Of Life and Living: Chapter 8a
Title: Of Life and Living : Chapter 8a (too big for LJ to let me post all at once...)
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 supernaturally pregnant, so no worries there. Mostly, this is a character study/romance with lots dialogue and eventually, sex.
Disclaimer: I own them, at least partially. Did you know that Anthony Zuiker runs a time-share operation?
This chapter is un-betaed because I'm too damn impatient. But when beta-ing occurs, this story owes everything toknightmusic . Hell, it owes everything to her even when beta-ing does not occur.
Here is is, the moment you've all been waiting for! But don't stop reading now, there is much more story to come...
Previous chapters:
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7
GRISSOM: It was good to see her again. Unexpected, too; we haven't really kept in touch.
GREENE: This is a theme for you, I'm noticing.
GRISSOM: What?
GREENE: Not keeping in touch.
GRISSOM: It's hard when I don't have a reason
GREENE: Not having a reason is the whole point. That's what makes the difference between a relationship with a loved one and a relationship of necessity.
GRISSOM: Company for its own sake.
GREENE: And not just as a diversion, Gil. Also, you have to be the one to initiate it, at least once in a while.
GRISSOM: I'm not good at that.
GREENE: Well, your independence is important to you. I mean, you have no problems sharing your emotions with me, because I'm not here to offer support. Is that right?
GRISSOM: Yes.
GREENE: I'm here to offer insight...analysis...and a little guidance. Nothing to be afraid of.
GRISSOM: Excuse me?
GREENE: Well, Gil, what were you hoping these sessions would accomplish? Did you think I'd be able to turn you into a perfectly autonomous, self-sufficient human machine? Is that what you want for yourself? To be able to function in a vacuum?
GRISSOM: I honestly haven't thought about what I want to get here. (pause) May I ask why you're smiling, doctor?
GREENE: It's just funny...people who are emotionally dependent so often have the same problem that people who close themselves off do.
GRISSOM: And what problem is that?
GREENE: A basic fear of rejection.
Gil sat in his driveway, his car engine still running, and checked his pulse. 87. Damnit. He was definitely pissed off, and that meant that Ellen's words had definitely struck a nerve with him after all.
The problem with anger, he thought, was that it felt exactly the same no matter what the reason for it. It didn't matter if you were angry because of some kind of injustice, angry because you were tired and at the end of your patience, or angry because someone had made you recognize some part of yourself that you didn't want to admit to. And in that sense, it was a fairly useless emotion.
Gil took a deep breath or two and switched off his engine before heading inside. She had to be right if it was bothering him this much. And...he knew he hadn't been entirely honest when she'd asked him what he wanted from their sessions. Indeed, some quiet, unacknowledged part of him had hoped for exactly what she'd guessed. After all, if he was going to be alone, he might as well be able to deal with it maturely.
He hung up his coat, then saw that his answering machine light was blinking. An odd occurrence; he didn't get many calls on his home phone. He punched the 'play' button and heard Greg's voice:
"Hi, Gil? I was wondering if you were free after work tomorrow. There's something I need to talk to you about. It's...kinda important. Talk to you later. Bye."
Gil was mildly puzzled. For some reason, Greg sounded morose and slightly nervous. Gil's first impulse was to think that it must be work related...but that didn't make sense. Greg would have called his cell, unless...Gil checked it to make sure he'd had it on, just in case. He had.
Hmm. Well, whatever Greg had to say, it didn't sound like good news, or at least, it didn't sound like something he was eager to talk to his boss about. He probably had a new job offer, Gil guessed, remembering the conversation he'd had with Catherine when she'd gotten the Reno spot. He'd been sorry to lose her, but happy for her, and not willing to hold her back when she was needed somewhere else. It would be the same way with Greg, if that was the case.
Sighing, he picked up the phone and dialed.
Greg's voice sounded a little sleepy when he answered. "Hello?"
"Hi, Greg. I just got your message."
"You did?"
"I'm sorry to call you this late, but I'm going to be in the field most of tonight, so I won't see you. Do you want to meet after our shift?"
"Oh...yeah, sure."
"Drinks or coffee?"
"Huh?"
