DILEMMA

Will Grissom survive a Valentine's Day party?

We got late to Robin's party and it was Mr. Vain's fault; not only had he taken too long to fix his hair to a spiky perfection, he'd also fussed over me and my clothes -but he'd managed to make me look good, so no, I wasn't complaining.

Robin's place was packed, and Greg and me got separated as soon as we walked in. He was quickly engulfed by his closest friends, and I was left behind to fend for myself. I felt a tinge of apprehension. I don't interact well with large groups of people –except when I'm with my own kind: entomologists, criminalists, and (let's face it) just plain weirdoes.

I was nodding here and there, when Robin came to my rescue. Soon I found myself sitting at the far end of the living room, surrounded by her closest friends, some of whom I'd met before. We had a lot in common: We were members of the older generation, we didn't dance, and most of us had younger partners who did. From our corner we could talk, see the dancing couples, and enjoy the music.

From there, I could keep an eye on Greg, too.

That morning I'd vowed not to succumb to jealousy, no matter what happened. Not even if Pete insisted on introducing his cousin to Greg (it was the first thing he did, by the way); not even if Dennis arrived at the party and immediately set to play the role of 'lonely ex-boyfriend' (which is exactly what he did), and not even if Greg set out to dance with everyone in sight.

Greg didn't dance right away, but only because he had work to do: First he prepared the punch he was so famous for, and then he took over as bartender while Pete took a break. Greg enjoyed both tasks; he made a big show out of everything he did, even something simple, like opening a bottle of beer for a friend.

He also made cracks about serving his punch 'shaken not stirred,' and although I could only read his lips, I knew he was doing his Sean Connery impression.

I had a great time watching Greg do all this, but there was also a downside to it: I got to see him greet his friends – girls and boys- with a kiss on the cheek. I winced every time he did it, but I'd promised myself I'd behave and I did. By the time he started to dance, I'd already numbed myself.

Actually, it was only when Dennis was around that I really paid attention. Dennis' behavior intrigued me. He was drinking more than he should; he butted into Greg's conversations, and when that failed, he simply steered Greg away from his friends. Then someone would take Greg back to one group or another and the game would begin again. He would also touch Greg, (even when they were not dancing); but he kept his touches casual and good-buddy like, nothing serious as far as I could tell (nothing that could be upheld in court, at least), so I kept quiet.

Apart from watching Greg, I was also studying Greg's gay friends. I've observed people's behavior all my life -single people, couples, entire families- without feeling any kind of involvement, but now I belonged to a new group and I had a new label: Not weirdo, but queer. I'd observed gay perps and gay victims before, but this was a chance to see gay men interact in a social gathering, and I was curious.

It was interesting –and funny. Like most people, their behavior changed once they were in a group. Just as straight guys suddenly try to out-macho one another when they're in a group, so were these guys acting out –the bigger the group, the gayer they became.

I didn't think much of it until I heard them playfully call one another 'bitch' and refer to their male friends as 'she'. It was just a ritual, but it got me wondering. It also gave me the perfect excuse to go looking for Greg.

I found him by the buffet table. He was fixing himself a sandwich. I stood just behind him and whispered, "I hope you didn't put any onions on that."

He turned and smiled.

"Hey," he said, "Have you eaten?"

"A couple of Swedish meatballs and lots of pretzels." I said. "I liked your punch, by the way."

"Really? Great." he seemed genuinely pleased. "So," he said, glancing around, "What do you think? Do you like the party?"

"It's ok." I said. It was noisy, the music was repetitive and loud, couples around us were moving frantically, and I still didn't understand why Robin needed to do this so often. But yeah, it was ok. "The decorations remind me of Loving Bear Donuts." I added. Indeed, Robin had decorated everything with red hearts –from the windows to the tiniest toothpick- only instead of paper, hers were made of satin and velvet.

"Are you having fun?" he asked, "I saw you hitting it off with Robin's inner circle."

"They're ok." I said, "I appreciate the way they try not to ask me about my job."

Greg carefully picked up his sandwich.

"Want some of this?" he asked, offering me the first bite. I bit into a corner, which was all I could manage since the sandwich had too many layers of ham, cheese, turkey, and veggies. In fact, it was so thick, it reminded me of one of the characters in Greg's old comic books. He and his sisters had been avid readers of comics and Greg had inherited them all. I'd been browsing through the piles he kept at his place; the one I was thinking of was this guy who fixed huge sandwiches.

