THIRD DATE

Fourth part

Spoiler: Big Middle (the last scene, when Gil & Greg talk about attraction).

Butterflied (Grissom says something about how the only time he touches someone is at the morgue, when he has his latex gloves on)

Spark of Life: (a poor guy gets burned in the woods)

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Grissom looked down. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had held his hand like this, but he was sure it felt just as oppressive. He tentatively tugged at his hand, but Greg didn't let go.

Grissom looked up questioningly and met with Greg's penetrating gaze.

"Does this make you uncomfortable?" Greg asked, a veiled challenge in his voice.

Grissom would never admit that it did.

"I'm not in the habit of holding hands, Greg." He said simply.

Greg pondered on that response for a moment.

"Is this an assault on your masculinity, then?" he asked.

Grissom seemed amused by the question.

"No, Greg." he said.

Greg smiled in approval, and after a moment he looked down, "It's funny," he mused, "I rode The Great Puker twice today and it didn't do me much good –not like it did a couple of years ago. I didn't understand why," he added, "Until now."

He tightened his grip on Grissom's hand, "This is what helped me, then." He looked up, "There's something reassuring about holding someone's hand, don't you think?"

To Grissom, it was more intrusive than reassuring, but he didn't say so; he simply gazed back at Greg.

"Grissom..." the young man said, "Can I say something –you know, bearing in mind that we're still at the site of a convention, so to speak?"

Grissom didn't answer, but for Greg, that was as good as a yes.

"About the things that I said in the parking lot-"

"I know you didn't mean them," Grissom said quickly.

"Actually, I did mean them." Greg said quietly, "Partly, at least." He added, and he kept his gaze on Grissom, trying to gauge the effect of his words. Grissom stared back expressionlessly, either because he didn't know what Greg meant, or because he didn't want to admit that he did.

Greg looked down at the hand he was holding.

"Remember what you said about attraction, a while ago?" He asked, "That it was subjective and it couldn't be explained?" he paused, and then he looked up. "You were right. I can't explain this. But it's real."

"Greg-"

"I would have never brought it up," Greg continued, "Not in the crude way I did –or any other way, for that matter. I swear, Grissom." He insisted, " It's just- I don't know. Something snapped, I guess."

"You said you wanted to shock me."

"Yeah, but I also wanted -" he couldn't bring himself to say it. He took a deep breath, and then he added, "It's just… These past months I've found it hard to… I mean, difficult to…to relate to others." he said.

Greg almost laughed at himself –he was using euphemisms, for God's sake. Why couldn't he just say the words? He found it difficult to have sex. There. He just couldn't say it aloud. "I feel like I'm- tainted, or something." He confessed. Then he scoffed, "It's hard to touch someone when you feel like that, believe me."

Grissom knew exactly what Greg was going through; law enforcement workers went through this at one time or another.

He felt sorry for Greg, but didn't say so.

Greg continued.

"So, one day I started wondering..." he hesitated, "Wondering whether you'd understand what I was going through. And then I started thinking that yeah, of all the people in the world you would understand -I mean, in case we got together and I failed, so to speak," he smiled with some embarrassment. "I mean," he added, "Since you're so knowledgeable and so tolerant and, well… I thought... I hoped, rather, that you-"

Grissom didn't want to listen anymore.

"Greg," he interrupted, "I know what you want to say. I…" he hesitated, "I wish I could." He said, trying to sound sincere. "But I..." he hesitated, "I'm really the last person who'd be able to be of any help."

Greg's smile froze on his face.

"Because you'd rather be with a girl." he said.

Grissom's expression didn't change.

"No, Greg," he said softly.

"Then..." Greg hesitated, "Because you just keep your feelings in check?" He asked.

Grissom smiled faintly.

"Something like that." He said. They were silent for a moment. Grissom spoke first, "I'm- "

"I know," Greg interrupted. He knew that Grissom was sorry, but he didn't want to hear it. And he certainly didn't want Grissom to think that he couldn't take the rejection, either. "It's ok." he added.

