FIC: Isolated Elements, 11/?, PG-13 (for now), Grissom/Giles
Title: Isolated Elements
Author: Tara Keezer
Rating: PG-13 for the time being
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Rupert Giles
Type: Crossover with Buffy: the Vampire Slayer
Summary: The best laid plans of criminalists and watchers sometimes go awry.
Author’s Note/Warnings: At some point in the future, the two of them will be having hot monkey sex. Really. They will. I promise. For now, snark reigns supreme. This story is set during the summer between S5 and S6 of Buffy and between S1 and S2 of CSI. One last note - the Grissom/Giles icons that will accompany each part were created for me by the delightful wickedfox.
Feedback: Love it, want it, can’t get enough of it.
Disclaimer: As I’m neither Anthony Zuiker nor Joss Whedon, it’s a pretty safe bet that I own neither of the pretty men. If I did, though, if I did...
Part 1 can be found here. Links to subsequent chapters are found at the bottom of each posting.
~*~*~
The aroma of fresh coffee drew Gil to the kitchen like a corpse draws flies, and he was as helpless to ignore it. He’d just poured a cup for himself and was taking a sip when Clem walked in, shrieking slightly when he saw Gil at the counter.
“Oh, gee, Mr. Grissom. You scared me,” he said, clutching at his chest. “I thought you and Mr. Giles were - um -”
“He’s sleeping,” Gil said quickly, to avert Clem from making an attempt at tact.
“That’s good! Spike doesn’t think he’s been getting enough lately. He’ll be happy to hear that he is now.”
Clem, recovered from his brief fright, moved to the kitchen sink to finish washing the few dishes that remained from breakfast. After a moment, he looked up at Gil and caught him staring. He said nervously, “Uh, just so you know, I’m not really into that kind of thing.”
Confused, Gil asked, “What kind of thing?”
“Tight skins.” Clem’s skin turned a mottled purple and orange again, and he started scrubbing a small plate with unnecessary vigor. “Not that I don’t like tight skins. I mean, some of my best friends have tight skin. But -”
Understanding dawned, and Gil interrupted Clem’s babbling with, “I’m not interested in you that way.”
Clem gave a big sigh of relief and smiled. “Wow! Okay! That’s great! I mean, not that I wouldn’t, if you really wanted to, because you’re nice, but, you know, not my thing.”
“Right.”
“It’s only that the way you were staring at me -” Clem shook his head and chuckled. “I just got the wrong idea is all.”
“Oh.” Gil smiled. “Sorry about that. I’m a scientist, and I’ve never seen anyone quite like you. I was staring out of curiosity, and that was rude.”
“You’re a scientist? Really? That’s neat! I used to watch Mr. Wizard all the time. He was great. Are you that kind of scientist?” Clem finished washing the last coffee cup in the sink.
“I study crime scenes and evidence, so I can try to determine what happened,” Gil said, his smile growing in the face of Clem’s enthusiasm.
“Wow! Is that like Profiler? I really liked that show, too,” he said, picking up a dish towel to start drying a plate.
Gil shook his head slightly as he considered how to answer Clem’s question. In a moment, it came to him. “Do you remember Quincy?”
“You’re a medical examiner?”
He almost hated having to correct Clem. “No, I’m not a doctor. But I do examine corpses.”
Clem shuddered in reaction. “Yuck. I don’t like dead bodies.”
“A lot of people find the reminder of death to be disturbing,” Gil said philosophically.
“It’s not that.” Clem picked up a glass to wipe dry. “In Sunnydale, a dead body usually means there’s a demon around, and if there’s a demon around, that means the Slayer will show up sooner or later, and the way I heard it, unexpected bodies always made her cranky, which was never a good thing. Do you want a warm-up on your coffee?”
It took Gil a moment to sort out Clem’s question from the rest of his comments, and when he held out his cup for a refill, he asked a question of his own. “Did you know Buffy?”
“The Slayer? Nah. I never met her.” Clem returned the pot to its warmer and continued drying dishes. “I could have - Spike offered to introduce me and all - but every time I asked about it later, he said it wasn’t a good time.”
