Title: Marcus: My Family
Author: vampfire
Author's e-mail: semperfi_neversaydie@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Don't own CSI or its characters. Not making money off this.
Pairing: Warrick/Grissom
Archive: Yes to Taking Chances. Elsewhere, let me know first.
Rating: FRAO
Spoilers: None
Summary: Sequel to "Marcus" and "Marcus Meets the Lab." Closure for everyone... eventually.
Feedback: Please

***

"You really don't mind me putting this up?" Warrick asked dubiously, smirking at the paper in his hands as they entered Grissom's office.

Grissom walked up to his desk and riffled through the stacks of paper there for the case file he needed. "No, I don't mind. If he'd used our names, it might actually be a less painful way to clue in Nick and Greg."

"If you really want them to know, I've got no problem with just telling them," Warrick told him, studying the drawing in his hand. "But I think they'll get it from this pretty easily."

"Greg probably. Nick might just ask you who your girlfriend is," Gil told him, scanning through the paperwork in the folder for the report he needed.

Catherine walked by and stuck her head in. "Gil, are you going to hand out assignments sometime tonight or do you just want me to do it?"

"I'm coming. I need to find something first," Gil said distractedly, intent on reading.

"Wait, Cath. You've got to see this," Warrick said, holding up Marc's artwork.

It was the typical family portrait, entitled "My Family" at the top and all done in crayon: two figures outlined in brown, one smaller than the other, and one figure in peach. The rest of the paper was a parade of black six-legged creatures lined up until the edge of the page.

What had Catherine doubling over with laughter and Warrick unable to hide his mirth was the writing underneath, in blue crayon. "Dad," "Marcus," "Mom," and "Ants" were labeled, with "Mom" squarely under the peach figure.

"I'm going to put it on the fridge in the break room; what do you think?" Warrick asked her between chuckles.

"Warrick, this is priceless!"

Grissom approached them with the file he'd been looking for, frowning. "If you had bothered to ask him *why* he wrote that under my picture, you'd see it's perfectly logical."

"Uh-huh. And what's his *logical* reason?" Warrick challenged, smiling at him.

"I'm the one who cooks. His mother used to cook. The assignment was to draw a picture of yourself and your mother and father, siblings, and pets. He barely remembers his biological father and his mother's dead. Marc was very creative. He's a smart kid."

"At least he didn't draw in your beard," Catherine chimed in. "That would have raised some interesting questions with his teacher..."

Gil shot her a look, not amused, and passed them to head for the break room. Warrick was trying to keep from laughing, still admiring the picture with Catherine.

"And look at those smiles on your faces," Catherine pointed out, chuckling at the big red smiles drawn on Warrick and Gil. "I don't think I've seen Gil smile that big."

"I have," Warrick said smugly, smiling.

"Whoa there, too much info," Catherine told him, catching his insinuation and laughing. "So what's with the giant ants?"

Warrick rolled his eyes. "Ant farm. Guess who got him that for his seventh birthday? He loves it. Even more than the bike I picked out for him."

"Aww, I'm sorry Warrick," Catherine said in mock sympathy at Warrick's sullenness. "I guess he's just his momma's boy."

Warrick cracked up again, and they left for the break room with the picture and a magnet.

***

Warrick kept his eyes closed even though Gil's hands had brought him fully awake from his nap on the living room couch several moments ago.

It wasn't as though he were fooling Gil into thinking he was still asleep; his breathing was getting faster by the second. And Marc was contentedly watching Saturday morning cartoons in his room. Maybe they could get past him and into the bedroom without him noticing and wanting them to join him...

Warrick's cell phone rang, but Gil's hands didn't pause in their caresses. Warrick struggled to sit up on the couch, but then Gil was kissing him and for a moment he forgot about the phone. He remembered again when his brain realized Gil's hand was in his pocket, pulling out his cell and flipping it open a second before ending the kiss. Warrick managed a noise that could have been "hello."

"Hey, it's me."

"Hey, Nick." Warrick cleared his throat and asked in a more normal tone, "You ready for the game?" Gil settled for pressing a kiss into his neck, leaving Warrick's mouth free to talk.

"Yup. So, is it your couch's turn yet?" Nick asked, jokingly. "Mine's getting a little worn out. Not to mention I'll feel compelled to clean up in here if you're coming over, and some of this mess is still from the last time you were here."

"Actually, Marc and I are over at Grissom's," Warrick said, wondering if his friend had put two and two together yet and what he would say when he did. "But we can watch the game over here. Gris and Marc are going to the park."

There was a pause before Nick agreed, "All right; I'll bring the beer. See you in a few."

"You think he's got it yet?" Gil asked, pulling Warrick back for their interrupted kiss when he closed the cell phone.

"I guess I'll find out when he gets here," Warrick told him, pulling Gil's body closer so he could run his hands over him. "We could plant some subtle hints..."

Gil's lips cut him off but he released him a moment later to ask, "What sort of subtle hints?"

"I don't know," Warrick said, gasping as Gil's hands unexpectedly slid under his clothes. "You could always answer the doorbell in your underwear..."

Gil chuckled against his skin. "Come on; we need to get past Marc's door before the commercial break in two minutes."

"How do you know-"

Gil just smirked smugly and stood, pulling Warrick to his feet. "Nick won't be over for a couple hours, right?"

"Yeah, but there's no way Marc's going to sit quietly all morning."

"We'll see," Gil said, letting their lips come together again, this time with their bodies pressed together from head to toe.

***

"So does Grissom play Playstation now, or is this yours?" Nick asked, casually, but reminding Warrick that this was a level three CSI he was dealing with. "And this speaker system looks darn familiar..."

Warrick met his gaze steadily and decided not to say anything until he got a hint of what Nick's reaction was going to be.

"You told me you were painting and that's why we've been doing my place all season," Nick said, accusatorily. But then he smiled and continued, "More like you painted and renovated and relocated into Grissom's townhouse, huh?"

Warrick smiled back, glad this was going well. "I wasn't trying to keep anything from you, Nick. We just needed some time."

Nick returned his gaze seriously. "That's alright, man. I understand." Warrick nodded at him, knowing he really did understand.

Nick opened a beer and plopped down on Grissom's couch. "And it's not like I haven't suspected this for the past couple months."

Warrick rolled his eyes and flipped on the TV, using the remote to get the game on as he took the armchair across from the couch. "Yeah? What gave us away?"

"You know... passing each other love letters, all those stolen kisses in the locker room, holding hands at crime scenes..."

Warrick laughed. "Yeah, that'll be the day. Gil Grissom less than professional at work. I'd love to see that. What was it, really?"

Nick sobered. "I really don't know, other than Marc being around that one time. That sort of made me take a hard look at what I'd been sensing about you two. I mean, there aren't too many rational explanations for how well he knew Grissom."

Nick watched the kick-return for a minute, because this wasn't something he was used to discussing. But if there was anyone he could talk about almost anything with, it was Warrick. "You love him, huh?"

Warrick smiled and dragged his own eyes away from the screen to meet Nick's. "Yeah," he said, not caring how sappy he sounded. Nick just nodded and took a drink of beer. He still looked cool with everything.

Warrick leaned back into his chair and watched the game feeling a sense of relief. He had Catherine's support and now his best friend's. Sara had quit chasing after the man he loved. He was deeply involved with a man who was professionally his supervisor, and yet they'd maintained a good relationship at work. They were raising his second cousin who'd become more like their son. And the Bengals had just thrown an interception that his team ran back for a touchdown. Life was good.

***

Grissom checked his watch as Marc walked towards him from where he'd been playing on the monkey bars.

"Marc, we have to leave pretty soon to be home for dinner. Is there anything you want to do before we go?"

"The swings. Just five minutes, okay?"

"Do you want me to push you?"

"No, I can do it. Watch how high I can get..." Marc told him, taking off at a run for the swings.

