A day like any other

Part 3

Hey, Sillie, thank you always being there with a review!

The poem 'Spooks' is by Nathalia Crane and it was excerpted from the book 'The Haunted House and other spooky poems and tales'

Three weeks later, I had almost completely recovered from the operation and I felt optimistic about returning to the lab. There would be no more written reports or awkward, 'weird' moments.

But there was more: After living my life in fear of ottosclerosis, I had finally defeated the enemy and I was in control of my life again.

Those few days away from the lab had also helped me put the 'Greg situation' in perspective. Actually, I simply blamed everything on my illness. I had fallen in love, yes –like a teenager, no less, or like an old fool, which was worse- but only because I'd been vulnerable. I had been weak, sure, but I was ok now.

I knew I could face Greg without thinking of sex, or love, or comfort, or whatever.

I was going to start over.

Greg was the first to come to my office that night.

"Whoa, Grissom... What is that?" he gasped when he saw the beard I'd grown. I looked up, fully expecting his disapproval (maybe even hoping for it), but he actually found something nice to say about it. "New look, huh? It looks good." he lowered his voice, "I can't wait to feel it on my skin-"

Damn! He'd simply uttered a few words and my body had responded immediately!

I discreetly sat behind my desk.

"Greg." I interrupted solemnly, "About that-" I said and then paused meaningfully. He looked at me, and immediately understood. At least in part.

"You met someone" he said. I thought that was as good an excuse as any other, so I simply nodded. "You did?" he was surprised, "Who is it?"

I didn't answer.

"Well," he said, and smiled tentatively, "Congratulations. Is it a he or a she?" I didn't answer and he asked, "Do you… do you want to double-date?"

"I don't think so, Greg."

"Of course." He nodded, and his smile turned bitter, "You keep your private life to yourself."

I looked down and actually reddened when he lowered his voice to say,

"We could still meet, Grissom."

I was saved by our colleagues' arrival. Sara was carrying a cake, and Catherine, Warrick and Nick came behind her. They practically shoved Greg aside in their haste to get closer to me, and they noisily teased me for taking a vacation without consulting them, and for growing a beard.

I endured their embraces and friendly slaps on the back, until they noticed how uncomfortable I was, and slowly moved to the other side of the desk.

I realized that my idea of starting over was simply to remain the same. Even Greg's parting words seemed to confirm it.

"Welcome back, boss."

Greg kept his distance. He gave me lab results in a direct and concise way; he went to Catherine for guidance the few times he worked outside the lab, and more regrettably, he didn't offer me coffee in the mornings anymore. (Hodges was the only one to notice; he asked 'Coffee boy isn't ass-kissing you anymore, boss?' May I introduce you to the joys of tea?'. )

Still, I was glad that my indiscretion hadn't turned into a major disaster.

About a month later, an old woman entered the PD building and in broken English started rambling about a body in a cemetery. Out of a malignant sense of humor, the cops sent her to Brass, who patiently listened to her and then called me.

"It's probably nothing, but this lady seems out of Shakespeare, Gil" That was enough to get me interested.

After listening to her for a moment, I talked to Brass privately.

"All I could understand was: body in a cemetery; not in a coffin, but under it. As soon as she starts talking about someone called Astrid, she loses it."

"Do we know which language she's using?"

"Not sure, but it sounds Scandinavian; Greg might help us."

I called him home, since he was enjoying a rare night off.

" 'llo." I woke him up.

"Greg? I need you."

He didn't answer immediately and I realized I hadn't chosen my words carefully.

"-Grissom?"

"Yes, Greg. Listen, there's an old lady here who isn't making much sense; I think she's speaking Norwegian-"

He hung up. I frowned at my phone and redialed.

"Greg?"

"Call the Consul." He said angrily.

"Greg, I'd rather use a member of my team," I said sternly, "If it becomes a case, it'll save paperwork." Plus I'm your boss, I wanted to say.

But it wasn't necessary.

"All right," he mumbled, "I'm coming."

I suddenly remembered him crying out those exact words, in triumph-

"You ok, Gil?" Brass frowned, "You're flushing."

"I'm fine" I mumbled.

Greg came quickly and sheepishly apologized for hanging up on me. Then he patiently talked to the old lady, who engaged him in a long conversation. By the time she had finished, he was pale and she was crying.

