Title: Gil's Secret
By: Chapin CSI
Pairing: Gil/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Warning: I don't speak English and it shows in my stories; luckily, my readers are very forgiving. Thanks!
Spoiler: Play With Fire (when Greg's lab explodes) and Formalities.

***

"There goes our unsung hero."

The words were uttered just as Greg was about to dig into his piping-hot noodle soup.

He hesitated, then looked up; Hodges was standing by the coffee machine, looking at something in the hallway and acting as if he hadn't said anything.

Greg hated it when Hodges did this -say something clearly designed to get your attention only to shut up and refuse to elaborate till you begged him. And then, when you finally got him to talk, all you got was a long, rambling monologue that seemed to be about anything except the matter that got your attention in the first place.

Greg consistently refused to take the bait, however, and this time it was no different; he picked his spoon again and determinedly dunk it into the soup.

He kept his gaze down… but not for long. Like it or not, Hodges' comments always piqued his interest. He just had to know what the comment was all about. He raised his gaze as casually as he could, only to discover that the object of Hodges' comment seemed to be Gil Grissom, their boss, who had briefly stopped to check out something on a clipboard.

Greg forgot all about Hodges and the food then; instead, he took a leisurely look at Gil, who looked pretty good for someone who was well into his second shift in a row.

Actually, Gil always looked good.

But there was more to him than mere looks, as Greg would have pointed out to anyone -if anyone had asked, (or maybe not even then; Greg was just too discreet to start spilling the beans about his appreciation for Gil). Anyway, the point was that not only did Gil look good, he was a good guy through and through. Really, you could trust him for anything. No matter how grave your problem or how heavy his workload, Gil was there for you, with energy to spare.

Greg smiled to himself. Yes, Grissom had energy to spare, and lately he'd been bestowing much of that energy on a young man -Greg Sanders himself.

Greg sighed contentedly. These past months had been really good; he never thought that being with Grissom could be so good, so fulfilling, so-

But Greg's pleasant daydream was abruptly cut short when he recalled why he'd looked outside in the first place: Hodges. Hodges was looking at Gil; ergo, Hodges was talking about Gil.

Greg frowned for a moment, then he put his spoon down. He'd seen Hodges try to suck-up to Gil, and he'd seen him try to get Gil's attention; this, however, was the first time he'd actually made a comment about Gil.

Greg sighed. Much as he hated to take part in Hodges' little games, this time he would have to.

"Unsung hero?" he asked with some irritation.

Hodges stepped away from the door. He leant on Greg's table and lowered his voice.

"Did you know that Gil Grissom is going to a charity event tomorrow night?"

Greg frowned. He did know -of course, he did; he was Gil's boyfriend, for God's sake -but no one else was supposed to know. So why did David Hodges know?

"Says who?" Greg asked cautiously.

"I do," Hodges said, looking inordinately smug. "A friend of mine told me. She heard it from a friend, who in turn heard it from another friend..." he let the word trail off. "You get the idea."

"So?"

"Well, this friend also told me Grissom has been attending this event for ten years, now."

"So? What's the big deal about that?" Greg shrugged, careful not to sound too eager. When it came to Hodges and gossip, the worst you could do was show him how much you wanted to know. In fact, the more you begged him to go ahead, the more he refused to continue.

Greg's apparent lack of interest did the trick.

"Well, this is no mere ball, you know," Hodges said quickly, "This is the Garson and Crowley's annual Charity Ball. They invite only la crème de la crème in Vegas society -"

Greg rolled his eyes.

"Anyone with a buck, you mean."

"Oh, no," Hodges replied, "You can have big money and still not get an invitation. Not even the under sheriff is on their list. But Grissom is." Hodges paused, then smiled, "And do you know why?"

"Well," Greg started, "Gil -I mean, Grissom is a respected member of the -"

"Oh, please," Hodges scoffed. "That's got nothing to do with it." He lowered his voice even more, "Don't tell this to anyone, but Grissom..." and this time he even glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one else was hearing, "He's got a thing going with the widow of one of the founders -a Mrs. Crowley. And by 'thing', I mean -" he smiled faintly, "Well, you know what I mean."

"No way," Greg blurted out.

