The walls were white.

It was probably what haunted him the most; that the walls had been stark while, crisp fresh paint as if the place was well run, well funded, as if it belonged there. As if it should have been there and there was someone out there watching over everything that went on there, from injections to movements, to surgeries, to making sure that there wasn't a single chip on the walls of room 12C. C, which implied to him that there was an A and a B, which meant that if there was a 12C, maybe there was an 11C, and an A and a B, and a 10, and... too, too many rooms for such a quiet place, for a place where gurney wheels squeaked and uniform-style shoes squeaked over clean tile.

The walls were white, except for that one time, when he'd passed room 9A, (he'd noted at the time, and hadn't thought about it), and there had been spatter on the inside. All he'd known was that it wasn't him, and there hadn't been time to gawk before a hand shoved at his shoulder, jarring him forward again. Another pre-surgery inspection of some kind. He had lost track of days and procedures somewhere in between the going under and coming out of anesthesia. Time blended into the white walls, and that was why he was there.

That was why he was lying in bed breathing hard, when his clock told him that it was only seven pm. That was why the only sounds outside of those walls were silence, animals living and dying in the woods, and the faint whisper of distant town activity that he guessed was entirely in his imagination.

Jackpot didn't make noise, even when you stood in the center of it and waited. If Vegas were a symphony of sound, Jackpot was the memory of the symphony that rose up to fill the vacancy. And memories were all it felt like he had anymore, memories of working, memories of more, of his normal life.

He wasn't ever going to have that normal life again, wasn't ever going to wake up and just roll in to work without thought or consequence, but he held out hope that when he went back to Vegas, normal life would still be close enough to normal to be bearable.

Gil Grissom got out of bed, mattress squeaking as he caught his balance and got to his feet. His physical balance was a little out of kilter, the way his body moved in relation to his hips, bowed legs, feet, not his mental balance. His mental balance had been a tilt-a-whirl that he couldn't get to stop. That was why all of his decisions since it had happened -- or was it, since it had stopped being immediately forced on him and it had shifted to the realm of his own choice? -- had been sharp, hard, cold.

Catherine had told him that. He'd told her he was doing the best he could do, given the circumstances. What was he supposed to do? Unburden himself on his fellow victim and by logic make the other's load twice as heavy?

No. After he'd been told by that obnoxious agent some of what had happened to Greg, Gil had made decisions. Possibly selfish decisions, yes, he knew that, but better for everyone in the long run. Easier for everyone. After all, he'd been in Jackpot for a good three weeks, and everything was fine. Quiet and undisturbed, unlike his sleep. Gil rubbed at his eyes, flicking away the crustiness at the corners while he walked into the bathroom to take some of the nagging pressure off of his bladder.

Never mind that the only thing that would permanently remove it was the proverbial coat hook, a flash of a thought that made Gil grimace as he slipped his pajama pants down and took himself in hand. He'd given up on tying the strings to his loose pajama bottoms, because they chafed, fit ever so noticeably wrong -- at least to himself. But as long as they clung to his hips, settled under the faint swell of his stomach, Gil didn't care. He didn't care who he mooned if they slipped a little because he lived alone and there were only three people who knew where he was.

Ecklie wasn't the visiting sort, Catherine was still angry at him -- and a little part of Gil wanted to snap at her to go fuck herself if she wanted to be angry at him. Jim was busy, and he was keeping an eye on his townhouse for him. That left Gil to cope with his problems, his selfish decisions.

He finished pissing, jiggled the handle because it always stuck in the down position. Gil had already guessed that he was fucked if there was something seriously wrong with it that required him to fix it himself. Not because he couldn't -- he'd helped his uncle fix a lot of plumbing -- but because he couldn't do that kind of hefting and lifting, and for whatever reason, kneeling and bending forward made him just want to vomit.

Seven. Seven meant that he should shave, throw on clothes and a jacket, and hit one of the two not-so-fiercely competing grocery stores in Jackpot before they closed.

Gil hadn't ever expected to fall into a pattern living in Jackpot.

It was as far from the nonstop chaos of the CSI lab as he could imagine and not entirely through choice. He supposed he could have gone back to work after he had recovered, but that would have meant too public an exposure. He had been strongly encouraged to take a break away, at least until this was all over. One way or another.

He had a craving for something. Not pickles, which made him feel sick at the thought, but something savory. At the moment it was an undefined longing but when he got to the store it would probably strike him out of nowhere. It could be cereal again -- that hadn't been too bad. Even if the woman who ran one of the two grocery stores -- that only had a sign calling itself 'groceries, beer, wine' outside -- had given him strange looks, and managed a nervous smile when he'd said it was for an experiment.

It was an honest answer, since he was the experiment. Maybe Chex mix or something would satisfy it. Gil remembered the instruction to give in to his cravings, mostly so he had energy, but to try to eat a balanced diet, and to keep on top of his vitamin pills, and... everything else. There was so much for Gil to remember, to keep in his mind, so many things to avoid for his own health.

That was the real reason why he hadn't been able to go back to work.

After all, how could he work when there was the risk of coming across things in the field, and constant exposure to decaying bodies, and chemicals that could or could not harm what was going on inside of him?

He'd listened as they told him how vulnerable he was, that there was a real risk that he was a ticking time bomb in many respects. That he wasn't designed in his body for this to be happening so he had to be extra careful with everything.

Still, a part of him found it difficult to believe. If he didn't have so many vivid memories of what had happened then he would assume it was some elaborate joke.

It was what any sane man would've done.

Except even things like shaving his face had changed. There was no point in letting his beard grow out, not when it had turned sparse and patchy in ways that Gil could only remember it having been when he was a teenager. Shaving was probably the most familiar thing he could do, so he took his time with it before he headed back to the bedroom to put on clothes.

He couldn't deny the fact he no longer fit in the pants he had worn even a couple of weeks ago. There was a tell tale swell to his stomach, and twinges across his back and front in strange places. Still, it was perfectly acceptable for men to have a beer gut. What made it look odd was that he was losing weight everywhere else. Any spare fat he had ever had.

Gil tried to keep his morbid 'good looking corpse' thoughts to a minimum, while he slipped on the last pair of pants that he knew would fit over the top of boxers that still fit because of the miracle of elastic. He'd have to order a few more sizes online when he got back.

Gil made sure he had his cell phone and his keys, and ducked into the living room to grab his jacket. At least he could hide the paunch a little better with it.

He still found it difficult to think of the word. Pregnant. Impregnated seemed more likely even though it smacked a little of alien probes and conspiracy theories, He was living proof that the technology existed to make a male pregnancy, it was only the ethical considerations that stopped it being tested.

His captors had not been troubled by anything remotely resembling ethics or morals, which was way he was on his way to the store to pick up 'food craving' supplies. It was why he was in Jackpot and not at home in Vegas, working the nightshift, supervising the nightshift.

He missed watching Doc Robbins perform autopsies, and he missed Sara's quirky obsessions, and he missed teaching Greg, and Catherine's struggles with being a supervisor, and Warrick and Nick, and Jim...

Hell, he missed everything about his normal life. Gil closed his eyes for a second, and then zipped his jacket before he stepped outside. Everything he was missing was almost worth it as long as he didn't have to explain what had happened to him back in that facility.

In the mean time, he was writing papers, reading, catching up and trying to deal with the extra stress on his body. Catherine wavered from sympathetic to exasperated. He'd blurted to her, half in shock when the doctors had scanned to see what internal damage the 'experiments' had caused. They'd come back wide eyed and nervous, babbling as if he was the Virgin Mary.

He in turn had blurted it out, unable to contain such a shock behind any wall of secrecy, and it was the one time that he had ever seen Catherine completely floored by something.

He probably shouldn't have said it at all, but he'd been a tangle of fear and unease, and nerves, and it had just... come out.

It wasn't as if he hadn't already known what had been done to him. They'd told him and had talked over him about it to one another, and it hadn't been a secret at the facility. But to see the pictures, and to see it moving when he went to the doctor every couple of weeks... That and saying it to Catherine had made it seem real.

Gil always carefully locked the door behind him when he left, and that time was no exception.

He was aware of what the Agents had said about the need for secrecy. They seemed to think it was a good thing if it could be carried to term. God only knew why. The possibility of male pathogenesis maybe, who knew? Like using the results from horrific war experiments for 'good'.

That and apparently he stood a better chance of surviving if they hit a point where the baby could be delivered and he wouldn't hemorrhage.

So far Catherine was the only one to really know some of what happened, but she felt very strongly about his decision not to talk to anyone else. Particularly Greg.

But Greg... Gil shook his head to himself as he started towards his SUV, unlocking it with a button on his key chain. Ecklie had told him enough about what had been done to Greg that Gil knew he didn't need that particular strange burden added to the mess. Sexual abuse spanning over those three months, being a plaything, an on and off amusement in among the ongoing experiments? Gil couldn't quite grasp that, or grasp how he would have coped if their roles had been reversed.

He didn't have to think to cope with what was going on. He just had to cope. There wasn't any choice but coping. No choice but coping and driving and finally relaxing. The scenery of the mountains as he drove through it, the light of the sun setting through the thick trees, was relaxing to take in.

Maybe he'd get himself a movie or something. The place they'd provided was fully equipped and he was well used to his own company.

The trip to the store never took long and he was almost lost in thought as he walked in. It wasn't a big place comparatively and it was small enough that he was spotted immediately.