“Why not?” Gil took a sip of his coffee, enjoying the mellow flavor.
“Well, first it was because her mom got sick and died, and then there was that business with Glorificus. And after that, Buffy was kind of dead, so, you know, no time to do it.” Clem finished drying the few pieces of silverware, and then he started to put the dishes away. Suddenly alarmed, he said quickly. “Darn it! I wasn’t supposed to say that to anyone!”
“Say what?”
“That Buffy’s dead.” Clem’s agitation increased. “Everyone’s supposed to think she’s still alive.”
“Relax, Clem. Mr. Giles told me she died. It was almost seven weeks ago, right?” He wondered if a pat on the back would help soothe the demon. And then he wondered if he had the nerve to try it.
“You know, then?”
“I do -”
“That’s a relief.”
Gil narrowed his eyes. “I don’t understand how a secret like that could be kept. Won’t people miss seeing her around?”
“Not with the Buffybot doing patrols,” he said happily.
“The -”
“Anyway,” Clem continued, “like I was saying, I never got a chance to be introduced.”
Considering Clem’s tendency to blurt out whatever was on his mind, Gil decided it was time to take greater control over the conversation. “You wouldn’t have been afraid to meet Buffy?”
“Maybe, just a little. Slayers and demons aren’t usually good company. But Spike says she was pretty open-minded. He didn’t think she’d haul off and kill me for no reason.”
Gil said casually, “Spike is a friend of yours, right?”
Clem shrugged. “Yeah. We play kitten poker on Tuesday nights.”
“So Spike’s a demon, too?” Gil took another sip of his coffee in an effort to keep himself from asking about kitten poker.
“He’s a vampire, not a full demon.” Clem’s eyes grew large. “Not that I hold it against him or anything!”
Uncertain how to respond, Gil countered with, “Of course not.”
“It’s just that some of the guys think vampires are kind of trashy.” Clem looked mildly embarrassed at the admission. “I don’t think they are. I mean, if I did, I wouldn’t hang out with Spike, you know?”
Frowning, Gil said, “If Spike is a vampire, how did he get to be friends with Buffy?”
“Oh they weren’t friends!” Clem laughed. “He just helped her out, on account of being in love with her and the whole chip thing.”
“He was in love with her?” Gil entertained the possibility that Clem was actually repeating a plot line from a soap opera.
“Yeah.” With the dishes put away and the counters wiped down, Clem relaxed against the counter. “Most of the guys think Spike is pretty stupid for falling for a Slayer like that, but I think it’s kind of romantic.”
When Clem got lost in his thoughts, Gil brought him back by saying, “So Spike fell in love with Buffy, and he started helping her out?”
“Right!”
“What’s the ‘chip thing’ you mentioned a moment ago?” Gil was being drawn into the narrative despite his reservations about its veracity.
“A while back, the government put a chip in Spike’s head,” Clem said.
Gil blinked at the sudden introduction of the government to the conversation. After a moment, he asked, “What does the chip do?”
Clearly uncomfortable with the question, Clem shifted from foot to foot. “It keeps him from hurting humans, but don’t tell Spike I told you, okay? He gets upset when anyone mentions it.”
“I won’t say a word,” Gil promised. “I want to be sure I understand what you told me, okay?”
Clem responded with a big smile and, “Sure!”
“Spike, a vampire, had a chip put into his head, and that chip keeps him from killing people.” At Clem’s nod, Gil added, “But you said yesterday he was on a demon-killing kick, so that means he was able to help Buffy?”
“Right!”
“And Spike was in love with Buffy.” His coffee had cooled down enough for Gil to take a larger swallow.
“Yep,” Clem said wistfully. “He used to talk about her shampoo-commercial hair all the time.”
After reminding himself to focus, Gil ignored Clem’s last comment and returned to an earlier statement. “What’s Glorificus? Why did it keep you from meeting Buffy?”
Gil noticed that when Clem lost his happy face, all of his skin drooped at the same time. “She was a really mean hellgod. She’s the reason Buffy had to die,” Clem said sadly.