Grissom sat on an empty bench with a good view, watching as Marc got side-tracked and started talking to a boy with a soccer ball. He handed the ball over to Marc, who turned it in his hands and could just be heard telling the other boy how cool it was and asking if he was on a team. They walked towards the swings together, and Grissom noticed another man standing nearby, watching the two boys.

He turned to Grissom and asked, "That your son? That's my boy, Dylan."

Grissom had nodded in answer to the question, and the man walked up to the bench. "Brian Plower," he introduced himself, offering his hand.

"Gil Grissom." This wasn't what he wanted. He usually spent the time at the park exclusively with Marc. Grissom had occasionally interacted with other kids, but never with their parents. Usually he let Warrick deal with any necessary small talk.

"Is your son in second grade?" Brian asked, sitting on the bench beside him.

"First," Grissom responded, eyes on Marc as he pushed himself higher and higher into the air on the swings. Brian's son was on the swing beside him, clutching the soccer ball under one arm and hanging onto the chain of the swing with the other. They were laughing and calling out to each other, but Grissom could barely hear them over the noise of the kids on the nearby slide.

"Are you a single parent?"

Grissom smiled to himself. "No."

"Oh, sorry. You just had that look. I'm going through a divorce, so I guess it's been on my mind. I don't know how I'm going to deal with just seeing Dylan on weekends, if it comes to that."

Grissom had been watching the man through all of this, wondering what it was that was compelling him to share. He didn't know what to say, and as he thought about it, being restricted to seeing Marc only a few times a week would be hell. He'd become so accustomed to living as a family, he couldn't remember what it was like to be alone.

Instead of answering, Gil glanced up to the swing set, seeking Marc.

His pulse froze when Marc wasn't there, and his eyes trailed immediately to the road beside the swings, and he was already standing, already shouting Marc's name even as the awful squeal of car brakes filled the air. He ran then, panicked, too slow and too late, and threw himself down beside the still form by the curb.

Marc's eyes were closed, his body unmoving. The other boy's soccer ball lay forgotten at the opposite curb. Grissom found his pulse, felt his chest rise and fall. But Marc made no response to his frantic voice. Brian had already called 911 on his cell; there were people all around them now and the car parked halfway onto the sidewalk from the swerve. Gil helplessly kept his fingers on Marc's wrist, trying to tell if his pulse was weak, avoiding moving him in case of head injury, and frantically combing his body from head to toe for signs of blood.

The ride in the ambulance was brief and unreal. They took Marc away when the doors opened, and then someone was helping him jump down from the back of the ambulance, guiding him away from where they had taken Marc, asking if he was injured and then leading him into the waiting room up to the desk.

It was painful to have to be separated from Marc, especially now when he needed to see him more than anything. Needed to see him open his eyes, needed to see his smile and feel his arms wrap around him in a hug, needed him to live...

He was almost unable to deal with the nurse at the desk. He shook his head 'no' to the questions about known drug allergies, and when she asked him simply what his relationship was to the patient, he was unable to respond.

"Are you his legal guardian?" she prompted.

If she'd phrased it any differently... but, no, that was specific. And he wasn't legally anything to Marc. He answered her honestly, "No."

"I need a name and phone number for a legal guardian or relative," she told him.

"Warrick Brown. I - I'll call him."

She smiled sympathetically at him, passing the clipboard of information to someone walking by in scrubs.

His cell phone felt strange against his ear, blocking out sounds of fussing children, tired adults, and talk between the people working and walking near the desk.

"Hey!" Warrick's voice came into his ear, answering the call and knowing from the caller ID who it was. "Where are you guys? I thought I told you the game would be over by five."

Gil's tongue had frozen, his eyes tearing up at the sound of Warrick's voice. "Warrick..." was all he managed.

"Gil? What's wrong? Where are you?" The pitiful sound of Gil's voice had him a second away from complete panic. Gil had never sounded like that, not in all the years they'd known each other.

Warrick had already gotten his keys and left the house on a beeline for the car. "Gil! Talk to me!"

"The... County Hospital," Gil managed, finding it hard to breathe, even harder to talk. "Warrick..." He broke off again, this time noticeably caught on a sob.

"I'm on the way. Hold on, Gil." Warrick's pulse was racing. He knew what was wrong without having to ask, but he had to know how bad it was. "Marc?"

"I... don't know." The connection was cut, leaving Warrick to try to drive with the worst of his fears playing out in his vision, blocking the traffic, blocking everything but the need to get to his family.

***

Warrick walked into the ER waiting room, heading for the desk until he saw Gil, hunched over in one of the chairs, eyes unseeing on the carpet in front of him.

"Gil..." Warrick dropped down to a crouch, leaning forward onto his knees as he put both hands on Gil's shoulders, scared to death to see him like this, his skin so pasty looking, his eyes unfocused.

"What happened? Talk to me, Gil."

"Warrick, God..." Gil's eyes closed, unable to stop the few visual memories he had of the accident from filling his vision.

"Gil, it's all right. Please, tell me," Warrick pleaded in a low voice, his hands strong and reassuring on his lover.

"I looked up and he was gone. And then a car turned, from Worthington onto - that side road by the swings. Marc... there was a soccer ball. A boy on the swings with him was holding it; he must have lost his grip and Marc ran after it, not looking... God..."

He surprised himself. He hadn't even noticed the soccer ball, had he? His subconscious mind had pieced together the scene for him. But this wasn't some case. This couldn't be that; this victim wasn't dead. Wouldn't be dead. Couldn't be dead.

"Warrick, I'm sorry; it's my fault; I wasn't watching him-" Grissom said, voice quiet and pained, his words running together.

Warrick's grip tightened on his shoulders. "Gil! It is not your fault. He's going to be okay. He's going to. I'm gonna talk to the nurse. I'll be right back."

Warrick stood dazedly and walked to the desk, asking for information, anything they could tell him, and then he was back beside Gil, sitting in the plastic chair attached to his, close enough that they were touching all along their sides. He put his hand firmly on Gil's leg. "He's in surgery. That's all the nurse at the desk knows. What did he look like when- Gil, tell me..."

"He was breathing, his pulse was... I thought it was weak. He was unconscious, so still. They, in the ambulance, he went into a-fib, I think, I remember them using the defibrillator." Gil shuddered, seeing vividly the memory of Marc's thin body twitching under the paddles. "They stabilized him. They - nothing was bleeding openly; I think internally-"

Warrick noticed he was losing Gil, who looked even paler now as he shivered all over. "Deep breaths, Gil," Warrick warned him, guiding his head down towards his knees. "It's all right, baby. Just breathe, okay?"

Gil coughed, almost choking, and managed to steady his breathing, feeling the light-headedness recede enough to realize Warrick's hands were moving reassuringly across his back.

Tears bit against his eyes and he held them back. He couldn't afford that now, not when they didn't even have word on Marc's condition. It wasn't fair to Warrick that he was breaking down like this. Warrick deserved time for his own emotions without having to worry about taking care of him.

Gil sucked in a breath and sat up, telling Warrick firmly, "I'm fine."

Warrick clearly didn't believe that for a moment, but didn't contradict him. They began the long anxious wait in a silence filled with coughs and pointless conversations, restless children, and thousands of other distractions that had nothing to do with Marc's well-being.

***

"Warrick Brown?" the woman at the desk called over the quiet PA.

Warrick was there in a second, leaving Gil frozen, still leaning his elbows against his knees, his head lifted to watch.

"Mr. Brown, your son's surgery is over. He's stable now."

"Can I see him?"

"Yes."

Warrick turned to Gil, smiling, and beckoned him over. He caught the nurse's expression and forestalled any comments. "He's family."

When Gil joined them, Warrick guided him with his hand at the center of his back as they followed the nurse. They were led to an area where curtains formed small rooms of space large enough to hold a hospital bed on wheels, an IV drip, and a crash cart.

