Just one Kiss

Part two

Humor, romance.

Spoilers: In Last Laugh, Greg mentions his favorite brand of coffee: Blue Hawaiian. There's a slashy line in that episode, too. Greg says to Grissom: 'You know what I have that you want in the mornings… apart from my good looks and devilish smile?' (or something like that).

In Gentle, Gentle, Gil loses his cool and almost destroys a tray of DNA samples while Greg looks on in shock.


Greg put his hand on the opposite chair and looked expectantly at me. I merely stared back.

"You mind?" he asked good-naturedly.

I was wondering how to say 'I do mind,' in the kindest terms possible, but he decided that silence meant consent, and pulled out the chair and sat.

He took off his hat and put it aside. His hair stuck out in all directions, just like it did when he purposefully combed it that way.

With him so close, I got a whiff of different scents –hair gel, cologne, chewing gum...

Greg was glancing around.

"Quiet place." He mumbled. "No wonder it's half-empty." He looked at me and smiled. "So," he said. "Aren't you going to say it?"

"Say, what?" I asked morosely.

"You know," he replied, "'Of all the coffee joints, in all the towns, in all the world, you walk into mine...?'" he said, in a surprisingly good imitation of Humphrey Bogart. I didn't reply, so he added helpfully, "I'm paraphrasing a line from Casablanca."

"Uh, huh."

"It's a movie classic, you know," he said, "Humphrey Bogart plays this guy who -"

"I know, Greg." I retorted testily.

He smiled.

"Relax," he said gently, "I didn't mean to imply that you didn't know something."

Uh. Busted.

He was still smiling.

"Do you wanna know how I managed to find you?"

I didn't, but once again he didn't wait for my answer.

"I saw you walking by on the other side of the street," he volunteered, "I was trying to get into the Panama Disco- You know it?"

This time he did wait for me to answer.

"I don't know the place," I said, just to show him that I was capable of admitting ignorance.

"It's about a block away," he explained, "I was trying to get past the velvet rope." He explained, "I thought dressing in old Vegas style would help, but the guy up front was just too young to get it.

"Anyway," he continued, "When I turned to look again, you weren't there anymore. You couldn't have reached the corner so fast, so I figured you'd gone into one of the shops on that street. By a quick process of elimination, I decided to look in here."

He drew barely a breath before continuing, "Not that it was that hard to figure it out; I mean, it was either this place or the Santa Marina Wedding Chapel next door. Of course, you could have also entered the Hot Mammas' Strip Club, but somehow I couldn't picture you doing that -not while you were on call. So -"

"So, you found me." I interrupted.

"... Here, drinking alone." He finished. He eyed my coffee, and to my surprise, he picked it up and sniffed the open lid. "Man, this is strong stuff!" he said comically. And then, ably mimicking Humphrey Bogart's delivery again, he added. "No wonder you didn't want a sissy drink like whisky on the rocks!"

He grinned. I didn't grin back.

"Seriously, though." He said, "Did they put any alcohol in this?"

"They put some Irish Cream in it." I said, knowing how lame that sounded.

"Irish Cream? Whoa," he exclaimed, "You're gonna need a designated driver to take you home, then." He joked. I didn't smile. "You're not your sunny yourself tonight." He scowled, "Must be the coffee," He added, almost to himself.

He glanced around, taking in the posters on the walls, the rattan furniture. "So," he said, "This is where you go when you don't want to have a drink." He looked at me for a moment, "Can I ask you something?" he paused, "Why didn't you accept my invitation?"

I shrugged slightly.

"I don't socialize much, Greg." I said.

"No kidding." He scowled. He paused for a moment. He seemed to be choosing his next words with care, "You know, Grissom... I don't know if anyone has ever told you this, but... it wouldn't hurt you to go out more." He said slowly, "That way, you wouldn't get all freaked out by a single invitation."

"I didn't get all freaked out." I retorted. But my nose and my cheeks were burning, thus ruining the effect that my words were meant to convey.

Greg seemed to notice it, but to his credit, he didn't mention it.

