Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
by Amireal and Beccat
"Whoa. What's with her?" Nick muttered to Warrick, watching Catherine storm through the lab.
"Dunno, man. She went out with Gris on that suspected arson."
"So...where's Gris?"
Warrick shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"You two going to stand there all night talking or can I get some help here?" Catherine snapped.
Nick winced. "What's up, Cath?"
"Right now, we've got a busted pair of glasses, some fingerprints, and a lot of electrical damage that doesn't seem to be caused by an electrical fire. You tell me." Catherine handed over the glasses. "There's some residue on those, too. I don't know what it is."
"I'm on it." Nick took the glasses and headed off.
"You want me to run the prints?" Warrick offered.
"Yeah. I've got first names on two people who might be involved--Willow and Andrew. See if you can come up with anything close to that."
Warrick watched Catherine storm out and got to work.
A few minutes later he blinked in surprise at the ease of the hit off the print. �Andrew Wells.� He said to himself as he read the file. His eyes widened in surprise as he read the file. �Destruction of public property, felony burglary, accessory-felony homicide�� He printed the picture and file out and went to find Catherine.
*****
Catherine�s eyes scanned the file quickly. �That�s him alright. Though I wouldn�t have suspected the fainter to have anything this hardcore in his jacket.�
�Fainter?� Warrick asked.
�He wasn�t really the hardcore criminal type.� Catherine shrugged. �Why isn�t there any follow up investigation in these files?�
�You got me.�
"Can we contact Sunnydale and find out?"
Warrick snorted. "Cath, you have got to get out of the lab more often. Don't you remember? Sunnydale fell into the ground last year? Big explosion type thing?"
"The whole town?" Catherine blinked.
"Yeah. Big mystery; no one's ever been able to figure out what happened."
"What do you want to bet that our Miss Willow came from Sunnydale too?" Catherine asked thoughtfully.
Warrick shrugged. "Her prints aren't on file."
*****
"Old Stuff, LTD..." Greg hit enter on the search engine and waited. "Nope. Nothing."
"It's not in the actual phone book, either," Grissom said, flipping it shut. "A few Flannigans listed, a few Flannigan, Gs listed, but no Guy Flannigan."
"Not surprising," Greg said thoughtfully. "He probably set up shop to lure in Giles and then shut down. Which makes me wonder..." He frowned, scrubbing a hand under the baseball cap Gris had given him. "What if the book wasn't the target? What if Giles was?"
Grissom nodded thoughtfully. �Why don�t you do a search on him too, see if we hit something that sparks our interests.�
Greg was already furiously tapping away on the keyboard. �Hrmm. The most likely thing is an out of date webpage for a place called �The Magic Box�. It says it was in Sunnydale, which makes sense because that�s where Andrew used to live.�
Grissom peered over Greg�s shoulder, �Does it give a first name?�
Greg nodded, slightly thrown by the heat of another body. He shook his head, trying to clear the aftereffects once more and began typing again. �Rupert Giles� No hits in AFIS� I don�t think trying anything more worldly is a good idea�� He faded off as he got absorbed in the task.
Grissom didn�t move as he watched the screen intently.
�Well, if it isn�t Laurel and Hardy.� Catherine�s cool voice startled them both.
"Catherine," Grissom said, straightening up. "How's the processing going?"
"Interesting." She handed him a printout. "Did you know your cousin has a record, Greg?"
He winced. Now was not the time to even try and explain. "He fell in with a bad crowd," he said weakly. "He's straightened out now."
"Mm-hmm. What's with the baseball cap?" Catherine tapped the bill lightly. "Everything okay with you?"
"Yeah, it's fine. Andrew just spilled some soda in my hair and I'd rather not have to explain..." Greg's voice trailed off as Catherine pulled the cap off his head.
"Greg, your hair is white," she said in disbelief.
Greg stuttered momentarily before grasping onto the first thing that came into his mind. �I needed a change.�
Catherine raised an eyebrow. �Between the hotel room and here?�
Putting on his best confused look wasn�t terribly hard at that moment in time. �What?�
�Your hair was not white at the hotel.� Catherine�s voice was firm.
�Um, was too.� Greg jumped back as the baseball cap was thrown at him.
�Catherine,� Grissom stepped up, trying to distract her, �did you find anything else?�
"I don't think we should be talking about this in front of him." Catherine crossed her arms over her chest. "He's personally involved in the case."
Greg tugged the cap back on over his hair and wished he could just sink under the desk, out of sight.
"All right," Grissom said, surprising both of them. "Greg, why don't you go back to the hotel and check on your cousin and Willow?"
"Ah--yeah. Okay. Sure." Greg scrambled to his feet and fled.
*****
He stopped in the hallway. "Damn," he whispered, realizing he had to go find the evidence before he could leave...which meant that he was probably going to run into Nick and/or Warrick.