He looked down and noticed that he was still holding Grissom's hand. He smiled faintly. It was funny; in today's world, holding someone's hand was no big deal, but holding Grissom's was.

It felt like a triumph –a brief one, but a triumph nonetheless. Tentatively, Greg caressed Grissom's knuckle with his thumb-

Grissom tugged at his hand immediately.

"I've got to go." He said.

Greg released him this time.

Greg briefly closed his eyes. He had slept for five hours, but he wasn't precisely bursting with energy. It took him quite an effort, but after a moment he sat up.

He noticed with some concern that Grissom was struggling to rise from his little spot on the floor. The poor man was stiff after sitting in the same position for hours, and it was only after a couple of false starts that he was able to get up.

Greg held back any offer of help;he suspected that the last thing Grissom wanted was to be touched again. Instead, he busied himself with the task of finding his own shoes.

When Greg looked up again, he noticed that Grissom was patting his pockets in confusion.

"Something wrong?" Greg asked.

"My cell phone-" Grissom said, "I had it with me-"

"Ah, yeah," Greg said, jumping up, "Excuse me," he said, and Grissom moved out his way. "You put it here, somewhere-" Greg explained, rummaging among the debris on the coffee table. "You didn't want any interruptions, remember?"

Grissom frowned. He had completely forgotten. Apparently, sleeping five hours in a row was not such a good idea, after all –it played tricks on his mind.

"Here they are," Greg announced, setting Grissom's belongings apart, "Cell phone, pager, keys -"

Grissom reached for his phone, but just as he was about to pick it up, Greg noticed something.

"Your hand is shaking." He said.

It was, indeed, and Grissom hadn't noticed it until then. He lifted his hand –the one that Greg had been holding- and looked at it as if it belonged to somebody else.

"It is." He said in bewilderment.

Greg looked up with concern. He knew from personal experience that a shaking hand was a manifestation of deep emotional turmoil.

"Are you ok?" He asked.

"I don't know," Grissom said honestly, and then he shrugged, "I guess I'll have to ride the Great Puke later on."

Greg slowly straightened up.

"Hey, do me a favor," he said sternly, and he waited until Grissom looked at him, "Don't go to that park again."

There was such a quiet authority in the way he said this, that Grissom actually paused for a moment. He smiled faintly when he realized that Greg was repeating what he'd said earlier.

"If you ever need help," Greg continued, "Then talk to a friend." But as soon as he said that, he remembered that Grissom had no close friends –and probably no one to talk to. And by the look on Grissom's face, he knew that the same thought had just crossed his boss' mind.

"Oh, man," Greg muttered compassionately, "I don't know how you can live like this, Grissom."

Greg felt sincerely sorry for his boss; so sorry in fact, that he did exactly what he had vowed not to do –touch him. He reached out and took the older man's hand again.

Grissom didn't resist at first, but when Greg took a step closer, he instinctively stepped back and pulled his hand away.

"Hey, it's ok," Greg said in a soothing tone, the kind one uses to calm a frightened child. "It's ok, Grissom." he repeated, and then, without assessing the wisdom of his actions, (or the consequences), and doing his best to ignore the look of panic on his boss' face, Greg took one last step and pulled Grissom into a hug.

Taken by surprise, Grissom simply stood still.

His mind was spinning, though. He was frantically trying to remember the last time this had happened to him and what he'd done, hoping that past experience would help him deal with the present.

But this had never happened before. People knew that Grissom avoided touch at all costs. No one hugged Grissom –no one dared; one shook his hand when meeting him for the first time and that was that.

Having his hand imprisoned had been uncomfortable for Grissom, but this… this was an ordeal. He only hoped that Greg would not make a pass at him again.

That would be the worst.

"It's ok," Greg muttered then, and Grissom almost laughed because this was definitely not ok. "We all need someone, sometime." Greg added reassuringly.

