Love Without Mercy
--by Egon Starcollector
Disclaimer: I don't own 'CSI' or its characters, so there's no way I'd make any money. :)
Rated: PG for sensuality and adult humor.
There was P.M., and there was A.M. Pre-Mercy and After-Mercy. Greg couldn't remember Pre-Mercy anymore. He didn't even try.
Mercy. Her ash-blonde hair swinging in a braid that almost seemed alive...or loose and flowing through Greg's fingers as he combed it. Mercy. Her violet eyes sparkling with laughter...brimming (oh horror!) with tears...or glowing with love as she looked up at Greg. Mercy.
He was consumed by her. He had her picture everywhere. He wanted to die in her arms, melt in her kisses so she could absorb him.... He'd never met anyone like her. He'd never loved like this.
He remembered the first time he'd touched her. The electricity between them had almost melted his gloves. And the first time they'd kissed...Greg felt like he was exploding and being reborn in the same instant.
She loved to go hiking by Lake Mead. He'd have followed her anywhere. All she had to do was favor him with that smile...that angelic smile...and he was wrapped around her delicate finger.
The first Christmas after they met, the graveyard shift CSIs had gone to a club so Grissom and Eckley wouldn't get into another fight at the department party. Nick had persuaded Grissom to let Greg come along--so naturally Mercy came too.
Sara, surprisingly, was the designated driver. "I don't drink this time of the month. If I get drunk when I have my monthly, I can cover the whole state in puke."
"Impressive," Grissom deadpanned.
"I think Griss just made a joke. We have a *strange* night ahead of us," Warrick had said.
He wasn't kidding, either. Catherine had two glasses of blackberry brandy and spent most of the rest of the evening in Grissom's lap. Sara got wired on Pepsi and challenged Nick and Warrick to see who could balance a straw on his or her nose longest (she won). Mercy just nursed one beer and giggled to see the others acting very unlike their normal selves.
For his part, Greg had one scotch-and-soda too many and headed for the karaoke stage. Fortunately, he knew he had a tolerable voice. He did an intentionally bad rendition of "New York, New York" and sent his friends into hysterics.
And Grissom? Well...Nick thought it would be funny to spike Grissom's beer with something a *lot* stronger. After a couple of unscheduled boilermakers, Grissom staggered over to Greg and suggested a duet. "You speak French, right?"
"Oui," Greg had answered with a smirk.
"How about 'Aux Champs-Elysees?'"
"I love that song! You're on, man."
Halfway through the song, Grissom had broken into a little soft shoe and nearly sent Nick to the hospital with severe side stitches.
There'd been that picnic they'd had up in the mountains. Mercy had cooked a feast: roast chicken sandwiches, stuffed cherry tomatoes, lemon meringue pie.... After dinner, they'd lain on the blanket in each other's arms, letting the fragrant breeze brush over them while they listened to the radio. She was so soft...she smelled so good.... Longing filled Greg's body...he'd kissed her warmly and whispered, "Please."
"I told you...not outside of marriage."
"Well then..." here he'd reached into his pocket and pulled out a box "...I guess we'll just have to get married." He flipped open the box so she could see the ring with the tiny diamond.
She pressed her tiny hands to her sweet lips and squealed. "Yes!!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck.
Mercy. Mercy. Mercy. She'd become his whole life, his everything. Every beat of his heart still called her name. The memories flooded over him...he ached to see her face. He was in love with Mercy. He always would be. He could no longer love *without* Mercy.
"What's bugging you, buddy?" Nick's voice broke into Greg's reverie.
"Just woolgathering." Then the music started. Greg turned away from Nick...and looked down the aisle to see his bride. Mercy.
He would never be without her again.
--by Egon Starcollector
Disclaimer: I don't own 'CSI' or its characters, so there's no way I'd make any money. :)
Rated: PG for sensuality and adult humor.
There was P.M., and there was A.M. Pre-Mercy and After-Mercy. Greg couldn't remember Pre-Mercy anymore. He didn't even try.
Mercy. Her ash-blonde hair swinging in a braid that almost seemed alive...or loose and flowing through Greg's fingers as he combed it. Mercy. Her violet eyes sparkling with laughter...brimming (oh horror!) with tears...or glowing with love as she looked up at Greg. Mercy.
He was consumed by her. He had her picture everywhere. He wanted to die in her arms, melt in her kisses so she could absorb him.... He'd never met anyone like her. He'd never loved like this.
He remembered the first time he'd touched her. The electricity between them had almost melted his gloves. And the first time they'd kissed...Greg felt like he was exploding and being reborn in the same instant.
She loved to go hiking by Lake Mead. He'd have followed her anywhere. All she had to do was favor him with that smile...that angelic smile...and he was wrapped around her delicate finger.
The first Christmas after they met, the graveyard shift CSIs had gone to a club so Grissom and Eckley wouldn't get into another fight at the department party. Nick had persuaded Grissom to let Greg come along--so naturally Mercy came too.
Sara, surprisingly, was the designated driver. "I don't drink this time of the month. If I get drunk when I have my monthly, I can cover the whole state in puke."
"Impressive," Grissom deadpanned.
"I think Griss just made a joke. We have a *strange* night ahead of us," Warrick had said.
He wasn't kidding, either. Catherine had two glasses of blackberry brandy and spent most of the rest of the evening in Grissom's lap. Sara got wired on Pepsi and challenged Nick and Warrick to see who could balance a straw on his or her nose longest (she won). Mercy just nursed one beer and giggled to see the others acting very unlike their normal selves.
For his part, Greg had one scotch-and-soda too many and headed for the karaoke stage. Fortunately, he knew he had a tolerable voice. He did an intentionally bad rendition of "New York, New York" and sent his friends into hysterics.
And Grissom? Well...Nick thought it would be funny to spike Grissom's beer with something a *lot* stronger. After a couple of unscheduled boilermakers, Grissom staggered over to Greg and suggested a duet. "You speak French, right?"
"Oui," Greg had answered with a smirk.
"How about 'Aux Champs-Elysees?'"
"I love that song! You're on, man."
Halfway through the song, Grissom had broken into a little soft shoe and nearly sent Nick to the hospital with severe side stitches.
There'd been that picnic they'd had up in the mountains. Mercy had cooked a feast: roast chicken sandwiches, stuffed cherry tomatoes, lemon meringue pie.... After dinner, they'd lain on the blanket in each other's arms, letting the fragrant breeze brush over them while they listened to the radio. She was so soft...she smelled so good.... Longing filled Greg's body...he'd kissed her warmly and whispered, "Please."
"I told you...not outside of marriage."
"Well then..." here he'd reached into his pocket and pulled out a box "...I guess we'll just have to get married." He flipped open the box so she could see the ring with the tiny diamond.
She pressed her tiny hands to her sweet lips and squealed. "Yes!!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck.
Mercy. Mercy. Mercy. She'd become his whole life, his everything. Every beat of his heart still called her name. The memories flooded over him...he ached to see her face. He was in love with Mercy. He always would be. He could no longer love *without* Mercy.
"What's bugging you, buddy?" Nick's voice broke into Greg's reverie.
"Just woolgathering." Then the music started. Greg turned away from Nick...and looked down the aisle to see his bride. Mercy.
He would never be without her again.