Title: On Iolaus' Grave
Series: Greeklove (sequel to "Threading the Conch")
Author: Buffy
Rating: FRAO (I'm as surprised as you. I thought FRM at most, but the boys got carried away)
Summary: Come home with your shield or on it.
Notes: And yes, I'm an ubergeek and Greek mythology is a hobby/obsession of mine. Just be glad, I'm also a dedicated sci-fi geek, heavy on the Trekkie and the Star Wars ;P Also, major thanks to Shelley Russell for betaing

Most of the time Gil's stubborn and contrary nature bugged the shit out of Warrick, mainly because it made him hard to work for. But he was blessing it as they drove down the Strip that evening. Because he'd asked Gil out in front of witnesses, ones that weren't intimidated by the older man's ire, Gil was sitting in the passenger seat of Warrick's car, looking damn fine. He thought about how things had gotten started for them just three months ago, though in some ways it felt like they'd been dating forever.

He'd asked Gil out on Monday, on Tuesday Gil had accepted the invitation, and on Wednesday Catherine had given him the lowdown on the bets being placed. Cath had put down ten that Gil would find an excuse to turn him down, Doc Robbins had put down twenty that he'd say yes but find a way to cut the evening short. Brass had been the surprise bet, putting thirty on Warrick managing to seduce Gil by the end of the date. None of them had kept this secret from Gil, except the actual dollar amounts of the bet.

Warrick smiled when he remembered their reactions the next Monday when he'd informed them that while he and Gil had shared a hotel room in LA, they'd slept in separate beds. Instead of simply calling it a draw with no money exchanged, they'd set the pot aside and started a new round of bets on the new romance. Warrick had the feeling that several other pots had been added to the first in the mystery fund. Both he and Gil had asked what the money was going to, but the unholy trio wasn't talking.

Warrick had surprised them, Gil, and himself with the relationship. Usually, when he wanted someone, he went all-out, damn the torpedoes, direct. But with Gil, he'd done something totally different. It had started because Warrick knew that Gil had some pretty big trust issues and some bad emotional baggage. The normal approach probably would have scared Gil so far back into his shell that it would've taken a near-death experience for both Warrick /and/ Gil to pry him out of it, and even that might not have been enough. So Warrick had gone a completely different route with the romance: he'd taken his time to do something he'd never really done before for a man or a woman. He wooed Gil, courted him, everything old-fashioned. For the first month, he hadn't moved for anything more than a quick, chaste, goodnight kiss. They'd gone to art shows, to concerts, to jazz bars, and on roller coasters. They'd acted like junior high kids, just figuring out what dating was, too shy to really try anything. Warrick had let Gil set the pace, and by the second month the kisses were longer and deeper, and they'd spent hours necking on the couch while they introduced each other to their personal definition of "classic" and "good" movies.

And then a month ago they'd moved to that final step, one that probably took more courage on Gil's part than Warrick knew. Or maybe it didn't, but Warrick got the feeling that Gil was pretty traditional in that he didn't share his body without also sharing his heart. Their first time had been hot, sweet, and as full of fumbling as any other.

* * *

Warrick pulled back from the kiss with a deep groan, shifting his hips at the look on Gil's face. The blue eyes were dark and heavy-lidded with desire, his hair thoroughly mussed from Warrick's clutching and caressing fingers, and his lips swollen from repeated kisses. Sitting there, sprawled on the couch with Warrick straddling his lap, Gil looked utterly debauched. Warrick let his head fall back and his eyes close, licking his lips as if he could still taste Gil on them as he fought for control. "Damn, you look so good."

"You look like a god, like sex personified right now, Warrick. Your shirt hanging open, showing little glimpses of your nipples on that sculpted chest." Gil's hands tightened on Warrick's hips, pulling him closer, almost grinding their erections together through their clothes, "You make me feel so out-of-control, like I'm twenty again and just learning how good sex can feel."

