Just one Kiss

Part three

The song 'One Look' was written by G Carroll and D Payne and sung by Linda Rondstadt.

Note about Pom Farr: Vulcans like Mr. Spock went through it every seven years. It was their mating season.

OMG, it seems part of the file was erased? anyway, I posted this chapter again on August 9.


David and I lifted the dead man and turned him on his side. The mucky bottom of the tank clung on to the body, but David patiently patted him until he found something that gave us a clue as to cause of death: A bullet hole just under his left shoulder.

David looked up and waved at the morgue assistants who were hovering on the edge of the tank.

"Let's take him," he said.

Whoever killed our vic had dumped him in an abandoned septic tank just a few days earlier. He -or she- probably thought the body would remain undetected for years, slowly decomposing until ID became impossible. Unfortunately for the killer, the owner of a nearby trailer park was expanding, and had ordered a clean up of the land.

I studied the grounds while David and his assistants bagged the body and took it away. Once I was left alone in the tank, I took my shovel and started digging for evidence. I was carefully removing the soil, when I heard-

"Well! It's nice to see somebody else doing the dirty work, for a change!"

I looked up. Greg was standing at the edge of the tank, smiling widely at me.

He was enjoying himself, and with reason: Rookies like him traditionally got the foulest assignments, while the older members of the shift got the easier tasks. But this time the boss was ankle-deep in mud and getting dirtier by the minute, while he merely watched.

No wonder he looked happy.

"I'd offer to take over," he said, "But I'm sure you'd rather do the job yourself. I've heard you like to commune with bugs -the slimier the better."

Oh, yes. He was enjoying himself. But his mirth was contagious, so I smiled back.

We stood smiling at each other... until I remembered what I had done an hour earlier. I studiously looked away.

I had a task to perform, after all. I hunched down and examined the soil I'd removed. There was plenty of insect activity in the sample. It was going to keep me busy for the next couple of days.

"Seriously, though," Greg continued, "Do you need any help down there, Grissom?"

"I'm fine," I said without looking up.

"Are you sure?" he said doubtfully.

"Yes."

"It seems to me there's a lot to do down there."

I ignored him. "I don't need help," I muttered to myself, "I've done this on my own for years; hell, I was doing it even before he was born -"

"What did you just say?" he asked curiously.

"Nothing!" I replied.

No way was I telling him that last part. Earlier in the Louise O'Neil case, Greg had called money printed in the sixties, 'ancient'. Imagine the jokes he'd tell if I mentioned doing something before he was born.

I focused on my job then. I picked up a sliver of what looked like wood and examined it closely.

"Are you sure you don't need me?" Greg asked. "I mean, I came all the way here, and -"

"Greg?" I interrupted, without looking up. "Aren't those your party clothes?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So, you can't come down here with those clothes on."

"I can't?"

"They'll get drenched in a minute." I said reasonably.

"Oh. Ok." He said slowly. But just when I thought he was going to wave goodbye and leave, he casually added, "I'll have to strip, then."

I winced, and involuntarily broke the piece of wood in two.


I was labeling my second bag of trace elements, when someone stepped down the ladder. I didn't turn.

"What can I do?" Greg asked, moving into my life of vision. He had removed his party clothes, all right... But now he was wearing boots and denim coveralls.

Greg had evidently come prepared to help. He had even brought his kit with him.

"Take over that corner," I said, pointing at the farthest part of the tank.

We barely talked while we worked, and soon we were finished. We hauled our evidence to the surface, and then we took the bags to my van. Before I could close the back door, Greg put his kit in too.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Mmmh? Oh, I didn't drive here," he said casually, "You didn't give me an address, remember? Vartan gave me a lift." He tilted his head in the detective's direction. "I'm coming back to the lab with you. You don't mind, right?" Greg asked, but without waiting for my answer. He simply walked to the passenger door.

I glanced around. Vartan and Brass were discussing something, and I considered joining them… But there was really no use in stalling. Sooner or later, I'd have to talk to Greg.

Resigned, I got into my car.

It should have been a short drive back to the lab, but it was almost six o'clock in the morning, the time when most people traveled to and from Las Vegas. Cars moved slowly along the highway.

