So sorry about the delay. I kept writing and re-writing two of the scenes and just couldn't get them to sound right. And though I'm still not entirely happy with it, it is what it is. Just one chapter left, and it's all finished, so you shouldn't have to wait too long after this.
______
The next month was hellish for Greg. Between the pitying looks he got at work (the entire lab had of course been ordered to attend the Christmas party) and his self-imposed banishment from enjoying Viviane's company, he barely made it through each day. Living in a fog, he was alert only to evidence and cases, but otherwise drifted through people as if they weren't there. They all saw it, even if only his friends knew what the source was, and then only Sara knew the full details of that day. Though she repeatedly told him that everything would be fine if he just bit the bullet and went back to her, that they could resume their friendship (and even Viviane seemed to agree, for she attempted contact as if nothing had happened; hiding somewhere deep inside those hurt feelings), it was Greg who couldn't go back.
He couldn't get past the pain he'd caused, nor could he reconcile his own feelings of judgment. And how he hated himself for his weakness. So he refused to contact her, though it hurt them both, but he really had no better idea. In some part of his mind, he was making a noble self-sacrifice, to spare Viviane the pain of his judgmental behaviour — but as the days passed he could no longer tell for whom he was doing it. Who was he denying? So he shut Sara out too. Her advice, though well-meaning, only caused him to be more conflicted, and he spent half his time wistfully staring at the familiar orange hair through glass and the other half avoiding Sara's darkly meaningful looks.
By the end of shift he was almost more exhausted than after doubles, and more tightly wound that ever. He flopped down on his couch, resting the back of his head against the wall and trying to ease tired muscles. Running his fingers through his hair, he mentally noted that he should get a haircut soon.
Just in time for my public outing, he grimaced.
Staring up at the ceiling, as his body was beginning to relax, his mind seemed to want to go the other way. Avoiding his feelings was easy during the day, when work could keep him mindlessly at one task, but his apartment was still and lonely, and it wasn't enough to make him forget. He blinked back the frustration that constantly gnawed at him, eating away at his heart and raising an intense self-loathing inside him.
He needed to do something — he couldn't keep living like this! Staggering to his feet, Greg forced himself to walk to his bedroom. Not even bothering to take his clothes off he collapsed into bed. The dreams came even more frequently now; not a night went by that he didn't wake from some vision that he couldn't even remember, but whose impression left little to the imagination. They were becoming more intense, until it was all he could do the next day not to surprise Viviane in her lab and ravish her on the spot.
He pulled the covers around him, gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles glowed white. He groped on the nightstand for his phone. Who was he going to call? All Greg knew was that he needed to talk to someone — anyone — or he'd go crazy. Thumb tracing the number pad, he took a deep breath and did the first thing that popped into his mind.
"Good morning, ATF hotline, how may I help you?"
"Hi, um," Greg cleared his throat, "could you connect me to Glenn Lahtinen please? It's..uh...Greg Sanders."
"One moment, please."
What are the chances he's still in the office, thought Greg morosely. Probably out arresting coke dealers while I can't stop obsessing about his sister. For a fleeting moment Greg was about to hang up, then —
"Glenn here."
Greg shut his eyes tightly and tried to calm his breathing.
"Hi Glenn, it's...um...Greg. From the Vegas crime lab," he said.
"Yeah, Greg, I know." He seemed wholly unsurprised to be hearing from him, and Greg wondered in alarm whether Viviane had told him about their fight.
"Is everything all right?" His voice interrupted Greg's spiral into self-flaggelation.
"Yeah I just...didn't know who to call. I hope...you don't mind," he hesitated.
"It's not a problem, Greg. Are you okay?"
There was that question...the question everyone had been asking him lately. For once he knew the answer.
"No," he said, closing his eyes tightly. "No I'm not."
Greg shook his head mutely in the dark, berating himself profusely. Why did you have to call him? The last person that needs to hear this. But a bubble of desperation welled up inside him, and it escaped his mouth before he could stop it, or analyze what it said.
"It's about Viviane," he choked out. "I...um...I just...said something really bad to her and I don't know what to do." Burying his face in one hand, he felt like dying of mortification in some sane part of his mind.
