DECISIONS

I'm sorry it took me so long to update -the story got out of control for a while-but I promise the next chapters will come up faster.

Slash,Gil and Greg.

Set after 'Viva Las Vegas' and just before 'Down the Drain'.

Notes:

OMG, it's Horatio Caine, not Crane! Thanks for pointing it out; I stopped watching CSI Miami after a couple of episodes -I couldn't take the way the actors recited their lines, and I didn't much like HC. I don't know if he has changed at all, but one thing remains constant if the clips they show on CBS are any indication: He still puts his hands on his waist…like a human tinaja!

About some of the names I used in this story: Peter Duel was an actor who died in the 70s. He did a TV series, 'Alias Smith & Jones'. He was rather good. As for Walter Fox… what can I say? I used to love the X Files.

Spoiler: Turning the Screws (Grissom talks rather eloquently about roller coasters.)

Grissom took a deep breath. He was in his hotel room, sitting in the dark.

Up until a half hour ago he had been meditating, successfully avoiding to acknowledge the passing of time. But now he was all too aware of it, practically counting the seconds as they turned into minutes. Now and then he glanced at the clock on his night table to verify if he had counted correctly.

"Six-forty five." He muttered, before looking.

6:44:50..

He was counting too fast.

He closed his eyes to try again.

6:45:01…

He sighed. The wake started in fifteen minutes and he still couldn't muster the energy to go.

'Maybe because I don't want to go.' He thought sarcastically. That was the truth; he did not want to be reminded of a time of his life he had fought hard to forget.

6:45:55

He did understand his friends' motives; they wanted to honor John's memory, after all. But Grissom felt he had already honored John's life and work by taking over his dead friend's conference, the highlight of this convention.

That's what he had come to Chicago for: To make sure that John's suicide didn't overshadow his legacy. Grissom had made that clear from the start, when people started asking questions about his old friend's death -mostly students who were concerned about grades and reputations tarnished by their teacher's suicide.

Grissom had reassured them and asked them to stay and listen to John's own words. Grissom had then presented his friend's material, letting it speak for itself. He wanted everybody to remember John as an Entomologist who had dedicated his life to educate people, and he felt he had accomplished that.

6:46:18

The public's reaction had been very positive. At the end of the conference, Grissom had been mobbed by students who were interested in Entomology, and by law enforcement officials who wanted to learn more about its application in Forensics. Grissom wished his friend had been there to enjoy this triumph. For the first time he realized how John's death would affect others. All that knowledge was lost forever.

6:46:36

Grissom rose impatiently. Waiting here doing nothing was worse; he'd rather leave early. He grabbed his keys and his jacket and opened the door, only to find Greg in the hallway, leaning against the opposite wall and looking as he had been waiting for Grissom all this time.

Greg seemed surprised to see him –no, Grissom told himself; Greg was not surprised, he was taken aback, as if he hadn't expected to see Grissom so soon. He had been mustering the courage to knock.

Why would he do that?

"Greg?" he asked looking around, "Are you ok?"

Greg recovered quickly.

"Grissom, you got a minute?" he asked evenly.

"I was just leaving-" Grissom said, closing the door behind him.

"It's ok." Greg said quietly, "I'll walk along with you."

Grissom hesitated but in the end he relented.

"Aren't you going to the banquet, Greg?" he asked as they walked to the elevator.

"It's early." Greg shrugged. "What about you? Do you have a date?"

Grissom ignored the sarcasm.

"The wake." He said simply.

"Ah, yeah." He nodded, "The wake. So, what are the big plans?"

"We'll play poker, we'll eat and drink." Grissom said, "We'll reenact The Big Chill, perhaps." He muttered.

"What's that?"

"It's a movie about old college pals -" he started, but he didn't continue and Greg didn't press him to.

They entered the elevator. There were some people inside, and that prevented Greg from saying whatever he was going to say, and Grissom was thankful for the respite, brief as it was. He didn't want to talk right now –or ever- but he had to face reality sooner or later.

He knew that by now Greg had at least two serious job offers – one from Jan, and one from Horatio Caine (who had actually called last night to inquire after the young man and seemed really interested).

It was only a matter of time before Greg told him he was leaving.

"I caught part of your conference today." Greg said. "I talked to a couple of Dr. Garrison's students; they said you did a good job presenting the Doctor's material."

Grissom smiled but didn't say anything.

People exited the elevator as it rose to the top floors. When they were finally left alone, Greg realized where they were headed.

"The Penthouse?" Greg asked, "You're having the wake at the Penthouse? That must have cost a lot of money!"

"Actually, Jan got it for free." Grissom said, "They're doing some renovations. The area is closed to the public, but it's the only space available in the hotel, so-"

As soon as the elevator doors opened, they noticed the extent of the renovations. The wallpaper had been removed and the plush carpet had been rolled away. There was also a strong smell of fresh paint.