Silence hung heavily between us, and I tried to fill it by turning on the radio. A familiar voice rose above the sounds of traffic.

"Hey," Greg said, "That's the same singer we heard back at that coffee shop."

He was right. There was Linda Rondstadt again, only this time she wasn't singing about Blue Bayou; she was telling us we were no good -over and over.

"Do you think it's her birthday, or something?" Greg asked, "Maybe there's a song of hers playing in every station right now." He paused, but not long enough for me to speak, "Or maybe she's in town." He added, "Hey, I only hope she didn't die, or something. What do you think?"

I was thinking that I should have put Greg in a patrol instead of letting him come along, but I didn't say that.

I just didn't want to talk.

But I couldn't stay mum forever, either. It was time for me to face up to what I'd done, and so I reluctantly glanced at him and started what I was hoping would be a reasonable apology.

"Greg -"

"Grissom." he said, gently mocking the solemn tone I'd used.

I took a deep breath.

"I guess I have a lot to explain." I said.

He considered this.

"Do you want to explain?" he asked.

"Not really." I blurted out.

"Then don't," he said reasonably.

I looked sharply at him. I thought he would jump at the idea of seeing me sweat bullets while I tried to explain the unexplainable. Instead, he was letting me off the hook.

Could things be really that easy? I looked at Greg again. He was placidly watching the cars going faster on the other lane. It seemed the answer to my question was a resounding 'yes'.

And yet, I couldn't take the easy way out. I wanted to apologize to Greg, but mostly, I needed to explain my actions. Not that I really knew how I was going to do that, but the least I could do was try.

I got off the highway, and took an alternate route to the lab. There was a park nearby, and I drove there.

I turned off the engine, and then I cleared my throat.

"Greg. I'm sorry." I said solemnly. "What I did was inexcusable, and -"

"Gee, Grissom." He interrupted. "It was just a little kiss. No big deal," he said dismissively. He casually glanced at me, and what he saw made him pause, "Is it?"

"I shouldn't have done it." I said.

He mulled on these words for a moment.

"You're serious," he said. He leant against the passenger door and looked at me, as if he were studying me. "I think I know what this is." he said suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"You're afraid that I'll start making assumptions about your sexuality just because you read a gay novel and then planted a kiss on me."

I opened my mouth but didn't say anything.

"I'd never do that," he said.

"You wouldn't?" I asked.

"I wouldn't," he said firmly, "And if you assumed I am gay just because I admitted reading a gay novel-" He paused. (He paused long enough for me to start thinking that I'd made the worst assumption of my life), "-Then you'd be right," he finished, smiling faintly.

Oh.

"It's just not the sort of thing I'd mention over breakfast, Grissom." He added.

"Of course, not." I said.

"I mean, I talk about lots of stuff, but this is like, way too personal. Not that Nick or Warrick would ostracize me, if they found out," he added quickly, "But things would change. They'd never hit the showers, or change clothes with me around; they'd stop talking about girls, thinking I wouldn't understand-"

He glanced at me, "But then…you must know how it is," he added pointedly.

It was his way of reminding me that I still hadn't admitted anything. Not with words, anyway.

"It's too personal," I said evasively.

He nodded slowly. He was still looking at me in the same inquisitive manner.

"You don't do this very often, do you?" he said after a moment, "Kissing, I mean."

I frowned. Was that a put down?

"Was it that bad?" I asked a bit testily.

He chuckled.

"I didn't say that." he said, "Not at all. It's just that if you did this more often, then you wouldn't feel so uncomfortable about it." he said reasonably. He looked at me closely and then he nodded, as if he were only confirming something. "It freaked you out, didn't it?"

"No, it didn't." I lied.

"Yes it did." He countered, "You were so freaked out that you practically ran away."

I frowned. I didn't remember running away. But I didn't remember walking away either. To me, it was as if I'd floated away from the alley.

There was the truth at last: The kiss didn't freak me out; it mesmerized me. I was sure that years from now, I'd still remember the texture of his lips against mine, the shape of his neck under my hand, the sharp intake of breath that told me a kiss was the last thing he expected from me, and the -

But I abruptly stopped that line of thought. Nice, Grissom, I thought sarcastically. There I was, saying I was sorry, while reliving the very sin I'd committed.