"Poor woman." He said, "She came to live with her daughter's family a few months ago. The daughter's husband was causing them troubles. Then a month ago this woman eavesdropped on him; he was talking about killing someone and burying the body in a cemetery. Her daughter disappeared about a week ago and she's afraid he did something to her."

"Disappeared?"

"Yeah. The husband says she's visiting friends in Minnesota but the mother doesn't buy it. No way was she leaving her mother alone-"

"Was that guy speaking English?" argued Brass, "She might have misunderstood."

"Does this guy work in a cemetery?" I asked Greg.

"I didn't ask-"

"Then do." I said and he started taking notes. "We'll also need to know when she saw her daughter last-"

Brass turned to me:

"It would have to be a small cemetery."

"Yeah, they don't have much security."

"What, you're taking her seriously?" Greg asked, "After all, a cemetery IS the right place for burials."

"Well, some small-time criminals bury their dead in a cemetery." I shrugged, "Sometimes a grave is dug at night, so people can bury their dead at dawn. The grave remains open all night, the killer throws in the body and covers it with some dirt, and the next day a legitimate coffin is lowered -"

"I get it." Greg nodded, and then winced, "Creepy, huh? So you think her story is believable?"

"That's what you'll help us establish here."

Brass established that Robert Bowman had acted suspiciously around the time of his wife's disappearance. He told different lies to different people, and on top of that, he had bragged to his friends about being able to make a body disappear...

Said friends were now cooperating with the police. One of them worked at a funeral home and admitted telling Bowman about a freshly opened grave.

"But I thought it was a joke!" the man protested.

"Pal, if that's a joke, I'm missing the punch line." Responded Brass.

Three days later, we drove to a nearby community. We were armed with shovels and a warrant that gave us the right to open a grave and investigate its contents. Unfortunately, we had to do it after business hours and Greg and I had to stand under the full moon as the grave was opened.

I've dug for bodies for years, but doing it at a cemetery, at night, made a big difference. I said, with a touch of drama:

Oh, I went down to Framinham

to sit on a graveyard wall;

"If there be spooks," I said to myself,

"I shall see them, one and all."

"Save it, Grissom." Greg muttered, "I'm not spooked by this. I don't believe in ghosts and neither do you."

"No." I admitted, "But I believe in souls."

He looked at me.

"Does this bother you?" he asked, but I didn't admit it. "How does that poem go?" he said gently.

I finished it:

A boy passed by, "How goes it with all the ghosts?" said he.

"Have you heard any walking around?"

Now the taunt was the sign of a boy's disdain

for the study I did pursue.

So I took the hour to teach the lad

of the things unseen but true

And suddenly a bat swung by,

and two cats began to bawl,

That red-haired boy walked off in haste

and I bumped against a post;

But I'd won the secret of raising a ghost.

And the method is this- You must sit on a graveyard wall,

And talk of the things you never have seen, and you'll see them, one and all.

Greg smiled at that.

At last the coffin was raised out of the grave and we climbed down.

"You'd better hurry." One of the caretakers said, as he supervised the coffin removal. "It's going to rain pretty soon."

We dug in silence, pausing now and again to study the soil. We didn't see anything yet, but I could already smell it.

"There's something here," I told Greg.

After removing about four inches of dirt, we found what felt like a body, wrapped in a blanket.

With Greg's help, I cut through the cloth to get to the body. The stench was overwhelming now.

"You ok?" I asked without looking at him.

"Yeah." He said curtly, but I could tell he was barely breathing.

"It'll get better." I said, looking up. "Less bad, I mean."

"I'm all right." He insisted, not taking his eyes off the body we had uncovered. It was a woman's body and the hair and clothing were those of Astrid Bowman. We really had no doubts as to her identity. I started taking pictures from different angles and dictated some observations to Greg.

"Cuts on her face… head almost severed from the body… defensive wounds… fractured fingers…"

"She put up a fight." Greg said in awe.

I looked at him closely. He was moved by the atrocity.

"We have to detach, Greg." I said, "Otherwise we can't be objective."

"I'm thinking of poor Mrs. Lavson" he said softly.

"At least she will know for sure now." I said. I was going to pat his shoulder, but I held back. Instead I called out to the cops to lower the stretcher so they could remove the body and take it to Dr. Robbins.

Greg muttered something that sounded like a prayer as the body was taken away. I immediately kneeled to examine the soil.

