THIRD DATE

Third part

Spoilers: The Hunger Artist (The diagnosis of Gil´s otosclerosis)

Greg had barely moved since he fell asleep.

Traffic noises had disturbed him a couple of times, but not enough to wake him up –the noises simply became part of his dreams.

In his latest dream, for instance, he was strolling down the street, casually and without a care in the world, while cars rushed by. He recognized some of the people behind the wheels –Catherine, Nick, Doc Robbins- and they recognized him too. They waved at him now and then, but Greg ignored them.

It was his day off, after all.

Besides, there was something else that was calling for his attention; a sound that somehow didn't belong in the street. It was an elusive sound, and sometimes Greg turned around, looking for the source.

Suddenly, he knew: It was a snore. Someone was snoring, somewhere-

Greg did wake up this time, but not in the abrupt manner he was used to. He simply became aware of his surroundings, gradually becoming acquainted with the fact that he was not in bed.

He had fallen asleep on the couch, something he rarely did. Frankly, he consideredit sloppy.

And yet, he was relaxed and pleasantly warm, and it felt like he had slept more than a couple of hours in a row. He smiled to himself. If sleeping on the couch would help him get some sleep, then he would do it more often -sloppy or not.

Besides, he had failed so many of his housekeeping duties lately, that one more would not matter.

With this happy resolution tucked away in his mind, he sighed and turned on his side, hoping to get more z's.

He was falling asleep again when he heard it –the sound that had woke him up in the first place. A soft snoring -there was someone else in the room.

Greg froze. He didn't remember bringing anybody home with him... and he certainly hadn't gone to anybody's place. Unless-

Oh, no, he thought. I didn't pick some stranger, did I?

Greg fought the impulse to open his eyes; first, he needed to remember what he'd done before coming home, and the name or at least the face of whoever was sleeping next to him.

The last thing he remembered was-

The trial.

Greg groaned softly. Johnstone had been acquitted. Grissom had warned him about it, but -

Grissom.

Oh, shit, he thought. Grissom.

Now Greg remembered everything: The trial and its outcome; Grissom's failed attempts to warn him and then to comfort him, the 'f' word that Greg had uttered in anger, Grissom's face as he asked him to take off his tie a-

Abruptly, Greg opened his eyes, half expecting to see Grissom still looking down at him.

What he saw instead was much more surprising, and for a moment Greg wondered if he was still asleep and dreaming: Grissom there, but he wasn't looking at him; he was asleep.

Greg slid a bit closer and peered down.Grissom had somehow made himself comfortable in the smallest of spaces. He was sitting on the floor, wedged between the couch and the coffee table. He looked cozy, with his head resting on the crook of his left arm, and his right hand curled protectively close to his face.

Grissom had never looked so peaceful and vulnerable.

A closer look belied this impression, though; Grissom's sleep was not completely peaceful -his jaw was twitching, and the fingers of his right hand were clutching the loose fabric of the couch.

Now, what? Greg wondered. He didn't have the heart –or was it the courage?- to wake his boss up, and his first impulse was to keep quiet and hope that Grissom would wake up on his own. But what if Grissom had something urgent to do or somewhere else to be?

Stalling, Greg glanced at his watch… and he got yet another surprise.

It was almost six O'clock, way later than he had thought at first.

There was no question of waiting for Grissom to wake up on his own, anymore; he had to wake up now.

Greg tentatively called out his boss' name, but Grissom didn't even stir. After a moment's hesitation, the young man leant forward and whispered into Grissom's ear.

it did the trick; Grissom opened his eyes and blinked. It took him a moment to focus, but when he saw Greg's face just a few inches away, he abruptly lifted his head.

"What-"

"Easy, boss," Greg said, smiling faintly, "You only overslept a little-"

"Overslept?" he said, slurring the word. He looked around in confusion. The room seemed brighter now than it had been earlier, "What time's it?" he asked incredulously.

"It's ok," Greg said soothingly, "You didn't pull a Rip Van Winkle, so relax."

