Title: A little something around the middle
By: Chapin CSI
Pairing: Gil/Greg
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS and I'm just borrowing for a little story.
Note: Most of the descriptions of the body farm were taken from the book "Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers" by Mary Roach, a truly great book.
Warning: I don't speak English and it shows in my stories; luckily, my readers are very forgiving. Thanks!
Summary: After the events set in "Big Middle", Greg casually hints he has a thing for chubby guys with beards. Will Grissom take the hint?

***

Gil Grissom put his pen down. He had been reviewing reports for hours, and now he needed a break. A midnight snack would do the trick.

When he entered the break room he found Greg Sanders sitting there, staring at a cup of coffee.

"Hey, Greg."

"Hey, Grissom," Greg said, barely looking up.

Grissom frowned. It was odd to see Greg acting so subdued.

Grissom looked around. Apparently, Greg had had company until a while ago; the table still bore the remains of a large pizza -the brand that Warrick liked. There were only a couple of slices left, and the hardened cheese looked like plastic now.

"Finished your dinner, Greg?"

"Huh?" he asked, looking up, "Oh, this was Warrick's dinner, actually. He's just left."

Grissom took a plastic container from the fridge, poured himself a cup of coffee, picked a plastic fork from the counter, and took a seat.

Greg stared as Grissom uncovered the container.

"Fruit salad, Grissom?" he asked.

"Uh, huh."

"Are you on a diet?"

"Let's say I'm concerned about my health," Grissom said, shrugging evasively.

Greg smiled faintly and then he shook his head as if something amused him. The gesture wasn't lost on Gil.

"What?"

"That case got to you, huh?" Greg asked knowingly.

"No." Grissom glared.

Greg gave him a look that said, 'fine, have it your way,' and turned his attention back to his cup of coffee again.

"It got to me," he admitted after a moment.

"You?" Grissom frowned, "How?"

Greg reluctantly looked up. He seemed to be considering whether or not to answer the question.

"Well…" he hesitated, "Did you ever have a case that changed the way you look at your life, Grissom?"

Grissom put his fork down.

"Why do you ask?"

"Did you?" he insisted.

"I learn from every case," Grissom said cautiously. He waited for Greg to say something, but the young man simply stared back. "Did this case affect you in any way, Greg?"

"Well… it made me think, you know?" Greg said, "About beauty… about attraction-"

"And?"

"-and it made me realize that I like curves, myself."

Grissom picked his fork again. He'd been concerned for a moment: If a CSI said 'this case got to me', it was his duty to offer his help. As it was, Greg didn't need any. People's love lives were none of his business.

"Do you?" was all he said.

"Yeah." Greg nodded, and then added quickly, "Not that I'd want someone who weighs 280 pounds."

"Uh, huh."

"I'm talking about, you know, someone who has a little something around the middle-"

"Oh."

"- and a little something behind-"

"Mmmmh." Grissom nodded distractedly as he ate.

"Just something to hold on to, if you know what I mean-"

"Uh, huh."

"-someone who has some facial hair-"

Someone who…?

Grissom stopped chewing. He definitely had a problem with that last revelation. Why would anyone find hirsutism attractive in a woman? Not that it was impossible, but…

He wanted to ask Greg about it, but it didn't seem appropriate. Greg's personal tastes were none of his business.

He looked at Greg, only to find him looking back expectantly. Grissom refused to make a comment; he turned his attention back to his food.

"Anyway," Greg added after a while, "This realization came to me today, while I was playing tennis with some friends."

"Oh. You play tennis?"

"Yeah. Doubles, mostly." He explained, "So, there I was, concentrating on the game, when my boyfriend came by and-"

Grissom choked.

Greg helpfully smacked Grissom's back until he stopped coughing.

"B-boyfriend?" Grissom managed to ask.

"Yeah." He nodded matter-of-factly, "Oh." He paused, "You didn't know that I-"

"No, I didn't." Grissom glared, "You- you're always talking about supermodels, and-"

"Well, yeah." Greg shrugged, "Why not? I admire beauty in all its forms, Grissom."

Grissom didn't know what to say to that.

But he did have a question.

"Does your boyfriend have a little something around the middle?"

"Nah." Greg lamented, "He's thin, almost scrawny-"

"Like you, in short." Grissom said dryly.

"Hey, I resent that!" he protested, "I've been filling out lately. See?" He lifted his t-shirt to show off his belly. Grissom stared; Greg's tummy was flat as a surfboard, but definitely not scrawny; he was filling out nicely, indeed.

Grissom kept staring at Greg's belly even after the young man covered it back.

"So, Robert came," Greg continued, "I took a look at him, and-" he paused.

Grissom looked up.

"And?"

"Well… Suddenly, it was like looking at a friend, you know?" Greg said disgustedly, "No sparks, if you know what I mean." He paused, "I was just standing there, looking at him and wondering why my feelings had changed, and if maybe there was someone else in my mind-"

Grissom paused. He slowly put his fork down.

"Someone else?" he asked with a sudden interest.

"Yeah." Greg nodded, "You know," he added, "Someone who has a little something around the middle, and-"

"And?" Grissom asked.

"-and a little something behind-" he said, looking at Grissom in the eye.

Grissom shifted a little on his seat.

There was a brief pause, and then Greg added, "And, you know, some facial hair too-"

"Uh, huh?" Grissom prompted, lifting his face just a little.

"-and other things, of course." Greg finished.

Grissom's shoulders sagged. Things like youth and looks, perhaps? He wondered mournfully.

"Other things?" he asked aloud.

"Yes," Greg nodded, "Brains, for instance."

"Oh," Grissom said, sitting straighter in his chair.

"Oh, yeah." Greg said firmly, "I mean, that should go first on my list, actually."

"So-" Grissom gazed at him.

"So-" Greg gazed back.

"So, your boyfriend-" Grissom prompted.

"Oh, yeah. Well, there he was, thin and clean-shaven, and talking about something that wasn't smart or even funny…. And there I was, wondering if what I really wanted hadn't been right in front of me all these years… When suddenly, it hit me."

"What?" Grissom prompted again, "What hit you?"

"The damn tennis ball!" he scowled. "I didn't see it coming!"

"Where did it hit you?"

"On the head." Greg touched a spot on his temple and leant forward, "Can you feel it?" he asked. Grissom gingerly touched the bump, "It's nothing." Greg said dismissively, but he sat still while Grissom gently massage it.

Greg leant back after a moment, "So, my point is that the case somehow opened my eyes, and today… I just knew I had to make a decision about Robert and about -" he shrugged, "-somebody else."

"And…" he stared at Greg, "Have you?"

"Yeah." He nodded, staring back.

Grissom held his breath, waiting…

But Greg didn't say anything. After a moment, he simply pushed his chair back, picked up his empty cup and took it to the sink. He rinsed it in silence.

Grissom was looking expectantly at him, but Greg didn't say a word as he walked to the door.

"So?" Grissom prompted, "What did you decide?"