"Gil!" Catherine's voice, a little unexpected considering the words exchanged the last time they spoke on the phone. "Had a feeling you might be running low on a few things. I was just on my way over to see you."

Since when was a five hour drive 'on my way over'? Gil tilted his head a little, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. She looked... healthy, which was the first thought that came to his mind. Catherine looked healthy and well put together, and Gil envied how she seemed comfortable in her own skin in ways he'd used to be, in ways he wasn't anymore. "Hi."

"I can stay in town if you don't want me around," Catherine said as bluntly as ever. "But. We've got some things to discuss. After the groceries."

She meant business, he could tell that.

But that didn't mean he wanted to deal with it, or with her if she was still in that irked mood. "Since you're here, are you up to helping?" Or was she just going to follow him around with a frown.

"Sure. I was going to get you things anyway," Catherine replied managing a half smile at least. "Want me to push the cart?"

She always seemed a touch patronizing, a little too happy to humor him. "Sure." He was tired, anyway, running on too little sleep again. "How is everyone back home?"

"Mostly good," Catherine replied. "They send their best wishes. I think I've even got a couple of gifts somewhere." She grabbed a cart and started wheeling it round, waiting for him to select what he wanted.

He'd expected a little more time alone with his mind, and to walk the aisles, wander them and remember things as he went. "Case load manageable? Anything interesting come through?" He stopped to get a bunch of bananas, and grabbed a bag of apples, fairly sure that he could eat them all before they went bad.

"We've got someone on loan from the day shift," Catherine replied. "Ecklie at least recognized the need for that what with you being out and Greg pretty much still in the lab." She examined some oranges. "Want some? They're good for you."

"Nnh." Gil shook his head a little, and frowned slightly. "No, I'll pass. I'll stick to eating what I know I like." And what he knew didn't make his stomach jerk unhappily. He really didn't want to do his groceries with her there, but it was too late to tell her to go wait in the car, or... something. "How is he doing?"

"That's what I want to talk to you about. But it's not a subject for the store," Catherine replied glancing at him. "Nick and Warrick cracked a great case the other day. Mysterious car death. Seemed to be no reason why the guys' heart stopped."

"What was it?" He got a little ahead of her heading down the first aisle, leading the way to the small selection of cereal. Everything was a small selection, but Gil still studied it.

"Downed power line. But it needed the guy's watch to transmit it across the heart."

Huh. Gil turned that over in his head before he reached for a big box of cornflakes, and put it in the cart. Electricity needed some kind of conduction, but the tires should have insulated it. "While I do this, why don't you explain to me how the car he was in even ended up grounded?"

"Well..." And Catherine launched into a long and detail recitation of what had happened and how things had worked out in the end despite the fact that 'Mr. Wiggles' had nearly given Ecklie a heart attack with cost, but she'd ignored that and let them do it anyway.

All the way through she avoided talking about Greg, even as a side mention, and he had to admit that piqued his interest.

There had to be some reason why she wasn't mentioning him, except that she'd said it wasn't a subject for the store. Wasn't a subject for the store, well, neither was he, and that was why the conversation was so one-sided. When she paused at him dropping three big bags of Chex mix into the cart, he'd given her a look, daring her to say anything to him about it. And she blissfully hadn't.

Talking about the experiment process and knowing that his people, his friends, had finally started to try real life demonstrations instead of computer simulations was heartening.

She made him buy meat for protein. Fish of some description and hinted that she had brought supplements and other supplies along in her car that were a little more personal. All good stuff and not too embarrassing.

Catherine even insisted on paying as well.

"Catherine, I can..." Gil cleared his throat as they came up to one of the three long checkouts. "I can cover it." After all, he wasn't anywhere near to the point of needing handouts.

"Part of the perks of coming out to visit," Catherine replied. "Lindsay's gone away for the weekend with one of her new school friends. So, It thought I'd come up and check how you were doing, all that."

"I'm doing... okay." He wasn't going to lie and say he was doing great, because he wasn't. He wasn't going to make it sound worse, though. He was... handling it. Coping. Okay. "You really don't have to come out here to see me, but I appreciate it."

"I thought it was in my contract," Catherine replied with a wry smile as the woman at the checkout ran through the items. She seemed to be half listening, but people in Jackpot seemed to do that.

Whatever she heard would make its way into the rumor mill, and Gil didn't care. He didn't spend much time in town because he preferred to be left alone, to stay away from just that kind of chat. "Was it? I didn't read the fine print."

"You should pay more attention to paperwork," Catherine chided and smiled even as the woman announced the total. She was already there with her credit card ready for it.

Gil took a back step, and put his hands up in mock surrender. "You win, Catherine -- this time. You know that whenever I get back to Vegas..." He'd have to revenge himself, or something like it. Thank her for her occasionally painful help.

"I'll look forward to it," Catherine replied accepting her card back and organizing the bags. "I'll follow you home, okay? I'm pretty sure I remember the way."

Gil took a few of the bags, lighter ones, and the milk, following after her out of the store, trailing a little. "It's still in the middle of nowhere. Just follow me and you won't miss the turnoff. I hope your transmission is up to it."

"It'll survive," Catherine answered. "I'm just over there. Put the coffee on when you get there if you get ahead of me."

His stomach sank a little as he veered to put his half of the groceries in the back of his Denali. "Instant all right with you? I've... gone off of normal coffee." Not for lack of experimenting, but the smell had made his morning sickness worse for the first few days in Jackpot. They hadn't let him have coffee in the hospital, or in the facility, and he'd wanted a cup so badly that he'd broken down and gotten a can of frilly instant that didn't quite smell like it could kick his ass, but still tasted right.

"Fine. Yeah, I did that too, with Lindsay." Catherine helped pack things as well. "Too acidic or something. I still have problems with it in the morning."

"I know for a fact that your daughter likes coffee, so logically..." Catherine shouldn't have 'gone off it' like Gil found himself doing. But pregnancies and logic were apparently foreign creatures, so Gil didn't say anything else about it. "Is everything really all right back at the lab?"

"We're stretched, overworked, missing you like crazy," Catherine said succinctly. "But the lab is still there, the work is getting done, though maybe not as swiftly and elegantly as usual."

"Any interesting insect-based cases? You know if something comes up that I can help with, just fax it to me. I brought most of my library..." Gil trailed off as the white truck marked Sheriff pulled up behind them. He had the window rolled down, and leaned out the driver's side a little. "With me. Lt. Brooks, good to see you."

"Mr. Grissom," Brooks nodded at him. "Good to see you out an' about... and with company."

He looked at Catherine who just smiled. "I'm just visiting."

"I'm sure Mr. Grissom said that when he was here for work and then he turns out to come and stay here."

"What can I say? The town left an impression on me." Gil let himself smirk slightly, and then glanced to Catherine, and made sure that everything was in the back and that her hands were out of the way before he closed the back. Brooks still assumed he was married or... something, probably, because Gil couldn't just dismiss the man as ignorant and unobservant. No, Brooks was a better officer than that. "And in six weeks, I've caused you less trouble than I did in three days."

"That's true. Actually, I was wondering if I could borrow your expertise some," Brooks replied. "Got some bones discovered in the woods that a camper brought back in a bag and dumped on my desk. Thought you might be willing to take a look in a free moment."

And catching him when he ducked into town was easier than catching him when he was at home. Gil glanced over to Catherine. "Cath, do you -- it shouldn't take long..."

"Don't let me disturb you two," Brooks said. "Tomorrow will be soon enough, Mr. Grissom, it's not like there's a scene that might be disturbed. Although my desk could be called a crime scene on occasion." He gave them both a grin. "Just drop by when it's convenient."

"I'll probably be by in the morning, then." Gil leaned back a little, and glanced at Catherine, looking for cues from her.

Catherine nodded. "Sure, we'll both come by. That way if it turns out to be anything strange I can take it back to CSI."

"Another CSI right?" Brooks looked at her. "I thought you said it wasn't a glamorous job."

"That doesn't mean that we don't have some glamorous people in our department," Gil countered, turning up his polite smile a notch. "I should have introduced you. Lt. Brooks, this is CSI Catherine Willows. Catherine, this is Jackpot's highest law enforcement official, Lt. Alan Brooks."

"Pleasure," Catherine said shaking a hand through the window. "Just here to see how Gil is getting on with his... research out here away from the mayhem of Vegas."

"Well he's certainly not making a name for himself in town. Wouldn't know he was here if it weren't for the fact an APB goes out every time he shows his face." Brooks replied.

When Catherine gave Gil a curious look, Gil just shrugged his shoulder. "I'm apparently still a curiosity in town, and I've found that it takes very little to amuse people."

"In Jackpot, we line up on the street to see a bug crawl." Brooks replied with a sardonic tone.

Catherine grinned and glanced at Grissom. "Funny you should say that..."

"I've been known to do stranger things to see a good insect specimen. We'll come by in the morning, Lt. Brooks. Thanks for letting me know about it." Gil stepped forward, offered his hand. The sooner they left, the better.

Brooks shook his hand and nodded. "You two have fun okay?" He gave a dry smirk and rolled up the window before moving off.

"Nice guy. Looked like he was hitting on you," Catherine observed as they prepared to go.

"He what?" Gil blinked at her as he turned to the driver's seat of his car. "Catherine, the... I think the thinness of the air this high up has gotten to you. Are you sure you're safe to drive?"

Catherine gave him a look and smirked. "Yeah. See you back at yours. I'll explain it to you there."

