DILEMMA

"No, no..."

"Hey. Hey, Grissom-"

I felt a reassuring hand on my shoulder. That, and the soothing quality of Greg's voice gradually calmed me down. My heart was still beating fast, but I no longer had a sense of impending doom.

But maybe it wasn't just his voice that calmed me; maybe it was the fact that Eckley was no longer laughing at me and that instead of a phone, I was clutching something softer- a pillow.

A pillow?

I opened my eyes and sat up abruptly. I was in bed –my bed- and Greg was sitting next to me. He had turned on the headboard lamp. His hand still rested on my shoulder.

"You ok?" he asked, squinting a little because of the light.

"What?" I mumbled in confusion.

"You were having a nightmare," he explained.

"No kidding." I said breathlessly. I looked around; I had rolled to the edge of the bed and would have fallen off if Greg hadn't intervened.

A nightmare.

I was elated.

It was only a dream -Warrick didn't laugh his ass off at me; Sara didn't know about my relationship with Greg, and Ecklie didn't listen to our conversation-

Now I understood why my pancakes and my omelets had looked so perfect.

Thinking of omelets reminded me that I had not put the key in one.

"Thank God." I groaned, falling back on my bed.

"Whoa, you used the G word." Greg said admiringly, "That must have been a pretty bad dream."

"Yeah," I said ruefully, "It was."

"What did you dream of?"

"Well, I dreamed that I put a - Hum-" I paused. "I mean," I amended, "I was dreaming that you were-" I paused again.

"That you and I…? Yep, it sounds awful," he teased and then he smiled, showing off perfect, unbroken teeth.

Oh, thank God.

I sighed and closed my eyes in relief.

Greg gently shook my shoulder.

"Come on; tell me your dream."

I took a deep breath. I could do this, I thought. I only had to do some editing.

"Ok," I said. I rolled over until I was beside him, and lay my head on his lap. His legs weren't exactly cushiony, but he was warm and that was enough.

He laid a hand on my chest.

"Talk," he said.

I looked up.

"Eckley was there-" I started.

"Eckley?" he frowned, "You were dreaming of Eckley?"

"Well, it was a nightmare," I mumbled, "See, he wanted me to go back to the lab, and you wanted to call De-" I stopped. No way was I telling him that part, "A dentist." I finished. Greg was mystified.

"A dentist?"

"Yeah," I said morosely, "Why? It was a nightmare, after all."

He shook his head.

"That's it," he said dryly, "You're not eating sausages at night ever again."

"I won't," I said, putting my hand on top of his. "I promise."

We were silent for a while. He was massaging my scalp with one hand, but he was distracted; his focus was on the room we were in. He was taking in the sparse furniture, the white ceiling, the antique armoire-

He hadn't said much when we entered the bedroom, except to compliment me on the old Pink Floyd posters that I had framed and hung by the door. It was the only decoration, but as he said, with such a huge bed in the middle of the room, who needed distractions?

"This room is really quiet." He said, "It feels like we're miles away from the city."

"Uh, huh." I nodded. That was exactly what I liked about it.

"It's almost as if we were in a vault." He added with a wince.

Oh.

"It's soothing, I guess." He said doubtfully.

"It is." I said.

I turned a little and pressed my face against his belly.

This was soothing, too.

"So, you're not going to tell me more about your dream." He said.

"Uh, huh." I shook my head.

"Well, that's ok." He said good-naturedly, "As long as you don't dream too often about Eckley." He glared, "You don't have a thing for bald heads, do you?"

"Only yours." I mumbled.

He laughed and his tummy shook against my face. I loved feeling the slight vibrations.

"Hey," he said gently, "You wanna go back to sleep?"

"Mmmh," I didn't move.

"Are you going to be o-" he said before a yawn interrupted him, "-kay?"

Aw. The poor guy was tired and I was keeping him awake. Bad, bad, Gil.

I dropped a kiss on his belly and sat up.

"I'll be fine." I said reassuringly.

"Well, good," He said, picking up my pillow and fluffing it up, "And if you have the urge to dream again, try dreaming something sweeter." He added dryly, "I mean, come on," he scoffed, "Who dreams of Eckley? And a dentist?"

Ah, the dentist.

"Do you have a dentist, Greg?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said carelessly, handing me the pillow. "Why?"

"Well, hum-"

"Shit," he was suddenly alarmed, "Is there something wrong with my teeth?" he gingerly felt around with his tongue, "Do I have any cavities?"

"How would I know that?" I frowned.

"Oh, please," he snorted, "You performed a thorough examination with your tongue last night, remember?"

"Well, you examined mine too." I smiled.

"Yep." He patted my chest, "And your teeth are just fine, by the way."

"Apart from being crooked." I added.

"They're endearingly crooked." He said kindly.

Aw. I was leaning forward to kiss him, when I realized he had not answered my question. I pulled back.

"So, who's your dentist?"

"Dr. Ann Hoggard." He said. When he noticed that I was not satisfied with only a name, he added, "She's been my dentist since I was a kid." he added. "Why?"

"Nothing," I shrugged evasively, "I was just curious."

He shook his head.

"You're weird, sometimes."