"I think you know." Greg said quietly. He smiled faintly, "The ball is in your court now, Grissom."

***

I signed my report with a flourish, and added it to the other papers in the file. It was the first report I'd written without Sara's help, and I'd stayed after my shift ended to work on it. It had taken me two hours -or an hour and a half, if you discounted the time I'd spent spell checking every damn word I wrote. Now, two drafts later, I was ready to submit it to my boss' approval.

I picked up my jacket and my cell phone; I was hungry and tired, and all I wanted was to go home, take a long shower, and order something to eat - either a late breakfast or an early lunch. I was debating the pros and cons of several take out places, when I entered Grissom's office.

I belatedly knocked on the open door, but I needn't have worried; he was not there.

For a moment, I stood in the middle of the office, wondering if I wasglad or disappointed.

A week ago I would have been disappointed, no doubt about it. But that was then.

That was before I'd made a fool of myself by telling him about my feelings.

Not that I had actually said the words –it was too risky, and I wanted to save face in case Grissom didn't feel the way I did- but I think he understood what I was trying to say. As a matter of fact, his reaction was kind of encouraging, even if he didn't say the words either.

So, what happened after that?

Nothing, that's what. Nothing at all. In fact, Grissom acted as if no conversation had ever taken place.

I was hurt, at first. Hurt and pissed. Actually, I was more pissed off than hurt…

…Until I realized that Grissom's silence worked in my favor.

I mean, let's face it; if I had told Eckley the things that I'd told Grissom, the bald man would have reprimanded me for making a pass at him, and he would have made a big deal of it too, maybe even using me to set an example in his next 'Sexual Harassment at the Workplace' talk.

Not that I would ever make a pass at Eckley!

So, I guess I should be grateful that Grissom had reacted the way he did. He was a discreet guy; he was not going to repeat the stupid things I said about wanting someone like him, and he would not mention that I had a boyfriend (ex-boyfriend, I mean) and this alone was enough to make me want to fall on my knees in gratitude.

But of course, falling down on my knees for him was exactly what I'd planned to do all along. If he had said yes, I mean..

Damn.

Still, I wasn't complaining; I mean, I things could have turned out worse, right? So what if there was no way in hell we were ever gonna be together? It was ok.

I put my report on Grissom's desk and turned to leave… and stopped.

I smiled to myself. I looked back at the desk and fantasized that Grissom was there, waiting for my report.

'Fantasy Grissom'had skipped breakfast, a couple of autopsies, and even a court appearance just to be there for me. In my fantasy, he asked me to sit and talk to him –and he wasactually paying attention to every word I said. He picked upmy report and read it and sign it without making a single correction. And then…

And then he fell on his knees to show me his appreciation-

"There you are."

I turned quickly –and guiltily. Grissom was standing by the doorway.

"Hey, boss." I muttered.

"I've been looking for you." he said, "The receptionist told me you hadn't left the building." He glared, "Did you turn off your pager?"

Hell, yeah. I was officially off duty and he knew it very well. Not that I was going to say so.

"I was finishing my report," I said instead, "I put it on your desk."

I looked expectantly at him, hoping his reaction would be just what I wanted it to be: He would sit and read my report and sign it; and then-

"Good." He said, barely sparing a glance at his desk, "I'll look at it later. Are you busy right now?"

I looked at him. Grissom looked perky and full of energy, as if he had not worked the same hours that I had. He looked like he was itching to work another shift.

Oh, no.

I was not staying for another shift, no matter what he said-

"Actually," I mumbled, "I was about to go home, and-"

"Could you spare me a couple of hours?" Grissom interrupted, "I'm doing some research at the body farm and I could use some help."

A week ago I would have jumped at the chance to help him, but now I wasn't sure I-

Ah, who was I kidding? I didn't jump, but I said yes anyway.

He didn't exactly fall on his knees in gratitude.

"Great." he said simply, "I'll meet you at the parking lot in ten minutes. Oh, and bring coveralls."

"Great." I muttered to myself as I went to the locker room. "I'm going to the Body Farm. Yipee."

It was not great. Being alone with my boss had been a source of mortification lately, and I cringed every time he asked me to go on a case with him.

That was something I didn't understand; Grissom's attitude, I mean. Anybody else would have avoided me after that conversation, but not him. It seemed that lately he was around more often –either at the lab, or at the break room, or out in the field.

I thought at first that he was getting ready to make his move, but after a week, I realized it was not going to happen.

Still… I had to admit it was nice to spend time with him.

For instance, last Monday…

(Flashback)

Grissom entered the break room just as I was having a midnight snack –pizza.

He greeted me with a casual, 'Hey, Greg,' and opened the fridge.

I froze. For a moment it felt like we were reenacting the night I made a pass at him.

Grissom didn't seem uncomfortable at all. He simply sat at the table and busied himself with the makings of a sandwich. He had some slices of brown bread and a jar filled with a paste of some kind.

"No chopped fruit tonight?" I asked. It was the closest I got to allude to our conversation, but he didn't make any comment.

Fine.

I picked up a slice of pizza but it was too hot, so I dropped it back on the plate. I was licking sauce off my fingers, when I glanced at him. He was staring at me.

Caught staring, his reaction was to speak gruffly.

"Do you know what they put in those things?" he asked, eyeing the pizza.

"Do you know what they put in the chemicals we work with every day?" I replied evenly.

"Actually, I do." he replied (a bit smugly, it seemed to me).

"Well," I said mischievously, "I wouldn't be surprised if one of these days they discover that those chemicals cause baldness, or impotence, or-"

"Are you going bald or impotent, Greg?"

I flushed, but recovered quickly.

"I haven't worked with those chemicals that long." I said deliberately. "You, on the other hand-" I paused.

And he just fell for it.

"I'm not going ba-" Grissom started indignantly, and then he stopped. He narrowed his eyes at me, but after a moment he smiled faintly. We bantered like that all the time and we always ended up sharing a smile of complicity. It was nice to see that hadn't changed.

Still smiling, he turned his attention back to his sandwich.

"What's that?" I asked, eyeing the stuff in the jar.

"Peanut butter."

"I can see the peanut butter, but what's the dark stuff mixed in it?"

"Oh. Nothing." Grissom shrugged. "Bits and ends."

I looked closely at the jar, and tilted it a little.

"Well, it looks like a cockroach died in there." I said it casually, but when I looked up I noticed the twinkle in Grissom's eyes. I was appalled, "Oh, no." I said, putting the jar back. "You're not, are you?"

"Am I what?" He asked innocently.

"You're eating cockroaches?" I asked, stunned.

"No, I'm not." He denied, and then he smiled, "Crickets." He said, "And some red ants."

"And is there any difference?"

"Well, cockroaches have more protein." He said matter-of-factly.

I stared at him for a moment.

"'His meat was locusts and honey,'" I said solemnly.

"St. Matthew," he said, looking appraisingly at me. "You're quoting the Bible."