"I could really strangle you, Andrew," he muttered, heading for Nick's space.
"Hey G, what's up? I thought you took off for the night." Nick greeted him cheerfully.
He shrugged, trying to look casual. �Took care of what I needed to do more quickly than I thought I would.� Greg sauntered to the table. �Heard you caught an interesting one," he said as off-handedly as he could manage. "Mind if I take a look?"
"Sure, go ahead. All we've got so far is a pair of glasses, some prints, and a lot of swabs that look like electrical damage. Warrick's got the prints." Nick passed over the glasses and Greg snapped on a pair of gloves before picking them up.
Pain, red hot and jagged, black fire--he dropped the glasses on the table and stumbled back, hitting the wall. "Oh, Gods," he whispered, not daring to even go *near* them again.
"Hey, you okay?" Nick asked, looking worried. "What was that all about?"
"Sorry--headache--" Greg swallowed. There was bad stuff on those glasses, but it wasn't a residual taint. It was what Giles had felt as he'd gotten dragged through the portal.
He had to find a way to get them to Willow. Maybe the two of them could get past the initial reaction and use the glasses to track Giles...
His back was still pressed against the wall as he tried to get his knees unlocked when Nick came around the table with a worried look on his face. �I dunno G, you went pretty pasty there, sure you�re not coming down with something?� He reached out to offer him a hand.
Instinctively Greg shied away from the touch, moving sideways and then around. �No�its fine�just a headache really.� He moved back to the table, but at the farthest point away from the glasses. He braced himself on the solid surface, because he still wasn�t sure if his legs were going to hold him. �Found anything interesting?�
Nick eyed him warily before moving back to the table. He picked up a specimen collector. �Was about to collect some of this gooey substance.�
Greg nodded absently; the realization that there were probably numerous small bits and pieces of that hotel room being analyzed had his mind reeling. He watched Nick seal the container. �I�ll take that to trace if you want,� he volunteered, seeing an opportunity.
Nick blinked at him. �Sure.� He stretched the word out, eyeing Greg.
Ok, so maybe his eager puppy bit was a little much. He took off his gloves and offered an open hand, just wanting to get as far away from those glasses as possible.
But Nick was staring at him funny. �Where�d you get that hat, Greg?�
"Oh. Um. Gris lent it to me. Bad hair day." Greg ducked his head sheepishly and reached for the container.
"Uh huh. Can't be that bad. Your *normal* hair days are bad enough." Nick grinned. "C'mon, let me see."
"You really don't want to. Trust me." Greg winced.
He reached for the container again and Nick playfully knocked the cap off his head. "What happened to you, man?" Nick asked, holding the cap. "Your hair--"
"Bad day," Greg muttered. "Really. Bad. Day."
"I've heard of premature gray, but this is ridiculous." Nick shook his head slowly. "Here, go take this to trace, okay?"
"Yeah. Okay." He shoved the cap back on his head and headed out the door. Maybe he had a spare bandana in his locker or something, because this was just getting ridiculous.
*****
Greg peered through the window to Trace and mentally winced as he saw Hodges hunched over a microscope.
He thanked whatever deity that was watching over him that the sludge he was carrying only had a residual slimly feel which was quickly dispelled.
He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall briefly, God he was tired. He took a deep breath, pushed himself off the wall and went to face the beast.
�What do you want?� Hodges asked without even looking up.
Greg carefully placed the specimen on the counter and pushed, causing it slide several inches. �Gift from Nick.�
�Suck up.� Still not looking at him.
Maybe this would be easier than he thought.
"Got anything else here?" he asked.
"Does it look like I do?" Hodges said irritably. "Aside from this?" He shoved his chair back, gesturing at the fabric in front of him. "Some weird substance on here. Damn if I can figure out what."
Greg wasn't entirely surprised. Demon blood wasn't something most lab techs came across. "Can I take a look?"
Hodges snorted. "Sucking up to everyone tonight, aren't you? Yeah, sure."
Greg pulled on a glove and touched the fabric gently. Same residual flash, same black fire and agony, but it was fainter now, muted. He was able to step back without falling on his ass. "I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "
"Yeah. Whatever." Hodges turned back to his microscope, clearly dismissing him.
Greg escaped out into the hall. He was exhausted from the glasses, the fabric (probably Giles's shirt, he thought), and everything else and wanted nothing more than to go *home* and sleep for a day.
"What are you still doing here, Greg?" Catherine asked.
So much for that idea. Before he could open his mouth to answer, the world tilted and his balance fled.
Grissom appeared out of nowhere, catching him under the arms before he could hit the floor.
�Whoa.� His vision prickled with reds and greens and then faded in and out. �Not feeling so hot.� His head tilted back, hitting another body, stopping the motion and the stomach threatening swirls the world did when he moved it.