They passed several patients who were not Marc and then were intercepted by a woman in scrubs who introduced herself and started briefing them on the surgery. They'd stopped the bleeding, stabilized his condition. He was on pain meds now and being fed intravenously. The nurse from the desk opened the next curtain to reveal Marc's bed and Grissom's hearing faded out.

He heard parts of what the doctor was saying. No way to know what trauma he sustained when his head made contact with the ground. No way to know when he might regain consciousness. The possibility that he might become comatose...

Gil heard Warrick's voice speaking to the doctor, but couldn't make out the words. All he could see was Marc. His body was so small in the large bed, so much more fragile than Gil had ever realized.

He already had a bright white cast on his left arm. Gil recalled words from the doctor that hadn't clicked a moment ago, about it breaking in two places. The wrap around his torso was for the broken ribs. With the heart rate monitor and IV, Marc looked thoroughly pitiful and helpless, but to Gil the mere sight of his chest rising and falling was the most wonderful thing he could have asked for.

At some point they were left alone and Gil became aware that Warrick was clutching his hand in his like a lifeline. There were two stools the nurse had kindly moved between the curtain and the side of Marc's bed for them before she'd partially drawn the curtain. "Sit down, Warrick," Gil told him, worried.

"Oh, God, oh, God-" Warrick was mumbling, tears sliding down his cheeks as he let Gil move him to the seat. "Oh God, Marc, I am so sorry, honey."

No, Gil thought forcefully, clenching his teeth together and willing himself not to cry. *I'm* sorry. This is my fault. God, how could I have let this happen?

Warrick scrubbed at his face and found composure, starting to talk to Marc like the boy could hear him, telling him it was okay and they were here now. He pulled the stool closer and lightly stroked his unbroken arm, steering clear of the IV. Gil left his stool where it was, watching them in silence and knowing that he would never in his life forget this scene, with Marc so broken and Warrick in so much pain.

***

They stayed with Marc into the night, convincing the nurse they were being quiet and not disturbing Marc or any of the adjacent patients.

Around five in the morning, Warrick decided he couldn't take it anymore and went for a walk. He told Gil he'd be back, but wasn't sure Gil had really even heard him. He called their friends, knowing they'd be awake, keeping work-like hours even on the weekend.

He managed to tell them that Marc had been hit by a car, convinced them to stay at home, and promised he would call if he needed anything. When Catherine asked about Gil, he gave her a short "not good" and couldn't say another word.

He hung up, feeling worse than before he'd called, and gave into the need to move, walking aimlessly and covering a large part of the hospital. When he finally slowed down to a stop in a hallway, he let himself lean against the wall, suddenly completely drained.

He couldn't stop seeing Marc lying there motionless, so small and weak and quiet, nothing like the bundle of energy he was. And Gil there beside him, completely withdrawn.

Warrick tried to take deep even breaths and regain some sense of normalcy. He was sure he was in shock, knew he was scared almost as much by Gil's state as Marc's. Warrick could feel, deep down where he always felt hunches, that something terrible was yet to happen, and no matter how much he tried to convince himself he was being illogical, he couldn't shake that feeling.

He suddenly needed to be back there. He pushed away from the wall, looking around to find out where he was. The first sign he saw told him the renal ward was one way and the cafeteria was the other. He could stand to be away for another couple minutes, just as long as it would take to buy him and Gil some food. They never had gotten dinner. Thank God the oven and stove hadn't been on when he'd gotten that terrifying phone call from Gil. The house would have burned down by now.

***

Warrick returned to the curtained room and found Marc exactly the same as he'd left him. Gil was standing by him, staring down at him with an unreadable expression, his knuckles white where he gripped the rail at the side of the bed. Warrick put his arm around Gil's waist, but Gil remained motionless at his side.

"I called Catherine and Nick, told them not to come down here yet. Catherine put you in for vacation time and me in for emergency family leave, both starting Monday," Warrick told him.

For a second Grissom couldn't understand why she hadn't just put them both on emergency leave, but reality reasserted itself and Gil closed his eyes. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Gil, I brought you something to eat, but we can't eat in here. It's out in the lobby... you coming?"

Gil followed quietly, back to the unyielding plastic chairs, and ate what Warrick handed to him.

They ate in silence. The restless noises of the waiting room were tense now. The only people waiting at the ER before six AM were there for a serious reason.

Warrick hastily finished his meal when Gil balled up his trash and stood up to head for a trash can. He simply started back towards Marc's bed, without a word to Warrick

Warrick caught up to him, wondering only an instant why Gil had stopped walking, and then he saw the nurse moving Marc's bed away. Panic, swift and sure, filled his throat and he was sure he was having a heart attack until the nurse's words soothed the pain away.

"We're transferring him to a room now. The doctor was just by to check on him and make sure he's recovering from the surgery." They must have still had echoes of the fear on their faces, because she added clearly, "He's doing fine."

Warrick never saw Gil's reaction. By the time he looked for it, Gil had shut down. They followed Marc in the elevator and over to the children's ward, where he was given a small room. An extra chair was brought in so they could both sit by his side.

Somehow, despite the stress of the past twelve hours or because of it, Gil fell asleep.

***

When Gil was startled awake several hours later, he quickly scanned Marc but found nothing had changed. He realized Warrick was no longer in the room and stood, his back loudly protesting his sleeping position. He tried to stretch but it didn't help. He thought of Warrick's masterful massages and then immediately felt guilty for thinking of his own comfort when Marc lay beside him, injured and unconscious.

He remembered then the doctor warning them Marc might slip into a coma and felt his body shiver. He needed to ask someone how likely that was, ask someone how Marc was doing, had he been checked on recently?

Before Gil could leave the room, his cell phone rang. He pulled it out automatically.

"Grissom," he said, expecting Catherine and realizing he was glad she'd called. He needed to hear her voice right now.

Instead, it was Ecklie. "Gil, this is not a good time for you to go on vacation."

Gil pulled himself together and focused on the irritating sound of Ecklie's voice in his ear. "Conrad, it's too late to argue; I'm already on vacation. Just get someone from Days to switch to Nights for a while."

"'A while'? Exactly how long do you plan on being away?" Now Ecklie was sounding pissed.

Gil kept his voice stern and unyielding, half-ready to just hang up. "I have several weeks of vacation time stored up. I'll let you know when I'm coming back."

"Listen, Gil. I can't afford for you to take that much time right now. Brown's taking emergency leave for some distant relative-"

"His *son* was hit by a car, Ecklie. His seven-year-old son. I do not want to hear another word about Warrick's use of emergency leave; do you hear me?!"

Gil had the presence of mind to turn his cell off after that, preventing anything worse from being said. He dropped it to the floor, barely keeping himself from throwing it as hard as he could against the wall. That would certainly have gotten him kicked out of the hospital.

Warrick must have come back into the room just in time to hear the end of that conversation. He was suddenly behind Gil, hands solid and comforting on his shoulders, holding him together as he shook with anger. Slowly, Grissom swallowed the rage, and Warrick's fingers dug into his shoulders, massaging down his back and bringing relief Gil didn't think he deserved.

"It's going to be okay, baby. I promise you..." Warrick's voice choked off and he let his head rest on Gil's shoulder, pulling him close so he was hugging him from behind. "God, please let him be okay."

Warrick's whispered words sent Gil shivering. He hated himself for bringing that pain to Warrick's voice. Gil silently promised he would do whatever it took, he would leave Warrick and Marc alone and never hurt them again, if Marc would just be okay.

***

Can You hear me?
Am I getting through tonight?
Can You see him?
Can You make him feel all right?
If You can hear me
Let me take his place somehow
See, he's not just anyone
He's my son

-Mark Schultz

***

"Grams, I just didn't want to wake you up in the middle of the night. You don't sleep well enough as it is," Warrick tried, then eased the phone further from his ear as he fielded his grandmother's response.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry; I should have."

Warrick braced himself against her side of the conversation again and finally said, "Okay, Grams. We'll see you then."