"I see."
Now was his chance. Glenn was giving him ample opportunity to come out with it. But Greg couldn't say anything. This was her brother. He couldn't even believe he was talking to him about any of this. But he desperately needed to talk to someone — someone who wasn't on his side and who could tell him just exactly what was wrong with him.
"Did you know she was into bondage?" he blurted.
There was a long pause. "Yes," said Glenn calmly.
"And it doesn't bother you?" asked Greg tentatively.
"No," replied Glenn.
Greg sighed. "I'm such a bad person...I just can't get over it. And I know I shouldn't be saying this to you cause you'll probably kick my ass but I don't care! I can't help but judge her a little bit! Hah! Me! Judge her. It's ridiculous!"
"I can't tell you that it won't be a problem. She can't change her past."
"I know," groaned Greg. "But how could she let someone degrade her like that...I've seen those clubs! I know what goes on inside them!"
"I can't tell you, Greg. You'll have to ask her about it."
"Yeah, Glenn. I know, but that conversation terrifies me to no end."
"What is it that bothers you?"
"I don't know! That's just it! Maybe this entire year has been so crappy that it doesn't bother me at all and I'm just lashing out at her for no reason! Or maybe I saw her as the perfect woman and now that image is shattered by her one vice! Or maybe I'm just so goddamn in love with your sister that I can't stand the thought of anyone but me touching her!"
The last of his shout echoed in the room and he froze in shock at what he'd said, mouth open and breathing raggedly.
"So you finally admit it," said Glenn gently, voice amused.
Greg swallowed heavily, suddenly at a loss for words. "You knew?" he finally managed to whisper, even as his world came crashing down around him.
"I think everyone knows, Greg," said Glenn kindly.
"Okay, fine. I guess I knew that. I know I'm being stupid and I should just talk to her about this, but what do I say? I can't even forgive myself — how can I expect her to?" sighed Greg. "I had a problem that was mine, and mine alone, and I made her feel bad for something she shouldn't feel bad about!"
"Greg you need to talk to her about this if you want to fix it."
"I know..." Greg shook at the very thought of that conversation. "I know, Glenn. But I don't know how. She's so...perfect."
Glenn laughed deeply. "That's sweet, Greg, and Viv is a great sister, but she's certainly not perfect. She's got a foul temper, a mean right hook, and she's probably the biggest kink you'll ever meet."
Greg nodded in the dark. It was easy to agree on the surface that Glenn was right. After all, how could anyone really be perfect? But one look at her face and Greg was a goner — hopelessly mesmerized by her beauty and devastated about his adequacy. It wasn't even her physical beauty that he found intoxicating, but the sparkle in her eyes. There was an excitement, a curiosity, an acceptance there that he found captivating. So how could he, with all the hardships he'd been through this past year, hope to contribute half as much as she could?
Anyways, he had to try. And not only try, but make it up to her for this tortured courtship. First, he had to talk to her. Second — then he had an idea. It was absurd, wild, potentially disastrous , and yet if it worked, it would go a long way towards righting Greg's wrongs. Chancing it, he told Glenn, and was amazed to find encouragement. Maybe he just didn't want Greg to call him again.
Hanging up, Greg smiled. He felt much better.
______
He decided to catch her in the parking garage again. He wasn't sure why; but he surmised that he wanted to erase his former failures there. So he stood beside her car, awkwardly waiting and rehearsing the lame speech he'd prepared, such as it was. It started with a sorry, and involved a lot of groveling.
The elevator doors chimed and with them his heart jumped into his throat. There she was. As she walked towards him an amused expression came over her face.
"Do you have some sort of attraction to dimly lit parking complexes?" she said as she came closer.
"Maybe I just have a fetish for concrete," he smiled weakly. Her eyes flicked at the f-word and she looked away. He'd opened their wound.
"So, is there a reason you're stalking my car?" she asked eventually. He looked at her, resolved.
"I wanted to talk," he began. "I think we need to talk."
"Maybe," she cocked her head, subconsciously straightening as if to draw strength from her posture. "Do you want to...?" She gestured to the car.