"Good. Great. You're going to need to explain it to me," Gil muttered at her, still giving her a look even with her peering at him. It was going to be an interesting visit; Gil could already tell when he headed to get in the driver's seat of his truck.

Catherine was up to something, he knew that. She had a certain look when she was planning something and he recognized it at least. He just generally didn't know what to do with it.

And he needed to know what she wasn't saying.

He needed to know what lay between the lines, but he couldn't even start to guess. Except that there was something going on with Greg, something she didn't want to talk about. And Greg was still in the lab. Good news was news to be discussed freely publicly, so Gil could guess that it wasn't a piece of good news about him.

Gil decided it was going to be a very long drive back to his cabin.

---

He wasn't that far ahead of Catherine getting to what he was calling 'home' at the moment. It wasn't really. It was a temporary living arrangement and he knew it. Still it suited him for isolation and quiet when Catherine wasn't making so much noise bringing everything in and unpacking.

"What's this in the fridge? Looks like an experiment, not a consumable?" she was complaining, as she stocked the fridge with the professionalism of a single mother.

"Old yogurt. I didn't like the taste, so I've been watching the mold patterns develop. It's been fascinating." Gil leaned in to smack her hand so she didn't move it. She could come in and organize things, but he wasn't going to let her take away one of the few things that he was using to amuse himself. "Just put the lid back on."

"Don't blame me when the mold civilization takes over the fridge," Catherine replied, glancing at him. "So. How are you feeling? Pregnancy wise?"

'Pregnancy wise', like it was normal and his choice, like he should have been overwhelmed with joy. Gil frowned, and looked down at the floor for a moment. He still hadn't taken his jacket off, because he didn't particularly like the way she would have stared at his stomach otherwise. "It's going. I'm coping."

"I bought you over some lotion, really helps with stretch marks. And I don't know if you get cracked nipples or soreness... but I brought you something just in case," Catherine said in a brisk efficient tone. "Oh, and some supplements. Things I found that were good. And you probably need them more because it's not exactly a normal situation for your body."

"I'm already on every vitamin known to mankind, Catherine..." He felt like he was whining when he leaned back against the counter, watching her rearrange things in his fridge. "Look, I... didn't get much sleep and don't particularly want to talk about that."

"I noticed that. Or anything about what happened," Catherine replied a little acerbically. "I still don't know a lot about what happened. The FBI weren't exactly generous with details and neither are you. Makes it difficult to help you Gil."

He didn't quite answer her, just grabbed a microwavable two cup measurer, and filled it with filtered water from the tap. Coffee. He could make coffee and that was some semblance of normality. "It's difficult to discuss. And it wasn't as if I had the opportunity to return to familiar grounds for long, to get my bearings. We were missing for three months. Just assume that it was a bad three months and leave it at that."

"I can't leave it at that. Seriously Gil," Catherine said, losing some of her bantering tone. "Not when I see the consequences every day in two good friends of mine. I came here to issue an ultimatum, Gil. Either you tell Greg in the next few days or I will."

It was hard not to snort at her when he put the water in the microwave, and tapped in for it to boil two cups. "Tell him what? 'Congratulations, Greg, on top of being sexually assaulted, you're now almost a father. With your male supervisor.' That'll go over great."

"Anything right now would be better than nothing," Catherine answered with unexpected seriousness. "You calling him to shout at him would be better for him than this silence. Greg... isn't doing so well, Gil."

No, Gil hadn't supposed that Greg was doing well, but he still couldn't look at her while he thought of what to say. "I don't know what to do, Catherine. It... it's hard to keep myself together; I don't know what good I could do for anyone else."

"You could give him focus." Catherine looked at him again. "He kept himself together worrying about you. Knowing he had to get out for your sake more than his own. That way he could ignore what was happening to him. And you come out and.... He just doesn't see you at all. Or hear from you. I know why, but..." She shook her head. "He's the genetic father, however horrible the process of donating was for him. And a reluctant father is better than none at all."

"And when it goes badly, and I die, and he's not a father at all, then what?" The microwave beeped, and he leaned up to get the mix coffee out of a cupboard. "Could you grab two of those mugs there?"

"Then maybe he won't finish off destroying himself with guilt," Catherine said grabbing the mugs. "I mean it Gil. He's... Ecklie's going to have to put him on medical leave and that might just finish him completely."

"Medical leave. He should have had more time off than he did, anyway. He should have gone back to California and his family." Gil finally glanced over at her, just long enough to reach for a spoon. He took his time measuring out the coffee. "I... don't see how my telling him would help. It would be one more inconceivable responsibility dropped on his lap."

"Greg...." she sighed. "You know how Greg is focused on you, don't you? Or maybe you don't. The two of you can be so much alike sometimes. He thinks you hate him. He thinks you blame him. That's all I can get out of him. He's lost way too much weight, he looks one breath away from Al's slab, and somehow in whatever is going on his head he's made everything his fault. That you got taken in the first place. That things were done to you... all of it."

It stung that Catherine was quite that right, about their similarities. Gil's own musings were a lot like that, the bite of guilt that he knew what had happened to Greg, and he hadn't been able to stop it. And now the result of that -- or at least the initial 'collections' -- was growing in his abdomen.

"What... does he think happened to me?"

"He knows you were hurt. I guess he thinks it was something similar to what happened to him. Not that he's telling anyone any details. Nick and Warrick tried to get him drunk..." Catherine paused. "Male therapy I guess. That's where we got the entire guilt thing from. And now he's not really talking to them either."

Each mug was filled up with hot water over top of three scoops of flavored coffee, and Gil reached for a second spoon so he could stir in his own cup. "Was he supposed to be on shift tonight?"

"Yeah. Work's been holding him vaguely together. But he... well, depends on who you listen to. He says he slipped on a step, Hodges say he saw him pass out." Catherine grimaced taking the cup. "I've been around and he puts on a good show. It's probably how he got his family to go home."

"I should have guessed." Gil led the way over to the sofa in the cramped living room, and sat down heavily, finally unzipping and shrugging out of his jacket. Fuck it. If Catherine wanted to make him deal with it, fine, then he would. "Has he started to turn his cell phone off, or does it still work?"

"Still works," Catherine replied. "At least when he's due in at work." She sat and sipped her coffee

A glance to the clock told Gil that it was almost nine, which was too late to be calling Greg with news like that. "All right. I'll call him. When he's off shift."

"I think you'll find it'll do both of you some good," Catherine said sounding relieved. "And even if you don't want him around he'll know it instead of being afraid of it."

"Mm." Gil shifted his shoulders back, and closed his eyes a little, taking a sip of his coffee. It tasted like hazelnut, and like there was milk already added. "You came all this way to twist my arm."

"Well, and to see you of course," Catherine answered in a more gentle tone. "Jim keeps cursing that he used up his vacation time. Gil, I worry about you, okay? I think about you almost as much as I do about Lindsay, out here alone. I don't think you should be alone."

"Do you know anyone who can spare four months of their lives to keep me company?" Gil quirked an eyebrow at her. "I have a television, a radio, the internet, and an entire town full of nosy people. What more do I need?"

"I know someone who can spare that time," Catherine twitched a smile and looked at the phone again. "Gil, I'm working on what I was like with Lindsay, and yours may be different. It just seems... I just worry that something might happen in the middle of the night and you'll be alone and... well."

"There isn't much of an alternative to 'well', Catherine. Massive abdominal bleeding. If something goes wrong with the... baby, I don't have the option of any normal recourse." He'd die. He'd die if he carried to term, he'd die if he didn't, and Catherine seemed so unsettled by Gil having come to terms that he was probably, very likely, going to die. Gil swallowed another mouthful of coffee. "I just... didn't want this."

"I know. None of us wanted any of this," Catherine answered soothingly. "There is a chance, Gil. I've done what reading I can. They can deliver prematurely, and do what they do for extra-uterine births. Any woman will tell you that the possibility of dying is always there in being pregnant."

Under normal circumstances. When their bodies were built for it. "That's very comforting, Catherine, very comforting. And women are built to do it. It's like telling me that sometimes ships sink, when I'm out on the ocean with a Ford Model T and a can of Bondo."

"If anyone could make that float, it would be you," Catherine said, smiling at him. "And you think I'd let that happen to you? I'm only keeping your seat warm."

Wishful thinking, but it almost made him smile back at her, just a little. "Not let, no." He could call Greg... and invite him up. Do something that proved it to him, because otherwise it would just seem like Gil was crazy.

Not that he wasn't left wondering if he was crazy occasionally. "Since you're here, and we're both awake, and there are hours before morning, you're going to have to help me figure out how to entertain you. Since I'm not letting you reorganize the pantry."

"What do you usually do?" Catherine asked. "I won't make a nuisance of myself, I promise."

"I spend a lot of time bored, if you want the honest answer." He sat up a little straighter, trying to lessen his backache. "On a good day, I go out into the woods and observe insects. But I'm tired today."

"Then you should lie down. Or sleep. I can watch a movie or something. Or we could." Catherine suggested. "How about it?"

He leaned forwards, and set the coffee cup down on the table. She was humoring him, but probably even sitting on someone's sofa watching movies was a break from leading the team when it was understaffed and stressed. "A movie. Sure. Any type in particular?"

"Put on whatever you like." Catherine settled back. "Then I can mock it with a clear conscience."

