THIRD DATE

Part one.

Notes for Third Date, parts one and two.

Spoilers:

1. Too tough to die (Sara's parting shot at the end of the episode, 'I wish I were like you, Grissom; I wish I didn't feel anything')

2. Ch-changes: (the scene where Gil and Greg are talking and Mimosa the transsexual showgirl calls. I think it's interesting how Grissom keeps his gaze on Greg as he talks to Mimosa and repeats her words, as if he wants Greg to know that someone's inviting him for a drink.)

I hate Sophia (Actually, what I hate it's the way Grissom acts when she's around –suddenly he's less smart and she's the one who knows everything. That's just not the way it should be!); but she had a good line during Spark of Life, when she told Greg 'you used to be a fun guy; don't lose that…'

Third date: 2005

Part one

Grissom signed a report, put it on his 'out' tray and then glanced at his watch. It was ten-thirty already.

He signed. He had stayed after his shift ended to do some paperwork. At first he had only planned on staying a couple of hours, but now it looked like he was not going to go home. He hated working on files and reports, but once he started, he couldn't stop.

He picked up another file, opened it and started reading. Soon he became so engrossed by the text that he didn't notice when Greg entered this office. Bemused, Greg watched him for a while, but finally he couldn't contain himself. He had big news.

"The verdict's in!" he announced.

Grissom looked up. Greg was smiling expectantly.

Grissom put down his pen. He knew what verdict Greg was talking about: The McBride rape; the first case that Greg had worked on as lead investigator.

The case had seemed very straightforward at first: A teenager had been raped, and all the evidence pointed to one person only: Kenneth Johnstone, a young college student.

Greg had avidly followed the trial, even after his testimony was over. While he had testified as a DNA expert for years, this was the first time he'd done it as the CSI in charge, and he had dedicated many hours and even used his own personal time to make sure that the evidence against Johnstone was unimpeachable.

Johnstone's lawyer hadn't been able to undermine Greg's testimony, but he'd effectively used the victim's character against her. Even the girl's parents admitted under oath that her wild ways had got her in trouble before. The prosecution had done a good job at closing arguments, however, so it was difficult to predict the outcome.

The jury had retired for deliberations three days before, and Greg had been waiting for the verdict since then. For him, there could only be one: Guilty.

Grissom didn't share his optimism. He had lost count of the times a jury had been swayed one way or the other by a slick defense, a suspect's charisma, or -let's face it- an incompetent prosecutor. He had tried to share his misgivings with Greg; he had tried to explain that sometimes even the strongest evidence was not enough, but whenever he started to say something, Greg's enthusiasm had overpowered him.

And now, the verdict was in.

"So," Greg said, "Do you wanna come along and hear that sweet 'Guilty as charged'?"

Grissom hesitated.

"Greg-" he started.

"I know, I know;" Greg interrupted, "You mustn't get your hopes up." He recited, ably mimicking Grissom's voice and tone. "I can't help it," He added in his own voice, "I'm wired, Grissom!" he said enthusiastically, "This was my first trial as a lead CSI, and I want to be optimistic-"

"I understand that, Greg, but-" Grissom cleared his throat. He was about to explain the facts of life to Greg, but he backed off as soon as he saw the young man's smile. Grissom didn't want to take that from him. "This guy had everybody's sympathy," He said instead.

"Not everybody's-" Greg said pointedly.

"The girl's testimony wasn't impressive-" Grissom added.

"Yes, but-"

"And the DA botched the interrogation-"

"Whatever." Greg said dismissively, "He is guilty, Grissom; you know it and I know it." Greg took a step closer and leant on the desk, "Come on." He said, "I need someone cheering me on and you're the only one left from the night shift."

"I can't." Grissom said apologetically, putting a hand on the pile of files on his desk. "I'm kind of busy right now."

"It'll only take us half an hour." Greg said, and then he added playfully, "Plus an hour for the celebration, of course. Drinks are on me." He teased, "What do you say?"

"Well-" Grissom hesitated. He was not really considering going, but he didn't want to say 'no' just like that. "I have to finish all these reports-" he said, "You go."

"Ok," Greg said good-naturedly. He took a couple of steps towards the door, but he was still looking at Grissom. "You're going to miss my moment of triumph, you know."

"Well, I'll be here, in case you want to tell me about it." Grissom said kindly. He watched as Greg walked away, and just as the young man was about to step out of his office, he added, "Greg? Just try to be realistic, ok?"

"I'll try."

"And don't celebrate too much!" Grissom added, but Greg was already out of hearing range. Grissom briefly shook his head. He had the feeling that Greg was going to be disappointed.

He turned his attention back to the open file in front of him and reread the last page. He picked up his pen to make a check, and then he turned to the next page. He read.

And read.

After a moment, he realized that he had been reading the same lines over and over, yet he couldn't tell what they were all about. He took off his glasses and for a moment he only stared ahead, at the place that Greg had occupied only a few minutes ago.