Warrick couldn't help himself as his hips bucked in Gil's hands, trying to get more of that delicious friction. "God, baby, why you doing this to me? Talkin' to me with that bedroom voice, looking like I've already fucked you good. Keep talkin' like that, I'm gonna need to change my pants." Warrick couldn't believe how good this felt. Taking it slower had made everything that much more intense, leaving him as horny as a teenager, with about as much control.

"Then why don't we take them off?"

The suggestion in that sultry voice sent a bolt of lust through him, followed by a wave of shock like cold water pouring over him. Warrick sat back, looking Gil in the eye to make sure he knew what he was saying. "You sure? Because I meant what I said when we started: there's no strings in this. We do what we want, /when/ we want."

The sweet smile and the utter trust in Gil's eyes did something to Warrick's heart. "I know. And right now, I want to make use of that big, comfortable bed in the other room and get to know every inch of your skin. I want to experience you with all five senses and wake up tomorrow with a stupid smile on my face that not even Catherine and Jim's smirks can get rid of."

Warrick wasted no time in getting up, practically pulling Gil to his feet and dragging him towards the bedroom, "In that case, Babe, let's get horizontal so I can have my wicked way with you." They'd laughed and exchanged short kisses as they moved to the bedroom, tugging at clothing. Warrick pushed Gil down onto the bed, moving to straddle and pin Gil to the mattress when he tried to turn the tables on Warrick by tickling. He looked down into the dancing blue eyes beneath him, "What's your opinion on blowjobs?"

"Yes."

"Yes, to getting, or yes to giving?"

"Both, either, don't care. Whatever will get you and me naked quickly." Gil leaned up to take Warrick's mouth in a wet, nasty kiss.

"Damn. Now I can't decide what I want more, to find out if you give head as good as you kiss or to see if I can suck your brains out through your dick and find out if you're a screamer. You are pure temptation, wrapped up in that untouchable image you got going at the lab."

Warrick suddenly found himself pinned under Gil as hands worked to get his slacks and boxers off. Gil's grin was filled with lust and mischief, "Who says we have to choose? Compromise and 69?"

As soon as the hands had pushed the clothes to his knees, Warrick rolled them again, kicking off his pants. The moment they were off, he was straddling Gil's hips, his hands scrabbling with the button and zip of Gil's slacks. He growled and swatted Gil's hands away when he tried to help, finally managing to get the slacks open, only to get distracted by Gil's nipples. Well, with the sounds Gil made when he mouthed Gil's nipples, that is.

Gil scrabbled at Warrick's hair, finally getting enough of a grip to pull the younger man up for a desperate kiss. Warrick gasped for breath, just managing to push Gil's pants and underwear down enough that when he moved, there was skin-to-skin contact all the way down to mid-thigh.

Gil thrust up, wanting more of the delicious friction against his cock. When Warrick pulled back again, Gil followed him, flipping them one more time. He pinned the younger man down, muttering against his mouth, "Can't wait, don't care, feels too good."

Frantic kisses, eager hands, and wild thrusting was punctuated by low groans and moans and first Gil then Warrick reached completion. Once he'd stopped panting, Warrick rolled them to their sides and removed the rest of Gil's clothing so they could doze comfortably together.

* * *

"You have that grin, again, Warrick." Gil quietly observed, a note of humor in his voice. "You do remember what happened the last time we tried to do anything in the car. I'd rather not accidentally strain something before court tomorrow."

Warrick laughed, remembering the experiment in getting two full-grown men into the back seat of his car. It'd been fun to try, but they'd decided that the only way it would work would be if one of them was a contortionist. So far, neither man had felt compelled to increase his flexibility. "Nah, man, the pleasure isn't worth the pain. Just a trip down memory lane, that's all." Warrick moved his hand from the wheel to rest it on the back of Gil's neck. He massaged the slight tension he found in the muscles there as he continued. "Guess I'm still having trouble believing I'm not dreaming this, you know? I mean, I spent years just happy to be working with you. Now, I've got you on the job and off." And who knew the Ice Man of the Vegas lab would turn out to be lava-hot in bed? Well, Warrick had suspected, but the reality was even better than he'd dared to imagine.

