A/N: Characters, fortunately, don't belong to me. Warning: Implied character death.
Title: "Bared"
Another night for ordinary people, another day for him was beginning as the coldness of the bathroom tile hit his bare feet, as Gil Grissom looked at his face in the mirror and remembered. It had ultimately been because of her that he grew it, at first just another shield for his face before facing the reality of her, then when he feared no more, a welcome friction between her skin and his as they made love. It had been her fingers on it that he savored, her blood on it when he kissed her for the last time. It was a piece of him that belonged to her, that she had loved with a strange passion; it was her Grissom in the mirror everyday, and no, he couldn't live with that kind of pain. So everyday, he would wake up, rain or shine, double shift or not, late for work or not, he would take his razor, and meticulously scrape away the hair that grew on his face, as if scraping the bits of her quietly oozing out of his skin every evening, after waking up from a sleep laden with her. Things would eventually get in order, he would work again, maintain conversation, go on dates perhaps; the sun would rise and set as usual. Gil Grissom would be a clean-shaven, empty shell of a man for the rest of his life.