"Well, what kind of news are you giving me?" Gil joked. "Should I have something to cushion my system, first?"
There was a pause.
"No," said Greg. "You should be sober for this."
"Coffee, then. You pick the place."
Blearily, Greg named the name of a coffee house on the strip.
"Five 'o' clock, then?" Gill suggested. "Are you going to remember we had this conversation, or are you still half asleep?"
Greg groaned something incoherent at him, and Gil smiled. "I’ll see you then, Greg. Go back to sleep."
* * * * *
One of the nice things about Las Vegas life was the fact that you could easily get booze, dinner, sex or coffee twenty-four hours a day, every day. New York had an active enough night life, Greg had learned, but when you walked the streets during the wee hours there, things were decidedly quieter than they were here.
He arrived at the coffee shop a good fifteen minutes before five. Sitting in a booth in the back corner, he sipped a cup of black Jamaican Blue Mountain and glanced around at the shop's other customers. Most of them were just starting their days, not ending it like he was.
It was quiet here, and he was grateful for that. Private, too. Plus, he'd already paid for his coffee, so if things with Grissom didn't...go as he hoped, at least they wouldn't have to wait around awkwardly for the check to arrive before they could part company.
He still didn't have any idea what he was going to say. He held himself to his promise not to come up with some lie to explain his earlier phone message, but he was starting to wish that he hadn't. Resolve was all well and good when the moment of truth was still a day away, but when it was going to happen in a manner of minutes...
Maybe the coffee had been a bad idea. It wasn't helping his nerves any, that was for sure. He set his cup down on the table in front of him, crossed his hands, and tried to take some deep breaths.
"Hi."
Greg almost jumped at the sound of that voice. Gil sidled into the booth across from him, a mug of tea already in hand. How had he managed to be here long enough to get that without Greg noticing him?
Greg smiled nervously. "Hi."
Gil picked up a package of sugar and shook it vigorously before tearing it open to empty its contents into his mug. "So what's this thing you needed to talk about?" he asked innocently.
Why did he have to just dive into it like that? And why'd he have to be so damn casual about it? Greg sighed.
"Um," he began, "there's...something I need to tell you, and I kinda don't know where to start."
Gil smiled encouragingly. "Start where you need to," he suggested.
Greg wanly returned the smile.
"Okay," he said. "Look...I've known you for twelve years, Gil, and after all that time...I think I need to be honest with you."
"All right." Gil blew on his tea. It was rather distracting.
"Here's the thing," continued Greg. His palms were starting to feel moist. "I really like my job. That's why I do it, that's why I've...stuck with it. But you see, lately, I've been realizing that...there's a really big part of me that does this job completely because of you."
Gil raised an eyebrow. Not a reassuring gesture, but Greg continued.
"I mean, I know I wouldn't be a CSI if it wasn't for you. I think I'd probably be sitting in whatever comfy lab job would give me the best paycheck for the least amount of actual effort on my end, and wondering why I didn't like the way my life was going. Instead, I’m doing this, and even though I think I'm pretty good at it, I know that I've gotta work to get better, you know?" He paused to take a sip of coffee. Why did his mouth feel so dry? "And it's all because you managed to be the first person in my life who didn't see me as either a genius or a loser...or, some kind of genius-loser."
Grissom didn't smile at the lame joke. Greg cleared his throat.
"I mean, I stopped trying to get your approval at some point. I just realized...that wasn't what it was about. Or maybe I just already had it, as much as I needed it. And now, you're my friend now, and that's so much better than half-scared and half in awe of you all the time."
Gil was giving him a look as though he'd just shown up to work wearing his underpants on his head and rubber duck feet for shoes, but Greg had gotten this far and refused to be hindered.
"And I love working cases with you," he continued, "because I'm still learning from you. I love to watch you get your jollies from gross dead things that would make normal people yak." That got a bit of a smile, wry and embarrassed at the same time. "And I love that no matter how hard it gets for you, you won't take any crap from jerks who try to make you compromise what you believe. I love...that you pretend it's all about the science and the puzzles for you, but I've seen you wipe tears off your face at a crime scene when you think no one's looking, or get so mad for the sake of a complete stranger that you break things."
