SECOND DATE
Part one
Some scenes here will seem familiar to some of you; it's material that I didn't use in my story "Decisions," (the part about the convention).
There's a mention of Stephen Connor, from 'Medical Investigations' and that Greg Sanders' look-a-like Ryan Wolfe from CSI Miami, (I don't usually watch CSI M., but when I saw Wolfe in a promo, my first impression was that he'd been chosen because he looked like Greg. I might be wrong)
I don't usually watch MI so my description of SC might be unfair.
Second Date: 2004 (set about a couple of weeks after Mea Culpa)
The applause was deafening; everyone was happy that the President of the Forensic Sciences Association had finally wrapped up his speech. The old man was gratified by the public's reaction and proceeded to make a lengthy introduction of the next guest, Dr. Stephen Connor and his conference, 'Medical Investigation: Past and Future.'
The auditorium was packed and Grissom had been forced to take a seat at the back, but he didn't mind; he was not interested in the next conference, although he would listen attentively, out of courtesy.
Or at least he was going to try.
It wasn't just that the speakers at the back had malfunctioned and it was hard to hear what Connor was saying; the main reason was that somewhere in the back row, Greg was making comments that were funny and erudite, and every time he said something, Grissom wanted to hear it.
He smiled to himself. If Eckley ever found out that he'd had fun at the convention, he'd be pissed.
A couple of weeks ago, right after taking over his new duties as Assistant Director, Eckley had decided that Grissom should attend the Forensic Sciences Institute Annual Convention in Miami, taking Greg as an assistant. Even before Grissom could say anything, Eckley had smirked and said, "I suppose you'd rather go alone or with Sophia, but I'm sure you'll have more fun with Sanders."
Actually, Grissom would have preferred not to go at all, but he didn't say anything. He refused to feed Eckley's ego by engaging in a fight he was bound to lose, anyway.
"You'll be sharing a suite," Eckley had said, enjoying himself more and more. "I think you'll be a good influence on that guy, Gil." He said, rising from his seat, "Unless…" he paused by the door, "Unless he ends up having an influence in you." He smirked again, "Just don't go out partying with him; you're a bit too old for that."
It was unlikely that Grissom would ever go out partying, and frankly, there had been no time to go out, period. Gil and Greg had been going from one conference to another and from one seminar to the next. At the end of the last two days, they had been too exhausted to do more than sitting in front of the TV.
They had presented their own seminar and it had been a success: Students and professionals alike had approached them for more information. Grissom was pleased by the reaction, but he suspected that the female students had been more drawn by Greg himself than the conference. Greg had practically been mobbed by them.
Grissom smiled again. This convention had turned out to be a nice experience –surely better than Eckley had thought it would be. Greg was never boring, and while he certainly knew how to party, he also knew when to be serious; and more importantly, he made friends easily –something that was very important, since it kept him occupied and out of Grissom's way a few hours a day.
The older man liked to have his personal space –something made difficult by the fact that he and Greg were sharing a suite. True, they had separate bedrooms, but they shared the TV and the bathroom; and while Grissom didn't mind relinquishing the TV remote, sharing the bathroom had taken him a while to get used to.
The first night they spent together, Grissom had been brushing his teeth when Greg entered the bathroom, practically invading his boss' personal space.
"Hey, boss," he had said casually, picking up his toothbrush.
"Hey, Greg," Grissom had mumbled. He studiously avoided looking at Greg and focused on teeth-brushing until Greg yawned lustily. Grissom gave in and looked up at his reflection on the mirror. Greg was wearing pajamas –probably out of deference to his boss- and he looked funny, with eyes shut and mouth wide open.
"You look like an alligator." Grissom said dryly.
"I -awrghhh." Greg yawned again, "I'm tired, boss."
"Well, try to rest." Grissom said, putting his toothbrush back in the holder, "Our conference starts at eight." He added, walking around Greg to reach the door.
"Sure will." Greg nodded. "'night, Grissom." He called out, and when Grissom was well out of sight but still close enough to hear, he added, "Sleep tight, don't let the bugs bite-" He snorted, "That doesn't apply to you, does it? You like bugs!"
Grissom was smiling as he remembered this. This forced intimacy had been hard on him at first, but now he was used to Greg's presence and to their routine: They shaved and ate breakfast together, and then each went to the conferences they were more interested in. By the end of the day, they shared information and watched TV.
The lights were dimmed and Dr. Connor presented some news footage related to a case he had solved. Grissom was squinting at the screen when suddenly a hand grasped his shoulder.
"That guy's intense." Greg whispered in his ear.
Grissom froze when he felt Greg's breath in his ear. The young man was leaning forward, almost touching Grissom's cheek with his own.