'I don't need anyone,' Grissom wanted to say, but he couldn't bring himself to speak. Talking would have established a connection with Greg, and that was the last thing he wanted. He didn't even want to acknowledge what Greg was doing, and so he remained still, with his hands firmly clenched by his sides. He even kept his breathing shallow and slow so his chest didn't touch Greg's any more than it had to.

He only wished Greg would stop talking...

"It's ok to need a friend," Greg was saying, "I mean, we're friends, right?" he asked. Grissom didn't answer but since he didn't pull away, Greg assumed that it was ok to do this. He was glad; he liked to think that he was giving his boss some much-needed comfort.

"It's ok," he repeated, and he patted Grissom's back. And then, just to underline what he'd just said, Greg delivered the words that Grissom had longed to hear a while ago. "Everything is going to be all right."

Grissom felt a stab of pain in the middle of his chest, just as if the words had somehow materialized and pierced him.

It was a shock for Grissom; he had always believed in the power of words but he never expected such a heavy load of feeling from a phrase like this -one whose meaning wasn't even remotely connected to the truth. After all, things rarely ever turned out to be all right.

But the words affected him nevertheless, and he had to take a couple of deep breaths before he got himself together. He'd just realized that he had made one mistake after another that day. He shouldn't have stayed to talk –he shouldn't have even come to Greg's home in the first place. By coming here, he had put himself in one dangerous situation after another.

And only now did he realize how wrong he'd been: Having Greg make a pass at him was not the worse that could happen -frankly, he wished Greg had done just that, instead of talking all that nonsense about needing a friend.

Lust, he would have rejected quite easily. But tenderness…

Tenderness was something he just didn't know how to deal with.

Grissom had finally had enough. He took a step backwards and then another, trying to escape from Greg's embrace, but the young man simply held on.

Grissom stopped in confusion. It suddenly occurred to him that short of using violence, he would not be able to shake Greg off. He immediately rejected this thought - he would never resort to violence- but he still felt the need to escape, and so he took yet another step backwards, only to collide with the coffee table.

Greg tightened his hold to keep him from losing his balance.

"Got you," he whispered, his breath caressing Grissom's ear.

"Enough," Grissom said hoarsely, and he impulsively grabbed one of Greg's arms.

All he wanted was to disengage himself from Greg- But he made a mistake.

CSI Gil Grissom had touched countless human bodies in the course of his life; he had studied samples of muscles and pieces of bone, and he had even held hearts and brains in his hands. He'd never proclaim to know everything about the human body, but he'd confidently say that it held very few secrets from him.

Touching a living human being, however, was something he hadn't done in a long, long time, and so he was lost the moment he grabbed Greg's arm. Grissom didn't expect to meet with resistance in the first place; he didn't expect the arm to move… But it did. And so, instead of pushing Greg away, Grissom found himself involuntarily curling his fingers around the young man's bicep and holding it tightly.

He knew the young man had been working out, but he never dreamed he'd be touching Greg's arm, or that he'd be assessing its shape and hardness. Intrigued, Grissom slowly slid his hand down Greg's arm, slowly checking out muscles and tendons and bones, almost as if he were studying them for a case. It was fascinating, the way the muscles shifted under his touch.

He only wished that the thin fabric of Greg's rumpled shirt didn't get in the way...But that was easily fixed. Acting on an impulse, Grissom rolled up the sleeve and reached underneath. He closed his eyes when he felt bare skin at last. He didn't need to see; he could visualize it all –not just the skin itself but its different layers, and the veins and the arteries, and the blood lustily pumping through them. He could actually feel the blood pumping…

It was amazing, being able to hold someone alive; and the best part was that there were other things to discover -scents, for instance. Grissom was used to the smells of decay and disinfectants that filled the morgue, but this had to be different. He leant forward and buried his face in Greg's shoulder and then he inhaled deeply.

Oh, yes. He smiled. No antiseptics there, nothing to remind him of death. Just the scents of soap and sweat, and a faint remnant of cologne, all enhanced by the heated skin. Grissom was completely oblivious to the fact that his behavior might not be exactly appropriate.

He didn't even notice that Greg had stopped moving.