Gently, Gil prompted him with, “I don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do either. Whenever Spike tries to explain, he just starts crying again.” Clem shuffled his feet. “All I know is that Buffy had to die to save the world and that Spike blames himself for not getting up to the tower in time.”
~*~*~
Gil sat at the single computer in the library, looking through the electronic catalogue to see what was on the shelves. Though his conversation with Clem had given him a great deal to think about, he wanted to let the information sit for a while. Reading Newton’s Treatise on Magic and Science would keep him occupied in the meanwhile. With the help of the catalogue, he located the book - a modern day reprint - and headed back to the bedroom to sit vigil in case - when - Rupert had a nightmare.
There wasn’t a chair in the room, but Gil didn’t really see the need for one. Rupert was lying on top of the covers along one side of the bed, and there was more than enough room for Gil to stretch out along the other side. When he found his comfort zone, he opened the book and began to read.
He was asleep in less than ten minutes.
~*~*~
Rupert dreamt.
Worse, Rupert knew he dreamt, yet he was unable to stop the dream or even direct it.
Helpless, he relived his last fight with Buffy, remembering again that she’d never actually said she didn’t hate him. He watched as she beat Glory down then walked off when Ben emerged. He felt the young man’s fruitless struggle as he suffocated him, and then he looked up when he realized that the portal had opened. His legs twitched restlessly as his dream entered the final scene - Buffy’s run to the edge of the platform and - “Buffy, NO!”
The shout woke Gil up just in time for him to see Rupert launch himself from the bed, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt more inadequate than he did in that moment. Gil moved off the bed slowly. “Rupert?”
Rupert made a visible effort to control himself. “I’m fine.”
“Excuse me?” When Rupert opened his mouth to speak, Gil said, “No, I heard you the first time. I just have a hard time understanding why you think I’m a complete idiot.”
“I -” Blinking in confusion, Rupert said, “What are you talking about? I never said that.”
“Really?” Gil raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure? Because that’s the only reason I can think of for you to lie to me.”
Rupert shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t -”
“You just said you were fine.” Gil got close enough to turn Rupert to face the mirror over the dresser. “Look at yourself. You’re about as far from fine as anyone I’ve seen.”
Shaking Gil off, Rupert backed away. “Leave me alone, Gil.”
“No.”
“It was just a nightmare. That’s all.” Rupert took another step back.
Gil frowned, and stepping forward, he said, “Right. Just a nightmare - about someone you loved jumping to her death.”
Shaking with reaction to the dream and anger at Gil, Rupert clenched his jaw, saying, “It wasn’t like that. What she did -”
“- saved the world, I know. But -”
“But nothing. You don’t understand. You never will.”
Gil could see Rupert was reaching his breaking point. He knew Catherine or Nick would be a hell of a lot better at this than he was, but neither of them was there at the moment. In any event, he had a feeling the other man would appreciate bluntness more than kind words and sympathetic looks.
“I may not understand everything about your life, but I understand a hell of a lot about death. No matter how much you pretty it up, she still committed suicide.”
“No!” Rupert backed up to the wall. “She sacrificed her life for this world. If not for her -”
“- we’d all be dead.” Gil remained where he was. “She still killed herself.”
“She didn’t!” Rupert swept his arm back, hitting the wall above the night stand. Gil fought not to wince at the dull thud of impact. “She didn’t kill herself.”
“She did,” he said deliberately, maintaining his poker face and distance for the time being.
“She did not!”
“Deliberate suicide - and she did it in front of you,” Gil said, wondering if he was going to get his nose broken for his trouble.
“She left me, damn her!” At the expletive, Rupert’s fist slammed into and through the wall. His breaking point finally reached, he fell to his knees, each sob sounding as if it were being violently wrenched from him.
Gil took a deep breath and went to him. He got his arms around Rupert, and murmuring the soothing noises he recalled his mother making when he was a child, helped the other man up to the bed. Though he rolled away, Gil followed, catching him and holding him close. Eventually, Rupert gave up struggling against Gil’s embrace and accepted the offer of comfort.