Grissom glanced at the window again and realized that the brightness coming through the blinds wasn't due to sunlight, but to the neon signs blazing on the opposite building. He looked back at Greg, who had a bemused expression on his face. The young man's unconcerned demeanor somehow reassured him.

"What time is it?" Grissom asked again, a bit more in control now.

"Five fifty." Greg replied, "Of the same day."

"Five fifty?" Grissom repeated as if he didn't understand the words.

"Yep."

Grissom closed his eyes again and then, to Greg's surprise, he simply dropped back on the couch. This time though, his face lay flat on it, as if he were trying to hide it.

"Hey, you ok?" Greg asked, tentatively touching his boss' shoulder.

"Uh, huh." Grissom mumbled without moving.

Greg frowned.

"How can you breathe like that?"

Grissom scoffed and looked up after a moment. He was smiling faintly.

"Five hours?" he asked.

Greg chuckled. "Yep. Five."

Grissom shook his head in wonder.

"I hadn't slept five hours in a row since- " he frowned. "I can't remember." He admitted. It didn't matter; it felt great. He laid his head on the couch again -on the side this time.

Greg was taken aback. He had expected Grissom to bolt out of the room, but there he was, going back to sleep again.

"Aren't you sore?" Greg asked after a moment, "I mean, you sat like that for hours."

"I'm fine." Grissom mumbled. "I can take naps in the unlikeliest of places." He added smugly, "Once I fell asleep while cleaning a cage; when I woke up, my pets were crawling all over me-"

"That's creepy."

"My pets aren't creepy," Grissom muttered but without much conviction. He was too relaxed and content to argue about spiders.

After a moment of silence, Greg spoke.

"Grissom... I'd like to apologize."

Grissom opened his eyes. He had momentarily forgotten all about their earlier discussion.

"You already did." He said guardedly.

"I know. But I want you to know that I'm really sorry. For everything." He said with some difficulty, "The things I said-" But Greg faltered when he saw something close to panic flicker in Grissom's eyes. Clearly, the older man did not want to discuss the ' f ' word.

After some hesitation, Greg complied. He would not refer directly to what he'd said, but he felt he still had some explaining to do.

"You were right," Greg said then. "I was angry; I was angry at the jurors and the judge, at Johnstone... When I saw you in the courtroom, I thought you'd be as indignant as I was. Instead, you were so calm and reasonable-" He shook his head, "It pissed me off. " he admitted, "Suddenly, all I wanted was to rattle you, no matter how -" He paused. "I should have known you would not lose your cool." He scoffed.

Grissom looked away. He had been rattled by Greg's words, but he was not going to admit it, ever.

"I was sorry, the minute I drove away," Greg continued, "I wanted to go back and apologize, but I was still angry and… well, I decided to keep going. I kept driving 'til I saw the Park." He glanced at Grissom, "I remembered the last time I was there –with you- and how riding the Deadly Plunge helped, so... I gave it a try." he paused, "It helped." He said. "Once I was up there, I started seeing things clearly for the first time."

"What things?"

"Well..." he hesitated. "I realized that I was angry at you for keeping it together," he said slowly, "But I also realized that that's precisely what I've always admired about you. In fact –and this isn't easy for me to admit- I've always wanted to be like you." He finished.

Grissom froze.

He felt like he had been ambushed with words for the second time in one day.

"I don't want you to be like me." He blurted out.

"You don't?" Greg asked good-naturedly. "Why?" he asked, leaning forward.

And it was then that Grissom realized how close they were, and how they had been talking in whispers, just like two people holding an intimate conversation after sleeping together.

The realization rattled him, but before he found something to say, Greg spoke again.

"It's cool, being like you," he said, "You're focused; you never let your feelings get in the way, no matter how difficult your cases are, you always do the right thing, regardless of juries or judges…You keep it together, no matter what. If I were like that, I'd do a better job, don't you think?"

Grissom shook his head.

"Greg, there's more to life than a job."

"You don't believe that," Greg scoffed.