"Then let me go look for whatever seems mockable. I'll be back in a moment." Gil got to his feet reasonably well, or at least well enough not to look like an idiot, and ducked down the short hallway to his bedroom. The cabin was admittedly small, but comfortable. One person could live in that space with ease, and Gil had enough room and the foresight to have brought along his movie collection.

Now it was just a matter of choosing his favorite form of distraction, something mockable. B-grade horror or foreign action films?

---

It had been inevitable, Greg supposed, that Ecklie would put him on leave despite the fact that they desperately needed people. Being gently told that he was probably a liability had been enough to send him numbly home. The worst thing was, he couldn't argue.

So at the end of his shift he left and went back home, completely at a loss. The place was clean, almost too clean and he looked at his empty fridge and cupboards and just didn't care.

Eventually he just lay on the couch and stared at the ceiling. Perhaps he could spend the rest of his medical leave like that. That sounded like a plan.

It was medical, after all. Medical leave meant that he was sick, and there pretty much was no way that Greg could argue around that, because yeah, he was sick all right. Sick and tired, and now he wouldn't even have the refuge of the lab to hide in.

He'd only dropped the one thing, just a clipboard, when Ecklie had come up behind him, but that was one symptom of his many problems, wasn't it? He had problems even though he didn't want to admit it. When he couldn't sleep even with the tranquilizers, when he had no appetite, when he felt... empty.

Hollow. No one quite got what had happened, and Greg wasn't sure if he'd 'gotten' it, either, because it hadn't ever made sense in his head. Why him, why them, why...

Why for so long, why did they do that to him, why had they sucked away his ability to smirk at life and revel in processing the clues to his cases?

At least he knew why Grissom had disappeared and not made any contact. He knew it was his fault. The two of them on scene, him hearing something in the darkness and calling Grissom over from where he was investigating the body. If he hadn't done that then maybe, maybe it wouldn't have happened. Hell, he knew it wouldn't have happened.

He started shivering; it was almost normal now, all these weird bodily responses. He couldn't get warm with it, but now he didn't care if he seemed to freeze to death. He never actually did.

Grissom would blame him for whatever happened to him. If it was anything like what he went through and he had someone to blame, he'd never look at them again. That was probably why it was so hard to look at himself. Everyone had said that, yeah, no-fault, the cop should've been more alert, but even he'd been knocked out, and that it was really just the people who did it that were to blame, but... But Greg knew differently, because they -- they, them -- had talked about two, and how they'd needed them both.

Greg wasn't sure what had happened to Grissom, except that he'd still been in the hospital after Greg had been released, and then he'd picked up and left Vegas entirely.

Ecklie called it a 'sabbatical'.

Half of him wanted to do that. The other half had been so terrified of being alone again that he had pushed himself to be back at work as soon as possible. On the other hand, people made him jumpy and nervous to the point he dropped things, he nearly had panic attacks and he couldn't cope with them too close. So he'd faked being 'okay'.

His one true talent in life -- faking it. Well enough his family went home not really knowing much more about what had happened aside from the medical reports. Well enough to keep the lab going as if it were business as usual.

He still wasn't sure if he had passed out on the stairs or if his leg had given out from under him. It wasn't really healed.

A guy was allowed to have a shaky broken leg, right? Right, except that had just proven the case for Ecklie that yeah, Greg needed medical leave. Never mind that Greg didn't want the leave, never mind that Greg was going to be content to stare at his ceiling, straining to not not not think about what had happened, about how it felt, about how it hurt.

God, if he started that, he might as well write himself off for the rest of the day. It was too much trouble to move though, which probably meant the memories would get him.

He had prided himself on being pretty worldly; he even thought he had seen a fair amount of weird shit of the Vegas variety, but there was one part of his brain that was completely boggled that he was doing anything as normal as lying on a couch after what had happened to him. He couldn't even think of a comparison.

It was a long leap from 'being fucked on a sterile bed' to lying safe at home. He was perfectly safe there, and no one was going to twist his arm, literally, to get him to do anything. Greg was his own man again, except he was too scared and jumpy and sick to do any of that living shit.

His phone rang.

He literally, physically jumped at the noise. His heart rate spiked up and he stared at the phone for a moment before realizing what the noise was. He ought to answer it. But then it might be Nick trying to apologize again. Or Warrick. Or Catherine trying to get him to talk... shit...

It was answer it or go for the next however long without anyone and he felt himself securely on the horns of a dilemma. In the end, rather fatalistically, he picked it up and answered.

"Greg Sanders."

~"Greg, it's Gil.~" Or, maybe he'd just answer a phone call that stepped out of the twilight zone. ~"How are you?"~

Struck by lightning? Greg was aware that a rather too long pause had passed before he managed to form an incoherent answer that came out as if he were on autopilot. "Fine, I'm doing okay." He couldn't help himself. "Grissom? That's really you right?"

~"It's really me, Greg."~ There was some kind of background noise, but it was indistinct, like a radio. ~"I just wanted to call to see how you were doing, and, uh..."~

Greg desperately wanted his brain to stop panicking and running around hopelessly when he was trying to get things under control and talk sensibly. He tried to harden up his voice and stop the shake showing through. "I'm doing okay, considering I guess. Uh... How are you? Where are you? I... I didn't know if you were okay?"

~"I... just had to get away quickly."~ There was a faint pause, and Gil went on. ~"I needed to clear my head. I'm living up in Jackpot, actually. I'm doing all right. As well as I can be. Greg, I called... because I have something to tell you, and also because I'm worried about you."~

"Worried? Griss we haven't spoken since we got back," Greg said and was embarrassed to hear his voice crack totally unbidden. "I get why, that's not a problem... and I'm guess you're calling to tell me what I already know. If you're waiting to come back to CSI because I'm there, you don't have to worry anymore. I'm not there right now."

Not until he got a clean bill of health, physical and mental -- which would be never at this rate.

~ "What? Wait..."~ The background noise stopped, turned off, and then Gil's voice came back stronger in his ear. ~"That's absurd, Greg. I left because... because I can't explain it over the phone, Greg. It's what they did to me. I need the time off. I wish that you were in the lab because then at least I'd know you were being allowed to try to cope."~

"Ecklie sent me home." He sounded pathetic even to himself and he grimaced. He hated who he was now. He'd always felt pretty okay about himself. Okay, he'd wanted approval from people he respected, but he knew that and rolled with it, but now... there were sometimes he felt like Greg Sanders had died on that lab table and all he was doing was waiting for the rest of him to finish decomposing from the inside out.

~ "He's a bureaucrat,"~ Gil sighed into the phone. ~ "Why don't you come up here? Or, I could drive down to Vegas to get you. If you're going to be on leave, why stay at home?"~

"I... uh, well if you're sure? I can drive," Greg said hopefully. "I thought you didn't want to see me?"

~"I didn't particularly want to see anyone, Greg. I needed some time to come to grips with what's going on. Does your work e-mail still work? I can mail you directions. I'd do it right now, but I'm driving into town to look at some bones that they found."~

Sounded like Grissom hadn't changed. "Uh, better send it to my home e-mail. I don't know if they've suspended it or not." Greg grimaced at that and felt his heart speeding up again. He was going to see him. See how he really was, not those few remembered moments when he had dragged him from his room and they had staggered off, before the bullet had broken his leg. They'd still managed to crawl to hide then. But the images were broken and disjointed and there had been blood...

His breathing had gone shaky. He hoped to god Grissom hadn't noticed him hyperventilating at him down the phone.

~"Greg? It's all right."~ The way he said that, the soft firm tone of his voice, like after Greg had gotten blown through the window and had come back to work, said that Gil knew. Knew and didn't judge him for it, just like he'd done with Greg's shaky hands. ~"I'll mail you directions. And just call my cell when you're going to come up."~

"I'll... uh pack a few things and come up. If you don't want me to stay that's cool, I'll find somewhere to hang out," Greg replied. He closed his eyes a moment, feeling them burn as if he was going to cry or something stupid from just hearing his voice.

~"You can stay, but I can't promise you much by way of space. It's... a small cabin. The sofa pulls out."~ So, a one bedroom place. Well, Gil couldn't have that much money to throw at his getaway plan, so it kind of made sense. ~"I'm looking forward to it, Greg."~

"You're... uh. Okay." Greg was very confused now. "So am I. I... I've been wanting to know how you've been doing and... yeah. You want me to bring anything from Vegas?"

~"Just you. And maybe some movies that you like. Catherine came up last night, and I apparently have bad taste and need to forewarn people of it. She says that action movies should never be subtitled."~

"Oh I don't know. I kinda liked Crouching Tiger," Greg said with the first hint of a real smile he had managed in months. And he was doing it to the phone.

It was a shame that he was wasting it on the phone. There was silence, and then a small, easy sort of laugh. ~"Okay, then maybe I could sneak a few of these past you. The video store in town is still mostly VHS, and after six weeks, I think I've seen them all. You should be proud of me -- I've been exposed to more popular culture in the last few weeks than I was for years."~

"I'll bring some up," Greg promised. He would have promised anything at that moment. "I've got my own collection to inflict on someone. I'll uh... I'll be there before tonight okay?"

He had to sort himself out. All of a sudden he was alive with nerves and that scary sense of jittering obsession that had got them out of that hellhole they had been in.

~"Okay. Get some sleep, Greg. It's a long drive. I'll see you tonight."~ And just like that, Gil hung up. It had sounded like he was driving, anyway, and full of odd stops and starts and pauses, like he was nervous to make the call.

