Title: Road Trip
By: Chapin CSI
Pairing: Gil/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Note: Colorada Petenera would translate as "The Red One from Petén," but no such species of spider exists.
Spoiler: In Scuba Doobie-Doo Gil says he knows a little about plumbing.
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS and I'm just borrowing for a little story.
Warning: I don't speak English and it shows in my stories; luckily, my readers are very forgiving. Thanks!
Summary: Slash, humor, romance, fantasy. A trip to Humboldt County turns into a nightmare for Gil & Greg, and Gil's spider gets to witness every bickering moment. The story is told from the spider's POV.

***

Night has fallen.

Everything's quiet at last.

Or as quiet as it's ever going to be. There are faint sounds, all around me. From the confines of my traveling cage I can hear the rain, still pounding on the roof, and my friends' soft snoring. Human snores aren't exactly an agreeable sound for a sensitive spider like me, but believe me, after the events of today, a snore seems like music to me. It means my Gil has finally fell asleep, and is now resting in the warm nest of his lover's arms.

Everything is as it should be.

I should be resting too; it was an exhausting day for me, as well. But I'm restless, and I'm not sure why. Maybe I'm just too used to staying wide awake on weeknights, while my Gil goes out to work. It does feel strange to be wide awake while he sleeps.

Maybe I miss my usual surroundings.

Or maybe it's just that we didn't have a chance to meditate tonight, my Gil and me, and I miss our little time together. Grissom is the busiest of men, but he always manages to steal a couple of minutes for us. He tenderly lifts me from my glass bowl, and then we sit together in the dark.

Five minutes, ten minutes... it doesn't matter; he visibly relaxes the minute my limbs touch his fingers, and the stress lines that mar his face miraculously smooth out while I perform my best palm dance for him.

There was no meditation and no palm dance tonight, but then, we're not in Las Vegas, either; we're a long way from home, actually. We're in Humboldt County, and we came here four days ago, ostensibly to attend a Seminar.

Oh, I didn't attend the seminar; I didn't even came to teach. I came here as a guest -Gil's guest- which I think says plenty about the kind of relationship we have.

People see me as Gil's pet, but I dislike that word; pet has demeaning connotations. I was another man's pet once, and believe me, my relationship with Grissom soared past that a long time ago. Now, I'm like a friend to him -and more.

Personally, I'd like to think of myself as his companion, but now there's somebody else who may want to claim that title: Greg Sanders. The young DNA technician turned CSI, sneaked past Grissom's defenses a while ago, managing to get a hold of his mind, his heart, -and the rest of his body.

And if you think the idea of sharing Gil displeased me... then you are right. In fact, I was so certain Greg would take Gil's affections away from me, that I seriously considered putting an early end to their relationship.

I spent entire days, toying with the idea of biting the young man the next time he laid a hand on me. Oh, how I dreamed of that moment! I knew what a tiny bite from me could do it; in just a few seconds, that self-satisfied smile would turn into an agonic grimace-

But I couldn't do it.

First of all, it would have broken Gil's heart. Secondly, my days as a ruthless killer were over, the minute I became the best friend of an officer of the law.

I had a conscience, now.

So, I reluctantly left the matter in Gil's hands. All I could do was hope he would not forget me so easily. But as it turned out, my fears were unfounded. Very little changed between Gil and me, and it soon became clear that far from replacing me in Gil's heart, Greg was only a nice addition to our lives.

It was the start of a cordial relationship with the young man, although I still wish he didn't pat me in the head, as if I were a toy poodle or a chihuahua. Gil may have tamed some of my savage traits, but I'm still Colorada Petenera, the proud queen of Guatemalan spiders.

Back in my native land, people used to tremble at the sight of me.

But my life is pretty uneventful now. As Gil Grissom's companion I spent most of my time in his office, but on the weekends we get to go home -ours, or Greg's. And while they often talk about going to places like Lake Mead, for some reason they rarely venture outside together, except to go to some museum or to see a movie. Not very exciting, is it?

Which is why it seemed like a big deal when Gil decided that Greg should attend a seminar he would be teaching in Humboldt county. Gil made it sound like Greg's continuing education was all he cared about -and all the CSIs believed him- but I knew better.