He dimly heard Grissom call for help and then the clomping of heavy feet. His legs were hoisted off the ground and his vision grayed again. �God, don�t move me.� But whoever had him didn�t listen and he clung to the arms around him until finally being settled onto something long and cushy and best of all, not moving.
They didn�t leave him alone for long; someone soon pried his clenched eyes open and his eyes flinched back at the incredibly bright light and then, thankfully, it was gone again. He curled onto his side and held onto the nearest surface for dear life.
�Greg?� Grissom�s voice floated somewhere over his face. �Greg, can you tell me what�s wrong?�
"Too much," he mumbled, moving one incredibly heavy arm over his eyes. "Overload."
"Do you need a doctor?"
"Of course he needs a doctor!" Catherine said incredulously. "Look at him, Gris!"
Greg shook his head and immediately wished he hadn't. He clenched his jaw, trying not to throw up. "Willow," he managed. "Get Willow."
"Okay. We will. Just lie there, okay, Greg?" Grissom sounded concerned and Greg would have been touched if he hadn't felt so sick.
Apparently, the slimy residue hadn't completely gone away after all. He curled himself into a little ball on the couch (at least, he thought it was the couch), trying to breathe without puking.
He'd never felt anything like this before. It was like slime and mud and all sorts of disgusting things, covering him, smothering him until each breath he took was tainted by it. Added to it was the sheer energy and emotional overload he'd been through already, leaving him trembling and sweating on the couch, caught in a rapidly spiraling vortex he couldn't find a way out of.
He had to find a way to control this before it--he--exploded. Blowing up the DNA lab was one thing, but this...this would be Bad. Very Bad.
�Willow!� Catherine shouted. �Let me get this straight, Greg nearly passes out in the hallway, is lying there, obviously sick and we decide what? That all he needs is a good hand holding from a friend?�
Greg winced as the anger hit him like an almost physical blow. God, why did Catherine have to be a projector? This was why he�d stopped, because once he started, opened up, it all crashed in. This one afternoon he�d learned more about the people he worked with than he�d learned in his previous years. Of course, knowing your colleagues� psychic makeup wasn�t always a good thing.
Just as he was getting his head on straight, another swirl of darkness swiped by him like broken glass. He took a shallow breath and the smell of rotting corpses and sewage filled his nose and mouth and this time his stomach cramped and his back muscles bunched as he tried to hold back a heave.
Large, gentle hands titled him and he heard the hollow echo of a receptacle in front of his face and he stopped fighting.
He didn�t breathe for a long time, his body shaking and twitching and spasming in a brave effort to expel what it could not. Finally, he stopped and collapsed in a heap, his head landing on something firm but yielding.
A hand stroked through his hair and with it came a calm wave of something that cut through some of the turmoil; white warmth bathed his bleeding wounds, stemming the tide of bitter black sludge that threatened to drown him.
He heard quiet murmurings above his head before something cool and wet touched his lips. "It's just water," Gris said, holding the glass to his mouth. "Can you drink some?"
Water was good. He managed to swallow some, fighting back the heaves that wanted to wrack his body. "Thanks," he whispered, his voice cracked and hoarse.
"Warrick and Nick went to go get Willow. She'll be here soon." Grissom's hand--it had to be Grissom--was still stroking through his hair, giving him an anchor. Something that didn't feel like raw sewage and death. "Just take it easy, Greg."
He was so solid. So calm and solid and *there*--Greg couldn't remember the last time he'd met someone as centered as Grissom. He clung to that feeling, wrapping it around him like a blanket. It wasn't enough to get rid of the darkness, but it was enough to keep him from throwing up again. At least, for the moment.
The stabbing pain behind his eyes receded a bit. He wasn't about to try opening his eyes, but at least he didn't feel like his head was going to fall off if he moved it. Unfortunately, with the lessening of pain came the realization that he was lying on the couch with his head in his boss�s *lap*, and said boss was petting his hair like...
Greg groaned.
"Greg?" Grissom sounded concerned. Not upset, not like he was wondering why he was caught in this ungodly mess, just...concerned. "What's wrong now?"
Wrong? Was something wrong? No. Of course not. Everything was peachy. �Um� nothing new.� But even as he said it, the breaker in the waves was being slowly worn away and it could easily be another 20 minutes before Willow showed and the black claw was already pressing into his sternum.
With a great effort he lifted his head off of Grissom�s lap, momentarily losing his balance as Grissom�s hand slipped away from his hair and moved behind his shoulders to help him up.
�You should probably stay laying down.� Gris commented blandly, shifting his grip as Greg leaned into his shoulder.
�Probably.� Greg agreed eyes still clenched shut. �But I need to ask a favor.�
�Okay.�
�I need you to help me.� Greg explained. �And I need you to trust me.�
Grissom was silent for what felt like forever and Greg contemplated just sliding back down and leaving it to chance.
When Grissom finally spoke, his voice sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet space. �What do I have to do?� He asked.