"Greg, where are you going with all this?"
It was already over. He could tell by the look on Gil's face, impatient and questioning as it was, that his confession didn't have a snowballs' chance in hell of being well-received. Well, fuck; in for a penny, in for a pound, and he had promised himself that, one way or another, he would end this now.
He sighed. "I'm in love with you, Gil."
Slowly, the look of vague suspicion on Gil face melted into shock. "What?" His voice was barely audible.
Greg shrugged. "Last thing you need, huh?"
He set down his coffee cup and stood up abruptly. "See you around," he said, and turned to leave.
He'd already made it to the door when he heard Gil's voice, calling across the room to him.
"Greg, wait!"
But he ignored it. He strode quickly out of the coffee house, took a left and started to jog down the sidewalk, wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and Gil, for now, anyway.
"Greg!" Gil's voice was even more distant now, half a block behind him. He heard it though, could make out that voice a mile away if he had to. He still didn't turn around; tomorrow, perhaps, he would be ready to hear Gil's gentle rejection, his kind, understanding explanation of why it could never be between them, but now he needed space, needed time to lick his wounds.
He walked blindly for a few minutes, feeling both numb and raw. Just as he was starting to think of looking for a bar that might still be serving, he heard the sound of a car horn beeping lightly on his right.
Turning, he saw Gil's SUV there, driving slowly along the side of the road beside him.
"No, Gil. Not right now," he called to it, not looking up. He heard the hum of Gil rolling down his window.
"Greg," he called, "where's your car?"
Sighing, Greg stepped up to the car as Gil slowed it to a stop.
"I took a cab," he explained.
"Why?"
"Because I knew this would happen, and I need to get drunk now," said Greg.
"No, you don't."
Greg cocked his head to one side, confused and trying to make sense of these words. Gil peered up at him, an urgent look in his eyes.
"Greg, please," he said, "come here."
Unsure what to expect, Greg stepped up to the driver's side window as Gil leaned out. His first clue that's he'd been wrong about what had happened in the coffee shop came then, as Gil reached out and touched the side of his face, fingers and palm caressing that place where his neck and jaw met his ear.
His second clue came when Gil kissed him.
It was like fireworks were going off in his stomach. His brain was spinning around in mad circles, and his knees had turned to jelly. He hadn't kissed anyone in almost two years, and to have it be this man, just when he'd finally accepted that it would never, ever happen this way, was more than he could reasonably take in stride.
Time and space seemed to disappear around them as the kiss deepened. They might have stayed that way for days, but the sudden, jolting sound of a car horn snapped them out of it and they pulled apart.
Greg glanced at the passing motorist who'd honked; it was a middle-aged woman in a beige Honda, grinning at them.
"I think we've just been catcalled," he said to Gil, but he didn't seem to hear Greg, nor to be the least bit concerned about voyeuristic women in passing Hondas. He was staring at Greg with a distant look, a strange mixture of awe and disbelief.
Greg laughed, a sound born not of humor but of the uncontrollable joy he felt. "I don't think I want to take a cab anymore," he said.
Gil nodded. "Get in," he said. "No, wait," he amended as Greg started to move in the direction of the passenger's side. "On second thought, you'd better drive."
"Okay," said Greg as Gil climbed out. "Why...?" he started to ask, but then he saw that Gil's hands were shaking.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm...I'll be fine," Gil insisted.
"Are you freaking out?" Greg asked, climbing into the driver's seat.
"Yeah."
Greg waited until Gil was seated next to him, then asked, "Do you wanna tell me why?"
Gil shook his head. Greg took a deep breath, confusion and apprehension now replacing the elation he'd felt earlier.
"Look," he said, "if you're not sure about this..."
"I'm sure, Greg," Gil said firmly. "I just...wasn't expecting it."
He stared resolutely forward and not at Greg, breathing slowly and deeply and closing his eyes. He looked...scared. Greg put out a hand to touch his knee, and Grissom laid his own over it, squeezing tightly.
"Do you want me to take you home?" Greg asked.
Gil shook his head. "You don't have a car. We'll go to your place."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Fine by me, thought Greg, and drove.