Epilogue
Spoiler: Who Shot Sherlock. This episode was aired in January, but for this story, I'm assuming that Greg passed his proficiency test after Valentine's Day.
I changed the ending on May14.06
I was catching up with some reports, when Nick and Greg dropped by. Greg was smiling widely –actually, he hadn't stopped smiling since I told him he'd passed his proficiency test.
He had officially become our newest CSI.
"Grissom," Nick said, "We're taking Greg to celebrate his promotion. Wanna come along?"
"I can't," I said, eyeing a pile of files, "I got some reports to review."
"You sure?" Greg asked.
I nodded. Actually, I could have come along, but I wanted to give him some space. He deserved some time alone with his friends.
Greg turned to Nick.
"I'll see you guys there, then." He said. He waited until Nick was gone to approach my desk.
"So, " I said, "How does it feel to be a CSI?" I asked.
"It feels weird," he said. "Being the center of attention, I mean. Everyone seems happy for me-" he said tentatively.
"They are happy for you. You did well."
"I did, right?" he asked, "That's what I keep telling myself-"
"What do you mean?"
"Well," he shrugged slightly, "I was just wondering, you know -" he paused.
I took off my glasses and put them on my desk.
"You're wondering whether our relationship had anything to do with this promotion." I said.
He nodded.
I cleared my throat.
"Greg, you've worked hard." I said firmly, "You earned this."
He nodded, but I had the impression that this was not what he wanted to hear.
Ok. I tried again.
"Look," I said, "When you failed the test five months ago, I decided to give you another chance because I knew you could pull it off..." I said, and then I smiled, "But also because I couldn't stand to see you disappointed."
He smiled again.
"Thanks, baby." He said.
"But from now on," I said, "Everything will depend on you."
His smile faded and he assumed a more solemn stance.
"Yes, sir," he said.
"You'll have to take a firearms course," I said, "If you don't qualify you won't be able to work with us-"
"I know." He nodded.
"As a CSI you'll have more responsibilities…" I said and then I gave him the little speech I give to new colleagues. He listened attentively. When I was finished, I smiled. "I'm glad you pulled it off."
"Thanks," he smiled. "You owe me a private celebration, by the way."
I should have known. This guy lives for parties.
"Of course," I said simply. I'd have to think of something –fast.
He leant on my desk.
"You sure you can't come with us?"
"I'm sure." I said.
"Ok." He said. "See ya later, then." He said, and he waved at me.
He was already on his way out, when I called out.
"Just take it easy, ok?" I said.
I guess I used a sterner tone that I intended, because he stopped in mid-step. His foot hovered in the air for a moment and then, instead of moving forward, it moved backwards, and then he retraced his steps until he was leaning on my desk again.
"And what does that mean?" He asked, using his own stern tone.
It's very effective, and for a moment I hesitated... But in the end I said what was in my mind.
"It means that you'd better not drink more than you can handle." I said simply.
His eyebrows rose. He seemed genuinely surprised.
"Excuse me?" he asked, "Have you ever seen me drunk?"
I gave him a look.
"What?" he frowned.
"Greg, you were drunk when you came to my place a couple of years ago. Don't you remember that?"
He actually paused to think.
"Oh." He said at last, "Yeah... You're right."
"Uh, huh," I nodded.
He smirked.
"So... are you afraid that if I drink too much I'll get overly affectionate with my coworkers? With Nick, perhaps?"
It was my turn to frown.
"I was concerned about your health, Greg. Now you've given me something else to worry about. Thanks a lot," I glared.
"Actually..." he hesitated. "I... hum...have a confession to make."
Every time he uses that phrase, my first thought is, 'oh, crap; what now?'.
"Ok," I said slowly.
"Well... the thing is... I wasn't drunk that night."
"You weren't?"
"No. I was only pretending."
"Oh, really?" I asked skeptically. "And why would you do that?"
"Well... Because I wanted to tell you about my feelings, and, well... I didn't know what your reaction was gonna be," he said, "I assumed you would be more tolerant if you thought I was drunk. I mean, you wouldn't punch a drunk guy for making a pass at you, would ya?"
"I'd never punch anyone," I said, "Period."
"Yeah, I figured that, but... It was just a little precaution; a chance to save face, so to speak. If you rejected me, then I could simply blame everything on alcohol."
I narrowed my eyes.
"You learned that trick from Dennis, didn't you?"
"I guess," he smiled sheepishly.
"So..." I said, "You were not drunk."
"No. I only had half a beer."
"But your mouth tasted like you had drunk all kinds of crap."
"That's because I drank the bottoms of my friends' drinks. It was disgusting," he added as an afterthought.
I was silent for a brief moment.