There was something he had to tell Greg in person.

There was nothing good that he could imagine from that considering. Various scenarios turned themselves over in his head. What if... what if he was dying? What if they had done something like that to him?

Immediately Greg felt a surge of something that made him get up and pace around. Grissom couldn't die. They'd got out. They should be surviving, going back to normal.

Only nothing was going to be normal again.

Greg couldn't fool himself into thinking it was going to be normal again. The fact that he was pacing around his living room, half-cleaning things again, and then stooping to dig through his DVD shelves said it loud and clear. Everyone at work kept waiting for him to fall apart, and Grissom wasn't at work, and he just couldn't get a grip on his own head. Maybe getting out of town was a good idea.

At least it was slightly more constructive than lying looking at the ceiling. Maybe if nothing else he would get some answers.

Grissom had something to tell him.

---

Six thirty. It flashed at him, once, twice, in bright red LCD, and then he realized that it wasn't flashing at all. His eyelids had been fighting him, while the rest of his body went tense, dragging him out of sleep.

The dreams, nightmares, were always the same. Gil wished that he could dream logically, retellings of the past, perfect steps that would have indicated that his mind was working through it in sleep. But all he could dream of was the pain of a needle sliding into his back, and then laying there, restrained, wrists cuffed out to the side like he was stretched out and ready for execution. And then somehow he was back in the room they kept him in, and cold latex fingers stroked over his stomach, and then dug in, and... And. And there was a jumble of sleepy thoughts that slipped away from him, but there had been blood coating those fingers, and one tiny screaming broken skull.

Gil got to his feet, and padded into the bathroom to get a fast cold shower. It didn't matter that Catherine was asleep on his sofa. His legs were restless, and he was breathing hard, overheated. It didn't particularly seem to matter that it was mid-October and cold as hell out there in Jackpot.

Greg was coming up. Maybe there was no connection -- maybe there was a lot. He might have been fooled if he hadn't been warned, but there had been a few moments when he had been sure that Greg had been about to lose it on the phone.

And that was all right. He'd had to pull off the road for a couple of minutes to finish the conversation, and Catherine, sitting silently in the passenger seat, hadn't said a thing to him about it. It still seemed like a bad idea, but maybe only because he was worried about how he'd react to Greg more than the other way around.

Greg had seemed elated, near to tears, all at the same time. And Gil wasn't sure that he was prepared for that, and he wasn't sure where he was going to put Greg with Catherine there.

It had all come together sooner than he would have liked, but... Gil wasn't going to retract the request, wasn't going to back out of it, anymore than he was going to back away from the shower head that was spraying lukewarm water for him to bask in.

The newly healed scars over his stomach were stretching. Splitting sometimes under the swelling growth within his abdomen. He found himself wondering if the salve Catherine had brought was any good after all that. It didn't look the right shape for just being fat.

How was he going to tell Greg anyway? He'd agreed under pressure to do it, but there were ways and ways.

And no way that made sense. He wasn't meant to break news like that to anyone. Did he just... say it, or? Offer Greg some kind of scientific explanation? Or let it wait and hang between them until Gil had to go to an appointment the next week to get another ultrasound.

Part of him was tempted to do the latter if only because he couldn't see how Greg would accept a statement like I'm pregnant coming from his male boss.

He couldn't see how that would work at all. But on the other hand, letting him see it might just be too much.

Tell, and then show, or show and then tell? Gil leaned back against the shower wall a little, and reached out to turn the water a little warmer. He wouldn't be getting back to sleep, anyway, and maybe a little hot water could help him relax.

God. Greg was more likely to suspect his sanity and he wasn't sure how sane he actually was at the moment. There was this constant touch of the surreal flavoring everything he did. Looking at the bones which turned out to be animal remains had been almost normal and then...

He'd look down and see the slight curve of his belly and know that it wasn't fat.

He'd known, and it always took effort not to stumble over his words, not to lose his train of thought entirely. Lt. Brooks has been glad to know that they were animal bones, albeit large ones, but between Gil and Catherine and one anatomy book, they'd been able to assure him that the long femur-like bone had been the wrong form (and too short) for a human and just about the right form for a wolf.

But Gil had still stumbled over his words for a moment when he'd looked down. And he still had that same feeling, even while he laid a hand over the curve. That was his, if it didn't kill him, then...

Sometime, he had to tell his mother.

Sometime he had to decide what he was going to do. The Agency was all too willing to take any living baby from him. Adoption or something. He had to work on the basis that he wasn't going to be around or that he might not have a choice about it.

There would be Greg of course. Apparently some of the implanted things inside him involved other tissues that were not his own so he had a feeling he knew the source.

And then he had the crazed words of his captors, and between those facts, it was obvious that the other genetic donor was... Gil closed his eyes, and tipped his face up to the shower spray again. Fuck. If he lived, he couldn't quite adopt it out. He'd seen too many bad family circumstances, and while he wasn't sure that he could provide the best kind of environment, at least the child wouldn't ever end up physically hurt or injured by him.

And if he did die, then Greg had some right to a decision.

He had to remake his will. Make provision for what might happen if he died. He wasn't ready for that.

Maybe Gil'd never be ready for it, but he had to, had to think ahead. If it survived, and he didn't, then... and if he died, period, he needed to have a new will. Have people who weren't just his mother to take care of things.

Gil finally stepped forwards, turned the water off, and then stepped out of the shower/bath combination to grab a towel.

The phone was ringing as he wrapped it around him, and he heard Catherine get up to answer. He could hear her exchange a few words before ringing off.

"Greg's on his way up," Catherine called out. "Just leaving and he'll be here soon."

"Just leaving Vegas for here?" Gil cracked open the bathroom door a little to peer out at her.

"Well I think he's more than halfway and he stopped somewhere. Asked if you wanted anything. I told him to pick up something to eat because I'll be heading back soon," Catherine replied as she tidied up where she had been sitting.

Gil closed the door, and reached for his t-shirt and pajama bottoms, taking his time drying himself off. So, two hours. Two hours, give or take a little, and Greg would be there. It just wasn't enough time to work out what to say.

Maybe he could show him. Let him come to his own conclusions from what evidence he could give him. He had the file full from the initial investigations. The doctors would have him in there all the time if he hadn't become so unbearably stressed over it.

It was funny how they'd been shocked, just shocked that he'd been uncomfortable with essentially being held captive in a hospital facility. Again. But that had helped him in making a deal with them, the agreement that he could be fine on his own, that he'd come in for his appointments, that he had a workable cover story if he was found out. That he'd allow them to write articles on him, keeping him anonymous of course, after the act.

He was the goose about to lay the golden egg after all that. He had swiftly found himself blanking out the gushing scientific babble that normally was so interesting. Science was fascinating when it wasn't happening to him in the same way that a decomposing body could be a marvel of ecology in action when it was a stranger but in wearing a familiar face it was a horror.

"If you want me to stay I will, but I think you might both want to talk without me around." Catherine spoke up again.

"I might need you to testify that I haven't gone insane," Gil offered back to her, a little weakly as he pulled the t-shirt on and opened the door again. He hadn't had to shave yet, wouldn't have to until the next day. Or so.

"So is that a yes or no? Or a... I'll be lurking on the edge of town, or exiled to the local bar for an hour or two?" Catherine queried.

"I might exile myself to the local bar for a couple of days or so." Gil turned off the light behind him, and that left the hallway comfortably dark again. "Catherine? How did you tell Eddie?"

Catherine smiled. "You don't want to go there. I threw up on him. He asked me why the hell I'd done that -- that's the clean version -- so I told him."

"I can't exactly vomit on demand," Gil mused, leaning against the wall a little. She at least hadn't tried to turn on a light. "Still haven't figured out what I'm going to tell him."

"I've never known you to lie in your life," Catherine said. "I don't honestly think you know how."

"You don't have to lie if you never give an answer," Gil pointed out. He moved away from the wall, and walked past her, heading for the kitchen. "Do you want something to eat?"

"I'm fine. Still on Vegas time," Catherine replied as she leaned back. "So, you want me to hide out in the back room? Because believe me, I'm willing to confirm it, but I think it's something between the two of you."

"I..." Gil hesitated, and then shrugged his shoulders. "If you want to go, I'll be all right. Greg seems, seemed nervous."

"You don't know the half of it," Catherine answered smoothing the rumples out of her top. "Jumpy as a crack addict and that's in the lab which is his own domain. Al says it's a post-traumatic stress thing. He's living on coffee as far as I can tell."

"Probably hard to sleep," Gil shrugged, saying it like he hadn't just woken up a couple of hours sooner than he'd planned to, and that even his planned sleep ran pretty lean. "He might feel better knowing that he's not alone." He leaned up to grab a box of cereal out of the cupboard. Nothing said breakfast at six thirty in the evening like cereal.

Catherine nodded. "That was the general idea. He might let you help him where he couldn't let us." She shrugged. "I'm sorry I forced your hand, Gil, but I think you'll understand why."

"I think I already understand why, Catherine. He thought I was avoiding Vegas because he was there." Not that it made Gil feel any better or any more sure that he could help Greg cope with himself and with what had happened, but he could try. Or at least try not to freak out at Greg, too.

"You wait until you see him," Catherine said cryptically. "Look, I'll leave just before he's due in okay? Then if there's a crisis you can call me back. He can always phone if he wants to confirm it."