He put the phone away and let out a sigh. "They're coming. Geraldine's going to pick her up."

The silence of Gil's non-answer was interrupted by a weak cough from the bed. They each took the least number of steps to reach Marc and wound up on either side of him, taking in the sight of his eyes opening.

Relief like Gil had never felt swept through him. He felt like he could finally breathe again for the first time since yesterday afternoon.

Marc's eyes found Warrick and he tried to smile when he realized it was Warrick he was looking at.

"Marc, are you okay? How do you feel?" Warrick was asking, insistently.

But Marc's attention had left him, his gaze seeking Gil on the other side of his bed. The first thing he said, his voice hoarse and his throat dry, was: "Gil, where am I?"

Gil reached over to gently cup the side of his face, touching Marc for the first time since he'd been lying in the street. "You're safe," he answered.

"We're in a hospital, Marc. Do you remember what happened in the park?" Warrick asked slowly.

"No," Marc said then thought about it. "I was on the swings. Dylan dropped the ball and we ran after it. He stopped at the sidewalk, but I thought I could reach it before it went into the street."

"You're going to be all right now, Marc," Warrick was saying, his voice choked. "Tell me how you feel, please."

"Funny. I can't move very much..."

"That's all right, Marc. That's normal. The doctors are giving you some medicine to make you better."

"Can I have a drink?"

"Let me call the nurse, okay?" Warrick said, remembering the call button. He looked over the bed at Gil as he waited for the nurse and found him trying to hide how emotional a reaction he was having to Marcus waking up. "I love you," Warrick told him in a low voice.

Gil just nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and stood up to give the nurse space as the door opened and a young man came in to help Marc.

***

When Geraldine and Warrick's grandmother arrived, it was mid-Sunday morning. Geraldine bustled in first, wrapping Warrick in a hurried hug on her rush to Marc's side. She sat down in the chair beside him that Gil had been using and began asking him concerned questions, without a word of greeting to Gil.

Warrick's grandmother had stopped in the doorway, just watching Marc and seeing that he was talking to Geraldine just fine. A smile lit her face and she allowed herself to be pulled into a hug by her grandson. When she walked fully into the room she turned the smile on Gil, nodding him a hello, and greeted Marc.

Gil stood to the side and just watched them interact with Marc, never feeling more like an outsider, never feeling guiltier for being the cause of all their concern. Time stretched thin until it lost meaning, and his eyes stayed on Marc, feeling the boy's feeble smile tear at his heart again and realizing that he couldn't stand the knowledge that it was his fault Marc was here in this hospital bed.

He started when he felt a soft hand on his shoulder, turning to find Warrick's grandmother looking at him with concern.

"Gil, could you walk me out?"

His eyes found Marc again, but the boy had Geraldine on one side and Warrick on the other, his real family. Gil held the door for Grams to leave the room.

"Child, you look like you could use some coffee," she decided once they were out in the hall. Gil's mouth opened to protest, but she forestalled him, "It'll only be five minutes. There's a cafeteria a couple floors down and the elevator's just over here."

She was already guiding him, *handling* him Gil realized with a slight smile, so he gave in and followed her to the elevator. He had the sudden insight that his mother would have done exactly the same, getting him away from the source of his pain for a few minutes, trying to help him see that everything would be all right. But this time everything wouldn't be all right. This time he wouldn't be able to get over this.

He felt a twinge of regret that he'd never told his mother he was with Warrick, never told her about Marc. It wasn't something he'd wanted to say over email. He'd decided to wait until they could visit... and had eventually shared this plan with Warrick. They'd practically picked out a weekend and then Marc had come along and complicated the plans and made their life so busy, so wonderful.

Warrick's grandmother let him have his thoughts in silence as they found their way to the cafeteria. In line to get the coffee, she declared how light a breakfast she'd eaten and quickly ordered hash browns, pancakes, and cantaloupe, asking for two plates.

He was definitely being handled, Gil decided wearily, helping her to sit and taking the other chair at the small table. He took a sip of the coffee. It wasn't Greg's Hawaiian blend, but it wasn't as bad as the coffee at the police precinct.

He let Grams put the majority of the food onto his plate. When she started on her own small portions, he followed suit, surprised to find himself hungry. "I'll have to get something to take back for Warrick before we go," Gil murmured. "Thank you."

"He'll prefer the French toast to the pancakes," she commented.

"I know."

She finished a bite and looked up at him. "Gil, will you tell me what happened? Warrick was very brief." Her attention was completely on him, and Gil wasn't sure he could go through this, but there was nothing accusatory in her eyes, just the need to know the truth.

He drank more coffee then told her. "I was watching Marc at the playground down the road. He was on the swings, with another boy, whose father I was talking to. I didn't have my eyes off him for more than a few seconds, but both boys were gone when I looked up. I - I watched, saw the car hit him. The other boy stopped at the curb, but Marc kept chasing after a ball they'd been holding on the swings. The driver slammed on the brakes, tried to swerve, but hit him - hard. There was... the sound of him being hit. And when I got there he wasn't moving."

Gil looked away. He couldn't go on, couldn't tell her they'd had to shock his heart back into a regular pattern in the ambulance, couldn't tell her about the surgery to stop his internal bleeding, the endless time suspended in the waiting room, and finally seeing him so small and helpless and wondering if he would ever open his eyes again.

He felt her hand wrap over his, still clenched around his coffee mug, and looked back at her. She knew; she knew all of it somehow.

"Gil, Ricky told me once that your grandparents passed on before you were born. That you never had any growing up."

He only nodded.

"Well you do now," she told him, her gaze solid on his. "So you feel free to come talk to me anytime. You know where I live; I'm not going anywhere."

He looked down. "Thank you."

"I don't know what to say to convince you, Gil, that none of this is your fault." She frowned at him. "Children do things, silly things and sometimes dangerous ones, that nobody can predict. And all we can do is love them and protect them as best we can, and hope life's lessons come as gently as possible.

"You have to let this go, child, or it'll eat you up inside. You didn't do anything wrong. None of us blame you for what happened. Not even Geraldine, though I saw how she ignored you. Don't pay her any mind. She's just scared for Marc and scared to think that it could have been her watching Marc when this happened. It could have happened to any of us."

Gil just swallowed, touched by her concern and her love.

"You come talk to me when you're ready," she told him. "Let's get back to them."

Gil cleared the food and got in line to get a take-out breakfast for Warrick.

***

When they opened the door to Marc's room, Warrick was setting a new flower arrangement onto a table on the other side of the small room, next to the one Catherine had already sent that morning.

"Who's that one from?" Grams asked him conversationally.

"The driver of the car."

Grams nodded approvingly, as though unsurprised that there were still decent people in this city.

She settled down beside Marc and began telling him how jealous all the kids at school would be of his cast. His eyes lit up as they talked about his friends signing it.

Gil watched them and avoided the eye contact he knew Warrick was seeking.

***

Settling Marc into his own bed at home was a relief. When the doctor had tentatively told them Marc could go home Monday, Grams had quietly but firmly informed Geraldine they would let Warrick and Gil get Marc settled in back home and wait until the next day to come see how he was doing. Warrick had smiled his thanks at her as they left Marc and promised him they'd see him in two days.

Marc had been discharged by early afternoon on Monday. The poor thing was tired out enough and feeling bad enough that he was content to listen to stories in his bed most of the day. Warrick sat next to him and read. Gil had chosen to sit on the floor, leaning against the dresser and listening, shaking his head when Warrick offered him a turn at reading.

Warrick tried not to worry too much over Gil's mood. He tried gently a few times to get Gil to talk, but was quietly shot down every time. He did catch Gil speaking to Marc on a return from the kitchen where he'd been getting Marc's dinner and medicine ready.

"No, Marc, you can go to the park anytime you want once you're feeling better. Warrick will be there to watch you, and he would never let anything hurt you. You know not to go near the roads, right?"