"Ok," he said a little too quickly. He was nervous, despite his resolve to talk to her.
They climbed into the car and sat in silence for several long minutes. Eventually Greg glanced over at her, but she was staring straight ahead.
"I wanted to start by apologizing for what I said," he began haltingly. "I know it doesn't excuse anything, but I just got some really...bad news and I took it out on you.
"You don't have to apologize," she said evenly, as always.
"But I do, Viviane. Whatever my feelings about the issue, that was no way to treat a friend."
She nodded, accepting the apology, but still staring ahead.
"You said you'd tell me about it someday," said Greg tentatively. "How about now?"
Viviane raised an eyebrow.
"No judgement, I promise," he held up his hands in surrender. She sighed, but smiled lightly. "We'll see."
"I went to a fetish club once when I was at Stanford," said Greg suddenly.
"Did you, now," smiled Viviane.
"Yeah I think it was as a joke for one of my friends."
"Now why don't I believe that," she grinned.
"I'm serious! There was only one in Palo Alto—"
"I meant the part about you having friends."
Greg frowned good-naturedly, secretly ecstatic that their former awkwardness was slowly dissipating. It was now that he had an almost unbearable urge to utter "I love you". He could feel the words bubbling up, but their taste in his mouth was bittersweet, and he finally realized what he was so afraid of. His confession would be the irrevocable loss of something. He'd be thrust instantly into the unpredictable future. Expectations, compromises; he wasn't sure he could handle it anymore. Something precious had been wrested from him during the beating; an inexhaustible supply of optimism was punctured, and Greg no longer felt as if everything would work out.
He'd experienced first-hand the importance of friendship. Had his co-workers not grounded him after the beating, his life would have been permanently shattered. If he lost her friendship now, if his one declaration ruined everything, would all the shoring up of his fragile sense of safety fall apart? He said nothing. Smiling, he prodded her gently.
"So how did you start?"
Viviane made a face. "Oh God...Umm...I guess it started with this friend I had at Coronado. Glenn was just starting SEAL training so he was never around. I must have been 17, and there was another girl on the base whose dad was an Admiral. She was constantly trying to get his attention by, you guessed it, rebelling. The stuff she came up with was legendary. I only went along with it 'cause I thought she was fun."
She glanced sideways at him, but he just smiled encouragingly.
"Well, Kim decided one day we were going to go to a Navy party with our newly minted fake IDs," she continued. "And it was a Navy party, all right, but I guess some of the guys on the base she'd asked decided to trick her, because the 'party' turned out to be an illegal S&M bash in some warehouse."
Greg could imagine a precocious 17-year-old Viviane, already world weary by that age, being intrigued by the sights there.
"Now, my parents were always very open about sex; none of that weewee bullshit, and growing up on a Navy base around Glenn's friends meant I'd heard pretty much everything, but somehow they forgot to mention this. There was a guy tied up in the middle of the room..."
Greg grimaced at the mental image, and she chuckled.
"Well you'll be happy to know that the MAs raided that party and hauled everyone in. Glenn had to leave training to come pick me up...he was mad..."
Chuckling, Greg imagined the scene.
"Of course, my friend couldn't have been happier. Can you imagine her father finding out she'd been at a place like that?" Viviane laughed. "Anyways, I started learning to tie, and when I went to college I began doing burlesque. And eventually, since it was mostly an overlapping crowd, I migrated to the underground clubs. Then when I was in Norway, I would take trips down to Hamburg for the festivals."
Greg nodded silently while he tried to compose his speech so that it sounded better.
"So you really get off on...pain?" he asked, glancing quickly at her.
"Greg, I don't think—"
"Come on, please."
She sighed. "Well...yeah. Under carefully controlled circumstances, I do like a little...extra sensation." She smiled wryly at him. "Look, for someone who's always in control like me, I like the feeling of being completely helpless sometimes. Take from that what you will."
Greg nodded thoughtfully. He could understand that. "So you were..."
"A switch."
"Really?"
"It's hard to find one or the other, depending on where you are, and since I had no particular preference..."
"Viviane..."
She turned to look at him, and as always when her eyes landed on him a tickle of excitement flared in his stomach.
"Yes, Greg?"