"Let's collect our evidence." I said. "The killer might have dropped something in here."

"Isn't it clear that Bowman did this?" He argued.

"Greg, we don't want this case to rest on Mrs. Lavson's shoulders. Let's fill the bags."

We started bagging dirt and labeling. Alone, since the local cops believed that the evidence started and ended with the bodies.

I had to admire him; despite the oily smell of death that clung to us, he wasn't gagging anymore. He seemed pissed off by something, and he was shoveling dirt with angry movements.

"Hey, take it easy." I said, "This isn't a competition, ok? You'll be sore if you go on like that."

He didn't answer then, but after a while, he sniffed his clothes.

"This smell really clings to you, huh?"

"Huh, huh."

The first raindrops started to fall and Greg looked up. He seemed to be making up his mind about something.

"So, Grissom." He said casually, "Will your imaginary lover like this 'Eau de Mort' scent?"

"Let's pile these bags by the ladder." I replied.

"You didn't meet anyone, did you?" He asked, grunting as he lifted some bags.

I ignored him.

"Want to know how I knew?" he insisted after a moment.

"No." I muttered.

"You're back to your old ways, boss." He said, answering his own question. "You're keeping your arms to yourself -"

"Greg?" I interrupted, "Get those bags to the van; I'll get the rest."

He reluctantly obeyed. I hoped that by the time I climbed out of the grave, he'd let the matter alone.

But as we hauled the bags to the van, he talked as if there had been no interruption.

"You didn't have to invent anyone, Grissom; you could have just told me-"

"I didn't invent anyone," I said in the interest of the truth, "You assumed-"

"You could have told me," he insisted, "You could have said something like, 'Greg, I'm sick of fucking you'"

"I wasn't sick of it." I said patiently. "I had my reasons-"

"Let's hear them," he challenged.

"Well," I stalled, "I'm your boss-" I said as I opened the trunk, "-I'm much older than you-"

"Fuck the age difference," he muttered.

"I'm still your boss." I warned him.

"So? I thought you'd be glad to have someone-"

"You thought I'd be grateful." I interrupted

"Yeah, ok." He admitted, putting bags in the trunk. "I thought you'd be grateful. But you had a good time-"

"Yeah." I admitted. "I did."

"And you don't miss it?"

I did. Before Greg, my sex life had been simple, consisting mostly of my hand and a deep knowledge of the human body. Or a ride on a roller coaster, when I felt adventurous. But now when I was in bed, I missed him so much I turned to fantasizing. My mind kept coming up with the most outrageous situations- Greg and me doing it everywhere: on my desk, in his lab, in the showers…in the interrogation room…though not at the morgue, thank God.

But it wasn't only that.

"I miss talking to you." I admitted.

"Do you want to talk?" he challenged, "All right, I'll start: I don't buy that 'age' excuse. There's something else that bothered you."

"Yes, there was," I admitted; "I was getting distracted at the lab-" I began.

"That's because you weren't used to it-" He argued.

"-and I can't let my personal life ruin my work, Greg-"

"Grissom, you don't have a personal life-" he interrupted.

Those words hurt, no matter how often I hear them.

"-And you said you had a girlfriend." I said pointedly and for the first time he didn't know what to say. He just gaped at me.

Good.

"We need to take off our coveralls," I informed him, "They're part of the evidence."

"You said it didn't bother you." He protested.

"Not anymore." I said, taking off my denim coveralls. The clothes I was wearing beneath were drenched in sweat.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he insisted. Then after a moment he asked, "What do you want?"

"Put your coveralls here," I said, handing him a paper bag, "Seal it and label it."

He didn't move.

"Hurry up." I said curtly, "We need to get this evidence to the lab ASAP."

"All right, all right-" he muttered, taking off his coveralls.

I glanced at him, remembering the thrill of taking clothes off him, holding my breath in anticipation… and then putting my hands on bare skin that felt so hot-

I guiltily looked away.

"All right, I'm finished." He said. He was wearing jeans and a shirt that had zippers and buttons and I felt a pang of nostalgia: it was similar to the one I'd ripped off him-

"Now answer me," he said firmly, "What do you want?"

"What I don't want -" I said, "-is to fall in love and wonder what you're doing with her, or anybody else." I looked at him and I was surprised to hear myself saying, "I want you to be with me, but not because you 'fucking need it' or you 'fucking miss it'."