"Well, I'm a Catholic, too." I shrugged, trying not to sound smug and failing. He smiled and took a big bite out of his sandwich. I groaned. "That's disgusting, Grissom."

"Is it?" Grissom asked, with his mouth full. "It's crunchy." He commented, enjoying my discomfort. But only for a moment, "You're right." He said gently. "It is disgusting if you're not into it." He reached for a napkin and started wrapping his sandwich in it.

I frowned.

"You're not finishing that?"

"I'll save it for later."

"Oh, come on." I protested, "You're not doing this because of me, are you? Stay." I said magnanimously. "If you do," I added, "I might give it a try."

He smiled faintly.

"You don't have to do that."

"Why not?" I asked, picking the knife he'd used to spread the peanut butter mixture, "I mean, I've eaten burritos and hot dogs all my life and I know what's in them," he said, "Eating a couple of bugs can't be much worse."

He looked at me as if trying to gauge my sincerity, and then he handed me the jar. "Besides," I said as I spread some of the mixture on a slice of pizza, "I'm pretty sure I've already eaten plenty of cockroaches during my college years. I used to have a roommate who kept a stash of sandwiches under the bed, and sometimes we ate them at midnight, in the dark-" I was talking my ass off out of nervousness, but I finally forced himself to eat the pizza. "Mmmh. Well." I mumbled. The brown bits had the texture of plastic and tasted of burnt walnuts.

"I fry them in a little butter," he said.

"Uh, huh."

"So," he paused, "What do you think?"

I looked into his eyes.

"It's not so bad." I said slowly, "In fact," I paused, "If Pizza Hut added it as a topping, I'd buy it."

It was the highest compliment I could think of and he knew it. He smiled faintly.

We finished our meals in silence and went back to work.

(Ends flashback)

***

I glanced at Grissom, who seemed as inscrutable as ever as he drove. He had barely said anything, (except, 'I'll lend you a pair of old tennis shoes, Greg. Don't wear yours. The smells of the dead cling to shoes for months')

'Great,' I thought sarcastically, 'Now I'm gonna stink. Things are getting better and better.'

I glanced outside. We had left the city behind a half hour ago, and it seemed that the road to the Body Farm was one of the least traveled on. So far, only a couple of vans from the city morgue had passed us by.

Well, that was good. I wasn't looking forward to getting trapped in a traffic jam. Not after what happened a couple of days ago…

(Flashback)

We'd been returning from a crime scene at about eight in the morning, when we got trapped in a traffic jam.

It had been Grissom's fault.

"You should have taken 25th street." I said morosely.

"You should have told me." Grissom said calmly.

I made a visible effort not to remind him that 25th was the only route anyone in his right mind would have taken.

"We're gonna be late-" I said redundantly.

"Relax." Grissom said dismissively, "Our evidence isn't perishable."

"The evidence isn't what I'm concerned about."

He looked curiously at me.

"It's not?"

"No." I muttered, unwilling to say more.

"Did you have any plans?"

His question surprised me, but I didn't let on.

"Some of us like to go home now and then, Grissom." I said curtly.

I wasn't in the mood for small talk and he got the message. He looked away.

Well, good.

About fifteen minutes later, it wasn't so good anymore. The silence had become burdensome. I had a book open on my lap, but I needed other distractors. I glanced at Grissom.

"Do you mind if I put on the radio?" I asked.

"Sorry." He said, "It isn't working."

Ah, shit.

"Ok," I said, still trying to be patient, "Do you have any CDs around?"

"Sure," he said, "They're in the glove compartment."

There was quite a pile in there, but nothing that appealed to me.None of the songs contained in those CDs had beenwritten in this century.

"Verdi, Bach, Grieg-" I mumbled, "Very nice, if I wanted to fall asleep in the middle of the road-" Imumbled sarcastically. "Bizet –Carmen. Opera?" I snorted "Nope-ra."

I know, I know; I was being a jerk. But then I was pissed off, and rightly so. Grissom should have taken 25th; by taking 27th, he had practically taken the longest way back to the lab.

And the worst part was that he didn't seem to mind that we hadn't moved in fifteen minutes. Seeing him so calm just pissed me off more. Maybe he liked the sounds of a hundred claxons going on at the same time, but I did not. Maybe he wanted to spend the rest of the day staring at 'I love guns' bumper stickers and listen to me bitch about his CDs, but I just-'

I stopped that line of thought and took a deep breath.

Deep down, I knew it wasn't the traffic jam that was bothering me. If I was pissed off, it was because –after spending several days wondering about it- I'd started to suspect that Grissom had been acting so nicely lately because he felt sorry for me.

He was trying to let me down gently.

Shit. I'd never been the object of pity –not knowingly, at least- and I resented it like hell. I mean, come on! Did he believe I'd crumble if he said 'no' to me?

It was enough to make me want to take it all back. Yeah, that was an idea. Maybe I should just say, 'Hey, Grissom, remember what I said the other day about being attracted to a certain type of person? I was kidding! Oh, and that story about having a boyfriend? It was just a sick joke I was playing on you, ha, ha! Now could we pretend I didn't say anything?

I didn't say any of this. I opened my book again and tried to read, but after a moment I reluctantly glanced at him.

Grissom was staring at the ugly car in front of us -the one covered with the 'I love guns' stickers- and by the look on his face, anyone would have thought that he considered itto be the most beautiful car he'd ever seen.

It took me a while to realize that he was not really looking at the car but at something that was visible only to himself. He was meditating.

I shook my head. Nothing seemed to disturb this guy. Not me, not a traffic jam-

It made me wonder what someone like Robert –the skinny guy I'd recently dumped- would have done in this same situation…

I snorted. Robert would have been acting like a kid with a tantrum -punching on the claxon, insulting the other car drivers, and berating someone on the phone. He was always berating someone -his stockbroker, his secretary, or me.

Thinking of Robert suddenly reminded me of the things I loved about the guy sitting next to me, and suddenly, I wasn't so pissed off anymore.

Sure, I was disappointed, but I could handle that. I could handle anything -even a 'no'- but I couldn't handle the silence.

I cleared my throat.

"Did you know that some of Bach's scores were used as toilet paper during his lifetime?"

I know, I know; as a conciliatory gesture that phrase didn't seem adequate, but it did the trick: He blinked and turned to me.

"What?" he frowned.

I smiled and told him again.

"Really?" he asked.

Ha. I had him completely focused on me, now.

"Really." I nodded, "Paper was scarce at the time." I explained, "And his pieces were written for once-in-a-lifetime performances, so he probably wasn't keeping files. Besides," I added, "at the time he was more revered as a performer than as a composer. But a lot of his work was saved," I said quickly, in case Grissom worried about the pieces that were destroyed. "The guy was prolific," I said, "It would take years to copy down the pieces that survived."

Grissom was duly impressed.

"I thought you didn't like the classics." He said.

I was tempted to say I liked them, but I decided to be honest.

