HEROES
Spoiler Who shot Sherlock?
SLASH, PWP, ROMANCE, HUMOR, ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP.
Greg passes his final proficiency test and the night shift celebrates... Without Gil.
The story's told from Gil's POV and it starts a few hours after Who shot Sherlock? ended.
It was six O'clock in the morning, and my shift had ended a few minutes before. I turned off the lights in my office, locked it, and then I went looking for Greg. It was my turn to buy breakfast.
I glanced into each and every lab, peered into the break room and the locker room... but there was no sign of him.
It was then that I realized that none of my CSIs were around, and that the only technicians around were members of the day shift who had arrived early.
The lab was strangely quiet.
I paged Greg and then I paged my other CSIs, but no one acknowledged me. The last time I saw them, they'd been happily drinking champagne to celebrate that Greg had passed his final proficiency test. So it was possible that they had continued the party somewhere else. Their cars were still in the parking lot, however, and that meant they were still somewhere in the premises.
I frowned. I'd looked everywhere –of that I was sure. The only place left was the Morgue-
I smiled to myself. Of course. People tend to avoid the Morgue when they're on the clock, but once they're off, somehow they gravitate towards it. There are all those empty rooms that get used only on emergencies...
Acting on my hunch, I went downstairs. The Morgue was strangely quiet, but I gradually became aware of a slight hum coming from somewhere close. To my surprise, the noise didn't come from any of the rooms, but from Albert's office. The closer I got, the more I realized that the hum was actually the steady beat of a rock and roll song.
I opened the door and encountered a never-before-scene: There was only one light on –the one on Albert's desk- and was focused on Al Robbins, our venerable coroner, who was playing the guitar and singing a rock song in a manner that would have made Roger Daltry proud. For reasons of safety, he has wedged between his desk and a chair, but he was still a sight to behold.
And his audience was appreciative. Most of the night shift technicians and CSIs were there, sitting on the floor and listening raptly. And Greg was right in the middle, in what looked like the place of honor.
When Albert finished the song, they applauded loudly.
"Thank you, thank you," He said. He handed the guitar to David, and then he looked around, "Now, what about some bubbly for this thirsty troubadour?"
"Sorry, Doc," Nick said, holding a bottle of champagne upside down, "It's gone."
"Well, how about buying some more?" Albert asked, and they all started patting their pockets in search of money.
"This one's on me," Greg said.
"Nah, kid. You're the guest of honor." Robbins smiled and then, in a surprisingly mawkish voice he added, "I still remember when you first came to the lab –a skinny kid with a mohawk haircut- and now you're our new CSI. It's a tough career," he added solemnly, "I only hope you'll last longer than some of the guys who -"
All right; maybe it was time to intervene.
"Excuse me," I said loudly, and turned on the lights.
Funny; they reacted just like cockroaches do when one turns a light: They scattered around the room, frantically –and clumsily- looking for a place to hide. Once they realized there was no such place, however, they stopped. Or maybe they simply remembered they were adults, not little kids misbehaving in the family room.
Too bad the first thing I said made me sound just like a stern father. "Am I interrupting something?"
They started muttering all sort of apologies and excuses, but Amy was the only one who spoke clearly and soberly.
"Sir, we just wanted to celebrate Greg's promotion -"
"I see." I said calmly. "Well. I think the celebration has lasted long enough." I looked around, "The day shift started a half-hour ago, so it's time for us to go home. Oh, and," I looked around, "I suggest that all of you find somebody else to drive you home."
They sheepishly walked to the door and I stood aside to let them pass.
Catherine purposefully remained behind, and took me aside before leaving.
"Don't be too harsh on Greg, Gil." She said, tilting her head towards the entrance.
I turned; Greg was hovering in the hallway.
"It was our idea," she continued, "Not his."
"But you didn't force him to drink, did you?" I retorted.
She sighed in exasperation and left. She patted Greg's arm in commiseration.