The whirring in his ears, still nearly drowned out the response. Greg nodded slowly. �You�re a righty?�
�Excuse me?�
�You�re right handed?� Greg pressed, getting desperate, too many more wasted minutes and he wouldn�t be able to concentrate enough to do what he was planning.
�Yes.�
�Give me your hand. The right one.� The arm on his shoulder shifted again, settling at his waist, Greg twisted so his back was to Grissom�s side, his legs stretched out on the couch. He took the hand, his fingers felt like blocks of ice on the heated skin. �Now your left, anywhere on my torso.� He felt a tentative touch on his side, and thinking about it, he realized that their new position was probably a bit worse than when he�d been using Gris�s lap as a pillow.
He positioned the right hand, palm up, and placed his own palm down, barely in an inch away. The recognition of Grissom�s presence behind his eyes was almost instantaneous. Breaking through the barrier at his hand was like poking through tissue paper and as the edges of their energy�s touched he felt/heard/saw Grissom take a sharp breath.
�Now you just have to push�.� Greg�s whisper was harsh and raw. �Just� soothe.� He amended.
The tentative feel of Gris sending to him nearly made him sob in relief. He'd been so afraid this wouldn't work...and although it was awkward and hesitant, there was enough there for him to cling to until it got steadier and stronger. Clean, white, completely untainted, it flowed into him and gave him the strength he needed to push away the darkness.
He felt the hint of concern, the curiosity, and tried to back away from that before he saw more than he meant to. The intimacy involved in this was unavoidable, but he didn't want to read his boss's mind if he could help it. Fortunately, Grissom's formidable self-control kept too much from leaking over and Greg was able to focus on the energy instead. He took a deep breath, and another, letting it wash through him.
Grissom's hand was warm on his side, fingers spread; Greg felt every point of contact, the solid strength of Grissom's body behind his, the man's pulse, beating in rhythm with his own. It had been so long since he'd done this he'd forgotten how hyper-aware it made him, how attuned he was to Grissom now, and it was that more than anything else that made him need to end the flow.
It wouldn't get rid of the taint, but at least now he wasn't going to collapse or explode before Willow showed up. Reluctantly, he pulled away, gently severing the connection. "Thank you," he managed, throat dry. "That...helped. A lot."
Grissom just nodded, looking at him with that same hint of curiosity in his eyes. "I--" Greg swallowed. "I'll explain later." Assuming they all survived this.
Grissom nodded, though he didn�t need to. Greg could feel the gentle acceptance of his answer and the curiosity being stored away for later. He moved, as if to sit on his own, but his right hand felt a fractional increase in pressure and he looked down to see that their fingers had curled around one another, lacing together. He squeezed back and stopped trying to move.
They breathed together.
Greg could still feel/see/taste Grissom at the outer edges; without trying he could skim the surface and see little ripples form and fall in on themselves. He shouldn�t touch, he knew that. But it was right there, warm and surrounding him, fighting down the worst of the spikes that still existed. That was when he realized that Grissom was doing it on purpose.
"You--" It took him two tries to speak. "You don't have to do that," he said at last.
"I know."
But Grissom didn't pull away. "Lie down," he said gently. "You're still white as a sheet."
"I shouldn't. I'm okay now. Well, better. I mean--" Greg sighed.
"Lie down," Grissom repeated, and Greg didn't have the energy to refuse. He curled up on the couch, head in Grissom's lap again, feeling Grissom stroke his hair, warmth and safety surrounding him.
Their right hands were still tangled together and Greg realized it might have something to do with the fact that he was clenching it like a life line. He tried to pry his fingers away, but only succeeded in pulling the hand closer and tucking it into his chest.
�Is it always like that? Whatever it is you did?� Grissom�s quiet voice flowed into him.
He�d felt the question before the words had even started to form. �It�s always different.�
Greg mumbled. �Every person is different.� He held back a small moan as Grissom figured out how to harmonize with him, tweaking their energies into song. �Every combination is different.� He finished with a gasp.
Resonance built and grew for a time, until Greg abruptly cut them off. Grissom reflexively shuddered and pulled Greg up, his free hand migrating from Greg�s hair to his face, brushing against it with the back of his knuckles.
��sorry�� Greg murmured, leaning into the touch, his lips ghosting over the back of Grissom�s hand.
Grissom�s understanding wafted around him. ��my fault�� he whispered.
Greg made a sound of agreement. It came from the back of his throat, a deep hum that vibrated through him. ��definitely�� Their foreheads touched, temple to temple. �Gris�� He started, ready to warn, but a swirl of Grissom swelled into him stopping the thought in its tracks. ��oh�� he gasped, his head tilting further into Grissom.
He felt Grissom�s lips scant millimeters from him and he leaned in, ghosting their noses, an almost nuzzle. A crackle of connection sparked and they were drawn together, lips brushing softly.
