Of Life and Living - Book 2: Chapter 6/6 (G/G)

[laurelgardner]

Title: Of Life and Living - Book 2: Chapter 6/6
Author: laurelgardner
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Gil/Greg, Nick/Sara, Catherine/OMC, Warrick/OFC
Summary: Getting what you wish for can be devastating. Or perfect. Or just maybe it's both. At any rate, it ain't easy.
Author's Note:  I apologize for how late this final chapter is! Not only did my muse decide to be stingly, but my life has gotten extremely busy.

Many of you have put in requests for a Book 3. Sadly, I must say that this is the end of this particular story. However, I do have a sequel on the back-burner, and currently have tentative plans to get to that after spending a little bit of time playing with Nicky because...well, you all know why.

Disclaimer:  I only own them in my mind.

All previous chapters of this story and all my others can be found here.





six months later

It was hard to believe it was the last time he would be visiting the small, homey little office on the fourth floor. It was the last time he would climb three flights of old stairs, quietly give his name to the receptionist and wait, staring at outdated magazines, for a little piece of Ellen Greene's time.

And a part of him was sorry. It wasn't a small part, either; he'd come to appreciate these sessions, even to look forward to them. They did keep him away from Greg during off-hours, which was frustrating, but that impatience was a good thing, in ways. It made him feel younger than he had in a very long time.

The receptionist called his name, pulling him out of the pathetic Newsweek article on the latest in genetics research. He set the magazine down and went into Ellen's office.

When he stepped into the neat, colorful little room, the room he'd come to know so well over these past months, it was empty. Well, not empty; the usual furniture was still in place, from the desk, to the armchair, to the inexpressibly comfortable blue suede sofa, to the halogen lamp and the paintings on the walls. It was, however, empty of his doctor.

"Hello?" he called, frowning in mild confusion; the receptionist had told him she would be waiting for him, not the other way around.

"Oh, hi," said Ellen, appearing suddenly from behind her desk. She was on her hands and knees behind it, her cheerful, round face and brown hair just visible as she looked up.

"Come in, Gil," she said. "I'm just cleaning out my desk. I'm an incurable pack rat, so I force myself to do this quarterly."

Glancing at the desktop, Gil saw the assortment of oddments that she'd pulled out f the drawers. It was mostly papers, but there was some silverware, a couple used batteries, and a few small toys.

Gil stood next to the desk, picked up a tiny plastic car and examined it.

"My son," Ellen explained, straightening up. "He started smuggling toys into my bag in the mornings. When I asked him why, he said I'd once mentioned something to him about how I sometimes get bored at work. Not when I'm with patients, of course," she amended. "When I'm taking care of all the other things. But he thought this would be the perfect solution." She smiled good-humoredly.

Gil set down the car. "And was it?" he asked, amused.

Ellen picked up the car, pulled it backwards across the desk to wind it, then let it go. There was an audible 'zip' noise as the toy sped across the desktop, flew off the other end, and crash landed on the floor.

"I think so," she said.

Gil smiled as he bent to retrieve the toy, then replaced it on Ellen's desk.

"I'm not always as organized as I'd like to be," Gil said. "But I don't think anyone would ever call me a pack rat. I like order. I like keeping things in their respective placed. And I don't hold on to things I don't need." Gil wandered as he spoke, moving towards his normal place at the couch. He stood next to it and ran his hand over the smooth seat back. "But in my left-hand desk drawer, I still have something that Greg gave me a long time ago."

Ellen raised a her eyebrows curiously.

"A work of Japanese origami," said Gil. "A crane. I think I scolded him for using that day's crossword puzzle to make it.

Ellen smiled at that, her warm eyes laughing.

"I kept it," said Gil, "for a very long time. Without knowing why." He shrugged. "I'm asking myself, 'why' a lot more these days."

"But you're used to asking questions," said Ellen.

"Yes," Gil agreed, "but not of myself."

His therapist smiled knowingly.

"Now," continued Gil,"I find that the questions themselves are the hard part. Not the answers."

