Title: Unanticipated Conversations

Spoilers: "Inside the Box", tiny one for "Fight Night"

Summary: Gil and Greg comfort each other, Sara broods, and Catherine gets a surprise.

Author's note: Takes place during the events of "Inside the Box." I tinkered with the ep just a bit. I'm sure you'll forgive me <g>.

Warnings: Slash. Some angst, Sara and otherwise.

Note: Since this deals with the 3rd season finale, I figured I'd better get it finished and posted before the 4th season premiere <g>. Only beta'd by me (if self-betas count as betas) so I apolgize for any mistakes I didn't catch. On with the fic.

Unanticipated Conversations
by Belinda

Greg very nearly purred as Gil's hands smoothed over the skin of his back and shoulders. It wasn't a massage, precisely, because although Greg's bruises were healing, he was still quite tender. Add to that the fact that a few of the deeper lacerations from the shards of glass that had been imbedded in this back still had a stitch or two in them, and a massage really was out of the question. But this tender touch still had power over him. Gil gently rubbed the analgesic cream into the worst of the bruises that were left, and searched out the myriad tender spots in the damaged muscles of his young lover's back, carefully avoiding the healing cuts.

Greg lay on his stomach on his own bed, shamelessly wallowing in the older man's patient, indulgent attention. He was due to go back to work tomorrow night, but this night was all theirs. The touches that, despite their tenderness, had been almost clinical slowly shifted focus, morphing into caresses. Greg smiled at the feather-light kisses ghosted across his shoulders. He was
slightly disappointed that Gil didn't follow up the kisses with his usual licks, but he'd been told the analgesic tasted funny. Any disappointment fled his mind when Gil steered the kisses up his neck and took his earlobe between talented lips, first suckling, then nipping. Greg moaned softly, arching up into Gil's body poised above him.

"Ah, ah. No moving," Gil chided playfully. "You promised to stay still."

"Then do something. I've been horny for days, and you're teasing me."

Gil pressed hungry lips to Greg's temple. "Not teasing, love. Cherishing."

Tears stung Greg's eyes almost instantly. "Love you," he said helplessly.

"Love you, too. So much."

Kisses. Caresses. Gil took his time, paying special attention to each individual hot spot he'd discovered since they'd become lovers. By the time slicked fingers broached Greg and began to stretch him, he was quivering with need.

"Please, Gil."

"Shh. I will."

"I'm ready."

"I know."

Gil helped Greg turn onto his side, helped him bend one leg at the knee, supporting the leg with a pillow so the younger man wouldn't be in an uncomfortable position even for a moment. Greg's eyes stung again at the evidence of his lover's caring. Attention to detail was one of Grissom's character traits, and Greg was often overwhelmed to be the focus of that attention. This time
even more so than before. He did indeed feel cherished.

Spooning up behind him, Gris whispered in his ear, "Tell me if I hurt you."

"You won't."

Gil was careful not to press against Greg's back as he entered him, but slipped an arm around his torso to steady himself. Greg scrabbled for Gil's hand, pressing it against his chest, over his heart, and simply allowed himself to be taken. The thrusts were slow, still so achingly gentle, and Greg had no idea how long he floated in a sensual haze. But all too soon, need became urgency, and he directed Grissom's imprisoned hand to his erection. Together, they fisted it, stroking in time with Gil's strokes into his body. The thrusts came harder, the rhythm became more ragged, and soft moans became cries.

Greg came with stars exploding behind his eyelids and pain in his back from the tensing of abused muscles. But the pain only gave the pleasure a keener edge, and he whimpered as he felt his lover's release into his body.

Sated and limp, they lay in silence, listening to their own breathing returning to normal, and reveling in the renewal of their connection. A few minutes or a few hours later, Grissom finally pulled away, overcoming Greg's protest with a whispered promise to return almost immediately. As good as his word, Gris returned with a warm, damp cloth and a towel, and proceeded to cleanse Greg's body of the evidence of their lovemaking.

"Greggo?"

"Mmmm?"

"Lean up for a sec, so you can take this."

"What is it?" Greg asked with his eyes still closed.

"Pain med," Gris answered. Greg grimaced, but the older man persisted. "I know you're hurting after that, no matter how careful I was. Please take it."

Greg finally opened his eyes and saw the concern in Grissom's. And his back was sore, after all. He levered himself onto his elbows with no small amount of effort, and Gil helped him take the pill, holding the water glass to his lips for him. Meds taken, Greg tilted his face up for a kiss.

"I love you," Gil murmured against his lips, and he responded in kind before slumping slowly back down on the mattress. He barely registered Gil sliding into bed beside him, rousing only enough to snuggle close to his side before drifting into oblivion.

* * *

Gil Grissom is sleeping with Greg Sanders.

Sara ran the sentence around in her head a few times, trying to make sense of it.

Gil Grissom is sleeping with Greg Sanders.

Nope, repetition didn't make it make any more sense.