"Well, I don't. Not really." I admitted, "I mean, they're ok, but I wouldn't listen to a whole disc. They are great in some movies, though," I added, "I mean, A Space Odissey wouldn'tbe that great without 'Thus Spoke Zarathustra', right? And that song from Carmina Burana really adds something to the battle scenes in some epic movies-"

"But you learned all those facts about Bach," he argued, "Why?"

"Well… I read a lot and –as I've proved to you time after time- I absorb everything." I shrugged self-deprecatingly, trying to tone down my smugness (and failing), "I just like to know things," I said, "It's useful, you know; in case-"

"In case you want to impress someone." Grissom finished dryly.

"Well," I shrugged self-consciously, "Yeah."

"Greg," he paused, "Has it ever occurred to you that you don't need to try so hard to impress people?"

"I don't?"

"With that face? No."

Whaaaat?

I was stunned. I couldn't believe Grissom had just said that, and it looked like Grissom himself didn't believe it either. His ears and his nose had turned pink, and for a moment he didn't seem to know what to say or do. He looked down and started fiddling with the radio.

Yeah, the one that was broken.

The guy was flustered.

And I was still stunned.

"My face?" I asked. "You're serious?"

He did a little shrug but didn't answer.

The truth is, I've never thought that highly of my face, and it was shocking to hear him talk like that, as if my face was all that mattered about me. It seemed shallow of him, out of character-

And then... it suddenly occurred to me that I'd done just that, a week before. I'd talked about being attracted to him because of his body and his facial hair; and hell, I'd even put a limit to his weight-

Damn.

I looked at him; he was still fiddling with the radio dials.

I didn't know how to amend the things I'd said, but I didn't want to miss the chance to keep talking.

"My face, uh?" I asked, and then I lowered my voice. "So…does this mean I don't have to try to impress you, anymore?"

Grissom gulped. He opened his mouth several times but it took him a while to say something.

"I didn't say that." he said quietly.

And what did that mean?

Looking back, I think it was laughable, the way we sat there, incapable of saying anything else. We'd opened a window of opportunity and then we wasted it by acting like shy teenagers. I wanted to ask if this meant what I thought it meant, but -what if it didn't?

Maybe I was not ready to hear a 'no' from him, after all.

I settled for a safer topic.

"Did you know that Franz Liszt's fans used to ask for so many locks of his hair that he got a dog and sent them locks of dog hair to keep them happy?"

He smiled.

Time flew after that.

(Ends flashback)

***

We left the main building and walked towards the main gate. The guard greeted Grissom by name, but he took his time to look at my ID. After that, he pushed the gate open for us and we entered the Farm itself. Grissom put down his kit and pulled some rubber gloves from a pocket.

"Here," He said, handing me a pair.

I held my notebook and my pen under my chin while I put my gloves on. Grissom put on his gloves with a snap, wiggling his fingers as if to warm them up for the upcoming work. There was a faint smile on his lips as heput on a baseball cap.

He looked happy to be there -way too happy, in my opinion.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Remember," he said, "If the smell gets to you, use a bag-"

"I heard you the first time," I muttered morosely.

He had given me a list of recommendations while we changed into coveralls, but there were only two things I needed to remember: To use a bag in case I needed to puke, and to restrain myself from touching anything. Ha, no problem there. I had come to help my boss, not to interfere with anybody's study. Touching decomposing bodies just for the fun of it didn't enter my mind.

As for the gore, the smells, and the sights... I was sure I could handle it.

We walked past the gate and down the main avenue. The smell was bad, but I think it was the knowledge of what caused it that made it more difficult to take. There were people lying there -looking like they were merely sunning themselves, but actually rotting away.

I was unexpectedly impressed by the beauty of the place. There was more vegetation than I'd expected -trees, bushes, grass- and birds, too, singing in the trees. Apparently they didn't mind the farm's crops.

"See that high wall over there?" Grissom asked, pointing to a low wall. "They keep bodies submerged in vats of different liquids in there."

"Liquids?"

"Acids, for the most part. Soups." He added with relish.

Grissom kneeled down and opened up his kit. He selected several envelopes and bottles.

While he prepared for the work ahead, I took a look around.

The bodies looked like they had suddenly dropped dead there, in no special order. That seemed wrong. For some reason, I had expected to see them in neat rows. Some of the bodies had been purposefully covered with clothes or blankets, but most of them were naked –but notreally exposed: maggots and all kinds of insects were covering their genitals and their faces, as if protecting their modesty.

I pointed this out to Grissom.

"That's because flies lay their eggs on a body's point of entrance," He explained without looking up, "Eyes, mouth, genitalia, open wounds-"

He closed his kit and rose.

"Come on," He said and motioned me to follow, "I'm studying some bodies from this section-"

We left the road and started walking on the grass. Now and then he would stop at a specific body and examine it. He was in full teacher mode now, and I wrote down every comment he made.

"When a body decomposes, it leaks-" he said at one point, "We must take samples of the soil and samples of the insects in it." He picked up a beetle and carefully put it inside a little bottle. "See that brown substance inside?" he asked, "It's liver. I want to keep this little fella alive."

Watching Grissom go from one body to the next reminded me of a doctor making his rounds at a hospital. It got to a point where I expected the dead to sit up and greet him with a shy, 'Hi, doctor Grissom. I'm not feeling too good today.'

Or maybe they would do something more menacing. It suddenly occurred to me that the body farm could be a great place for a zombie movie, and I shivered slightly.

"This place must be creepy at night." I mumbled.

"Actually, it's pretty quiet," Grissom said distractedly, "The bodies aren't buried with any jewelry, so there are no acts of vandalism. And security's tight."

"That's not what I meant," I said, "I was talking about being here at midnight.You know," I added, lowering my voice, "Alone, in the dark, on Friday the 13th … What do you think?"

He looked blankly at me, as if he didn't understand what I was talking about. I realized I'd just said something stupid.

"I take it you're not a fan of ghost stories." I said lamely.

"I love ghost stories."

"You do? Well, doesn't this look like the right place for a ghost story?"

He considered this for a moment.

"Well… Good ghost stories usually have a more subtle setting-"

I looked around.

"And this place would be too obvious-"

"Exactly." He nodded. He finished labeling his samples and put everything back inside the kit. "But you're right." He said thoughtfully, "After all, any place will do for a ghost story as long as we suspend disbelief. The best way to enjoy a ghost story –any work of fiction, in fact- is to overlook the impossible and simply ask ourselves, 'what if?'"

"Ah, like that poster in Mulder's office," I said, "The one that said, 'I want to believe'"

"Mulder, who?" he frowned.

I smiled to myself. Leave it to Grissom not to know anything about the X-Files.

I was going to give him a mini lecture on the show, but I decided not to.

"Oh, nobody," I said instead, "Just a guy I know."

I glanced sideways at him to see whether my words had elicited some curiosity or maybe even jealousy from him, but he wasn't even looking at me. He was staring intently at a sheet of paper he had been glancing at now and then.

"What's that?"

He lifted the page so I could see: It was a map of the farm.There werered and blue dots all over it, and each dot had a number.

