ROAD TRIP

Slash, established relationship, humor, romance, and, mostly, fantasy.

Grissom's spider's back! It appeared in Bite Me, and it had a cameo in Consequences.

It was supposed to be like a vacation; instead, a trip to Humboldt County turns into a nightmare for Gil & Greg, and an innocent witness tells all about it.

The story's told from the spider's POV.


Night has fallen.

Everything's quiet at last.

Or as quiet as it's ever going to be. There are faint sounds, all around me. From the confines of my traveling cage I can hear the rain, still pounding on the roof, and my friends' soft snoring. Human snores aren't exactly an agreeable sound for a sensitive spider like me, but believe me, after the events of today, a snore seems like music to me. It means my Gil has finally fell asleep, and is now resting in the warm nest of his lover's arms.

Everything is as it should be.

I should be resting too; it was an exhausting day for me, as well. But I'm restless, and I'm not sure why. Maybe I'm just too used to staying wide awake on weeknights, while my Gil goes out to work. It does feel strange to be wide awake while he sleeps.

Maybe I miss my usual surroundings.

Or maybe it's just that we didn't have a chance to meditate tonight, my Gil and me, and I miss our little time together. Grissom is the busiest of men, but he always manages to steal a couple of minutes for us. He tenderly lifts me from my glass bowl, and then we sit together in the dark.

Five minutes, ten minutes... it doesn't matter; he visibly relaxes the minute my limbs touch his fingers, and the stress lines that mar his face miraculously smooth out while I perform my best palm dance for him.

There was no meditation and no palm dance tonight, but then, we're not in Las Vegas, either; we're a long way from home, actually. We're in Humboldt County, and we came here four days ago, ostensibly to attend a Seminar.

Oh, I didn't attend the seminar; I didn't even came to teach. I came here as a guest -Gil's guest- which I think says plenty about the kind of relationship we have.

People see me as Gil's pet, but I dislike that word; pet has demeaning connotations. I was another man's pet once, and believe me, my relationship with Grissom soared past that a long time ago. Now, I'm like a friend to him -and more.

Personally, I'd like to think of myself as his companion, but now there's somebody else who may want to claim that title: Greg Sanders. The young DNA technician turned CSI, sneaked past Grissom's defenses a while ago, managing to get a hold of his mind, his heart, -and the rest of his body.

And if you think the idea of sharing Gil displeased me... then you are right. In fact, I was so certain Greg would take Gil's affections away from me, that I seriously considered putting an early end to their relationship.

I spent entire days, toying with the idea of biting the young man the next time he laid a hand on me. Oh, how I dreamed of that moment! I knew what a tiny bite from me could do it; in just a few seconds, that self-satisfied smile would turn into an agonic grimace-

But I couldn't do it.

First of all, it would have broken Gil's heart. Secondly, my days as a ruthless killer were over, the minute I became the best friend of an officer of the law.

I had a conscience, now.

So, I reluctantly left the matter in Gil's hands. All I could do was hope he would not forget me so easily. But as it turned out, my fears were unfounded. Very little changed between Gil and me, and it soon became clear that far from replacing me in Gil's heart, Greg was only a nice addition to our lives.

It was the start of a cordial relationship with the young man, although I still wish he didn't pat me in the head, as if I were a toy poodle or a chihuahua. Gil may have tamed some of my savage traits, but I'm still Colorada Petenera, the proud queen of Guatemalan spiders.

Back in my native land, people used to tremble at the sight of me.

But my life is pretty uneventful now. As Gil Grissom's companion I spent most of my time in his office, but on the weekends we get to go home -ours, or Greg's. And while they often talk about going to places like Lake Mead, for some reason they rarely venture outside together, except to go to some museum or to see a movie. Not very exciting, is it?

Which is why it seemed like a big deal when Gil decided that Greg should attend a seminar he would be teaching in Humboldt county. Gil made it sound like Greg's continuing education was all he cared about -and all the CSIs believed him- but I knew better.

To me, it was obvious that Gil was planning to turn this trip into a vacation of sorts. He ordered tickets for baseball and basketball games, he booked a tour of the city, complete with visits to museums…

But when he started making reservations for fancy dinners, it suddenly dawned on me that this was beginning to look more like a honeymoon than a simple vacation. That got me worried. After all, it was after getting married that my first master got rid of me.

But Greg himself dispelled my fears this time: He ordered a special cage for me, especially designed so I could travel in style.

It was a sweet gesture, don't you think?

So there we were, ready to make our first big trip together. My Gil would teach a few classes, Greg would attend a few others... and at the end of each day we'd go out and explore the city.

It sounded like a nice, simple plan. What could possibly go wrong?

As it turned out, almost everything that could go wrong, did.

