DILEMMA
Part Three
Grissom/Greg Slash
Notes: When I wrote this, Hodges had appeared in only one or two episodes, and he acted like a jerk (in my opinion). It turned out he's not so bad.
Revised on December '05 and January'06.
DILEMMA: The dates.
LUNCH
I gave up trying to come up with an excuse not to have lunch with him, and chose a small Italian place close to the lab.
There were several thoughts and questions plaguing my mind as I turned off my computer: Did we really flirt? Was he really in love with me or just curious? Was I going to play with fire with this guy and then regret everything?
I tried to answer each question:
1. We did not flirt –of course, not.
Just to be sure, I thought of some of the conversations we'd had recently, and pictured one in my mind: Last week, for instance, I was doing some paper work when he entered my office in a whirl of activity.
"Hey boss, I have your DNA results. And some more paperwork for you to sign." He handed me some papers and then he leant on my desk, "I have something else for you." He said, somewhat mysteriously.
"Really?" I asked, looking up and down at him.
"Oh, it's not in my pocket," he said casually, "But I am happy to see you." We smiled at each other, and he added, "Guess who bought a pound of Kopi Luuwak?"
I smiled more widely.
"The expensive coffee…?" I asked in anticipation.
"The rich, chocolaty, coffee," he amended, "There's a cup waiting for you. Care to join me?"
And I eagerly followed him to the break room…
Oh, my God, we DO flirt.
2. The answer to the second question was, 'I don't want to think about it'.
3. As for the third question… The only answer I could come up with as a resounding 'no,' but I didn't know how to say it without complicating things between Greg and me. I didn't want to hurt him.
Slowly, a plan began to take shape in my mind, and I was surprised at how simple it was -and how effective it could turn out to be: I did not have to say 'no' to Greg; all I had to do was be myself. Yeah, have lunch and be myself... that would surely ruin things. It had ruined the few dates that I'd organized in the past, anyway. I smiled to myself, by the end of the meal, he'd either be bored or angry, and anxious for things to go back to normal…
It was a great plan. And just to emphasize the kind of jerk I can be, I took to read while I ate. No way was I going to be drawn into a conversation.
Greg was already there when I entered the restaurant. Contrary to what I'd expected, he barely looked at me; he was completely engrossed by his own book, a slender volume that he kept open until the waitress brought the menus.
I was checking up the salads when I remembered his comment about my weight. Just to show him that his opinions mattered little to me, I decided to order pasta.
'Ha', I thought; 'take that Greg!'
Greg was studying the menu and happily mumbling something about sausage and double cheese pizzas.
"You should eat more fruits and vegetables" I said without thinking.
"I don't need fiber," he replied, "My pipes are in top working condition."
"When you get to be my age, you'll wish you had eaten more fiber."
"Don't nag, Grissom," he said evenly, "We're not a couple yet."
That shut me up.
When the waitress came, I ordered pasta... and he ordered a veggie pizza. Greg smiled and looked expectantly at me, but I ignored him and focused my attention on my book again.
Ah, Anthomyiidae! Nice picture. I started to read:
'The larvae of phytophagous (plant-eating) species may bore into the roots, stems, leaves, flowers or seeds…'
I was reading, but I couldn't help thinking that Greg had ordered the veggie pizza just to please me…
'No, no, no, no,' I thought, 'Go back to your book'
'Other anthomyiid larvae are found in decaying vegetation, manure, and burrows or nests of animals and arthropods. Adult seedcorn maggots frequently are infected by an entomophthoran fungus…'
Maybe I should I have ordered mushroom soup instead of pasta...
'Enough!' I thought again.
I was reading the same paragraph for the fifth time when Greg noisily closed his book and turned his attention to me. He didn't speak until I looked up.
"Have you ever felt alone in a crowd, Grissom?" He asked.
"Sometimes." I admitted slowly, "You?"
"I've always felt like that. I'm the youngest of four children." He explained.