"Way," Hodges nodded, "A friend of a friend of a friend -"

Greg cut in indignantly, "Grissom would never -"

"Wouldn't he?" smiled Hodges, "Of course he would. This friend tells me Grissom is getting something from Mrs. Crowley. She's rich, so -"

"Oh, come on," Greg groaned, "You don't think she's paying him!"

"Of course not," Hodges said calmly. "Money means nothing for our boss. But there's something he covets nevertheless." He paused. He waited for Greg to say something but the young man seemed too shaken to speak. Miraculously, Hodges didn't need any prompting to add, "He covets equipment."

"Equipment?"

Hodges nodded.

"Lab equipment. Every year, Garson and Crowley donates something to the lab. Something new, something expensive... Something we would never get were it not for Grissom. Our Unsung Hero," and this time there was even a touch of reverence in Hodges' voice.

But Greg was shaking his head. Yes, Grissom would do anything for the lab, but he wouldn't stoop this low. True, he didn't know Gil that well -after all, they'd been together only a few months now- and if anyone could keep a secret, it was Gil...

But not this!

"Grissom would never -"

"There's nothing he wouldn't do for the lab, my young, naive friend," Hodges said, then he turned serious, "But listen. You can't tell this to anybody, understood? I told you, because you're the least likely to make a big deal of it."

Hodges straightened up. "We, men of the world, see things differently," he said smugly, "But Warrick and Nick would get all righteous and judgmental if they knew. Catherine and Sara..." he rolled his eyes and didn't finish. "You, on the other hand, are the youngest here. Your feelings aren't that involved in the matter."

And with those words, he parted.

***

Grissom looked in the mirror for what was -for him- an inordinately long amount of time. He wasn't looking at his face, though; he was looking at the black silk bow-tie gracing his neck.

"No," he muttered at last, "It's still not right," and he decisively pulled the flaps and undid the knot.

Again.

He'd been struggling with this tie for some time now. With his tongue firmly held between his teeth, and his eyes darting from his neck to the 'how-to' diagram he'd stuck on the mirror, Gil had been folding, pulling and pinching the tie, only to find that somewhere along the line he'd missed some important step.

He didn't seem to mind, though. This inability of him didn't frustrate him or made him impatient. On the contrary; it seemed he was viewing it as a challenge -and he loved challenges.

It was Greg who was at the end of his tether.

He'd been sitting on the edge of the bed for over an hour now, following Gil's every move as he got ready for the party.

Outwardly, Greg looked very calm, as if he actually enjoyed watching his boyfriend get ready to go out with somebody else. Inwardly, it was another matter. For the last 60 minutes or so, he'd been struggling not to voice the snide comments that kept popping in his mind -which wasn't easy, considering that everything Gil did seemed especially designed to piss him off -first, by taking way too much time trimming his beard, then by putting on his very best shirt and a rented tuxedo (a tuxedo!), and finally, by shining the black shoes he wore only on very special occasions.

No, it hadn't been easy, and yet Greg had somehow remained mum through it all. But when he saw Gil undo his tie -a bow tie, for God's sake- he knew he'd had enough.

It was Hodges' fault, Greg thought morosely. If Hodges hadn't told him about Mrs. Crowley, none of this would be happening. If Hodges hadn't opened his big, gossipy mouth, Greg would have teased Gil about the party and the clothes, and he would have generally had a great time.

Instead, he was growing impatient and angry.

It's not that he actually believed Hodges' story -of course not. Not really. But the story had inevitably piqued Greg's curiosity. A Google research on Mrs. Crowley had led nowhere, however, and after a couple of hours all he had was a brief bio and little else. No pictures from past events, nothing that gave him an inkling of who she was or what she looked like. There were suggestions of extreme shyness and agoraphobia, but nothing concrete.

The lady was lady was very secretive.

But then, so was Grissom.

Looking at Gil try yet again to tie his precious bow tie, Greg took a deep breath. He didn't want to blow this relationship, but he couldn't go on like this either; he needed answers.

It made sense, too: Hodges had opened a can of worms, so it seemed only proper that an Entomologist should clean up the mess.

Greg cleared his throat.

"So," he started, "This woman you're going out with -"

"Mrs. Andrew Crowley," Gil supplied, his eyes fixed on the mirror.

" - she asked you out."

"She sent me an invitation, yes."

Greg waited for Gil to offer more information, but the older man's attention was still on the tie.

"Why don't you just put on a necktie?" Greg said morosely.

