Finally! The (apparently) long awaited Grissom/Greg confontration! (Let's just hope it lives up to expectations...author runs away cowering)

As always: Thanks a million to everyone who bothered to review and to sweet-surrender5 for all the good advice!

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Blue Hawaiian

Greg had never moved so fast in all his life. Grissom had barely finished uttering the words, and Greg had ducked, slid underneath the table and jumped to his feet – clear across the room and on the opposite side of (what he ardently hoped) would prove to be a nice sturdy table.

Greg reckoned that as long as he could keep that table between them, he couldn't come to any serious harm. After all – he was almost half Grissom's age, fitter, more agile – better looking (Greg grinned despite himself), plus he had the added incentive of not wanting to die. On the downside though, Grissom was blocking the only exit to the room.

A minor difficulty, one which Greg decided to ignore for the moment.

By the look on Grissom's face, Greg judged that he had more pressing problems to deal with anyway. He didn't need his finely tuned CSI skills to tell him that his supervisor definitely wasn't here to bestow him with the "Employee of the Month" award.

"What's the matter Greg?" Grissom was still using that dangerous voice, low and soft and almost friendly, and it filled Greg with great trepidation. That voice was never a good sign. That voice usually meant death and gloom to whomever it was directed at…

"Me? Not…nothing…I was just…uh…startled, that's all…" Greg stammered, annoyed at the fact that he could feel a fit of giggles coming on. He couldn't help it: the only image floating around in his brain was of Grissom in that horrible blue Hawaiian shirt. Open. With a hickey on his chest. His hair sticking out in all directions…

Aaaggghhh! Why does brain think such thoughts? Focus. Focus. Grissom is obviously here for a reason – but why? I haven't even seen Sara since…since…aagghh…earlier, so just play it cool. Be cool…

He fixed Grissom with his best, most brilliantly white toothed smile, trying to look as innocent as possible. Spotting his hastily abandoned cup of coffee on the table next to Grissom, Greg decided that a subtle bribe might win him some points. After all – his boss appreciated the good stuff as much as he did.

"Uh…" Greg made sure to keep the toothy grin firmly in place, and pointed vaguely in the direction of Grissom and the cup of still steaming coffee. "Blue Hawaiian?"

Now, if Greg had a million dollars, he would gladly have parted with every cent of it in order to make that unfortunate choice of phrase go the way of the dinosaurs. In fact, Greg figured it was a pretty good bet that right at that moment, he would have been tempted to sell his own mother to marauding Vikings, if only it would give him the chance to turn the clock back ten measly seconds.

Oh.

Holy.

Crap…

...I'm dead.

Grissom barely moved, but even from across the room, Greg could see his boss's knuckles turn white as he gripped the sides of the table, while his eyes narrowed treacherously. The famous "Death Glare" had nothing on this: the never before seen "I-Will-Scoop-Your-Heart-Out-With-A-Spoon Glower", Greg decided.

I wonder if he'll at least tell my parents where he buried my poor - soon to be mangled -body…

"Blue…Hawaiian?"

The voice was so soft that Greg could barely hear it, but he didn't need semaphore to clarify the meaning of the words floating towards him. Gulping down a breath of air, he tried desperately to extricate himself from this unfortunate confluence of events.

"Co…coffee…not…uh…sh…shirt…"

Greg almost choked as the last word slipped out, and he idly wondered if he'd ever be able to drink coffee, think about Hawaii, or look at anything blue ever again.

I also wonder if my insurance will cover multiple visits to a reputable psychologist, because dealing with this is going to take years of intensive, rigorous therapy. Maybe I can claim that the mental breakdown – which I will undoubtedly suffer – was brought on by undue stress in the workpla--

"Greg!"

Grissom's growl snapped Greg's mind back from its self induced stupor, just in time for him to notice that the older man was advancing toward him round one side of the table - his steely blue eyes not wavering from Greg's rapidly blinking ones. Trying to be as subtle as possible, Greg started to inch away from his boss, making sure to keep the (hopefully lifesaving) table between them.

At least this way I might get closer to that delightfully open door…

"It seems we need to have a little discussion about appropriate topics of conversation in the work place, Mr. Sanders."

Shit! He knows! He knows? How the hell? Although, to be fair, it's not like I really said anything. There was that one little slip, but it didn't make any difference, the guys knew already! Well OK, it would probably be more accurate to say the guys suspected already, but you know, tomato, to-ma-to. All I did, if I even did anything, which I didn't really, was to--

"Sanders! Have you got an attention deficit problem I should know about?"

Greg was horrified to discover that Grissom had sneaked another couple of steps closer, and this time the youngest CSI didn't bother with trying to be subtle. Still keeping his eyes on Grissom, Greg took two giant steps away from his boss, which also had the added benefit of getting him two giant steps closer to that beckoning door.

Advantage Greggo!

"Getting out of this room is one thing Greg, but moving away and getting a new job is quite another…"

Damn.

Busted.

Maybe another smile will hel—

"And stop leering at me like that. There's not a smile in the world that will get you out of the bottomless abyss of blackness in which you now find yourself…"

Giving a little sigh, Greg wiped the last vestiges of the faltering grin off his face. His cheeks were starting to cramp from the sustained effort of maintaining it anyway. Now, if only it was that easy to wipe the images of Grissom away, then he, Greg Sanders, could dissolve into a puddle of happiness, without a care in the world.

By now, it was blatantly obvious that Grissom wasn't planning to go away, and realising that the game was up, Greg stopped shuffling backwards and stood a little straighter.

I'm younger, fitter and better looking. I'm younger, fitter and better looking…And if all else fails, I can always outrun him…

Swallowing noticeably, he tried to get his voice under control, but it still squeaked audibly when he asked his question.

"Um...am I going to...die?"

He couldn't be sure, but for the briefest of moments, he almost thought he spotted the beginnings of a little twitch of a smile ghosting across the corner of Grissom's mouth.

"Yes Greg."

Damn, damn, damn.

"But probably not today."

Thank you to every patron saint on the planet and my eternal gratitude and undying appreciation to all the sweet angels in the blue heaven above…well, on second thoughts, maybe not the blue heaven. Maybe more like the golden heaven or even the sil--

"Sanders!"

This time Grissom hadn't sneaked just a couple of steps closer. This time he had managed to close the gap completely, and was now within easy reach of a slightly trembling Greg.

"Don't make me regret my decision barely twenty seconds after reaching it."

As Grissom brushed past him, Greg tried his utmost to stop himself from flinching, but the older man's quiet snort told him that he wasn't completely successful in his valiant efforts. As his boss reached the door, Greg piped up again.

"Uh…Grissom? I really am very sorry you know…and if it makes you feel any better, my Papa Olaf had a blue Hawaiian shirt almost exactly like that, and I always thought it was kinda co--"

Greg never even saw Grissom move from the doorway – he just felt the dull thud on the back of his skull as Grissom's flat right hand thwacked him upside the head.

"Sanders – if you want to stay alive, never mention the words "blue" or "Hawaiian" in my presence ever again. Because what Grissom giveth, Grissom can also taketh away. Got it?"

"Yes sir...sorry…" Greg gasped contritely.

But as Grissom steamed out of the room, Greg quietly smirked to himself.

I've got it. Boy have I got it…but just so you know – Papa Olaf didn't look any better in that shirt than you did…

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A/N: And that - as they say - is all folks! Thanks to everyone who reviewed - you guys are GREAT! If it weren't for the reviews, I would've stopped after "Nobody Knows".

Of course many people would argue that that might have been a good thing, but aaannnyyy way... :-)