They pressed their lips together, moving slowly. The kiss was tender for a few seconds before turning open mouthed and greedy, their tongues stroking, sending a shudder through them both. Greg finally released Gris�s hand and brought both of them up fisting them into Grissom�s shirt, needing to hold onto something.
Grissom�s arm wrapped around him while his other hand buried in his hair, tilting his head and the new angle allowed Grissom to lean into him and kiss him long and hard and messy. The slick pull of Gris�s lips warmed him inside and out, nibbling at his edges. They pushed and pulled into each other, his tongue thrusting into Greg�s mouth rhythmically matched the pulsing of the energy around him.
Have to stop, have to stop, have to stop. Greg threw the thought at Grissom even as matched the kiss movement for movement, his body arching into him and pulling him down on the couch.
Grissom pulled his mouth away and Greg gasped in both relief and loss, but it was only so Grissom could work his way down Greg's throat, mouth hot against his skin. "We--oh, God--we have to stop--Gris--" Greg gave up on speaking and let his head fall back. "Oh..."
Teeth grazed his skin and then Grissom let him go, looking a little flushed himself. "Not now," he said huskily, sitting up. "You're right. We--we have to stop."
Greg blinked and pushed himself upright. His lips felt swollen and his body thrummed with energy, both his and Grissom's. But--"Not now?" he repeated. "Is that--I mean--"
Before Grissom could answer, the door swung open and three people walked in. Nick, looking confused, Warrick, also looking like he was short a few answers, and Willow, who made a beeline straight for Greg. "What happened?" she asked immediately.
"Overload," he said. "And--" he glanced around, but neither Nick nor Warrick looked inclined to move. "I touched something I shouldn't have."
She crouched next to the couch, chewing her lower lip. "What was it?"
"I'm not sure. Either the glasses, or..." Greg rubbed his forehead. "It might have been the part of the shirt."
"His?"
Greg nodded. "All I got were flashes, though. Nothing more than bad stuff."
Willow looked worried. "How bad?"
"Um. Black fire agony screaming bad?"
Willow swallowed. "Did it get you?"
"I'm okay for now."
"You sure?"
"Yeah." Greg glanced at Grissom and tried not to blush. "I'll be okay until later."
"Okay." Willow glanced between him and Grissom and grinned. "Oh, that's so sweet!"
"Did I miss something?" Nick said to Warrick.
"Man, I think we both did. Someone want to explain what's going on here?" Warrick asked.
"I need to see the glasses. And the shirt. And anything else you've got," Willow said to Grissom.
He nodded. "I'll see what I can do."
"Whoa! You're going to let a civilian look at crime scene evidence? Gris, that's illegal!" Nick protested.
"It's an unusual case. Consider her an expert consultant."
"In what?" Warrick asked.
"Ritualized killings," Willow supplied.
"We don't even have a body," Nick protested.
"So either I'm here to help you find one or prevent there from *being* one." Willow smiled brightly. "Either way, it's a win-win situation for you."
"What kind of credentials do you have?" Warrick asked skeptically.
She wrinkled her nose. "Years of field experience."
�Yeah, but from which side of the law?� Nick asked.
�Now you�re just being a big downer.� Willow frowned at Nick before turning back to Grissom. �So, think I can get a look at those things?�
Grissom nodded. �Warrick, Nick, can you gather the pieces into one of the work spaces? We�ll come and find you in a minute.�
Warrick and Nick both looked confused, but left, holding in their questions for now.
When they were gone Willow turned back to both of them. �You really okay?�
"As long as I don't try to do anything really insane, like stand up, I'm fine," Greg said ruefully. His legs were still doing their liquid jello impression and he felt decidedly wobbly.
"The energy transfer didn't help?"
"It did. Before that I couldn't even *sit* up. Kept heaving." Greg rubbed his forehead. "Look, you and Gris go look at the evidence. I'll be here."
"I don't want to leave you alone," Grissom said.
"I'll be okay, really."
Willow shook her head. "He's right. I can feel it on you and if we leave you alone it might come back."
"It's sentient?" Greg's voice nearly squeaked.
She shook her head again. �No more than a really smart animal trying to survive.�
Greg made a face. �Oh good. Because that�s really comforting.�
Willow patted him on the shoulder. �Come on, anything I can do to help is too involved to really do here.� She looked at Grissom. �If you can control that thing you�re doing, he should be okay for now.� She winked at them.
This time Greg did blush even as he realized that while Grissom had stopped actively �pinging� him, there was still a soothing trickle keeping him sane.
Grissom nodded solemnly, a telltale flush on his face as well.
Greg blinked at the pinked skin stupidly as Grissom wrapped an arm around him and asked, �Are you ready?�
For what? Oh. Right. Standing. He was lifted with surprising ease and held against Grissom until he found his own legs were solid. He felt a surge of warmth before he was slowly let go.