Gil was quiet for a moment as Warrick negotiated the traffic between the jazz club and his townhouse. As soon as they were clear of the snarl, he put his hand on Warrick's thigh, "I know. This is the happiest I think I've been in years." He made no attempt to hide his smile, having promised himself to open up and give loving Warrick a fair chance. It actually wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be. After all, there were years of trust and friendship built up, as well as Gil's own observations proving that Warrick was like no one he'd ever dated before.

The mention of court the next day, however, put a cloud over the evening. They often went to the club where Rod played to enjoy the music and unwind with a drink or two. The case they would be testifying in was a bad one all around. Four off-duty police officers had been attacked, two were seriously injured, and the other two had been killed. Officers Mark Conway and Quinten Schmidt were brutally murdered for the crime of being in love, and their partners had been put in the ICU for several days because they'd gone out with them to provide a smokescreen. The case had hit home, and both criminalists wanted to see the so-called "brother in blue" who'd done it get the maximum sentence.

They were quiet the rest of the way home, Gil's hand staying on Warrick's thigh and Warrick's on Gil's neck. Once safely in Gil's townhouse, they had quickly made their way to the bedroom, stripping methodically. It wasn't about sex, this time. They fell asleep curled together tightly, skin-to-skin, taking comfort in the knowledge that they still had each other in the face of such a vicious tragedy.

* * *

The case was in its fifth day, though it was only Grissom's second day testifying. The prosecution had clarified a few final points, and now it was the defense's turn. Kenneth Johnson had a reputation as a big-time up-and-coming defense attorney, one that knew exactly where the prosecution's weak spots in a case were. It intrigued Grissom that the attorney didn't seem to be particularly interested in refuting anything the prosecution had proven. Because the relationship between Conway and Schmidt had been something of an open secret among their friends in their squad, the murder charge was upped by the fact that it was a hate crime, meaning the stakes were higher for the defendant. In fact, the entire purpose of this grand jury hearing was to determine if the prosecution had sufficient evidence to charge the defendant on under the hate crime statutes.

Johnson started with basic questions surrounding the collection of the evidence, the who and the how. After Grissom had explained that he and CSI Brown had collected the evidence and the procedure used in collecting it, the defense attorney moved in for the kill. "Dr. Grissom, are you and CSI Brown involved romantically?"

The slight widening of his eyes was the only sign of his surprise. "Yes," his voice was completely level. In fact, his tone of voice suggested that he found the question slightly absurd.

"I'm assuming that this is not a public relationship."

The prosecuter jumped in with an objection, questioning the relevance of Johnson's line of questioning. Johnson sounded a bit smug with his reply, "Your Honor, my client is accused of a hate crime against two officers involved in a homosexual relationship. I simply want to establish whether or not the investigators involved in the case could have been biased in the collection of the evidence."

The judge frowned, but allowed the line of questioning to continue, "Very well, Mr. Johnson. Answer the question Dr. Grissom."

"My team knows, as does the swing shift supervisor, Catherine Willows. I would guess that most of the lab techs know, since there are few true secrets in the lab. Any secrecy stems more from concern for negative repercussions among the police officers that we work with than anything else."

"So it's not the ethics of sleeping with a subordinate, it's the concern about it being a /male/ subordinate." The lawyer seemed smug, as if he'd managed to catch Gil in a lie.

"There is no ethical issue in my relationship with Warrick. There is no possibility of coercion, because Warrick was the one to initiate the relationship. And part of the reason we told the team in the first place was so that they could bring any concerns of favoritism or unequal treatment of any kind. They know that if our relationship poses any problem to the productivity of the team, they can say something and the problem will be eliminated."

"And you have no concern that CSI Brown could . . . influence things in a case for an outcome more favorable to you?" The sneer on Johnson's face was clear, as was his implication. "After all, the officers my client is accused of killing were also involved in homosexual relationships. And several officers at the scene when your team arrived attest that you said, and I quote, `Perish any man who suspects that these men either did or suffered anything that was base.'"