"Red dots: female bodies," he said, "Blue: male." He looked at the map again. "Come on," he said, and we made our way to a more secluded area.

We found our next body under a bush.

"Remember the maggots that were covering the first bodies? They were too young to eat through the skin. But these are older," he said, "Look."

I followed his gaze.

"They're moving under the man's skin." I said.

"They're eating the subcutaneous fat," he explained. "Now, here," he added, motioning me towards another body. This one was covered by a quivering mass of larger maggots and assorted insects. Grissom tilted his head, "If you listen closely, you'll hear a crunching sound."

Forgetting about the smell, I stooped.

"Hey, I've heard that sound before," I said, "Once, my sisters and me poured two boxes of Rice Krispies and a gallon of milk in a huge bowl, and it sounded just like this! Pop-pop-pop-pop... The little guys are munching in there, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Grissom said tenderly, sounding just like a proud father. "They're flourishing."

I shook my head almost imperceptibly. Leave it to me to fall for a guy who went 'Aww' at the sight of maggots eating somebody's flesh.

It was then that I realized that Grissom was probably more concerned about the progress of the maggots than the bodies they were feasting upon.

"Who are these people, Grissom?" I asked, looking at the man's face for the first time. Well, not the face itself but the space that it occupied under the maggots. "I mean- don't their families care?"

"People donate their bodies to science, Greg. Some families fight for the right to bury them, but luckily for us, most families simply comply with their last wishes."

"Did these people know they would end up here?"

He paused.

"Probably not." He admitted. Then he looked thoughtfully at the body in front of us. "Or maybe they didn't care. After all…" He added, "This is what happens to each and everyone, Greg, even in a casket, six feet under."

"Yeah, but at least there's some privacy." I muttered, and he looked at me. I met his gaze, "Do you think it's wrong to care about one's remains?"

"Well…" he looked down at the body again, "Personally, I think this is just an empty vessel. Whoever he was, it isn't in there anymore."

"Sara says it's what we do while we're alive that matters."

"She's right." He nodded, "But the dead can make a difference, Greg. Here, they teach us," he said, "It's our duty to listen and to learn from them."

So, he did care about the bodies themselves. That was good to know.

Grissom picked up his kit.

"We're finished." He announced. "Let's go."

Aw, I thought ruefully. Now that I had started to enjoy myself.

Yep; I was tired and I had the impression that the smell that hung in the air had materialized as an oily substance coating my hair, my skin, and even the back of my throat... But I'd had a great time.

No matter how much I cringed about being alone with Grissom, the truth was that I always ended up having fun and learning something new. For instance, just as we were reaching the gate, he said-

"Did you know that during the Renaissance, when an anatomy teacher was about to die, he would choose his best student and ask him to prepare his skull for an exhibit?"

"The teacher's skull-"

"Yeah." He nodded, "In Padua, you can still see their skulls in exhibition." He smiled faintly. "Modern-day anatomy professors still donate their remains for science," He added, taking a last look at the Farm, "Some of them end up here-"

"Do CSI personnel donate their remains, too?" I asked.

He smiled widely now.

"No." He said, "CSI's rarely do."

We took a shower afterwards.

It was the first time we shared space. At the lab we have four individual shower stalls at our disposal, but things were simpler at the Farm. There were five shower heads available, but no curtains. Shit, it was just like being at a high school gym.

Ah, high school! The site of so many nightmarish situations-

I remembered those times while I stood under the hot water. I was such a skinny, puny guy back then-

But hey, this wasn't high school, was it? It suddenly dawned on me that Iwasn't a puny, skinny guy anymore, and that I could make a good impression -in case Grissom wanted to take a peek.

I glanced over my shoulder. Grissom was facing the opposite wall and he seemed as intent on washing as I was, but I kept glancing back, hoping to catch him looking at me... But he never did.

Maybe he wasn'tinterested in me after all?

'Fine', I thought spitefully. If he didn't want to see, well that was his choice. I had an excellent view of his backside despite the steam wafting around us, and I wasn't going to waste the chance to peek at it.

I turned and ogled. For a short while, my only thoughts were:

'Shoulders and arms: Good. He's been working out!'

'Back: Nice,'

'Butt: Very nice,'

'Legs: Not bad but-'

"Do you sing in the shower, Greg?"

I froze.

He didn't turn as he spoke, but suddenly I had the feeling that he knew I'd been peeping.

I looked away, feeling guilty

"Do you?" he insisted.

"What, me?" I asked, "No." I said quickly and more than a little defensively.

"I don't believe that." He said gently.

I cleared my throat.

"Well," I mumbled, "Yeah." I admitted, "I do, sometimes."

"Go ahead, then."

"Wha-?" I hesitated, "You serious?"

"Yeah." He said.

"Well, hum. I'm out of tune, most of the time-" I said apologetically.

"Do you do things only when you think they're going to be perfect, Greg?" he asked, and to my surprise, he turned sideways –just enough to let me take a peek at the front

I tried not to look, but couldn't help it-

'Chest: Nice'

'Waist: cuddly'

'Package: Very nice.'

Oh, yeah…I thought, There's nothing flabby on him-

"Life isn't perfect, Greg." he said and I reluctantly looked up. We stared at each other for a brief moment.

"I'm not perfect." He said softly.

Then he turned off the shower, took a towel, and left.

I looked after him, wondering what he meant by that. Damn. Grissom had been doing this lately: He would say something that could mean one thing or other, and then he simply changed the subject or left.

***

I scrubbed myself and stood under the hot water again.

It wasn't just that I wanted to wash away the stink of death, I also needed some time before going to the locker room. Grissom's parting shot had got me thinking. I mean, what the hell did it mean?

And there were other questions I still had no answer for: Was he just trying to let me down gently? Was he interested? And if he was, why couldn't he just say it ?

That's when the next question hit me:

Had I made a mistake by leaving the final decision to him?

I rolled my eyes. The answer to that question could only be another question: A very sarcastic 'You think?'

Of course it had been a mistake! What I should have done from day one was grab the lapels of that awful beige jacket he always wore, pull him until our noses were touching, and ask him if he wanted me!

Not that he would answer: He'd probably be so shocked by my actions, he'dsimply stand there, wide-eyed andhopelessly tongue-tied.

But hey, that would be ok. If he froze, I'd simply pull him closer and plant a wet one on his mouth. A delicious, wet one.

A long, delicious, wet one. Oh, yeah. I bet I'd even get to untie that tongue of his. He, he, he.

Smiling to myself, I turned off the water and picked up a towel.

Grissom was already gone when I went to the locker room. Well, good. I had other questions I needed to deal with before I faced him again. Like for instance: Why didn't I just grab Grissom and planted a wet one on him?

Well, maybe because I didn't want to scare him. And I didn't want to lose my job, either. Ha!

But the main reason was that I wanted it to be his idea. If he wanted me, then he should say so.

I had the feeling that Grissom had never taken the initiative in a romantic situation. I suspected he let people approach him and then he simply said no, or –depending on the other person's persistence- went along with it… out of courtesy, so to speak.