"I know." I admitted apologetically.

"But I love you anyway." he said, leaning forward to give me a peck on the lips.

I looked at him.

I didn't want to turn all mushy, but it suddenly occurred to me that he looked good in my bedroom. Actually, he looked good anywhere, but what I meant was that his being there seemed to justify everything I'd done in my room- the colors I chose, the size of the bed, even the type of headboard light I bought. He made everything look better.

Even my nightmares were funny and relatively benign thanks to his being there with me.

Ah, beautiful man-

"Do you want me to turn off the light?" he asked, interrupting my thoughts.

"Yes." I said, "No." I added abruptly.

"Hey, make up your mind. Yes or no?"

"Not yet," I paused. "I have something for you." I said solemnly.

"I know," He smirked, "It's hot and half an inch shorter than mine."

I gaped and he burst out laughing.

"Not that," I glared.

I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the chest closest to the bed. I opened a drawer and felt around until I found a little oblong box that I'd kept under my socks for the last couple of weeks.

When I got back in bed I reached for his hand.

"This is for you." I said.

I put the box on his open palm and then sat back expectantly.

I'd been so sure that he would tear up the box in his haste to get at the contents, that his actual reaction sort of disappointed me: He stared at the object in his palm, as if he couldn't make out what it was.

I began to get impatient. Now that I'd taken this step, I couldn't wait for him to open the box.

"Go on." I said.

"What is it?" he asked without looking up.

"Just open it." I said, "It won't bite." I added good-naturedly.

He scowled at me, but at least he opened the box -gingerly, as if afraid of what he would find inside.

The little box's contents were harmless enough -a key and a white card with some numbers scribbled on it- but he acted like he had never seen anything like it before.

"It's the key to the front door," I explained, "And the security code." I waited for a reaction and got none, "You'll have to memorize the code and destroy the card, Agent Sanders." I added as a joke.

He gulped.

"The front door-"

"Of this house, yes." I finished.

He smiled faintly.

"Just like that?"

Ah, if he only knew…

"Sure." I mumbled, "I mean, you didn't expect me to put it inside a sandwich as a surprise, did you?"

"Actually, I didn't expect it." He replied.

He didn't look happy. He didn't throw his arms around me, and he didn't express his gratitude. In short, he didn't react the way I hoped he would. He just stared at the key. Maybe I should have told him about the dream; maybe then he would have been more enthusiastic about getting the key this way.

After a moment I took the box from him and placed it on the night table next to his side of the bed.

"Come on," I said, pulling the covers, "Let's get a little sleep."

The words made him react at least.

"Grissom… hum. Thanks."

"Sure." I said.

"I mean it." He insisted. "You just- You took me by surprise."

"I know."

I turned off the lights, and lay on my side of the bed. For a moment, we lay next to each other, in darkness and in silence.

After a moment, he snuggled closer to me and put an arm around me. We didn't talk. We were tired, but it took us quite a while to fall asleep again.

When I woke up the next day, he was already up. I could hear him puttering in the kitchen –and by the noises, I could tell there was a lot of activity going on.

I jumped out of bed and put on my clothes in a hurry. I hadn't planned for him to be alone in the kitchen –or anywhere else for that matter. I needed to see what he was doing.

It wasn't until I was reaching for the doorknob that I realized that I needed to back down. I'd offered him a key, now I had to show him that I trusted him.

I took a deep breath and decided not to overreact, no matter what I saw.

It was a big mess. He had taken out every pan I owned, although there were only two on the stove; the others were piled up neatly on the counter.

Ah, the counter. There were egg shells, open containers of milk and flour, wooden spoons oozing pancake batter lying on otherwise clean plates-

"Good morning!" he smiled at me, "Breakfast is almost ready!"

"You're cooking?"

"Yeah." He said carelessly. "Why? Guys cook too, don't they?"

"I didn't know you did." I said, approaching cautiously, "All I've seen you do is defrost and reheat."

I was being unfair. He did cook now and then, but this was the first time I'd seen him prepare so many things at the same time. As far as I could see, he was cooking huevos rancheros, pancakes, and hash browns, and it looked like he'd prepared everything from scratch.

He had used several pots to mix the pancake batter, and it looked like he'd used every knife on sight to chop up tomatoes, onions, and potatoes.

He seemed to know what I was thinking.

"Sorry." He said, "I tried several knives, but they were dull, so-"

"And the pans-"

"I needed one of Teflon and it was underneath the others." He explained.

"There was one on top." I said.

"It's too small," He said gently.

Of course. All the pans that were within reach were the ones I used to cook for one.

"But don't worry." He said, smiling mischievously, "I'll put everything back in its proper place. I took pictures of every cupboard. Now, do you want to help?"

We worked together well, just like we did when we were out in some crime scene.

Neither of us mentioned the key.

Later, we ate in companionable silence. There was a sense of expectancy in the air; I would look up now and then and catch him eyeing me speculatively. For a moment it was as if we were back at Loving Bear Donuts, with unsaid things between us.

I was wondering how to approach the matter, when suddenly he uttered the most dreaded words an insecure man in a relationship will ever hear.

"We need to talk."

TBC

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