�Can you make it to the evidence?� Grissom asked quietly.
Greg took a tentative step and was impressed when he didn�t fall flat on his face. �Maybe.� He took another step, the world feeling a little wobbly but stable enough for now. �Just don�t go too far away.�
"I won't." Grissom slipped one arm around his waist and didn't seem inclined to remove it.
He supposed they had to make an odd picture, walking through the halls--himself, half-supported by Grissom, and Willow, torn between wanting to rush ahead and wanting to make sure he was all right. But they made it without garnering too many strange looks, finding Nick and Warrick in one of the spare labs.
"Whoa, Greg--what happened to you?" Warrick asked.
Greg realized he'd forgotten to put the baseball cap back on and winced. "Bottle of peroxide...bad day...don't ask."
Warrick gave him a strange look but didn't push it.
"Here's everything we got," Nick said, clearly thinking his boss had gone insane. "I've got no idea how you're going to find a killer from this."
"Same way we do, Nick. Follow the evidence." Grissom eased Greg down in a spare seat, hand rubbing over his back before he stepped away--but not too far.
Willow pulled on a pair of gloves with the ease of long experience and walked over to the table, frowning at whatever she saw. She picked up the glasses carefully; Greg saw her pale, but no one else seemed to notice.
�I heard something about a scrap of fabric?� She asked.
Nick picked up a small brown envelope. �Here you go.� He said and tossed it in her direction.
Willow carefully spilled the contents into her hand, closed her eyes and took a few shaky breaths. �Yeah, this was Giles�s.�
"How--" Nick sputtered. "What, you were *there*?" Nick looked confused. �And who�s Giles?�
She ignored him and turned to Grissom and Greg. "Well, at least now we have a place to start."
�The body we�re hoping we don�t find.� Grissom answered Nick.
Willow looked grave. �Let me just take a quick look through the rest of this stuff.�
Greg watched Willow slowly separate the evidence into two uneven piles. Most of the electrical damage was pushed away. Only three other samples were added to the pile with the glasses and the fabric swatch.
"What's so special about these?" Warrick asked, reaching for the glasses.
And Greg panicked "Don't--" He reached for them, not wanting Warrick to touch them. Only it didn't work quite the way he'd hoped. His hand brushed Warrick's, which was bad enough, but then they both hit the glasses and he had that searing flash of fire and pain and the echoes of someone screaming again and fell back into darkness.
When he blinked his eyes open, he was lying on the floor, head in Grissom's lap, with Nick and Willow staring at him. Warrick looked more than a bit freaked, and Greg thought vaguely that he'd never seen a black man with skin quite that color before.
Grissom�s fingers combed through his hair and Greg had a vague notion that he should probably check a mirror sometime soon. But that thought floated away as he felt the small trickle from Grissom wrap around him.
Greg closed his eyes and reflexively leaned into the touch before looking at Willow. �He�s� sensitive�� He whispered.
Willow�s eyes widened in comprehension. �Oh!� She turned to Warrick, �Are you okay?�
He nodded. "Don't ask me, ask him," he said, nodding at Greg.
"I'll be fine." Greg struggled to sit up, but only succeeded in slumping back down against Grissom. It was really unfair, he thought, that the man felt so good.
"We should get him out of here," Willow said, kneeling next to Greg. "Too much...stuff, and he's been wide open since, well, everything." She wrinkled her nose. "Poor thing."
Grissom nodded. "I take it the hotel room is not a good idea?"
�Bad idea.� Willow confirmed. �The spawn of two bad ideas� if you know� ideas could get married and procreate�� She got this mad, far away look. �Which, all things considered, I wouldn�t be surprised if THAT happened before�� She trailed off.
Everyone in the room shifted uncomfortably.
Greg felt Grissom shift beneath his head.
�Arms around my neck, Greg.� Grissom said before he sent another soft burst.
Greg lifted his arms and clung as he was shifted into a sitting position.
�Bend the legs.� His arms wound around his way around Greg�s waist. �Now push up.�
The world spun sickeningly as he stood, only Grissom's support keeping him from falling on his nose. "Take it easy," Grissom said, carefully sending him strength through the link. "Can you stand on your own yet?"
"I--don't know." Greg swallowed, hating to admit it and knowing it was the truth.
"Okay. We're not in a hurry here."
And he knew that was a lie, but for the moment he was willing to just stand there and soak in the strength and support Grissom was giving him.
"What the hell?!"
Greg jumped at the sound of Catherine's voice, tried to pull away, and nearly fell flat on his face. Grissom caught him again, one arm firmly around his waist and the other holding his upper arm, keeping him upright by sheer physical presence.
�Hi, Catherine was it?� Willow butted in, stepping between them and giving Greg a buffer for Cath�s overflow of emotion.
�You gonna be all right?� Nick had sidled up next to them.