To me, it was obvious that Gil was planning to turn this trip into a vacation of sorts. He ordered tickets for baseball and basketball games, he booked a tour of the city, complete with visits to museums…

But when he started making reservations for fancy dinners, it suddenly dawned on me that this was beginning to look more like a honeymoon than a simple vacation. That got me worried. After all, it was after getting married that my first master got rid of me.

But Greg himself dispelled my fears this time: He ordered a special cage for me, especially designed so I could travel in style.

It was a sweet gesture, don't you think?

So there we were, ready to make our first big trip together. My Gil would teach a few classes, Greg would attend a few others... and at the end of each day we'd go out and explore the city.

It sounded like a nice, simple plan. What could possibly go wrong?

As it turned out, almost everything that could go wrong, did.

On hindsight, things might have gone better if we hadn't driven all the way to Humboldt county. Gil's SUV caused so much trouble along the way, that by the time we finally arrived at Humboldt it was too late to attend the baseball game Gil had tickets for.

And that was only the beginning. When they inquired about lodgings, they were told that all Seminar instructors would be sharing rooms in the best hotel in town, while students stayed at cheaper hotels.

Grissom was disappointed, but Greg was fuming. (Me, I was snickering; I would stay at a four-star hotel while Greg slummed at a B&B. Ha!)

The next blow came when Gil volunteered to help the Humboldt PD in one case. And then he helped them in another... and another... until he ended up spending every free moment working in their labs.

Gil and Greg never got a chance to tour the city.

To say they were disappointed would be an understatement, but I didn't know how bad things were between them until we were on our way back home.

Greg was all for leaving Humboldt behind as fast as we could, but Gil insisted on taking a scenic route. This meant it would take us longer to reach the highway, but that's what Gil wanted to do, and Greg sullenly gave in.

Things seemed ok, until it became obvious that they couldn't hold a conversation without letting it turn into an argument. Soon, they were bringing up every little sin they'd ever committed in the past.

Sample:

Gil: "You leave hair all over the sink!"

Greg: "So? You have a problem with that?"

Gil: "Yes, I do! It clogs the sink! It's disgusting!"

Greg: "Oh, yeah? Well, if you think that's disgusting, then what about the way you wet all your fingers every time you need to turn a page in a book?"

Gil: (indignantly) "I don't do that!"

Greg: "Yes, you do!"

Gil: "I don't wet all my fingers!"

Greg: "Yes, you do!"

Gil: "No, I don't!"

Unbelievable, isn't it? I mean, how could two men who usually filled their conversations with light-hearted bantering, scientific lingo, and literary references, suddenly turn into whining first-graders?

And that was only the beginning. Things really went downhill two hours later, when Greg suddenly got into his head that we were lost, and Gil, who was driving and following directions from a map, refused to believe it.

From then on, every time they quarreled, Greg would say, "We should have reached the highway by now," while Grissom would calmly (and patronizingly) reply, "According to the map, we're pretty close to the exit."

And this would mollify Greg... but only until the next fight.

It was a miserable time for all concerned; I almost wished I could bite myself and end my misery right then and there.

It's not like they had never had arguments before; they just had never fought like this. Frankly, they had started to sound just like an old married couple.

Which led me to wonder which was worse: Their old-married-couple bickering...

...Or their newly-married-couple racket.

I mean, you wouldn't believe the noise these two make when they mate. The first time I witnessed it, I thought I was back in Guatemala, in the middle of an earthquake: There was the sound of furniture crashing against the walls, and the moans of people crying out for help.

It was only when I realized that the earth wasn't moving, that I started paying attention to their cries. They were like nothing I'd ever heard before: Oh, yeah, yeah, oh, yes, oh, yes, do it, do it!

It did seem like they were both ok with whatever they were doing, but, since I didn't know what the hell they were doing, I was frantic with worry. I mean, for all I knew, they might have been happily killing each other.

And try as I might, I couldn't see anything. My Gil had covered my glass home in what I can only assume was an attempt to shield me from seeing something that might prove traumatic. As if listening to them wasn't traumatic enough!

But there came a day when I was finally able to see the things they did to each other. All was revealed to me then: the source of the wet sounds, the reason why their bed crashed against the walls... Oh, and the reason for all the moaning and the clamoring.

I was taken aback, to say the least. I mean, for a guy who's always ranting about being lactose intolerant and about drinking only the finest coffee, that young man is sure willing to swallow some pretty unexpected… hum, things

As for my Gil... I still can't believe how a civilized man who quotes Shakespeare at the drop of a hat can suddenly turn into a sweaty, grunting caveman who seems incapable of uttering other than one-syllable words like yes, more, Greg, oh, ah.