It was another hour before he expelled the worst of his grief and fell asleep.
~*~*~
When Rupert awoke, it was to the realization that for the first time in months, he felt at peace with the world around him. That he was also cuddled up next to - draped half across, actually - a warm, solid body with a strong, steady heart beat was simply icing on the cake.
Feeling no immediate need to move from away his very comfortable pillow, Rupert splayed his hand across Gil’s stomach. When there was no response, he curled his fingers into a loose fist, leaving his index finger free to trace the vibrant patterns on the shirt. As he let his mind drift, he luxuriated in the simple pleasure of waking up in another person’s arms.
Not much later, his pillow finally stirred, and Rupert raised his head slightly to look at him. Fresh from sleep, Gil’s walls were down, and he found the open, vulnerable look in his eyes to be very appealing.
His voice rough from his earlier excess of grief, Rupert said, “I take it back.”
Caught by surprise, Gil asked, “Take what back?”
Rupert raised himself to get a better view of Gil’s face. “You might just be my type after all,” he said quietly.
His mouth suddenly dry, Gil asked, “Your type?”
“And judging by the dilation of your pupils, the light sheen of sweat on your brow and your quickened breathing, you’re either suffering withdrawal - or I might be your type as well.”
As he stared into Rupert’s eyes, waiting to see what would happen next, Gil held his breath, even as his pulse sped up. The memory of his conversation with Phillip resurfaced, and he was finally able to agree that yes, there probably was something to the fact that he’d imagined Phillip was matchmaking.
Rupert’s gaze was intense as he said, “I’d rather like to kiss you right now, but I don’t want to frighten you into running off.”
Gil swallowed hard. “What makes you think I’d run?”
“The hint of panic in your eyes speaks volumes,” Rupert said with a gentle smile before he rolled away and stood up to stretch. “It’s amazing what a few hours of sleep can do for one’s disposition. I think I’ll see if the ocean is as warm as Wolfram and Hart claims it is.”
Rupert left the room without a backward glance or even a swimsuit, and Gil stared at the empty doorway, wondering what the hell just happened.
Part 12
Author: Tara Keezer
Rating: PG-13 for the time being
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Rupert Giles
Type: Crossover with Buffy: the Vampire Slayer
Summary: The best laid plans of criminalists and watchers sometimes go awry.
Author’s Note/Warnings: At some point in the future, the two of them will be having hot monkey sex. Really. They will. I promise. For now, snark reigns supreme. This story is set during the summer between S5 and S6 of Buffy and between S1 and S2 of CSI. One last note - the Grissom/Giles icons that will accompany each part were created for me by the delightful wickedfox.
Feedback: Love it, want it, can’t get enough of it.
Disclaimer: As I’m neither Anthony Zuiker nor Joss Whedon, it’s a pretty safe bet that I own neither of the pretty men. If I did, though, if I did...
Part 1 can be found here. Links to subsequent chapters are found at the bottom of each posting.
~*~*~
The aroma of fresh coffee drew Gil to the kitchen like a corpse draws flies, and he was as helpless to ignore it. He’d just poured a cup for himself and was taking a sip when Clem walked in, shrieking slightly when he saw Gil at the counter.
“Oh, gee, Mr. Grissom. You scared me,” he said, clutching at his chest. “I thought you and Mr. Giles were - um -”
“He’s sleeping,” Gil said quickly, to avert Clem from making an attempt at tact.
“That’s good! Spike doesn’t think he’s been getting enough lately. He’ll be happy to hear that he is now.”
Clem, recovered from his brief fright, moved to the kitchen sink to finish washing the few dishes that remained from breakfast. After a moment, he looked up at Gil and caught him staring. He said nervously, “Uh, just so you know, I’m not really into that kind of thing.”
Confused, Gil asked, “What kind of thing?”
“Tight skins.” Clem’s skin turned a mottled purple and orange again, and he started scrubbing a small plate with unnecessary vigor. “Not that I don’t like tight skins. I mean, some of my best friends have tight skin. But -”
Understanding dawned, and Gil interrupted Clem’s babbling with, “I’m not interested in you that way.”
