HAIR
Grissom had sat on that rock for hours, relishing every minute of the wait, picturing the moment when he'd get to ambush Greg. He'd kept his eyes on the mouth of the cave all along; he didn't want to miss a single gesture, a single word…
Not that he expected Greg to be overjoyed at the sight of him -not after the things he'd said and done to the young man since the night before. But even a pissed-off Greg would be a welcome sight.
This last thought had made him smile. In the last few hours he had discovered some things about himself -things whose existence he may have vaguely suspected but didn't acknowledge because to do so would only disturb his orderly life. But now that he'd finally looked inside, he found that the truth didn't scare him anymore: He liked Greg.
A lot.
He always had; it was just after their conversation at Loving Bear Donuts Gil had got a glimpse of the man behind the lab rat genius; a good guy -a guy who was cocky and bold but whose shyness still came through at times. It was an appealing combination, and Gil couldn't resist it.
Now it was time for him to take the next step.
Unfortunately –and Gil was the first to admit this- he could be clumsy when it came to personal feelings. His own, that is. When it came to victims' or criminal's feelings he was knowledgeable and cool; once his own feelings were involved however, forget it; he just had no clue.
Which is why, instead of taking Greg aside and telling him something pointed and direct, he'd been tormenting the poor guy with questions and mixed signals -the equivalent of a little boy pulling a girl's braids in class to show her he liked her.
Which also explains why, instead of telling Greg, 'there you are' or something like that when Greg finally stepped out of the cave, he'd said, in what he recognized as his petulant tone, 'What took you so long?'
No wonder Greg was looking so pissed off right now. Actually, Greg's first reaction was one of shock; the poor guy had practically jumped when he heard Gil's voice.
But he recovered quickly, and now he was pissed.
"What are you doing here?" he asked in a slightly belligerent tone.
"I was waiting for you," Gil said matter-of-factly. He glanced at the bags behind Greg. "Is that all you got?"
"Yeah," Greg replied, "Why? Did you want me to haul out all the rocks, too?"
Grissom ignored the sarcasm.
"If the rocks are part of the evidence, yes," he said calmly, "So, did you find any signs of violence in there?"
The moment Gil mentioned the word 'evidence' Greg's manner changed.
"None," he said promptly, "No blood spatter, no broken objects. Food seems rotten, though. And the guy did have diarrhea, so food poisoning might -" Greg suddenly frowned, "Where's Nick?"
"He's gone," Gil said succinctly.
Greg looked up again.
"Gone?"
"He went back to the lab," Gil shrugged. "Remember?"
Greg nodded. He kept his gaze on Gil as if waiting for some further explanation, but when Grissom didn't offer any, he shrugged and decided to go on with his work. He put his kit on the ground and opened it. He looked around; there were a few pieces of equipment he'd left outside and he started to pick them up.
"Greg -"
"I know, I know," Greg muttered without looking up, "I shouldn't have left them here." He glanced at Grissom and the sight of his boss sitting there seemed to irritate him. "You could help me with this, you know."
"It's your kit, Greg."
Greg turned away. He didn't say anything for a while, but he couldn't be quiet for long.
"So," he said conversationally, "You're checking on me, or something?"
Grissom smiled to himself.
"Checking on you… Checking you out…" he said, "It's hard to tell the difference anymore."
Greg looked up sharply. For a few seconds his face showed all sort of conflicting emotions; hope, disbelief, elation…
Disbelief eventually won, and he looked down at the ground again.
It was then that Grissom realized he had probably gone too far. He'd been hinting at possibilities all night, only to hold back at the last minute. It was obvious that Greg had had enough of that; the look in his eyes said he wasn't falling for it anymore.
The sight sobered Gil up.
"I'm not checking on you," he said quietly. "You can do this job."
"You think?" Greg muttered skeptically, shutting his kit with a snap.
"I do. Nick does, too. He said you did a good job here."
Greg looked up.
"He said that?"
"He did." Gil rose and looked down. Jumping from the rock he was perched on didn't appeal much to him but neither did scrambling down. Hoping not to end up falling flat on his face, he jumped… and miraculously managed to land in front of Greg, to the young man's (and his own) surprise.
"He also said I was being too hard on you," Gil said. "So, when I wondered aloud whether I should stay here and apologize -" Gil smiled, "He said it would be a good idea."
Greg reluctantly smiled back. By making it look like it was Nick's idea, Gil's staying behind wouldn't seem odd or suspicious.
Greg looked him in the eye.
"So. You wanted to stay?"
"Yes."
"So -" Greg said, and he took a step closer to Gil.
"So," Gil said simply.
Greg lowerd his gaze and focused it on the one part of Gil's face he'd been avoiding till now. His jaw.
"You didn't shave," he said.
Gil didn't reply; he was studying Greg's face. They'd stood closer than this before, yet he'd never really taken the time to really look. He was gazing at Greg's moles and at the bluish five O'clock shadow, wondering why he'd never noticed them before.