She shook her head vigorously, in a manner reminiscent of a dog shaking off excess water, then looked around quickly, hoping no one had noticed the gesture. No, she was still alone in the break room, pretending to eat lunch, and brooding instead. Brooding about the explosion. Brooding about her own behavior in the wake of the explosion. But most of all brooding about the fact that:

Gil Grissom is sleeping with Greg Sanders.

How could it be possible? Grissom didn't even like Greg much. He was always exasperated at Greg's antics, believing his levity to be, more often than not, misplaced. No, the analyst in her corrected. That hadn't been the case lately, truth be told. Ever since Grissom had asked in front of a roomful of witnesses why Greg acted the way he did, and was informed matter-of-factly that it was because the supervisor made him nervous, Grissom's attitude had been softening toward him. He now viewed the lab tech's behavior with amusement more often than not, even going so far as to play along. No, Greg hadn't irritated him in quite some time, to be sure, but lovers? She just couldn't wrap her brain around it.

Glancing up, she saw the objects of her preoccupation walk past the windows. Together. It was Greg's first day back to work. She flashed back to the scene she'd borne unwilling witness to in the hospital room, and she could almost hear them again, their low voiced endearments bouncing around the inside of her skull like mocking laughter. Feeling her eyes begin to sting with unwanted
tears, Sara tossed her uneaten lunch in the trash and bolted for the locker room, hoping for some privacy in which to compose herself.

No such luck. "Sara?" Nick's voice carried deep concern. "What's wrong?"

She just looked at him helplessly, shaking her head, tears she had successfully suppressed since the hospital parking garage finally beginning to fall.

Wordlessly, Nick took her arm and steered her to an out of the way corner of the locker room, wrapping his arms around her once they were no longer in danger of being interrupted. Initially resistant, Sara soon melted into the warmth of his embrace, shuddering with the force of her silent sobs.

"Oh, honey, it's ok," Nick soothed, "just let it out"

He continued to rock her and murmur gentle encouragement and nonsense words, and slowly, slowly, the storm subsided. She continued to lean into him after the tears stopped, loath to give up the comfort he offered. He didn't seem to mind, and continued to sway back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm. After a few moments, and without releasing his hold on her, he finally asked, "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

She shrugged awkwardly, his hold on her somewhat stifling the movement. "Have you ever wanted someone you knew was never going to want you?"

"Oh, yeah," he answered ruefully. "I've definitely been there."

Extricating herself from his embrace, she continued. "The thing is, it's not like I'm in love with him or anything. I mean I had, or I guess have, a crush on him, but it's never been more than just that. A crush. I know the difference, you know? But I find out he's seeing someone, and all of a sudden, it's like I've been jilted somehow."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Jilted?"

"Shut up," she grumped sourly, earning a chuckle from him that drew out the first genuine smile she'd had in days. Shaking her head again, she admitted, "I feel like a twelve year old girl."

"Well, you look like a grown, and may I add, quite beautiful woman, if that helps at all," he said outrageously. She smiled at him again, looking into eyes that held so much genuine warmth and brotherly affection that it did, indeed, help. She swatted him on his slightly damp shoulder by way of a response.

"Sara? Nick? You guys in here?" Catherine's voice carrying from the other end of the locker room cut through the moment.

"Yeah, Cath," Nick answered. "What's up?"

"Bank robbery, complete with explosion. Grissom wants us all on it."

"Be right there," he responded before turning his attention back to Sara. "You gonna be ok?"

"Yeah, I think so. I kinda feel better."

"Good. Put your game face back on then, baby girl, duty calls." She made a face at the endearment, but accepted the kiss he dropped on top of her head. "I'll buy you breakfast, and we'll talk some more, ok?"

She nodded, warmed by his concern. "Thanks, Nicky."

"Anytime." He turned and left her in the locker room to repair the damage done by her crying jag as quickly as she could. Like the man said, duty called.

Gil Grissom is sleeping with Greg Sanders.

Well, it still hurt, but maybe not quite as much as it had before.

But it was all driven completely out of her mind when she heard about Lockwood.

* * *

"Greg? Your hands are shaking," Grissom stated, trying to hold worry in check for the moment.

"No, they're not," Greg responded, going for non-chalance, and missing the mark utterly. Nervous, he glanced between the report in his trembling hands and his lover's face, trying to read the older man's expression. He was so obviously lying, but why would he need to lie to Gil?

Fair snatching the printout from Greg's grip, Gil, in full supervisor mode, commanded, "Hold your hands out." Greg obeyed, resigned to being caught.

"They've been shaking ever since--." He trailed off, gesturing to the repair teams across the hall, working in what used to be his lab, his sanctuary. Grissom followed his look, neither of them needing words to know what he referred to. The shadow of his usual rakish grin nearly breaking his lover's heart, Greg shrugged as he continued, "Can't really make it stop."

"Why is this the first I'm hearing of it?" Gil asked, hurt coloring his tone.

Staring at the table in shame, Greg attempted to explain the perceived slight. "I didn't want to worry you," he offered, and when Gil would've protested, he continued, "and I guess I was hoping if I ignored it, it would go away." Gil instantly softened, that comment hitting a little too close to home for him to stay mad.