"Okay. I..." Gil cleared his throat a little. "Thanks, Catherine. For coming up." And maybe for forcing his hand, but he wasn't sure of that yet.

"This won't be the last time, Gil. I'm still the nearest thing you have to a pregnancy coach," she said smiling at him.

That was heartening to hear, when he turned around the look at her for a moment before he turned back around to get a bowl and the milk. "I know. But I also know you're understaffed at work, and you probably would have preferred to stay home and sleep."

"Hard to sleep when I'm worrying about one of my best friends. Two of them," Catherine said. "I'll rest better knowing you two have talked even if you end up shouting."

"I promise not to kill him and bury him in the woods if we do." Gil dumped cornflakes into his bowl, and it was hard not to smirk a little at her. "Since I'm not supposed to move heavy objects."

She gave a surprised and delighted grin. "I've missed the patented Grissom snark. I've missed you."

"I've... missed me, too." It was an off thing to say, but his mouth quirked when he said it. Gil dumped milk on top of the cornflakes, and then rustled around for a big spoon.

"You'll be you again," Catherine replied. "A better you. You're too strong not to be. I've never known someone who can amaze me like you do. All the time."

Strong praise, and Gil wasn't sure if she meant it, or was just trying to bolster his spirits. "I'm not sure what's so amazing."

"That you haven't gone... fruit loops. If Eddie..." She shook her head. "Eddie would've killed himself or something equally dramatic. He used to think he was a strong guy."

"Maybe he would have. I..." Gil pulled up a stool and perched on it, sitting at the counter and starting to eat breakfast. "Feel too strongly about suicide. I want to live."

"You will." Catherine seemed absolutely certain. "You survive, Gil. I know you. If anyone can do this, it will be you."

"Going on with that far flung hypothetical, I hope you're willing to share a list of reputable babysitters and daycare providers." If. If, and Gil knew it was a huge if, but he might as well make Catherine smile by humoring her.

"Gil, if there's one thing you won't have trouble with, it's finding daycare or babysitters. I expect your Mom will want to be involved. You might want to think about getting a new house afterwards," Catherine suggested.

"A new house? Where? Hypothetically." He took another mouthful of over-milk sopped cornflakes. "Do you want to take some coffee to go?"

"Odds are you'll have a live in nanny of some description, Gil," Catherine pointed out. "You know what my life is like." She got up and headed towards the kitchen. "Yeah, I'll make some up."

"You might as well leave the can out. Greg's going to want some." Gil lifted his head to watch her duck back into the kitchen

"Most likely." There was a pause before she peered around the door. "You sure you're okay?"

"Okay how?" There were a lot of ways to define okay. He obviously wasn't physically okay.

"I don't know... is there anything more I can do?" she asked, her gaze lingering on him a moment.

"I.... don't really think so." He put his spoon down in the bowl when he shrugged that time. "You've done a lot just by stopping by."

"As long as you're sure..." Catherine trailed off. She reached to grab a weak coffee and gulped at it once she had it. "Okay, I'll get my stuff. Let me know how you guys get on. If you need a bail out or something."

"Or if I need bail," Gil agreed. "Sure. I'll call if I need help."

"Make sure you do." She looked at her watch. "Allowing for the anxiety factor, and assuming he didn't get stopped for speeding, he'll be here in the next hour or so. So, I'm going." She put the mug down and started gathering up her bags and things. "Thanks for the loan of the sofa, but you and I both know that you're not likely to feel comfortable offering for Greg to stay if I'm camped out."

"I was actually trying to think of where he could sleep. I'd suggest the tub, but it's a little too... stark in there." He ate a little more, and then moved to at least scan the room to see if she'd left anything.

"That bag is for you," Catherine said gesturing. "Anything else I can pick up next time I am here. C'mere. I deserve to at least embarrass you with a hug before I go."

He turned a little, and she'd all but engulfed him by the time that his brain started to register the motion. "It's not embarrassing," Gil countered, voice falling quiet as he hugged her back, but not quite as fiercely. "It was good to see you, Catherine. I still check my e-mail, so..."

"I'll be e-mailing, phoning and coming over," Catherine said as if it wasn't a five hour drive. "If you don't answer you know I'll be on your doorstep, okay?" She finally released him. "I've got to go. Take care Gil."

"Will do. Don't worry; I'll keep up on my vitamins and everything else. I at least won't let Greg starve to death, but I can't guarantee much else." He gave her a loose smile, watching her step back.

"Believe me, if that's all you can do, it's an improvement on the rest of us," Catherine said cryptically as she grabbed her bags and headed to the door. "Take care, Gil. Talk to you soon."

He followed after her, dragged forward a little but her sense of energy, shadowing her as she headed for the door. "Okay. Have a safe trip, say hello to everyone for me."

"Will do," Catherine replied even as she headed off down the short driveway. If he'd had neighbors, they would undoubtedly be gossiping.

Then again, it probably would have been the most favorable gossip that he'd had circling him since he'd come there. Gil stayed in the doorway, watching her pop open the door to her SUV.

He still didn't feel ready to see Greg, but then he probably never would. There was no good time to tell someone they had been raped and become a father through a bizarre sadistic experiment and the 'mother' was their boss and incidentally male.

Catherine waved at him through her windshield, and Gil waved back, albeit a little listlessly. He'd deal with how Greg was, first. He'd... handle that, handle it one step at a time instead of planning. And the first step started with finishing his breakfast.

---

Greg had to pull over a few times on the way to Grissom's, only a couple of them were because he was lost. The others were because he was seriously considering turning around and heading back to Vegas.

Desperation notwithstanding, he was in Jackpot and heading out of town again towards where Mapquest and Grissom's instructions said he should be headed.

He had thrown things in a bag, he had scooped half of his DVD's into another and somehow this was meant to equip him for seeing Grissom again.

It didn't, not anywhere near to it. He wasn't ready to see Gil again, not when the last time he'd seen him has just been a glimpse, a snapshot in time when Gil... hadn't looked so hot, hadn't even been really awake. But he'd called Greg and invited him up, and that had to be good, right?

Except it didn't quell the butterflies in his stomach

He made sure he had money in case Grissom was likely to throw him out, and he checked out for places in town that might help him out. Worse came to worst, he could sleep in his car.

The house was smaller than he expected somehow and he took his time pulling in and getting out of the car. He couldn't do this. He couldn't....

But he had to. He had to, if only to find out what he should have done differently rather than always wondering.

He got out and headed up to the door, a bag in each hand. Greg had to shift one onto his wrist so he could knock since there wasn't a doorbell. But it looked like a small enough place that he could get away with it, with just knocking. Knocking meant that Gil was going to be there soon, that he'd see how he was.

The door behind the storm door started to open.

He looked up, seeing him for the first time in so long. First time really since they had been taken, first time since he could trust what he was seeing and hearing.

Grissom looked... a bit thinner around the face, some tiredness around the eyes but he looked like his Grissom. A knot of tension unraveled in his stomach, even as several more knotted up.

Gil pushed the glass door open, and stepped close to Greg. "Greg. You look... like you haven't been eating well."

Greg nearly smiled at that. That was very Gil. "Catherine said I'd lost a little weight. Guess I haven't really noticed." Only when he couldn't find any clothes that fit him any more.

"A little? Greg, you..." Gil trailed off, and a smile quirked onto his mouth. "Come in."

"S... Sure," Greg picked up his bag again, making sure that his grip disguised any shaking. "Uh... you look like you've lost some too."

"It can't be helped," Gil shrugged. He held the door open for Greg, and gestured him into the partially cramped living room space. Gil's laptop was lying on the coffee table, closed. "Was it a long drive?"

"Well, I stopped off a couple of times," Greg said awkwardly. He didn't know what to say. He'd been hanging in there waiting to speak to Grissom, to talk with him and now he could he'd gone blank. "I didn't really notice it being too long. Catherine gone?"

"She just left." Gil seemed to be as awkward as Greg was, and he was looking at Greg. "I... it's good to see that you're all right."

"Yeah. Yeah, and you. I've..." Greg cleared his throat. "I've been worried."

"I..." Gil took a back step, and finally turned to head into the kitchenette area. "Do you want coffee?"

"Sure." Coffee was safe. It didn't involve saying too much or not enough. Should he start apologizing now? Or... should he wait?

"I don't actually have a coffee pot. If you want real coffee, you'll have to go down to the diner. But the instant got Catherine's approval." Gil started to run filtered water into a two cup measuring cup. "I know it's not Blue Hawaiian, but it's not Maxwell House."

"I'll cope," Greg replied with a faint smile and dumped his bags on the floor. "I, uh, brought some things up with me. Movies and stuff."

"Thanks." It sounded oddly, deeply sincere and Greg couldn't figure out why. "I need to tell you something, Greg, and I'm not a good host. I can't put it off until you're comfortable."

He froze immediately, as his heart started on a maddening race of panic. "I, I guessed as much. No point me getting comfortable before you chew me out."

"I'm not going to chew you out, Greg. I." He shook his head, and Greg could only see the back of his head when he tipped it down a little, adding powdered coffee to each cup. "I can't think of a sane way to say it."

"Hey, I'm cool with the not being sane thing. I know I've been out of it... for a while now," Greg said hurriedly. "I doubt it could be any worse."

He hadn't really been ready to hear Gil laughing. Not that kind of laugh, a low tired laugh that sounded maybe just a little edged in hysteria. "Greg..."