Marc was shaking his head in vigorous agreement when Warrick came into the room with his meal. Gil helped Marc to sit up against the pillows and then stood up, telling him, "Warrick is going to eat with you while I go get a shower, okay Marc?"

"'Kay."

Warrick watched Gil's retreating back before sitting down with Marc and handing him a drink.

***

Warrick checked one last time to make sure Marc was sound asleep for the night and didn't need anything. He was out like a light, so Warrick headed for his and Gil's bedroom.

Warrick got into bed, knowing Gil wasn't asleep yet, and smoothed his hand down the line of Gil's back, which was all he could reach of Gil since the man was curled on his side facing the wall.

"I don't know about you, but I could seriously use some stress relief right now," Warrick murmured, continuing to rub his hand lightly over Gil's back.

Gil didn't so much as twitch. "I can't tonight, Warrick," he told his pillow. "I'm sorry - I - not tonight."

"Okay," Warrick agreed easily, though he was worried. He'd been hoping Gil would open up once they'd gotten Marc safely home from the hospital, but if anything, Gil was even more remote.

On his back in the dark, Warrick wondered what to do to get Gil to talk to him again. That part of their relationship had taken a long time to develop, and Warrick had taken for granted the easy communication they had finally achieved. Now it was like they were starting all over.

***

Gil had tried to sleep, but not even the warm presence of Warrick at his back had relaxed him. As he passed hours lying in the dark thinking, he became increasingly sure of what he had to do.

Finally he rolled out of bed and moved around the room quietly as Warrick slept on unawares. He easily found his way in the dark to Marc's bedroom.

Gil watched Marc sleep for a long time, wondering at how vulnerable he looked, how trusting he was that Warrick and Gil would keep him safe. Marc had trusted him...

Gil spoke to the sleeping boy softly, telling him what he needed to say, even if Marc would never hear it. It wouldn't be fair to him to really say goodbye. Better to just leave him quietly, safe with his real family.

He eased the door shut and returned to his bedroom, this time watching Warrick's sleeping form and feeling the same painful twist in his chest.

"Warrick, we need to talk."

It wasn't the words but their tone that had Warrick instantly awake, his heart hammering in his chest. "Is Marc okay?" he asked automatically.

It had been the wrong thing to say to Gil. What emotion had been on his face vanished, and he said stiffly, "He's fine. I just checked on him."

It was only then that Warrick realized Gil was completely dressed, in the middle of the night. He wondered vaguely if Gil was planning on going into work, if that would be his recourse now.

Warrick sat up on the edge of the bed and Gil backed up, giving himself space. He looked away as he told him, "I'm going to take a position in the LA crime lab."

"You *what*?" Warrick was on his feet instantly, though frozen there as he tried to understand Gil's words.

"Warrick, please, this is hard enough, please just-"

"Just what, Gil?!" Warrick interrupted, when the situation finally sank in. "How can you even think of leaving us like this? I love you. Marc loves you. Gil..."

Warrick was pacing now, beside himself, completely unable to believe what he was hearing.

"Warrick, I can't stay here. I can't look at Marc, at the cast on his arm and his fractured ribs, and know that he's in pain because I failed to keep him safe."

"Gil, no one could have stopped that car in time. You didn't fail him. He needs you now. I need you."

Gil turned away, barely retaining his composure. "I have to go. Warrick, I -" He cleared his throat and changed what he was going to say. He told the far wall, "I'll tell the LA lab I left because of an irreparable personality conflict with Ecklie. I've had a standing offer to join their lab for years now; it shouldn't be a problem."

Gil left, and Warrick didn't have anything left to call out to him that could make him stop. He sank back to sit on the bed and stayed there staring at the wall and trying to wrap his head around what had just happened.

***

When Geraldine came early Tuesday afternoon, Warrick left for the gym, lifting without anyone to spot for him because he couldn't stand the company at this point.

He wore himself out, burning up his useless energy trying to make up for the complete helplessness he felt where his life was concerned.

He was doing too many reps on the bench press with too much weight, and when he barely managed to keep the bar from crushing his chest and used the last of his strength to somehow raise it to rest on the rails, he knew it was time to quit. He just laid there on his back, staring at the fans on the ceiling above. And out of nowhere, a familiar face was looking down on him.

"Hey, Warrick, you okay there man?"

Warrick sat up, too quickly, feeling vertigo and wincing at his strung out pecs and arms. "Hey, steady there," Nick said, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. "I'm going to go out on a limb and say you overdid it a little."

Warrick managed a smile at Nick's friendly good humor. "Yeah," he admitted. "A little."

He stood up and faced his friend, who frequented a different gym. "Where exactly did you come from?"

"Your grandma called me. She got to your place and your aunt told her you'd gone out to workout. Guess she was worried about you."

"Uh-huh," Warrick said. "Figures."

"She told me Marc's been doing great, recovering real well. How are you doing?"

Warrick bit his lip. "Lemme shower and then we can talk, okay?"

"Okay," Nick agreed easily.

***

They ended up sitting on a bench outside the plexiglassed racquetball courts, talking quietly in the cover of the noise of the balls careening around the rooms.

"So what's wrong? Marc's getting better; hell, he'll be back at school in another week."

"Yeah, Marc's not the problem," Warrick said, watching the game nearest them. "It's Grissom. He split." With Nick, he thought he could say it like it didn't hurt. Damn was he wrong. He glanced back at Nick and met those brown puppy-dog eyes that could see straight through him.

"Well, why don't you follow him?"

Warrick glanced again at his friend, meaningfully.

Nick continued, "Come on, I know he's worth it!" Nick blushed as his loud words rang in his ears. "To you," he added quickly. "Don't tell me this is some damn pride thing that's keeping you from going after him."

"No," Warrick said. "But I couldn't stand it if I chased him down just to have him reject me again. It hurt damn well enough the first time, thank you."

"Then do it for Marc," Nick insisted. "He deserves to have both of you. This is one hell of a punishment for forgetting to look both ways before you cross the street. Hasn't he been through enough?"

Warrick felt that one in the gut. "Damn, Nick. I should just get you on the phone with Gris; that would take care of it."

Nick shook his head and toned down on the righteous anger. "I just don't want to see all three of you get hurt because you won't give it another try."

"Okay already. You've convinced me."

"You were already going to follow him before you even talked to me," Nick told him, smiling.

"Yeah, but it was nice to have you back me up."

"Now all you have to do is track down where he went. I don't suppose he left a map lying on the table with his route highlighted in red ink or anything."

"Naw. But, conveniently, I happen to be a highly-trained crime scene investigator."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. A highly-trained crime scene investigator who knows Gil's online banking password. He paid for a rental car at LA International."

"Gee, Warrick, they should make a whole 'nother level of CSI to accommodate that sort of investigative prowess. I'm gonna have to start calling you 'CSI level four, Brown.'"

Warrick aimed a punch at Nick as they stood up.

"That's '*Mister* CSI 4 Brown' to you, chump."

***

His mood went downhill fast as he pulled out of the parking lot to drive home alone, hitting the radio and finding it on the classical station. He quickly silenced Wagner, but the damage had been done.

He hit the pre-set for one of his favorite stations and was greeted by Al Green complaining that there "ain't no sunshine when she's gone." Warrick kept it there, enjoying the music and drifting towards melancholy.

When Warrick got in, Grams came down the stairs from spending most of the day with Marc. Geraldine had already left. Grams walked into the kitchen where Warrick was getting a drink and pulled him into a hug without saying a word.

"He left me, Grams," Warrick told her, flatly.

"I know," she said. "He called me from the airport."

Warrick looked startled for only a minute before simply shaking his head, wondering how Grams did it. This was Gil Grissom, for God's sake. The man didn't trust anyone.

"He wanted to make sure you know that you and Marc can stay here as long as you want."

Warrick's eyes closed against the conflicting emotions ripping through him. "Did he mention where he was staying?"