"Really? " For an only child, that's difficult to grasp. "Are they all scientists, like you?"
"One of my sisters is a surgeon," he said, "But they're more interested on sports than sciences. I guess I'm the black sheep of the family." He smiled.
"But you are your Grandfather's favorite."
"Oh, yeah." he nodded.
'Maybe that explains all this,' I thought. 'Maybe he likes me because I remind him of his Grandfather?'
That was a little sick, but it was the only theory I had, so I told him.
He was appalled.
"Jeeze, Grissom," he said, and then he lowered his voice, "What do you think this is, incest by proxy? How can you think-? You're not eighty-three years old, are you?" He frowned, "How old are you, anyway?"
But before I could answer, he continued.
"You're nothing like Papa Olaf," he said, "If that's any comfort to you." He opened up his book again, but after a moment he looked up. "I was trying to explain something to you, something real, not something taken out of whatever book on Psychology bullshit you're reading-" he eyed my book, "What are you reading, anyway?"
I picked up the book and held it so he could read the title.
"PLANT DISEASES IN NORTH CAROLINA." He said, "Bugs. It figures," he scoffed, turning back to his book. A book on chemistry, may I add, so who was he to talk?
The waitress brought the food, and her presence kept me from apologizing. But when she left, I didn't say anything. It was my plan, after all, wasn't it? Show him my worst side and make him angry with me.
I forgot that Greg never holds a grudge for long.
He had eaten half of his pizza when he spoke again.
"When was the last time you fell in love, Grissom?"
I pretended to be completely engrossed on my food but he patiently waited –and stared- until I looked up. I didn't answer.
"All right," he said, "You don't have to answer if you don't want to," he accepted, "But I think it's kind of ironic that you worry so much about your age, when you don't realize how emotionally immature you are."
"Excuse me?" I frowned.
"Yeah," he said matter-of-factly "I think that emotionally you're what, 15? 25? 30? Your heart's been frozen since the last time you loved someone. And by that I mean being 'in love'."
I wanted to argue that I wasn't immature at all, but his first question was still bothering me: I didn't really remember ever being in love.
"Listen," He said, and he lowered his voice, "I was telling you about feeling lonely, so you could understand why I went to your place. It's kind of personal-" He explained, "When I'm in bed with someone and I'm, you know, trying to have a good time -and trying to give them a good time-" he paused, "It's… it's as if I weren't there. In my mind, I keep going back to you and whatever we talked about that day."
"At first, I thought it was just a crush." He added after a moment, "Then I realized that it was something else, and that I couldn't do anything about it." He took a deep breath, "And then one day I wondered if you had ever felt like that –I mean, whether you ever loved someone and didn't do anything about it. You know, when you were younger. Or whether someone broke your heart-"
It fascinates me, the way people try to read me, despite all my efforts to be inconspicuous. Nobody had ever spoken to me like this, though. It hurt.
Greg took his plastic fork and twirled it between his fingers, "I see how lonely you are, Grissom." He said, "And I don't want that to happen to me."
"Good for you." I mumbled, forcing myself to say something. "And by the way? Whatever book on Psychology you got that from, it's just bullshit." I added.
Greg looked up.
"You're angry, aren't you?"
"I'm not." I said lightly, "People analyze me all the time"
"Oh, shit, Grissom, I hurt you, didn't I?" he cringed, "I'm sorry, man, really! I'm doing this so we're not lonely anymore-"
"Hey, you talk as if there was something missing from my life, but it's not like that. I like my life; I like being a criminalist. Do I think others should live like me? No." I said honestly. "But it's OK for me."
"You do realize that you're reducing your life to what you do at the lab, as if it started and ended there?"
"Greg, I do have other interests outside my job, I just don't talk about them."
Greg flushed.
"You have someone? Why didn't you just tell me?"
"Not someone, Greg, just… interests. Hobbies, if you like"
"You mean you have bugs to keep you busy." He scoffed. He smiled faintly, "I could keep you 'busy,' too," he said casually.