I mean, really!

And yet... maybe I'm being too harsh on my Gil. After all, I am civilized and I quote Shakespeare, but...

I kill my mates.

And I have to admit that my Gil looks really happy after those noisy encounters. Both of them do. So, maybe, just maybe, hearing their newly-wed racket is better than hearing their old-married-couple bickering.

Which brings me back to my story -and their fights.

"I keep trying to have us do things together," Greg said at one point, "But last time I took you to the movies you were making all those jokes-"

"All I said was that Aeon Flux sounded like the medicine for a gastrointestinal condition -"

"You didn't have to say it so loudly!" Greg retorted, "People around us were laughing their asses off!"

"And you didn't have to be so damn sensitive about it!" Gil countered, "It was a just a little comment, and you blew it out of proportion!"

"Out of proportion?" Greg repeated, "This, from the same guy who got mad at me for saying that The Palest Shade of White didn't make any sense?"

My jaw dropped. Fearfully, I looked at Gil, who was slowly turning the deepest shade of red as he obviously fought to keep himself under control.

Someone should have told Greg that no one makes fun of Procul Harun's greatest song in Gil's presence.

No one.

"It's A Whiter Shade of Pale!" Gil said through clenched teeth, "It's a beautiful song, and it does make sense -"

"-after a few joints, maybe -" Greg mumbled.

"Oh, really," Grissom replied, "Then what about that new CD you were listening to on Sunday? Only someone high on Meth would enjoy that!"

"You said you liked it!"

"We were having sex at the time, Greg," Grissom retorted, "What else did you expect me to say?"

I couldn't stand to listen anymore, but I had nowhere to go; my traveling cage was firmly strapped between their seats. Finally, I simply turned my back on them and started singing to myself -la, la, la, la, a whitest shade of pale, la, la, hoping to block out the rest of their quarrel.

And then, when I least expected it... silence.

Contrary to what I expected, their fight hadn't escalated; instead, they were silent, as if they had reached some sort of truce. They were sullenly staring at the road ahead, purposefully not looking at each other.

And it felt icy cold inside.

I looked at Gil and then at Greg. I'd never seen them like this, and it was worse than hearing them bicker. I was frantic with worry. I didn't want them to break up. It was then that I realized how much I'd grown to like Greg. I knew I'd miss him if he left. I knew my Gil would be devastated.

I could only hope that one of them would cave in, and thankfully, one of them did.

Greg cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

Grissom sighed tiredly.

"Me, too." he said.

Greg wouldn't look at Grissom as he spoke.

"It's just..." he said, "Sometimes I've got the feeling that you don't take me seriously."

"Oh, Greg, come on -"

"I mean it," Greg replied. "Like that day at the movies. You were making all those jokes about Aeon Flux -"

"I know," Grissom admitted. "I'm sorry, Greg. It's just-" he took a deep breath, "I was nervous." he confessed, "I mean, in case you didn't notice, I was the only fifty-something in that movie theater. Frankly, I felt out of place."

Greg looked at Gil.

"Oh, baby -" he said, "I didn't realize -"

Ooooh, the baby word. When Greg utters that word, my Gil just melts.

Nice move, Greg, I thought. There was no way that they would fight again.

Lulled into a false sense of security, I huddled into a corner and picked a fly that Gil had caught for me earlier that day. I'd saved it, tightly wrapped in my silky web, to eat as a snack. I poured my gastric juices on it to make it soft and yummy, and was about to feast on its abdomen, when Greg spoke.

"I was thinking, why don't we stop at some motel? We could spend the night around here and make an early start tomorrow."

"Ok," Grissom said. He picked up the map, "Let me see -"

"We will never find a motel on that map, Gil," Greg said testily, "You should know that by now!"

"But the map -"

"Screw the map!" Greg replied hotly. "We've been on the road for three hours; we were supposed to reach the highway a long time ago! We're lost! Why can't you get that into your head?"

To my surprise, Grissom didn't say anything. He obviously didn't want to fight anymore, and besides, he was sure that he was right and Greg wasn't.

But his silence only gave Greg a chance to vent his frustrations.