"Okay, now I'm getting freaked out," Greg admitted. He had to curl his fingers in towards his palms to stop it showing that his hands were shaking. "You are okay right? You're not... I mean, you're not going to tell me you're dying are you?" It had to be. It made him feel sick immediately and he could feel what little color he had draining from his face. "That's it isn't it?"

"I... could die. I might not. I have to wait and see." He finally turned back to look at Greg, and leaned against the counter. The microwave beeped, telling them both that the water was done, but Gil didn't move to get it.

"Oh, fuck." Greg looked down at his hands a moment and then back at Gil. He'd been half prepared in his mind but hearing it just finished him. "No. No, this can't be happening, not after everything. We got out. Things are meant to go back to normal!"

Gil gave another rough sort of laugh. "Things are as far from normal for me as possible. I'm... I, I'm pregnant."

Greg gaped for a moment, staring. "Okay. You've successfully broken me out of panic. I get it. I'm ready, you can tell me what's wrong now." He sat expectantly waiting.

But Gil just looked back at him, and then started to shake his head. "I have an appointment in a couple of days. Maybe you'll believe it then."

Greg found his head numb from the inside out, and forming a coherent thought was proving impossible. He could not be hearing what he thought he was hearing. It just wasn't possible. Which left two possibilities -- either Grissom had gone off the deep end, or he had. "Grissom? W-what are you trying to tell me? Really?"

"You were a genetic donor. That... that's what they did to me. They cut me open, and kept doing it until everything was in place, and..." Gil's own hands clutched into fists for a moment. "That's why I'm not at work."

Grissom didn't lie. He might tease a little but he never lied so... they had to be crashing through the thin ice of sanity. "You're telling me that you're having a baby and I'm... I'm the father?" He was aware that his voice had cone high and tight with hysteria, but he didn't even try and reign it in. "But... you're the only person in the world I haven't had sex with!"

He started to laugh in gulping uncontrollable bursts and the complete insanity of what he had just said hit him.

Gil made a choking noise at that. "I didn't even get the side benefit that gets people knocked up, you're right. I... I don't know what to do to make you believe me, Greg. You could call Catherine..."

"Sure... sure I could do that. Because that makes so much more sense," Greg couldn't stop the laughing. "Griss, I hate to point it out but you and I -- both guys. Uterus free zones..."

And how fucking off the wall was that? Gil, pregnant? Gil had apparently been exiled from work because he'd taken a leap into loony lake, even if he wasn't laughing or arguing the point anymore. He rubbed a hand over his face, and turned around to get the hot water out of the microwave. "Forget I said anything."

"I'm, I'm sorry Griss," Greg realized that perhaps he should be humoring him at least. If Griss believed he was pregnant and that was helping him, then he shouldn't try and undermine it. "You took me by surprise. I guess we've both had a lot to deal with. I don't want to ruin things by reacting this way."

"You're not... ruining anything. At least you didn't laugh too hard." Gil poured the water in, still not turning around, and then he grabbed spoons. "Just forget I said anything. Just forget it. All right? I didn't want to tell you, but Catherine was going to, and I..."

"Catherine was going to?" Greg cleared his throat, rough from the unexpected strain of laughing. "Not sure why she didn't. Not like she didn't know I've been off the wall. Maybe I should call and ask."

In reality he wanted to know exactly how far Grissom was gone, and what he should be careful of saying or doing. Should he play along, or try and get him to see sense? Was he likely to freak out? Or was he normal except for that?

Gil turned back around, expression carefully neutral, the grim kind of neutrality he threw up at a bad crime scene that he couldn't think of jokes for, and offered Greg one mug of funny, cocoa-like instant coffee, cradling his own. "I think you should. Or you can just forget it. I... know you don't believe me. That's fine."

Greg nodded slowly, taking a cautious sip and reached for his cell phone. It couldn't hurt, just to have a word. Catherine had to know the full picture.

He pressed the appropriate speed dial and listened to it ring.

One, two, and them a fumbling noise. "Willows."

"Hey, Catherine. It's Greg. I, uh. Grissom and I have just been talking and." Greg paused, trying to work out how to bring it up. "Well, he kinda told me that he's pregnant and I'm the father. I sorta... well, I laughed. A fair bit."

Gil had watched him dial, but now that he was on the phone, he walked past Greg, back into the living room to sit down with his cup of coffee, giving Greg the illusion of relative privacy.

"You... laughed? Oh, Greg... Maybe I should have warned you after all."

"Well, yeah. I, I know that's not the most tactful thing to do but..." He cleared his throat. "I don't want to make things any worse by doing the wrong thing or anything. So, uh, care to fill me in?"

"Greg, he really is."

"He is what?" Greg asked again, looking towards the other room. "I guessed he must have had a rough time. I mean that was pretty obvious."

Gil wasn't looking at him, but at some indistinct point ahead of him, in front of the sofa.

"No, Greg? He really is pregnant. I went to one of his appointments with him. The paunch on his stomach? Isn't from too little exercise."

Greg automatically glanced over to Grissom, for the first time seeing the swell in the abdomen area and feeling that sense of hysteria descend again, more crushing than before. "You're kidding. This is some... joke right? Nick and Warrick set me up."

"Greg, this isn't a joke, and no one has set you up. I thought that you had a right to know and to be involved, and Gil wanted to tell you himself instead of letting me do it."

She sounded serious. Holy crap, she actually sounded serious.

"But, he's male. How..." He was breathing too fast again, and becoming lightheaded. He had little tolerance for shock or surprise at the moment and this certainly counted.

"They implanted a... sort of uterus-thing in him, and I think it's been anchored to his abdominal wall, but I was a little in shock when I read the files, Greg, so it didn't all sink in. But that was what they did to him when you were... being hurt. And I don't know what else they did to Gil, but... well, he's as good at not-talking as you are."

Greg almost physically staggered. He could have laughed it off if it wasn't for the sudden flashback memory of one of them standing over him, taking more and more tissue samples, implanting that thing in him and him asking what they hell they wanted it all for.

He could see the man smile and say, "We'd thought we'd see if we could make something useful out of it. Perhaps a uterus or a set of ovaries. Because that's all of any use that will come out of you."

He'd long since stopped hearing anything in the here and now, let alone what Catherine was saying and noise roared in his ears, and his vision grayed out. There was only one way to deal with this and it lay in unconsciousness.

---

Everything smelled like coffee, and that was kinda nice for Greg. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but all he could smell was coffee, and there was a cold cloth wiping down his face, and something soft under his head. It still didn't explain why his head hurt, but then again, he hadn't opened his eyes yet.

Somehow he knew he didn't want to even start thinking about why he was like this. He'd spent too long over the past few months waking up in strange places and positions. The coffee was a new one though.

He tried to move his head. "Ow. Ow...."

Fingers pressed on his forehead, stopping him. "Greg. You hit your head when you passed out. Can you open your eyes?"

Ah. Hitting his head would account for it. He opened his eyes carefully, into the very bright light of some sort of flashlight. He had to blink a few times before he could tolerate it. "I think my brains have crawled out of my ears," he managed.

"They might have," Gil agreed, before he shut off the flashlight. Greg could focus Gil into an upside down picture, which meant that he was leaning over Greg from behind him. Sorta. "But you don't seem to have a concussion."

"Great. I think." He had to squint a little. "Why did I pass out again?" Faint was such girly way of describing it. Passing out sounded more masculine somehow. The end result was the same though.

Head met floor, and apparently coffee went all the fuck over the place. "You were on the phone with Catherine." Gil said it, and seemed to wait for Greg's response.

"Catherine? What was I...." His eyes went wide as he felt the memories sweep over him. If he'd been standing no doubt he would have collapsed again. Grissom was pregnant. No, it wasn't a joke. He could remember things that backed it up. None of them were insane as such.

But with any luck he might be soon.

"Oh... fucking hell, yeah."

"Yeah." Gil cleared his throat a little, expression shifting faintly towards anxious. "I didn't think you ever wanted to hear that."

"Well... In a general way, being told I was a father was sort of part of the general life-plan, but in a specific, being told by your boss who is incidentally male, no, I have to admit, I see your reasoning there." Greg was aware that he was babbling, but it seemed to be the way he coped with things. Nick had told him it was the silence in his lab that unnerved him the most, and told him there was something really wrong.

"It's solid reasoning," Gil shrugged a little, and then he sat back and out of Greg's range of vision. So whatever his head was on was probably Grissom's lap. "I'm sorry, Greg."

"Jesus, Grissom, it's not exactly your fault is it?" Greg replied twisting a little to try and see him. "I'm half thinking I've gone completely nuts here. But I remember..."

No. He couldn't go there just yet. Just that it was corroboration for what had to be the strangest revelation of all time.

He really didn't want to think just yet, even if he was twisting in Gil's lap, really close to...

Greg had always kind of thought that he'd have sex with some girl, maybe even a really good girlfriend of his, and he'd accidentally knock her up. And they'd get married and try to make it work, and maybe it would work, because his grandparents were the best couple he'd ever seen.

"You remember enough."

"A few things that were said make a sort of sense," Greg answered "A fucked up type of sense, but... yeah. Okay. I've stopped freaking now, Griss. It can't be good for you sitting with me on the floor here."

"Why's that?" He set the hand towel aside, and laid fingers on Greg's shoulder. "Here, I'll help you up."