"No, he didn't," she said, her eyes flicking over him concernedly. "Ricky, I know what you're planning to do. And I'll stay here and watch over Marc while you do it. But don't you be too hard on him. He's not trying to hurt you. In his way, he's trying to keep you safe, you and Marc. I think he'll come around in time, but you tracking him down and giving him an earful isn't going to help right now, child."

"I can't - just lose him..." Warrick said fiercely, frustrated. He clutched the back of the chair he'd paced up to, leaning against it and letting his head hang and his eyes close.

"Then go tell him that; let him know you care. But don't push, Ricky." With that warning, she gave him a kiss and let him help her to the door.

"You feel okay driving in the dark? I can drop you off if you want," he offered, feeling like a bad grandson.

She waved away his concern. "Isn't that far at all. I'll be fine."

He watched her walk out to the car and thought about family.

***

But ain't no sunshine when she's gone, only darkness everyday.
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, and this house just ain't no home, anytime she goes away.

-Al Green

***

Warrick sat down at Gil's computer with a sense of apprehension. He logged into Gil's account instead of his own, scanning the address book for the one labeled "Mother."

He sat there staring at the screen for longer than he cared to admit, completely incapable of starting this letter. He knew Gil emailed his mother often. But he also knew Gil had wanted to tell her about them in person. The trip out to California had still been on their to-do list.

"Mrs. Gilbert," he finally wrote. "My name is Warrick Brown. I'm..." He settled on "a close friend of your son's." He kept it short, telling her he knew Gil was in the LA area and asking whether she knew where he was staying. He made sure to keep it unrevealing so Gil could let her know about them in his own time.

Inevitably, it was a split second after hitting "send" that he realized he'd never logged into his own account after looking up her email address. He had mailed it from Gil's. "A close friend" huh Brown?

***

"Warrick, when's Gil gonna come back?"

"I don't know, kiddo." Warrick told him, not sure how he could explain something to Marc that he didn't fully understand himself. Warrick sighed and settled onto his side with his head resting on Marc's pillows, sliding his arm gently over Marc to hold him loosely against his chest.

"Warrick, I didn't - *mean* to get hurt. I'm sorry, Warrick." With that, Marc started crying and Warrick clutched him closer, feeling his own eyes sting.

"Marc, I know that honey. Gil knows that. I promise you. It's all right, Marc, I promise you it'll be all right. Don't cry, honey."

Warrick held him, saying anything he could to try to comfort him and biting back his own emotions for Marc's sake. Finally Marc was reduced to quiet sobs, and he asked Warrick for a tissue.

Warrick helped him clean up and kissed him as he sat back on the bed. "You alright now?"

"Yeah."

"This is not your fault, Marc. It's nobody's fault. We're all just so sorry you got hurt. How are you feeling?"

"My side still feels funny," he admitted.

"Okay, it's almost time for your bedtime medicine. Why don't we read a book until then? Do you want me to get you some juice?"

"Yes, please."

Warrick kissed him again and got to his feet. Marc's small voice turned him back around before he could make it to the door.

"Warrick? If I hadn't got hurt, Gil would still be here, right?"

Warrick bit his lip. He didn't know what to say to that. "Lemme get your juice, okay kiddo? I'll be right back."

***

He honestly hadn't planned to come here. He'd packed a few bags with the intent of staying in a hotel so he could talk to the long-time friend of his who ran the LA crime lab and put in some time there, meeting the people he'd soon be working with.

But sometime during the flight it had hit him what he was doing, what he was giving up, even with the best of intentions. And the realization had terrified him. He wasn't at all sure he could handle this.

His mother answered the silent doorbell without any clue that her son was standing on the other side. Gil caught a glimpse of her face lighting up in utter surprise and happiness before he was pulled into a hug. He found his throat unexpectedly tight and hugged her back almost desperately.

When she released him, he was composed again.

She told him to come in, signing to him what a wonderful surprise this was and how much he'd been missed. He followed her in, and they caught up on only the aspects of life Gil felt capable of bringing up. It wasn't until after dinner that she dared to press into the reason for his sudden appearance.

She studied him for a moment across the space between her armchair and the sofa he was sitting on before signing, "Maybe you will finally tell me what you're doing here."

"Visiting you," he tried halfheartedly, speaking aloud as he signed. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He met her eyes and admitted honestly, "I don't know if I can tell you yet."

"Gil, you're hurting. Tell me why," she told him bluntly, her face lined with concern.

Gil glanced away and realized he needed to tell her, even though he didn't know where to begin.

It occurred to him that he could just show her. Warrick had put a clear plastic sleeve into his wallet several months ago, so that his wallet opened to the smiling faces of Warrick and Marc in a picture Catherine had taken. Since then two of Marc's school pictures, one from kindergarten and one from first grade, had been added. Warrick knew how much Gil had appreciated the gesture and told him laughing that it was the cheapest present he'd ever given someone. The plastic thing had cost a dollar.

Gil pulled out his billfold and flipped it open before passing it to his curious mother. She looked at the first picture for a long time, finally turning to see the school pictures of Marc. She kept the wallet in her lap and looked up at her son. "What are their names?"

"This is Marc," Gil said, feeling his chest tighten as he spelled out his name. "And Warrick."

"You are lovers."

"Yes."

"And Marc is his son?"

"A cousin. He... and I... have been taking care of him."

"How long, Gil? Why didn't you tell me? Did you think I would be surprised that you're with a man?"

"You're not?" he asked out loud without signing, surprised.

She laughed at him. "No, son." She smiled and added, "He's very good-looking, and Marc is adorable. Probably a handful at that age. He is six, seven?"

Gil felt his heart clench as he thought of Marc, in bed with his arm in a cast, his ribs healing.

"He just turned seven." He knew she deserved answers to her other questions. "I wanted to tell you in person. Warrick and I planned to visit, before Marc came into our lives and things became busy... Warrick and I have been together more than two years now. Marc has been with us over a year."

His face was carefully neutral, and she always knew when he didn't want her to ask him something. She touched his arm in silent apology for asking it anyway. "Why aren't they here with you now?"

Gil glanced away and knew he couldn't go through this. "Ask me later, Mother. Please."

She studied him for a long moment before deciding not to press the issue. Yet.

Gil told her he was stiff from the flight and went for a walk, enjoying the change in weather from Vegas and trying to feel as if he had come home, instead of run away from it.

It was while he was out that his mother checked her email and saw the carefully-worded letter from Warrick. She sent him a reply to let him know Gil was here with her and gave him the address, perfectly aware that her son might very well be upset that she'd done so.

***

Warrick looked up from the computer and swallowed back the anxious feeling he'd gotten. At least he knew where Gil was now. His cell phone was ringing somewhere in the house and he went out to find it on the kitchen table. "Brown."

"Hey Warrick, it's me. How's Marc doing?" Catherine asked.

"Really good. He just went in for an appointment this morning and the doctor says he's healing fine."

"That's wonderful!" She paused and admitted, "I hate to interrupt your time with him but Ecklie sort of decided I was in charge of letting him know when you would be back at work. What should I tell him?"

"Realistically? Not anytime this week."

Now she was concerned. "I am the last one to tell you not to spend as much time with him as possible after something this terrifying, but Warrick he's really okay now right? You'd tell me if there was something wrong?"

"Of course. He's really doing great, Cath. I just uh-" Warrick sighed and hoped Geraldine couldn't hear him from where she was sitting in the living room. "I'm actually leaving him here with family right now. I need to... find Gil."

Catherine let out a slow breath before commenting. "That bad, huh?"

"Yeah."

"You'd let me know if you need anything, right Warrick? Even if it's commiserating about Gil."

"Yeah, I would. Uh, now's not a good time."

"Gotcha. Do you need me to help watch Marc?"

"No, actually my aunt and grandmother are both here. My aunt's going to stay in the guest room while I'm gone."

"Okay, well, you call me day or night if you need anything."

"I will, Cath. And... thanks."

"Good luck, Warrick."

