you kissed me... I would've followed you anywhere."
"Oh, yeah," he smiled knowingly, "I noticed."
"Then... why didn't you do anything?"
"Well... It wasn't the way I wanted things to be," he said slowly, "I mean, you would have done anything I wanted, but then the next day you would have freaked out. It would have been awkward -" his voice trailed off.
"Oh. So... you did the honorable thing?"
"Well..." he frowned, as if the idea had never occurred to him, "I guess."
"Wow." I said, "You're a good guy, Greg."
"Nah," he dismissed, "I'm-"
"Seriously." I interrupted, "You're a decent guy."
He groaned.
"Grissom, decent guys are boring," he said, "And lame-"
"You're a noble guy." I insisted, enjoying his discomfort.
"Hey, I can be bad-
Ha. Like I was going to believe that now.
"No, really," He insisted, "Dirty, too." He said and then he wiggled an eyebrow, "I can be bad and dirty-"
"Sure," I said, smiling indulgently at him. "Well, bad boy," I said, picking up my glasses, "You have a party to go to, so, have fun."
"But I-" he started.
I put on my glasses and picked my pen again -a sign that our personal conversation was over.
"Fine." He said at last, "I'm leaving." He walked away, but just as he was about to reach the door, he spoke, "Oh, and don't worry; drinking will be the last thing in my mind, tonight." He said casually. "I'll be too busy looking. The guys are taking me to a strip club."
I looked up sharply, but he was already gone.
A strip club?
I gaped and stared at the empty doorway; I stared at it for so long that when my cell phone rang I actually blinked in confusion.
I quickly got myself together and answered.
"Grissom," I said.
"BWAAAAH, HA, HA!" It was Greg, and he was laughing his ass off. "I WAS KIDDING! YOU CAN MOVE NOW!"
I looked up, half-expecting to see him in the hallway, spying on me.
But he wasn't there.
"Where are you?" I frowned.
"I'm in my car, buckling up." He said patiently. "But I know you." He said gleefully, "You froze after my parting shot, didn't you? You were busy picturing me, with a bunch of girls –am I right, Mr. Jealous CSI?" he challenged. But before I answered, he added smugly, "Now, am I or am I not a bad boy?"
I was fuming.
"Greg-"
"Relax!" he said happily, "The guys offered, but I said no. They are taking me to a tasteful pub for some steak and beer!"
That was good to know, but I wasn't so easily appeased.
"Greg Sanders, you're gonna pay for this!"
"All right!" he replied cheerfully, "I'll do anything you ask me to!" he lowered his voice, "I'll be your slave for a day and satisfy your most outrageous fantasies -"
"You do that every day," I retorted. "No. I think I'll find something else for you to do; something fitting to the crime." I paused, "Oh, I know; I'll have you clean my pets' cages for a week."
"Oh, no," he groaned, "Come on, Grissom -"
"It'll suit you, dirty boy."
"But baby-"
Oh, no, I thought. Not that damn word again. As soon as he uttered it, my resolve began to crumble.
Just like it always did.
Part of me tried to stick to my original resolution, but another immediately decided that a week might be a little too much.
"All right," I said reluctantly. "Five days."
"Oh, come on," He protested. "What about two days?"
"Five days, Greg," I said as firmly as I could.
"Three days!" he countered.
"Four days." I saidbefore I could catch myself. "And that's it, baby." I said, and then I hung upbefore he talked me into forgetting the whole thing.
Almost immediately, the phone rang. It was Greg again.
"What, now?" I asked.
"Did you just call me baby?" he asked.
"I did not." I said almost indignantly.
"Yes, you did."
I frowned and tried to remember... and realized that yeah, I'd called him baby.
"Yes." I said, "I did."
I wondered if that made him happy or disgusted.
To my relief, he started chuckling.
"Aww, that's so sweet-"
"So, you don't mind that I stole your word?"
"Nah. I'm ecstatic. I'm so happy that I'm going to clean your cages for a full week." He said, "However -" And he paused ominously.
"Yes?"
"Just word of caution," He said solemnly, "It'sa powerful word, Gil Grissom. Use it wisely."
And we both laughed.
The End
***
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