"Intense?" Grissom repeated, looking sideways at Greg. "You think?"
"Yep," Greg nodded placidly. "Very."
Grissom looked at Connor again. Intense? Maybe, but it was Greg's tone of admiration that made him pause. Grissom frowned. He could be intense too; just because he kept his feelings purposefully behind a bland façade, didn't mean he couldn't-
Grissom blinked. What the hell was that? He sounded like he was jealous-
"I wouldn't like to work with someone like him, though." Greg said.
"Wouldn't you?"
"No. He looks like he'd put himself on a quarantine if he got a hangnail or a little zit." He chuckled. He patted Grissom's shoulder and turned to talk to his friends in the back row.
Grissom smiled. Maybe there was no reason to be jealous.
Now and then his comments would reach Grissom's ears and not all of them where about Forensics; some were about music or movies ('I prefer Sean Connery as Bond!') Or 'Hey, do you have plans for tonight?'
Grissom shook his head. Greg had been flirting from day one, mostly with the female Pathologists, but so far with little success. The problem was that most of the women had conferences and seminars to attend, and very little time to spare. The female students would have been more willing, but Greg wasn't interested in them.
Sometimes it looked like Greg preferred to put himself in losing situations.
Grissom had refrained from making any comment, until that night, when they were watching TV.
"Why do you do always that?"
"Do what?"
"Hit on every woman who crosses your path."
"Well, I believe in using a wide net," he said cheekily "Then I step back and see what I've caught." He glanced at Grissom, "Why?"
"It gives the impression that you're just playing around." Grissom said, without stopping to ask himself why he cared.
"Maybe I am just playing around." Greg said distractedly. Then he remembered that he was talking to his boss, and he didn't want to appear irresponsible, "I mean, I play around sometimes-" he amended, "But not with everybody."
Grissom wasn't convinced, but he knew he was the last person who should be giving advice in these matters, so he shut up.
"It's harmless fun, Grissom." Greg insisted, "Besides…" he smiled, "You should be glad that I hit on the doctors."
"Why is that?"
"Well, you said you didn't want to attend the CSI's banquet, right?"
Grissom nodded. He didn't like the fact that only the Supervisors had been invited; it wasn't fair to Greg and the rest of the assistants.
"Well," Greg continued, "Thanks to me, now you don't have to go," he said, "And you won't have to stay here all alone, eating room service cheeseburgers either," He paused and then he said smugly, "I got us an invitation to the Pathologists' dinner!"
Grissom was interested.
"Really?" he asked.
"Yeah!" Greg smiled widely, "The lovely Dr. Ann Dawson needed an escort and I told her I was available. As luck had it, her best friend -the equally lovely Dr. Carmen Morris- didn't have an escort either, so," he paused, "I offered to get legendary Dr. Gil Grissom to go with her." He looked expectantly at Grissom, and when the older man didn't say anything, he added, "You're welcome."
It took Grissom a few seconds to find something to say. He cleared his throat first.
"I don't want to go to the Pathologists' dinner."
Greg smiled. He knew Grissom was going to resist at first.
"Grissom, you told me that CSI dinners are notoriously cheap and boring, right? Well, the pathologists will hold their banquet at Le Seine. Le Seine, Grissom. We're talking about a five-course dinner with wines and several desserts to choose from." He rose and put the remote control on the coffee table, "I'll have to rent a dark suit," he muttered to himself, "I can't go to Le Seine wearing the jacket I've worn every day," he turned to Grissom, "Can I borrow the extra tie you brought?"
"I'll give you both," he said dryly. "I don't want to -"
"Oh, come on, boss-"
"-go out with Dr Morris." Grissom finished.
"Grissom," he said patiently, "It's a date, not an engagement. All you'll have to do is sit there, compliment her dress, smile, and tell a couple of stories." He paused, "Oh, and use the correct dinnerware, of course," he joked.
"Greg-"
"Although that may not be enough," Greg said, ignoring his boss' attempts to interrupt him, "These are smart women, Grissom; we can't rely just on our good looks to impress them. Maybe we should take a refresher course on Pathology tomorrow; you know, in case they want to talk about their careers-"
"I don't-"
"Aw, relax, Grissom!" He smiled reassuringly, "You'll do fine. You're a famous Entomologist and a famous crime-buster. And you're a good dancer too, right?" he asked and burst out laughing when he saw the panic on Grissom's face, "Kidding! I'm just kidding. There's no dance involved." He said firmly, and then he smirked, "Unless you want to indulge in some horizontal tango later on…"
Grissom was not smiling.
"I'm joking, boss." Greg said gently, "It's only dinner ok? It'll be fun."