"What I mean is," Grissom said slowly, "Sometimes, the qualities that help you on the job, end up intruding in your private life. That's the danger." He paused, and then he gently added, "Trust me, Greg. You don't want to be like me."

Greg looked down.

"I want to be a CSI, Grissom." He said quietly, "I want to do a good job-"

"You are doing a good job." Grissom replied, "Greg, listen. What happened to you will probably happen to every CSI at one time or another. People cope in different ways, and -"

"But that's just my point," Greg said earnestly, "I want to learn to cope-"

"And you will," Grissom said gently, "And I promise to help you in any way I can, but-"

"But you're not gonna tell me what your secret is, right?" Greg interrupted. He couldn't hide the disappointment he felt. "I don't get it." He added, "I mean, what's so wrong about wanting to be like you?"

Grissom took a deep breath.

"Greg, it's just-" He hesitated, "It's my life." He said quietly, "It's not a bad life, and I like it, but…" he hesitated. There was really no way to embellish what he wanted to say, "But I am who I am because I have no other choice." he said abruptly.

Grissom let those words sink in, and then he continued.

"You're impressed by the fact that I keep my feelings in check, but there's nothing impressive about it, Greg. In fact, it's very easy for me: I just don't have strong feelings," he said, "For anything or anybody." He paused, "Or maybe I just never learned to express them -" he added almost to himself. He frowned, wondering which of the two statements held the truth.

He shrugged it off after a moment; it didn't really matter.

"This is who I am, Greg." He said quietly, "You don't want to be like that –and you don't have to." He reached out to touch Greg's hand, but he checked himself just in time. "You will learn to cope with the job in your own terms; you'll see." He said gently, "Your friends and your family will help, if you let them."

Greg was stunned; he never thought Grissom would open up like this. For a moment, he couldn't think of anything suitable to say.

Until...

"Did you ever…" he started, "Did you ever have a crisis of faith, Grissom? I mean, did you ever wonder whether your job made any difference?"

"Every CSI does, at least once in his life." Grissom shrugged evasively. He told himself to beware; he had already revealed too much about himself. It seemed that sleeping five hours in a row had an unfortunate effect on him –it lowered his defenses. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up telling Greg the story of his life.

He just couldn't bear the thought.

Still, there was Greg to consider. The young man needed reassurance, some proof that he was not the only CSI in the world who had ever doubted his calling.

Reluctantly, Grissom spoke.

"There was a case, at the beginning of my career," he said, "A teen was murdered. The evidence was almost non-existent, but we finally caught the perp, and he got fifteen-to-life. We were pretty happy about it, but not the teen's mother; she said that she could never be happy, since her daughter was dead and nothing would ever bring her back."

"That's what people always say," Greg muttered, "But I bet they'd feel more miserable if we didn't at least catch the perps." He glanced at Grissom, "What did you tell her?"

"Nothing." He shrugged, "She was right, after all." Grissom said, "In fact, she'd articulated a thought that had been nagging me at the time -the certainty that no matter what we did at the lab, the victims' pain could not be undone. And there were so many cases that got lost because the cops and the lawyers screwed up, that sometimes I felt that my job was redundant. It was depressing. I was depressed." Grissom admitted. "I should have talked to my supervisor about it, but I didn't; I just..."

Grissom stopped. He didn't want to continue his story; it was a part of his life that he never talked about –it was painful and embarrassing. Frankly, he was afraid that if he talked about it, he would lose Greg's respect and -why deny it?- his admiration too.

But he went ahead; there was something more important than his reputation at stake here –Greg's future.

"I started to drink." Grissom confessed.

Greg's eyes widened.

"Needless to say," Grissom continued, "My job suffered the consequences. Suddenly, I was the one screwing up."

Greg was stunned.

"Wow." He whispered.

Grissom smiled faintly at that reaction.

"Yeah, well, it didn't last long fortunately; my supervisor caught me on time."

"What did he say?"