"I suppose I can understand that," he allowed ruefully. Greg raised his eyes to Gil's, smiling sadly, relieved that his tacit apology was accepted.

"The only time it stopped," the tech continued softly, glancing around to make sure they were alone, that no one would overhear, "was when you made love to me."

Touched to his heart, Gil let the love he felt for the younger man fill his gaze for only a moment. These lapses in discretion couldn't be allowed to linger, but a few seconds to reassure Greg couldn't hurt. Then it was back to business.

"I have to ask," Grissom began reluctantly. "Is it affecting your work?"

Greg shrugged again, trying to play it off. "Well, if I was a bomb expert, maybe."

Grissom's expression didn't change, and Greg finally caved.

"Nah, I think I have it under control."

Taking Greg at his word, Gil resisted the urge to touch, and simply said, "It'll stop." He made to leave, then turned back, offering, "If you need me, I'll be around."

"Ok"

At the door, Gil again paused, hesitating, then took a deep breath and said, "I'm going to have the surgery."

Relief filling his gaze, smile far more genuine now, Greg merely repeated, "Ok."

* * *

Grissom sat on the exam table, all trussed up in a hospital gown, swinging his legs like a five-year-old. Greg stood beside him, stroking his forearm lightly and soothingly, privately thinking that his Gil had never looked more adorable.

"They're prepping the room now, Mr. Grissom," the nurse informed her nervous patient as she removed the bp cuff. "I'll be right back for you."

Gil and Greg both acknowledged her with shaky smiles as she left. When they were alone, Greg wrapped his arms around the older man's waist. "It's going to be ok, babe," he promised, touching his forehead to Gil's.

"I know," Gil replied, sounding like he didn't know anything of the sort. As they comforted each other, neither of them saw Catherine's appearance in the doorway. She observed the tender scene before her for a moment, her astonished expression replaced by a gentle, loving smile.

"Hey."

Both men looked up, startled, at the familiar voice. Greg made to move away from Gil, but the arms around him tightened, holding him in place. Gil wasn't going to try to hide when they'd been so obviously caught out.

"What are you doing here?"

Catherine shrugged. "Just wanted to see you. And I didn't want you to go in without wishing you good luck."

Just then, the nurse returned with a wheelchair, breaking the moment. Grissom slid from the table, walking toward his best friend, hand in hand with his lover. Greg just followed his lead, beginning to relax at Cath's apparent lack of antipathy.

"Thank you," Gris said, touched. With one of his trademark half shrugs, he added, "For everything."

Smiling with deep affection in her eyes, she reached for him, drawing him into a hug. He responded slowly, uncertain what to do with such a physical display from her. Glancing at Greg over his shoulder, she rolled her eyes and winked. Greg returned her smile, and the two of them shared a moment of mutual amusement at the vagaries of forensic entomologists before she finally broke the embrace.

"When this is all over, you and I have a lot to talk about," she warned Gil, glancing pointedly at the younger man just behind him.

Gil just smiled, blushing slightly, and turned to his lover for a quick goodbye kiss before informing the nurse that the wheelchair was unnecessary. Ducking past both women, he strode confidently down the hall, leaving friend and lover to watch him. Having moved up next to Cath, Greg was a bit startled to feel her take his hand. If she felt the hand trembling, she attributed it to fear for Gil, and didn't ask. They stood silently until Gil had disappeared.

"Thank you," Greg finally said.

"For what?"

"For not freaking out."

They turned to look at each other then, and Catherine explained, "I'd wondered why he seemed so happy lately. Figured he'd tell me eventually. You're good for him, I can tell."

Inexpressibly warmed by her words, Greg squeezed her hand. Then, looking at her more closely, and noting the suppressed tears in her eyes, he suddenly recalled the results of the "off the record" DNA test he'd run for her.

"How're you holding up?" he inquired sympathetically.

"Pretty lousy," she admitted. Nodding toward the doors Grissom had disappeared into, she continued, "Helps to have someone besides myself to think about, y'know?"

He nodded, completely understanding. "Day surgery waiting room is this way." He led her down a hallway perpendicular to the one Grissom had walked.

"So, how long?" she asked unceremoniously as they traveled the corridor.

Affecting ignorance, he responded, "How long has the waiting room been this way? I imagine since they built the hospital, but I can't be sure."

She snorted, poking him gently in the side, not wanting to aggravate injuries she still felt guilty for causing. "You know what I meant. You and Gil, how long?"

He waffled a bit. "Depends. We've been spending time together since last December, but it wasn't until three months or so ago that we--." He broke off.

"Became lovers?" Catherine supplied with a wicked grin, which Greg returned, blushing slightly as he opened the waiting room door for her. "So, tell."

"Nuh, uh. You want that story, you'll have to get it from Gil. You know how private he is. He'll kill me if I go there."

Catherine pouted, but he was adamant, although, for the sake of teasing her, he decided to slip her a few crumbs.

"I'll tell you this much: it all started with a tuxedo, and an overheard conversation."

* * *
END
20 September 2003