He shook his head. It was ironic. The night the rape was reported, there had been a murder too. Sara and Greg had been available for the investigations, and Grissom hadn't hesitated when he assigned the murder to Sara and the rape case to Greg. At the time it had made sense to him: Greg was still too green to work a murder case on his own, and rape cases were especially hard on Sara.

He had tried to protect them both, but he had made a mistake, at least where Greg was concerned. The young man didn't handle all of the evidence (a female cop had taken care of that), but that hadn't prevented him from becoming too personally involved in the case.

Grissom closed his eyes and sighed. He needed to give his standard 'don't-become-too-involve-in-the-case' talk to Greg. He had wasted several chances, already; he should have prevailed instead of using Greg's optimism as an excuse. The truth was, he had simply hoped that Greg would be ok, no matter the outcome of the trial, but now it was clear they needed to talk, and the sooner the better.

Even if Johnstone got convicted, Greg needed to learn to approach these matters more realistically. Being a CSI was often a thankless job, and Greg needed to be told of this. Optimism and hope were very good qualities, but they often left you unprepared to deal with reality.

Determined, Grissom put away the files and rose from his seat.

He would talk to Greg today.

Not guilty.

Greg couldn't believe it.

There was a mixed reaction from the public in the courtroom. Some people showed their disapproval by shaking their heads and whispering among themselves, while the rest erupted into applause. Greg simply stood, frozen in place. All he could do was gaze at the jurors, willing them to look at him or at Tina McBride and her parents, who were sitting on the third row, forgotten by everyone now, even the prosecutor.

None of jurors glanced his way, nor did they look at the victim; they were looking expectantly at Johnstone. To Greg, they looked like kids who have done their homework and expect to be praised. Maybe they were expecting that guy to give them one of those 'Tom Cruise' grins of his that conquered everyone and had turned him into a favorite of the tabloids.

Well, Johnstone didn't waste any smile on the jury now; he was smugly accepting his adoring supporters' congratulations, despite the judge's frantic calls for order.

Greg had had enough. He didn't want to be there when the judge set Johnstone officially free – dozens of reporters were waiting outside, and they would surely want to talk to anyone involved in the case. Greg didn't think he was that important in the eyes of the press, but he didn't want to place himself in the line of fire either. He slipped out of the courtroom and was surprised to find Grissom waiting outside

The older man knew the outcome just by looking at Greg's face, but to his credit he didn't say 'I told you so.' He simply motioned Greg to follow him.

"Where are we going?" Greg asked.

"The reporters are crowding the elevators, downstairs." He said as he pushed a door open. "We'll use the stairs." He said, "Cops sometimes use these to protect witnesses." Grissom explained.

They descended the narrow stairs in silence. In fact, they didn't talk until they had left the building. They watched from afar as the reporters circled the Courthouse.

"I'm sorry, Greg." Grissom said.

"You tried to warn me," Greg said flatly. He glanced at his boss, "You knew they were going to acquit him, didn't you." He said it almost like an accusation.

"I didn't," Grissom said, still looking at the reporters, "I've just gone through this more times than you," he shrugged, "Nothing surprises me any more." He looked at Greg, "Come on," he said, "Let's go."

The two CSI's walked to the parking lot a couple of blocks away.

"Maybe the evidence wasn't good enough," Greg said suddenly, "What do you think?",

"The evidence was fine."

"Or maybe I lost my credibility when I testified," he added. "I mean, I'd combed my hair down but it was bleached; maybe the jurors didn't like that-"

"Your testimony was fine, Greg" he said, "You did a good job."

"Then what was it?"

Grissom didn't answer right away.

"You'd have to ask the jury," he said slowly, "My guess is that they didn't like Tina McBride. They saw her as a wasted kid who had it coming, while they saw Johnstone as the all-American kid."

"We should hold popularity contests instead of investigations, then."

Grissom didn't comment. Nothing he said would make Greg feel better now.

Still…

"You mustn't let this case embitter you, Greg."

"I'm not bitter," he retorted, "I'm pissed off." He paused, "You understand, right?" he asked, "I mean, you've done this for years and you have a reputation, and yet you've lost cases now and then. Doesn't it piss you off, working so hard only to have twelve people acquit someone just because he's cute?"

Grissom shrugged.

"Getting angry doesn't change the verdicts."

Greg stared at him and then he shook his head.

"I should have known you'd say something like that." He said, "It seems that nothing ever rattles you."

Grissom smiled faintly.

"Someone told me once that it must be nice to be me," he mused aloud, "because I don't feel anything."

Greg snorted.

"If they only knew, right?" and when Grissom looked questioningly at him, he added enigmatically, "You don't fool me, you know."

They entered the parking lot in silence and Greg walked to his car.

Grissom followed him, trying to say something relevant -anything that might help Greg gain some perspective.

He cleared his throat.