The young man was stunned to say the least. He knew about mixed signals, but this was beyond anything he'd ever encountered before: First Grissom acted like he couldn't stand being touched, and now-

Well, now Grissom was acting like he was making up for lost time.

He was using his fingertips to trace a path on Greg's body, starting at a point on the hip and moving upwards, briefly stopping along the way to explore everything from the young man's ribs to a pointy nipple. These explorations never held his focus for long, though; he kept moving, until he reached Greg's neck, where he let his hand rest for a moment.

Greg had grown more and more confused; Grissom was acting as if he were looking for clues –that was the only way to put it. He seemed to be on a quest for discovery. His touch was not about seduction… But it was seductive, nevertheless.

Unaware of Greg's confusion, Grissom continued his exploration, moving his fingers over Greg's cheek and forehead, as if doing a slow reconnaissance. It wasn't until he touched Greg's hair, though, that he felt like he'd found what he'd been looking for all along. He buried his fingers in it, and then he gently cradled Greg's skull in his palm.

With Grissom finally stopping, Greg wondered if he could get away with some exploration of his own; he pressed his cheek against Grissom's and then tentatively wrapped an arm around him as well.

Grissom didn't reject him –on the contrary; he reacted by slowly rubbing his face all over Greg's cheek and throat. It seemed he found this last place especially warm and inviting, for he kept his face buried in there, while taking deep breaths.

Greg smiled at this; Grissom's beard tickled his skin, and this was a huge turn-on for him.

But the surprises were not over yet, for Grissom did something much more unexpected-

He licked Greg's throat.

"Oh, shit-" Greg gasped.

Laughter bubbled in Grissom's throat. He couldn't believe this; he, Gil Grissom, was making someone shiver and moan in pleasure. The arm that was wrapped around him tightened its hold, and Grissom could feel the ragged edges of bitten fingernails digging into his back. Grissom liked that. He understood too, this need to get closer to someone -it was precisely what he'd been trying to do all along.

Touching and licking were just not enough, though, not with their clothes getting in the way; so, out of frustration, Grissom started to pull Greg's shirt open, and Greg responded in kind. They didn't accomplish much, however, because neither one of them wanted to break off their embrace. They merely stumbled around, clumsily pulling at each other's clothes and bumping against every piece of furniture they encountered.

They chuckled every time this happened, but their mirth was cut short when they bumped against Greg's tall bookcase, making it wobble dangerously. It didn't fall, but all the books and magazines that Greg had carelessly shoved inside spilled and fell on them in a rain of paper and dust.

The sound of books falling around them was a wake up call. They pulled apart just enough to glance at each other, and Grissom saw with disbelief that one of his own hands was wrapped around Greg's neck while the other was hidden underneath a flap of Greg's loosened shirt.

He dropped them immediately.

He looked at Greg as if he didn't recognized him... But it was not Greg he didn't recognize –it was himself. He had never done anything like this before.

He opened his mouth but there was nothing to say -nothing that could erase what had just happened, that is. The evidence was only too clear: Gil Grissom was not an austere man so at peace with himself that he didn't need anybody. On the contrary –strong emotions and desires had bubbled just below the surface all along. He'd held them back through a combination of will and denial and a genuine interest in his job, but he'd never make them disappear.

It was like living behind a façade that time had eroded; in the end it didn't take much to tear it down: Just one phrase and one touch. Now he felt exposed, more naked than if he had removed all his clothes.

"I'm…" Grissom started.

He wanted to say how sorry he was for losing control, and how much he regretted that Greg had had to witness it all, but words failed him.

"I'm…" he said again, and then he shook his head in defeat, "I'm falling apart," he said. It was the closest he could get to an explanation –and an apology.

"Welcome to the club," Greg said, trying to muster some humor. When Grissom didn't smile back, he added, "Grissom... it's no big deal. We just got a little physical; there's nothing in wrong with that."

"You don't understand," Grissom replied, "This is not me."

Greg tilted his head and stared at Grissom for a moment.

