Title: Gil
By: elfin
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Rating: soft NC-17
Summary: These are scenes I have written that haven't been used in my fics.

elfin - "Gil" - scene1


The crime lab had erupted into chaos.

Glass carpeted the hard floors, from the windows, from test tubes, monitor screens, almost everywhere.

Evidence had been destroyed, research lost.

Little things the teams had collected over the years; samples, exhibits, preserved… things were gone.

The body of a large tarantula had been recovered from under a desk, trampled to death.

And in the midst of it all, Gil Grissom shattered.

Nick caught most of the fall-out, his own tears falling silently into his boss’s greying hair as he knelt up on the couch in Gil’s office and held him.

“It’s okay, ssh, it’s all right, it’ll be all right.”  Nick murmured all sorts of nonsense, feeling so out of his depth he was drowning.  It was as if, out of the destruction, had come the sudden and startling realisation that Gris was only human.  “Come on, it’s okay.”

But Gil was shaking hard, loud sobs driving through him like nothing would ever be okay again.  His arms wrapped around himself in a clear, desperate attempt to comfort himself.

Nick calmed after a time, added his own body to Gil’s defences.


elfin - "Gil" - scene2


Nick sat down hard on the lab chair, his weight keeping it in place as he swung his legs up and caught the counter top with his ankles, crossing one over the other.

Catherine watched him, amused.  “Long night?”

“Long… morning.  I have no idea what time it is or what day it is.”

She smiled and leaned forward.  “I’ll tell you what day it is.  It’s Grissom’s birthday.”

Nick’s eyes widened.  “No shit?”  Catherine shook her head, crossing her arms and sitting back.  “Wow.  Think he’ll celebrate?”

“No.”

“Think he’ll do anything?”

“No.”

Nick stared at his feet, frowned.  Catherine watched him for a while before saying, “You could give him a birthday present.”

Nick contemplated that.  There were worse ways he could spend a couple of hours than finding Griss a gift.  “Okay.”  He nodded.  “Any ideas?”

“Sure.  A blow job.”

Blinking, he turned slowly to stare at her.  “Excuse me.”

She smiled wryly.  “You heard me.”

“Yes, I did.  You said ‘a blow job’.  I just don’t see Griss as the prostitute type.”

Catherine pushed her chair back, popped her spine back into position and leaned over the counter.  “I didn’t say anything about a prostitute.”