A Conversation

By Anansay

January 7, 2003

"I ought to kill you…"

It came out as though it were an afterthought.

The gun was aimed at his head, though only being held there out of some outlandish sense of scene conformity.

Grissom stared at the gun suddenly pointing in his face. His eyes were wide, mouth gaping, as he instinctively backed up against the wall. "What?" he asked quietly, unbelieving of his own eyes and ears.

"You're dying…" the gunman said it as though of course the other man should have known this already.

Confusion reigned in Grissom's eyes. How had it changed so suddenly? First he had been protected by this man, and now the man had turned on him, the gun no longer aimed at his would-be attackers. It was sheer madness! He swallowed hard, trying to fathom the sudden shift in characters.

"Inside… you're dying… you know that…"

The confusion grew. Grissom's eyes scanned the area, looking for some answers to this very skewed scenario. "I – I'm alive." Somehow the words seemed hollow, even to his ears. "I am."

The man with the gun just stared at him, mockery in his eyes. He smiled slightly. Grissom stared at him, his mind racing to find the logic that must exist in this newfound dimension. The man was taller than Grissom, with straight jet black hair that flowed down just past his shoulders. He had dark brown eyes set in a face of skin the color of rich ivory and so smooth. He was of slight build, and yet Grissom felt this man could probably handle himself quite well if the situation should arise. He stood with an arrogance that did not belie the underlying tautness of his musculature. His head was carried as just an angle to let those around him feel the intrinsic power and confidence this man possessed, and yet there was also an inherent approachability that intrigued Grissom. Perhaps it was the way the man's eyes sparkled with humor and pixyish charm. But it was the voice… strong, deep and yet rather soft and caressing. It moved over Grissom, entrapping him like a deer in headlights, robbing him of his quick wit and acumen. He struggled with the man's words and their discerning, cryptic intimations.

"No, you're not… you're dying…" the man said quietly. "I might as well kill you now, save you the agony, that would be a nice thing, don't you think? It would be much better than how you would have died," his head bobbing backward toward the path the other two men had taken in their flight, "had I not come along."

Grissom's eyes widened until the air stung his naked eyeballs. "No! It would not!"

"Of course it would be…"

"I am not dying!"

The look in the man's eyes, of absolute certainty in his belief, was beginning to jar on Grissom's calm outer shell. The man appeared to be absolutely serious! Even after saving him from being possibly killed, here he was going to finish the job himself!

"Well… you're certainly not living."

Grissom stared at the man, blinking in the night light, trying to see any sign of sanity in the man's eyes. Amazingly enough he appeared quite calm and assured. The most disturbing aspect in all of this, thought Grissom. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

The man smiled again, a patronizing smile that both mocked Grissom and took pity on him. Grissom was beginning to feel like a young child, being gently chastised by a kindly older man for a minor wrongdoing; though the crime of being alive and yet not living seemed hardly minor. "You… are… not… living. Look at you! Overweight, shuffling to and fro, bags under your dead eyes. No spark left. You are dead inside. Your body is alive, but you are dead, ergo not living. Do the math, science man!"

Grissom's eyes went to his body, quickly eyeing it before realizing what he was doing, his head snapping back up. If confusion had only been a visitor before, it was quickly making a permanent home in Grissom's psyche. There was no rebuttal to this man's accusations. How does one respond to such statements? The gun was still pointing in the general direction of Grissom's body, though not specifically held there it seemed. The man behaved as though he were having a nice chat over coffee at the local café.

Eyeing the gun warily, Grissom decided on another tactic, trying to diffuse a potentially deadly situation. The man was obviously a psychopath, an escaped patient; his calm outward demeanour belying the torment that must be churning inside him. Calm diffuses, Grissom thought. "I – I want to live." He spoke quietly.

"You do?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

Grissom stared at him, eyes wide. "Because."

"Because why?"

"Because… I DO!"

The man cocked his head to one side, one eyebrow raised scornfully. He shook his head saying, "That's not a reason."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just not a reason."

"Why not?"

The man sighed, pursing his lips in thought, before speaking again, slowly. "Because it's just words. They're not from your heart. You speak them only because you're reading a script. Step out of the game and live!"

"I – am."

"No. You're not."

"I AM!"

"No, you… are… not."

"YES!"

"No."

Grissom was breathing heavy now. His eyes searched around madly. His heart beat frantically in his chest. He had to try one more time. Repetition, a good way to learn. "I… am… living…"

The gunman shook his head again, his eyes closing briefly. "You are only saying the words." His eyes snapped open, flashing. "Speak from your heart, dammit!" The sudden change in tone struck Grissom hard. The man had been speaking in quiet, dancing tones up until then. The barrier was breaking. What would come out, no one knew. Grissom certainly didn't want to know.

"I want to live."

"Why?"

Grissom rolled his eyes. Back to this again, he thought. "Because… because…" A vision of Sara came into his mind, bright and alive, as though she were there. He could almost smell her.

The other man's eyes squinted slightly as they watched Grissom's face change momentarily. "Why… Gil…"

Still seeing Sara, Grissom swallowed. "Because… of love."

"Love?"

Grissom looked up into the man's eyes, his own pleading. "Yes, love. I don't want to die because… I haven't told her yet… I need to tell her… for her to know… She needs to know. I need to tell her."

"Why does she need to know?"
Grissom tried to formulate his feelings and reasons into words. "Because… she waited so long… for me. She waited so long, and I didn't do anything. I didn't do anything. I was afraid…" His eyes were unfocused. He was looking away from the man, at his coat yet through it, to somewhere else.

"Your fear… is robbing your soul, Gil, of it's life. You are dying. Your fear is crippling you."

Grissom closed his eyes. "Yes…" He was breathing hard now. He swallowed convulsively. Sara was still there, in his mind, staring at him. There was a sadness about her. A longing in her eyes. It had always been there, masked behind her other emotions, but peeking out here and there. He'd seen it, but had ignored it.

"You want to live, Gil. Then live. To your fullest. Live every day as though it were your last. You never know when I'll be back…"

Grissom's head snapped up to stare at the man. The gun was gone. His hands rested at his side, open and empty. A small smile graced his face, a beautiful, glorious smile, full of life and love. He advanced toward Grissom, his hands coming up to cup his face. The stranger stared into his eyes, reading them, going into his soul and pulling him into his own. His face became blurry as he came closer. Grissom's eyes closed as he felt the stranger's lips on his own, gently brushing his. A spark of electricity ignited in him and coursed through his body, making him gasp. But he couldn't pull away. The hands on his face, though they held him loosely, seemed like chains around his soul, keeping him there.

The kiss ended and the man pulled away, his eyes twinkling mischievously in the nightlight, matching his devilish grin. "I love you, Gil." He said quietly. "But if you are loved here, and you love in return, then I shall let you live. But I'll wait for you. I would love to have your eternal company, but I have patience." Grissom could do nothing but stare. "I don't want to see you anytime soon, do you hear me?"

It was a softly spoken admonition. Grissom nodded, his eyes never leaving his. The stranger turned around and walked away, into the fog that had mysteriously crept up out of nowhere. Grissom sighed and closed his eyes, leaning against the wall. He snapped them open again, but the man was gone. And so was the fog. He brought his hand up to his lips, still tingling slightly from the kiss.

The Kiss of Death.