They made their way to the door at the end of the hallway and Grissom tried the doorknob. It was locked.

"It's too early." Grissom muttered.

"Grissom," Greg said, and he paused until his boss turned. "I want to talk to you about what happened yesterday."

"Ok." Grissom said cautiously and –Greg suspected -cluelessly.

"I was angry." Greg admitted, "I was so angry I almost followed you to your room."

Grissom was puzzled. He didn't know what Greg was talking about.

"Greg-"

"But I didn't." Greg said unnecessarily, "I told myself that it was no big deal and that I had better things to do," he glanced at Grissom, "I had to take the doctors to their dinner, remember?" He looked down at the floor, "I tried to have a good time with them but all night I kept thinking, 'Who the hell does he think he is'?"

Grissom wasn't sure what Greg was talking about. He honestly didn't think that his refusal to go on a date - a date he hadn't asked for- should anger Greg like this.

"Greg, I don't-" he started. 'I don't go on blind dates' he wanted to say but didn't. He had always refused to justify himself to anybody. He was who he was, and he offered no apologies. Or explanations.

But Greg wasn't asking for one, either. He ignored Grissom's words.

"I hadn't planned on talking to you about this," he continued, "but when I woke up today and thought about it, I realized that behind my anger, there was disappointment too. And that's worse, you know? 'Cause anger flares up and fades away, but disappointment lingers on-"

By now Grissom was getting impatient –and mildly pissed off.

"Greg, what are you talking about?"

"What I'm saying is that I've always considered you a role model, Grissom." Greg said slowly, "You're my boss, but you're also my teacher and… my friend. Someone I expect better things from."

He paused. "I used to hear people talking about you or calling you names –names like Gruesome Grissom or Frozen Grissom – and I didn't care. I thought I knew you better than that. But yesterday I realized that I don't know you. You might be gruesome and frozen, but there's more than that; you're a homophobe too."

Grissom frowned.

"Greg," he started, "I'm not-"

"Gruesome?" Greg finished, "Or Frozen?"

Grissom didn't answer. He avoided discussions that turned personal and this one seemed far too dangerous to be drawn into. Besides, there was Greg's demeanor to consider. If he had been visibly angry, Grissom would have known what to do and say; he was good at diffusing people's anger. But Greg was eerily calm.

"You should have seen the look on your face when I touched you, Grissom. You reacted as if you were disgusted by me."

Grissom didn't visibly react, but he was frantically trying to remember yesterday's events. Greg interrupted his musings.

"Do you think it's contagious, boss?" he asked unemotionally, "Do you think that if I touch you, you'll suddenly turn into a fag?"

Grissom blinked. The word had felt like a punch in the gut, but he didn't let on.

"Greg, this is-" he began and then he paused. He could have said plenty about all this, but not without revealing things about himself, and he couldn't do that. "This isn't the time." He said finally.

Greg looked at him.

"It's our last chance, boss." He said firmly. When Grissom didn't say anything, he added, "You could at least admit that things have changed." He paused again.

"I don't-"

"It all started after you saw me at the Disco." Greg interrupted, "You said you didn't mind, remember? But you do. I still don't know what the problem is, though. I mean, is it really because I was kissing a guy? Or is it because I was showing feelings and according to you, that renders me incapable of doing my job?"

He waited in vain for Grissom's answer, "If that's what you think then we're screwed, 'cause we can't all be like you. We can't all lead repressed lives." he said pointedly, "We can't just hold back our feelings and wait until we ride a roller coaster to get some relief." Greg was glad when he saw Grissom redden; his words were finally getting a reaction from him. '

"You're crossing a line, here -" He warned.

"Alone, of course." Greg added deliberately, "The ultimate in safe sex."

Grissom made a visible effort to get his anger under control. He wasn't completely successful.

"Listen," he said, "I'm still your boss," He whispered, "No matter how many job offers you ever get, you'll always need a reference from me-"

"So I'm supposed to shut up and let you treat me like an outcast?" Greg challenged.

"I don't treat you like an-"

"Yes you do." Greg interrupted. He took a deep breath; he had promised himself not to lose his cool. "It's disappointing, Grissom." He said, calmly now, "I thought you were open-minded. I thought you would accept me-"

Grissom felt his anger vanish as he realized that Greg's apparent composure was covering up a deep hurt. Grissom knew what Greg was going through; he understood completely -probably better than anyone else in the world- but he couldn't say so.

"Greg," he said slowly, "if you go through life expecting others to validate who you are, you'll always be up for disappointment."

"I'm not talking about others, Grissom; I'm talking about you." He looked at his boss in the eye, "I expected better things from you."

Grissom took a deep breath.

"Greg, it wasn't my intention to-"

Whatever he was going to say would have to wait because the elevator bell rang at that moment. Both turned to see the newcomer. It was Dr. Bernard.