I didn't think he'd ever offered anything to anyone; not even hope. People waited in vain forsomething from him and after a while, they simply gave up.

Suddenly, I wondered how many people had lost their dignity while trying to get through to Grissom. It was a sobering thought.

Maybe it was time for me to rethink this.

I didn't want to spend months waiting in vain, or wondering what Grissom meant every time he opened his mouth. Life was just too short and I wanted to have fun now.

With a new determination, I went outside.

"What took you so long?" he asked

I turned.

'Oh, damn,' I thought, 'Why does he have to look so damn cute?'

There he was, freshly scrubbed, wearing sexy dark glasses and a sexier half smile. His hair was still wet and curly, just the way I liked it. Even the beige jacket didn't look so awful that day.

God, talk about being shallow. I mean, just a look at him and I forgot my determination to rethink the whole matter.

"Well?" he insisted.

"Well, what?" I asked, completely distracted.

He frowned.

"What took you so long?" he repeated.

Here was my chance to say something smooth, something devastatingly sexy; maybe a pick-up line that left no doubts about my interest in him…

"Well," I started, "I –hum- stank and-" I paused.

That wasn't very smooth, was it?

"Did you?" He asked noncommittally, but I was hopelessly tongue-tied now.

He sniffed the air, as if he could take a whiff of me despite the distance between us.

"Well-" he paused, "You probably still do."

And that was probably the closest thing to a pick-up line I'd ever get from him.

We reached the highway in silence.

I'd vowed not to speak until we were back at the lab.

I was pretty disgusted with myself; I mean, come on! 'I stank?' What kind of line was that? And I'd even reddened, for God's sake. No wonder he had uttered that 'I'm not perfect' line.

Oh, yeah. I'd had enough time to think it over and now I knew what he meant.

He knew I had a crush on him, and people with crushes don't notice any flaws –and if they notice, they don't care. Obviously, Grissom didn't approve of that.

I glanced at him. Yeah, my perception of him was distorted by my feelings, but was that so bad, really?

Well... sometimes it was. People who expect others to be perfect are often disappointed becausetheir loved can't live up to their expectations.

Maybe that's what he was afraid of?

"I know you're not perfect." I blurted out.

He faltered a little, but he purposefully kept his eyes on the road.

"Good." He mumbled after a moment.

Ha. He didn't think I'd have the guts to mention this.

I smiled to myself.

"I'm not perfect, either." I joked.

He smiled as if those words amused him.

"Yes, you are." He said.

Whaaaaa-?

I gaped, of course. I mean, wow.

Wow!

Feeling inmensely flattered, I looked expectantly at him.

He didn't even turn.

"And?" I said encouragingly.

"And, what?" he frowned, glancing at me for the first time.

Ah, shit. He was back to playing his little game.

"Nothing," I mumbled morosely.

"Ok." He said casually.

Fine. If he didn't want to talk, then I wouldn't talk either.

My determination didn't last long. I mean, I kept my mouth shut, but a sudden gurgling sound coming from my gut area reminded me that I hadn't eaten in more than ten hours.

"Hum, Grissom?" I said, "Do you think we could grab a bite somewhere?" I asked, "I'm kinda hungry."

"Are you?" he was stunned, "Most people can't handle food so soon after being at the Farm."

"Hey, after being at the farm, I'm glad to be alive." I said, "And determined to stay alive, too."

"Ok." He said, "I know some good places along the highway-"

"A clean, well-ventilated place would be nice." I said dryly. "I think I still smell." I said, taking a whiff from my hands, "I washed thoroughly, but-"

"The sensation won't go away any time soon, Greg." He said apologetically, "Even if others don't notice it, you will." He glanced at me, "It's the Putrescine-"

"You say Putrescine, I say rotten fish," I muttered. After a moment, I repeated the word, "Putrescine. Putrescine… it sounds like the name of some fancy French restaurant, doesn't it? Can you imagine, some guy telling you, 'Allo, Welcome to Putrescine!'?" I said, tugging at an imaginary moustache and using my best French accent.

He chuckled.

"I can imagine the menu," he said.

"Hey," I said suddenly, "You know what? I know a great place not far from here! There's a lot of fish in the menu, so we'll blend right in." I joked, "The owners are Norwegian and the food's not bad. What do you say?"

"Well-"

"My treat." I added.

"Ah, the magical words."

There was a strong smell of fish in the restaurant, but there were also other enticing aromas –meat stew, fresh bread, and caramel pudding.

Minutes later we were sitting next to the open garden, sipping cold water and reading the menus. Since the text was in both English and Norwegian,Grissom would have no trouble placing his order.

Imagine my surprise when, after smiling at the waitress, he said-

"Kan jeg få en øl?"

It was fortunate that I was only taking small sips of water, because when I heard those words, I almost choked. I gaped at Grissom, but he merely smiled and continued talking to the waitress, adding Fårikål and some Skillingsboller to his order.

The girl turned expectantly to me, and I mechanically placed my order.

As soon as she was out of sight I turned to Grissom. "What was that?"

"What was what?" he asked innocently.

"You know very well!" I retorted. "Do you speak Norwegian?"

"Well-"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't speak Norwegian." He said gently. He was smiling, really enjoying my confusion, "A while ago, I was checking Norway on a couple of sites and, well-" he shrugged, "It was interesting. One thing led to another and I ended up learning a few words."

"But you did more than that." I said.

"Well, yes," He said, reluctantly looking at me, "I learned some phrases. Nothing special," he added, "Just enough to, you know-" his voice trailed off.

I smiled. "Just enough to impress people?"

Grissom took a long time to answer.

"Not all people." He said quietly.

Ooooh... Well, well-

Did that mean what I thought it meant? If it did, then-

"Hey," Grissom glared, interrupting my reverie, "Now it's your turn to say I don't have to try so hard to impress you."

"Hell, no," I snorted, "I like it when you do things to impress me. Go on, tell me more phrases!"

Grissom glared again, but only briefly. He was deep in thought for a moment. "Du lukter som blomster og snop." He said, trying to hide a big smirk.

"Ha, ha" I rolled my eyes, "Now you're being sarcastic." After our little visit to the Body Farm, I definitely didn't smell of flowers.

"Jeg gleder meg til å møte deg til våren."

"That makes no sense." I teased.

"Hey, I just thought it might come in handy some day" He shrugged. He said a couple of phrases more, and then he quietly added, "Takk for idag. I appreciated your help at the Body Farm."

"Hey, I had fun." I said sincerely. "I'm really glad we got to do this, Grissom."

We looked at each other in silence. It seemed that we were on the brink of something important. He leant forward, and so did I; I opened my mouth, he opened his... but before either of us spoke, the waitress brought our food.

We both backed off, then.

Cowards!