I felt a surprising stab of excitement at the thought of being 'busy' with him. I could even picture it: Gil Grissom, as this handsome young man's plaything…
I scoffed.
"What?" he asked, eyeing me curiosly.
"Nothing." I said "I'm just laughing at myself."
I stared at him. Ah, Greg; optimistic, infuriating, lovable. So young and wise. Too young. Ah, damn.
"You're wasting your time, Greg." I said gently, "I'm settled. I won't ever change. But-" I added before he could argue, "Being friends is OK." I said, "Eating lunch together is OK. Talking is fine too. Just… Just don't go to my place again." I looked at him, "Please."
He didn't reply; he simply glanced at his watch.
"It's 2:15." He said "I think you have to be in Court at 3:00."
I blinked. I had forgotten all about Court.
"Yeah. Got to…" I glanced at him. "Thanks for the food." I said, and then I left.
A baseball game
On Wednesday, I filed a Request to transfer Hodges to another shift. If Ecklie wanted him, he was welcome to have the lazy bastard. He had caused enough troubles.
On Thursday night, the sheriff came to talk and to deliver grim news. I couldn't get rid of Hodges, no matter how many blunders he committed: He was suing the Department, claiming that I had favorites in my staff.
"Favorites? What is this, Kindergarten?" I asked incredulously
"He's claiming that you have given some members of the staff undue preference when assigning cases."
"If he means I don't give him difficult cases, he's right; he's ruined enough cases for us. And now he's trying to confuse matters here."
"I know, Gil. I only want you to be careful while this matter is settled."
"I only want him removed from my Lab, Sheriff." I hated to plead but I couldn't work with that SOB anymore. He had caused us enough troubles.
The Sheriff left and then I had to deal with Catherine's suspension over her boyfriend's possession charge. She wasn't a suspect, but as long as her presence at the man's home wasn't cleared, she couldn't work. We'd have to work without her for a few days at best, a week at worst.
At the end of the shift, Nick and me went to the break room. We found Greg there; he seemed so entranced by the book he was reading that he didn't notice our arrival.
Nick hovered over his shoulder.
"Hey, Grissom, check this out!" Nick said, snatching Greg's book away, "Greg's reading Baseball for Dummies"
Greg reddened.
"Someone's thinking of changing careers, boss!" Nick smirked
"Are you, Greg?" I asked, pretending to take Nick's words seriously.
Greg grabbed his book back.
"I'm learning the game," he calmly explained, pausing for effect, "I've just got two tickets for next Sunday."
Now it was my turn to redden. Fortunately, Nick's attention was on his friend.
"Really? You do?" Nick was impressed, "Wow, man, they must have cost you the earth! Who are you going with?"
"Hum, well," Greg paused and glanced at me "I was thinking-"
"Take Nick," I interrupted quickly, "He can teach you all there is to know about the game, right, Nick?"
"Sure! I'm available, Greggo!"
"Well, Nick…" he paused again, "I was going to give a ticket to Grissom. You know how he never does anything for fun."
"Oh, hey, absolutely!" Nick said nobly, "You take it, Gris"
"I have to work," I mumbled but Nick was his usual saintly self.
"Not in the morning." Nick said, "You go, Grissom! That's an order," he added humorously. He drank his coffee, rinsed his cup and left, whistling a happy tune. As he walked away I could almost imagine him starring in a Disney movie, complete with furry little creatures and sugary songs.
Behind me I heard a chuckle and I turned. Greg lifted his arms and stretched, letting me take a brief peek at his abs and biceps.
He was smiling, supremely pleased with himself.
"We're going to the game, my friend." He said, "And in the open, too"
"You should take Nick, Greg; I hate having to explain the game"
"I guessed as much," he nodded, "That's why I got this book."
I sipped my coffee.
"Still… You should take him. I've seen you flirt with him; aren't you interested?"
