"Ninth Card" (Grissom/OMC, 2/?,PG)
A big thank you to those of you who left such lovely feedback on chapter one - I’m thrilled to bits that you like the OC I’ve invested so much time in! If you’re new here *g*, this story is a sequel to my Nick/Greg fic "Kjaere"; a good friend felt that one of the OCs from that tale deserved a happy ending, and this is my attempt at delivering one.
Title - Ninth Card
Author - black_dahlia63
Characters - Gil Grissom, OMC
Rating - PG through NC17, specific rating will be given for each chapter
Warnings - Extensive use of bad language, eventual smut, eventual Daddy!kink, angst throughout. That about covers it.
Disclaimer - the OMC is all mine, Gil and his colleagues belong to their creators. Sadly.
A huge thank you to the awesome elmyraemilie for beta reading and for the many late night IM sessions that inspired this fic. Damn you and your plot bunnies, lady. *g*
AN: This story will update every Saturday.
Chapter One
April 5th - Orlando
The hotel room was much the same as any of the others he’d stayed in when he’d been on conferences. There was a double bed, a chair next to the window, a wall-mounted TV and a bathroom just about large enough to swing a cat in; not exactly the sort of place you’d want to spend a vacation in, Gil reflected wryly, but that would cost more money than the department was willing to fork out - and in any case, he wasn’t going to be spending that much time in the room, so as long as it had four walls and a roof he’d be fine.
He turned on the TV, flicking through the channels until he found the lunchtime news. To the accompaniment of a story about a convenience store robbery followed by the news that a local attorney stabbed by an irate client three days previously had died, he unpacked his clothes and put them away in the wardrobe; by the time an insanely cheery young woman was proclaiming that the afternoon weather was going to be “hot, hot, hot”, Gil was removing a business card from his wallet and dialling a number.
“Hello, Hog Heaven.”
“Can I speak with Luke, please?”
“He’s talking to a customer right now - can I get him to call you back?” and this wasn’t the person Gil had spoken to the previous Monday, who’d barely sounded old enough to shave. He gave his name and cell number, and a man with a pronounced Cajun accent told him that Luke would be in touch as soon as he could.
***********
Hands in the pockets of his jeans, Luke watched as the result of almost a month’s work was borne away in a truck bearing the name of the haulage company in Iowa whose owner had come to collect his bike himself. Once the truck had disappeared from view, he strolled back into the shop with a cheerful grin on his face and a sizeable check in his hand.
“You had a call while you were out there kissing ass, boss,” Jonah called out. “Gil Grissom, he wants you to - wait, didn't we meet him in -?”
“Oh, shit,” Luke said, cramming the check into his pocket as he headed swiftly into his office. Closing the door, cutting off the sound of machinery and the Metallica album playing because Zack had won the coin toss that morning, he sat down and dialled the number that had been written on the back of an envelope and left next to the phone.
*************
Gil’s cell rang just as he was going through the notes he’d made for the lecture he was due to give the following morning; setting the sheaf of paper down on the bed, he reached for his phone and flipped it open.
“Grissom.”
“Hi, it’s Luke - how was your flight?”
“It was fine, thank you,” Gil replied, reaching for the pen he’d been using and a sheet of hotel stationery. “Where are we having dinner this evening?”
“Okay, it’s a place called Jeremy’s,” Luke told him. “It’s right on the beach, and you start by taking the Jacksonville exit off the I 4,” and Gil wrote down the directions that followed. “I booked the table for seven thirty, is that too late?”
“No, it’s perfect,” Gil assured him. “In case I get there first, is it booked in your name?”
“Mine? Hell, no,” and there was a snort of laughter. “It’s under Roberts.”
“I’ll see you at seven thirty,” Gil said, once he’d added Roberts to the sheet of paper. “Have a good afternoon,” and once he’d ended the call he immersed himself in his notes again; but in a small corner of his mind, one that had not been awakened fully in some time, anticipation was starting to build.