Clem gave a big sigh of relief and smiled. “Wow! Okay! That’s great! I mean, not that I wouldn’t, if you really wanted to, because you’re nice, but, you know, not my thing.”
“Right.”
“It’s only that the way you were staring at me -” Clem shook his head and chuckled. “I just got the wrong idea is all.”
“Oh.” Gil smiled. “Sorry about that. I’m a scientist, and I’ve never seen anyone quite like you. I was staring out of curiosity, and that was rude.”
“You’re a scientist? Really? That’s neat! I used to watch Mr. Wizard all the time. He was great. Are you that kind of scientist?” Clem finished washing the last coffee cup in the sink.
“I study crime scenes and evidence, so I can try to determine what happened,” Gil said, his smile growing in the face of Clem’s enthusiasm.
“Wow! Is that like Profiler? I really liked that show, too,” he said, picking up a dish towel to start drying a plate.
Gil shook his head slightly as he considered how to answer Clem’s question. In a moment, it came to him. “Do you remember Quincy?”
“You’re a medical examiner?”
He almost hated having to correct Clem. “No, I’m not a doctor. But I do examine corpses.”
Clem shuddered in reaction. “Yuck. I don’t like dead bodies.”
“A lot of people find the reminder of death to be disturbing,” Gil said philosophically.
“It’s not that.” Clem picked up a glass to wipe dry. “In Sunnydale, a dead body usually means there’s a demon around, and if there’s a demon around, that means the Slayer will show up sooner or later, and the way I heard it, unexpected bodies always made her cranky, which was never a good thing. Do you want a warm-up on your coffee?”
It took Gil a moment to sort out Clem’s question from the rest of his comments, and when he held out his cup for a refill, he asked a question of his own. “Did you know Buffy?”
“The Slayer? Nah. I never met her.” Clem returned the pot to its warmer and continued drying dishes. “I could have - Spike offered to introduce me and all - but every time I asked about it later, he said it wasn’t a good time.”
“Why not?” Gil took a sip of his coffee, enjoying the mellow flavor.
“Well, first it was because her mom got sick and died, and then there was that business with Glorificus. And after that, Buffy was kind of dead, so, you know, no time to do it.” Clem finished drying the few pieces of silverware, and then he started to put the dishes away. Suddenly alarmed, he said quickly. “Darn it! I wasn’t supposed to say that to anyone!”
“Say what?”
“That Buffy’s dead.” Clem’s agitation increased. “Everyone’s supposed to think she’s still alive.”
“Relax, Clem. Mr. Giles told me she died. It was almost seven weeks ago, right?” He wondered if a pat on the back would help soothe the demon. And then he wondered if he had the nerve to try it.
“You know, then?”
“I do -”
“That’s a relief.”
Gil narrowed his eyes. “I don’t understand how a secret like that could be kept. Won’t people miss seeing her around?”
“Not with the Buffybot doing patrols,” he said happily.
“The -”
“Anyway,” Clem continued, “like I was saying, I never got a chance to be introduced.”
Considering Clem’s tendency to blurt out whatever was on his mind, Gil decided it was time to take greater control over the conversation. “You wouldn’t have been afraid to meet Buffy?”
“Maybe, just a little. Slayers and demons aren’t usually good company. But Spike says she was pretty open-minded. He didn’t think she’d haul off and kill me for no reason.”
Gil said casually, “Spike is a friend of yours, right?”
Clem shrugged. “Yeah. We play kitten poker on Tuesday nights.”
“So Spike’s a demon, too?” Gil took another sip of his coffee in an effort to keep himself from asking about kitten poker.
“He’s a vampire, not a full demon.” Clem’s eyes grew large. “Not that I hold it against him or anything!”
Uncertain how to respond, Gil countered with, “Of course not.”
“It’s just that some of the guys think vampires are kind of trashy.” Clem looked mildly embarrassed at the admission. “I don’t think they are. I mean, if I did, I wouldn’t hang out with Spike, you know?”
