Just one Kiss
A first time story. Slash. Gil & Greg.
Romance.
OMG. When I originally posted this story, I wrote Louise instead of Lois. Sorry!
Spoiler: Kiss, kiss, bye, bye. In this episode Lois O'Neil, a former chorus girl, is killed. She was known as the 'double-kiss girl' because, as Greg explains to Grissom, "You can't say her name without kissing twice: Lois O'Neil" he says, pursing his lips and emphasising each 'O', "Kiss-kiss," he shrugs, "X-X".
Grissom stares attentively at Greg, as if he still doesn't understand or as if this is the first time he hears any of this. ( I have another explanation ).
Later in the investigation, Greg makes some discoveries of his own, and when Grissom makes a comment, Greg happily replies, 'Right-O, daddy-O.' (another double-kiss?)
'Toni C.' was O'Neil's ganster boyfriend.
The episode ends as Greg puts on a hat and leaves, while Grissom picks up a book. This is what happened next.
The story's told from Grissom's POV.
It had been a long day, and it was towards the end that I finally returned to my office. I was clearing my desk, when I saw the book that Lois O'Neil had given to Greg. I opened it and read, on the first page, "To Greg: The best is yet to come," and recognized Lois's handwriting.
It seemed sadly ironic, that Lois O'Neil had written this, since she'd been planning her own demise all along.
I was musing on this when Greg entered my office.
He was wearing a suit, (the one he keeps at the lab for Court appearances) and a hat that seemed taken out of one of Tony C's wardrobes. He looked like a character from a gansters' movie. Reading Lois O'Neil's book had turned him into a fan of fifties lore, but now it seemed that he was taking it too far.
"Hey, Greg." I said. "Nice hat." I said.
"Thanks," He said good-naturedly, "I see you're reading Lois O'Neil's book."
"You left it here, so -"
"It's ok. By the way, do you know how much this book could get me on E-bay? Five thousand. I checked. It's one of only two or three that she autographed."
"And?"
"And... nothing." He shrugged. "I'm not gonna sell it. I'm gonna keep it and save it for a rainy day. Or I'll will it to my children." He added.
I smiled.
He stepped closer to my desk.
"Listen," he said, "I was going out for a drink. Do you wanna come?"
"Uh?" I frowned.
"A drink?" he repeated, "You know –whisky on the rocks… Gin and Tonic… Tequila with a little salt…" he paused, expectantly. When I didn't reply, he added, "I'm buying."
"Well... I..." I hesitated. I was fishing around for an excuse not to go, when all I had to do was tell the truth, "I'm on call tonight." I said.
"So? Let's go anyway." He smiled encouragingly, "Look, I was thinking... Maybe we could do something in Lois O'Neil's memory. It's not like we're gonna get invited to her funeral, right? And we kind of liked her."
"Kind of." I muttered.
"Exactly." He nodded, "So why don't we go and have a drink, and... I don't know, make a toast, or something? Her favorite cocktail was a thing called Between-the-Sheets, by the way. Never heard of it before, but I suppose I could order one in her memory. If the bartender knows the receipe." he added almost to himself. He looked at me, "So, what do you think? Do you wanna come?"
"No."
"No?" he frowned.
"No… thank you?" I added as an afterthought.
"You don't want to have a drink with me? How come?"
"I have work to do." I said in a slightly patronizing tone.
"The night shift is still an hour away," he retorted in a slightly patronizing tone of his own.
"I'm busy, Greg." I said firmly.
Greg looked at me for a moment, and then he shrugged slightly.
"Fine." He said. "Enjoy the book." He added, and then he was gone.
I shook my head. Toasting a dead criminal was a first.
And yet, Greg was right; I'd kind of liked Lois O'Neil, and I was sorry for her. And, just like he'd pointed out, I wasn't on call yet –I didn't even have to be there. Being on call meant that I could go home or go to the movies, waiting for a summons.
I could even go have a drink – a non-alcoholic drink, of course.
A drink, I thought. Why not? Maybe going out would clear my head.
With this thought in mind, I picked my cell phone and my pager. I reached for Greg's book too, but I didn't take it. If Greg wanted to turn this book into an heirloom, then he better keep it in a drawer.
I walked to a coffee shop a few blocks away from the lab. My favorite; since it's not hugely popular, I can always count on getting a table all to myself.
Unsurprisingly, the shop was half-empty.
I ordered my coffee and looked around, even though I knew the place by heart. It hadn't changed in fifteeen years –not the furniture, nor the color on the walls and the posters that hung on them.
And certainly, not the music: New artists and styles had come and gone but they never made their way into this shop. The owner had stuck to her favorite era: the seventies. Early seventies, she would quickly point out, before anybody inquired about Disco music.
Abby, the owner, was behind the counter that night. She handed me the coffee and a slip of paper, asking me to fill it out.
I glanced at it; 'We would like to hear from you!' it said, followed by a list of questions. Since I hadn't brought anything to read with me, I was grateful to have something to do while I drank my coffee.
I sat at my favorite table, picked a pen from my shirt pocket, and quickly scanned the list, looking for the one question that I wanted to answer: Do you want us to change anything in this coffee shop -Yes or No? My answer being a resounding NO.
But Abby had made things more complicated than this; she had provided multiple-choice answers hersef, and they ranged from 'Bad' to 'Excellent,' with little boxes to fill.
The questions were very specific, too: did I like the posters on the walls? The paint on the ceiling? The music? Well, since most of the posters were authentic 70s memorabilia, (Pink Floyd was one of her favorites) I immediately put an X on "Excellent."
But writing that first X immediately reminded me of the large X-X that Lois O'Neil, the Double-Kiss girl, had drawn under her signature in Greg's book.
And thinking of Greg and the double-kiss girl inevitably reminded me of the lengthy explanation he'd given me shortly after Lois's death.
And I say inevitably, because, well, who would forget the way his mouth puckered to form the two perfect Os in her name? Hell, his whole face changed as he said, 'Lois O'Neill'.
And for an insane moment, I just stood there, as if hypnotized, thinking, 'Two kisses. Mmmh.'
It was over very quickly, of course. I probably would not even remember it, if that had been the end of it... but it wasn't.
Yesterday, just as I was peacefully feeding my spider, Greg burst into my office with some information related to Toni C., Lois O'Neil's ganster lover. Greg managed to break a decades-old case, and yet, once he said to me, Right-O, daddy-O', I couldn't think of anything, but the fact that there was another double kiss: Right-O, Daddy-O.
I recovered quickly again, but since then I'd found myself playing those scenes in my mind. And I kept thinking. Thinking and wondering; wondering what it would be like -
I abruptly closed my eyes and shook my head, hoping this would clear my head, but of course it wouldn't work. I kept hearing his voice, and seeing his mouth –
I shook my head again, but now I was more exasperated than worried. I wanted to laugh at myself. I mean, who would have thought? Really, it was about time I stopped thinking like that. It was unfair to think of Greg in those terms. Worst of all, I might just make a fool of myself every time I talked to him.
Maybe if I kept him at a distance for a little while...
But my plans got thwarted.
"There you are."
I looked up. Greg was standing there, smiling at me.
TBC