Disclaimer: Of course it's not mine. And if you look carefully, I don't even mention the show that I, by the way, don't own. Hee Hee. Oh, and also, I'm sure Sylvester Stallone is a nice man who would never hurt Sara or Grissom. Oops, said their names. Don't own them.

The prompt for this story: Anal rape. OK, that's a lie. I just happen to use that phrase or variation of such WAY too many times in this story. Mea culpa.

A/N: The following is an attempt to reason why we, as GSR fans, shouldn't get bent out of shape about what the future might hold for our dynamic-romantic duo. I'm not saying I have a crystal ball, but why not be a little optimistic. Sure, we know it won't go smoothly, but why think it will all go down to shit? It will only depress us. If it does go to shit, so be it. So, without further ado... enjoy.

•••••••••

Despite being on the edge of consciousness, he could feel every blow, smack and kick to his body. The trio was relentless from the moment they boldly entered the front door of the criminologist's apartment.

Then they pounded and pounded and pounded on his 52-year-old body. His sweat and blood stung his cobalt blue eyes and he felt a mixture of the two as it trickled down his bearded jaw line.

He didn't think it could get worse. Then he heard the men say something and his trousers being torn off.

They had nightsticks. He knew that from the beatings. But he wasn't sure if they would use those to fuck him or just use what God gave them…

•••••••••

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" said writer Philip Beck as he interrupted the actor's monologue. "Am I hearing you right? You want your character to be anally raped?"

"Well, it's a thought," said the elegantly, yet casually, dressed actor. "Something different so I could go out with a bang."

The two men sat in Beck's small office with another writer, who was diligently writing down every word the actor said. Beck really wished he wouldn't.

"Emmy material," said the dumbass second writer who got a nod of approval from the actor. "Of all the characters on the show, his really hasn't been seriously attacked or shot, and no one's been anally raped. So we are in uncharted territory, my friends."

"You know, there are other ways to go out with a bang, rather than anal rape," Beck said, … well, pleaded.

The actor took a couple of Doritos from the worn 2-pound bag. "Don't you guys have anything healthy, like fruit?"

"We're writers, not TV stars," Beck said, snatching the bag. "Why don't we go back to that bed and breakfast you use as a trailer and get some damn fruit from there."

"So sensitive," the actor said as he grabbed some more Doritos. "And if you think I'm ever having you vampire writers back in my trailer again, forget it. The last time one of you guys hid in the closet and stayed the weekend there. I never knew one person could watch that much pay-per-view porn in two days."

"OK, can we get back to the anal rape scene," Beck said. "Explain to me why your character would (a) deserve to get anally raped, and (b) logically have a story line that would get him anally raped by a trio of thugs."

The actor sat back in his chair, with his manicured, 129 leather flip-flopped feet resting on the writer's 129 clearance-Office Depot desk. "I'm thinking he's pissed someone off."

"That's good," the sycophant writer replied and was going to write that down, until Beck knocked the pen out of his hand.

"And who did he piss off?" Beck asked.

"I don't know…"

"The fiancée!" the other writer said.

The actor removed his feet from on top of the desk and sat up straight. "Yes! She could have hired the thugs to come into the apartment. That's how they got in so easy."

The writer was in full "getting a boner" creative mode. "Right! And she's pissed at him because he cheated on her while she was away…"

"With the dominatrix," the actor said.

"OH GOD! That's perfect!"

The actor got out his phone and quickly sent a text message. The writer feverishly scribed his award-winning thoughts. "Your character has a torrid affair with the dominatrix, and the fiancée finds out because she happens to go to Walgreen's where she sees the dominatrix tell the pharmacist that she needs condoms because she's going to have wild monkey sex with blah blah and she says your character's name in the fiancée's ear shot."

Beck once again knocked the pen out of his fellow writer's hand. "First of all, who the hell tells the name of their wild monkey sex partner to a Walgreen's pharmacist! That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"What! Call it poetic license or whatever. It works!"

"No it doesn't," Beck said, clearly flustered. "Sir, please. You can't possibly be serious about this … the fans… they've been so loyal. Are you sure we should go this really, tragic and ludicrous route?"

"I just wanted to spice things up," the actor said with a sigh. "It's been a long nine years."