"You can't wear a necktie with a tuxedo," Gil said without missing a beat.

Greg raised an eyebrow.

"Since when do you care about fashion ?"

"I don't," Gil shrugged, "But Mrs. Crowley does."

Greg stared at Grissom for a moment.

"I think I got it," Gil said suddenly . He turned so Greg could see the tie. When Greg didn't comment, he was crestfallen. "Not good?"

"It's ok," Greg shrugged without even looking. He didn't care about the tie. "So," he said again, "This woman... You must know her well, right?" But before Gil answered, he added, "I mean, not everyone gets an invitation for this gala. Not even the under sheriff -"

"I don't know about that," Grissom said, finally tearing himself away from the mirror. He crossed the room, stopping only to drop a kiss on Greg's nose.

Greg started to smile, then stopped. Something in the trail of scent left by Gil caught his attention.

"You're wearing cologne!"

Gil glanced over his shoulder.

"You don't like it?"

"You never wear cologne!"

"I do, occasionally."

"To please Mrs. Crowley?"

Gil didn't reply; he was busy looking for something at the back of his sock drawer. Finally, he found it; a small box.

Greg raised his eyebrows; he knew what was inside that box.

"Cuff links? Since when do you wear cuff links?"

"I'm wearing a -"

"Yeah, yeah," Greg interrupted, "You're wearing a tuxedo. Boy," He said, shaking his head, "You're really getting all spruced up for this date, aren't you?"

"It's not a date."

"Oh, really," Greg replied skeptically. "You rented a tuxedo; you're wearing your best shirt and the only pair of cuff-links you own." He paused, then he added spitefully, "I'm surprised you didn't buy a corsage for her."

The observation was lost on Gil, who'd never gone to a prom in his life.

"A corsage?" he repeated, sincerely puzzled. "Why would I do that?" When Greg didn't reply, he addressed the young man's earlier comment, "It's not a date," he said as he reached for his black shoes, "I'm merely escorting Mrs. Crowley to this event."

Gil winced as he put on the shoes. They were obviously uncomfortable… but they looked good with the tuxedo.

"So," Greg said, "You're just going to have dinner and that's it -right?"

"Dinner and a few extras," Grissom said, and for some reason he found this very funny.

"Extras?" Greg repeated, "What kind of extras? "

"Like dancing, for instance -"

Greg's eyes widened.

"DANCING? But you don't -"

"Exactly," Gil smiled, "We're not Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers; basically, we just step on each other's feet."

Greg didn't find this amusing.

"What, you haven't learned to dance after escorting this lady for the past ten years?"

Grissom looked up.

"How did you know I've been escorting her for the past ten years?"

"I heard," Greg said evasively.

"Heard from whom?" Gil asked, turning his full attention on Greg.

Greg squirmed under Gil 's gaze.

"Hodges," he mumbled uncomfortably. "He heard something from a friend who'd heard it from another friend -"

"And?"

Greg hesitated. He and Grissom had been together for only a few months now; he didn't know how far he could dig into this man's private life. He didn't want to mess things up.

He gulped.

"Well," he said, "They say..." He paused for a moment, and then, looking at Gil in the eye he added, "They say that every year, right after this gala, she makes some big gift to the lab. New equipment... Costly improvements..."

Gil nodded.

"Well, she owns a fifty-one percent of Garson and Crowley," he said casually.

"So it's true?" Greg asked, eyes big with incredulity and hurt.

"Well, how do you think I managed to replace your lab after the explosion?"

Greg's jaw dropped.

He was appalled at Grissom's calm response.

"You didn't mention her! " he protested, "You just said it was a gift!"

"And it was a gift." He frowned, "What's the problem?"

"The problem is, you're sleeping with this woman to get new equipment for the lab!"

"What?" It was Grissom's turn to be appalled, "I'm not sleeping with her!"

"Oh, really?" Greg scoffed, "Then how come she's been giving you all those gifts? Don't tell me it's mere charity."

Grissom stared at Greg for a moment.

"Well…"

"Well?" Greg prompted, more sternly now.

Gil took a deep breath.

"She's my aunt. Her name's Edith."

"Your aunt? " Greg frowned. "She's a Grissom?"