It obviously surprised the man when Gil smiled slightly as he replied, "I take it that you're not a student of Greek history, Mr. Johnson. That is a quote from Philip of Macedonia, the father of Alexander the Great. The city-state of Thebes had created a special unit in their military. The unit was made of 150 male couples. The Theban Sacred Band was undefeated in battle, until they faced Philip. Legend had it that the entire unit died in that battle, and Philip of Macedonia was so impressed with their courage and ability that he let a monument be raised to them to mark the grave.

"To answer your question: no, it has never crossed my mind that Warrick might in any way try to influence the outcome of a case."

"And what about you? Would you . . . go that extra mile to close a case? Maybe to impress your lover?"

Gil ignored the scorn in the man's voice, focusing on his words. "Mr. Johnson, I am a forty-nine-year-old man who raises and races cockroaches as a hobby. I listen to music at least a century old and prefer to stay at home in my time off. I'm involved with a man fourteen years my junior who is athletic and loves going out to clubs and dancing. He listens to jazz and hip-hop, and composes his own jazz melodies on the piano. Why would I tamper with evidence and give him one more reason to realize that he could find someone with more in common with him?"

The next day, the defense wasn't quite as cocky when he questioned Warrick, but Johnson obviously expected to some up with /something/ he could work with. "Mr. Brown, Dr. Grissom has stated that you are involved in a romantic relationship with him. That you were the one to initiate this relationship.

"That's correct. About a month and a half after the team was split and I was moved to swing shift I attended an art show in LA with old friends. While I was there, I met Gil's mother. We talked, and she told me quite frankly that she had basically picked me as her son-in-law."

"Could you clarify that?" Kenneth Johnson had a reputation for being unshakable as an attorney, but this was a new one even on him.

"She told me that she wanted Gil to be happy, and that of all the people that Gil had told her about in Las Vegas, I seemed to be the one most likely to have the ability to sustain a relationship with Gil. She did acknowledge that she wasn't really certain that I swung that way, and asked that if I didn't I pass the information she'd given me on to whomever I felt appropriate. The next day I hung around after my shift until Gil came in and was involved in a conversation with Catherine and Jim and asked him out."

"Why did you wait until he was involved in a conversation?"

"Because Gil, Jim, and Cath have been friends for years. I knew Gil would find an excuse not to even give a relationship a try if I gave him a chance, so I asked him in front of them as insurance. They'd have never let him forget about it if he hadn't at least gone on one date, and they've been great about letting us know if anyone we work with has a problem with our relationship."

Johnson was thrown now. It sounded like a scenario from a TV show or something, so ridiculous it could only be true. But he pulled himself together for the next step in his attack. "You collected several key pieces of evidence in the case against my client. Is there any chance that your personal . . . bias in this case could have influenced your investigation?"

"No. We don't work from opinions or theories, we work from the evidence. My job is to collect every scrap of evidence, no matter what it is or what it does to the case." There was no hesitation in Warrick's answer, he was rock steady.

"How can you remove yourself from it so much? Everything I know about your team says that you all live and breathe your work."

"I'm not saying it's easy. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to set aside your emotions in a case and let the evidence tell its own story. But the thing is, for all of us who work with Grissom, we'd rather chew off our own arm than get caught letting our personal prejudices influence us."

"That's an awfully strong statement."

"Grissom has this amazing ability to set aside his emotions, like they're on some sort of on/off switch. I know now how much it costs him to do it, but he sets the standard.

"All of us, at one time or another, have had trouble separating a personal issue from the case at hand. The thing is, when one of us screws up, Grissom just makes the guilt a thousand times worse. Not because he takes it out on us, or actually tries to make us feel bad about it. All he ever says is that we've disappointed him, or that he thought we were better than that. But the way he takes it, and how he takes responsibility for it with the higher-ups, it's rough. You feel like you've betrayed him, betrayed what he taught you, and the trust he put in you. You work like a dog, killing yourself trying to earn forgiveness. Thing is, you figure out that he never saw you as needing it. He saw it simply as a mistake and a learning experience. Until you repeat the same mistake."