"That looks like something fixed by Dagwood." I said.

He smiled mischievously.

"Would that make you my Blondie?" he teased before biting into his sandwich.

"That reminds me," I said, "Some of your gay friends were calling each other by female names."

"Uh, huh?"

"You don't have a female name for me, do you?"

He almost choked.

"No, I don't." he chuckled. "Why? Do you want one?"

"No," I glared.

He laughed.

"It's ok." He said, "You don't need one to belong."

I smiled at him and rubbed his face with my thumb. He hadn't shaved for the party and his jaw felt heavenly. He smiled knowingly.

"You have a thing for my stubble, don't you?"

"I do not." I lied indignantly, letting my hand slid down to his neck. I let it rest there.

He took a big bite out of his sandwich and chewed earnestly, showing his delight with exaggerated noises that sounded almost orgasmic.

"Mmmmh, mmmmh," he hummed, sounding just like he did when we had sex. I gulped. He was turning me on and he knew it. I narrowed my eyes as a warning; it wasn't the right place or time to taunt me like that. But he simply shrugged, "Hey, it's a great sandwich. Mmmh, mmmh."

I shook my head.

"You're so bad." I said affectionately. I leant forward and pressed my cheek against his. He smelled good. He was wearing a new scent and I immediately approved; it was woodsy and clean; not like that citrus mess he used to wear, the one that made me sneeze-

"People are watching." He said huskily.

I opened my eyes. I was holding him in my arms, something I'd never done in public. I pulled back to look at him.

"Hey, it's ok." He said, "We're with friends." He leant forward to peck my lips.

He tasted of mustard.

"Mmmmh, Grey Poupon." I mumbled.

"Oooh, you're speaking French," he teased. "That's such a huge turn on-"

"Is it?" I asked. "That's good to know." I paused, "Tu est très beau." I said.

"Wow. Go on." He said before taking another bite of his sandwich.

"Je t'aime," I said, and then I frantically searched for every French word I knew, "Faux pas, Vendredi, Mercredi, Dimanche-"

He chuckled. He put his sandwich back on the table and focused his whole attention on me. He touched the lapel of my leather jacket. He fondled it, actually.

"You look good."

"So I've been told." I said. "The jacket was a success, by the way." I admitted. He had insisted that I wear it. He had raided my wardrobe for something fashionable to wear at the party and had come out with the leather jacket and the blue shirt he'd given me for Christmas. I hadn't been too enthusiastic about the jacket –it was dressier than I was used to wear, but he had insisted, and well, he had been right –I looked ok in it.

"I told you." He said smugly. He took hold of both lapels and caressed them –and me.

"You have a thing for leather, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah," he admitted, pulling me closer. "Wanna dance?"

"I haven't danced in public since I stepped on a cousin's foot," I said ruefully.

He chuckled.

"You know I can take it." He said.

But we didn't dance; we simply stood close together, with our cheeks touching –an island of quiet in the middle of a chaotic dancing crowd.

"I like this," he muttered, as he slid his hands under my jacket, "I mean, I'm all for discretion, but there's something about being affectionate in public-" he paused.

"It's a chance to show off," I said. It was, at least for me. I knew I was the object of envy from some of Greg's friends. Envy and puzzlement: Every time we met, the look in their faces said it all: 'You are Gil?' 'You are dating Greg?'

Most of them didn't understand our relationship, either. They assumed that we had a sort of teacher-pupil relationship, where I was the teacher and Greg, the pupil. But it wasn't so. Most of the time, he was the guide and I was the one who followed. It was cozy for me to have someone taking the lead. Cozy and reassuring.

I felt his hands move from my back down to my butt. I smiled to myself. Suddenly, I felt like bragging – Hey, take a look at us, boys and girls.

Greg pulled back to look at me.

"Hey," he said, "I was talking to Robin about our date tomorrow. She says there's a Deli section at La Lumière; so I was thinking, since Sara and Warrick are footing the bill for our meal, maybe we could get them something," he said earnestly, "A bottle of champagne and strawberries sound good, right? Or maybe a basket of fresh fruit. What do you think?"

Waaait a minute… I didn't say I wanted to go to La Lumière.

Greg stiffened when he noticed my hesitation. He knew what it meant.

He gradually released the hold he'd had on me.

"You're not coming." He said.

"Greg-"

He took a step back, as if he needed the distance to better look at me. There was an incredulous look on his face that was quickly replaced by one of anger.

"Damn it, Grissom," he hissed.