***

Warrick didn't notice a thing during the entire cab ride from the airport to Gil's mother's address. He kept hearing Marc's voice when he left, telling him to find Gil quick so they could come home. If only it was as easy as that.

Warrick pressed the doorbell and waited, thinking only that he was finally close to Gil. It wasn't until an older lady who he could tell at once was related to Gil opened the door that Warrick realized he had absolutely no way to communicate with Gil's mother.

But she smiled as if she recognized him and opened the door wider, beckoning him in.

"I'm Warrick," he told her, making sure to annunciate so she could read his lips. "I emailed you. I'm looking for Gil..."

She nodded and he could see the sadness at the mention of her son. She gestured for him to sit down and joined him on the couch with a notepad. He read her flowing handwriting as she wrote, "He went for a walk hours ago - probably down to the beach. It's a mile or so from here. The key for Gil's rental is on the table by the door."

Warrick nodded. "Thank you," he said, relieved to know for sure that Gil was here.

She wrote directions to parking closer to the beach and ended with: "Warrick, I'm glad you're here. Gil hasn't told me what happened."

He was surprised, but paused before telling her. He had no idea whether Gil had told her about them yet.

She saved him from the decision by writing again. "I know you are a family - Gil showed me your picture and Marc's."

"Marc was hurt," Warrick told her. "He's fine now. He's healing. But he was hit by a car, while Gil was watching him." He didn't have to say the obvious: Gil blames himself. From her expression, it was clear she understood.

She underlined her earlier words: "I'm glad you're here."

Warrick gave her a wan smile and left for the beach.

***

It was dusk by the time he parked and plowed through the loose sand to reach the packed wet sand by the shore. He'd left his shoes on, which he was now regretting. The ocean looked black, it was so dark out. The sky was still lit, though that wouldn't last long.

To his right there was a bonfire in one of the pits built into the sand for that purpose. The noisy group of people would have turned Gil in the other direction, but Gil had been out here for hours. He could have walked that way before they'd even arrived.

Warrick closed his eyes in frustration. His urgent need to see Gil and the anticipation of finally making it to the beach drowned now in visions of himself walking the beach all night in the wrong direction, missing Gil completely. Maybe he should have just waited at the house.

With his eyes closed, he realized sand was stinging his skin from a breeze blowing down the shore. He turned from it so he could open his eyes and found himself facing the stretch of the beach to his left. Some CSI you are, he told himself, hoping the winds hadn't changed since Gil had come out. He started walking and then jogging with the wind and sand at his back instead of in his face, hoping Gil had done the same.

***

Warrick got into a nice easy rhythm as he jogged, and the breeze made the movement feel great; the falling darkness of night made it freeing. The soft thunder of the waves was repetitive, deepening the silence instead of breaking it. Warrick began to relax, closer to calm than he'd been since Gil's phone call from the hospital. He would never forget the broken sound of Gil's voice saying his name.

He almost jogged right past him. Gil was sitting in the dry sand higher up the beach. Warrick saw him in his peripheral vision and stopped, recognizing Gil without even being able to see him. As he walked closer he saw Gil was wearing black pants and a gray shirt, which hadn't helped any.

Warrick sat down beside him, and it took Gil a moment to come back from wherever his thoughts had taken him, but his shock when he met Warrick's eyes was clear.

Warrick couldn't stay silent. "Did you think I could just let you go?" he asked, cursing the weak hoarse sound of his voice and blaming it on the jogging, blaming his tearing eyes on the wind and the sand.

He cleared his voice and forged on. "I miss you Gil. Marc misses you; he's been asking for you and I didn't know what to tell him. I can't - I won't raise him alone, Gil. He will not grow up without you. I won't let that happen."

"He almost didn't grow up *with* me there," Gil said, his eyes closing against the same sand in the wind.

Warrick leaned back on his arms into the soft sand, staring out at the ocean he couldn't see but knew wasn there. He took a deep breath of the salty air and tried to reason with Gil, because he knew that the key to this whole mess was tangled up in some sort of crazy Gil-logic he just had to unravel.

"Did you want to stop loving me when we first started seeing each other, because you were afraid you might lose me?"

Gil was staring out at the ocean too, and Warrick studied his profile as he answered. "No," he admitted. "But I did stop assigning you to solo cases unless it seemed harmless."

Warrick was stunned. "I never noticed..."

"In general, I try not to assign anyone to a case alone, but you know how booked we can get."

"But having Nick or Sara or Catherine around didn't guarantee my safety..."

"I know that," Gil said logically, "But I did what I could to limit the risk."

"That's exactly it, Gil," Warrick pointed out. "You can't shut Marc away somewhere safe from the world for his whole life. He has to live, and to do that he's gonna have to deal with kids at school who want to bully him or pressure him to take drugs, and someday he's going to have a driver's license and be out on the streets with Vegas' crazy drivers. We'll do everything we can, but there are never any guarantees. You've got to approach his safety the same way you do mine at work."

Gil stayed silent for a minute and then replied, "But he's a child. He can't protect himself. It's not the same as the risk you face doing your job."

"When it comes down to it, how good are *adults* at protecting themselves? You know how many victims we process in a single night in a single city. How many of them do you think stopped caring about the people they loved because there was the possibility that they would get shot by a farmer one day because they were puking on the side of the road wearing a teddy bear costume and got mistaken for a coyote?! Or any of the other crazy shit that happens to the people we process."

Gil took that in and focused on only two of Warrick's words. "I never stopped caring."

"God, Gil, I know that." Warrick reached for him then, unable to restrain himself any longer. He sighed in relief when Gil allowed himself to be pulled into his embrace.

Gil's arms came around him, tight. They sat like that, together in the dark with only the roar of the waves, and Warrick felt some hope that things might turn out all right.

***

Gil had been quiet through dinner, except when translating for his mother. Warrick had mostly spent the meal finding new things to worry about in respect to the man sitting beside him, but tried valiantly to compliment Mrs. Gilbert on the food he'd barely tasted.

Gil's mother claimed she was tired and headed to bed at a suspiciously early hour, no doubt sensing how much Warrick and Gil needed time alone. But once she'd gone, Warrick wasn't sure what to say, wasn't sure they were really all right.

He flipped on the TV, which turned out to be on the weather channel with the volume all the way down. He flipped it to ESPN and didn't bother to turn up the sound. He was only interested in the scores on the bottom line anyway.

Gil was still cleaning up in the kitchen. Warrick had helped with the dish-washing and wasn't exactly sure what Gil was finding to do in there, but he sat on the couch and watched muted hockey highlights and gave Gil his space.

Gil came in soon after and laid a hand on Warrick's shoulder from behind the couch. "Let's go to bed."

"Okay," was all Warrick said, setting down the remote and following Gil up the stairs. He was glad no mention of a second guest bedroom had been made. He would have gladly taken the couch if Gil needed to be alone, but just sleeping near him right now would be wonderful, even if he wasn't quite sure where they stood.

Gil was already in the bed with his eyes closed when Warrick finished in the bathroom. Warrick stripped down to his boxers to sleep in and pulled back the covers from the non-Gil side of the bed and slid in. His eyes opened wide when he realized Gil had stripped down more completely than he had.

Before he could say anything, Gil had wrapped his arms around him and pulled him tightly against the heat of his body. Warrick laid there in the dark and let Gil hold him, sensing Gil's breathing wasn't quite even and determined to give him anything he needed.

When Gil pulled back, his gaze was hot on Warrick's. He kept the eye-contact as he pushed away the sheets and caressed his way over Warrick's bare body. Warrick shivered beneath his touch and the intense attention. Nothing got Warrick hotter than having Gil's complete focus like this. Then Gil kissed him and Warrick's eyes closed against the pleasure sliding through him.

Gil's tongue swept his mouth just as his hands finally slid up Warrick's thighs and under the material of his boxers. When Gil's warm hand finally found him, Warrick moaned, the sound of it embarrassingly needy to his ears. His eyes opened and he found Gil's gaze on him.