"It was just a drink, Grissom." He said gently, and then he added with a smirk, "I mean, you didn't think I was making a pass at you, did you?"

"Of course, not." I scoffed, as if I found the idea amusing.

"But it did freak you out," He said, looking at me thoughtfully. "I guess few people ever sneak past your defenses." He mused aloud. "You're not used to that, huh?"

My eyebrows shot up. I'd never had anybody assess my personality so quickly… and accurately.

He continued, "If you went out more, you'd get used to people asking you out." He said, "You should try it, Grissom. Otherwise, one of these days some girl will bat her eyelashes at you, and you know what will happen, right?"

"What?" I frowned.

"You'll fall in love right then and there." he replied, and then he smiled knowingly, "Oh, yeah. I can picture it: One kiss, and you'll be a lost guy."

Now my ears were burning too, and suddenly, I realized I'd had enough.

"Greg," I said impatiently, "Why are you here?"

"I'm keeping you company." He said matter-of-factly, "Just think of me as a drinking buddy."

"But you're not drinking anything." I pointed out.

"Hell, no." he said, "I don't think they've got Blue Hawaiian here."

"You're a snob."

"I know what I like," he shrugged. He glanced around at the shop again. "Nice music." He said casually. "Who's that?" he asked.

A powerful female voice rose above the noises coming from the street to sing something about Blue Bayou.

"It's Linda Rondstadt." I said.

"She's good." He said. He listened for a moment, and then he looked at me again. "Talking about personal stuff really bothers you, doesn't it?"

"Do you like to talk about personal stuff?" I replied.

"We do it all the time, the guys and me." He shrugged, "You would too, if you ate breakfast with us." He added pointedly.

He didn't insist on this point, however. It seemed that away from the lab, Greg found it difficult to focus in a single matter. Now, his attention was drawn to the sheet of paper in front of me. "What's that?"

I glanced down. I'd forgotten all about Abby's survey.

"Oh. It's just something I have to fill out."

"You've been doodling all over it." He pointed out, and I realized he was right; after answering the first couple of questions, I'd simply drawn circles and lines here and there, while musing on Greg and the kisses. But I'd also written words here and there, and to my dismay I realized that it was one word only; a name –Greg.

I couldn't believe it. What the hell was the matter with me? I was acting like a teenager with a crush!

"What did you write?" he asked, tilting his head to read.

"Nothing!" I said quickly, and I lay my hand flat on the paper.

"Gee, Grissom," he scowled, "Anyone would think you wrote your girlfriend's name, or something."

"I didn't." I replied quickly –too quickly, perhaps.

He seemed surprised at my defensiveness.

"Oookay," he said slowly, "What did you write then?"

"Well, hum, I just-" I gulped and said the first thing that came into my head, "I was just making a list of double-kiss names."

"Really?" He said, his eyes widening in surprise. "How many did you come up with?"

Here was my chance to come clean about the fact that I didn't really have any list, but I didn't take it. Instead, I bragged that I'd come up with a dozen names of famous people.

"Oh, really," he said skeptically. His eyes narrowed. "I smell a challenge." He added, "I bet I can come up with more names than you. Better yet," he added, "Why don't you tell me the first name of those famous people, and I'll come up with the correct last name? What do you say?

"Greg, we don't have to make a competition out of -"

"Yes, we do." He interrupted, "But first- First I need a drink," He said, mimicking Bogart again. He picked up my cup of coffee and took a swig from it. "Aah, that hit the spot!" he said, acting like a drunk who's just got a much-needed drink. Then he seemed to realize that it was my drink. "Do you mind?" he asked.

"No." I said, "No, go ahead." I said generously.

"I just wanted a taste, Grissom." he said, pushing the cup back to me. He stared at me, as if daring me to take a sip from my own cup. I picked it up. I didn't dwell on the fact that his lips had touched the rim, or that his fingers had left some of their warmth on the cup. I took a sip and then put the cup back. There, I'd done it.

He seemed pleased.

"Good for you, Grissom." He approved, "For a moment, I thought you were going to pull a 'Mia' on me."

"A 'Mia'?" I frowned.