"I don't believe that." Greg said softly, "I think this is the real you. It's just as if…" he hesitated, "As if you'd been wearing a mask that suddenly fell off."

Grissom looked at him with something close to fear. It seemed that Greg understood him only too well.

"I need that mask." Grissom blurted out.

Greg stared expressionlessly at him.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because-" Grissom started, and then he stopped. His mouth opened again but the words didn't come out easily. "Because I've had it for too long." he said at last.

"Maybe you should stop wearing it." Greg replied.

Grissom smiled faintly; he knew Greg would say something like this.

He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"I just don't know who else to be, Greg." He said gently.

They stared at each other for a moment.

Grissom was the first to look away, and he had the perfect excuse. The books. He crouched down to pickthem up.

"No, it's ok." Greg said, "I'll do that later."

"Greg, I have never voluntarily damaged a book," Grissom said, "I'm not going to start now."

Greg watched him work diligently for a couple of minutes, and after a moment he bent down to help.

Grissom couldn't resist browsing, and one of the books caught his attention.

"Cien Años de Soledad," he read aloud, "Do you speak Spanish, Greg?"

"Me? No. A friend of mine left me her books before moving away -she spoke five languages. You want it?" he asked. When he noticed Gil's hesitation, he insisted, "Please, take it."

Grissom smiled.

"Thanks," he said, genuinely grateful. He had always wanted to read that book in its original version. He opened it and read a few lines, and discovered that his Spanish wasn't as rusty as he'd thought.

He glanced at Greg to say so, but didn't. He watched as Greg picked up the last of the magazines. The young man's shirt was still half open, and the sleeve was still rolled up.

Regret flooded Grissom. The reality of what he had done hit him once again.

He had used Greg.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, and Greg looked up in surprise.

"For the books?" he asked. "They're ok."

"No, not the books." Grissom said, "This..." he added, and he rolled down the sleeve until the cuff touched Greg's wrist.

"It's ok." Greg said mechanically, but when he noticed the look on Grissom's face, he stopped what he was doing and added, "Really, Grissom. It's ok."

Grissom shook his head.

"You're just too generous." He said.

"Oh, this is nothing," Greg replied dismissively, "You should see how generous I can be." Greg had intended these words as a joke, but he quickly realized how inappropriate they were, considering that Grissom had rejected his advances yet again. Grissom himself looked quite chagrined.

Greg decided that it was time to put things into perspective.

"You know," he said then, "I said a lot about attraction and all that, but… The truth is, all I wanted from you was a one-night-stand." He admitted, "A quick fix to my problems. I didn't see anything wrong with it." He added thoughtfully, "I mean, in my experience, one-night-stands never hurt anyone-"

Grissom looked down.

"Greg, I'm-"

"Don't be," Greg interrupted, "You see, I was wrong." He said, "Things would never be that simple; not with you. I mean… I've just seen what being with you would be like and...well..." he shook his head, not sure how to explain it, "It's too intense." He looked closely at Grissom, "Isn't it?"

"I don't know," Grissom said honestly. He had no basis for comparison.

"It's like..." Greg continued, "I don't know -like we'll get burned if we do anything. Like life will change if -" he didn't finish this phrase. "I just don't know if I want things to change." He said.

"Me, neither," Grissom agreed.

"It's not like things couldn't change for the better," Greg said after a moment. He looked at Grissom, "You could... you know, get used to this." He said tentatively. "Being without a mask, I mean."

Grissom wondered if that was possible. He stared at the young man and remembered the few minutes they'd just shared. It had been wonderful -more so because it had been spontaneous.

But if anything happened between them now, it would be by choice…

And Grissom would never take the risk.

"It's late." He said quietly, and he mechanically glanced at his wrist, although his watch was still on the coffee table.

Greg knew exactly what he meant. It was late for work, but it was also late to change and late to start living without a mask.

There was nothing more to say.

Except...

"At least your hand isn't shaking anymore." he said gently.

Grissom looked at his hand and smiled despite himself.

"Thanks, Greg." He said.