************
Luke hadn’t made the reservations for seven thirty; he hadn’t made them at all, in fact, because despite his best intentions to the contrary he’d been so busy with work that he’d forgotten. Luckily, Jeremy’s was never that busy on a Thursday, so he’d had no problem taking care of it; once he’d made the call, though, memories of his first meeting with Gil had started to intrude on his thoughts, and he’d found it hard to concentrate on his work once he and the crew had returned from lunch.
He’d felt as though he was getting the third degree, that was the first thing Luke remembered. He thought about the day he’d gone to Vegas to help Nick and Greg move; Gil had been returning the U Haul van, and had asked Luke whether he could follow in his rental car to give him a ride back - and because Luke had desperately needed to get away from somewhere he shouldn’t have been in the first place, he’d agreed. There’d been a Denny’s right across from the U Haul place, and Gil had wanted to stop there for coffee once he’d dropped off the van - and while Luke really hadn’t wanted to do this, he’d gone along with the suggestion.
“Tell me how you know Nick and Greg,” Gil had said - and there’d just been something in the way the words had been said that put Luke’s back up. He’d taken a deep breath, though, telling himself that this was Nick’s boss and that he’d better be polite for once; he’d trotted out the story about how he’d run into Nick in Dallas the previous Christmas and wanted to help for old times’ sake once he’d found out what was going on because the Stokes and Morrissey families had known each other for so long - and there’d been something in Gil’s expression that said he wasn’t buying this, but Luke hadn’t given a rat’s ass.
Cars; that had been another thing. At some point during that hour and a half at the Denny’s near the U Haul place, it had emerged that Gil had a passion for restoring old cars; while this had made the flow of conversation a little easier, it had also made Luke secretly gleeful that someone who was so highly educated had a grease monkey inside themselves struggling to get out.
Didn’t put up with much, either - that was something Luke had picked up on right off the bat. It was a trait he possessed himself, of course; but while he wasn’t afraid to get verbal about it if someone did something he didn’t like, something a string of trainees had learned to their cost, Gil went about it an entirely different way. When they’d left Denny’s and gotten into his rental car, Luke had put a Marlboro in his mouth before the keys had gone in the ignition - but before he could light it there’d been a quiet “I’d rather you didn’t,” from the passenger seat, and Luke had been rendered speechless. The soft, matter-of-fact tone had reminded him of countless trips to the principal’s office when he’d been younger, something he didn’t want to recall in any detail; he’d dropped the cigarette back into the pack without a word - not any he’d said aloud, at least - and once he’d dropped Gil off he’d chain-smoked all the way back to his hotel.
Blue eyes that had seemed to look right through him - no, inside him - and Luke sure as hell didn’t know why he was thinking about that. Oh, he’d picked up on the fact that Nick’s boss was probably gay, or at least ‘equal opportunity’ as Jonah would have said; decent looking for an older guy, too, but Luke had never gone for older guys. Too set in their ways, for one thing - well, just look at Gil. Nobody who really knew Luke would have ever dared tell him not to smoke...
Shaking his head, Luke lit another cigarette and focused his thoughts on the stack of invoices in front of him. An hour and a half this evening, two at the very most, and the catching up with Gil would have been done - how bad could it possibly get in that short a space of time?
*********
7.00 p.m
He’d gotten curious looks from the rest of the crew when he’d announced that he was leaving at quarter to six and asked Jonah to close the shop, but he’d figured he didn’t owe them an explanation. It was his shop, after all, and if he wanted to leave work once in a while at the same time normal people did - well, that was his business, right?
He’d put on a black T shirt and a pair of black cargo pants he’d found in the back of his wardrobe; they felt uncomfortable as hell, but Luke supposed this was because he was used to wearing jeans that were more hole than denim. He studied his reflection in the full-length mirror in his bedroom, thought once more about shaving and decided against it, then took the elevator down to the ground floor.
He considered taking the Kawasaki, but rejected the idea as soon as it had popped into his head. The restaurant was a fifteen minute walk at the most, and if he walked he’d be able to stop for a cigarette on the way; the memory of that quiet rebuke in the rental car was still strong in his mind, and he wasn’t anxious to hear it again. Well, he could manage for an hour and a half - two at the most - without a cigarette, but before dinner was fair game, right?
