Indecisions
Part three
"Here's your breakfast, sir -"
With practiced ease, the waitress placed a plate laden with food in front of John, then walked around the table in order to serve Gil's breakfast.
She smiled winningly as she set a small plate on the table.
"Your grapefruit, sir," she beamed. "Enjoy!"
She obviously approved of Gil's choice, but Grissom didn't feel as enthusiastic. He was looking at the grapefruit he'd ordered for breakfast, and the sight was almost depressing, especially when he compared it to John's own breakfast -huevos rancheros with salsa, bacon, and what looked like an entire loaf of fresh bread. And lots of butter.
It was enough to make him envious of John, who could eat anything without any visible weight gain. In fact, he was thin as a rail -he'd always been.
Just like Greg,
Gil held on to that thought for a moment, then quietly put it away. He didn't want to think of Greg. Thinking of him inevitably led him to remember the last words the young man flung at him just before going back to work -just before going back to being Greg Sanders, the rookie CSI who spoke respectfully to his boss.
Lazy… Coward…
Gil winced every time he remembered.
Deep down, however, he knew it wasn't the name-calling itself that bothered him; after all, as a member of the Las Vegas PD, he'd been called worse. No; what bothered him was the fact that he'd let Greg say the things he did. No one had ever dared to talk to him like that -not even his closest colleagues.
On the other hand… None of his colleagues had ever dared to court him either, so maybe Greg was entitled.
"You're not hungry today," John said suddenly.
Snapped out of his gloomy thoughts, Gil realized he hadn't yet touched his grapefruit.
John pushed his own plate a couple of inches closer to Gil.
"You want some of this? It's not the healthiest meal in the menu, but -"
Gil smiled.
"No, I'm ok." He picked up his spoon and managed to eat a few pieces of fruit.
"Oh, I'd forgot," John said after a moment. He put his hand on a manila envelope he had by his side. "Here are the pictures I told you about."
"Pictures?" Gil frowned.
"For my conference, today," John said matter-of-factly. When this didn't ring a bell with Gil, he added, "The cold case I managed to break after ten years…?"
"Oh." Gil put his spoon down. "Yeah," he said vaguely, but his friend wasn't fooled.
"You forgot," John said impassively. He pushed the envelope in Gil's direction. "Wanna take a look?"
Gil took the pictures and set out to examine them right away, partly because he was intrigued by the case, but mostly to make up for the fact that he'd forgotten all about the conference. He started by sweeping aside his breakfast; then he took the pictures from the envelope and placed them on a corner of the table. Then, just like a magician performing a trick with a deck of cards, he spread the pictures to a side, till he had a clear view of each one of them.
He examined them attentively. Since John had withheld most of the details of the case, it was up to him to find the clues now.
The more he looked, the fastest his heart beat…
Finally, he got his reward; a clue. His eyes twinkled; he was sure that after that first clue, the rest could come up easily. But the gleam faded when he realized there was an inconsistency there; something didn't make sense. Frowning, he went back to the first pictures and looked closely at each one of them.
Suddenly, the twinkle was back; he'd just realized what the problem was: John had put the pictures out of sequence. The discovery brought a faint smile to his lips. With another magician's touch, Gil put the pictures in their proper order.
John chuckled softly.
"I can't outfox you, can I?"
"I can see how the perp manipulated the evidence," Gil said without looking up. "No wonder the cops first thought this was a suicide."
"Ah, yes," John said, "Without the photographer's documentation, we would have never known what happened." He picked a piece of buttered toast and bit off a corner, "Did you see the victim's eye cavities?" he said, "The maggots did quite a number on them."
Gil's eyes twinkled again as he studied the picture in question.
"A beauty," he said reverently. "Life, surging from the depths of death." He grinned at John, then he happily looked back at the pictures again.
Grissom didn't notice the passing of time; he was so focused on the pictures, he didn't immediately register John's next words.
"Are you going to tell me what happened?"
Grissom looked up questioningly.
