A sequel to 'Six Years.' If you want to read it, it's in 'Miscellaneous'. But all you need to know is that when Gil & Greg met at a convention, sparks flew. They didn't know who the other was, but they were immediately attracted to each other.
Unfortunately, before they could say more than 'hello,' someone mentioned the fact that Greg would soon be working in Las Vegas.
And that was the end of it.
Summary: Grissom and Greg find themselves stranded in the desert.
Greg shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked up and down the road.
Nothing.
He'd been standing on the same spot for what felt like hours, hoping to get a glimpse of a car or an helicopter. He was quickly reaching a point where seeing someone in a bicycle would have cheered him up.
He needed to see something –anything- that broke the monotony of the landscape surrounding him. But nothing changed. There was only the desert, the distant cliffs, the sky devoid of clouds, and the sun. His head was beginning to hurt; he was sweating like a pig, and his shirt was stuck to his skin.
Greg glanced at his watch. Nick had been gone for only a couple of hours and would not be back any time soon -unless he miraculously caught up with some rangers, or a citizen armed with better means of communication than a puny cell phone.
Greg shook his head. Who would have thought their little trip would end up this gruesomely? One minute they were driving and taking in the sights; the next, they were confronted with an unexpected crime scene.
Greg glanced at the vehicle parked a few feet away from where he stood. The windows were clouded due to gases oozing from the dead man slumped behind the wheel, making it extremely difficult to see what was inside.
Not that Greg wanted to see it again. Hopefully, he would not have to. After all, he was not in Clark County; someone else would have to deal with this crime scene.
"Thank God." Greg said aloud, and he was surprised at how dry his mouth felt, and how cracked his lips already were.
God, it was hot.
Not for the first time, he wished he'd returned to Las Vegas by plane. Sure, it would have meant ending the trip in a less adventurous way, but at least he would be home by now.
Instead, he'd stuck by Nick and Grissom, who in turn had heeded the advice of a ranger who'd told them about the new museum in Santa Margarita, a small town close to the Grand Canyon.
If they had taken a helicopter things would have turned out fine; but Nick had insisted on driving and, surprisingly, Grissom had agreed, noting how much he'd like to study any insects they might encounter.
Well, Greg was all for getting closer to nature, even if that meant stopping every half-hour to run after some hairy bug. After five hours, however, the novelty had worn off. The trip was turning into a big bore…
…Until they came upon a vehicle that stood in the middle of the road.
This in itself was out of the ordinary; but when they saw that the car was riddled with recent bullet holes, they knew that something was very wrong.
The clincher was the license plate number.
It was a number they'd learned by heart after hearing it mentioned over and over in the news. According to the police, the license plate belonged to a getaway car used in a recent bank robbery.
So, while the Feds were looking for this car up North, the robbers took another road; the least-expected one. Only, it was a road that led to nowhere –at least for the one person inside the car.
Grissom had acted swiftly: He ordered Nick to go get help, while he and Greg stayed behind to prevent any contamination of the crime scene.
While Grissom took steps to preserve the evidence, Greg's main concern was on their own lives, which was the reason he had a gun in his pocket. The ranger at the last post insisted on giving it to them as a precaution, and Greg didn't hesitate to take it.
If the bad guys decide to come back, he would be prepared.
"If I'm still alive," Greg muttered, wiping the sweat off his face.
He looked over his shoulder in Grissom's direction.
Grissom was sitting inside the makeshift tent they'd put up under a mesquite tree. He was reading, and he looked calm and comfortable, just as if he was in some luxury beach resort and not in the middle of the desert.
Greg scowled. It was the tenth time he'd turned to look at Grissom, and so far he hadn't caught his boss in the act of checking him out.
Greg was disappointed.
He'd been standing here, silhouetted against the clear sky, with his clothes nicely hugging his body, and not once had Grissom even looked in his direction.
It was frustrating for Greg; if the roles had been changed and Grissom had stood here, the young man would have certainly taken a long look.
"Not that there would be much to see," Greg mused aloud. With Grissom's baggy clothes covering his body the way they did, practically everything was left to the imagination.
But Greg had a fertile imagination.
Greg shook his head again.
It was at times like this that he wondered if his initial perception of Grissom had been correct. They'd met six years earlier in a convention, and Greg still recalled his first impression of the man who would become his boss.
Mostly, he remembered the attraction that seemed to sizzle between them as they exchanged their first hello. Greg still believed they would have ended in one or the other's bedroom, if someone hadn't mentioned that they would soon be coworkers.
Once Grissom realized that he was going to be Greg's boss, forget it. From then on, Grissom kept his distance and Greg acted accordingly.
Still, there were times when they talked and a sort of flirting ensued, and Greg couldn't help but wonder if Grissom still remembered their first encounter, and if he regretted not taking a chance.
Then today, when Grissom sent Nick to Santa Margarita, Greg wondered if there was some ulterior motive behind this decision. For the young man, the possibility of being alone with Grissom in the middle of the desert was exciting, filled with possibilities.
Now, he wasn't so sure.
Greg glanced at Grissom again.
The man was engrossed by his book.
'Oh, well,' Greg thought.
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TBC