*********
Gil parked his rental car, the classical station he’d been listening to fading into silence along with the engine. He remained in the driver’s seat for a few moments, enjoying the air-conditioned coolness for as long as possible before he got out and put on his sport coat.
The restaurant wasn’t even a hundred yards away, but he was ten minutes early. Gil threaded his way through the other parked cars to the low wall separating the parking lot from the beach, and stood there taking in what was going on around him.
He supposed that it got quite crowded here during the day, but with the onset of the evening there weren’t too many people around. The ones Gil could see were walking along the sidewalk or the beach itself in pairs and small groups - what the Italians called a passagiata, Gil told himself as his mind went back to a long-ago trip to Rome - and then he smiled when he caught sight of a little girl breaking away from her parents as she was pulled by a dog of indeterminate breeding that strained at its leash.
“He’s runnin’ too fast, mom!”
Gil let his eyes track the little family as they moved along the beach, passing an ice cream stand that still had customers queuing in front of it; there was a black-clad figure sitting in the sand nearby, and something made Gil lean over the wall for a closer look.
No, it can’t be, he told himself, the beginnings of a smile hovering on his lips - but an instant later, he realised that it was.
The figure sitting near the ice cream stand raised one hand to carry a cigarette to its lips, and Gil could just make out the tattoo encircling the wrist - not barbed wire, something he’d seen inked on the wrists or biceps of more murder victims than he cared to remember, but a closely-woven bracelet of thorns.
Another memory of that meeting in Denny’s surfaced in Gil’s mind - a memory of how Luke had covered his left wrist with his right hand when he’d seen Gil looking at the tattoo, some indefinable expression appearing in his eyes and vanishing again just as quickly - and he remained motionless as he watched Luke in what he suspected was a rare unguarded moment.
For a brief instant Gil wanted to climb over the wall and close the distance between the two of them, but then he remembered the moment in the rental car when he’d said he’d prefer Luke not to smoke; Luke had put his cigarette away, yes, but Gil had sensed that pressure had been applied to a major trigger - and he suspected that if he surprised Luke now, the evening would not get off to a good start.
He turned away and walked towards the restaurant, which appeared to be about two thirds full by the time he arrived at the door; a young woman with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail approached him, a smile curving her lips and a clipboard in one hand.
“Do you have a reservation, sir?”
“Yes, I do,” Gil told her. “Roberts, party of two.”
*********
He’d only been looking at the menu for a short while - although a covert glance at what had just been brought to the next table had pretty well convinced Gil that he was going to order the salmon - when a shadow fell across the table.
“No, no, don’t do that,” Luke said, almost sheepishly, when Gil started to rise from his chair, and he leaned across the table to hold his hand out. “Welcome to Florida,” he said once he’d shaken Gil’s hand, and he sat down before picking up his own menu. “Not your first visit, is it?”
“Oh, no,” Gil replied. “This is my third time here now, I’m starting to get to know the place like the back of my hand -”
“Good evening, gentlemen,” a voice interrupted, and when they both looked up they saw a young waiter standing next to their table. “My name’s John, and I’ll be looking after you this evening - can I get you some drinks while you decide what you’re going to eat?”
“I’ll have the Chardonnay,” Gil said. “Just a glass, though, I’m driving - Luke?”
“Club soda with a squeeze of lime,” Luke told the waiter, and then he turned back to face Gil; as he did so he steepled his hands on the table, creating another barrier whether he realised it or not - and permitting Gil to catch sight of a neat row of stitches on the back of his left hand.
“How did that happen?”
“What, this?” Luke said, looking at the stitches as though he’d forgotten they were there. “Cut myself at the shop the day you called last week,” and although he shrugged casually and smiled he actually looked quite tired, leading Gil to guess that his companion’s week had been a long and exhausting one.
“So tell me what’s been going on at work.”
