Title: Romancing The Cliche
By: Chapin CSI
Pairing: Gil/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Warning: I don't speak English and it shows in my stories; luckily, my readers are very forgiving. Thanks!
Summary: AU. Greg meets his boss in the last place he expected.

***

Greg made his way to the bar. It wasn't easy; he had to dodge several dancing couples before he could make it.

"Hey, Gringo!" the bartender said amiably, "What would you like tonight?"

Greg placed his order and then he looked around. The place was filled to capacity, like every night.

People, Greg thought morosely. People everywhere. Gringos dancing to exotic tunes –clumsily and out of step, most of them- gringos romancing the local girls, gringos drinking, gringos having a good time away from home-

Just another gringo himself, Greg was getting sick of this endless partying. Frankly, he was bored. He had come to Cancún with a bunch of friends in search of relaxation and –why not admit it?- a little romance as well; so far, he had failed on both counts.

It's not that he had not had fun –the chances of getting laid were numerous, after all- but each casual encounter had left him feeling lonelier than ever. As for relaxation… let's just say that partying all night and lying on the beach with a hangover the next day was definitely not what the doctor had ordered.

Greg looked down into the glass that the bartender set in front of him.

So far he had rejected every boy and girl who approached him, and soon his friends would pair off and depart, leaving him alone. The thought didn't bother him; maybe a little time alone would do him some good.

Unbeknownst to Greg, a man had been watching him for some time now. He'd noticed with amusement and more than a little interest how Greg's eyes followed some of the men at the party. Well, well, the man thought. This was interesting…

The stranger picked up his glass and made a beeline for the bar. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, he deliberately bumped into the young man.

"Sorry," Greg said, barely glancing up.

"Careful, kid." The man said.

Greg frowned. That voice… He would recognize it anywhere.

"Grissom?" he asked in surprise.

The man turned.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Whoa!" Greg exclaimed, "It's you!" and then he frowned, "What happened to your beard?"

For his boss was clean shaven. He was also wearing a colorful shirt and kaki cotton pants, and he looked just like another gringo at the resort.

Greg couldn't believe it.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Grissom hesitated.

"Well, I…" he began. "I thought I'd come and-"

"That's great!" Greg approved, "Why didn't you say anything?" he asked but didn't wait for an answer, "Or were you afraid that telling us would ruin your image of the austere CSI Supervisor?"

Grissom opened his mouth but didn't immediately answer.

"You got me," he admitted at last. Then he glanced at the name tag pinned on Greg's shirt, "Gregory." He finished.

"Oh," Greg looked down at his tag and immediately took it off. He and his friends had worn them every night, hoping it would help them make friends more easily.

"I hate my name, to tell you the truth," Greg muttered, "I barely tolerate 'Greg'. Even 'Sanders' is better than Gregory." He added, and then he smiled at Grissom, "I can't believe it, you know? You're the last person I'd expect to find here. Are you having fun?"

Grissom shrugged, "I've tried." He said noncommittally.

"And?" Greg coaxed, "Any luck with the ladies so far?"

Grissom paused again. He took a sip of his whiskey and stared at Greg, gauging the possibilities.

There was a lot at stake here…

But what the hell.

"Actually," he said, and then he lowered his voice, "It's not the ladies I'm interested in." he explained.

Greg's eyes widened.

"What?" he asked.

Grissom smiled. "You heard me."

"But…" Greg hesitated, "But… you…?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Greg muttered, "Wow." He paused, thoughts crowding his mind. Would he…? Could he and Grissom…? Could it be possible…?

Confused, Greg picked up his cocktail and gulped half of it down. He didn't know what to do. There was a lot at stake here after all.

Grissom made it easier. He got a bit closer and spoke in a soft, insinuating tone.

"So, Sanders," He said, "What are you interested in?"

Three days after that, Greg woke up in his boss' arms. He smiled faintly as he held those arms closer to his body. Gil's cheek felt raspy against his shoulder. Greg had asked Grissom to grow his beard back, and the older man had complied.

Greg smiled. Who would have thought that Grissom had it in him? Not just the sexual prowess, but the seduction techniques as well? They'd had a great time together; they had explored the island, they had swam in lonely beaches, and finally, they had spent some glorious times together in Grissom's deluxe suite.

Mmmh, Greg thought. This is how a vacation should be…

Sadly, said vacation was coming to an end. Grissom was leaving Cancún in a couple of days, and Greg was scheduled to return to the States in a week. The next time they met, it would be at the workplace.

Neither one of them had broached the subject. In an unspoken agreement, they had simply taken advantage of every moment they spent together, without sparing a thought for the future.

Greg closed his eyes and burrowed into Grissom's arms, determined to enjoy the few hours they had left.