He was frozen in place and only moved when I handed him the car keys.

"Drive."

We got in the car and drove to the exit door. Greg sat quietly while I talked to the night guard. The old man had insisted he had never fallen asleep on the job, but it was clear that he did the night that Bowman buried his wife's body. Now he sheepishly wished us a good night.

Greg drove past the cemetery door and stopped the car. It was raining harder now.

"Grissom, I do have feelings for you."

I looked at him.

"I do." He reassured me. "I needed you, but I didn't think you'd want to hear me say it. I tried to show you how I felt instead; I mean, I called you from the hospital, remember?" he said. "I called you, Grissom, not my girlfriend-"

"But you're still with her."

"Yeah, but… she's my girlfriend, Grissom. I need her." He explained, "Not that I don't need you, but it's different."

"I understand." I said mechanically.

"You don't." he smiled patiently. "Look, I've always been different; you don't know what that's like-"

I gave him a look and he chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess you do. Well, I was always singled out of a group of friends or cousins. I was always the ugliest, the shortest, the clumsiest…or the smartest, which was a burden sometimes. I got beat up, I was resented, bla, bla, bla; you know how it is."

"Greg, I think I know what you've been through, but the only respect you really need in life is your own-"

"Spoken like someone who has neither close friends nor cousins." He scoffed.

Touchè. I conceded mentally.

Something intrigued me though.

"I always thought you had a close-knit family-"

"It is," he nodded, "Look, my family loves me, and my parents have always accepted me, but hey, that's what parents do, don't they? But-"

"Not all parents-" I muttered.

"-but they worried about me." he said quietly, "They realized that I didn't fit in. So, when I was fifteen and realized I had a crush on a man…I didn't tell them. I didn't want them to worry again. And I was pissed off too, Grissom; I really didn't want to be queer on top of being weird."

Those had been my feelings too, once upon a time, but I didn't tell him.

"I wasn't going to take a boyfriend to my family reunion, Grissom; I took a girlfriend…And for once I was like everybody else." He waited for some comment from me and then he added, "And I like girls, they make great friends-"

"I understand." I mumbled.

"And my family loves sin."

"Sin?" I frowned.

"Cin. Cindy, my girlfriend." He explained.

"Greg," I frowned, "You're cheating on her."

"With you, Grissom." He said matter-of-factly, "I mean, I just couldn't miss the chance to be with you. You've always been special to me. I mean, didn't you ever wonder why I kept finding excuses to be around you? Taking time to learn all kind of facts just to impress you? Or working on the field, on top of my normal work? I like being with you; I feel that I can be myself when I'm around you. We're good together, Grissom; we fit despite our differences and you know it."

"And you're with her just because your family likes her?" I asked.

"Grissom, I want to be with you." He said firmly, "No matter what else goes on in my life. Don't you want that?"

I looked outside. It was raining harder now and driving would get difficult; we had a two-hour trip ahead of us-

"We need to leave." I said without looking at him.

He took a deep breath.

"Let's go, then." He said and started the car.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sounds of rain and thunder. I had managed to get him out of my thoughts, when he spoke.

"Say something, please. I'm about to fall asleep here."

I glanced at him.

He looked tired; his hair was a dirty mess and he stank. Yet a casual look was enough to remind me how much I wanted him. He'd done something to me that I couldn't explain. Who else would have turned me into a lover, at this time of my life? Others had tried and failed; I had tried to love others but half-heartedly. There was something about Greg that made me lower my own defenses. From the start, I'd let him get away with things I wouldn't have tolerated in others; I let him because he was a genius and a real asset for my lab, but I had to admit that my reasons hadn't always been so pure. For instance, I'd always known the number of moles on his face.

And I drank his coffee, even though it ruined my sleep later on. But it was the coffee he brewed as an excuse to be with me…

"I love you." I said and he was so surprised that he momentarily lost control of the wheel.

"Shit!-" he flinched. He angrily maneuvered the car until he found a spot to park on. "You don't love me!"

"I do." I said calmly

"You'd have feelings for anyone who'd get close to you-"

"No. It's not that." I insisted, "I love you. Completely. You asked what I wanted; well, I want you to stop lying, because I don't want to share you with anybody-"

"I need-"

"You need her, I know," I interrupted, "But you should behonest with her and with yourself. You should be with someone who loves you so much, you don't need anybody else-"

"And are you that someone, Grissom?" He challenged, "I'll be honest if you want: I don't love Cindy, and no, she doesn't love me either; we're just good friends who have sex and a good time. But she knows she can count on me, Grissom; and when I need her, she's there. Always." He looked at me, "Would you do that for me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm asking if you can be there for me: Would you come with me to a family reunion or a cousin's birthday? Or would you pick up my dad at the hospital if I asked you to?"

