HEROES

Part two

In Part one, Greg passed his final proficiency test and the night shift celebrated without Gil. Now it's time for Gil & Greg to -ahem- celebrate on their own.

Spoilers Who shot Sherlock? Viva Las Vegas (mention of beer goggles)

Slash, PWP, Romance, Established relationship. A whole lotta fluff.

Notes: Greg got his promotion on 2005 but in this story he got it on 2006.

The story's told from Gil's POV

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"Just let me put this in…" Greg said for the third time.

For someone who said he wasn't drunk, Greg was having too much trouble unlocking his door. When he finally did, he ceremoniously held the door open for me.

"Come in, Mr. CSI Supervisor." He said.

That was my cue.

"Thanks, Mr. CSI level one." I replied.

He closed the door and leant against it.

"It sounds good, doesn't it?" He smiled. "Greg Sanders, CSI…"

"It looks good, too." I said, eyeing his new ID, still pinned on his shirt pocket. "I like that picture."

I reached for the ID to take it off but when I pulled at it, Greg followed. He walked straight into my arms.

I brushed my lips against his cheek.

"You did good," I whispered, "Congratulations."

I'd said the same words a few hours before, but we'd only shook hands, while this was what I'd really wanted to do.

"I missed you at the party," he muttered in my ear.

"Nobody told me anything about it."

"You wouldn't have come, anyway," he replied.

He was right -I wouldn't have. It was his party, after all; the boss' presence would have only put a damper on everyone's enthusiasm.

But I wish I'd been there.

"You drank too much, by the way." I muttered.

He pulled back to look at me.

"You're really handsome, did you know that?"

Oh, please.

"You're just trying to change the subject." I said skeptically.

"I'm not." He said indignantly, "You look really hot."

"You're wearing champagne goggles, Greg." I said, "Of course, I look hot to you right now."

"Mmmnnnah, that's not it." he replied, burrowing into my arms again, "I'm just in love with you."

I staggered a little as he leant against me. He smelled sweet –he was already sweating off the champagne.

"I'm in love with you too," I said, "But you still drank too much."

"All right, you got me, officer." he replied, using a husky tone, "What are you gonna do –give me a ticket?"

I didn't immediately reply. He likes playing roles when we're together, but I rarely go along with his games.

"Well?" he insisted.

"You didn't drive here," I pointed out levelly. "And I'm not a cop: I can't give you a ticket."

"Try to play along, will you?" he muttered resentfully.

"Sorry."

"So, officer -" he said, using that throaty tone again, "What can I do to make you forget that ticket?"

I chuckled but didn't say anything.

He pulled back.

"Maybe I should play the cop." he glared. "I'd be more than happy to perform a body search." He glanced down at my crotch, "I'm bound to find one concealed weapon, at least-"

"You can't do a body search," I replied, "You don't have a warrant."

"Oh, for God's sake," he said, and this time he actually stepped back, "Do you have to be so rational every single hour of the day?"

I tried to get a word in, but he didn't let me, "Why can't you just relax for once and play a little? Jeeze, it's like you don't have any imagination -"

"Hey, I can play." I said defensively, "I just don't want to play a cop." Under his skeptical gaze, I added, "I want to be a firefighter."

And before he knew what hit him, I bent forward, picked him and hauled him over my shoulder.

"Shit!" he gasped, "What are you doing?"

Something idiotic, I thought; Greg was heavier than I thought.

"It's ok." I groaned.

"Grissom, put me down right now," he said sternly.

It seemed that my actions had completely sobered him up.

"Don't worry, young man," I hissed, "I'm taking you to a safe place."

His head bounced on my back (and on the wall) as I took a couple of unsteady steps into the hallway. Fortunately, his bedroom was only a few feet away.

"Jesus, Gil. Your back must be killing you -"

"'s'ok." I gasped.

But when my legs finally bumped against his bed, I realized I had a little problem.

"Uh, Greg?" I gasped, "Could you please get off me? Slowly, please?"

He burst into laughs. He carefully slid off my shoulder and did an elegant tumble on the bed; then he rolled until he lay sprawled on his back.

He looked up at me.

"You're crazy, you know that?"

"Oh, I am crazy?" I replied, "This, from the man who left his job as DNA technician for one that paid considerably less?"

He smiled.

"I told you." He shrugged, "It's not about the money."

"Then what is it about?"

He looked at the ceiling while he mused on my question.

"It's about... being there, I guess." He said at last, "To help you do the job... to watch your back-" He looked at me. "It's about being your equal."

I sat on the edge of the bed. Idly, I started to untie the laces of his right sneaker.

"My equal?" I repeated.

He nodded.

"Yeah. I mean, back when I was still working at the lab, I'd see you leave each and every night," he said, "You went out and faced all sort of criminals while I stayed behind in my nice, little lab. Frankly, sometimes it felt like..."

"Like what?"

"Like we were an old-fashioned married couple," he said reluctantly, "I mean, you'd leave for work while I stayed behind, cooking dainty DNA samples-"

I smiled.

"So, if I was the husband, you were -"

"The slave," he glared.

I pulled his shoe off and dropped it on the floor.

"A slave, huh?" I said.

"Yep. I remember how all you CSIs would dump their samples on my tray, then call in every hour, demanding results -"

"We put a lot of pressure on you." I admitted.

"I handled it." Greg shrugged. "But I like it better now." He wiggled his left foot in my direction. I took it but didn't make a move to untie his shoe.

"You know," I said, "I never told you this before, but… having you at the lab was reassuring. I knew I could trust you to handle anything -the work, the pressure. The truth is, you always had my back, Greg."

He stared at me in surprise.

"Wow." he said, "You really mean that?"

I nodded.

He seemed pleased. He patted the space on the bed between us.

I pulled off his left shoe without unlacing it, and threw it over my shoulder. I crawled into bed and lay down next to him.

He put his arms around me and pulled me closer.

He gently rubbed the back of my neck.

"Your poor back," he said, seemingly undecided between exasperation and tenderness.

"I can take it." I said.

"You're gonna be sore tomorrow," He admonished.

"I was going to be sore, anyway." I replied.

He chuckled. He slid a hand down to my butt.

"Damn right."

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TBC