"Yeah. You remember Mia, our former DNA lab rat? She wouldn't have let me touch her cup of coffee, let alone drink from it. She didn't eat out, she didn't eat birthday cake... she was obsessed with germs." He smiled at the memory. "Wonder if she ever let anyone kiss her -" He said almost to himself.

I glanced at his mouth... and then I glanced away.

"Ok," he said, "Are you ready?"

"Greg," I sighed, "I came here for some quiet -"

"Aw, come on, Grissom. Another half hour of this quiet and we'll both need resuscitation. Come on," he said, with renewed enthusiasm. "Go ahead!"

I resigned myself. Deep down, I liked the idea of competing with him. Greg's younger, but he's knowledgeable, and I would have to make a huge effort to keep up with him.

I liked the challenge.

"Ok." I relented. I glanced beyond him and the first thing I saw was a vintage poster of Tom Jones' first presentation in Las Vegas.

"Tom." I said.

"Wolfe?" he replied, "Robbins?

"It's Jones I had in mind." I replied gleefully.

"I assumed you were thinking of a famous writer!" he protested, "You should have told me it was a singer!"

"You didn't establish any rules, remember?"

"Mmh. This game has flaws," he muttered. "All right, go ahead."

"John" I said.

"Ball? Ford? Collier? Locke? You've gotta be more specific. I could go on and on with names -"

"Now you're just showing off." I retorted, "Locke will do. Conan." I added.

"Doyle." He promptly replied, "And I didn't say you had to make it so easy."

"Robert," I said, "The politician," I added helpfully.

"Dole!" he exclaimed.

We went on like that for about ten minutes. It was like an intense tennis match, back and forth, back and forth. Now and then he would interject a comment. "This is fun, right?" or, "You know, this is not the kind of game one could play with just anyone!"

He was good. Soon I had to resort to using the names of characters from novels, which proved more difficult for him... but not impossible.

"You're sneaky," he said admiringly, "Crawford." He added correctly.

Now I was running out of names, which might be why, out of nowhere, I blurted out, "Maurice."

I didn't expect him to come out with the correct response, and yet, without missing a beat he surprised me by replying, "Hall."

More surprising than the quick response, however, was the fact that he reddened, when he realized what he'd just said.

We stared at each other and spoke at the same time.

"You read the book?" he asked.

"You read the book?" I asked.

"Yeah," we both replied at once. It sounded like a confession. But of course, how often do two guys who are supposedly straight, blurt out the name of a character from an obscure gay novel?

He leant back on his chair and glanced away. Suddenly, the posters on the wall closest to us claimed all his attention.

"Those are vintage, right? Half of these groups, I'd never heard about," he admitted, "Except the Rolling Stones." He glanced at me, "There's a perfect double kiss." He said. "Rolling Stones."

"Or U2," I added helpfully.

He smiled and then he looked down again. "Funny." he muttered.

"What is?"

"Well..." he said, and then he slowly lifted his gaze, but only up to a point on my chest. "It's just... It's like we've been practically blowing kisses at each other tonight."

Well, that was one way of putting it. In the heat of the game I'd overlooked the fact that every time he spoke, his mouth pursed just right for a kiss, or the fact that as we avidly waited for the next name, we'd been leaning forward and forward, thus getting way too close for comfort. But he was right.

"It's funny." He repeated.

It was my turn to look down.

"You don't think it's funny?" he insisted.

"I guess."

We were silent for a moment.

"Listen... hum…" he hesitated. He waited for me to look up, "I know better than to ask you a personal question, but, hum, have you ever... you know, kissed a guy?"

He was smiling reassuringly, letting me know that whatever I said, it would be ok by him. I knew it already, but once again, I couldn't give him a straight answer. Maybe I just couldn't do anything 'straight' that night, who knows?

But I couldn't tell him a lie, either. I had the feeling that he would know if I did, anyway.

"I never discuss my private life, Greg." I said instead.

"Is that a 'yes'?" he asked, smile still in place. He kept his gaze on me, but when I didn't answer, he shrugged, "Fine. Don't tell me. It's none of my business, anyway." But he kept looking at me, as if he expected something.