"Greg, I'll have more fun if I stay here and watch TV."
"You don't know that. Listen," he said, more seriously, "A year ago you told me that you never dated, but you could give it a try at least." he paused and looked at him in the eye, "Just think it over. Please."
Grissom didn't move until he heard Greg close his door.
Greg's words reminded him of that day, more than a year ago, when they rode a roller coaster and held hands.
He had successfully blocked that memory until now. He did not appreciate being reminded of it. He sighed. Greg was exasperating, sometimes. Grissom didn't want to be ungrateful, but he just didn't want to go to any dinner party; he didn't want to sit with strangers, no matter how nice they were, or how good the food was. Even if Greg was there, he-
He paused.
Suddenly, he pictured the banquet and the two pathologists, Greg and himself sharing a table at a fancy restaurant. With a start, he realized that he might be willing to do this – being charming and pleasant to the doctors and he even dancing with them, if only out of gratitude-
Gratitude for providing him with an excuse to sit across from Greg at a nice place they would never go to in a million years –a chance to act as if he was on a date with Greg.
Grissom entered the bar and was glad to see that it was almost empty.
Of course it was empty; most people were still finishing off conferences and seminars, or getting ready for a night of banquets. He had come down early because being upstairs doing nothing while Greg got ready for the party was driving him nuts.
They were meeting the doctors down here anyway.
Grissom sat at the bar, ordered a drink, and opened the book he had brought. He was glad he had brought one; it was unnerving, the quantity of mirrors that covered almost every surface at the bar. He didn't need to be reminded what he looked like every minute of the day.
Still, there were advantages; from his spot at the bar, he could see people entering the bar without having to turn. Every time he perceived a movement, he discreetly looked up.
The bartender noticed this and after a while he thought he had the perfect excuse to interrupt Grissom's reading. It was a slow night and he was bored.
"You waiting for someone?"
"No." Grissom said quickly, feeling oddly guilty at being caught on.
"Aren't you?" he was surprised, "I thought you were."
"No."
"I mean," the guy insisted, "you've been looking up every time someone-"
"Hey, Grissom."
Damn, Grissom thought, there he is and I missed the entrance. He'd been curious to see what Greg looked like when he went to a party.
He turned. Party-Greg looked more handsome than Lab-Greg. Even though his rented suit didn't really fit, the white-shirt-and-dark-tie combo looked good on him, and he knew it. There was a seductive smile gracing his lips, and Grissom was not the only one to notice –unfortunately. Several girls were waving at Greg from afar and a couple of them stopped to talk.
Once they left, Greg took a seat beside his boss and glanced at Grissom's half empty glass.
"What are you having?"
"Mineral water and lime."
"Good." He approved, "Dr Morris doesn't drink; she'll appreciate being kissed by a guy who doesn't stink of booze." He added, and chuckled when he noticed Grissom's frown. "I'm joking, Grissom." He said gently. He turned to the bartender, who was hovering nearby, and ordered a drink. "And bring another for my friend, here." He added grandly.
Grissom lifted an eyebrow.
"You have big bucks tonight, Greg?"
The young man smiled. He was in good spirits. He used the mirror closest to him to check on his tie and his hair, while talking animatedly about the convention and about the closing ceremony to take place the next day. But after a moment, he realized that Grissom's attention was not on him but on the book that lay open on the shiny counter.
Greg tried to joke about it. He leant sideways and waved at a mirror, until Grissom looked up.
"Am I boring you, boss?"
For a moment they looked at each other on the mirror.
Grissom avoided having to answer by looking down and picking up his drink.
He wasn't bored by Greg's talk; he was mesmerized by it.
Too late had he realized that he was not going to be able to pull this off.
All day long he'd told himself that he could do it –go on a date, that is. It wasn't like he had never done it before –despite of what he had told Greg. He was perfectly capable of handling a date -he could be charming, attentive, and considerate- but this time there was a problem: Greg.
The young man just looked too good; so good that it was going to be hard not to stare at him, (hell, even now it was difficult not to look); and once Grissom started looking, everyone else was bound to notice –the doctors and Greg himself.
And Grissom was afraid of revealing –with just one look- the feelings that had lain dormant these past months.
Ignorant of his boss' inner turmoil, Greg went on talking. It was like an automatic reaction in him- the more Grissom ignored him, the more Greg needed to talk. Maybe he did it out of nervousness, or maybe it was an attempt to keep some sort of connection between them. No matter the reasons, he just kept on babbling, hoping to break through Grissom's indifference.
In the end, it wasn't his words that drew Grissom's full attention, it was his leg.