"Last night," John said. When Gil didn't say anything, he added, "You told me you and Sanders had to work together, but you didn't offer any details."
Grissom's gaze dropped again. He stared at the pictures with something close to disappointment. The game was up.
"He figured it out," he said. He looked up. "You were right."
John shook his head.
"You say it as if this were some sort of competition I expected to win," he said musingly. He looked at Gil. "What did he say?"
"We didn't talk much," Gil said. He was definitely not going to describe that conversation. "It's over," he said simply.
John didn't seem to hear. He was looking at Gil as if the real story were to be found in the younger man's eyes and not in the words he was saying. Finally, he shook his head again.
"That's odd," he said, "I would have thought Sanders would put up more of a fight. After all, he took a big risk when he asked you out," he said quietly. "It sounded serious."
They were silent for a moment.
"You know," John said, "The first time you wrote about Sanders, I thought what you were trying to say was, 'hey, guess what? A young dude's been asking me out, ha, ha,' and that you wanted me to laugh along with you." He smiled a little. "But now I wonder whether I supplied the wrong tone to your messages. Maybe you were more serious than I thought," he said, and then he looked up. "Maybe there was more than daydreaming on your part."
Gil held John's gaze for a moment. John was right; he'd purposefully written those e-mails in a light tone. He'd only been trying to make fun of what had been for him an awkward, unexpected, exhilarating new experience. And he knew the reason: By taking it lightly, he'd successfully kept himself from studying his true feelings too closely.
But now there was no use in trying to hold back anymore. Now that it was all over, he could see things clearly -and be honest about them.
He smiled in self-deprecation.
"Do you remember me, at twenty-three?" He asked. He looked up. "Wide-eyed and naive; open-hearted; trustful...?" he paused, waiting for a response. When none came, he added, "Wanted to marry every guy I fell in love with...?"
He saw the recognition in John's eyes. Years ago, John had flung all those words at him, making them sound like an accusation. It was right after Gil decided to leave Chicago. John couldn't believe he was leaving just because they wouldn't be sharing a house. It was the one and only time John lost his cool, ever. He said Gil was making things more complicated than they ought to be; that what Gil needed was a father, a brother and a lover all rolled-up in one, and this was too much to ask from anybody.
He'd ended his speech with the words, 'Grow up, for fuck's sake!'
That Gil could smile now was a testimony of how well the wounds had healed in over twenty years.
John, on the other hand, seemed embarrassed.
"I should have known you'd remember every word I said," he said uncomfortably. He kept his gaze on Grissom. "It was a harsh thing to say," he said apologetically.
"Well, I was too emotional," Gil shrugged. "And, you were right: I did need to grow up."
John seemed relieved at Gil's response.
He smiled tentatively.
"So…" he said, "What you're saying is, Greg Sanders is like you at twenty-three?"
"No," Gil said, "But I am." He glanced at John, "Or was," he amended. "At least, for a while. Back when I was dating Greg, there were a couple of times when I caught myself wondering what living with him would be like." He kept his gaze on John, letting these words sink in. "I suddenly realized I was thinking of life-time commitments again." He smiled as if he'd just said something funny and was hoping John would get the joke, too.
But John didn't smile back.
"You mean -"
"Yeah," Gil said. "After all these years; after all the things I've learned -" He didn't finish. "Hard to believe, isn't it?"
He was smiling with genuine amusement; yet, as he remembered how his friendship with Greg had gradually evolved into something deeper and more meaningful, he realized that the mirth was slowly being replaced by something he didn't particularly want to feel: Longing.
He shook his head.
"I was probably heading for a heartbreak," he said almost to himself.
Gil thought, and he smiled as he remembered the young man's penchant for super-sizing his meals. Popcorn, burgers, fried chicken… everything. Greg had a big appetite; he ate and ate, yet managed to stay thin. He was definitely blessed with good genes."Why?"
"Because Greg isn't looking for a life-time commitment," he said quietly. "He's been in and out of relationships for years."
John seemed surprised.