"What?" I frowned.

"You're not going to ask me if I've ever -"

"No." I said abruptly.

"No?"

"It's none of my business, either." I said curtly, "Morgan," I added, restarting the game again.

He seemed reluctant to get back in the game, but eventually he did. "Is that a male or a female character?" he asked.

We continued playing, but it was not the same anymore. I studiously avoided looking at his mouth again, and he looked everywhere but in my own direction.

Fortunately, my phone rang just then. Under Greg's attentive gaze, I listened as Brass asked me none too kindly where the hell I was. There was a crime scene waiting, he said; a body in a septic tank.

"A septic tank?" I asked. Great. Just what I needed to get the scent of Greg's cologne off my nose. "I'll be right there." I said. I hung up and started to rise.

"Is it a case?" Greg asked.

"Yeah."

"Where are we going?"

"You're not on call." I pointed out.

"I am, now." He retorted. He picked up my cup and downed the last of the coffee, and then he rose too. "I can help."

I didn't argue. I picked up the sheet of paper, crumpled it and shoved it in a pocket. I waved at Abby on my way out, and pretended not to hear her ask for her survey.

"You didn't fill it out?" Greg asked.

I ignored him, too.

The PD building was three blocks away, but I knew a faster way to get there. I turned into an alley without warning Greg, and he had to retrace his steps to catch up with me.

"Oh, a shortcut!" he said appreciatively, "So, Grissom," he said, "What is this case all about? What did Brass say? Grissom!" he insisted, and then he actually stopped. "Hey!"

I turned.

"What?" I asked impatiently.

"I didn't realize it before." He said wonderingly. "Your name has one kiss in it."

I couldn't believe he was still thinking of that.

"Greg -"

"No, really. Look," he said, as if he actually expected me to look at his mouth as he carefully said, "Griss-Om. See?" He smiled expectantly.

I stared silently at him.

"You don't see it?" he asked incredulously, "Oh, come on! See? Gri-" And he said my name again.

Or at least, he tried to. Because just as he was saying, "Gri-" I did something-

And I still don't know why I did it. I mean, I do know why I did it; what I don't know is why I didn't stop myself from doing it: Just as his lips were about to form that perfect 'O', I took a step closer, grabbed him by the neck, and pressed my mouth against his.

I wasn't fast enough, though; by the time my lips touched his, his mouth was already closed. As a result, my name sounded like this: 'Grisso-m-Mmmmmmmmh!'

I opened my eyes and met his gaze. In the semi darkness of the alley I thought I saw something close to amazement (or panic?) in his eyes; and suddenly, I realized it was a look that I'd seen years before, when I almost destroyed a tray full of DNA samples in order to make room for a case of mine.

It was a look of panic, all right.

Seeing that look on his face again sobered me up. I dropped the hand that I'd draped around his neck, and then I pulled away –or at least, I tried to. Our mouths were sticky from the coffee we'd shared, and my lips tugged a little at his at first.

And that's the last thing I remember clearly. The rest is a blur.

I know I didn't apologize or explain; I just took a step away and then another, and another, until somehow I got to the PD parking lot. I found my SUV, got in, and then I waited for him to turn up.

He didn't.

I couldn't wait long; I had a case to take care of, after all. I drove away, but I kept glancing at my rearview mirror, just in case he decided to follow. I hadn't told him where the crime scene was, but he could easily find out if he wanted.

If.

I arrived at the scene, placated Brass with a few comments about my being a Supervisor and therefore, my own boss, and then set out to work. And while I did all this, I kept glancing around, hoping against hope that he'd show up.

He might be just a few blocks away, I kept telling myself.

But as the minutes passed, I stopped hoping; instead, I reminded myself that it was his night off, and that he was under no obligation to join me. Maybe he'd just gone home.

Or maybe he'd gone back to the Disco? Maybe he'd been luckier this time; maybe he was dancing-

Or maybe he was still in the alley, frozen in place, with his eyes open wide in surprise…


TBC

Thank you for reviewing...

"Maurice" was written by E.M. Forster. I'm not really sure if it can be considered an obscure novel