“Same shit, different day,” Luke said. “No, scratch that, I’m lying -”
“Here are your drinks, gentlemen,” a chirpy voice broke in. “Have you decided what you’d like to order?”
*************
“How many people have you interviewed?”
“Four so far this week, and someone else is coming in tomorrow,” Luke replied, and he broke off to devour another mouthful of catfish. “I need to find someone who’s not going to fuck up all the time, and it’s not easy,” and his voice tailed off as he caught sight of Gil’s face. “Look, I’m sorry, but I speak my mind,” he said, a note of defensiveness creeping into his voice. “I want things done my way, okay? So when I get someone who says they want to learn and then does the exact opposite of what they’re told -”
“It’s not that easy,” Gil said, and he weighed his words carefully before he continued speaking. “Sometimes it’s not enough to tell people you want them to do something, is it? You have to motivate them as well,” and when he saw doubt clearly etched on Luke’s face he smiled. “I also think your job description might need some work.”
“My -?”
“I remember Emily telling me all about the day she spent at the shop,” Gil said. “And when I asked her what a trainee does, she told me that he makes coffee and Luke yells at him -”
“Oh, hell, she didn’t,” Luke said, trying unsuccessfully not to smile. “I hate to think what else she told you.”
“That’s all I remember,” Gil replied, but this wasn’t entirely true; he did remember something else, but he knew that tonight wasn’t the time to tell Luke about it. “Are you going to order some dessert?” and Luke, who’d planned on sitting through one course and coffee before he got the hell out and went home, found himself saying that he thought he might.
*********
“Roller coasters?” Luke asked, shaking his head. “Whenever my nephews come to visit, that’s the only thing they can’t talk me into,” and he looked at Gil with a smile twitching his lips. “What on earth do you ride the things for?”
“It’s how I switch off,” Gil replied. “What do you do to switch off, Luke?”
“I don’t think I ever really do while I’m here,” Luke said, because he could only think of one thing he did that might qualify as switching off and he sure as hell wasn’t about to mention that. “If I get out to the cabin, that’s different,” and he had just paused to break off another chunk from the sizeable wedge of key lime pie in front of him when something moved into his field of vision.
“’Scuse me.” The speaker was a boy who couldn’t have been more than nine years old, moving between darting awed glances at Luke and looking back at a couple sitting at a nearby table who were obviously his parents. “Are you Luke from ‘Road Trip’?”
Oh, shit, not now, Luke thought wearily, because tonight of all nights he hadn’t wanted this to happen; he reached into his pants pocket for a pen, and was opening his mouth to speak when Gil beat him to it.
“Yes, he is,” Gil said, “but we’re eating right now,” and although he was smiling benignly the tone of voice he was using was the same one Luke had heard in his rental car over three months since. “If you go back and wait with your mom and dad, I’ll send Luke over as soon as he’s finished - how would that be?”
“Thanks,” Luke said, once the boy had returned to his own table. “I was just - never mind,” he said, forking up another mouthful of pie. “It’s been a long week, that’s all.”
“Would you be happier if we were somewhere else?” Gil asked. “I saw a Starbucks a couple of blocks away - we could get some coffee and sit on the beach.”
“I’d like that,” Luke said quietly. “I’m sorry if -”
“Don’t apologise,” Gil told him. “Go and say hello to your young friend, and then we can leave.” He watched Luke push his chair back from the table, straightening his shoulders as though bracing himself - and as soon as Luke had turned his back, Gil flagged the waiter down for the check.
************
He dropped to one knee next to the little boy’s chair, slung an arm round his shoulders and smiled as a camera flash made him blink; rising to his feet, he took the pen that the boy’s father was holding out and wrote Happy birthday, Travis, and thanks for being a fan! on the back of a paper placemat before signing his name with a flourish. He told the three people seated at the table to take care, reminding them that the new series would begin in October, and as he turned away from the table he was already reaching for his wallet.
“I’ve taken care of the check,” Gil said as Luke sat down and looked around for their waiter. “Do you want any more of that dessert?”
“No, I’m good,” Luke said, reluctantly putting his wallet away. “Let’s get out of here.”