"So," I said at last, "When you leant on me as if you couldn't stand on your feet -"
"I was faking." He admitted cheerfully.
"And when I practically had to carry you into my living room, you were-"
"Faking."
"So... when you 'accidentally' touched my butt-"
He faltered a little.
"Well, I didn't know if I'd ever get another chance to get that close to you, so -"
"So you felt me up on purpose." I finished. I was silent for a moment. "I can't believe this."
"Hey, I'm not proud of what I did -"
"What I can't believe is that you didn't take advantage of the whole situation," I replied, "That night I would've- I mean, after you kissed me... I would've followed you anywhere."
"Oh, yeah," he smiled knowingly, "I noticed."
"Then... why didn't you do anything?"
"Well... It wasn't the way I wanted things to be," he said slowly, "I mean, you would have done anything I wanted, but then the next day you would have freaked out. It would have been awkward -" his voice trailed off.
"Oh. So... you did the honorable thing?"
"Well..." he frowned, as if the idea had never occurred to him, "I guess."
"Wow." I said, "You're a good guy, Greg."
"Nah," he dismissed, "I'm-"
"Seriously." I interrupted, "You're a decent guy."
He groaned.
"Grissom, decent guys are boring," he said, "And lame-"
"You're a noble guy." I insisted, enjoying his discomfort.
"Hey, I can be bad-
Ha. Like I was going to believe that now.
"No, really," He insisted, "Dirty, too." He said and then he wiggled an eyebrow, "I can be bad and dirty-"
"Sure," I said, smiling indulgently at him. "Well, bad boy," I said, picking up my glasses, "You have a party to go to, so, have fun."
"But I-" he started.
I put on my glasses and picked my pen again -a sign that our personal conversation was over.
"Fine." He said at last, "I'm leaving." He walked away, but just as he was about to reach the door, he spoke, "Oh, and don't worry; drinking will be the last thing in my mind, tonight." He said casually. "I'll be too busy looking. The guys are taking me to a strip club."
I looked up sharply, but he was already gone.
A strip club?
I gaped and stared at the empty doorway; I stared at it for so long that when my cell phone rang I actually blinked in confusion.
I quickly got myself together and answered.
"Grissom," I said.
"BWAAAAH, HA, HA!" It was Greg, and he was laughing his ass off. "I WAS KIDDING! YOU CAN MOVE NOW!"
I looked up, half-expecting to see him in the hallway, spying on me.
But he wasn't there.
"Where are you?" I frowned.
"I'm in my car, buckling up." He said patiently. "But I know you." He said gleefully, "You froze after my parting shot, didn't you? You were busy picturing me, with a bunch of girls –am I right, Mr. Jealous CSI?" he challenged. But before I answered, he added smugly, "Now, am I or am I not a bad boy?"
I was fuming.
"Greg-"
"Relax!" he said happily, "The guys offered, but I said no. They are taking me to a tasteful pub for some steak and beer!"
That was good to know, but I wasn't so easily appeased.
"Greg Sanders, you're gonna pay for this!"
"All right!" he replied cheerfully, "I'll do anything you ask me to!" he lowered his voice, "I'll be your slave for a day and satisfy your most outrageous fantasies -"
"You do that every day," I retorted. "No. I think I'll find something else for you to do; something fitting to the crime." I paused, "Oh, I know; I'll have you clean my pets' cages for a week."
"Oh, no," he groaned, "Come on, Grissom -"
"It'll suit you, dirty boy."
"But baby-"
Oh, no, I thought. Not that damn word again. As soon as he uttered it, my resolve began to crumble.
Just like it always did.
Part of me tried to stick to my original resolution, but another immediately decided that a week might be a little too much.
"All right," I said reluctantly. "Five days."
"Oh, come on," He protested. "What about two days?"
"Five days, Greg," I said as firmly as I could.
"Three days!" he countered.
"Four days." I saidbefore I could catch myself. "And that's it, baby." I said, and then I hung upbefore he talked me into forgetting the whole thing.
Almost immediately, the phone rang. It was Greg again.
"What, now?" I asked.
"Did you just call me baby?" he asked.
"I did not." I said almost indignantly.
"Yes, you did."
I frowned and tried to remember... and realized that yeah, I'd called him baby.
"Yes." I said, "I did."
I wondered if that made him happy or disgusted.
To my relief, he started chuckling.
"Aww, that's so sweet-"
"So, you don't mind that I stole your word?"
"Nah. I'm ecstatic. I'm so happy that I'm going to clean your cages for a full week." He said, "However -" And he paused ominously.
"Yes?"
"Just word of caution," He said solemnly, "It'sa powerful word, Gil Grissom. Use it wisely."
Andwe bothlaughed.
The End