"So you're saying that you'd never be tempted to influence a case?"

"Hell no. Not only would I probably get fired, I'd also completely annihilate any chance of my relationship with Gil continuing. And of the two, the second is not only the mostly likely consequence, it's also the worst in my opinion. I can change jobs; I'm not likely to find another Gil Grissom."

The Prosecutor jumped to redirect, "Investigator Brown, you called your boss "Gil" in your early answers, then "Grissom" later. Was there a reason for that?"

Warrick fought to keep back a smirk as he answered, "Yes. On the job, we all call him Grissom. When he's Grissom, he's all about the case. Off the clock, Nick and Greg call him Gris. It's their way of being informal, without being /too/ familiar with their boss. The only ones to call him Gil are people he's been friends with for years, or me. Basically, it helps both him and us separate personal and professional issues and behaviors."

Kenneth Johnson wasn't a stupid man. He knew the evidence was enough to convict his client, and he'd done his best to call into question the credibility of the evidence, through the CSIs who'd collected it. And that had just blown up in his face spectacularly. He rested his case and made a mental note to tell the others in his practice not to bother trying to discredit using the relationship between Grissom and Brown. They'd have more luck getting blood from a stone . . . or finding Jimmy Hoffa's body.

* * *

Thirty minutes after shift ended, three Tahoes parked in Gil's driveway and in front of his house. Catherine led the way and opened the door with her spare key. She immediately turned and motioned them to be quiet, and as they walked in, they saw why: both Warrick and Grissom had been putting in long hours in the lab, with the court appearances for several cases during the day screwing with their sleep schedules. Apparently they'd settled in to watch a movie after court, but had fallen asleep. Warrick was lying mostly on his back, his head resting on the arm of the couch with Gil lying against him. It looked like they'd started with Warrick sitting in the corner of the couch with Gil leaning back against him, and the two had simply slid down after they'd fallen asleep. It was . . . sweet and adorable, two adjectives that were not normally associated with either man. But both looked younger, more innocent asleep, and the sight of the two curled together like tired children was simply too cute.

Sara glanced at them, but hurried on to the kitchen, unable to quite face the full implications of the relationship between the two men. Jim pulled out a small digital camera and took a quick picture, whispering "Proof" when Catherine glared at him. Catherine moved to cover the sleepers with the light blanket covering the back of the couch and motioned for Greg to turn off the DVD player and the TV. Greg leaped to obey, with Nick following to check out the DVD collection arranged on shelves next to the entertainment center. A silent conference of gestures followed when neither could decide whether Gil or Warrick had chosen "Roadhouse".

The speed of gossip in the LVPD was an amazing thing. Because the cousin of a lab tech's girlfriend was the court reporter assigned to the case, rough transcripts of pertinent testimony had been emailed less than thirty minutes after the grand jury session had recessed for the day. Another twenty minutes after that, copies had made their way far and wide among officers and lab personnel, making huge waves in people's opinions about the relationship.

Catherine had decided that the team needed to show Warrick and Grissom that they supported them, and had organized everyone to throw a party for them. But seeing them now, she decided to change tactics a little. She motioned everyone into the kitchen, keeping her voice down to try to avoid waking the two in the living room. "We are /not/ going to wake them up. We /are/ going to show that they're still our friends. Now, they both have the next two days off, so we're going to make sure they can enjoy them. Looks like they haven't had time to clean for a while, but at least Gil has hardwood with rugs so we won't wake them up vacuuming. Greg: dust the living room, sweep and mop the kitchen and hall, just sweep the living room. Sara, check the fridge. Anything that should be edible and isn't, throw away. Leave experiments alone but make up a list of the basics they need. Then you and Jim are on a grocery run. Put the receipt on the fridge, I'm sure Gil'll pay you back. Nick, you're cleaning the kitchen from the floor up. I'll take care of laundry. The bathroom we'll leave for them, we're not /that/ good of friends."

