Of Life and Living: Chapter 7
Title: Of Life and Living : Chapter 7
Author: Laurelgardner
Rating: Goes to NC-17
Pairings: Grissom/Greg, Sara/Nick, Warrick/OFC, Catherine/OMC
Summary: Gil Grissom and Greg Sanders have resigned themselves to certain realities. All of that is about to change.
Author's Note: This story takes place five years after the events of season 5. A lot has changed in this time; Greg is a level 3 CSI and happily out of the closet, Ecklie is gone (ding, dong, the witch is dead!), Sofia is assistant director of the lab, Catherine is happily remarried and head of the Reno crime lab (but don't worry, she still plays a part in this tale!), Warrick has returned to night shift, and Nick and Sara are not only married but are heads of day and swing shifts, respectively.
Warnings: Happy story with a few dark themes. References to murder and child abuse, but hey, this is CSI. Nobody we care about gets raped, killed or pregnant, so no worries there. Mostly, this is a character study/romance with lots dialogue and eventually, sex.
Disclaimer: I own them. I keep them in my closet and force them to perform for me. Yeah.
Toldja I'd have it ready soon. We're getting so close...
Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3
Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6
It was Gil's night off. At least, it was supposed to be, which was why Greg was surprised to see his SUV in the lab parking lot. Since they all drove the same type of vehicle, Greg never would have caught the fact that this was Grissom's had he not happened to park right next to it. Peering in through the front windows, however, he caught the familiar sight of Gil's black leather messenger bag resting on the driver's seat.
Now that was a strange enough thing in itself; why would Gil be in the lab, but without his bag? Even stranger than that though, was what Greg spotted in the back, just behind the passenger's seat; it was a suitcase. Furthermore, judging by its ridiculously feminine floral pattern, it was a woman's suitcase.
Puzzled, Greg locked his own car and went in search of Grissom; only further investigation would solve this mystery.
He entered the building, stopped off at the lockers to chuck his stuff, then set off down the hall in the direction of Gil's office. Before he'd gotten within twenty feet of it, he saw the answer to his question.
Through the glass walls, he saw a woman standing with Grissom in office, talking with him and capturing his undivided attention. She was of medium height and build, with dark hair and striking features. She appeared to be about Gil's age, perhaps a year or two older, and she gestured wildly as she spoke to him. No, Greg realized as he approached, she was signing.
Greg knew a little sign language. He'd taken two semesters in college, back when he'd pissed off his Spanish teacher after completing only half of his necessary foreign language requirement. He hadn't ever expected to use it, but it had been an easy language to learn and remember. So, though he was far from being an expert, he was amazed to discover that he could follow the conversation he was now watching.
They really hiss? the woman signed. She mouthed the words, too, and that helped.
Yes, Gil replied.
Like a cat?
Just like a cat.
Very funny.
At that moment, Gil glanced up and saw Greg standing outside the door to his office. He waved him in.
"Hey," said Greg. "I thought you were off tonight."
"I am," Gil said. "But I had a friend visit me unexpectedly today, and she wanted to meet my racing roaches. Greg, this is Sonya. Sonya," he said, signing again. "This is Greg." He spelled G-R-E-G.
Sonya seized Greg's hand and shook it enthusiastically.
"It's nice to meet you," she said, her voice thick with a cloudiness that told Greg she was probably completely deaf.
"You too," he said distinctly, trying to be mindful of what his lips looked like as he spoke.
She smiled, then turned back to Gil and signed something. This time, she didn't mouth the words, so Greg wasn't as sure about what she was saying, but he thought it looked like, Is this the one you like? She pointed to Greg.
Greg froze in his tracks. That couldn't be what she had said, there was no way...
Gil rolled his eyes at her. Then, apparently mistaking Greg's stunned expression for confusion, he said, "She says she likes your shirt."
His shirt? Greg frowned; he thought he knew the sign for "shirt," and he didn't think Sonya had made it. But maybe she'd just pointed to his shirt, and not to him at all...
Gil signed something back to her, also not mouthing. It looked like; I can't believe I told you that. I'm never drinking with you again. Then he turned to Greg and said, "I wish we could stay and chat with you, Greg, but I have to get Sonya to the airport."
Gil closed the lid on his Madagascar roaches and started to return them to their place on his shelf.
They're very nice, Sonya signed, referring to the bugs.
"I'm sure you think so," replied Gil ironically, speaking to her now because his hands were full. "Thank you for indulging me, anyway. I'm proud of them."
Anything for you. You're the only man I've ever loved.
For some reason, Gil laughed at that. Then, as Greg watched, their eyes met in a moment of extraordinary warmth.
Thank you, Mom, Gil signed.
And with that, Greg was officially and completely bewildered. Clearly, his grasp of ASL was rather unsteady after all.
Gil pulled on his jacket. "Excuse me, Greg," he said, ushering Greg out of his office. "I need to lock up."
"Huh? Oh, okay," Greg murmured.
Sonya followed them out, and Greg stood dumbly next to Gil's door while he locked it.
"It was nice to meet you." Sonya's voice beside him shocked him out of his stupor.
"Oh, uh...thanks," he said. "Nice to meet you too."
Gil tapped her shoulder to get her attention.
"Shall we?" he offered her his arm. Smiling, she took it. "See you tomorrow, Greg."
Greg watched them walk down the hall together, frowning as a kaleidoscope of thoughts and feelings spun in his brain. Was this woman the answer to all his speculations about Grissom's personal life? Even if he had misunderstood half of their conversation, the depth of affection between them was still strikingly apparent.
He watched Gil hold a door for her as the exited, feeling a welling of jealousy rise up inside him. She had to be an old flame, and by the looks of it, things were heating up between them again. Well, wasn't this exactly what he'd hoped for? Someone to get close to Gil, to make him happy? To fill the need Greg knew he never could?
