Title: Mixed Signals and U Turns

Author: Sam

Email: HawkDancng@aol.com

Fandom: CSI

Pairing: Grissom/Greg

Rating: Mild PG

Summary: Umm...I should be working and not writing smutty fanfic?

Notes: Another Challenge response. Unbeta’d. Very rough and barely edited.

Warnings: Not really, no.

Disclaimer: Not mine and never will be. No harm intended, just pleasant diversion before bed.

Url: None.


Mixed Signals and U Turns
by Sam

"I can't take it anymore. You've been sending so many mixed signals...I just don't know what you want from me..."

It was dark in the CSI supervisor‘s office where Gil Grissom sat alone, spotlighted by the single lamp burning on his desk. At the storming entrance, words already preceding Sanders’ actual presence, he looked up from Sara‘s latest report and frowned slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

"You, Grissom," facing him over his desk, Greg demanded harshly. "You."

"Me?" Clueless, it was exactly if they had started this conversation without him. Which, apparently, Greg had.

"You. What. Do. You. Want. From. Me?" Every word clipped and separated; each syllable defined. "You give me cases noone else could solve, " he continued on before Gil could speak, "which tells me you at least think I can do my job; and then you drag me off of the Henderson case for dna and fingerprint matches that Hodges could do in his *sleep*! You growl and then you praise and then you ignore the matches I do find - quite brilliantly too, I might add - and there are nights I have *no* idea if I should stand my ground or get the hell outta Dodge."

Ah. Now he understood and it was all Gil could do to sit there and not flinch at the accusations. No few of which were uncomfortably close to being true; only not for the reasons Greg might think. Greg thought Grissom placed no value on his judgment; that was untrue.

Henderson was a dud, a dead end. Gil had seen that not long after the evidence had come in from the field; best to let Hodges chase his tail so the Sheriff couldn‘t bluster and the DA couldn’t say they had not investigated every single lead when the case went to trial. As for Greg - from what Grissom had read of Greg’s report, the matches he had found in his 'brilliant rountine case' might well have cracked Nick and Sara’s case wide open.

As for the growling and the praise...

"Well...Vegas, at least."

*Ah Greg,* the fond smile was purely mental. *If you only knew, my boy, you would run screaming for the hills and not let them stop you.* The rumination was also purely mental, but the thought tilted his head just a bit, giving the impression many had seen on a case; as if he were studying a particularly fascinating bit of evidence or some special type of rare insect.

Because Greg was rare; he *was* ‘special’. Down past the outer fringe clothing that was meant to shock and skate *just* on the edge of acceptable for work. Down past the experimental hair and expectedly wild and sometimes tasteless music, Greg was special. Brilliant, if slightly eccentric.

Grissom wondered if he would be shocked that, not only did the older man know most of the songs Greg listened to, but rather enjoyed them as well. *Well,* he amended, watching some of the confidence and belligerence drain from the lab tech’s stance as he continued to watch him. *Some of them aren‘t half bad. Rage Against the Machine or Lunatic Clam...* Gil allowed himself an ironic mental grin. *‘I wanna take you on a roller coaster‘... how fitting.*

Greg wasn't the only one who had somewhat ecclectic tastes.

"What makes you think I want anything from you, Greg?" Calm, controlled; everyday conversation. Lips pursed in was what almost a smile as Grissom realized with mild guilt that he was toying with the younger man. The eyes were a little wary now, his posture more uncertain, not as ’fight’ as before; Gil could see by his face Greg wasn’t even picking up half of the nuances hanging in the air around this conversation.

In short, Gruesome Grissom was acting just a littler weirder than normal and Greg didn’t know why.

Mixed signals indeed.

And it was unfair, Grissom decided. Just because he was lonely and Greg had burst in here all confident and confrontational, no need to let slip the fact that what Grissom actually wanted from him was a nice big bed, human contact and sweaty sheets. Breakfast afterward. Lazy Sunday snuggles on the couch working crossword puzzles in their sock feet or dancing to the radio and candlelight.

No, he would definitely not be admitting to any of that.

"Greg?" He could see the question broke Sanders out of his own thoughts; what he hadn’t seen was that Greg had been studying him as closely as Grissom had been studying Greg. "I’m waiting."

If Grissom was startled by the sudden knowledge that lit out from the dark eyes, or the wolfish grin suddenly stretching the tech’s mouth to barely show teeth, it never altered his facial features. Though his heart did drop a foot or two at the feral light now pinning him to his seat.

"So am I, Grissom. So am I." A push and he was off the large desk, free standing in the middle of the crowded CSI’s office amidst bugs, spiders, and all manner of jars and journals that just shouted ‘Dull Bug Guy‘. "And now that I know what it is you...want...from me," the knowing grin was accentuated by the familiar ducking of the shaggy blond head, though the eyes never left him, "You know where to find me."

With that Sanders turned and left, leaving Gil to stare at the retreating back in shock.


end