"I won't ask if you're jealous, Grissom, that's self evident." He smiled, "But no, I'm not interested. Nick's all right if you like vanilla-"
"Vanilla?" I frowned, "You're seeing people as flavors now?"
"Yeah. Why not? It's perfect! Some people are spicy, some others are bland…Do you want to know what you are?"
I shook my head no. I put my cup in the sink and was almost out in the hallway when I caught his words.
"Belgian chocolate truffle…"
So, on Sunday we went to the game armed with caps, sunscreen, and his stupid book.
"You can't learn a game from a book." I argued, while I paid for drinks. "Just watch it unfold and I'll explain it to you."
"I thought you didn't like to do that? And besides, I know the game, Grissom; I just want to know more. You know, so I can dazzle you with my knowledge. For instance, did you know that-"
I rolled my eyes and handed him a soda and let him talk.
But in the end he closed his book and just enjoyed the game. And the food: We were in Sander's junk food heaven.
By the end of the day we were hoarse from screaming and groaning at the amount of hot dogs we had eaten, but we were content. And I was beginning to admit that being friends was a good idea, after all.
A thought kept nagging me, though.
"You didn't tell me how you got these tickets," I said as we walked out of the stadium.
"No, I didn't" he admitted. He glanced around, "Give me a minute, will you?"
He walked towards a colorful stand and I followed him closely.
"…Did your brother get them for you?" I insisted
"He doesn't live in Vegas" he said, picking up a blue cap.
"How much did you pay for them?"
"What's it to you?" he said evasively.
"How did you get the tickets?" I asked again, and he smiled.
"A friend got them for me."
'What friend' I wanted to ask but didn't. He bought the blue cap and we went to the parking lot in silence.
I dropped him in front of his building and ordered him to go straight to bed because he would be on call that night. He looked at me and nodded but didn't move. I braced myself, afraid that he'd start talking about relationships again.
He didn't. What he did was to take off my old cap and replace it with the one he'd bought at the stand.
"There" he said, and he was so close that I could smell him: Clean sweat, grape soda, mustard, and sunscreen. We looked at each other for a moment. "Now you'll always remember today." he said, "See ya later, Grissom."
I remained on that spot, unable to drive away.
Shit. I hadn't expected that.
I rarely receive gifts; I've always paid for everything I've got, and now Greg was giving me things that I'd never be able to pay back. Not the way he wanted, anyway.
For a split second I wished that I could love him, if only to pay my debts… I wished that I could run after him and tell him that we could try-
Me, running and calling after him…? Yeah, ha, ha, what a sight, right?
I wisely drove home instead.
Date at a Bookstore
I was picking some "Far Side" books (I like Gary Larson's drawings of insects) while Greg checked out some vintage comic books.
Despite my initial reluctance to go out with him, we had a routine now. We ate breakfast with our coworkers and now and then we spent a morning or an afternoon together. I liked that. We instinctively knew when the other wasn't in the mood to talk, so it was a relaxing time.
Despite the good times we had, I still resisted the idea of a relationship. After all, what did we really have in common? Not much. I didn't want to fall in love with this guy only to hear him say later that it had been nice but he was bored. And he would be bored, all right. I knew myself just enough to admit that I'm not that exciting to be with. Riding a roller coaster or going to a bookstore were my favorite activities, while he liked to go dancing…
I was thinking of this and depressing myself, when he suddenly kissed me on the cheek. I looked around; he was retreating already.
"Now, that wasn't too bad, was it?" he said smugly, "The world didn't fall apart just because I kissed you, see?"
"Of course not." I said patiently, "A little kiss is perfectly innocent. That cashier over there will simply think that you're my loving son"
"Oh, come on!" he rolled his eyes. "He'd never believe I'm your son!"
I decided to teach him a lesson. I took my books and went to talk to the cashier.
"Excuse me," I asked loudly, "My son here is looking for the Tyra Banks calendar; can you tell him where it is?"