* * *

Warrick's back and neck were the first to register complaints over his choice of location to fall asleep. The last thing he remembered was settling in to ogle Patrick Swayze's fine ass with Gil. Speaking of, Gil was still asleep, lying on top of him. Warrick frowned; he remembered Gil dozing off before he had, so who had covered them up?

Warrick tabled those thoughts in the face of more urgent matters. He carefully shifted Gil off his chest, careful not to wake his lover. It wasn't until after he'd finished in the bathroom and gone to start coffee that he noticed the difference in the house. Gil was a generally tidy person, keeping all his journals and books organized, but Gil tended to let any real cleaning go until he absolutely had to. Not only were all the dishes clean and put away, but the coffee maker was ready; all Warrick had to do was pour the water in.

While he waited for the coffee to finish brewing, Warrick looked for a clue to the miraculous change in Gil's house. He found the answer on the fridge under a cockroach magnet, along with a receipt from a grocery store not far away. Warrick poured himself a cup, then leaned against the counter to read the note. It was written in Catherine's familiar scrawl:

# Heard about what Johnson tried to pull in the Conway/Schmidt case. Just wanted to let you know you've got friends watching your backs. Sara bought the groceries--don't worry, I sent Jim with her so it's not all super-health food-- the rest of us cleaned up for you. And tell Gil to do the laundry more often--I found a towel that was on the verge of becoming sentient! Enjoy the two days off boys! #

The note was signed not only by Catherine, but also Jim, Sara, Nick, and Greg. Warrick smothered a laugh at the poke at Gil's housekeeping. He loved the guy, but Warrick had to admit that if he and Gil actually moved in together, there'd have to be some major changes in the way things were done.

A warm body pressing up against his and the hand reaching to take his coffee let Warrick know that Gil was awake. Warrick's voice was still a bit husky from sleep as he relinquished his coffee and wrapped his arms around his lover, "Morning, Baby." Gil smiled fuzzily at the endearment. It was a sign that Gil still hadn't quite woken up that he didn't react more to the nickname. "We now have groceries and a clean house, thanks to the team. What would you like to do with our time off?"

Gil stayed quiet for a moment, sipping Warrick's coffee, waiting for the sleep to clear from his mind. He kept his eyes focused on the pulse in Warrick's neck as he replied, hesitant to meet his lover's eyes. "In a few months, HR will be hounding me to take some vacation time. I know you haven't really used any of yours this year. Maybe, maybe we could go to Greece."

There were so many implications to that, Warrick wasn't quite sure what to say. So he chose the cautious response, "I've only got about a week, it wouldn't be a very long trip. We could check out some travel books today, take a look at where we'd like to go." He was holding on to the fact that Gil seemed to be thinking their relationship was going to last. "Why Greece? It's gotta be something important to you."

"I've been thinking about Greek history. The Theban Band was a strong unit, one that was almost undefeated. But it was a great and noble experiment. I want to go to Greece, to Thebes. Get as close to the myths and the gods as we can."

Warrick grinned, certain that things were going to work out. Since he'd found out about Gil and Martha's interest in Greek mythology and history, he'd been doing research, and the Theban band had caught his interest. The lovers that had made up the band swore vows at Iolaus' tomb, and apparently Gil was more of a romantic than he'd thought. "Sounds like a plan. Let's get some information tomorrow. Right now, though," Warrick started nuzzling along his lover's neck, purposely teasing known hotspots, "Right now I think we need to be a little more naked and a lot more comfortable. Come to bed, baby."

Warrick caught a glimpse of Gil's grin as he pulled away, "Come and get me, /Mocha/." Warrick caught up with Gil in the bedroom, easily pinning him to the bed and tickling him. Of course, Gil hadn't put up much of a fight; he'd already made his point about diminutive nicknames after all.