He put the last book on the pile and then he rose and purposefully crossed the room to pick up his jacket and the rest of his belongings. He didn't even pause long enough to put on his watch; he simply put everything inside a pocket.

Greg silently followed as he walked to the hallway.

Something called Grissom's attention just before he reached the door. A telescope. Not the telescope itself but the box it came in; it was dusty and empty, and it was lying in a corner.

Grissom tilted his head to examine the cover.

"Do you have a telescope, Greg?"

"Yes. A Mead 2130," he said.

"I've got a Celestron 102." Grissom said.

"Oh, yours is bigger than mine, then." Greg replied automatically, and to his chagrin, he blushed. But Grissom flushed too, so they were even.

"Do you watch the stars often?" Grissom asked as he put on his jacket.

"Oh, I haven't used it." Greg admitted, "I wanted to take it to the woods or the desert, but that's just one of the things that Tara's case ruined. There's no way I'm going out there on my own."

"What about inviting a friend over?"

"Well," Greg said, "My friends aren't exactly the outdoor type." He shrugged.

Grissom mused on this. He was the outdoor type, and he knew how rewarding star gazing could be. He went to the desert all the time. Alone, of course; he didn' t need any company on these little trips of his. However, he knew that sometimes people needed someone to share things with.

Greg, for instance. The young man would never gaze at the stars in respectful silence; he'd talk and make those outrageous asides that exasperated –and charmed- those who were lucky enough to hear them.

It was a pity that Greg's friends didn't realize what they were missing…

Grissom was so caught up by this thought that he came this close to offer to come along next time Greg wanted to watch the stars.

But he held back just in time.

With the nagging feeling that he had failed Greg yet again, Grissom spoke.

"So... I hope you give your friends another chance, Greg," he said, "They'll understand that you can't be a happy-go-lucky guy all the time; you'll see-"

"We'll see," Greg said quietly. "Thanks for the advice, Grissom."

Grissom opened the door but he didn't immediately stepped out of the apartment.

He felt that he was leaving something behind-

Not something; someone. He was leaving Greg and his imaginary convention site, and he was also leaving a part of himself; a part that he'd only got a brief glimpse of.

This last thought was painful, so Grissom quickly dismissed it.

He glanced over his shoulder.

"'Bye, Greg." He said.

"'Bye, Grissom."

Grissom walked towards the elevator, but the farther he got, the slower he walked. Finally, he stopped. He didn't know why he stopped in mid-step, and for a moment he was reminded of Greg's bookcase, wobbling insecurely back and forth.

He didn't want to leave like this, but he couldn't go back to Greg's place, either.

Or could he?

He turned.

If the door to Greg's apartment had been closed, Grissom would have left and returned to his old life, mask firmly in place. But the door was till open, and Greg was still standing there.

Grissom gathered the courage to speak.

"I was thinking..." he started, "Next time you have a night off," he said, "I -I could ask Catherine to cover up for me. We could go to the desert." He added more firmly, "We could watch the stars from there." He paused, "It's peaceful on weekdays." he added, and then he waited for Greg's reaction.

"Ok," Greg said tentatively. He liked the idea, but he couldn't help wondering if there was more than star gazing in Grissom's offer. Afterthe events of the evening, he just couldn't be sure.

Not that he'd ever ask.

And maybe it didn't matter, anyway. After all, star gazing with a friend sounded good enough.

"You gave me next Thursday night off." He said.

"Oh." Grissom said, slightly taken aback. He didn't think a chance would present itself so soon. He recovered quickly, though, "Ok," He said calmly. "We can go then."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"I'll dust off my Mead, then," Greg said good-naturedly.

"Good." Grissom said. He had the feeling that there was something else he should say or do, but he didn't know what. "So-" he paused.

"So-" Greg said, feeling just as insecure as Grissom, who was still standing in the middle of the hallway, looking as if he were waiting for a sign. Greg smiled faintly. "So," he said more firmly, "It's a date, then."

Grissom paused for just a second, and then he smiled too.

THE END.