"Considering whose house we're in, feel free to be as loud as you like," Gil told him, smirking slightly.

Warrick laughed, realizing there hadn't been a light moment between them in too long to remember.

Gil was kissing his face, lightly, and meeting his eyes with a serious weight in his own. "I love you," he told Warrick, kissing his lips softly. "I'll always love you."

"God, Gil..." Warrick couldn't convey how much he'd needed to hear that. He buried himself in Gil's embrace, loving the feel of Gil's warm body covering his own. His hands began to move over the body he'd come to know so well, and he smiled when he heard the change in Gil's breathing.

Gil lay still and let him do what he wanted, visibly enjoying everything Warrick did. When Warrick straddled his hips and leaned down to kiss him, pressing their bodies together hotly, Gil met the kiss and took control of it, sitting up. Their eyes met briefly and Warrick saw the determination there as Gil moved them so that it was him leaning over Warrick's lanky frame to kiss him.

Warrick's breath caught as Gil quietly and purposefully took control, leaving no doubt as to who would be on top tonight. Warrick groaned in anticipation as warm lips pressed into his skin. He loved it when Gil took him; he always had.

He let himself become absorbed in the pleasure Gil was creating and tried to remember the last time they'd been together like this. It had been a lifetime ago.

When Gil's playing with his body began to get serious, Warrick stopped him, working to even out his breathing. "Gil, I didn't exactly bring anything with me..."

"That's all right," Gil told him, releasing him and rolling to his side. He offered a suggestive smile. "I still have everything we took with us on the trip to Reno in one of the side pockets of my suitcase."

Warrick laid down flat on his back as Gil got up to retrieve his suitcase, admiring the view and remembering their two nights in a hotel in Reno. It had been several months before Marc's appearance in their lives, and his relationship with Gil had been new and still surprising. Warrick had been exhausted at the conference sessions, but damn had it been worth it.

***

Gil was fierce, mostly silent despite what he'd reminded Warrick earlier about there being no one to hear them. He buried himself in Warrick again and again, leaving Warrick writhing beneath him and their skin sweaty where they touched. He brought them both to the edge and eased back, keeping them there as long as possible. Eventually it became too much and he paused to let them calm down.

Gil leaned forward to rest his forehead against Warrick's shoulder blade and admitted, "I couldn't have left you."

"I know," Warrick told him, though he was surprised Gil had admitted it. "But I was scared to death of what it would take to get you to realize that."

"I'm sorry," Gil murmured, reaching to wrap a fist around his lover, moving his hand ever so slightly and making Warrick's eyes slide closed.

"Apology accepted, Gil. Believe me. But, damn, are you killing me..." Warrick punctuated the complaint by clenching his body around his lover.

Gil gasped against his skin and moved his hips sharply, loving Warrick's groan. "Trust me, it's mutual," he admitted. He took them slowly back to the edge, holding back until Warrick was groaning continuously into the sheets below them. Unexpectedly he lost it, clinging to Warrick fiercely, leaving imprints of his fingers in his sides as their bodies met forcefully and the beautiful sound of Warrick's voice crying out in release filled his body.

***

They'd talked until late, curled together under the sheets in the dark. Warrick had almost forgotten to breathe when Gil had done the impossible, done what he should have done in the first place when confronted with his guilt over Marc's injury. With his head resting safely on the warm expanse of Warrick's chest, Gil started talking about it.

Warrick had tried not to let on how happy he was that Gil was opening up to him. He ran his fingertips through his lover's hair and listened, restraining his impulse to deny all of the crap Gil was saying about himself that simply wasn't true. By the time Gil was done, Warrick's hands had moved to his back, rubbing softly.

"Gil, baby, I understand you're having trouble believing it right now, but you've gotta know that I have never once doubted your parenting ability. You and Marc hit it off from the start. The kid adores you. Even the stuff about you I can't stand, like those giant scary cockroaches. And in my opinion there is no one else on the planet Marc is safer with than you." Warrick's voice had gotten fierce and he toned it down as he continued to caress his way over Gil's bare skin. "But I do understand what you've been saying. You just gotta tell me how we can deal with it, because you leaving is not what Marc needs."

Gil was silent a moment and Warrick thought maybe the conversation was done. Gil was hesitant when he did speak. "I want to come home, Warrick. But I would... feel better about it if I wasn't alone with Marc, if you were always there to watch him too. At least in the beginning."

Warrick turned that over in his head. "I can do that, Gil, as long as you don't forget that I trust you. Believe me, more time with the two of you is exactly what I want right now."

He pulled Gil up for a leisurely kiss and Gil responded hugely. When Warrick pulled back some time later, he stroked his lover's face and told him seriously, "Damn baby don't you ever leave me again, okay? It was only for two days and I about died."

"I'm sorry, Warrick," Gil told him honestly, feeling guilty again.

"Forget about; I meant it when I said I understand. But we're okay now, right?"

Gil gave him a genuine smile. "We're okay."

***

Gil returned to the room with drinks that he set on the coffee table. At breakfast, he'd told his mother that they would be going home soon, and she hadn't needed to ask him whether things were better now. The positive change in both men's demeanors was abundantly clear.

Warrick was sitting in an armchair with Gil's mother's laptop, online checking flight times. Gil's hands settled onto his shoulders and massaged lightly as he leaned close to see the screen over his shoulder and ask how bad the price was. He glanced up as his mother chimed in, "How much is it for three tickets?"

Gil was surprised, but found himself unaccountably pleased. "You hate flying," he reminded her.

"Sometimes there are things more important than your fears," she told him, giving him a pointed look.

Gil sighed at how well she'd always been able to read him. He leaned back into Warrick, dropping a kiss on his temple. "Get three tickets."

***

"Gil!"

Marc jumped up and threw himself around Gil's legs, as Gil concernedly tried to hug him gently. "Are you supposed to be out of bed?"

"Yup. Geraldine says I can only be up if I'm not rambunk-chous. She said that means no rough-housing."

Gil slowly lifted Marc into his arms. "Does anything hurt?" he asked, worried he hadn't been careful enough.

"Nope," Marc said, sighing as he settled his head against Gil's neck. "I'm glad Warrick found you, Gil. I missed you."

"I missed you too, Marc. Lots."

"Gil, you aren't going away again, are you?"

"Never."

"Warrick! Hey, who's that?" Marc asked.

"This is Gil's mom," Warrick told him, as he and Gil's mother came fully into the room.

"I didn't know Gil had a mom," Marc said conversationally. "Hi, Gil's Mom."

She smiled at him and signed hello. "She speaks with her hands, Marc; she's saying 'hello.' I can teach you to understand what she's saying if you'd like."

Marc looked puzzled for a moment until he understood what Gil meant and then he smiled, "Cool! Can I learn now?"

"It'll take a little time, kiddo. We can start after dinner, okay?"

Marc watched, fascinated, as Gil's Mom's hands moved again.

Gil translated, "Marc, I live near the beach. Would you like to come visit me at the beach in a few months?"

"Oh, yeah," Marc told her enthusiastically.

***

"Grissom!"

Grissom turned, blowing out a breath in annoyance as Ecklie walked down the hall to stand in front of him.

"Look," Ecklie said. "I want to apologize for my position on Brown's leave time. I didn't realize his son was hurt. I must have gotten some wrong information from Catherine; she said something about a second cousin."

Gil studied his supervisor, realizing with a sense of triumph that he'd managed to properly give Ecklie a guilt trip over this. "Don't apologize to me - tell it to Warrick."

"Is the kid okay?"

"Yes," Gil said, turning to leave. "He is."

"Aren't you going to apologize for your uncalled-for outburst?" Ecklie asked, expectantly.

Gil stopped, half-turned, and pursed his lips a moment as though considering. "No," he said and walked on down the hallway, leaving a fuming Ecklie behind.

***

(END)