Greg was shifting in his seat as he talked, and his knee accidentally bumped against Grissom's. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it –just an unintentional touch, like dozens that might occur every day at the lab. And yet, something happened- It might have been the angle, or the amount of pressure, or the fact that instead of pulling back, their knees briefly rubbed against each other again. It lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like a surge of electricity had passed from one to the other; a perfect meeting of nerve endings and muscles–
Greg looked up at the mirror again and Grissom met his gaze.
Grissom was the first to look away (and move away), but not before Greg read his expression –actually it was as if Grissom had spoken aloud. 'I'd like more of that,' he'd said.
Greg was stunned.
Well, well…
This felt like déjà vu. Once again he was wondering how open to possibilities his boss might be. Greg lifted his glass to hide a grin.
Last year he had wondered about Grissom; now, he was sure. The thing was, what to do about it? For now they had dinner to look forward to, but what about later?
He was musing on this, when he spotted someone entering the bar.
"Hey," he said, "there's Ryan what's-his-name, that CSI guy who works with Horatio Caine. I'll be right back, Grissom."
Grissom glanced at a mirror to follow Greg's movements until the bartender blocked his view. Distracted, Grissom eyed Greg's drink for the first time. The tall glass held some clear liquid –Vodka? Gin?- and a gelatinous red coloring that was sinking fast to the bottom.
"What do you call that?" he asked the bartender.
"Sangre Dulce." The bartender said in perfect Spanish.
"Sweet Blood?" frowned Grissom.
The bartender chuckled.
"It sounds nicer in Spanish," he shrugged.
"It looks like coagulated blood," Grissom said admiringly.
The bartender was pleased by the reaction.
"I created several drinks in honor of the convention." He leant on the bar, "I put all kinds of synthetic syrups and colorings in a glass and then I top them off with rum." He laughed when he noticed Grissom's expression, "Hey, the kids love this exotic shit; it gives them the illusion that they're not really, you know, boozing it uplike their daddies." He said cynically. He eyed Grissom's mineral water, "You a twelve-step man?"
"No."
The bartender eyed him closely.
"I bet you're a straight-whisky guy," he said with impeccable insight. "What's the deal with the mineral water? You don't think I've got good Scotch here?"
"I just-" Grissom shrugged.
The bartender glanced at Greg and then he looked at Grissom.
"You're hoping to get lucky." he said.
Grissom winced.
The bartender smiled to himself. He'd seen everything in his fifteen years as a bartender; when it came to people pairing off, nothing surprised him anymore.
Grissom was still wondering if he was indeed hoping to get lucky, when Greg returned.
"Hey, I'm back!" Greg said as he slid on his seat. "Did you know," he said, "that people say I look like that Miami guy, Ryan Wolfe?" He grinned, "'Fess up, Grissom." He said, "Are CSI honchos required to hire one exceedingly handsome, brown-eyed guy per shift?"
Grissom glanced over his shoulder.
"He's not that handsome-" he replied.
The bartender snorted noisily and Grissom frowned. Was the guy laughing at him?
He glanced at Greg and was mystified to see that the young man was grinning too.
Why? What the hell happened? All he'd said was-
Oh.
He'd just implied that Greg was exceedingly handsome. Grissom took a big mouthful of his drink.
Greg smiled and took a sip of his drink.
"You know something?" he said, "This feels like a date. I mean, here we are, having drinks-" he lifted his glass and gently touched Grissom's glass with it, "We'll be having dinner at an elegant restaurant-"
"Along with Drs. Morris and Dawson." Grissom muttered without lifting his gaze.
Greg paused. The words –and the bitter tone behind them- sobered him up. He took another sip of his drink and then he slowly put the glass down.
"Do you want us to go alone?" he asked without looking up.
Grissom gulped more mineral water to keep from answering. He had fantasized about having dinner with Greg –he wanted to sit at the same table and talk over a glass of wine- but that was all. He might not like the idea of sharing Greg with the doctors, but he wasn't ready to do anything else. Going out with Greg… No way.
"We can't do that." He said simply.
Greg nodded quietly.
"Ok." he said. He turned to look at Grissom, "And now you're not coming to dinner, are you?"
Grissom winced. Greg knew him too well, apparently.
"No."
"Ok." Greg said simply.
After that, Grissom was vaguely aware that Greg's cell rang and that he was talking to someone. The doctors, probably.
"Yes, I'm at the bar…" Greg mumbled, "No, he's not coming with us… Yeah, you were right. Sure… Great… Yeah, I'll be there." He said, and then he put some money on the bar and left without glancing at Grissom.
TBC … Part two.
If you've read my stories before, you know that it takes me a little while to get those two together.But you also know there's always a happy ending coming up...!