But the days passed quickly, and soon Greg returned to work.

The first thing he did was to go to Grissom's office. Silently, he stood in the doorway, watching Grissom work. When the older man rose from his desk to get something from a bookcase, Greg took a deep breath and went in.

"Hi." he said in a soft tone.

"Mmmh?" Grissom turned, "Hey, Greg." He said casually, "You're tanned." He added.

Greg smiled warmly.

"Yes. I stayed another week, remember?"

Grissom didn't answer. He turned to look at the books again. There was a specific tome that he needed but couldn't find. He was wondering where else to look when, to his utter surprise, Greg approached from behind and whispered into his ear.

"Missed me?"

Grissom glanced over his shoulder.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"Did you miss me?" he repeated, still in the same silky tone.

"Not particularly," Grissom replied, taking a cautious step away from Greg, "Sofia gave us a hand while you were away."

"That's not what I meant," Greg said, still smiling and still using that soft, husky tone. "Did you miss me?"

Grissom frowned. He was honestly mystified by Greg's approach and for a moment he simply stared back at the young man.

Greg held his gaze until reality quickly dawned on him.

He shook his head in disappointment.

"So, this is it, huh?" Greg asked, "You're going to pretend that nothing happened?"

Not that he was that surprised -he knew it was too much to ask for a relationship. But he had hoped that Grissom would at least acknowledge what had happened between them.

Maybe he needed a reminder.

"We slept together, Grissom." he said slowly, "Or have you forgotten that?"

"Excuse me?" Grissom mumbled.

"We swam together, we went out for walks," Greg said, taking a step forward, "You said that meeting me in Cancun was the best thing that ever happened to you-"

Grissom gaped, but he quickly recovered.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, for God's sake!" Greg said, rolling his eyes, "You could at least admit that we did what we did!"

"Greg, I don't-" Grissom was trying to make sense of Greg's words. "I don't know what you're talking about." he said, and then his eyes narrowed, "Did you use any drugs while you were away, Greg?" he asked suspiciously.

"Drugs?" Greg asked indignantly, "Drugs? Grissom, I can't believe this. If you want to pretend that nothing happened, then just say so. I can take it, ok?"

Grissom hesitated.

"Greg, do you honestly believe that I would go to Cancun?"

"You were there!" Greg replied, "You left a week before I did, and-"

"Greg, I haven't left Las Vegas in the past two months." Grissom said patiently, " I've never been in Cancún-"

"But-"

"I don't even like beach resorts, in the first place." Grissom interrupted, "I can't imagine why you-" Grissom paused in mid-sentence. He frowned as a sense of Déjà Vu crept into his mind.

It had been years since anything like this had happened to him. He had almost forgotten-

"Oh, no." He muttered.

"What?" Greg asked angrily.

Grissom took a deep breath.

"I think I know what happened." He gulped, "You met Bill."

"Bill? Who's Bill?"

"My twin brother."

"Your twin brother?" Greg repeated incredulously, and he stared at Grissom, hoping the man would burst into laughs and say something like, 'Gotcha!'. When Grissom didn't, Greg simply shook his head, "This is pathetic, Grissom." he sneered, "Do you really expect me to believe that you have an evil twin brother who pretends he's you just to sleep with your coworkers?"

"He's not evil, "Grissom replied tiredly, "He's just…" he shrugged. He didn't want to talk about Bill, "Greg, this is the only explanation I can give you."

"I have another explanation," Greg retorted, "You're a damn coward."

"Greg, you can ask anybody here: I didn't leave Las Vegas while you were away."

Greg stared a Grissom for a moment, and then he reached for Grissom's collar.

"There's a tiny spider tattooed near your right nipple," he said, "I saw it countless of times, Grissom," he added, and then he pulled Grissom's shirt open.

Greg gaped at what he saw –or rather, at what he didn't see. There was no tattoo, and Grissom's skin was pale under the clothes –only his face and his neck were tanned.

Horrified by the discovery, Greg took a step back.

"You have a twin brother," he said breathlessly. "Oh, hell," he added, almost to himself.

"His name's William," Grissom said.

"Oh, hell," Greg repeated, and in his mind he went back to the time he and Grissom's twin were together. Only now did he realize that the man had simply followed his lead when they talked about their jobs.

Actually, Greg had done most of the talking while they were together.

"You never mentioned him-"

"I have nothing to say about him," Grissom shrugged, "We rarely speak. He doesn't even live in the States. Mostly, he lives in the South of France. He's a writer." He looked at Greg, "I'm sorry." He said sincerely.

"It's not your fault." Greg said mechanically. "It's my fault." He admitted, "I thought he was you; I practically fed him the lines…" he shook his head as he remembered, "He didn't know who I was; he simply looked at my name tag. He called me Gregory-" he added ruefully.