"Greg," he said, "There is something you have to remember: The jury judged Johnstone, not you. This isn't personal; this isn't about pride or about losing face." He paused to emphasize what he'd just said and then he added, "You don't win a case by yourself and you don't lose a case by yourself, either." He shrugged, "CSIs simply do our jobs the best way we can, regardless of the outcome. When we lose a case, we must-"

Greg turned abruptly and muttered something that sounded like "Do you wanna fuck?"

Grissom's eyes widened.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"You heard me," Greg retorted, "Do you want to have sex with me?"

Grissom didn't answer, but his physical reaction was revealing to Greg; there was the softening of his expression, and the pupils becoming so dilated that they made his blue eyes look almost black.

As far as Greg was concerned, that was a 'yes,' but Grissom recovered quickly. Within seconds it was just as if he had put on a mask.

"No." he said calmly.

"Why?"

Grissom couldn't believe Greg needed to ask.

"Greg," he said patiently, "You're too angry right now-"

"Yeah," Greg admitted, "That's why I want this."

"Look-"

"I need it, Grissom." He said, looking intensely at his boss. When Grissom didn't react, he tried a lighter tone, "I mean, we've gone out on two dates already," he said. Greg smiled, but there was something desperate about that smile and the effect was not very reassuring, "That's two years of foreplay, Grissom." He added.

Grissom didn't know what to say.

Greg snorted.

"I get it," he said, looking down, "You only date trannies named Mimosa."

"I didn't date -" Grissom started, but didn't add anything else.

He did not want to talk about it, since it was an incident that he recalled with some degree of guilt. Greg had been there, the day that Mimosa phoned to offer some information. For some reason he had looked at Greg and unnecessarily repeated Mimosa's instructions aloud, as if he wanted Greg to know that someone was calling to make a date with him. It was as if-

As if what? As if he wanted to make Greg jealous? No. No way-

Grissom had tried not to look too closely into his motives then, and now he was even less inclined to do so.

He didn't want Greg to be angry either.

"Greg, you know this is a bad idea," he said gently, "Last time you kissed me you had an adverse reaction, remember?"

"Don't be such a jerk," Greg retorted. "I'm serious."

Grissom lost the smile.

"I'm serious, too." He said.

Greg looked at him, still giving him a chance, but Grissom's silence was eloquent enough.

"Fine." Greg said quietly. He turned to his car and opened the door, forcing Grissom to step back. To his credit, Greg didn't speed away. This was a small comfort for Grissom, who watched helplessly as the young man left.

Mechanically, Grissom walked to his own car. He got in and calmly slid the key into the slot. He didn't start the engine, though. He rested both hands on the steering wheel and took a couple of deep breaths. Greg's words had disturbed him more than he had let on.

"Damn," he whispered. He didn't understand it; why did life get so complicated sometimes? He had almost put it all behind him –the kiss that Greg brushed on his lips and the words that had been uttered in a dark hotel room; Grissom didn't appreciate being reminded of it.

He sat in his car for a long time, reviewing the conversation he'd just had and wondering what else he could have said, or done.

With some regret he realized that he hadn't done enough. Sure, Greg's behavior had been inappropriate but it was more complicated than that. Greg didn't really wanted to have sex with him; he had simply used sex as an outlet for his anger. What he really wanted from Grissom was reassurance. Grissom knew that now; he knew what the young man was going through.

Every CSI –and every other law enforcement worker- had a crisis of faith at least once in their lives; a moment in which he –or she- questioned their choice of careers. These crises were triggered by different reasons –a personal mistake, a difficult case, a botched investigation, or an unexpected verdict. Right now Greg was feeling anger and frustration, and Grissom understood completely, because he had felt like that once upon a time.

He had tried to put those memories behind but now he wondered if there was something in them that might help him deal with Greg's crisis.

But his memories only filled him with guilt. Grissom hadn't looked for a friend to talk to or to have sex with; he had simply gone to a liquor store and bought the first of many bottles. Someone had helped him, sure; but only after he had wasted a whole year…

Regret flooded Grissom. He should have helped Greg today. Instead, he had rejected him; and now the young man was out there, looking for some kind of comfort –any comfort. Greg would not turn to a bottle, of course; he would simply call one of his friends and make a date. Or he would find some stranger, and then-

Grissom didn't want to think of that now.

Two hours later, Greg entered his building. He was tired - so tired in fact, that he didn't take the stairs.

He usually avoided the crappy elevator, but this time he didn't care how slow it was -he just couldn't muster the energy to climb three floors. And for once, there was no reason to hurry home either. He usually had some place to be, something to do…but not this time.

"God," He muttered, "What a day."

He didn't look up; he didn't want to look at his own reflection on the shiny doors and walls of the elevator. And yet, once he reached his floor, he was reluctant to leave the shelter that the elevator had provided. He got out though, and slowly made his way down the hallway, patting his pockets at the same time, searching for his keys.

He didn't look up until he was about to reach his door, and when he did… he wished he had stayed in the elevator.

There, sitting in front of his apartment, was his boss.

TBC