**********
The two of them were sitting on the sand with their backs against the low wall dividing the beach from the car park, each of them holding a paper cup; Luke had insisted on paying for the coffee, and although Gil had raised an eyebrow he hadn’t argued.
“Sorry,” Luke said eventually. “About - well, back there.”
“What are you apologising for?” Gil asked. “I imagine that kind of thing comes with the territory, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, it does,” Luke replied. “I was just hoping it wouldn’t happen tonight, that’s all,” and he took a gulp of his coffee before he spoke again. “I know it’s what pays the bills, but sometimes I’d like to eat in peace,” he went on. “When my nephews are here I take them out to eat - Bubba Gump’s or somewhere like that, you know? - but everyone else just comes to the house and I cook there.”
“What’s the speciality of the house?”
“Anything that fits onto a barbecue,” was Luke’s answer. “I don’t know how much I paid for the gas range in the kitchen, but I hardly ever use it,” and he chuckled softly. “My sister Faith keeps offering me cooking lessons, but I think I can manage without them -”
“Which sister is that? Didn’t you tell me you’ve got several?”
“Faith’s the one in Wisconsin,” Luke replied; he supposed he must have told Gil something about his family, but he couldn’t remember doing it - did the guy have a photographic memory or something? “Max and Ben’s mom,” and he was unable to prevent a smile from appearing on his lips as he set his coffee down and removed his wallet from his pocket; he opened it so that a concertina of snapshots encased in plastic swung out and shifted closer to Gil, near enough to be able to pick up the scent of aftershave, so that he could point out one of the photos. “That’s them.”
“They’re good looking boys,” Gil replied once he’d studied the picture, and a sideways glance at his companion revealed an expression of pride in those astonishingly blue eyes. “How old are they?”
“Ben’s six, and Max is fourteen and a half,” Luke said, folding the pictures back into his wallet and stowing it away in his pants pocket. “He’s been on the show a couple of times - what do they call it? Human interest, or some shit like that?” and his smile widened. “Ben was really keen to do it as well the second time, but as soon as the guy behind the camera asked him what his name was he burst into tears and said he wasn’t going to be on TV ever,” he went on, picking up his coffee again; he was desperate for a cigarette, but there was no way he was going to tempt fate by lighting up now. “Faith and her husband bring them up every so often, whenever they’ve both got a few days off work and the boys don’t have school -”
“What does she do?”
“She practices family law,” was Luke’s answer. “I’ve got three sisters, two of them are attorneys and the third ended up marrying one,” and he raised his cup to his lips again. “What was I saying back there?” he continued, nodding back towards the restaurant. “Oh yeah, the cabin - it’s in Geneva, just about as close to the Everglades as you can get without being in them,” and that smile was back on his lips again. “Miles from anywhere, and nobody knows where it is unless I tell them,” he added ruefully. “If I didn’t have so much to do here right now I’d grab one of the bikes tomorrow morning and just go up there for the weekend.”
“Isn’t there anyone who could keep an eye on the shop for you?” Gil asked, because over the course of the evening his suspicions about Luke’s exhaustion had been confirmed. “I’m sure a break would do you good.”
“Yeah, it would,” Luke told him, a resigned expression on his face. “We don’t get what we want all the time, though,” and he tilted his head back to yawn up at the sky. “The camera crew’s turning up in about a week and a half, and I need to find a new trainee before then - I can’t leave anyone else in charge of that, can I?”
“Can I give you a bit of advice about that?” was Gil’s next question. “You don’t have to take it, of course,” he added, when he saw wariness on Luke’s face. “It’s just a thought I had during dinner.”
“Sure,” Luke replied noncommittally. You’ll probably never see him again, a little voice told him, it won’t hurt to listen. “Hit me with it.”
“Well, I wondered whether you’d ever considered asking one of your crew to mentor the trainee,” Gil said cautiously. “Choose the new man yourself, by all means, but ask someone else to do the actual training,” and he saw Luke’s eyebrows drawing down. “I know you’re very good at what you do -”
“Damn straight I am.”