"You wouldn't mind your cousins' taunts?" I glared.

"I can take them." he said simply. "Can you?"

He waited in vain for my answer.

"Or would you share your time off with me, Grissom? Would you let me spend a weekend with you?" He asked, "You wouldn't. You'd rather be home alone with your books or at the body farm with the corpses. But hey, I understand that; it's who you are, and I love you anyway." He smiled faintly, "Yeah, I love you." He admitted, "After five years, I can safely say that it isn't just a crush. I've been in love with you all this time, but I know you don't need a family or friends; you don't want anything to disturb your work. I accept that, Grissom. But I need someone to share my life too."

I looked away, trying to make sense of all that he'd said. I'd forgotten that Greg had a life, while I didn't. He liked to go dancing and dining, and he had new experiences all the time, while all I did was to see life through a microscope.

"So, Gil. Would you come to a family reunion?" he asked again, but his tone wasn't hopeful. He knew me too well.

"No." I said honestly.

He nodded. Then he turned and tentatively put his hand on mine.

"Could we meet now and then?"

I shook my head.

He patted my hand.

"All right, boss." He said and he started the car again.

This time he drove faster, as if he couldn't wait for us to go our separate ways.

We remained in silence until we arrived at the lab.

"Do you want to start working on the bags?" he asked in a conciliatory tone.

"Not tonight. Just fill your preliminary report" I said, "Then go home, Greg. You did enough."

Our eyes met. It was the kind of moment that defines the rest of a life.

I think we both looked away at the same time.

Still, when I went down to the parking lot at the end of the shift, I hoped he would be there, waiting for me. He wasn't.

When I got home, I thought he'd be waiting on my sidewalk.

Then I waited for his phone call…

Finally, that afternoon I decided to go out. I drove idly until the amusement park loomed at the end of the street. I'd come to this park often, and had paid the operator countless of times for a private ride. I'd had countless orgasms there, without even needing to touch myself.

The most pathetic kind of safe sex.

Apparently I was returning to my old ways.

But I didn't want to.

I didn't want to be a pathetic old man feeding off the crumbs of his affection, but on the other hand, who else had ever wanted me like this?

I found myself remembering the first time we had sex. I remembered the intense pleasure he was giving me and how surprised I'd been by it; surprised and embarrassed too, which made me grab a pillow to drown my moans.

"No, no," he said, wrestling the pillow away from me, "Don't be afraid-" he urged, still stroking me, "-just feel how good it is… don't hold back, don't-"

And I'd just let go.

I had fooled myself into thinking that I could live without him. I'd have to learn to share.

I drove to his place.

He was surprised to see me.

"Grissom?" he said and he lowered his voice, "What's up?"

I hesitated for a moment.

"I don't want to keep my arms to myself anymore." I mumbled.

"What?" He was stunned.

"I love you"

"Ok." He said cautiously. I didn't have more to say, so I leant over for a kiss. He tried to say something but after a moment he simply kissed back. I liked the encouragement so I slowly pushed him inside.

"I love you." I said between kisses.

" Me, too. But - " he whispered, stopping in the hallway, "Wait. My pa-" he mumbled but I kissed him again and kept pushing him to the living room. "Grissom, wait" he insisted, "Meet… my parents-"

"Yeah. Ok, whatever…" I muttered, (hell, at that moment I would have agreed to anything he asked). I slowly kissed his cheek and his neck and smiled when I felt him shiver. My beard would definitely be an asset-

"Wait-" he gasped. "-they're here"

I froze. He had to be joking. I looked at him and saw that he was trying hard not to laugh.

I ventured a look over his shoulder and found myself staring back at an elderly couple.

Greg's parents were gaping at us.

I quickly released Greg and took a step towards them.

"Hello, hum, Mr. And Mrs. Sanders," I said, trying to hide my embarrassment. "I'm… I'm…"

"Gil Grissom" Greg supplied helpfully. He put his hand on my shoulder and added, "My boyfriend."

THE END.

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