Notes:

Glossary:

kan jeg få en øl? (Could I have a beer?)

takk for idag (thank you for today )

du lukter som blomster og snop (you smell like flowers and candy)

jeg gleder meg til å møte deg til våren (I am looking forward to seeing you in the spring)

Fårikål (Lamb and cabbage stew )

Skillingsboller (Cinnamon Rolls )

***

It was about five in the afternoon when we left the restaurant.

"The food was good." He said as we walked towards his car. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." I said formally.

That was perhaps the longest conversation we'd had in the last hour.

We hadn't had any chance to talk, back at the restaurant. A large group had arrived shortly after us to hold a noisy birthday party, making it virtually impossible to hold a private conversation.

I suspect that deep down we were relieved, both of us. At least, I was.

But the reprieve was over; there was no one else in the parking lot and the only sounds came from our footsteps on the gravel.

Grissom walked towards the driver's side of the car and I walked towards the passenger's. He opened his door and I opened mine, but neither of us got in.

Something made us look up at the same time.

He cleared his throat.

"We need to talk." he said. It was a statement, not a question.

"Yeah."

He nodded solemnly and got in. After a moment, I got in too.

Grissom put the key in the ignition, but he didn't start the engine. Instead, he withdrew his hand and put it on the steering wheel. After a moment, he put his other hand there too, and I had the impression that he has grabbing the wheel like it was a lifesaver.

The poor guy was nervous –understandably so. After all, he was going to say it, right?

But when he finally said something, it wasn't what I expected to hear.

"Do you know what Nick's mother's maiden name is?" he asked, without looking in my direction.

I frowned and thought, 'Is this guy weird or what?'

"What does that have to do with-"

"Do you know?" He insisted.

"No."

"Me, neither." He admitted.

"Ok," I said slowly, not sure of what this was all about.

"I don't know anything about Nick's pastimes either," he said, "Or Warrick's, or Archie's-"

"Yeah, so?"

"I know your mom's maiden name, Greg." he said softly, "I know what your interests are."

That was true. He seemed to know things about me, even things I didn't remember telling him.

"I never set out to learn these things." He said, "But somehow I did." He looked at me, "All these years, I've been absorbing every little piece of information that had to do with you."

Oh-

"Right from the beginning." He added pointedly.

Oh.

"From the beginning?" I repeated slowly.

"Yeah." He said quietly.

It took me a while to process this.

"So," I said cautiously, "You've always been interested…?"

He looked at me in the eye.

"Yes."

Oh, wow. I was inmensely flattered by this, until I realized something.

"But you've always acted as if I exasperated you," I said incredulously, "You always complain whenever I take too long to explain something, and-"

"Well, yeah," he said as if it was understandable, "I don't always have time to listen to every little aside of yours, Greg."

I shook my head in wonder.

"So... All this time-"

"Uh, huh." He nodded.

"Wow," I exhaled. Then I frowned again, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Do you really need to ask?" He asked gently.

I looked at him for a moment, and realized that no, I didn't need to ask. This was a guy who kept his private life to himself at all costs; there was no way he would have ever come out to his youngest CSI and admit he was in love.

"But you're telling me, now." I said. "Something made you change your mind-" I said and he nodded, "Was it the case?" I asked.

"Partly." He admitted, "That night, when I said I wanted someone who didn't judge me-" he hesitated, "Well, I realized you're one of the least judgmental people I know."

I wasn't sure if that assessment of me was correct but before I said so, he continued.

"Then the next day you said that you wanted someone who- hum, you know-"

"Someone who had a little something…?" I smiled.

"Yeah," he nodded, self-consciously. "Those words made me wonder about the possibilities." he admitted.

"But you didn't say anything." I pointed out. "I gave you an opening line and all you did was-" I tried to find the right words.

"Act oddly?" He offered.

"Well, I wouldn't say oddly-" I said generously. "But you didn't say 'yes' either."

He smiled faintly. He shoved his hand into a pocket and got something from it.

"Does this count as a yes?" he said, "Catch," he added, tossing something at me.

I caught it and looked at it. It was a silver key ring in the shape of a tennis racket with a tennis ball attached to it. "I bought it a week ago." He confessed, "I would have given it to you the next day, but-"

"But?"

"First I needed to know if you really meant what you said-" he said slowly. "And if you knew what you were getting into."

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" he paused, "There were many things you didn't know about me, Greg. For instance, you didn't know that I mixed insects with my food-"

He paused, letting the words sink in.

"So that's why you've been bringing peanut-butter-and-cricket sandwiches to the break room." I said slowly, "Not to mention the chocolate-covered ants you've been snacking on during meetings."

He nodded. I couldn't believe he'd done that. Poor Sophia had almost thrown up the first time she saw the chocolate-covered mess on the conference table.

It had all been a test and I wasn't too happy about it.

"Well?" I said morosely, "Did I react the way you were hoping for?"

"Yes." He said.

"Good." I said sarcastically. "I'm glad to hear it. Is there any other test you put me through without me knowing?"

"Well…" he looked at me, "I took 27th street knowing full well that it was the wrong turn."

"You did it on purpose?" I asked incredulously, "You knew that we would get in a traffic jam?"

"No," he said patiently, "I didn't know we'd get in a -"

"Damn it, Grissom!" I exploded, "I couldn't even go out and pee! I had to hold it for hours!"

"You didn't say you wanted to go out and pee!" he retorted.

"Yeah, well-" I mumbled, "I tend not to mention these things now. People still joke about the day I failed my proficiency test." I looked at him, "Why did you take 27th?"

"I thought it would give us a chance to spend a couple of hours together."

"What for?" I retorted, "You barely talked that day! You didn't even mention the fact that I'd practically made a pass at you a couple of days before!"

"Greg, at the time I just wanted to find out if we could spend time together outside the lab." He explained, "I'd been taking you along on my investigations, but it wasn't enough."

I was getting more and more pissed off with every new revelation.

"So, you wanted to know if you could take being with me for more than a few hours a day."

"No," he said, "I wanted you to find out whether you could take being around me." He paused.

"Look." he continued, "All I wanted was to make you realize that I'm not the most exciting person to be with; I'm not the all-knowing investigator some people think I am, Greg; I make mistakes like everybody else."

"Well-"

"I also eat bugs, listen to boring music, watch old movies, and sometimes I go to the Body Farm to relax. Does that sound fun to you?" He challenged, "And that's not all," he added, "I'm also single-minded and selfish, and I can be infuriating -"

I snorted.

"Yes, you've got that right," I said firmly. But I was no angel, either. "But what about me, Grissom?" I asked, "I mean, I acted like a jerk after you took 27th street, and then I complained on and on about the broken radio and your CDs-" I looked at him, "If I had known you'd done it on purpose, I would have shut my mouth and listened quietly-"

"No, don't do that." He said firmly, "I don't want you to start listening to the classics just because I like them. You have your own identity and I lo-" He stopped in mid-sentece. "And I like it." He amended.

"That's just because you have a crush on me." I said cheekily. (Hey, he was not going to say it so I thought I might as well do it myself).