"What kind of questions do you ask, Gil?"

Gil was thoughtfully silent for a moment.

"I ask myself why I'm afraid of things. Why I'm reluctant."

"And the answers?"

"About what you'd expect them to be, all things considered," said Gil. "The past has an influence. More so if you don't examine it, I'm learning."

Ellen nodded. "That's very true, Gil. And we all have complicated pasts. We're all complicated people."

Gil wandered to the window and peered out.

"I've never thought of myself as a complicated person," he said. "In fact...I've worried that I may be too simple for someone else's tastes. What I do is who I am," he explained with a shrug, turning back to Dr. Greene. "Or so I thought." His voice softened, reflectively. "But there are other things, too. Things I believe. Things I want. Things I feel." He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "And they're important too, aren't they?"

Ellen said nothing; it was the sort of question that needed an answer.

Gil walked silently back to the couch and sat in it.

"Why did you keep the paper crane, Gil?" Ellen asked him.

"Because it made me smile," Gil replied simply.

Ellen looked rather pleased with herself.

"You know, you do a lot more of that these days," she observed.

"What, smile?"

She nodded.

Gil laughed quietly. "I suppose that's true," he agreed. "I haven't noticed that, but...I've had an easier time getting out of bed to go to work. Well," he added, a sly smile creeping onto his face, "not always." He thought of waking up next to Greg on the days they spent together and how difficult it was, still, to leave that behind.

Ellen winked at him.

"I don't know what's changed," Gil said. "I think it's my outlook."

"That's a big thing to change."

Gil nodded his agreement. "It is."

"So tell me what's different," Ellen said.

Thoughtfully, Gil pressed his outstretched forefinger along his lips.

"What I feel responsible for," he said. "Which used to be everything."

"And now?"

Gil sighed. "And now, I can let things go. Really let them go, I mean."

"As opposed to what?"

He shrugged. "Simply moving on."

Ellen nodded slowly and smiled.

"It's not just about function," Gil added. "I know that now."

"So what is it about?"

Gil hesitated before answering. "It's about...what I want. At least some of the time, anyway." he smiled self-consciously. "Greg is very good in that regard. If he's not trying to please me, he's trying to figure me out."

"I'll bet that can be exhausting," said Ellen.

Gil smiled a little. "It can be," he said, "But I think it's time for that."

"I think you're right," Ellen agreed, "and I'm glad to hear you say it."

"So am I," said Gil.

"Would you like to hear me say it, too?"

Gil smiled an embarrassed smile, but he found himself nodding an affirmative.

Ellen pulled her chair closer to the sofa, sitting face-to-face with Gil. She reached out and took his hands in hers.

"It takes a lot of courage," she said, "to know this world at its worst the way you do and still take joy in being a part of it. Gil." She leaned in closer to him, "Be happy. You have my permission, from this day on, to nurture your own soul and spirit. I expect nothing less from you," she added firmly.

Gil laughed. "Thanks, doc."

* * * *

The line at the department store coffee shop was longer than Greg had anticipated. Much longer. So, when he finally escaped from the counter, cup in hand, he fully expected that Gil would be finished with what he'd been doing and would now be waiting for Greg.

He was wrong. He found Gil exactly where he'd left him, poking away at the touch-screen of one of the store's many computer gift databases.

"Oh," he said, "I thought you'd be done here." He glanced at the screen, but it's display didn't make immediate sense to him. Usually things like this used chunky, cheerful, colorful displays of information, but what Gil was looking at was a plain text list of names and addresses.

"Gil," said Greg, disbelievingly. "Did you just hack the baby gift registry?"

Gil glanced at him, mildly startled. "The password is the name of the store," he said. "Look at all the personal information they have on this thing. It should be better protected."

"From people like you, you mean," Greg teased.

"No, from people who might do something illegal with it," said Gil, "I mean, look at this; names of parents, addresses, phone numbers, when they're expecting...what they're expecting."

Closing his eyes, Greg groaned. "Gil..."