On hindsight, things might have gone better if we hadn't driven all the way to Humboldt county. Gil's SUV caused so much trouble along the way, that by the time we finally arrived at Humboldt it was too late to attend the baseball game Gil had tickets for.

And that was only the beginning. When they inquired about lodgings, they were told that all Seminar instructors would be sharing rooms in the best hotel in town, while students stayed at cheaper hotels.

Grissom was disappointed, but Greg was fuming. (Me, I was snickering; I would stay at a four-star hotel while Greg slummed at a B&B. Ha!)

The next blow came when Gil volunteered to help the Humboldt PD in one case. And then he helped them in another... and another... until he ended up spending every free moment working in their labs.

Gil and Greg never got a chance to tour the city.

To say they were disappointed would be an understatement, but I didn't know how bad things were between them until we were on our way back home.

Greg was all for leaving Humboldt behind as fast as we could, but Gil insisted on taking a scenic route. This meant it would take us longer to reach the highway, but that's what Gil wanted to do, and Greg sullenly gave in.

Things seemed ok, until it became obvious that they couldn't hold a conversation without letting it turn into an argument. Soon, they were bringing up every little sin they'd ever committed in the past.

Sample:

Gil: "You leave hair all over the sink!"

Greg: "So? You have a problem with that?"

Gil: "Yes, I do! It clogs the sink! It's disgusting!"

Greg: "Oh, yeah? Well, if you think that's disgusting, then what about the way you wet all your fingers every time you need to turn a page in a book?"

Gil: (indignantly) "I don't do that!"

Greg: "Yes, you do!"

Gil: "I don't wet all my fingers!"

Greg: "Yes, you do!"

Gil: "No, I don't!"

Unbelievable, isn't it? I mean, how could two men who usually filled their conversations with light-hearted bantering, scientific lingo, and literary references, suddenly turn into whining first-graders?

And that was only the beginning. Things really went downhill two hours later, when Greg suddenly got into his head that we were lost, and Gil, who was driving and following directions from a map, refused to believe it.

From then on, every time they quarreled, Greg would say, "We should have reached the highway by now," while Grissom would calmly (and patronizingly) reply, "According to the map, we're pretty close to the exit."

And this would mollify Greg... but only until the next fight.

It was a miserable time for all concerned; I almost wished I could bite myself and end my misery right then and there.

It's not like they had never had arguments before; they just had never fought like this. Frankly, they had started to sound just like an old married couple.

Which led me to wonder which was worse: Their old-married-couple bickering...

...Or their newly-married-couple racket.

I mean, you wouldn't believe the noise these two make when they mate. The first time I witnessed it, I thought I was back in Guatemala, in the middle of an earthquake: There was the sound of furniture crashing against the walls, and the moans of people crying out for help.

It was only when I realized that the earth wasn't moving, that I started paying attention to their cries. They were like nothing I'd ever heard before: Oh, yeah, yeah, oh, yes, oh, yes, do it, do it!

It did seem like they were both ok with whatever they were doing, but, since I didn't know what the hell they were doing, I was frantic with worry. I mean, for all I knew, they might have been happily killing each other.

And try as I might, I couldn't see anything. My Gil had covered my glass home in what I can only assume was an attempt to shield me from seeing something that might prove traumatic. As if listening to them wasn't traumatic enough!

But there came a day when I was finally able to see the things they did to each other. All was revealed to me then: the source of the wet sounds, the reason why their bed crashed against the walls... Oh, and the reason for all the moaning and the clamoring.

I was taken aback, to say the least. I mean, for a guy who's always ranting about being lactose intolerant and about drinking only the finest coffee, that young man is sure willing to swallow some pretty unexpected… hum, things

As for my Gil... I still can't believe how a civilized man who quotes Shakespeare at the drop of a hat can suddenly turn into a sweaty, grunting caveman who seems incapable of uttering other than one-syllable words like yes, more, Greg, oh, ah.

I mean, really!

And yet... maybe I'm being too harsh on my Gil. After all, I am civilized and I quote Shakespeare, but...

I kill my mates.

And I have to admit that my Gil looks really happy after those noisy encounters. Both of them do. So, maybe, just maybe, hearing their newly-wed racket is better than hearing their old-married-couple bickering.

Which brings me back to my story -and their fights.

"I keep trying to have us do things together," Greg said at one point, "But last time I took you to the movies you were making all those jokes-"

"All I said was that Aeon Flux sounded like the medicine for a gastrointestinal condition -"

"You didn't have to say it so loudly!" Greg retorted, "People around us were laughing their asses off!"

"And you didn't have to be so damn sensitive about it!" Gil countered, "It was a just a little comment, and you blew it out of proportion!"

"Out of proportion?" Greg repeated, "This, from the same guy who got mad at me for saying that The Palest Shade of White didn't make any sense?"

My jaw dropped. Fearfully, I looked at Gil, who was slowly turning the deepest shade of red as he obviously fought to keep himself under control.

