(no subject)
Title: Profane Moments
Author: Amireal
Pairing: Grissom/Greg
Rating: R for adult themes/ FRM
Archive: List archive ok, others ask first.
Spoilers: Minor case details for 5x18, Spark of Life. Mostly what you’d get from watching the preview.
Warnings: Self introspection.
Author’s notes: Companion piece to “Sacred Space” probably a good idea to read that one first.
Summary: And then there’s the little part inside of him that aches for those times, craves those moments like a drug he can’t live without.
It’s the in between space that always confuses him. When he’s neither here nor there. On nor off. Gil nor Grissom. When he’s charged with being both and all. Those are the times he hates the most. It’s the moments of transition that hit him in the gut and make his stomach churn with indecision. Who is he when he’s shifting gears, when he’s forced between second and third and the clutch just won’t take?
And then there’s the little part inside of him that aches for those times, craves those moments like a drug he can’t live without. They’re charged and they spark as he brushes against them. He tastes them on the back of his tongue and he wants nothing more than to savor them. He won’t admit it, but it’s as if he’s suddenly a real person. Three dimensional and flawed and *human*. He hasn’t felt human in so long that sometimes there’s this hollow echo inside his head.
Habits of a lifetime trip him up and he’s yet to figure out how to move past them. Relearn how to live his life as this new person, this person who loses and wins at the same time and doesn’t care a single wit about it other than to cherish the moment for what it is. It takes a long time, and so many of these moments he’s lost count, to realize work doesn’t suffer as a result of this new person. It hasn’t changed, he can still be the scientist he knows and still be the person he’s never been.
That is, when he remembers how.
He watches Greg stare at those fingers encased in glass and the metaphor hits him square in the jaw, so hard it’s almost funny. A piece of a live person surrounded by a hard shell, no longer useful, no longer feeling. He feels his rusty, antique, wobbly bicycle gets stuck between gears and choke on its own momentum, stopping him so forcefully he can feel the rough surface of the metaphorical concrete under his cheek.
He tells Greg to take a break, mostly because he needs to be alone with the metaphor, to take it in and understand why it digs under his skin so deeply. But there’s also a fair portion of concern, he’s not the only one off balance and he damn well knows it. He’s just not ready to shift again, to take another moment and hold on by the skin of his teeth as he rolls through the unfamiliar motion, feeling like an ungainly teen relearning his reach.
Examine, inspect, categorize and label. As each finger migrates its way from one side of the table to the other, he feels more roiled, not less and it itches between his shoulder blades. He stops and rubs the bridge of his nose feeling more unsettled than when he started.
“I hear this wasn’t Greg’s first visit to the burn unit.”
He blinks blearily at Sofia who’s leaning casually against the door frame.
“He’s in the locker room,” she says before walking off.
The itch intensifies and transforms into something startling and prickly and his heart stutters in surprise as he realizes he was there already. Moments came whether you want them or not, it’s just a matter of opening your eyes.
Practiced hands reseal the evidence, label and timestamp by rote, not even thinking about it. He’s this person, he can do this, work is insular, it won’t suffer five minutes while he lives his moment. He knows sometime later he’s going to hate himself for that idea, he’ll be more sure than ever that the work can never wait for them to get their shit together. But for now he heads to the locker room.
Sofia waves at him from across the hall. “I’ll just be here, near the door.”
She really is a good CSI.
The closing of the door interrupts whatever internal monologue Greg has going on. He apologizes in his own stilted manner, hiding behind the english language, a talent he developed early in life and can’t quite let go of. But for once, someone else understands it or at least tries to.
He reaches out, tentatively, carefully, his hand holding Greg’s tightly, the words come easily, when he’s not forced to translate before they make it to his lips, the actions are harder. He takes his queues from Greg for now, too off balance to do much more. He’s at work, he’s kissing Greg, he really doesn’t care.
The moment slows and Greg is warm and safe in his arms and right in those seconds the entire lab could tromp past them and he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t care. As moments go, it’s short, but effective. He feels wrung out, exhausted, the end of the day at Disney didn’t feel this dizzying and satisfying all at once.
Robot him can go screw itself.
The hallway is just a bit brighter when they step out and something about the case piques his minds’ eye. Sofia hands him some trace results and it begins to piece together. He passes a room and sees Greg already back at work, not a hint of distraction lingering in his frame.
There’s a second, in his office, as Catherine sits down when he realizes this may be another moment, that life is full of moments and that it’s all just transitions. One you to the next, all just slightly different and so smooth and subtle that you don’t realize it until one day you look up and you’re different.
He decides he can deal with different. After all, he’s been different his whole life.