"Taking a scenic route was your idea!" he said. "I wanted us to get on the highway as soon as possible, but you wouldn't listen, remember?" he paused, but Grissom refused to reply, "At least, let me call Road Patrol -" Greg said hopefully. He had suggested it before.

And just as before, Grissom refused.

"We don't need them." He said firmly, "We have a map. Besides, it's early, and -"

"I'm calling for help, Grissom." Greg interrupted, and this time it looked like he meant it.

"Fine!" Grissom retorted, picking the phone that lay on the dashboard and throwing it in Greg's direction, "Go ahead, make your damn call!"

"Officer Phelps, at your service,"

Officer Phelps was a tall, thin man with sun-bleached eyebrows that moved animatedly as he spoke.

"So, you are the two CSIs who got lost." he said as he examined Gil's driver's license. He smirked, "You're a long way from Las Vegas, sir."

"I've been following this map," Gil said, handing it to the cop. "I believe we're on the right route, but -"

"You are, if your intention is to drive away from the highway," Phelps said sarcastically, "You should have read the line at the bottom, sir. This map was discontinued a few years back."

Grissom frowned and looked down at the bottom of the page. He squinted and read the fine line.

"Printed in 1995." He said aloud.

"They gave you an old map." Greg muttered angrily.

Grissom took a deep breath and then glanced at Phelps.

"Would you take us to the closest exit to the highway?" he asked calmly.

"Of course, sir." Phelps said, without quite losing that maddening smirk. "Just follow me." He said, walking away.

"Great," Greg muttered, "This is just great."

Grissom only sighed.

He must have known there was a big argument coming up.

And then, it started to rain.

***

"This is 92.7KLGA, with the best music in Humboldt county! A word of advice for travelers along the highway! Streams in the Ruby Mountains and East Humboldt Range are running down due to snow melt and recent rainfall! It's pouring out there, so -"

Grissom abruptly turned the radio off. If he'd turned it off to drown Greg's nonstop ranting, thenhe'd miscalculated: that bit of news only added up to the young man's long list of complaints.

"Oh, great." Greg said sarcastically, "That means it's going to rain all the way! Not only are we driving right back to the place where we started this damn trip, now we'll have to do it under a deluge. We've already lost three hours! Three hours -"

Gil had finally had enough.

"Look, I said I was sorry," he said testily, "What more do you expect me to do? Drop down on my knees and beg for forgiveness?"

"Dropping down on your knees would be a good idea," Greg replied, "Except that you're always complaining about how much they hurt."

Whoa! That was a low blow. (Uh, funny choice of words. 'Blow,' is exactly what Gil had had in mind a couple of weeks ago, when he tried to kneel and couldn't because his knees hurt. Greg had been very sympathetic at the time, but he obviously hadn't forgotten.)

And Gil was really stung by the comment.

"It's happened only once!" he retorted, "And it was right after I crawled for miles and miles in an old mine, searching for a body -"

"You wouldn't have had to crawl for miles and miles if you had taken the shortest route!"

"I took the longest because the evidence -"

"Always the damn evidence -" Greg muttered.

" -pointed that way." Gil finished. "And besides, I found a body!"

"But it wasn't the one we were looking for!"

"That's not the point!"

"Yes it is!" Greg replied angrily, "You ignored everybody's warnings, including mine! But then, you love to put yourself in danger, don't you? Just yesterday, you did it all over again. Volunteering to do the job of the Humboldt CSI supervisor, just because that fat-ass was too chicken to go searching for a body in a basement-"

"Greg -"

"You knew the place was flooded, I told you it was flooded, but you just had to -"

"There was evidence to collect," Gil said calmly, "There was larvae activity; it was a job for an Entomologist-"

"But you were trapped eight hours down there!" Greg retorted, "Do you remember that? And all because you had to do things your way! Why couldn't you let somebody else do the job?"

"Somebody else would have been trapped too." Grissom replied reasonably.

"So what? It wouldn't have been you!"

Grissom turned sharply, and Greg looked away, as if embarrassed by his outburst.

And all of a sudden, I understood why Greg couldn't wait to leave Humboldt County: Gil had almost died there. And I realized something else, too: That Greg's anger had its roots in the love he felt for Gil.

Now I finally got it…

I only hoped that Gil would get it too.

I glanced at Grissom and then I glanced at Greg, wondering who would make the first move towards a reconciliation. Greg was looking outside, studiously ignoring Grissom, whowas glancing at him now and then -probably wondering what to say to make things right.