"What about you?" I countered, "Didn't it freak you out?"

"It didn't," he replied cockily. But his self-assurance quickly withered under the skeptical look I gave him. "Actually..." he hesitated. "Yeah," he admitted reluctantly. "It did freak me out."

He glanced outside for a moment, and then he looked back at me, "I couldn't even move, Grissom. I stood in that alley for about five minutes, wondering 'what the hell was that?' And the only explanation I could come up with was that I'd just been Punk'd!"

"You'd been what?" I frowned.

"Punk'd." he repeated, "You don't know what that is?" he asked in surprise, "It's a TV show, just like Candid Camera."

I scoffed.

"You thought I would take part in something like that?"

"Hey, what else did you expect me to think?" he protested, "I mean, that kiss came out of nowhere, Grissom."

I looked down.

"You're right," I nodded uncomfortably.

"And yet," he said, and then he paused. "And yet, the more thought about it... the more I realized that I really shouldn't be that surprised."

"What do you mean?"

"Well..." he paused, "It's just that... You always keep a hold on your emotions, Grissom." he said quietly, "You deal with other people's feelings on a daily basis, but you keep yours under wraps, so to speak. That's helpful on the job, but, come on, it's got to be hell on you.

"So, it's no wonder that you snapped," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm just surprised it hadn't happened before."

There he was again, analyzing me, explaining myself to me. And the worst part was that he was probably right.

"You should be thankful, though." he said then.

"Thankful?" I repeated.

"Yeah." He said, smiling mischievously, "You should be glad that it was me, keeping you company last night. It could have been Ecklie, you know."

I gaped.

"Ecklie?" I repeated. I was appalled, "Do you think I would have kissed Ecklie?"

He looked appraisingly at me.

"Actually, I don't know." He said slowly, "Frankly, it's hard to tell what's going on in that head of yours, Grissom. For all I know, you might simply be going through the Entomologist's equivalent of Pom Farr -"

I smiled; it wasn't the first time someone compared me to Spock.

"Or," he said, and then he paused, "You could simply be one of the many lucky guys who've found me irresistible."

I looked up sharply.

He was grinning, as if he had just told a big joke.

I looked away again.

"I wouldn't kiss Ecklie." I said after a moment. "But..." I took a deep breath, "I still don't know why I did what I did."

He smiled good-naturedly.

"Well, like I said before... It's no big deal. I'm ok with it, Grissom. Don't worry." He paused, and then he added casually, "It's not like it was a real kiss, anyway"

Ouch.

"It was not?" I blurted out, again stung at the implied criticism.

He seemed surprised at my question.

"Grissom, you didn't give me a chance to kiss you back." he said, "You just bolted -"

I was about to deny this, when it suddenly occurred to me that keeping my mouth shut might be the best course.

"I'm not saying it wasn't a good kiss," Greg said magnanimously, "I just didn't have any time to make any judgment." He glanced at me, "Be sure to take your time next time you kiss someone, ok?" And he actually looked stern as he said this.

"Ok," I muttered, a bit testily.

"Take your time to enjoy the -"

"All right," I interrupted.

"-ride." He finished, "Kissing is a two-way street, you know." He said, in a slightly patronizing tone, "Sometimes you've got to -"

"I get it." I said curtly. There was a warning in the tone I used, one that he knew well -it meant he'd better shut up.

He didn't finish his bit of advice, but he didn't stay mum, either.

"So," he said, "You're ok with this?"

I should have probably thanked him for making things so easy for me, but all I could do was mumble a 'yes'.

"Good." He said simply, and then he glanced outside, "Nothing more to say, then. Not a word. Unless... " He paused, and then he added in that deceptively casual tone of his, "Unless you're the kind of guy who falls in love after just one kiss."

He had to be kidding.

I scoffed.

"I am not." I said.

He seemed surprised at my answer.

"You seem pretty sure of yourself." He noticed.

I shrugged.

"I'm not the kind of guy who falls in love, that's all."

"Really." He said.