Frowning, Gil said, “If Spike is a vampire, how did he get to be friends with Buffy?”
“Oh they weren’t friends!” Clem laughed. “He just helped her out, on account of being in love with her and the whole chip thing.”
“He was in love with her?” Gil entertained the possibility that Clem was actually repeating a plot line from a soap opera.
“Yeah.” With the dishes put away and the counters wiped down, Clem relaxed against the counter. “Most of the guys think Spike is pretty stupid for falling for a Slayer like that, but I think it’s kind of romantic.”
When Clem got lost in his thoughts, Gil brought him back by saying, “So Spike fell in love with Buffy, and he started helping her out?”
“Right!”
“What’s the ‘chip thing’ you mentioned a moment ago?” Gil was being drawn into the narrative despite his reservations about its veracity.
“A while back, the government put a chip in Spike’s head,” Clem said.
Gil blinked at the sudden introduction of the government to the conversation. After a moment, he asked, “What does the chip do?”
Clearly uncomfortable with the question, Clem shifted from foot to foot. “It keeps him from hurting humans, but don’t tell Spike I told you, okay? He gets upset when anyone mentions it.”
“I won’t say a word,” Gil promised. “I want to be sure I understand what you told me, okay?”
Clem responded with a big smile and, “Sure!”
“Spike, a vampire, had a chip put into his head, and that chip keeps him from killing people.” At Clem’s nod, Gil added, “But you said yesterday he was on a demon-killing kick, so that means he was able to help Buffy?”
“Right!”
“And Spike was in love with Buffy.” His coffee had cooled down enough for Gil to take a larger swallow.
“Yep,” Clem said wistfully. “He used to talk about her shampoo-commercial hair all the time.”
After reminding himself to focus, Gil ignored Clem’s last comment and returned to an earlier statement. “What’s Glorificus? Why did it keep you from meeting Buffy?”
Gil noticed that when Clem lost his happy face, all of his skin drooped at the same time. “She was a really mean hellgod. She’s the reason Buffy had to die,” Clem said sadly.
Gently, Gil prompted him with, “I don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do either. Whenever Spike tries to explain, he just starts crying again.” Clem shuffled his feet. “All I know is that Buffy had to die to save the world and that Spike blames himself for not getting up to the tower in time.”
~*~*~
Gil sat at the single computer in the library, looking through the electronic catalogue to see what was on the shelves. Though his conversation with Clem had given him a great deal to think about, he wanted to let the information sit for a while. Reading Newton’s Treatise on Magic and Science would keep him occupied in the meanwhile. With the help of the catalogue, he located the book - a modern day reprint - and headed back to the bedroom to sit vigil in case - when - Rupert had a nightmare.
There wasn’t a chair in the room, but Gil didn’t really see the need for one. Rupert was lying on top of the covers along one side of the bed, and there was more than enough room for Gil to stretch out along the other side. When he found his comfort zone, he opened the book and began to read.
He was asleep in less than ten minutes.
~*~*~
Rupert dreamt.
Worse, Rupert knew he dreamt, yet he was unable to stop the dream or even direct it.
Helpless, he relived his last fight with Buffy, remembering again that she’d never actually said she didn’t hate him. He watched as she beat Glory down then walked off when Ben emerged. He felt the young man’s fruitless struggle as he suffocated him, and then he looked up when he realized that the portal had opened. His legs twitched restlessly as his dream entered the final scene - Buffy’s run to the edge of the platform and - “Buffy, NO!”
The shout woke Gil up just in time for him to see Rupert launch himself from the bed, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt more inadequate than he did in that moment. Gil moved off the bed slowly. “Rupert?”
Rupert made a visible effort to control himself. “I’m fine.”
“Excuse me?” When Rupert opened his mouth to speak, Gil said, “No, I heard you the first time. I just have a hard time understanding why you think I’m a complete idiot.”
“I -” Blinking in confusion, Rupert said, “What are you talking about? I never said that.”
“Really?” Gil raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure? Because that’s the only reason I can think of for you to lie to me.”