The disappointment he felt was like a physical pain, sharp in his gut. No, that wasn't what he'd hoped for, not at all. As much as Gil's loneliness pained him, he liked the fact that Gil needed Greg's company, insufficient as it was to fill his needs.
Greg kicked a wall angrily, disgusted with the situation and with his own selfishness.
He was withdrawn and moody for the entire length of his shift, and he knew Warrick was picking up on it. Greg could feel the concern and curiosity radiating from his friend as they worked together, but he didn't offer any explanation. He was sick of talking about this, pretty sure that Warrick was sick of hearing about it, and completely determined that when he finally did mention what he'd seen, he would at least be able to have a mature attitude about it.
Or at least, pretend to have a mature attitude about it.
Back at his apartment, he spent his waking hours working on that puzzle, trying to think of all the pleased, supportive, I'm-so-happy-for-you things he knew a friend should say. And as much as it tore him up inside, he felt he had a pretty good handle on it by the time he saw Gil next.
He decided to casually broach the subject while they were taking a coffee break together.
"So," he said. "Did you get your friend to the airport on time?"
"Just barely," said Gil. "But then, she e-mailed me in the morning to complain that they'd delayed her flight by two hours. She wasn't happy about spending that time in the airport instead of with me, and neither was I."
Greg did his best to approximate what he hoped was a sympathetic expression. "That's too bad," he said. "The long-distance thing is really hard, huh?"
Gil looked at him blankly. "What do you mean?"
"Well, for the relationship."
Comprehension dawned suddenly on Gil's face.
"Oh!" he cried. "You thought we were...? No, no. Sonya...well, she doesn't date men."
Relief flooded through Greg in massive waves, destroying his ability to think coherently. "She...she doesn't?" he echoed.
Gil shook his head. "Even if she were to change her mind, I wouldn't be a very likely candidate for her."
Greg was a little affronted on Gil's behalf. "Why's that?" he asked. "You're...you're a...good guy."
Gil laughed. "She's my stepmother, Greg," he explained.
Greg tried to wrap his head around this idea. "Your...stepmother? But I thought you said..."
Gil fixed him with a look he usually reserved for those times when he was watching to see if Greg would successfully piece together some case-related detail that Gil had already figured out.
"Greg," he said teasingly, "I'd think that you, of all people, would be able to figure this one out."
Then it dawned on Greg. "You mean, she's..."
"My mother's widow, yes," said Gil. "They met when I was in college. I haven't seen Sonya much since my mother died, but now she's met someone. She wanted my blessing to start dating again."
"You've never mentioned her before," said Greg.
Gil shrugged. "I was already out on my own when she started dating my mother. They were together for weeks before I even knew about it."
"I'll bet that was a shock," said Greg.
"Initially? Yes."
"And then?"
Gil sighed, taking on a wistful expression. "Then I was very happy for her."
What about you? Greg thought. Are you up for following in her footsteps? How'd you like to date a man who's twenty years younger than you? Just say the word...
"What is it, Greg?" Gil asked.
"Nothing," Greg lied. "Look, um...I'll see you later." He ditched his empty coffee cup and left the break room, his mind buzzing.
* * * * *
And just like after his last shift, Greg once again found himself facing anxiously through his apartment, obsessively considering his next course of action.
"Is this the one you like?"
Knowing what he knew after his talk with Gil over coffee, most of what he'd gleaned from the sign language conversation actually made sense now; it made sense that Gil had called her "Mom." It made sense for a lesbian to refer to her stepson as the only man she loved. And it made sense that Gil had lied about what she'd said in response to meeting Greg...if she'd said what he thought she'd said. And if she had...
...then Gil loved him.
Greg supposed that, in some quiet corner of his mind, he had imagined that perhaps Gil might be amenable to the idea of a date with him, but this news, this mad idea that maybe, just maybe, Gil was consciously and silently carrying his own torch for Greg...it was overwhelming. What was more, he didn't have the first clue what to do with it; he'd long ago resolved never to act on his feelings for Grissom, but he now felt compelled to re-examine that assertion.
But what could he do? Ask Gil out on a date? Would he even realize it was a date? Maybe he should just forget the overtures altogether, go over to Gil's place, knock on the door, and pounce on him when he answered.
No, no, and definitely...no. Greg ran his hands nervously through his hair a few times. Why was this so damn hard? Why did he have to be the one to make the first move anyway? Why couldn't Gil do it? Hell, why hadn't he done it already?
Unless...he really wasn't interested. Perhaps Sonya had only been joking with him about Greg. It was just the sort of jibe a gay stepmother might use on her straight son…
Greg stopped that line of thinking dead in its tracks. He finally realized what was happening; he was going around in circles. And then, something cool and calculated, something distant and logical began to emerge inside him, and it was telling him that he needed to pick up the phone.
Slowly, deliberately, and feeling almost as though some force outside of him was acting through his body as he watched, Greg went to the phone, picked it up, and punched Grissom's home number.
He listened. After a few nerve-wracking rings, he got the answering machine. That was typical; Gil often stayed late after he'd taken his night off. It was fortunate, actually, because it made it easier for Greg to say what he had decided he would say.
"Hi, Gil? I was wondering if you were free for breakfast after work tomorrow. There's something I need to talk to you about. It's...kinda important. Talk to you later. Bye."
That was it, then. He hung up the phone, feeling a little lightheaded. In that moment, he gave himself a firm mental directive that, no matter what, he would not come up with an excuse, something to tell Grissom, other than the truth, when he would ask Greg about the message.
One way or another, it would all be over in twenty-four hours. Sometimes you just had to roll the dice.