I closed the door behind her and turned to Albert –Albert, whom I'd always considered the voice of reason in this place.
"Shame on you." I said deliberately.
"I don't know what you mean," he replied with great dignity. He picked up his guitar and placed it behind his desk. His movements weren't very steady.
"Do you need a lift?" I asked.
"I'm not drunk," he retorted. "I can drive." He glanced at me, "But first, I'm gonna take a nap."
"Where?" I frowned.
He looked incredulously at me.
"Gil, there are dozens of gurneys and slabs in the next room. Where do you think I'm gonna lie down?"
"You're cranky when you drink," I scowled. I watched as he walked to the next room. "Careful." I called out just before he closed the door behind him, "The day shift coroner might not realize there's a live one there."
"That's not funny." He called back.
Greg was still in the hallway. I didn't stop to talk; I made my way to the stairs, forcing him to catch up with me. Once we were there I slowed down, mindful of Greg's possible impairment.
"Are you mad at me?" he asked as he carefully took the stairs.
"No, Greg."
"What about the guys, are you mad at them?"
"No."
"They just wanted to do something nice for me -"
"I know."
"I guess we should have gone somewhere else -"
"Maybe."
"But we kinda got carried away."
I stopped.
"Greg, I understand." I said.
"So, you're not going to give them a hard time, are you?"
"No," I said. There was really no point in scolding them. They would feel bad enough in a few hours, depending on the amount of alcohol they'd ingested. "I'm not mad, Greg; I know the people I work with –I know they would never be careless while on duty. But I had to say something; that's what bosses do."
He smiled faintly.
"You know, I kinda missed you back there," he said when we reached the hallway. He glanced around and then lowered his voice to add, "I've heard you sing in the shower. You would have put some of these guys to shame."
When we got to the parking lot, most of our coworkers had already left, except for Catherine, Warrick, and Nick. They were ostentatiously discussing whether to share a cab... but they were also furtively glancing in our direction. And I thought I knew why: They were waiting for Greg, ready to offer support in case the boss chewed his ears off for drinking in the building.
"Look at them," Greg said, staring ahead. "They must think you're giving me a tongue-lashing. Should I use my best contrite expression?"
"You have one?" I retorted. I glanced at him, "Maybe you should go with them."
"Why?" he frowned.
"You're not planning to drive, are you?" I asked.
"Why not? I'm not drunk," he said evenly, "Look," he added, and he extended his arms, closed his eyes, and then he touched the tip of his nose with his left index finger. He opened one eye, "But I'm not entirely sober, either." He admitted. "I feel... giddy."
"Great," I glared.
"Why don't you give me a lift?" he asked.
I sighed.
"Greg -" I started, but he didn't let me go on.
"I know, I know," he said, "We need to be discreet, and that means we can't leave in the same vehicle or even at the same time." He said as if he were reading a list. "Well, it seems one of those rules has just been shot down, Gil. We're leaving at the same time today. And, in case you haven't noticed, we've got a chance to leave in the same car, and in the open too. By giving a lift to your thoroughly impaired coworker, you will simply be doing what everybody expects from a good boss. We'll leave together... And everyone will approve."
Sometimes I wonder how he does it –utter a string of words without needing any oxygen.
But I had to admit that he was right.
"Fine." I said simply. "Get in."
He waved goodbye at our colleagues. He did use a contrite expression, one that said, 'It's ok. He's pissed... but I'll be fine.'
"They're feeling sorry for me right now." He said, as he buckled up.
"I know." I said. "Catherine asked me not to be hard on you, you know"
"Did she?" he asked.
He glanced outside, in time to see Catherine and the guys get into their cab. Without glancing in my direction, he casually laid his hand on my thigh, "She didn't say anything about you not being hard in me, I hope."
My heart skipped a beat. He didn't turn, but he smiled, as if he knew the effect his words had on me.
"Forget breakfast, babe." He said softly. "Let's go straight home."
I drove. Fast.
TBC