"I'm sorry, Greg. If… if you need some time off," he offered.

"I'll be fine." Greg interrupted, not daring to look into Grissom's eyes, "Ok? Just pretend this never happened."

He left.

Grissom finished his shift, working methodically and efficiently.

It wasn't until he left his office that he finally cracked.

It happened in the parking lot, when he was about to enter his car. Suddenly, the memory of what had happened overwhelmed him.

"Damn," he whispered. "Damn, damn." He repeated, leaning on the car for support, "It could have been me," he whispered. "It should have been me-"

"What did you just say?"

Grissom flushed. He hadn't realized that Greg had followed him.

The young man was smiling tentatively.

"Nothing." Grissom mumbled evasively.

Greg got closer.

"I heard what you said, Grissom. Unless it wasn't you but your evil twin Bill speaking." He lowered his voice, "You're right." He said quietly, "It should have been you. I wish it had been you." He added, and then he frowned, "Come to think of it, I thought it was you," he said. "You see what this means?"

"Yes." Grissom said tiredly, "But it can't be. It can never be."

"Why?"

"I'm your boss- You're so much younger-"

Greg was about to argue, when a sudden explosion interrupted him. Someone was shooting at them.

"Get down!" Grissom screamed, pushing Greg to the ground. Grissom himself wasn't quick enough though, and before he could crouch down he was hit by a bullet.

Greg immediately pulled him to a safe corner of the parking lot.

Grissom was bleeding badly, but he made an effort to speak.

"I… I… want you to… to… know…" he moaned, "That I… that I…"

"No, don't talk…" Greg whispered, "I know what you want to say."

"I… lo-lo..."

"You love me, right?"

"I… l-l-lo…"

"I get it," Greg interrupted desperately, "Just save your energy; the paramedics are coming-"

But Grissom was beyond help. After a few desperate attempts to complete his farewell phrase, he died.

Greg couldn't believe it.

"No, no... Nooooooo!" He screamed and screamed.

"No… no…" Greg mumbled in his sleep, and the sound of his own voice woke him up.

He sat up abruptly and looked around in confusion. He was in his own room, in his own bed.

"You ok?" a concerned voice called out.

Greg turned and sighed with relief when he saw Grissom lying there, beside him.

"Yeah," Greg said breathlessly, "I'm fine."

Grissom sat up.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

"Yeah," Greg nodded.

Grissom rubbed Greg's back for a moment.

"What was it about?" he asked.

"Well…" Greg hesitated. Now that he was wide awake, the dream didn't seem that terrifying. "You'll not gonna believe this." He said at last, "I dreamed that you had a twin brother."

Grissom's eyebrows rose.

"A twin brother?" he asked.

"Yeah." Greg his head, "Talk about clichés, huh?"

"Was it an evil twin?" Grissom asked, smiling.

"Don't laugh," Greg warned, but then he smiled, "It sounds silly, I know," he admitted. "A twin brother, completely different from you…"

"How different?" Grissom asked, still smiling.

"Well…" he hesitated.

"Come on," Grissom coaxed, "Tell me about him."

"Ok," he said, "It all started when I went to Cancún-" he said, and then he recounted the entire dream. "So," he said when he was finished, "What do you think? Did you count the clichés?"

"It even ended with one," Grissom said, smiling amusedly. "A death-bed confession of love."

"Not to mention that heart-wrenching 'Noooo," Greg added self-deprecatingly.

They shared a laugh.

"But you know, the dream itself wasn't that bad." Greg said after a while, "It was kind of romantic, in a way…"

"Romantic?" Grissom repeated.

"Yeah." he shrugged, "In a twisted sort of way, I guess."

Grissom mused on this for a moment.

"Does the idea of meeting a different Grissom turns you on, Greg?" He asked.

"Well…"

"Because if it does, then maybe I should do something about this," He said, patting his own jaw. "Change it, so it fits your fantasies-"

"Aw, no." Greg said, "You don't have to do that. I like you just the way you are."

"That phrase is just another cliché, did you know that?"

"So?" he shrugged, "It's the truth."

Grissom smiled.

"Good," he said, "Let's go back to sleep then."

They laid down again and after a moment, Grissom pulled Greg into his arms.

"You know," Grissom whispered, "There's only a fitting way to end this: With a cliché. Repeat after me," he instructed, "Thank God it was only a dream."

Greg snickered and repeated the words.

"Good night," Grissom whispered, "Love you."

"I love you too, Bill." Greg muttered, burrowing into his lover's embrace. The last thing he was conscious of before falling asleep was the feel of Grissom's clean-shaven jaw against his back.

THE END

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