"Your son?" he asked, and he reddened. He lowered his voice, "Sir, your 'son' has been checking out your butt since you both came in."
I opened my mouth but instead of trying to explain the unexplainable, I simply paid for my books and left, inwardly swearing not to return to that store. I walked away fast, listening to Greg's chuckles. I resisted, but by the time we were in his car, I was laughing too.
"See? I told you!" he said happily, and to my surprise, he hugged me, "It's fun to be with you, Grissom!"
"The poor guy will think we're perverts" I said, uncomfortably. He chuckled and hugged me closer.
"Hey, Grissom…" he whispered in my ear. "Now that we're so close… what would you like to do?"
I hesitated only a moment before sliding my arms around him. I had to admit he felt pretty good. I even liked that his spiky hair tickled my face.
"See?" he said smugly, "I know now that it's only a matter of time…" then he added in a mournful tone, "I only hope that when you say yes, I'm still young enough to enjoy it."
That sounded like a reproach, so I pulled back a little.
"Greg, I like you a lot and I like being with you. If I were twenty years younger, I-"
"But you're not, so get over it." He said brusquely.
"Get over twenty years? I can't do that."
"Then we're just wasting our time here." he said, releasing me.
Uh, I didn't expect that. I wanted to pull him back in my arms, but he wasn't even looking at me anymore; he was angrily searching his car keys.
"You know what?" he said, hands deep in his pockets, "The problem here isn't the age difference; it's just that you don't want to love anyone. You'd rather drive people away! Sara tried to love you and gave up. I've tried and-"
"You're giving up?" I asked before I could stop myself. It had sounded as if I was pleading.
He didn't answer.
A Date at Greg's place
We didn't speak much the following days. But one day I got two tickets for an exhibition, ('it's from the Smithsonian!' I said enticingly), some days later he taped a couple of shows I wanted to watch, and by the end of the week we were spending time together again.
There was no mention of those 'plans' of his; it was as if he'd decided to settle for friendship. That was fine with me –or it was, at the beginning. By the third time I went to his place to watch TV, however, it dawned on me that I was becoming more and more dependent on him. I told myself that it was 'friendship' that kept drawing me back, but deep down I had my doubts.
I was threading on dangerous ground and I knew it.
One morning we were at his place, watching a tape of mine, "Enter the Mantis," about one of my favorite insects.
Greg was entranced.
"Did kung fu masters really assimilate the movements of the mantis?"
"Uh, huh," I mumbled, "See that poor beetle? It's no match for the mantis."
He watched.
"I'm going to learn all those moves." He said thoughtfully. "They could come up handy."
"What for? Life's peaceful at the lab. And your hair looks lethal enough. Have you ever poked someone's eye out with it?"
He chuckled. He was silent for a while and then asked, "Are you staying for lunch, Grissom?"
I was comfortably settled in his couch, with my feet up on the coffee table. I really didn't want to move. And I liked the sandwiches he fixed. I nodded, and he was pleased.
Towards noon, someone knocked on his door and he jumped up.
"They're here." He announced.
"Who?" I frowned.
"Friends. They're bringing lunch."
Damn!
He had been hinting that his friends wanted to meet me, but I had always come up with some credible excuse to avoid them. Until today.
He patted my shoulder.
"It's ok, Grissom, they're cool."
That was hardly reassuring; were they 'cool but too young to have anything in common with me?' or 'cool and really, truly obnoxious'?'
They were OK. There were four women and three men, each of them older than Greg, plus Karen, a 12-year-old girl who needed some help with her homework. Greg was only too happy to help and soon they were in a corner talking about chemistry.
His friends explained that once a month they played hooky and came to Greg's for lunch or for breakfast. There were teachers, a doctor and a psychologist in their group and it was clear to me that what they had in common was their love for Greg.
I couldn't help wondering what kind of love that was. Brotherly love? Friendly love? Or the love that dares not speak its name?