"Just a minute," said Gil, raising his index finger in Greg's direction but not looking away from the screen. Greg rested his forehead against the side of the machine and sighed.

One thing Greg was learning about Gil was that a large part of his brilliance at his job came from the fact that he was constantly and insatiably curious about every little thing anywhere in the world around him. And when that curiosity struck, God help Greg if he had it in his head that they would get anything done in a timely fashion.

He waited patiently until Gil logged off and stepped back from the console, then asked, "So what are we getting?"

Gil looked blankly at him. "Huh?"

Shaking his head in frustration, Greg shoved his way towards the computer screen.

"Move it, David Lightman," he muttered. "Here." Punching icons, then typing, Greg found Nick and Sara's listing within a matter of seconds and displayed it.

"I can't believe they're gonna have twins," said Greg. "Let's get 'em something big. They'll need it."

Gil narrowed his eyes at the computer screen. "Did Nick make this list?" he asked.

"Probably," said Greg. "Why?"

Gil shrugged. "It's not particularly practical."

Greg scanned the list and laughed. "No, it's not," he agreed. "He forgot to add one of those - " Greg motioned with his hands in front of his body, " - backpack things. To carry the kid in."

"Two of those backpack things," Gil corrected, then nodded. "Let's get those."

Greg pictured Nick and Sara, cool, professional Nick and Sara, wearing those ridiculous contraptions, each with a chubby, drooling infant strapped to their chests. He couldn't help but giggle out loud at the image.

"What?" said Gil, "You don't think so?"

"No," said Greg. "That's a great plan."

It was a funny thing, Greg thought, having the reality of change strike you in such a way; the way you adjusted to the big picture, only to have the little things still throw you for a loop. But then, his life had changed a lot lately, his and Gil's. Perhaps their friends had laughed to think of the two of them leaving work together to shop for gifts in a department store. Come to think of it, it wasn't exactly the sort of thing he would have imagined himself, say, a year ago.

But change could be a very fine thing, indeed.

* * * * *

The sheer amount of schedule coordination that had gone into planning the baby shower had been mind bogglingly complicated. But Sara had approached the task with the sort of grit and single-minded determination she so excelled at, and after swarms of e-mails and at least a half-dozen proposed dates and times, she'd managed to arrange a solution that worked for all of them. As it was, though, half of the party goers would be on-call, including Sara herself.

But that was the job, after all.

A double shift, then the shower, then a very long night's sleep. That was how Gil and Greg had managed to fit it into their busy lives. Some things were worth staying awake for.

Gil was unable to suppress a yawn as he locked up his office for the day. He wondered if he was getting too old for this kind of insanity, but he dismissed the thought; getting too old for important things was something that other people did, not him.

Within moments, Greg appeared predictably at his elbow. He was pulling on his coat as he walked.

"You ready to go?" he asked.

"I'll meet you at the car," Gil replied, "I'll be just a couple minutes."

Greg nodded and headed off in the direction of the exit doors. Gil, on the other hand, set off in the direction of the assistant director's office. He met Nick Stokes in the hallway, nearly bumping into him as he headed in the opposite direction.

"Oh, hi, boss," Nick said.

Gil slowed his step and raised an eyebrow. "I haven't been your boss in years, Nick."

Nick shrugged. "Whatever. Hey, are you coming to the thing tonight?" Nick whirled around, walking backward in order to continue facing Gil as they passed each other.

"I'm planning on it," Gil replied.

"You'd better be," Nick called, pointing a finger at Gil in a friendly warning.

Gil paused for a moment after Nick had turned the corner, then with a smile, continued on to his destination.

Sofia was standing at her desk when he approached her open office, scribbling something onto a yellow sticky note. Gil grinned fondly; when she wasn't talking to herself to remember things, she had to write notes instead.

She glanced quickly up at him and smiled. "I wondered when you'd visit me," she said.

Stepping inside, Gil returned her smile. He reached into his back pocket. "I have something to return to you," he said.