"Did he tell you that?"
"He didn't have to," Gil said smugly, "I'm a trained observer, remember? I've always known when he's in a new relationship. First, there is excitement," he added, "He can hardly wait to leave at the end of the shift, he wears a certain type of clothes -you get the idea. Then, there is disenchantment -a gradual process that lasts about two weeks. And then, it's all over."
He stared into space for a moment, then added, "Then, sometime later, the excitement is back, and I can see that a new cycle is about to begin."
John didn't immediately react. He seemed to be processing what Gil had just said.
"So, you've been watching him," he said expressionlessly.
"Who wouldn't?" Gil retorted. He'd meant it as a joke, but he could see how John might get the wrong idea if he didn't explain.
"I watch all my colleagues," he said. "And before you ask, no; I'm not prying into their private lives; I'm simply watching out for them. You know how it is when CSIs get romantically involved," he added, "They're not always prepared to handle the situation. These are people whose jobs require them to behave rationally at all times, so emotions can really create havoc in their lives."
John smiled. "And you're an expert on how to deal with emotions?"
Gil didn't resent the sarcasm.
"I don't expect them to come to me for advice," he shrugged. "But I can still help in my own way. An unexpected night off can do wonders on a depressed CSI."
"And is that what you're gonna do with Sanders?" John asked gently. "Give him a night off?" He kept his gaze on Gil, but he didn't press for an answer. He looked down. "Do you love this guy?"
Grissom smiled faintly.
"You know, Greg asked me the same thing about you."
John looked up. "And what did you say?"
Gil looked up sharply. He was surprised that John should even ask.
"You're my friend," he said. "You know I love you."
John stared at Gil, and then he nodded almost imperceptibly.
"I know," he said softly. "You're just not in love with me"
Grissom frowned. John looked down again.
"So, what are you going to do now?"
"Nothing," Gil said. He sighed. He'd wondered about the possible consequences of his conversation with Greg, and decided to wait and see. "I don't think anything's going to change," he said slowly. "I hope not. He's got a great job here; I don't think he'd want to lose that." He paused for a moment, then smirked, "At least, I know he won't be threatening to leave town, the way I did," he said ironically.
John didn't smile at that. His lips parted a couple of times, but he didn't immediately speak.
"I was too harsh with you," he said suddenly. He looked up. "All those years ago. You just wanted to share a house with me; I could have done that -"
"Hey, it's ok," Gil said. "You were right, you know; we couldn't have come this far if we'd tried to keep a personal relationship going. You know how difficult that is; I mean, most of our friends from that era are divorced now." But he could see John wasn't convinced, and so he added, "I don't regret any of this."
"But I do," John said softly. "It's just… I was scared shitless of being in a relationship," he confessed. "But you were not. And now I can't help to think that -"
Gil didn't like where this was going.
"I don't regret it," he said again. "I like my life as it is."
John stared at him for a moment.
"You asked me if I remembered you at twenty-three," he said. "Well, I do. I also remember the way you used to look at me, back then." He added pointedly. There was a far-away look in his eyes for a moment, as if he were picturing Gil all those years ago. "Yet in the last twenty-five years, the only time I've seen that look in your eyes is when I've showed you pictures of my prized butterflies or pictures from one of my murder cases."
He paused. "Or when you talk about Greg Sanders."
Gil frowned at the bitterness in John's voice.
"Can you blame me for that?" he whispered.
John shook his head.
"No," he said. "I know it's my fault. And there's a part of me that knows I did the right thing, back then. I know I couldn't have handled a relationship. But you could have. Maybe."
He kept his eyes on Grissom for a moment, then he blinked, as if he'd only realized where they were. "Look at us," he said, with a faint smile. "We're talking about love and feelings, yet to the rest of these people, we might as well be discussing the weather." The smile turned bitter. "Very civilized."
Grissom didn't know what to say. John took a deep breath.
"I know would have made a lousy housemate, Gil," he said quietly. "But now I wish I'd taken a chance."
TBC