He looked into Greg's eyes and realized that the young man was still waiting for some kind of response.
Gil shook his head.
"I didn't shave."
"Why?"
Gil shrugged noncommittally.
"Lots of reasons," he said.
"Oh, yeah?" Greg replied, and he took a step closer. "What reasons?"
Grissom's lips parted but he didn't speak. He didn't dare. Not yet. Instead, he walked around Greg and picked the empty bottle of water that Greg had discarded earlier on. He handed it to Greg without a word, and then started to pick the bags that Greg had hauled out.
He glanced over his shoulder and noticed that Greg was still waiting for a reply.
Gil put the bags down again.
"I was curious," he admitted.
"About?"
Gil hesitated. He still couldn't bring himself to say it. He didn't even know what exactly it was that he wanted to say.
He opted for a less direct road.
"Well, you never told me which classy place you were planning to take me to -"
"Oh."
Now it was Greg's turn to hesitate. It seemed like this was the last thing he expected to hear. He cleared his throat.
"Yeah," he said, "I, hum, thought we could go to Zeffirino's -"
Gil raised an eyebrow.
"That place at the Venetian?" he asked in surprise, "Wow. That is a classy place." He bent to pick a bag, then paused. He looked up again. "Was that all or did you have other plans?"
Greg had smiled smugly at Grissom's reaction to Zeffirino's, but now the hesitation was back. Clearly, he didn't know whether to tell the rest of his plans.
"I thought we could get a room at the Bellagio," he blurted out. He looked at Gil as if to gauge his reaction, and then added, more confidently, "There's a room there that caught my eye recently. Room number 719 -"
Gil frowned.
"Is that the one with the sunken Jacuzzi?"
"Uh, huh." Greg smiled smugly, "And the black satin sheets, and the wide-screen TV -"
"And the dead guy on the bed," Gil added ironically.
"The guy isn't there anymore," Greg said reasonably, "Besides, did you see the pictures I took? There are frescoes painted on the ceiling!"
Grissom shook his head.
"What?" asked Greg.
"You have very expensive tastes," Gil said, unable to keep the disapproval off his voice.
Greg shrugged.
"I just thought we should have the best."
Grissom considered this for a moment.
"Maybe you're right," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe we do deserve the best." He picked a couple of bags and hauled them over his shoulder. "So, when are we going?"
Greg frowned.
"Huh?"
"I accept the invitation, Greg," he said clearly. "Oh, and I like red wine, by the way," he added placidly, "And I really don't mind sleeping in a room someone has died in."
Gil was watching Greg closely as he spoke, and he noticed the young man's every reaction: first there was a sudden look of panic; then came Greg's very obvious move to reach for his wallet. Greg had checked that impulse almost immediately, but by the look of concentration on his face it was obvious that he was making a quick mental assessment of his funds. Panic returned, which could only mean he didn't have enough for a splurge.
Gil smiled to himself. For someone who was so good at keeping his feelings to himself, Greg could be very easy to read sometimes.
Gil took pity on him.
"It's ok, Greg," he said kindly, "I was only joking."
Gil turned and started to walk away. He glanced around and was surprised when he didn't see Greg walking along with him. He looked over his shoulder and realized that Greg hadn't moved an inch.
Gil put down the bags and turned. The young man was gaping.
"What?" Gil asked impatiently.
"You're joking?" Greg asked in a wounded tone.
And Grissom realized that Greg had completely misunderstood what he said.
"I was joking about the hotel and the wine, Greg," he said patiently, "Not about the rest." He smiled, "A diet coke will do."
Greg paused for just a few seconds, going over what Gil had just said.
"So, you -" he said, "You really -I mean, do you really...?"
"Yes," Gil said as if the answer was obvious, "I want this."
Greg exhaled the air he'd been holding.
"Oh, for God's sake," he growled, "Why didn't you just say so?" And then he walked up to Grissom, grabbed him brusquely by the front of his CSI vest, and then kept walking, forcing Gil to stumble backwards.
Gil didn't protest. As much as he liked Greg's shy side, he was glad that the young man had opted for boldness this time. Gil needed him to take the lead in this. He willingly let Greg push him, until a hard surface suddenly stopped them.
Gil noticed only vaguely that they were back at the entrance of the cave. He was more focused on Greg. The young man's breathing was harsh, as if he'd run for miles. He was looking at Grissom's face, taking in every detail; but when he finally looked at Gil's beard, he seemed mesmerized by it.
"Jesus," he whispered, his hands releasing the hold on Gil's vest and rushing to touch the older man's face. He took a deep breath as he gently cradled Grissom's face between his hands.
"There," Gil said, rubbing his jaw against Greg's palms, "You were curious about my beard, weren't you?"
"It's softer than I thought," Greg said breathlessly. "You trimmed it," he added, making it sound like an accusation.
"But I didn't shaved it," Gil countered, "Satisfied?"
