DILEMMA

I apologize for not updating sooner, but MY COMPUTER CRASHED! I LOST MOST OF MY FILES AND MY WIP's!

I still can't believe this happened! I spent two weeks in a sort of daze, but I'm recovering now.

This is just a romantic interlude...

"Give me a truffle, will you?"

I pretended not to hear. I didn't want to move; I was too comfortable, lying on top of him, with my head resting on his flat belly and my arms wrapped around his thighs.

"Hey, Grissom?" he said softly.

I didn't stir. If he wanted a chocolate, then he would have to get up and get it himself.

Of course, to get up he'd have to make me move off him first... And that was going to be difficult.

But he knew that already, and that's why he played dirty.

"Hey," he said, gently touching my shoulder, "Are you awake, baby?"

Oh, that damn word. I melt faster than chocolate whenever he uses it.

I tried to resist.

"Those are my chocolates, you know." I mumbled.

"If you didn't want to share, then you shouldn't have opened the box." He said cheekily, "I warned you, remember?"

I moved just enough to glare at him, but my heart wasn't in it. He was right after all; he had warned me.

Resignedly, I crawled to the edge of the bed and reached for the box. We'd been sampling truffles between naps, and we'd already finished off the top layer. Even our bed smelled of chocolate now.

That thought made me pause. Our bed? I couldn't believe I was thinking in those terms.

I shook my head and he noticed.

"What?" he frowned.

"Nothing," I muttered, "Just thinking."

"That's a bad sign." He mumbled.

"Here," I said, pushing the box towards him, "Take one," I said, and before he touched it, I added, "And I mean it, Greg. One."

"Man, you're so selfish," he muttered as he looked into the box.

"Hey, I'm only trying to keep the sheets clean."

"It's too late for that," he quipped.

He was right. We were lying on a relatively clean corner of the bed, but the rest was damp and rumpled. I didn't mind.

"Are you finished, yet?" I prompted him.

"Don't rush me," he glared, "This is the last one, so I have to choose one I like." He paused, "They all look good."

"Here," I said, picking a truffle and tossing it to him. He frantically caught it in the air.

I put the box back on the table and resumed my former position, only this time I held him more tightly.

"Mmmmh, it's an orange crème-" he mumbled as he munched on the truffle. "Hey," he said after a while, "This is great, isn't it? Eating in bed, I mean. It's sooo decadent."

I looked up and watched as he licked his fingers.

"Maybe we should always keep some food around," he said, "You know, grapes, little cubes of cheese, wine, truffles-"

"Some BBQ sauce-"I suggested.

He snorted.

"Ugh," he glared, "That doesn't sound appetizing."

"I've heard it goes well with ribs," I said, and before he knew what was happening, I dug my fingers into his ribs and tickled him.

"Shit!" Greg gasped, and then burst into involuntary laughter.

"Oh, yeah," I cried trimphantly, "I like these ribs-"

Greg squirmed under me and managed to push my hands away.

"Don't do that, Grissom!" He warned, "I mean it, ok? I'm very ticklish, and-"

"Good," I retorted, "Thanks for the information!" I added, launching a more serious attack on his ribs and belly. Greg is pretty strong and tried to push me off him, but he was no match. Let's just say I outweighed him a little.

But he was smart and sneaky; he realized he couldn't get me off, so instead he did something more vicious: he tickled me just as hard. The tickling promptly degenerated into wrestling, and after an even match, we ended up lying side by side, exhausted and breathless from laughing so much.

"Ew," I chuckled, "You drooled chocolate all over yourself."

He quickly wiped hismouth with the back of his hand.

"It was your fault!" He protested indignantly.

"No, it wasn't-"

"Hey, you started the fight, remember?" he said, and then he shook his head, "You're like a kid, sometimes-"

"I wish," I muttered unguardedly.

He looked curiously at me.

"You do?" he asked.

Oh, crap. This wasn't the kind of thing I intented to admit in front of him.

Greg turned and put his arm under his head to better look at me.

"Do you wish you were younger?"

"Sometimes," I said reluctantly, "Just like everbody, I guess." I paused, "Not that I'd like to be thirty again-" I added.

"What's wrong with being thirty?" he smiled. He was turning thirty this year (as he kept reminding me; I had the feeling he was expecting a big gift from me.)

"There's nothing wrong." I said. I just didn't have good memories from that time. I looked at Greg, "Would you like to be eighteen again?"

He snorted. "Nooo, thank you."

"See?"

Greg smiled and then he looked at the ceiling.

"I can't imagine a younger you." he said after a moment, "I feel like this is who you were meant to be from the beginning: Gil Grissom, age fifty."

I gaped. What a nice thing to say.

I didn't even point out that I was fifty-two, not fifty. If he wanted to think I was younger, why should I contradict him?

"Do you have any pictures, Grissom?"

"Pictures of what?"

"What do you mean, pictures of what?" he smiled, "Family pictures, of course." He said, "Vacation pictures, graduation pictures... You know, the kind that you put in an album." He looked at me, "I'd like to know more about you." He said, "And no, I'm not talking about your work as a criminalist." he warned, "I'm talking about your history. I'd like to see pictures of your mom and dad, uncles and aunts-" he smiled, "Embarrassing pictures of you taking someone to the prom or playing naked in a backyard pool." He glanced around, "I'd bet somewhere in this house there are naked-baby pictures of you, waiting to be discovered." he looked at me, "I hope you let me see them some day."

Ha. Good luck with that. I didn't intend to let him see my pictures. I had several albums, by the way; they were well cared for and neatly labeled, but I never let anyone near them.

"That reminds me," He said, "You haven't shown me the rest of the house."

I wasn't too keen on that now. If I gave him a tour of my home, he was going to notice the absence of family pictures in the rooms, and that was only going to make him more curious about them.

Greg was looking expectantly at me.

"We'll do that next time." I offered.

I had the feeling that I was letting him down, so I chose that moment to tell him that I wanted to go to Robin's party.

He was surprised.

"You do?"

"Yeah."

"Ok," he said slowly, "Good. I'll help you choose your outfit." He said, eyeing the closet at the far end of the room, "I can't wait to take a look at your wardrobe, baby."

Oh.

TBC

Next... The return of Dennis, and a disastrous party.