“- and if someone else took responsibility for the trainee it would mean you could focus on the bikes,” Gil went on. “It might mean less confrontation in the shop, too -now that might not make for such interesting TV footage, but it depends on your priorities -”
“I’ve only got one priority,” Luke replied immediately, “and that’s getting a job done properly,” and although he was trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice he suspected he wasn’t making a good job of it; people he’d known for years thought long and hard before trying to tell him what to do, and here was someone he’d only met twice coming straight out with it.
But it was someone who’d just paid for dinner, who’d kept that kid away at the restaurant just long enough for Luke to be able to catch his breath; besides that, it was Nick’s boss - and so Luke did something for the third time that evening that most people who knew him had never heard him do once.
“I’m sorry, okay?”
“What for?”
“I don’t know,” Luke said, feeling his face heating up. “Acting like an asshole would probably cover it,” and he cleared his throat. “I’m just not used to people being this - uh - direct with me, that’s all.”
“There’s no need to apologise,” was Gil’s matter-of-fact response, and that half-smile was hovering on his lips as he spoke. “But if you feel you need to redeem yourself, you can do it the next time I’m in Florida.”
“I -” and Luke stopped, thrown completely off balance. “Sorry, what?”
“The next time I’m in Florida,” Gil repeated patiently. “I’ll come to your house, and you can cook dinner. How are your steaks?”
“Best in Daytona,” Luke said as he tried to figure out when he’d issued a dinner invitation and realised almost immediately that it probably hadn’t happened; he wasn’t sure what direction the evening was taking, but he had a feeling he’d lost control of it at some point. “Just call me next time you’re out here for a conference, and if I’m around we’ll work something out.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Gil replied, and he finished his coffee. “How far from here is your house?”
“If the shoreline curved the other way, you could see it,” Luke said, pointing in the direction he’d come from. “Fifteen minutes, tops,” and he half-expected that Gil would invite himself back there now - the way things had been going, it wouldn’t have surprised him - but Gil’s response made him breathe an inward sigh of relief.
“How long have you lived there?”
Well, that was easy enough; a question with no room for misinterpretation, and Luke always enjoyed telling people about his house. He launched into the story of how he’d bought it off plan for more than he’d really been able to afford at the time, the beach where his nephew Jackson loved to sit and draw when he visited, the balconies that overlooked the water; then he caught sight of Gil looking at his watch, and it was only then that Luke realised it had started to get dark.
“Shit, what time is it?” he said, glancing around. “You should have said something, I’ve probably made you late -”
“If you were making me late, I’d have let you know,” Gil told him. “The conference doesn’t start until tomorrow morning, but it’s an early start, so I probably should be heading back,” he went on. “I have notes for my lecture that I need to go over as well,” and he rose to his feet, brushing sand off his pants. “I’m glad we were able to meet up while I was here, Luke.”
“So am I,” Luke replied, partly because it was what you were supposed to say but also because - in some way he couldn’t explain - he meant it. He followed Gil over the wall back into the parking lot, and when they reached a grey Buick he stuck his hand out for Gil to shake. “Good luck with the conference.”
“Thank you,” was the solemn response. “Where are you parked?”
“I walked,” Luke said, the thought jumping into his head that he might be offered a ride home now he'd said that - and for some reason, this made him feel awkward. “Drive safely,” he went on, before Gil could say anything else; shoving his hands in his pockets, he turned away and began the walk that would take him home.
Gil stood next to his car, watching the retreating figure until it had disappeared from sight before getting behind the wheel of the Buick. He had no doubt that Luke was probably lighting a cigarette even now; he’d noticed the way Luke’s hand had strayed towards one of his pants pockets with increasing frequency as the evening had progressed, the way his fingers had twitched as though he wasn’t sure what to do with them.
He’d noticed other things, too - things that had made him realise he’d been right to come here - and his next trip to Florida would take place long before another conference.
Smiling, Gil turned the key in the ignition and began his drive back to Orlando accompanied by Meyerbeer’s Coronation March.
TBC