"No. She's my mother's sister. I'm her favorite nephew," he added reluctantly, "But I don't want anyone to know. Otherwise, I'd get hounded by petitions from the people at the lab. I don't want to abuse my aunt's good nature."

"Oh."

Grissom tilted his head, his eyes studying Greg's face.

"This is interesting." He said softly, "You let the green-eyed monster get a hold on you, didn't you?"

"What, me? No," Greg said quickly, "Of course, not." Never in a million years would he admit that he had been, in fact, been jealous of Gil's aunt. Never, ever.

But he could see Gil wasn't convinced.

"All right," Greg said reluctantly, "Maybe I did. For a couple of hours," he added, trying to make light of it. It did the trick; Gil smiled faintly. "So," Greg said, "Is it thanks to your aunt that I have the new…?" he didn't finish the phrase, but by the way his hands formed an easily recognizable shape in the air, Gil understood.

"Yes," Gil nodded.

"And what about the other…?"

"That, too."

"Wow," Greg said. He was silent for a moment, then he looked up, "In that case…" He rose from the bed and crossed the room. Once he was in front of Gil, he expertly rearranged the older man's bow tie until it looked perfect. "There," he said.

Gil looked in the closest mirror and touched his tie with something close to awe. He looked back at Greg.

"You knew how to do this?"

"I know lots of things," Greg replied smugly. "Not everything, though," he added, giving Gil a pointed look.

Gil nodded. "I should have told you about my aunt."

"You thought that if I knew I'd start asking you for all sorts of equipment, right?" Greg asked, "You thought I'd take advantage of your relationship with this lady -"

Grissom kept his gaze on Greg.

"I guess I misjudged you," he said uncomfortably.

"You did," Greg said. "But it's ok," he added magnanimously. "After all… We haven't been together that long. Here," he added, picking Gil's jacket and holding it up so Gil could slide his arms into it. Greg took a step back to take a better look. "You look great," he said sincerely.

Greg was smiling, but he felt kinda let down. The truth was, he would have liked to go to this party. He would have loved to come along and see Gil Grissom on the dance floor, even if he wasn't Fred Astaire.

Grissom was patting on his pockets.

"I've got my invitation," he said, "I got my car keys -Oh, wait a minute," he added, "There's something I wanted to show you," and he opened the closet so Greg could take a look.

There was another tuxedo hanging in there. Greg frowned.

"What's that?"

"Your tuxedo."

"My tuxedo?"

"You've got two hours to get ready," Gil said simply.

Greg gaped. He looked at the tuxedo and then at Gil and then at the tuxedo again. After a moment's hesitation, he reached inside the closet and touched the tuxedo, as if to make sure that it was real.

"I'm coming to the ball, then?" he asked incredulously.

"No, Cinderella," Gil said snidely, "You're not." Then, in a softer tone, he added, "You're coming to dinner. My aunt wants to meet you."

Greg had glared at Gil at the mention of 'Cinderella,' but he forgot all about that when he heard the rest.

He looked at Gil as if for the first time. If Mrs. Crowley wanted to meet him, it meant that…

"You told her about me?"

"Of course," Gil said matter-of-factly. It was obvious that he didn't want to make a big deal out of it, but both knew that it was. At least, Greg did. Gil was making him part of the family -there was no bigger deal than that. But before he got too emotional, Gil intervened. "So," he said, all business again, "We'll stay at the party just long enough to do our bit at the opening ceremony, then we'll come and pick you up. Think a couple of hours will be enough?"

Greg ignored the faint sarcasm. It was true that sometimes he took to long to groom, but he could be fast, too.

"Two hours is ok," he nodded calmly. "But what about my shirt and my -"

"It's all taken care of. I raided your closet last night; I brought your white shirt, your black socks, your black shoes. Oh, and by the way," he said, taking a cellophane package from a pocket, "I got you your own bow tie."

"Ah, shit," Greg smiled. "That's gonna be tricky. It's easier to fold someone else's tie, you know." He took the tie and then watched as Grissom walked to the door.

Greg's lips parted. He wanted to say something romantic, something sweet, something that showed Gil how much all this meant to him.

But he didn't think of anything sweet or romantic.

"Hey, Gil?" Greg said, "Has Aunt Edith told you what's she gonna donate this year? 'Cause I really -REALLY- need a new Garson and Crowley lens for the -"

"That's not funny," Gil glared.

THE END

***