He was wearing a red sweater that made him look like Santa Claus, and the armful of bags he was carrying helped enhance this perception.

"Heeeeey, Chip, Sanders." He greeted as he walked down the hallway. Now that he was closer, both Greg and Grissom noticed that the Santa Claus effect was marred by the "Joey's Liquor Store" logo on the paper bags. "You're early," Bernard said cheerfully. "Good."

If he thought it was odd to see those two standing on either side of the penthouse door, looking flushed and frustrated, he didn't let on. "I'm going to need your help in there, boys. I don't know how clean the place is."

Bernie had a set of keys in his right hand, but try as he might, he couldn't open the door and hold on to his bags at the same time. He looked expectantly at Greg and then at Grissom, but neither moved. "Ooookay," he said, "I guess no one will help unless I ask, sooo-"

"Sorry," both Gil and Greg mumbled, and took the bags out of Bernie's arms. They were heavy, and Grissom peered inside one.

"This is a lot of whiskey, Bernie."

"Yes, it is." Bernard said placidly, as he opened the door. "You didn't think tonight was just about poker, did you? It's about the booze too. By the end of the night I hope my brain will be nicely pickled." He noticed Grissom's expression, and scoffed, "Hey, don't give me that look. I'm entitled. It's a wake after all; tonight we'll be confronting our own mortality-"

"You'll be confronting it sooner if you drink all this."

"Ah, Gil." Bernard smiled pityingly as he turned on the lights, "So proper, all the time. Did you know-" he turned to Greg, "That our friend here was the youngest coroner every graduating-"

"He knows, Bernie." Grissom interrupted, "Who's bringing the food?"

"Pete will. Greasy ribs and fries, pizza- All the food that Garrison loved." He turned back to Greg. "So, Chip here was the youngest," he said as if they hadn't been interrupted, "But he had the oldest soul among us. Never had any fun-"

"That's what you think" Grissom muttered.

"Please." Bernard scoffed, "Ant farms? Book research? While we were out having fun, this guy had his nose in a book, reading on how to do things instead of doing them-"

Greg felt uncomfortable. He was angry at Grissom, but he didn't like this guy bashing his boss. Loyalty won out.

"Where do you want me to put this?" he asked.

"Put the bottles over there, young Sanders." He said, pointing at the far end of the room. "You too, Gil."

The room was pretty bare – carpets and furniture had been removed- but the renovations hadn't started yet, so at least there was no smell of paint. Greg looked around with curiosity and a little disappointment too. He would have loved to see the penthouse in all its glory, not like this.

The hotel management had provided them with a few chairs and a couple of tables but that was all…

Except for the elegant bar at the end of the room.

Grissom and Greg put the bottles among several items already there. The hotel management had tried to make up for the lack of facilities by providing them with glasses and ice.

"Aaah, look at this," Bernie said, appreciatively, " Ice, beer, mineral water-" he glanced at Greg, "Soft drinks for the underage-"

Greg smiled faintly.

"And," Bernard added, "A coffee maker, God bless them."

Bernard went back to the entrance and fiddled around with the light switch panel until the whole room was bathed in a soft light. Happy with this effect, Bernie started arranging the few pieces of furniture they had.

Greg immediately set to help, but Grissom got distracted by something he saw on the wall behind the bar. Without the lights it had looked like leftover wallpaper, but now he noticed that it was a collage. Someone had taped several pictures on the wall, and he recognized most of them. How could he not? He had collected them himself. He had put them in an album. A gift for John.

But the pictures that beckoned to him were the ones he had not seen before. They were two blown out pictures of John Garrison, showing him not as a fifty-eight year old man but as a college student. He looked handsome, arrogant, and full of life. Looking at him, nobody would have imagined the self-doubt, the turmoil behind the smile. Seeing him like this made his death tragic and incomprehensible. Painful.

Grissom looked away.

Only to meet Greg's stare.

Grissom looked around; Bernie wasn't there.

"Dr. Bernard went back to his room," Greg said. He glanced at the pictures on the wall, "You know…" Greg said softly, "Over the years, I've heard people say that Gil Grissom doesn't give a damn about people unless he's got to investigate their deaths."

He paused as if giving his boss a chance to defend himself. Grissom didn't, of course. "They've said that the most gruesome the case the better," Greg said then. "Others might turn their eyes away but not you."

He looked at Grissom in the eye, "Yet you see me kissing someone, and that makes you turn away. There's a picture of a friend who committed suicide and you don't even want to look at it. It seems that you just can't tolerate other people's mistakes and weaknesses."

Grissom had been holding his breath without realizing; he exhaled softly.

"You don't know me, Greg." He said, turning away.

"I'm only following the evidence, boss."

TBC

Ah, Greg. He'll soon regret saying all this.

Thank you for reviewing. I promise to update soon, and to give this story a happy ending!

On the next chapter: The wake brings some revelations…