"Not much," he said evasively. It was a long story, after all. All Greg needed to know was that it had a happy ending, "He told me that I needed to work it out by myself," he explained, "That I had to find out what I was good at, and stick to it. If I believed I could do a better job than the lawyers or the cops, then I needed to reevaluate my career choices; and if drinking was what I was good at… then that's what I should stick to."

"That's harsh." Greg frowned.

"Yeah." He nodded, "But he was right; it depended on me."

"So, what did you do?"

"Well..." he hesitated. "I didn't want to be a cop or a lawyer; and since I couldn't hold my liquor... I decided to stick to the lab." That was an over-simplified version of what had happened, but it was all Greg needed to know.

It was enough to impress the young man, anyway.

"Wow." He said, "So, it was difficult for you, at first."

"Our job is highly stressful, Greg." Grissom said solemnly.

"So… what does one do?"

"Well… Having an outlet helps." Grissom said, "Some people choose to party and to drink, but others find safer outlets, like-"

"Like Warrick and those jazz gigs of his?"

"Exactly." Grissom smiled, "Find an outlet, Greg," he said gently, "But mostly, don't keep things to yourself again. That's not your style."

Greg smiled and looked down.

"I did want to talk, but… I don't know." He hesitated, "I guess I was afraid that others would think I was acting like a wimp. Or like a spoiled kid," he added, "I mean, the only one I talked to was Sofia, and her advice –that hugging someone helped- made me look like a little kid who needed mommy to take him in her arms-"

Grissom smiled faintly.

"You don't have to be a little kid to need a hug, Greg, " he said. And when Greg scoffed skeptically, he added, "A couple of years ago I was diagnosed with an illness; it wasn't life-threatening, but for a moment, I felt that my world was crumbling. The doctor said to me, 'We're scientists, Mr. Grissom. This is what you have.' She was right -as a scientist, I had to face life objectively- but when I was at that clinic…"

Grissom shook his head at the memory, "All I wanted was for her to take me in her arms and tell me that everything was going to be all right." heconfessed, "It was a fleeting moment, but it shook me."

"You were sick?" Greg asked incredulously, "What happened?"

"Well..." He hesitated. He needed to be more careful with his revelations; he didn't want to talk about his otosclerosis on top of everything else. "It was nothing." He dismissed. "Nothing serious, that is. I had minor surgery and everything turned out ok."

Greg gaped.

"You had surgery?"

"Minor surgery," Grissom amended.

"And how long ago was that?"

"Two or three years ago," He said evasively.

"And you never told anyone?"

Grissom smiled at Greg's incredulity.

"You see?" he said, glad for the chance to make a point, "You would never do something like that, would you?

But Greg didn't smile back.

"Did you tell your friends, at least?" he asked.

"Well, I don't have any friends that I see every day -" Grissom said, and then he smiled when he noticed the look of concern on Greg's face, "I don't have any close friends, Greg; and the truth is, I wouldn't know what to do if I had them. You, on the other hand…" he tilted his head in the direction of the wall, "You're that guy in the pictures, smiling in the middle of a group." He paused and then he added gently, "That's who you are, and that's fine."

Greg mused on this for a moment.

"Thanks, Grissom." He said eventually. "I appreciate all this."

"You're welcome."

"I know it wasn't easy for you to… to tell me about yourself," he said, "I want you to know that everything you said will stay here." he said solemnly. Then he smiled faintly and added, "Think of my home as a sort of convention center." He said, alluding to the events of the year before, "Anything that happens here, stays here."

They smiled at each other, and for a while neither said anything.

The silence got to Greg after a moment, though, and he fished about for something else to say.

"So," he said casually, "Can I count on you, next time I feel like crap?"

Grissom smiled.

"You better turn to your friends," he said, "For a fresh perspective, I mean."

Greg nodded; that was the sort of response he expected from Grissom. But those words made him curious too.

"Who do you turn to, Grissom?" he asked.

Grissom shrugged slightly.

"I manage," He said simply.

"Well..." Greg smiled faintly, "Next time you have minor surgery, I hope you turn to us," he said, and then he reached for Grissom's hand and held it.

TBC

The conclusion's coming up soon!

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