"I know that, I really do, but I'm thinking anal rape… it might be a little… I don't know … extreme," Beck said, not sure if he is getting through to the usually easy-going man. "But if that's what you want… You know… we usually get the 'method-acting' directors for an episode like this. He probably would want you to actually get anally raped, you know for realism…"

Suddenly all color left the actor's face. "You know, maybe there are other avenues than anal rape."

At that point another actor, of the female persuasion, entered the room. "Oh, who's getting anally raped?"

The second banana write spoke up. "This guy! What a trooper! He's going to get that gold statue for sure!"

She stood next to her television second half. "Here's the fruit basket you asked about from your trailer. Oh! Doritos!" She took the bag above her mouth and funneled the remaining contents in her mouth.

The three men looked at her in fascination and disgust. "You sure you should be doing that?" her fellow actor said.

She wiped the dried nacho cheese residue from her mouth. "What? No harm in gaining a few pounds. Aren't there rumors I'm supposed to be pregnant?"

She resumed her tortilla funnel but still heard one of them reply, "Umm, that's not even close to being decided."

She merely shrugged and put her hand on her co-star's shoulder, "Well, you would still love me if I put a little extra meat on my bones, right babe?"

He flashed those 600,000 per ep baby blues at her, "Only if you forgive me if I get a little crazy with another woman."

The "Doritos doll" laughed. "Yeah, like you'd come back to me! You know what they say, 'Once you go Heather you'll be hurtin' for more leather!'"

"Come on you two," Beck said, exasperated with the actors' attitudes. "Shouldn't we be thinking about an ending where the two of you… you know… go off in the sunset… dare I say… happy. I mean both your characters have been through hell."

"You aren't doing this to play down to that GSR crowd, are you?" the actress said.

"Now, wait a minute," the actor said. "I know what you're saying… missing the days when GSR meant 'gun shot residue.' But Beck might have a point. I mean, they are loyal and they buy a shit-ton of DVDs."

"Exactly," Beck agreed. "Plus, you are talking about keeping a cool status quo to preserve advertising dollars. I'm thinking revenge-driven anal rape conspired by a jilted lover who left with nothing but a note a year ago might be a little dicey to play with."

"What if I just forgo the revenge factor and just leave him?" the actress asked.

Everyone in the room stayed quiet. Then the actor spoke. "Well, if we were to do that, it might be just as devastating as getting anally raped."

"I think so," Beck said, with a smile on his face. "They finally understood," he thought.

But the other writer wasn't so happy. He stood up and pulled Beck by the arm. "Could you two fine actors excuse us writers for just a second."

He pulled Beck out of the office and whispered in his face. "Are you crazy?! Off in the sunset all happy and shit? Do you know how much angst mileage we could get from these anal rape scenes?"

"What is with you?" Beck said, pulling his arm from the other writer's grasp. "Why are you so jazzed about these scenes? ... Wait a minute. … Oh Christ. It was YOU in the trailer! You're the mysterious porn-watching writer! 11 pornos? Jesus, man, get a life!"

"OK! Shut up! Maybe so… but that doesn't change the fact that some of this shit is good."

"Dude, do you realize the fervor and loyalty of these GSR fans? You ever see 'Misery,' when Kathy Bates tortures the shit out of James Caan because he was a writer who killed off the main character in his novels? Ever seen that, genius? You don't think GSR fans are capable of doing the exact same thing to us if we hurt their precious G and S?"

"Beck, calm down," the other writer said.

"I'm serious! These fans mean business. We shouldn't risk the their wrath!"

"Listen to me very carefully," the writer said, looking over his shoulders to make sure they are alone. "If the GSR fans go after anyone, they'll turn on Rambo, head GSR-writer extraordinaire. Of course a couple of them might go after Sylvester Stallone by mistake, but if they do go after our Rambo, that would make YOU the lead writer on the show."

They looked at each other and Beck seemed in deep thought.

Then he quickly shot back into his office.

"So folks," Beck said clapping his hands and a big smile on his face. "Why don't we try to nail down this anal rape scene?!"

END

--

A/N: If Grissom ends up getting anally raped, I am going to feel a little guilty. Thanks to Pro Writer 11 (not to be confused with porn-watching writer of 11 pornos).