I wondered what the tone behind that single word meant. Was it surprise or skepticism?

And then, as if on cue, another of Linda Rondstadt's songs began. Maybe it was her birthday.

Just one look and I fell so hard

In love with you Oh, Oh

I found out how good it feels

To have your love Oh, Oh

Just one look and I knew

That you were my only one Oh, Oh

Greg glanced at me.

"Then I guess you're not the kind of guy who'd fall in love after just one look, huh?" he smiled.

I smiled back, "I'm not."

But he kept his gaze on me, as if he expected something else from me.

"Well?" he asked, "Aren't you going to ask me if I'm the kind of guy who -"

"No."

"No? Ok." He said. But he wouldn't let the matter alone that easily, "I guess I'm not." He said thoughtfully. "It's never happened to me, anyway. It's all a matter of first impressions, right?" He glanced at me, "Do you remember the first time I came to the lab?" he asked.

I didn't know what this had to do with anything, so I cautiously answered.

"Vaguely." I said.

"Vaguely is right," he grinned, "You barely glanced in my direction; you mumbled, 'welcome to the lab,' and that was it. No handshake, no 'I am the senior supervisor and my word is sacred here,' talk-" he smiled, "You didn't even notice the loud clothes I was wearing, nor the bad haircut I had at the time-"

"Every haircut of yours has been a bad one," I interjected, but he ignored me.

"But just when I was beginning to think you were just an absent-minded, dried-up scientist with no sense of humor, you announced that you needed a pint of my blood. And you had this devilish look in your eyes..." he grinned at the memory. "It was then that I started noticing things."

"What things?"

"Like how you good you looked." he smiled, "You were wearing a suit that day. A dark one."

Well, all my suits are dark; they're slimming. At least, that's what I like to believe-

And then, all of a sudden it hit me: He'd just said that I'd looked good. Oh.

I thought I was dreaming

But I was wrong Oh yeah yeah

Ah but I'm gonna keep on scheming

Till I make you, make you my own

Just one look and I fell so hard

In love with you Oh Oh

Greg glanced at the radio.

"You know, I think I'm gonna download this singer's music. She sounds hot. Linda something, right? Linda Fairstein -"

"Rondstadt." I mumbled.

"Fongstan?"

"Not Fongstan, Greg," I said peevishly. I looked at him, "Rond-stadt."

"Bonstand?" he asked.

"Not Bonstand!" I said with exasperation, "It's Rondstadt, Greg. Linda Ro -"

But before I could finish the name, he pounced.

Should I have seen it coming? Maybe. I just never thought he'd do something like this. And he was fast -so fast, that I doubt I could have done anything to avoid him.

I doubt I would have wanted to.

What he did was grab my face with both hands and shut me up in the most effective way -with a kiss. A wet kiss. A slow, delicious, wet kiss. A possessive kiss. A-

But you know what I mean. At least, I hope you do. Because if you don't know, then all I can say is I'm sorry.

He must have realized that I wasn't going anywhere, because he relaxed the hold he had on me. I relaxed too, and started to notice things -like how the skin of his face radiated heat, just as if he were burning up with a fever, and how the taste of cinnamon gum in his mouth was slowly erasing every other taste in mine.

He was right; kissing was a two-way street, and I did my best to show him that I'd learned that lesson well… and that I knew a thing or two about kissing, too.

I was warming up to the idea of spending the entire morning kissing Greg, when he pulled slightly away.

"Whoa," he whispered, "Now, that's kissing."

I was too breathless to talk; I merely stared at his mouth, just a few inches away from mine.

"You look cute with your eyes crossed." He said huskily.

I looked up.

"You kissed me." I said, trying to make it sound like an accusation... and failing.

"Yep." He said smugly. Then he shrugged. "It was payback, Grissom. You kissed me, I kissed you -"

Oh.

Payback.

Of course. What else could it be?

I pulled farther away, then. My hands were shaking, and I had to grab the steering wheel to steady myself.

It took me a while to realize that he was looking at me.

"Grissom?" he asked.

Gone was the cockiness; he was obviously concerned about my reaction.

"It's no big deal." I said mechanically. "I'm ok with it." I added, using his own phrase.