Fishing in his wallet, Gil retrieved the business cared she'd given to him six months ago, the one with Ellen Greene's telephone number printed on it. But before he handed it to her, he noticed, for the first time, that there was something written on the back of it:

Sofia -

Remember the mirror!

He read the words, then raised an eyebrow at Sofia as he passed her the card.

"It was what I needed to hear," she explained. Her __expression was warm, open.

"Ah," said Gil.

"I had a difficult year, once. You remember it," she added. "But...eventually I learned that if I loved my work and took my own pride in what I did, nothing else mattered."

"And the mirror?" Gil asked.

"Is all I need to be reminded of what I'm capable of. And of who I am."

Gil quirked a smile. "Does that work?"

"If I'm determined."

Gil laughed a brief silent laugh. He knew that worked. Then he gave his supervisor a serious look. "Thank you, Sofia," he said softly.

She smiled warmly. "It was the least I could do," she said. "We all know who's really in charge around here."

* * * *

Later that evening, slightly giddy from a few too many of Sara's excellent margaritas, Gil slid into the passenger seat of Greg's car.

Images from the last four hours replayed themselves cheerfully in his head. He knew now why she'd made such an effort to get them all together like that. He couldn't remember the last time the six of them had been gathered in one room all at once; Nick, Sara, Warrick, Greg, even Catherine had made the time to come all the way from Reno.

His team. His first time.

He turned over a few of the recent memories in his head, free-associating from one image to the next; Nick at Sara's beck-and-call, constantly taste-testing the drinks she was mixing for her guests. Catherine had perched herself on the arm of the couch next to him and leaned against him a little, fingers occasionally running through his hair. Maybe it was the Tequila, but nothing had seemed strange about it.

Late into the evening, all the formalities had been utterly worn away and the room itself had seemed to radiate the warm comfort of their friendship. He'd glanced over at Warrick and Carol, alone in their own world for a moment. He'd watched as Warrick took her hands in his, peered at them, at the scars running across them, in wonder; he knew, then. And when he looked up, his eyes had met Gil's in a moment of silent understanding.

"She did it on purpose, you know," said Greg, interrupting Gil's reverie.

"Who did what on purpose?" Gil asked.

Greg scoffed a small laugh. "Sara. She got you drunk on purpose. She kept filling up your glass when you weren't looking."

Gil frowned. "Why would she do that?"

An impish smile spread across Greg's face. "Well, you were funny."

"I was?"

"Yeah," said Greg. "You were saying what you think. I've just never seen you like that before."

"Oh," said Gil. He supposed he had been, but it had only been natural. He couldn't remember ever having felt so carefree.

"By the way," added Greg, "what were you talking about with Nick and Sara? When they pulled you into the kitchen."

Oh yes. That. He hadn't gotten around to mulling that one over in his head yet, but it was going to need some time as well.

"They asked me to be godfather to the twins," he said.

Greg's face lit up. "That's awesome!" he said, "Are you going to?"

Gil blinked at the question. He loved that Greg asked it, that he so rarely made assumptions about Gil.

"Yes," said Gil. "But it's a lot to think about."

Greg reached over and squeezed his knee. "We'll handle it," he said brightly.

Gil placed his hand on top of Greg's and held it for a moment before Greg returned it to the steering wheel. Then Gil slipped back into his thoughts, eyes closing as he relaxed.

"We wanted someone who lives nearby," Nick had said to him.

"Someone they can actually have a relationship with," Sara had added, her hands unconsciously drifting to her pregnant belly as she spoke.

"But um..." Nick had looked a little nervous, "it's more than just that." Gil had watched him expectantly, curiously, as Nick searched for words. "Gil, there's...no one we trust more in the world to raise our kids...to keep them safe..."

"Happy," said Sara.

"...to help them grow up into good people." Nick's face and voice held a seriousness Gil had only seen there a few times.

"I don't know what to say," Gil said softly.

Sara laughed. "Well, 'yes' for starters," she said.

