Title: Limbo
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Nick Stokes
Warning: PG
Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me and I don't make money off of them.
Summary: Starting to come to terms. (Sequel to "At Last!")

We haven't repeated going out together. It's not done by design at first, but then I start to feel relieved when he tells me he can't make it or that I have legitimate excuses to turn down his invitations. I haven't had to lie yet and I don't want to, not to him. Our efforts gradually become more sporadic.

At work it's bad. We hardly look at one another. We've handled a couple of cases together, but if it weren't for so many years' experience that directs and co-ordinates our moves around a crime scene, we couldn't have managed. It's not that we don't talk to each other, but that connection we had, even with its occasional tensions and flare-ups, is gone.

Sometimes when I'm looking at him, I remember the dinner by the lake, his telling me things about him I'd never have guessed, my laughing at his self-deprecating, wry humor, the sense of discovery keeping me warm despite the cool breeze off the lake. When I see him concentrating on something, lost in his world, I want to reach out and touch him, feel his solid warmth. I want to relive that night, when he was concentrating on me, when the whole world shrunk down to the two of us and how we made each other feel, nothing else, nothing bad, nothing complicated.

The thing is, before that night I hadn't realized what I really feel. Or maybe I'd just been lying to myself. But I've fallen in love, in lust, even in convenience, before and nothing ever lasted very long. So I don't trust that this can be different, no matter what I feel at the moment. I don't know what he feels, but I do know that it's too early to start making or looking for confessions.

What if we take this further, what if it's already gone further than either of us anticipated? There are rules about relationships in the workplace and I've always been convinced they're right, especially in a job like ours, where personal integrity is so important and can be held up to the spotlight every single day. We've both been in positions where our integrity was questioned, where our actions were placed in a sordid context. I don't want this, or him, or me for that matter, ever being judged in that type of context, yet I'm convinced that our actions will eventually lead to just that. In fact, we've already risked exposure.

We could make it right. One of us could ask for a transfer to a different shift, a different department. After so many years I'm pretty sure they'd jump at the chance to accommodate us, to put some fresh blood in the team and take advantage of our experience elsewhere. But neither of us is, or feels, young enough to consider leaving the stability we've worked so hard to build for a leap into the unknown.

I catch him staring at me occasionally, brooding, his eyes expressionless, and I want to ask him what he's thinking, feeling. But the more time goes by, the more difficult it becomes to break the silence. I'm hoping that he'll make the decision for us, take some sort of action, but maybe he's hoping the same of me.

Once I tried flipping a coin. Heads, I'd tell him that I'm serious about exploring this. Us. And that if he's serious too, I'd ask for a transfer. Tails, I'd tell him that I want out. I thought that if understood what my first gut reaction would be if fate were to decide for me, I'd be able to reach a decision. I ended up flipping best of three, then of five, and no matter how the coin fell, my first reaction was always denial. Not relief, not happiness, not disappointment. Denial. So I put the coin back in my pocket and I continue in limbo.

Until one day I walk into the locker room and he's there. We ignore each other at first, going about our business. Then I hear him bang his locker door shut.

"What are you thinking?" he asks me, his voice low and angry. "What are you doing? Why aren't you talking to me?"

I turn from my locker to face him, I owe him that much. "Because I don't know what to say" I respond.

"You want out?" he asks. "You want this to end?"

"No". But I can't tell him that I'm wary of where it could be leading us.

He stares at me for a couple of seconds. "Then talk to me" he says. "When shift ends, let's talk. Tell me what you're thinking." He pauses for a second. "This is important to me. You're important to me" he adds, his eyes trying to gauge my reaction, his tone less certain as he waits for my response.

So the decision is made for me, not by fate or a coin, but by him. Perhaps that's why my gut reaction this time is not simply acceptance, but anticipation, even hope.