Someone should have told Greg that no one makes fun of Procul Harun's greatest song in Gil's presence.

No one.

"It's A Whiter Shade of Pale!" Gil said through clenched teeth, "It's a beautiful song, and it does make sense -"

"-after a few joints, maybe -" Greg mumbled.

"Oh, really," Grissom replied, "Then what about that new CD you were listening to on Sunday? Only someone high on Meth would enjoy that!"

"You said you liked it!"

"We were having sex at the time, Greg," Grissom retorted, "What else did you expect me to say?"

I couldn't stand to listen anymore, but I had nowhere to go; my traveling cage was firmly strapped between their seats. Finally, I simply turned my back on them and started singing to myself -la, la, la, la, a whitest shade of pale, la, la, hoping to block out the rest of their quarrel.

And then, when I least expected it... silence.

Contrary to what I expected, their fight hadn't escalated; instead, they were silent, as if they had reached some sort of truce. They were sullenly staring at the road ahead, purposefully not looking at each other.

And it felt icy cold inside.

I looked at Gil and then at Greg. I'd never seen them like this, and it was worse than hearing them bicker. I was frantic with worry. I didn't want them to break up. It was then that I realized how much I'd grown to like Greg. I knew I'd miss him if he left. I knew my Gil would be devastated.

I could only hope that one of them would cave in, and thankfully, one of them did.

Greg cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

Grissom sighed tiredly.

"Me, too." he said.

Greg wouldn't look at Grissom as he spoke.

"It's just..." he said, "Sometimes I've got the feeling that you don't take me seriously."

"Oh, Greg, come on -"

"I mean it," Greg replied. "Like that day at the movies. You were making all those jokes about Aeon Flux -"

"I know," Grissom admitted. "I'm sorry, Greg. It's just-" he took a deep breath, "I was nervous." he confessed, "I mean, in case you didn't notice, I was the only fifty-something in that movie theater. Frankly, I felt out of place."

Greg looked at Gil.

"Oh, baby -" he said, "I didn't realize -"

Ooooh, the baby word. When Greg utters that word, my Gil just melts.

Nice move, Greg, I thought. There was no way that they would fight again.

Lulled into a false sense of security, I huddled into a corner and picked a fly that Gil had caught for me earlier that day. I'd saved it, tightly wrapped in my silky web, to eat as a snack. I poured my gastric juices on it to make it soft and yummy, and was about to feast on its abdomen, when Greg spoke.

"I was thinking, why don't we stop at some motel? We could spend the night around here and make an early start tomorrow."

"Ok," Grissom said. He picked up the map, "Let me see -"

"We will never find a motel on that map, Gil," Greg said testily, "You should know that by now!"

"But the map -"

"Screw the map!" Greg replied hotly. "We've been on the road for three hours; we were supposed to reach the highway a long time ago! We're lost! Why can't you get that into your head?"

To my surprise, Grissom didn't say anything. He obviously didn't want to fight anymore, and besides, he was sure that he was right and Greg wasn't.

But his silence only gave Greg a chance to vent his frustrations.

"Taking a scenic route was your idea!" he said. "I wanted us to get on the highway as soon as possible, but you wouldn't listen, remember?" he paused, but Grissom refused to reply, "At least, let me call Road Patrol -" Greg said hopefully. He had suggested it before.

And just as before, Grissom refused.

"We don't need them." He said firmly, "We have a map. Besides, it's early, and -"

"I'm calling for help, Grissom." Greg interrupted, and this time it looked like he meant it.

"Fine!" Grissom retorted, picking the phone that lay on the dashboard and throwing it in Greg's direction, "Go ahead, make your damn call!"


"Officer Phelps, at your service,"

Officer Phelps was a tall, thin man with sun-bleached eyebrows that moved animatedly as he spoke.

"So, you are the two CSIs who got lost." he said as he examined Gil's driver's license. He smirked, "You're a long way from Las Vegas, sir."

"I've been following this map," Gil said, handing it to the cop. "I believe we're on the right route, but -"

"You are, if your intention is to drive away from the highway," Phelps said sarcastically, "You should have read the line at the bottom, sir. This map was discontinued a few years back."

Grissom frowned and looked down at the bottom of the page. He squinted and read the fine line.

"Printed in 1995." He said aloud.

"They gave you an old map." Greg muttered angrily.

Grissom took a deep breath and then glanced at Phelps.

"Would you take us to the closest exit to the highway?" he asked calmly.

"Of course, sir." Phelps said, without quite losing that maddening smirk. "Just follow me." He said, walking away.

"Great," Greg muttered, "This is just great."

Grissom only sighed.

He must have known there was a big argument coming up.

And then, it started to rain.


TBC

Colorada Petenera would translate as "The Red One from Petén," but no such species of spider exists.