"Yes," said Gil, a little questioningly, which made Sara laugh again. Nick, too.

He didn't mean to stare at her stomach like that, and didn't even realize he was doing it until she caught him at it. He looked away, embarrassed, only to have Sara seize his hand and place it on her belly.

He'd never done this before. He'd been curious, certainly, but it had always seemed a terribly rude thing to ask. But now, Sara held his hand in place until he felt it, the unmistakable press of a tiny foot against his hand. His godchild.

"Wake up, Gil. We're home."

He hadn't been aware of the moment when reflection had drifted into sleep, but it apparently had. They were parked, and Greg was standing outside the vehicle, at Gil's open door. He was chewing his lip thoughtfully.

"I suppose you're too tired," he said, sounding a little disappointed.

"For what?" asked Gil, then felt stupid for asking. "Oh. Well...put some coffee on. We'll see."

Like a child who's just been given permission, Greg's face lit up, and he bounded happily into the townhouse to begin his task. Gil followed slowly, feeling lightheaded and wondering just how many times Sara had managed to pull a fast one on him.

As it turned it, it was not so many that one of Greg's extra-strong espressos couldn't perk up Gil's senses. Enough that Greg was then able to perk up Gil.

They retired to the bedroom and made love in a casual, almost lazy manner. It still amazed Gil just how effortless it had become between them, how well they were learning each other. Even half-tanked as he was, he knew what Greg liked, just how to turn him on unstoppably. And Greg was reading him like a large-print edition, giving Gil everything he didn't quite have the presence of mind to ask for.

But then, in the midst of everything so familiar and good, Greg stopped. He lay motionless on the bed beneath Gil, staring up at him with suddenly distant eyes.

"Jesus," he breathed.

"What?" Gil asked, mildly confused.

Greg reached up a hand to cup the side of Gil's face. "This is it for me," he said, breathlessly, "You. Everything. You know that, don't you?"

Gil stared back at him, speechless, trying to comprehend the meaning behind these odd words. Then Greg smiled at him, and he gave up trying, instead returning his mouth to its interrupted efforts on Greg's skin.

Later, as they lay sweaty and tangled together, happily exhausted, Gil wondered if maybe he didn't already know what Greg was talking about.

* * * *

He would regret it tomorrow, he knew it. Gil may have needed the caffeine, but he certainly hadn't, and now he was wired and wide awake. Greg knew he should still be in bed, trying to rest at the very least.

But instead, he'd pulled himself carefully from Gil's sleeping embrace, and set about wandering through the townhouse. The place bore so many marks of Greg's presence now, signs of all the time he now spent here. Still, though, nearly everything about this place undeniably Gil, and Greg loved exploring it on his own.

When he came to the kitchen, there was something sitting on the bar top that had been there since early this evening, something he'd forgotten about entirely.

Ah yes.

It was a small shoebox, one-third filled with mini cassette tapes. He picked it up and carried it to the couch. Each tape had a label, hand-written, inscribed simply with dates from the last six months.

They were the tapes from Gil's counseling sessions. He'd given them to Greg.

It had been a strange thing to do, perhaps. Greg certainly hadn't been expecting it. Gil had thrust the box at Greg's chest, giving no initial explanation, seeming as though the giving itself was taking up all of his thought and willpower. And when Greg had asked for an explanation, the one he'd gotten was halting, if heartfelt.

"It...it's probably a shortcut, I realize that," Gil had said, "but I need you to know, Greg. And I'm not good at...at opening up...without some prodding. Not good enough for you."

Greg had just smiled back at him. He'd never received such a beautiful gift in his life.

If this was going to be the way of things between them, Greg decided, he would be happy to make it work. He could wait, watch, puzzle, ask questions, and do things differently when he needed to. When you found yourself in the position of sharing your life with someone who made you feel like you finally knew your place in the world, there wasn't much you wouldn't do to hold onto it. He didn't want easy, after all; he wanted Gil.

Filled to the gills with warm anticipation, Greg looked for his headphones.