�Um� yeah. I just need some time.� Greg began to carefully separate himself from Grissom just enough so they didn�t resemble Siamese twins.
Catherine was seething, and Greg didn�t really blame her.
�I came in here to ask why our suspect is sleeping in the lobby chairs.� Cath�s hands were firmly planted on her hips and she was blocking the door.
Greg firmly believed she�d do a fair linebacker imitation if they decided to just run.
"Suspect?" Willow looked dumbfounded. "You mean Andrew?" She started giggling, hiding her hand behind her mouth. "Oh, Goddess," she said, wiping tears from her eyes. "Please. You can't be serious. He's sleeping out there because I dragged him along when I came to check on Greg."
"Uh huh." Catherine wasn't buying it.
"And since no one's actually been *arrested*, and Greg is about to fall over, and I'm sure you have *much* more important things to do than stand around looking all fierce and stuff, we're just going to get out of here now." Willow flashed Catherine a bright smile. "C'mon, Greg. Can you walk?"
�Think so.� Greg said while taking an experimental step. Grissom came with him, not letting go.
Catherine didn�t move. �Yes, no one�s been arrested. But we found those prints at a crime scene and those prints brought up a rap sheet that you should have sent directly to Brass. That young man should be in an interrogation room right now.� Catherine nodded in Willow�s direction. �And so should she.�
Willow tilted her head and looked Catherine up and down. �Don�t get me wrong, the fierce look on you? Kinda hot. But we really need to get going.�
Greg heard Nick and Warrick choke back a snort of laughter; he even felt a wave of amusement coming from Grissom. He had to admit, it was kinda funny.
"Catherine, I'm taking Greg home," Grissom said. "I'll have my pager if you need me."
She stared at him in disbelief. "But--"
"Until anyone's been arrested, we're not staying here. And you really don't have enough for that." Willow smiled. "I know a lot of lawyers."
"I just bet you do," Catherine said, eyeing Willow narrowly.
"Granted, most of them are evil, but I guess that comes with the territory." Willow shrugged. "Still doesn't stop them from being good lawyers. Unless that's an oxymoron. Anyway. C'mon, Greg. Let's get you somewhere not here before you fall over and Grissom has to carry you out. Not that that wouldn't be cute, because it totally would, but I don't think he'd appreciate it."
As she spoke, she was guiding them toward the door, as inexorable as the tide. Greg was too dazed and battered to do anything other than follow, Grissom's arm around his waist the only thing keeping him moving. They were gone before Catherine had a chance to say or do anything else.
As they walked slowly but determinedly down the hallway Hodges came at them from the other direction, barreling down on them like a determined dog.
�Oh great.� Greg muttered. Train Wreck. Twelve O�clock.
�Grissom! I could have figured out what that substance was, you didn�t have to send Nick to collect it.� Hodges was pacing them and inching in on their space.
Greg curled into himself as sharp spikes of Hodges attacked him.
The hand on Greg�s waist worked under the edge of his shirt and the soft pad of Grissom�s fingers soothed against his skin.
�I wasn�t punishing you.� Gris�s voice was terse and dismissive.
�I just needed a few more minutes,� Hodges pushed.
It was like a brillo pad against his brain. A small pathetic sound escaped from the back of his throat and he felt Gris�s arm tighten around him, his whole hand slipping under his shirt, fitting itself, warmly against his waist.
"We'll talk about it later," Gris said shortly. Hodges opened his mouth again and Gris gave him a Look. "Later, I said."
Hodges grumbled and stalked off, the jagged edges of his aura receding as he left the hall. Greg sagged against Grissom, pathetically grateful for the warm hand on his waist and the solid presence at his side.
"Come on," Gris said quietly, thumb stroking over Greg's skin. "Let's get you out of here before you fall over again."
The way he felt at the moment, that wasn't such a far-off possibility. Fortunately, they made their way to the lobby without further incident and collected Andrew, who was sleepy and groggy enough not to ask questions.
"Where are we going?" Greg asked as Grissom eased him into the seat of the SUV.
"My place."
"Oh." Greg didn't bother asking why. It was too good to just rest his head against the window and let himself drift.
He heard some subdued voices and was sort of aware when the car stopped briefly and there were two muffled clicks and thumps indicative of car doors opening and closing. He faded out again because next thing he knew, Grissom was shaking his arm gently.
�Come on Greg, time to get up.�
He cracked his eyes open and blinked at the glare of the streetlights. Never more grateful that he worked the nightshift, it took him several seconds to realize that Andrew and Willow weren�t with them.
He waited for Grissom to come around to his side of the car before asking.
�I dropped them off at their car, they�re going to your place to pick up clothes and supplies.� Grissom grasped his forearm and pulled him out of the car, braced Greg against his side as he closed and locked the vehicle. �She said they�d call when they were on their way.�
"Okay." Greg stumbled on his way into the townhouse and was barely aware of Gris easing him down onto the couch.