But Greg's tirade wasn't over yet.

"I don't even know why you made me come to this seminar," he muttered bitterly, "I already knew half the stuff they taught, and the other half I could have learned watching you, or Sara, or Nick. You didn't need my help, and you didn't take my advice! It's been one shitty situation after another -"

Mercifully, Phelps intervened just then. He motioned Grissom to stop in a heavily wooded area. Grissom eased the SUV behind the patrol and rolled his window down.

The trees offered some protection to officer Phelps, who strolled down to talk to Gil.

"Well," Phelps said, " You're all set. All you have to do is turn to the right and keep driving until you find the road sign. A big board," he smirked,"Green, with white words telling you where to go. Shouldn't miss it. But maybe I should come along with you, just to make sure you don't get lost again-"

Grissom seemed surprised at the guy's patronizing tone, but he didn't say anything. He certainly wasn't offended; I know my Gil -he was probably fascinated by the fact that a cop would want to belittle some perfect strangers.

But Greg wasn't as forgiving. He leant forward, forcing Gil to sit back.

"Hey!" he protested. "Do you know who you're talking to?" he asked hotly, "This is Dr. Gil Grissom, and he came here as an honored guest! He even put his life in danger while solving a case for the Humboldt PD!"

Phelps scoffed.

"Well, if he's such a hot shot, then how come he didn't notice he had the wrong map?"

"Because he trusted the good people of Humboldt to give him a good map!" he said, "But it's obvious that nobody knows a good map from a bad map in this hell-hole -"

"Now, you wait a minute," Phelps said angrily, but Grissom quickly leant forward, effectively blocking Phelps' view of Greg.

"Thank you, Officer; we're set to go," he said, using that quiet, soothing tone of his -the one that disarms even the most hardened jerk. "I'll make sure the local authorities know what a big help you were today."

He didn't move until Phelps reluctantly returned to his car.

I thought Greg would continue his tirade once they were alone again,but to my surprise, he remained silent. He simply stared through the side window, as if there was really something to see besides the falling rain.

Gil didn't speak either; his focus was on the road ahead.

Fortunately, there were enough noises to fill in the quiet: crashing thunder, steady rain, and the maddening screech of the windshield wipers.

Suddenly, Gil spoke.

"You were right," he said quietly. "We were lost and I didn't listen. I trusted a useless map over you."

Greg kept staring outside.

"It's one of my flaws, I suppose" Gil continued, "Trusting the written word over someone's intuition."

Gil took a deep breath, and then he added, "Sometimes, I act as if I cared more about a case than about the people I love-" he faltered a little, "Sometimes I take too much pride in the work that I do, and then -"

"That's three flaws," Greg muttered.

Grissom smiled ruefully.

"I have lots of flaws," he admitted. "Some of them, I didn't even know about. I mean, do I really wet all my fingers when I turn the pages of a book?"

Greg reluctantly glanced at Gil.

"You do." Greg said quietly. He looked away again. "And I leave hair all over the sink," he admitted. "I know it will clog the drain, but I keep leaving it there. I don't know why-"

He stopped. He shook his head, "No, that's not true; I do know why I keep doing it."

Grissom glanced at him.

"You do?"

"Uh, huh," Greg nodded reluctantly. "I do it because you always fix it for me. I've, hum, never told you this, but seeing you do the plumbing is kind of a fantasy for me."

Grissom's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"That's your fantasy?"

"Gil The Plumber," Greg shrugged. "It's hot."

Grissom smiled as he drove. Greg smiled as he stared outside.

They were smiling, at least. Once they started smiling at each other, then I'd know for sure that things would be all right.

Gil spoke again.

"There's something else you were right about, by the way." he said, "You didn't need to attend this seminar. I just wanted you to come along. I thought it would do us good."

Greg seemed appalled.

"Do us good?" he repeated incredulously.

Gil nodded.

"I thought it would be like going away on a vacation." he said, "You said it yourself: We hardly ever go out together. I thought this would be a good chance for us to- I don't know. Get to know each other better, I suppose."

Well, at least that last part had come true: They knew each other better now, all right. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing remained to be seen.

Greg seemed moved by Gil's words; he visibly gulped.

He still wasn't ready to cave in, though. A full minute passed before he spoke again.