He backed off, then.

"So..." he said, and then he paused. He obviously didn't know what to say. "This Linda Rondstadt's famous, huh?" he said, using a conciliatory tone.

"She is."

"Do you have any of her records?"

"No." I said, forcing myself not to tell him to please shut up, so I could put my thoughts in order. But talking was his forte. Only later did I realize that he was so nervous, he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"I was hoping you'd tell me which DVD to get." He was saying. "Or maybe I'll just download a couple of her songs, see if they're as good. But I like this song. Just one look..." he sang. "Hey, that's funny -" he said. He looked expectantly at me.

Don't ask, I told myself, but I heeded my own advice for about two seconds. I glanced in his direction, but wouldn't look at him in the face.

"What's funny?" I asked.

"Well... It's just that if you change one word... you can sing that song like this:

Just one kiss and I fell so hard

In love with you Oh, Oh

Just one kiss and I knew

That you were my only one Oh, Oh...

"It's funny." He said thoughtfully, "Falling in love after just one look, or after just one kiss, I mean." He glanced at me, "You don't think it's funny?"

Funny wasn't the right word.

It was enlightening.

I'd just remembered how my heart did a tumble when I saw Greg for the first time, all those years ago; and how I immediately forced myself not to look, making it seem like I wasn't paying any attention to him.

I'd spent years ignoring the attraction I felt…

…Until his kiss hit me like a wrecking ball.

Suddenly, I had to deal with the realization that I was the kind of guy who fell in love after just one look, and the kind of guy whose defenses crumbled after just one kiss. It was too much.

For the first time in years, I was facing life unprotected, and unmasked.

"It isn't funny." I said.

"It's not?"

I looked at him.

"Do you want to know what funny is?" I said, "Those jeans you were wearing when we first met. They had holes all over them. And your shirt… It was orange, with big blue dots. And the worse part is that those colors matched the ones in your hair -"

He gaped.

"You remember that?" he asked.

"I do." I said, "I remember everything you said that day, too –the atrocious jokes, the brilliant comments…" I gulped, "But what I remember the most is how I forced myself not to look at your face -" I paused, and then I confessed, " 'Cause I'm the kind of man who falls in love after just one look, Greg."

I was surprised at how easy it was for me to admit this.

Not as surprised as he was, though. He was gaping again. Poor guy.

"Who's freaking out now," I said gently.

"I'm not freaking out," he replied indignantly, "I'm just..." he gulped down, "I mean, I'm, hum-"

"Flabbergasted?" I suggested.

"Uh, huh," he nodded. Then he gulped, "Agreeably flabbergasted," he added.

Oh. I looked sharply at him.

He cleared his throat.

"What I'm trying to say is, that, hum, I, hum," he gulped with some difficulty. "I'm not the kind of man who falls in love after one look, but, hum -"

He didn't finish the phrase. Instead, he reached out and lay his right hand on top of mine.

I looked down. His hand was shaking -it was shaking almost as badly as mine, only I had the steering wheel to hold on to like a lifesaver.

All he had to hold on to was me.

Slowly, I released the steering wheel and turned my hand until my palm was lying flat under his. Those slight tremors of his found an echo in mine, until I wrapped my fingers around his. I held on tightly until the shaking stopped.

"But, hum..." he said, and then he stopped again. He took a deep breath, "But I'm the kind of guy who falls in love after just one kiss." he said in a rush.

He looked expectantly at me.

I leant backwards, as if to get a better look at him. He seemed confused by my reaction.

"What?" he asked.

"Am I being Prank'd, Greg?" I asked.

"It's not Prank'd, Grissom." he said testily.

"Oh," I frowned, still leaning backwards, "What's the name of that show, then? Trick'd? Scamm'd?"

He narrowed his eyes, but after a moment the corners of his mouth lifted in a faint smile. He knew what I was doing.

"It's not Scamm'd, Grissom." he said slowly. "And it's not Prank'd of Trick'd -"

I leant forward.

"You tell me, then." I said, and I made it sound like a challenge.

"It's a one-kiss word," he replied, getting closer, "It's called P -"

And then, just before he finished saying the word... we both pounced.


THE END