I looked down in confusion. I didn't want to know what they felt for Greg –I didn't want to know what I felt for him. Fortunately, their friends had plenty to talk about and I followed their conversations, eager for a chance to distract myself.
It was clear that Greg had told them about me. They kept saying things like, "Ah, you are 'the' Gil Grissom" or, "Oh, he's always talking about you." I like them; they were polite, they seemed more interested about my work with insects than about the gory side of my job as a CSI, and they had brought lasagna and Italian bread for lunch.
How could I not like them?
From the opposite end of the room, Greg watched while I talked to his friends. I glanced at him and saw an expression on his face that I'd seen once, on somebody else. He looked like the proud father of a shy kid who suddenly becomes the center of attention and blossoms. I could tell he was glad that I was getting along with his friends.
I was musing on this, when Dennis Bart, the Psychologist, took a seat beside me. Funny; I had no problem talking to Greg's friends, but that changed as soon as that guy came along. It was his profession that put me on my guard; I had some bad experiences with psychologists in my distant past and I just couldn't forget.
We made small talk until…
"By the way," he said casually, "Did you enjoy the game? I got him the tickets."
There was something about the way he said it that made me uneasy.
"It was great." I said formally, "Thanks."
"Anything for him." he added a little wistfully, and then he looked straight at Greg, who was deep in conversation with Karen.
I glanced at Greg and then at Dennis.
Greg had been evasive about the person who'd given him the tickets, and now I thought I knew why.
"I don't know what he sees in you." Dennis said, without looking at me.
'Gee, that makes two of us,' I thought.
My lack of response seemed to annoy Dennis. He turned to me and deliberately said, "I've slept with him."
I didn't comment, but after a moment I noticed that I was holding my glass way too tightly and that if I didn't let go, I was going to break it. I was going to put it on the coffee table, but I realized that if I did, then my hand would be empty, and then I would simply close it into a fist and smash it on Dennis' face.
Talk about surprises.
Such a display of emotion was unfamiliar to me. It was disturbing. This is what love does, I thought. It makes us jealous and possessive, and it makes us make mistakes.
Love.
There, I'd just admitted it.
"Doesn't it bother you?" Dennis asked, sincerely surprised at my lack of response.
"I think I'd like to knock your teeth out." I replied quietly.
He burst into laughs. He touched my glass with his.
"Good answer." he chuckled. He was silent for a moment, and then he lowered his voice to add, "Look. There's something you should know about Greg. He's friendly and he sees only the good side of life, but deep down he has this…need to be the only one in someone's life. It's hard to live up to those expectations, you know?"
I looked into my glass, while I mused on this. I didn't think it was that hard. Really, if faithfulness was Greg's only expectation, then maybe I could give it a try.
I frowned. Give it a try? What the hell was I thinking?
"I've always told him he was asking too much," Dennis continued, "But I guess he deserves to get what he wants." he looked back at me, "Are you up to it?"
I took a big gulp of my soda.
"I don't know." I said at last.
"Why? Are you concerned about the age difference?" he asked and then he scoffed, "Of course you are. But hey, don't let that ruin your relationship."
I never thought I'd be having this conversation with a perfect stranger. There were just too many emotions to deal with in a single afternoon: Love and desire, anger and jealousy; and now this guy was asking me if I was up to it. Ha.
"You know what your problem is?" Dennis added after a moment, "You think too much."
"If I didn't, you'd be on the floor by now." I said quietly and he laughed again.
"Yes, that's true. Lucky me, huh?"
I was glad when Robin, one of Greg's female friends, mentioned how late it was. Everyone agreed and began to pick up paper plates, plastic forks, and cups, but Greg good naturedly told them not to bother, that we'd clean up. They all had to return to their jobs, after all.
We exchanged goodbyes and promises to meet soon.
I didn't intend to keep those promises, and by the way Greg was looking at me, I could tell he knew just what I was thinking.
TBC
The description of the book that Grissom read during lunch, was taken from "Insect of the Week," Plant Disease and Insect Clinic, North Carolina State University