"Not yet," Greg said, and he leant forward and rubbed his cheek along Gil's. He chuckled as he rubbed his nose and his lips all along Gil's jaw.
He was about to touch Gil's lips with his own, when Grissom suddenly pulled back.
"Wait," he said. "There's something I've always wanted to do -" And he reached out and buried his fingers in Greg's hair. He frowned. "What the hell do you put in it?" he asked, "It's all stiff!
Greg smiled indulgently.
"It's gel, Grissom. What, you have a thing for my hair?
"You have a thing for my beard," Grissom retorted.
They looked at each other, and suddenly they both burst out laughing.
Gil thought it was funny that touching each other's hair could mean so much to them. But his laughter eventually died as he found himself staring into Greg's eyes.
Slowly, Gil let his hands slide from Greg's hair until they were holding Greg's face between them. He gently rubbed Greg's bottom lip with one of his thumbs.
Greg's lips parted.
"Now," he said, leaning forward again. "Can I have a -"
A phone rang all of a sudden. Gil immediately picked his cell and peered at the caller's ID.
"Uh, oh. It's Officer Padilla."
"Hmmm?" Greg asked, his gaze on Gil's mouth, "Who's Officer Padilla?"
"The cop who brought me here."
Greg looked up.
"The cop who brought you here?" he repeated incredulously. "You mean you didn't bring your own car?"
"No. I thought I'd be going back to the lab with you and Nick. I got Officer Padilla to give me a ride; then I asked him to come back -" He let the word trail off. He didn't want to admit the real reason he left his car at the lab: he didn't trust himself; he had the feeling that once he was alone with Greg he'd simply drive them to the nearest motel –job be damned.
"Let's go," he said in resignation.
"Wha- what?" Greg asked but he dutifully followed Gil. "You mean we're gonna have to ride back with this guy? But… but what about -"
But Grissom was already picking up his bags again.
---
Once they walked past the rocky wall, the sounds of the highway reached them.
Gil glanced at the police cars parked along the dirt road. Officer Padilla waved a hand at them. He was talking to the cops who'd made the initial call after Greene was found.
"He doesn't seem in a hurry," Greg said. He glanced at Grissom. He'd been glancing at him ever since they started back but hadn't said anything till now. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yes."
"Why?" Greg said. "Why did you do all this? You could have called me; you could have pulled me aside in the break room -"
"Well, I did try to talk to you but you were late, remember?"
"Yeah, but… You know what I mean. You could have been more direct."
Gil nodded.
"So," Greg said, "Why didn't you?"
Gil smiled. "I was enjoying it too much. The anticipation, I mean. You know, knowing that something would happen." He paused for a moment, "Or could happen," he added cautiously. "Or might happen -" he said, glancing tentatively at Greg.
He wasn't taking anything for granted.
Greg smiled.
"Oh, it will happen," he said. He glanced at Gil, "You know what I'm gonna do when we're finally get a moment alone?"
"What?"
"I'm gonna kiss the hell out of you."
Grissom frowned.
"Kiss the hell out of me?" he repeated.
"Oh, yeah," Greg said. "It's something I've wanted to do for a long time. I've never kissed anyone with a moustache before," he added casually, "Is it prickly? Nah, don't tell me. I want to find out by myself -"
But Grissom was still frowning. "How do you kiss the hell out of someone?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.
"You're gonna find out soon enough," Greg replied smugly.
Grissom smiled despite himself. There was Greg's cocky side yet again.
Greg was still looking at him.
"I suppose you want to take things slow," he said tentatively.
Grissom didn't reply.
"I can do slow," Greg continued. "Kisses on the first date, heavy petting on the second, sex on the third -"
"That's your definition of going slow?" Gil asked in mock surprise.
Greg blinked.
"Are you kidding me? That's ketchup-slow. I usually have sex on the first date -" he paused, "Which might be the reason I rarely have a second date."
"You're that bad, huh?" Gil teased.
"Au contraire," Greg countered, "They're just too exhausted to keep up with me."
They were smiling, enjoying the banter.
Greg glanced sideways at him.
"Can I ask you something?" Greg said tentatively, "Are you really gay?"
"What do you think?"
"It's hard to tell," Greg said honestly. "You give off all sort of vibes, to tell you the truth. How about this: have you been with a man before?"
"Does it matter?" Gil asked, looking at him.
"It would. Kinda. I mean, I don't want to freak you out or anything."
Grissom smiled to himself. There was a brief moment when he did freak out, but that was the day before. He'd looked in the mirror and wondered if he could really do this. He was scared, thrilled… Freaked out.
But by the time he started putting his shaving things away, he'd started to feel better. Reassured.
He'd felt great, actually. Happy. Renewed. He was emerging from his life-long sleep, about to embark on a new life. Whether it would last more than four months, he didn't know.
Officer Padilla waved again.
"Are you ready, Mr. Grissom?" he called out.
"Yeah," Gil said. He glanced at Greg as he added, "I'm ready."
THE END