Sweet Nothings

Slash, Gil & Greg. Established relationship.

Summary: Even guys like to hear sweet nothings now and then.

Greg watched as Mandy Webster, the fingerprint expert, gave a last look at the file open in front of her.

"Come on, come on," he muttered.

She signed the report with a flourish, and then handed it to him.

"There you go," she said, "Take it to the boss. Oh, and don't forget to -"

"Thanks, Mandy!" Greg shot out of the lab without waiting for the rest. In the rush, he almost collided with a group of temps standing idly in a corner. "Sorry!" he muttered, then kept on going. A couple of years ago he would have probably stopped to talk to the girls, probably flirt with them –but not anymore. He was a CSI now; time was precious. He had a report, and taking it to its final destination seemed like a matter of life and death to him.

Lab technicians and other CSIs who'd seen him act like this before pressed themselves against the walls or simply ducked back into their labs. They'd learned the hard way not to get in the way of Greg Sanders when he looked like this.

Greg muttered a few 'thanks' now and then, but he wasn't really aware of the people he encountered; he was too busy thinking of Grissom. He was wondering what Gil's reaction was gonna be when he realized that Greg had managed to break the Andersen murder case -the first he'd got to work solo.

Grissom often said that a truly great man shouldn't seek anybody's approval but his own, but hey, that was easy for him to say. He was Grissom; whose approval did he really need? But for the people working for him it was a different matter; everybody, from the lowest lab tech to the highest CSI would always strive to get his approval. It was inevitable.

Now in Greg's case, it wasn't just the boss' approval he sought –it was the lover's too. He wanted to make Gil proud; he wanted to impress him. Truth to be told, it seemed that Grissom liked to be impressed. He didn't say much on those occasions, but the smile he gave Greg was eloquent enough. And the look in his eyes… There was admiration in those blue eyes of his. Pride.

A little lust, too.

Thinking of all this only fueled Greg's determination to get to Gil's office before anyone else did. He practically flew around the corner, only to skid to a halt as he came face to face with one man who would hardly step aside for him. Warrick Brown.

"Hey," Brown said cordially, "Where's the fire?"

Greg waved the file in Warrick's face.

"I got a match to Andersen's fingerprints!"

"Already?" Warrick frowned. "But I handed my evidence to Mandy way before you did!"

Greg shrugged.

"Yeah, well. That's what happens when you get married, my friend. The girls no longer care about you."

Actually, he'd done some of the work involved in order to get his results so quickly, but he wasn't about to mention that. He walked around Warrick, "Gotta take this to the boss," he announced, waving the folder in the air.

He rushed once again, only to come to an abrupt halt.

Grissom had a visitor.

Even from a distance, Greg could easily see Catherine Willows through the half-open blinds. She seemed perfectly at ease, talking animatedly to Grissom.

Greg groaned in disappointment. This was not good. When it came to those two, a meeting could take anything from five minutes to an hour. They were coworkers and friends; they always had plenty to talk about.

There was only one thing for him to do now.

Eavesdrop.

Not that he'd ever called it eavesdropping; he considered more like 'fact-checking.' If it sounded like they were discussing a big case, then he'd go straight to the break room; if it sounded like they were wrapping things up, then he'd try to hang around for a while.

All he had to do was walk slowly past Grissom's door with ears perked up and eyes fixed on the file on his hand. He'd done it countless times before.

"Here we go," he muttered to himself.

All along, Greg assumed he'd be hearing something related to work; maybe even something about Catherine's daughter. Instead, he heard Catherine say, a little wistfully, "You're happy, then." And Grissom reply, in his quiet, understated way, "I am."

Greg almost froze in mid-step. That didn't sound like work; it sounded like… Like Grissom was discussing his love life. Greg mechanically kept on going, then slowed down until he came to a complete halt. Without thinking, he retraced a couple of steps until he was close enough to peer inside Gil's office again.

Through the blinds he could see Gil smile and nod at something Catherine was saying.

Greg hesitated; he needed to hear the rest of the conversation but he couldn't very well keep walking past Gil's door. In the end, he resorted to one of the oldest tricks in the world: he pretended he needed to retie his shoes. He crouched down, propped the file against the wall, and then slowly started retying his shoes, all while straining his ears to hear what was going on inside.

"I never thought it would be like this," Grissom was saying. "He's my angel. I've learned more from him about being a human being in the last two years than I learned in the first fifty."

'Wow,' Greg thought, his heart starting to beat faster. He didn't know Gil felt so strongly about him or that he could even admit it out loud. Gil could be quite demonstrative as a lover, but when it came to actually saying things, well… he just wouldn't.

Until now.

It was thrilling to hear it but a bit troubling, too. Greg always assumed they'd be keeping their relationship private, and here was Gil spilling his guts to a coworker. And this irked him too; why did Grissom tell all these things to Catherine, instead of telling them to him?

He was still mulling over this when Catherine herself came out of the office.

Greg scrambled to his feet and faced her.

"Hey, Greg," she said.

Suddenly tongue-tied, Greg merely nodded. Catherine smiled; a friendly, every-day smile, thank God. For a moment Greg was afraid she would pull him aside and start questioning him about Grissom, or congratulate him, or something. But Catherine was the soul of discretion. She didn't even stop to talk.

Seeing her walk away, Greg finally managed a greeting.