"Look," he said, "I'm sorry if I sounded like an ungrateful SOB, but the thing is-"

"No, you were right." Grissom said, "The trip wasn't what I expected, either. I thought we'd be able to take in the sights, visit some museums -"

"We didn't even sleep together the whole time we were there." Greg muttered.

"We didn't even eat together -" Grissom added.

"That's what I'm saying," Greg replied, smiling a little.

Grissom was going to say something, when the steering wheel shook in his hands. He grabbed it frantically.

"What is it?" Greg asked.

"It's acting up again." he said. He glanced at Greg, "What did the mechanic say?"

"Uh?"

"You told the mechanic about the problem we had on our way here, right?" Grissom said, "What did he say?"

Greg didn't say anything, but he didn't need to: guilt was written all over his face.

Grissom steered the car towards a clearing and then he turned the engine off. Then, he turned his full attention on Greg.

"You talked to the mechanic, didn't you?" he asked, but it looked like he already knew what the answer to that question was going to be.

"Hum. Well..." Greg hesitated.

"Oh. Great." Grissom glared, "You didn't ask the mechanic to check it out?"

"Look, I just thought I could-"

"You thought?" Grissom asked sarcastically, "I doubt that! Damn it, Greg! We're in trouble, now!"

"I can fix it." Greg said quickly, "Just open the trunk; I'll go out and-" he opened the door.

"What? You can't go out there! It's pouring!"

"It's ok!" Greg said, "I can fix it, Gil. Papa Olaf used to have the same trouble all the time, and my sister and I fixed it -"

And then he was out, waving at Gil, urging him to open the trunk.

Gil did. And then he got out himself.

After a moment, they came back inside. They were wet through.

"Gil, I can fix it." Greg was saying.

"Shut up, Greg." Gil said quietly. He turned to the back seat and picked up an old gym bag he keeps there -his emergency kit. He keeps things like beef jerky and bottles of water in there, but there's also extra clothing. He pulled a couple of towels and handed one to Greg. Then he picked up the cell phone and punched a number.

Greg frowned.

"Who're you calling to?"

"Road Patrol," Gil said, "I'll ask them to send Officer Phelps."

"Not that guy again!" Greg exclaimed.

Gil ignored him. He made his call, and specifically requested the aid of officer Andrew Phelps. Then, he hung up and started drying himself.

Greg was still looking at him.

"Why did you ask for that guy?"

"Because I don't want you to catch pneumonia." he said simply. Then he smiled, "Phelps is going to patronize us, I know. He's going to laugh and point out every little thing we did wrong. Then he'll tow our vehicle and take us to some motel. He will do everything for us, just to dwell on the fact that two hot shots from Las Vegas couldn't manage on their own."

"And you're ok with that?" Greg asked testily.

"Why not?" Grissom smiled, "As long as he does the job, who cares what he thinks of us?" he reached for Greg's hand, "As long as you're here with me,nothing else matters."

Greg rolled his eyes.

"Oh, God, that's the mushiest thing you've ever said to me."

"No, it isn't." Gil smiled, "I can do worse than that and you know it."

He can, by the way. You wouldn't believe the sweet-nothings those two mutter after the bed-banging stops.

Greg took a deep breath. He seemed to relax for the first time that day. When Gil tugged at his hand, he didn't resist; he leant into my Gil's embrace. They hugged tightly for quite a while before any of them spoke.

"I'm sorry." Greg whispered.

"Shhhh. Todo está bien." Gil muttered, "Te quiero, mi vida."

Greg chuckled.

"Sneaky bastard," he whispered, "You know I can't resistyou when you talk in Spanish."

"Lo sé ."

And then they started kissing.

Eeeeew.

Humans think kissing's very appealing, but I find it disturbing. Very disturbing.

I can never watch. I mean, when we spiders pour saliva on something, it's to eat it, ok? And I mean that literally. So having those two up close, doing that...

It was just too much.

I tried to turn my back on them, but it didn't work; they kept moving and intruding into my line of vision.

Finally, I had to resort to violent means. I started banging my limbs against the cage, and when that failed, I started throwing pieces of dead fly carcasses at them, hoping to get their attention... to no avail.

Hum, guys? I cried, I'm right here, for God's sake! I can't bear to see you suck each other's face like that! Please, guys, I'm begging you! You don't want Officer Phelps to find you like this, do you?

Stop it! Guys? Guys! Guys!

I mean it-

THE END

***