"Why is this such a big problem for me?"
She cocked her head to the side, studying him quietly.
"Do you find the entire act unpleasant or just my doing it?"
"You." It came out quickly, before Greg had any chance to stop it, and he was surprised at what he'd said. Yes, because he'd never had a problem with it before — what was it about her doing it that sent slivers of disgust through his system?
She raised an eyebrow. "I see."
"Viviane I think you're...an amazing person," he gulped, then plunged on. "I think I saw you as the perfect woman—"
She laughed in delight; a genuinely hearty laugh that he'd missed so much. "And now you don't?"
"I guess that while I have no problems with regular people doing that kind of stuff, it's not something I could see...angels doing."
"Angels, yet," she grinned. But Greg leaned forward suddenly and put his hand over her mouth.
"Viviane, just...let me talk..." He stared into her wide eyes earnestly, and she barely nodded, mouth moist against his palm. He spoke gently.
"My illusions were shattered. But I think I could live with the reality instead...I think I'd like to get to know the real you. I...like the real you, Viviane."
Greg let his hand fall away from her mouth after a minute of silence, and she said nothing still, breath escaping her slightly parted lips shallowly. They stared into each others' eyes as the message sunk in, and Greg watched her lips opening and closing minutely, as if gathering courage for a more daring move. But surprisingly, it was he who made the first move.
He lunged forward, and their lips made contact with a stunning impact. He'd wanted only to taste them, a desperate need surfacing in him to possess those perfect bow shapes. There was that word again. But if her lips were perfect, then the kiss was anything but. It was grasping, needy, passionate, but also tentative and awkward, and its sublime imperfection made it all the more exciting for Greg.
He pulled away finally, gasping deeply as if starved, and finding his hands had migrated upward to grip the sides of her head tightly. He slowly relaxed his grip, still staring in shock into her eyes. Her hands had come up too, and they hung, suspended in the air as if touching an invisible object.
Greg's heart thudded painfully in his ears, but all he could hear was the ragged breath coming from her still parted lips. He surged forward again, catching them in a still rougher act; his need to taste them again outweighing his need for caution, and a moan rose from the back of his throat at the feeling. She pressed back with an equal passion, and they met again and again like two waves crashing into each other. Parting finally, they panted with the effort of such an exchange, eyes sparkling with fire.
After a long while Greg spoke breathlessly.
"That was..."
"...awful," she supplied, grinning slowly.
"Totally flawed," he smiled back weakly, noticing that his hands were still trembling. He pulled away, his body reacting sluggishly while his mind was already calculating the consequences of his instinctual gesture. As he tried to clear the fog from his mind, he was already fumbling for the door latch. Her eyes followed his movements, confusion clouding her face.
Greg leaned forward again and kissed her cheek gently before sliding past to whisper in her ear.
"I really am sorry for what I said," he murmured. "And...it was amazing." He allowed his lips to brush her cheek once more, then pulled away and stumbled out of the car. As he walked quickly to his car and got in shakily, he was already mentally kicking himself. What he'd just done was dating suicide, and yet he felt like he was going to suffocate if he stayed in that car for one more second. He needed time to think; to process what had just happened, and he hoped desperately that she would understand. He could hardly believe what had just happened.
After a few minutes he heard an engine revving and a car driving by his spot, but with forehead pressed firmly into the steering wheel he thankfully didn't see her. His hands gripped his knees weakly. He'd done it. Well, he'd done something. And that was a start, wasn't it? He could only wait now, for the night of the party to come and to see his dream come true. He hoped desperately that his instincts about Viviane were correct.
He thought back on their conversation and breathed a sigh of relief — he certainly no longer felt any disgust imagining her doing anything. The woman he visualized now was real, and open, and all Viviane. And that was more exciting to him than any fantasy. The road ahead for him was remarkably clear, and, as if their kiss had been a baptism by fire, he was no longer nervous about her reaction. Greg started his car with a serene, if shell-shocked, smile and drove away.
______
Their first meeting that night was witnessed by the entire team, so they could do little more than murmur 'hello' over the break room table. Their eyes, however, burned holes into each other.