And now that I'd finally said it, I thought it was time to do something, too. I was wondering where to start - 'Should I put my left hand on the back of his neck? Or my right hand on his thigh?'- when he spoke again.

"The truth is, I'm a dull guy, Greg."

"Dull guy?" I repeated, "Grissom, you're not dull. You're smart, you're knowledgeable and fun to be with," I said. "And mostly," I paused, "You don't put me down for knowing things."

"Put you down? I'd never do that." He frowned.

"Well, good. There are people who don't like to hang around smart asses, Grissom. You, on the other hand, don't seem to mind when I show off... Unless you're in a hurry." I added with a glare.

"I love it when you show off." He said, "I like learning things from you."

He uttered those words with such conviction that a sudden realization hit me: It wasn't just a crush on either side. There were feelings there, too. Deep feelings.

I mean, Gil Grissom had just admitted he liked learning things from me, and for me, that was worth more than any casual declaration of love.

It hit me hard, and I knew that if I opened my mouth I was going to blurt out all kinds of romantic nonsense.

I took a deep breath and got myself under control.

"So," I said casually, "You were testing me all along, huh. Even today, when you let me see you naked -"

"Yes." He said quietly. "The truth is, I don't have a 'little' something, Greg. I'm, hum, well, bigger-"

"But I liked what I saw." I said. "I was impressed, actually."

He chuckled.

"Well. Thanks." He said. He looked outside for a moment and then he said somewhat reluctantly, "I've come to terms with the way I look, Greg. I used to be lean," he added, "At the time I smoked like a chimney, and when I stopped smoking I just-" he shrugged.

"Well, that's ok." I said, "I'm glad you don't smoke anymore."

He smiled at that.

"I didn't really think you'd judge my body, Greg." he said quietly, "I was more concerned about your reaction to the other aspects of my life."

"Well, to tell you the truth I was concerned too." I admitted,"I'm not perfect. I have all sort of flaws –I mean, I can be a jerk as you know; and if you had looked at me when we were in the shower-"

"Actually, I did." he said, looking guilty, "The metallic surfaces in the shower let me get an eyeful of you-"

"Oh." I muttered.

"-and I liked what I saw." He finished.

"Oh. Good."

I sure needed the reassurance. I've been told I'm not bad to look at, but it doesn't matter; deep inside me still lurks the insecure kid I once was. A pimply, scrawny kid who didn't lose his virginity until-

"Besides," Grissom said, interrupting my poor-little-me musings, "Nothing can change the way I feel about you." He said, and to my utter surprise, he reached out and put his hand on my head. "I love this."

"My hair?" I frowned.

"No, you idiot," he glared, "Your brain."

"Oh. Well, I'm confused, Gil." I said, "You say you love my brain but at the same time you're calling me an idiot, so-"

He chuckled and caressed my head. His touch was tentative at first, but he gradually grew more confident. I closed my eyes, enjoying it.

"So, Grissom-" I said, glancing at him after a moment, "Have you ever been in a relationship?"

He shook his head.

"Not really."

"So this will be your first time." I taunted.

He smiled good-naturedly and nodded.

"This is much more than a crush, isn't it, Gil?" I said after a moment.

His hand stopped moving.

I don't know what surprised him more –the words or the fact that I used his first name. He let his hand drop and then he muttered a 'yes'.

He didn't say more but he didn't need to. There was a look on his face that made it obvious that if he opened his mouth again he was going to blurt out all sort of romantic nonsense. He lowered his gaze to get himself under control. When he spoke again, it was with studious detachment.

"Actually," He said, "I just realized that I have about five good years left in me, and I should probably do something before they are gone."

I gaped. Those words had a sting in them, but the tone of his voice and the twinkle in his eyes made me realize he was only teasing.

"Five years?" I taunted, "Do you envision five years with me?"

He paused. "Too many?"

"No." I said quietly.

"I just hope you won't get bored." He said ruefully.

"I won't. You're full of surprises, Gil," I said, "I mean, come on! What you did yesterday was amazing. You saved a dozen lives, and you didn't even need a gun."

"Oh. Oh, well," he said with an aw-shucks expression on his face, "It was nothing."

"Nothing? That guy managed to break free from the cops! He was armed and dangerous, yet you got him to drop the gun! You single-handedly accomplished what half-a-dozen cops could not-"

He'd been really awesome.

(Flashb-

Uh, I was going to have a little flashback, but I suddenly noticed that the look was back on Gil's face- the sweet, slightly foolish look that meant he was in love.

I knew that look; there was a similar one on my face now.

Neither of us wanted to talk –understandably so- but maybe we didn't need more words.

I leant forward, just in case he wanted to kiss me.

Ok, I thought, bring it on.

But he still didn't move.

Ok. It was time to do something.

"You know, Grissom." I said, "All those tests that you put us through… they were redundant."

"They were?"

"Yeah. We're so besotted with each other, that nothing we say is going to change that. On the other hand, if either of us turns out to be a bad kisser-"

"I wouldn't mind." He said quickly.

"Ha, speak for yourself." I retorted, "I'm withholding my judgment on that."

He looked hurt, but only for a second. He looked closely at me and realized that I was only teasing.

"Fine," he said, rolling his eyes, "Let's put it to the test, then."

"All right!" I exclaimed, opening my arms, "Come to daddy."

He snorted, but willingly slipped into my arms.

He felt good in my arms -there were no sharp angles on him, no pointy cheekbones or elbows poking at me. It was better than I thought.

"You stink." I muttered into his ear.

"So do you." He retorted.

He tentatively put his arms around me.

Oh, yeah, I thought. Bring it on, baby. And while you're at it, let me get a hold of you-

"Hoof," He grunted when I slid my hands down his body and squeezed. His cheek rounded up in a smile. "You're possessive, aren't you?" He whispered.

My response was to happily rub my nose against his furry cheek.

"And you have a facial hair fetish." He finished.

"Yep, I do." I said aloud, "Think you can handle that?"

"Sure. Think you can handle a bad kiss from me?"

And then-

Finally.

Putrescine or not, it didn't matter. We really got into it.

So, here we are, groping each other and enjoying this great kiss…

And all of a sudden it occurs to me that he's a better kisser than I expected. How come?

With a supreme effort, I pull back.

"Hey, Gil? Who taught you to kiss like that?"

He blinks.

"What, no good?" He frowns.

"Actually, it's too good!" I glare.

"And that's a problem?" he asks, a bit peevishly.

"Yeah, it is if you've been practicing with someone-"

"Oh, relax." he says, "I just did a thorough research on the subject."

"Research?"

"Yeah. Those sites I visited while researching Norway were very informative," he says enigmatically. "And that's all I'm going to say," he adds, leaning forward for another kiss.

Oh. Ok.

There's nothing more to say -although later I'm going to give him a little talk about risking his life just to impress me. Let the cops handle the psychos next time.

As for the kisses and the groping and the romantic nonsense that we will surely blurt out later... I'm sure some day I'll have a flashback and tell all about it.

But for now, I'm just too busy.

THE END

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