"Hi, Catherine," he mumbled. "Bye, Catherine," he added as an afterthought. He watched her walk briskly down the hall.

Once she was out of sight he went into Grissom's office.

"Hey, Grissom," he greeted. He took a seat without waiting for an invitation.

Gil looked up.

"Any break in the Andersen case?"

'Well, good evening to you too, my angel,' Greg thought ironically. Aloud, he said, "As a matter of fact, there is." He couldn't help sounding smug as he added, "We got a match to Andersen's fingerprints," and he handed over his report.

"That was fast," Gil mumbled as he started to read.

Greg started fidgeting. He just couldn't wait for Grissom to finish the report so they could talk. He couldn't wait to hear Grissom say the word 'angel' to his face.

Or any other word, for that matter.

Ironically, back when they first got involved, Greg's biggest fear was that Grissom would find it easier to talk than to do things, and that he would be wasting their few hours together quoting phrases from old songs and poems. When Gil showed himself to be just the opposite, he was relieved; so relieved, that the fact that Grissom had some difficulty expressing his feelings didn't really bother him. He considered just another of Gil's little quirks.

But as time passed, he started to feel cheated. After all, even guys like to hear a word every now and then; some little term of endearment –anything. Even words quoted from a book or a song.

But Gil didn't talk; and since he didn't talk, Greg didn't, either.

'But that's going to change now,' Greg thought. He cleared his throat.

"So," he said, "You've got an angel, huh?"

Gil glanced at him over the top of his glasses.

"Did you hear that?"

"Yeah. It's not like you were whispering, you know."

"Huh." Gil held Greg's gaze for a couple of seconds, and then looked down at the report again. A picture had caught his attention; in fact, he was so mesmerized by whatever he saw in it, he reached for a magnifier to take a closer look.

Greg waited for a couple of minutes, and then tried again.

"To tell you the truth, I was kind of surprised."

"About?" Gil asked, his eyes still on the picture.

"This angel thing. I mean, I'm ok with it if you are ok with it, but… I don't know. I just assumed you'd want to keep it secret. I mean, most of the guys here are cool but some of them might not understand."

"It's all right," Gil replied without looking up. "I don't care what anyone says."

"You don't?" Greg was impressed. Gil's attitude took a lot of guts. "You really wouldn't mind if they started talking?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," Gil muttered.

Greg frowned. "It would not?"

"They talked plenty when I had a spider," Gil explained morosely. "They said I was too attached to her; they said I was spoiling her -"

"Your spider -"

"–so, no," Gil added testily, "I don't care what they say about me and my dog."

"Your DOG?" Greg blurted out, his eyes bulging. "You were talking about your DOG?"

Gil looked up.

"Yes," he said innocently. "Why? Who did you think I was talking about?"

"I thought you-"

But he caught himself on time. Oh, no way. No way was he going to admit the truth, here. Since he didn't know what else to say, though, he remained with his mouth half-open in mid-word for what felt like an eternity before he could finally manage a word.

"I… thought it was your dog," he said brazenly. "I mean, yeah, I knew it was Bruno you were talking about. I was just surprised you'd want to talk about him. With Catherine, I mean. She doesn't keep pets, does she?"

"It's all right," Grissom said distractedly. It was obvious he couldn't wait to go back to the report, but just as he was looking down again, Greg spoke.

"But hearing you talk about Bruno's got me wondering," he said, and he waited until Grissom looked up again. "If he's your angel, then what am I?"

Grissom didn't miss a beat.

"You are about to be late for the autopsy," he said simply.

Greg didn't move.

"Autopsy?" he repeated in confusion.

"Sam Andersen's autopsy," Gil said matter-of-factly. When Greg didn't react, he lifted the report he'd been reading, "The man whose death you're investigating? You begged Doc Robbins to do the autopsy first thing tonight, remember?"

Greg jumped from his seat.

"Shit!" he blurted out, "I forgot about it!" He was about to turn to the door, but the sight of Grissom calmly picking his magnifier again made him stop. He stared at Gil in disbelief. Gil had craftily evaded his question!

He didn't want to let him get away with it but on the other hand, he did have an autopsy to go to. Like Gil said, he'd begged the Doc to do Andersen first. Without the coroner's report, the case was incomplete.

It was a hard decision to make, but duty came first.

Resigned, he turned to go.

"Hey, Greg?"

Greg looked back only reluctantly. Right now, he was not a fan of Gil Grissom's.

"What?"

"We're still up for breakfast, aren't we?"

Greg wanted to say, 'hell, no!' but the eager look on Gil's face completely disarmed him.

"Yeah," Greg said. "Blueberry Hill, Seven O'clock. Your treat, remember?" He waved a warning finger in Gil's direction.

"Of course," Gil said solemnly.

Greg smiled despite himself.

"See ya later, then," he said good-naturedly.

He shook his head as he let the office. He just couldn't stay mad at Gil.

--

Grissom kept his gaze on the door even after Greg disappeared from sight.

"See you later," he said softly. He hesitated for a second, then added, "Sweetheart." The word sounded odd to his ears, almost as if it were in a foreign language.

His lips parted again. "Honey," he said, more confidently this time. "Baby… Love of my life..."

He smiled ruefully.

Hopefully, one day he'd have the guts to say even one of those words.

The End

Thanks to Mr. WP, who provided the words. He said, 'He's my angel…' And yes, he was talking about his dog.