Author: Amireal
Pairing: Grissom/Greg
Rating: R for adult themes/ FRM
Archive: List archive ok, others ask first.
Spoilers: Minor case details for 5x18, Spark of Life. Mostly what you’d get from watching the preview.
Warnings: Self introspection.
Author’s notes: Companion piece to “Sacred Space” probably a good idea to read that one first.
Summary: And then there’s the little part inside of him that aches for those times, craves those moments like a drug he can’t live without.
It’s the in between space that always confuses him. When he’s neither here nor there. On nor off. Gil nor Grissom. When he’s charged with being both and all. Those are the times he hates the most. It’s the moments of transition that hit him in the gut and make his stomach churn with indecision. Who is he when he’s shifting gears, when he’s forced between second and third and the clutch just won’t take?
And then there’s the little part inside of him that aches for those times, craves those moments like a drug he can’t live without. They’re charged and they spark as he brushes against them. He tastes them on the back of his tongue and he wants nothing more than to savor them. He won’t admit it, but it’s as if he’s suddenly a real person. Three dimensional and flawed and *human*. He hasn’t felt human in so long that sometimes there’s this hollow echo inside his head.
Habits of a lifetime trip him up and he’s yet to figure out how to move past them. Relearn how to live his life as this new person, this person who loses and wins at the same time and doesn’t care a single wit about it other than to cherish the moment for what it is. It takes a long time, and so many of these moments he’s lost count, to realize work doesn’t suffer as a result of this new person. It hasn’t changed, he can still be the scientist he knows and still be the person he’s never been.
That is, when he remembers how.
He watches Greg stare at those fingers encased in glass and the metaphor hits him square in the jaw, so hard it’s almost funny. A piece of a live person surrounded by a hard shell, no longer useful, no longer feeling. He feels his rusty, antique, wobbly bicycle gets stuck between gears and choke on its own momentum, stopping him so forcefully he can feel the rough surface of the metaphorical concrete under his cheek.
He tells Greg to take a break, mostly because he needs to be alone with the metaphor, to take it in and understand why it digs under his skin so deeply. But there’s also a fair portion of concern, he’s not the only one off balance and he damn well knows it. He’s just not ready to shift again, to take another moment and hold on by the skin of his teeth as he rolls through the unfamiliar motion, feeling like an ungainly teen relearning his reach.
Examine, inspect, categorize and label. As each finger migrates its way from one side of the table to the other, he feels more roiled, not less and it itches between his shoulder blades. He stops and rubs the bridge of his nose feeling more unsettled than when he started.
“I hear this wasn’t Greg’s first visit to the burn unit.”
He blinks blearily at Sofia who’s leaning casually against the door frame.
“He’s in the locker room,” she says before walking off.
The itch intensifies and transforms into something startling and prickly and his heart stutters in surprise as he realizes he was there already. Moments came whether you want them or not, it’s just a matter of opening your eyes.
Practiced hands reseal the evidence, label and timestamp by rote, not even thinking about it. He’s this person, he can do this, work is insular, it won’t suffer five minutes while he lives his moment. He knows sometime later he’s going to hate himself for that idea, he’ll be more sure than ever that the work can never wait for them to get their shit together. But for now he heads to the locker room.
Sofia waves at him from across the hall. “I’ll just be here, near the door.”
She really is a good CSI.
The closing of the door interrupts whatever internal monologue Greg has going on. He apologizes in his own stilted manner, hiding behind the english language, a talent he developed early in life and can’t quite let go of. But for once, someone else understands it or at least tries to.
He reaches out, tentatively, carefully, his hand holding Greg’s tightly, the words come easily, when he’s not forced to translate before they make it to his lips, the actions are harder. He takes his queues from Greg for now, too off balance to do much more. He’s at work, he’s kissing Greg, he really doesn’t care.
The moment slows and Greg is warm and safe in his arms and right in those seconds the entire lab could tromp past them and he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t care. As moments go, it’s short, but effective. He feels wrung out, exhausted, the end of the day at Disney didn’t feel this dizzying and satisfying all at once.
Robot him can go screw itself.
The hallway is just a bit brighter when they step out and something about the case piques his minds’ eye. Sofia hands him some trace results and it begins to piece together. He passes a room and sees Greg already back at work, not a hint of distraction lingering in his frame.
There’s a second, in his office, as Catherine sits down when he realizes this may be another moment, that life is full of moments and that it’s all just transitions. One you to the next, all just slightly different and so smooth and subtle that you don’t realize it until one day you look up and you’re different.
He decides he can deal with different. After all, he’s been different his whole life.