After a moment Viviane's gaze flicked to something behind Greg's shoulder, and a horrified look crossed her face. Greg spun around to see Hodges entering the break room, a large bouquet of roses floating precariously in front of him.
Greg stepped away, staring at Hodges like he was a madman. He bumped into Nick, who barely reacted as they both watched in awe. Hodges handed the roses to Viviane, who accepted them apprehensively.
"Oh...Hodges...you...shouldn't have," she backed away slightly, a pained expression on her face. "You...really shouldn't have.
The team tried their hardest to keep a straight face and held their stomachs tightly. Until Hodges got down on one knee, and Greg had to bend over as he choked on his drink. Hot coffee scalded his throat as he spluttered at the sight of Hodges' upturned face, shining with hope. Nick pounded on his back even as his full attention was trained on the train-wreck happening right in front of them. Greg finally managed to get his throat under control and he stared at Viviane.
"The hand of a lady such as you can only be won by the purest of heart," began Hodges, taking Viviane's cringing hand. He looked as if he was about to lick it or swallow it whole; he had a frighteningly hungry look on his face.
"Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the Christmas party?"
The question hung in the air, and Greg had a sudden urge to laugh hysterically at the ridiculousness of the situation. The entire room was frozen watching the spectacle taking place in front of them. There couldn't possibly be a way to answer his question without doing irreversible damage to the situation, and for once Greg actually felt sorry for Hodges. Viviane glanced around and met Greg's eyes. Her expression was for once unsure — unsure how to handle the man hanging off her hand like a leech and the memories she still had of their kiss.
Greg cleared his throat loudly.
"Wasn't your brother going to be your date, Viviane?" he spoke up. He pulled it out of thin air, hoping it would get both of them out of the debacle with a minimum of damage, but her head snapped to the side and she stared at him in disbelief. She'd obviously thought he would ask her to the party himself, and he grimaced at having to do this to her. Just trust me for a bit longer, he thought, trying to make his expression both apologetic and hopeful.
After the second of confusion, her face melted into a grateful smile.
"Yes, actually, he was!" she said brightly as if she'd only now remembered. "I'm terribly sorry, David, but you know he's...er...family. And he doesn't know anyone here..."
Their attention snapped back to Hodges, who at mention of her brother had visibly blanched. Greg remembered his reaction to Glenn at the hospital and realized the man probably intimidated Hodges. He put on a suitably morose expression and stood up, prudently avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team.
"This pains me to no end, Viviane," he said, staring a little too intently into her eyes. She subconsciously leaned back, and Greg had to turn away to stifle a laugh. He seemed to have absolutely no inkling of his effect on other people.
"Perhaps one day you will reconsider and we could go out for a...morning snack?"
Viviane stammered an apology, which he took magnanimously. Her hand was still held hostage in his grip, and she futilely tried to tug it away. Finally he let go and straightened, making a great show of looking out into the hallway.
"There's Conrad," he said excitedly, striding away purposefully. "I have a few ideas for the party I'd like to see implemented..."
It took only a moment for those assembled to burst into laughter. Only Viviane still stood in the same spot, hand extended where Hodges had let it go and a stunned expression on her face. Greg noticed her silence and straightened, wiping a tear from his eye and trying to hide the wide grin on his face.
"Talk about awkward, huh?" he joked as he stepped closer.
For the first time since he'd met her, a flicker of annoyance showed on her face as she stared at him mutely.
"Yeah," she said flatly. Greg grimaced inwardly. Here he was, making fun of Hodges when he was too cowardly to ask her on a date. He was definitely the dope in this situation, not Hodges. She must think I don't like her if even Hodges can ask her out, in front of everyone, no less.
"You okay?" asked Catherine.
Viviane's face brightened into a relieved grin. "Oh yeah, I'm only a little bit creeped out," she laughed quickly.
"Hodges has that effect on people," grinned Warrick.
"Seriously. I didn't think he had that in him, though," said Catherine.
"At least he has guts," said Sara, throwing Greg a disapproving look.
Greg looked away guiltily. How could he explain to them that he had to do this on his own time? Tomorrow was the night — the party. Tomorrow everything would be settled; for better or for worse.