His reaction took me by surprise.

"Hey," I said, "You said I had a choice-"

"Yeah, but only because I thought you'd make the right choice!" he retorted, "I mean, come on! Do you really think you can keep ignoring this?"

Well, yeah; I was hoping I could.

"Greg," I said slowly, "I know you mean well, but this is between Sara and me."

He looked at me, long enough for his anger to turn into disappointment.

"You're wrong," He said. "It involves me, too; it involves Warrick."

He waited for me to say something, but all I could do was gaze back in silence.

The tension was palpable and for a moment I had the impression that time had stopped and we were the center of everybody's attention. It wasn't like that, of course; couples around us continued talking and dancing, completely oblivious to us. But then, we weren't the first to have a fight at the party; I'd already witnessed several outbursts of bickering here and there.

I just never thought it would happen to Greg and me too.

"You've got to think about this, Grissom." He said, and then he turned away and went back to his friends.

In a daze, I returned to my seat and to Robin's friends. We avoided each other after that. He was pissed off, and I had nothing to say –nothing that would placate him, anyway.

Why couldn't he understand that I couldn't do this? Talk to Sara, that is. I mean, I could speak to her and I already had, the night before. We'd met at a crime scene and we acted as if nothing had changed between us; not once did she mention lunch or La Lumiere, and not once did I tell her that I knew that she knew all about me now. We worked side by side, in harmony.

But that was only because we were working; she has such a deep respect for her job –and me- that this new knowledge we had of each other would not interfere at all. But if we stepped out of the lab and went to a fancy restaurant… well, then we'd have to talk, and we'd surely end up hurting each other. I didn't want to hurt her.

But deep down, I knew I'd already had.

I just didn't want to know for sure.

We were supposed to stay for dinner, but now I couldn't wait to get away. I needed to go to the one place where I knew where I stood, no matter what. The lab.

I was thinking of this and listening half-heartedly to Robin, when Greg came over.

"Hey," he whispered, "I need to talk to you."

'Oh, crap', I thought. 'What now? '

I followed him to a corner. I was frantically thinking of something to say, but he beat me to it.

"Grissom," He said, "Can I have your car keys? I need to take Dennis home."

'Whaaaaat?'

"What?" I asked aloud, "Why?"

"He drank too much," Greg said ruefully, "He can't drive like this-"

"So, call him a taxi." I said uncharitably.

Fortunately for me, Greg thought I was joking.

"I can't do that," He chuckled, "If I put him in a taxi or if I drive him in his own car, he'll simply continue the party somewhere else. I need to make sure that he gets home and stays there."

He had to be joking.

"Greg," I started, "You're not his babysitter-"

"I know," He said patiently, "But he's in really bad shape, Grissom. I can't let him leave alone." He glanced at a point behind me, and I turned. Dennis was there, leaning against the door and looking appropriately wasted.

And suddenly, I realized I'd underestimated Dennis. He had been drinking steadily since he came to the party and he'd been eyeing Greg with a sad expression all along. I'd dismissed these actions as pathetic, and only now I realized they were anything but. He had simply been playing a part. He'd looked lost and lonely –a tragic figure. It was a masterful performance, fit for an opera.

I could even imagine the marquee: Dennis the Psychologist plays Pagliaci

Well, I wasn't buying it.

"Any of these guys could take care of him, Greg."

"They're not his friends, you know that," he said patiently, "Look," he added, lowering his voice, "The truth is, Dennis is feeling a bit lost right now, ok? He's sort of depressed, and-"

"Well, if he is, then he should know how to handle it," I said irritably, "He's a psychologist-"

"I know-" he interjected.

"I mean, what kind of therapist is this guy?"

"Actually, he's quite good," Greg said dryly, "He has great insight where others are concerned." He paused, and then he looked pointedly at me. "He's just clueless about himself."

Uh? I frowned. Was he suggesting something…?

I refused to examine that thought. I was more concerned about not letting those two alone, so I tried to compromise.

"Ok." I said, searching for my keys, "We'll take him home, then. I'll drive."

"Hum." Greg hesitated. "Actually, it would be better if you didn't come."

I froze.

"Why?"

"Because-" he started and then he paused.

I looked closely at him, waiting for an explanation.

"Look, it's my fault." he said, "I dragged you here, and, well- Dennis didn't expect to see us together today. He, hum, isn't handling it very well, and-"

I gave him a look of incredulity.