"What do you need, Greg?" Gris asked, sitting down and shifting Greg so his head was in Grissom's lap. "What's going on?"
He shook his head, feeling the fabric of Grissom's pants against his cheek. "Just... need� sleep. Build up my barriers again. Shower, maybe."
"You can't shower alone. You'd drown." Gris sounded almost... affectionate, and Greg felt the warmth and the amusement in his voice and shivered.
"Would not," he managed, trying to sit up and failing.
"Greg, you can barely sit up, let alone stand. I'm not letting you take a shower by yourself until you're more recovered." Grissom stroked his hair gently, his touch soothing and strengthening.
"You can stop that," Greg said reluctantly. "You don't need to--" Gris sent him a pulse of energy, not entirely platonic, and Greg abruptly forgot how to speak. "Gris--you--"
�Shhh,� Grissom soothed.
�You--� Another wave wrapped around him before he could get the words out. �Oh.� The words caught in the back of his throat and his eyes rolled back. �Really-- Gris--� He felt a hand travel from his hair down the side of his face leaving ripples behind. It stroked down to his stomach where it curled over his own hand, mimicking their earlier position in Grissom�s office.
"I--Gris, wait--don't--" Greg knew he sounded like an idiot, but he couldn't seem to manage more than one-syllable words. It took all the strength he had to pull away. "Energy transfer can--can have side effects, and--" Grissom's other hand caressed his throat, fingers resting lightly over his pulse. "And--I don't--I mean--"
"Greg." Grissom sounded amused, and certain, and there was such a wave of warmth and *want* in his voice that Greg shut up. "I'm not going to regret this. And I'm not going to do anything you don't want. Besides," he said, thumb smoothing over Greg's throat, "you're too drained to do anything. Just come here, okay?"
This was just too weird. Greg was pretty sure he'd fallen into an alternate dimension somewhere along the line, because that was the only way to explain all this. Numb, he let Grissom tug him into his lap, his head resting on Grissom's shoulder and Gris's arms around him. "Just relax," Gris said quietly, and the wave of comfort that surrounded him made tears prick behind his eyes. "You're safe here."
"This is too weird," Greg mumbled. "I think I fell down the rabbit hole."
"Should I call you Alice?"
Greg lifted his head to glare at Gris, who was looking as serene as a Buddha statue. "You--why are you being so cool about this?" he asked.
"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." Grissom smiled a little. "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle said that."
"I read Sherlock Holmes," Greg admitted.
"I saw Willow's hair. I saw your hair. I feel this between us." That was emphasized with a soft swell of energy. "What else can I do but trust in the evidence?"
And that was just so Grissom that Greg started laughing, knowing it was tinged with hysteria but unable to stop.
Until Grissom kissed him.
His mouth was soft and warm and inviting, the beard faintly rough against Greg's skin. "Oh," Greg said faintly, and Grissom kissed him again, deeper, longer, his hand sliding into Greg's hair and holding him close.
Greg wrapped his arms tightly around Grissom holding on while something frissioned between them. He could only feel warmth and want and need with an undercurrent of electricity that felt incredible. He moaned around the kiss and searched for Gris�s right hand. He grasped it firmly, dimly aware that it was the stupid way to do it, and for the first time since Grissom�s office, he purposefully reached out past that tissue thin barrier.
Grissom gasped against his lips and twined their fingers tightly. Greg entered smoothly, this time pulsing against Grissom before gently wrapping around him with want.
He drew back just enough to see Grissom's face--eyes glittering, dark with lust, his whole expression intent with desire and need and so focused on him Greg swallowed. "I shouldn't have--"
That was all he got before Grissom pressed him back against the couch, mouth hot and demanding, all over his mouth, his jaw, nibbling kisses down the side of his throat. One hand caught Greg's wrists and pressed them over his head; the other slid under his shirt, stroking over smooth, warm skin.
"Consider this a promise," Gris said huskily. "For later."
Greg swallowed again. "But--you--I mean--and I--"
"I'm not just doing this because of this," Gris said, sending a gentle pulse through the link. "I'm doing this because of you." He kissed Greg gently and let go of his wrists. "But you're exhausted, and drained, and it wouldn't be fair to either of us to continue this now."
He stood up and held out a hand, lifting Greg to his feet. "You need to sleep," he said, his free hand stroking over Greg's face. "And I happen to have a bed."
Greg was so confused and dazed that he followed along meekly as Gris led him to the bedroom and got him settled, stripping off his shoes and socks and jeans and tucking him under the covers. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked.
"Please?" It came out more tentatively than he'd meant.
Gris smiled. "Okay." He kicked off his own shoes and stretched out next to Greg, one arm wrapping around his waist. "And Greg?"
"Mmm?" Greg was already half-asleep.
Gris kissed his neck. "My name is Gil."
*****