Rupert shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t -”
“You just said you were fine.” Gil got close enough to turn Rupert to face the mirror over the dresser. “Look at yourself. You’re about as far from fine as anyone I’ve seen.”
Shaking Gil off, Rupert backed away. “Leave me alone, Gil.”
“No.”
“It was just a nightmare. That’s all.” Rupert took another step back.
Gil frowned, and stepping forward, he said, “Right. Just a nightmare - about someone you loved jumping to her death.”
Shaking with reaction to the dream and anger at Gil, Rupert clenched his jaw, saying, “It wasn’t like that. What she did -”
“- saved the world, I know. But -”
“But nothing. You don’t understand. You never will.”
Gil could see Rupert was reaching his breaking point. He knew Catherine or Nick would be a hell of a lot better at this than he was, but neither of them was there at the moment. In any event, he had a feeling the other man would appreciate bluntness more than kind words and sympathetic looks.
“I may not understand everything about your life, but I understand a hell of a lot about death. No matter how much you pretty it up, she still committed suicide.”
“No!” Rupert backed up to the wall. “She sacrificed her life for this world. If not for her -”
“- we’d all be dead.” Gil remained where he was. “She still killed herself.”
“She didn’t!” Rupert swept his arm back, hitting the wall above the night stand. Gil fought not to wince at the dull thud of impact. “She didn’t kill herself.”
“She did,” he said deliberately, maintaining his poker face and distance for the time being.
“She did not!”
“Deliberate suicide - and she did it in front of you,” Gil said, wondering if he was going to get his nose broken for his trouble.
“She left me, damn her!” At the expletive, Rupert’s fist slammed into and through the wall. His breaking point finally reached, he fell to his knees, each sob sounding as if it were being violently wrenched from him.
Gil took a deep breath and went to him. He got his arms around Rupert, and murmuring the soothing noises he recalled his mother making when he was a child, helped the other man up to the bed. Though he rolled away, Gil followed, catching him and holding him close. Eventually, Rupert gave up struggling against Gil’s embrace and accepted the offer of comfort.
It was another hour before he expelled the worst of his grief and fell asleep.
~*~*~
When Rupert awoke, it was to the realization that for the first time in months, he felt at peace with the world around him. That he was also cuddled up next to - draped half across, actually - a warm, solid body with a strong, steady heart beat was simply icing on the cake.
Feeling no immediate need to move from away his very comfortable pillow, Rupert splayed his hand across Gil’s stomach. When there was no response, he curled his fingers into a loose fist, leaving his index finger free to trace the vibrant patterns on the shirt. As he let his mind drift, he luxuriated in the simple pleasure of waking up in another person’s arms.
Not much later, his pillow finally stirred, and Rupert raised his head slightly to look at him. Fresh from sleep, Gil’s walls were down, and he found the open, vulnerable look in his eyes to be very appealing.
His voice rough from his earlier excess of grief, Rupert said, “I take it back.”
Caught by surprise, Gil asked, “Take what back?”
Rupert raised himself to get a better view of Gil’s face. “You might just be my type after all,” he said quietly.
His mouth suddenly dry, Gil asked, “Your type?”
“And judging by the dilation of your pupils, the light sheen of sweat on your brow and your quickened breathing, you’re either suffering withdrawal - or I might be your type as well.”
As he stared into Rupert’s eyes, waiting to see what would happen next, Gil held his breath, even as his pulse sped up. The memory of his conversation with Phillip resurfaced, and he was finally able to agree that yes, there probably was something to the fact that he’d imagined Phillip was matchmaking.
Rupert’s gaze was intense as he said, “I’d rather like to kiss you right now, but I don’t want to frighten you into running off.”
Gil swallowed hard. “What makes you think I’d run?”
“The hint of panic in your eyes speaks volumes,” Rupert said with a gentle smile before he rolled away and stood up to stretch. “It’s amazing what a few hours of sleep can do for one’s disposition. I think I’ll see if the ocean is as warm as Wolfram and Hart claims it is.”
Rupert left the room without a backward glance or even a swimsuit, and Gil stared at the empty doorway, wondering what the hell just happened.
Part 12