"Greg, you can't possibly feel responsible for-"

"Maybe not," he interrupted, "But he's hurting, Grissom; I have to do something about it." He said firmly.

"It's not your fault-"

"That's not the point," he said, and then he lowered his voice, "Look. I can't pretend none of this is happening, Grissom." He said slowly, "I can't just cross my arms and hope that things will get better or that they will go away, like you do."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

It was his turn to look incredulously at me.

"You know," he said, "Sometimes it's cute, the way you seem to go through life, clueless about everyone and everything," he paused, "But sometimes it's not so cute-"

"Oh, I am clueless?" I retorted, "What about you? Dennis is manipulating you and you don't see it!"

Uh, oh. I don't know much about relationships, but by the look in his face, I realized that badmouthing a former lover was a bad idea.

Greg visibly forced himself to speak calmly.

"Look," he said, "I just want to take him home. I'll be back in half an hour-"

"You don't see what he's doing?" I insisted.

"He needs me, Grissom."

Greg really believed what he was saying.

Dennis was winning, and I thought I knew what he was going to do next. He was going to have a little talk with Greg –similar to the one he'd have with me, only this time it would be about me.

I wondered whether Greg would resent him for badmouthing me.

And then a sudden thought occurred to me; a thought that explained why everybody seemed to dislike Dennis so much: He had talked to all of them, Greg's boys and girls, and he had pointed out their flaws until they felt they weren't good enough for Greg.

And when that failed, he'd simply played the part of the lonely ex.

"He's done this before, hasn't he?" I whispered. "Whenever you find someone, he does everything possible to get you back. All he needs to do is act like a little kid lost, and you come to the rescue. It's emotional blackmail, Greg."

He stared at me for a moment.

"Whatever." He said softly. "The point is that right now he needs me more than you do." He looked down at my hand, "Can I have your car keys?"

I wanted to say no, but it suddenly occurred to me that saying 'no' was what had got me into all this trouble. I should have offered to go to lunch, I should have-

A brilliant thought came to me then: 'Maybe if I promised to go to La Lumière, he would feel compelled to stay with me-' but the voice of reason immediately intervened: 'Oh, nice, Grissom.' I thought. 'You're willing to use blackmail too.'

"Can I have your keys?" he repeated softly, interrupting my thoughts.

They were dangling from my fingers, but I couldn't just hand them.

"Do you need him more than you need me?" I asked.

Greg winced but didn't answer. He gently pried my fingers open and took my car keys. That's what he needed.

After that I didn't think I could stay at the party, and I mechanically said my goodbyes to Robin and her friends. I didn't give many explanations, and by the look on Robin's face, it was clear she knew what had happened. She gently patted my arm and gave me a Tupperware container.

"Here's dinner." She said. "And hey, I'll talk to him," she added. I vaguely nodded, but I didn't stop to ask what she meant by that. I just wanted to leave.

I wasn't in a hurry, so I took the stairs instead of the elevator.

I did my best not to think of Greg and Dennis, driving away together.

To distract myself, I started counting the things I needed to do before driving to the lab. First, I had to go home to change clothes -it wouldn't do to walk into CSI quarters, ostensibly looking as if I'd just been to a party, right? After that, I had to pick up a couple of books that I'd ordered -my belated gift for Greg-

I stopped in mid-step. I didn't want to face the possibility, but... what if Greg didn't come back? Yes, he would come back –he was driving my car, after all- but what if he decided not to come back? What the hell was I going to do? I had grown so used to our relationship - what were the words I'd used earlier? Ah, yes. Cozy and reassuring.

I couldn't imagine not having that in my life.

I almost laughed at myself then. Back when we started this relationship, I'd promised myself not to expect more than I reasonably should. At the time, I was so sure we would not last more than a few months, that all I hoped was that our working relationship would survive. I thought I'd be prepared for a break up. I was sure I'd accept it and move on…

I would have laughed, but the possibility of a break up hurt too much.

I left the building. The sun was fading away, but the street lights supplied enough glare to make me squint a little. I looked to my right and to my left, but there was no sign of Greg yet.

I glanced at the parking lot, mostly because there was nothing else to look at... and did a double take. I started walking towards it, not sure of what I was seeing, but hoping that it wasn't just my brain (or my heart) playing tricks on me. For there, in the same space I'd left it earlier in the evening, was my car. And Greg was there, too.

He was sitting on the passenger seat, and he seemed to be lost in thought.

He looked up when he heard my steps.

"I put him in a taxi." He said.

TBC