"Well, you're... pregnant," Greg said and pushed himself up. "That has to be the most surreal thing I have ever said. I think you need to tell me more about this. My brain keeps threatening to run off and hide and pretend this isn't happening."

"I don't know what there is to tell you, Greg. Sitting on the floor isn't going to kill me, for a start." They were close when Greg pushed himself up, but once Gil started to stand, he stepped back. "You soaked your clothes with coffee."

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Maybe I should change or something," Greg replied awkwardly. "I... this is the reason you didn't call, right?"

"I... thought that you'd been through enough," Gil said simply, reaching out to grab Greg's upper arm gently. Just his upper arm. "I didn't want to make you feel any worse."

Greg found to his surprise that he didn't flinch at that touch which had to be a first. "Griss... I don't know how to explain it. I'm not sure I can. I just needed to know you were okay. "

"I'm okay. Mostly." He didn't pull back from the touch, and Gil kept studying Greg even after he'd answered him.

"Right. Like I'm 'fine'," Greg replied looking at him again. "I'm sorry, Grissom. That this happened to you."

It was nearly him. He remembered that too. So very nearly him.

Except there'd been something about his hips being too narrow or his build being wrong. And that they'd made that mistake before or something. Greg didn't really want to remember, but the thoughts were bubbling up now that Gil was looking faintly uncomfortable, now that he pulled back a little. "I'm coping."

"I feel like someone in a soap. A delinquent father, who skipped out on his responsibilities," Greg said, steadying himself. Any minute his mind would wake up and start demanding more information. "I'll get that shower and change."

"The bathroom's just there." Gil gestured for Greg to go down the hallway, a short little hallway that aborted into a half-closed door that was probably a bedroom. "Make yourself at home while you're here."

Greg nodded, wincing a little at the movement of his head. "I will." He started to head off, and then had to step back, half walking into the table to get his bag. "Sorry. Won't be long."

Or at least as long as it took for his thoughts to catch up with him again.

He didn't hang around to see what Gil was going to say, just grabbed up the bag that he'd shoved his clothes into, and dragged it into the bathroom with him. The bath-mat was still wet, so someone -- Catherine or Gil -- had used it pretty recently. It was smallish, but well lit.

He didn't like to shower with the lights on anymore. He didn't like to see the evidence of what had been done because he started thinking about it too much and he ended up sitting in the shower, not knowing how long he had been there, freezing cold as he used up all the hot water. Needless to say that wasn't something he had mentioned to anyone.

He wondered how this could be real -- he now knew what 'through the looking glass' felt like. Everything was normal and not at the same time. Greg carefully didn't look at himself as he got in the shower, having stripped off. The shower was intensely hot in comparison to his shocked skin and he nearly yelped.

So. Hypothetically, this was real. What was he going to do about it? There was that urge just to disappear... but however he had been changed; he hadn't changed so much that he ran away from things. Into them, over them, right into the biggest mess ever, but never away.

Besides, Grissom was the one with the worst time. He had at least been abused... normally. In a manner of speaking. This was like Grissom was still going through it.

He didn't know what he'd do if it was him, sitting there, alone in a cabin, knowing that he had something very very unnatural going on inside of him, against his will. And he wasn't even sure what else had been done to Gil, or what was going on inside of his head. Just that he hadn't wanted to tell Greg because he didn't want to... add to Greg's problems?

There were times when Greg knew he just didn't understand Grissom. All he'd ever wanted to do was... to be closer to him. He had been going to say, make Grissom proud of him, but that was more Nick's ambition. His was a bit more personal and he'd known he'd never stood a chance. He knew that he was like a moth circling around a flame and had been now for ages, but he couldn't help it.

And he knew this had ended any pathetic little fantasies he had nurtured.

Fuck his own problems. Grissom had been his reason to keep it together. To get them away from there, and he could be his reason to deal with things. His need was much greater than Greg's problems.

Greg could get a grip on himself, because Grissom had as good as never left the place with what was going on with him.

Greg was going to be a father. Maybe. Maybe, and hopefully it'd have the right number of limbs and eyes and fingers.

Considering that his preferences leaned towards the male side of bi, being told he was going to be a father had been a dim and distant fantasy. He ought to be pleased. He ought to be, but he hated the fact that it was essentially a forced pregnancy. Rape in not so many words. Perhaps Grissom had endured the literal kind as well, but there couldn't be any more profound a violation than that. And like it or not, he was a part of that. Worse in that he had a feeling he might have helped them by answering some of their questions about genetics. But he would have answered anything then. Even random questions about organ donation and rejection and how that worked and genetic manipulation. It mostly seemed that they'd been consulting with him on it, like they already knew the answers but wanted to hear it from another source or they had just wanted someone to talk through their crazed ideas with even if it was one of their subjects. And he would have, and did say anything to make things a little easier for him.

It wasn't like he was capable of unlocking the secrets to making a man pregnant.

They had someone who knew genetics. Questions about the mechanics of cloning and introducing genetic material into an egg and simulating fertilization were imaginative. It could be done; they had done it with sheep, even with human embryos now to get around the various laws. That was the stupid thing -- the science existed to make it possible. The ethics, he'd thought, had firmly barred the way.

Up to the point of some sort of extremist group taking scientific advancement to the extremes of scientific terrorism. One of them had babbled in a disturbing religious fanatic frothing at the mouth way.

Imagine if Man could beget himself out of Man alone. Wouldn't that be a child untainted by original sin? Wouldn't that be like the Virgin touched by God?

Well, Grissom didn't get out much, but Greg was sure he wasn't a virgin.

At least, Greg was pretty sure of that. There had been that whole thing with Lady Heather that had just... yeah. No way was Gil Grissom sexless, even if he was probably not wanting to think about it, and pretty fucking confused just then. Or at least, that was what Greg would've been if he'd been in that position.

And in search of more soap. Gil had some funny stuff in his bathroom, really hot water or not.

Stretch mark cream, muscle relaxants suitable for pregnant women. Things to stop nipples weeping and cracking too much. Stomach settling things and drugs. Immunosuppressant drugs. Hormone supplements. Vitamins, supplements, everything.

Greg looked at it all a bit blankly.

It was hard to contemplate it, and he didn't want to touch and paw through it all, laid out neatly, and get the labels and the 'times per day' instructions wet. But it was there, everything that a guy, woman, someone, would need to get through something like that. At least in terms of drugs.

'Follow the evidence' Grissom would say and the evidence was prescribed by a doctor, so unless Grissom was pulling a Millander and concealing his XX, which was impossible because he had seen Gil's DNA, there was a doctor somewhere that believed him to the point of medication.

He was really going to have to do something about his panic attacks.

Just swallow a little spit, and stop breathing. If he started to do freak-out breathing he'd pass out naked in Gil's bathroom and neither of them really needed to cope with the questions that would bring up.

In, out, and in again, and then Greg could breathe enough to get a slow full lungful of air and grab a thing of moisturizing body wash. Yeah, that'd work fine for soap, and he could get back under the hot water again. In he went, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. Hodges had taught him that which had been the weirdest thing. Sympathy from the resident Lab Snark had nearly undone him completely.

He scrubbed over his body, rinsing himself off and averting his eyes. Greg didn't want to look at himself, because every scar and every weird little mark that was still there months after the fact was a sharp memory, like a needle in the eye. And Greg didn't want to think about it. He wanted to cope and see what he could do about the thing with Gil.

That was constructive and better than lying looking at the ceiling.

---

It had been a bad idea. Gil had known that it was going to be a bad idea, but he hadn't quite figured out how bad an idea it was going to be until he'd felt his stomach lurch when Greg had started to laugh. At him. And it made sense to laugh, because how insane was it to be told that? It wasn't the first time Gil had been laughed at, either, but he still tried and stumbled and did things that got him mocked despite it.

He just usually had an easier time brushing it off, and by the time that Greg had turned on the shower a second time, he'd put his coat on, and was scribbling a large note to tack to the wall opposite the bathroom door. 'Gone for a walk, back soon'. Because if he didn't get out of there, if he didn't walk off the twisting unhappy feeling, he was going to do something he didn't want to do.

Gil actually made it out of the door before the shower turned off and didn't really know where he was going to go. He just started walking.

He was a fair way down his drive and heading out to parts unknown when he heard the door go behind him in the distance and Greg calling out. "Grissom? Gil?"

Greg calling after him stuck him with a stab of guilt, and while he stopped walking, it took him a moment to turn around. "I didn't think you'd be done yet, Greg. I was, uh, just heading out..."

It was obvious he wasn't really done since he hadn't got as far as shoes, socks or pulling anything on straight. He looked like a mess. Catherine had been right. When he had first seen him at his door he had felt the shock of it like a punch. Greg had never carried excess weight but he was looking unhealthily thin, his eyes were practically black and he just looked... unwell. When he had passed out and had lost all his color, he looked dead. That had overshadowed the rejection for a short period of time. But now he couldn't avoid it.

"You want me to come with you?" He seemed oblivious to the fact he was barefoot as he headed towards him.

"No, Greg, it's -- it's cold out here." And as much as he wanted to keep walking, he turned back around, and started back towards the house. "The sun's starting to set. At least put shoes and a jacket on."

"Right. Right, I can do that," Greg replied looking at him hopefully. "Uh, unless you really wanted to get away from me? I mean, if you want to be alone, I can stay out of it."

He wanted to be alone. He wanted to think, and not have to answer Greg's questions -- and there were going to be questions -- and he wanted to get some time to shove down the tightness that seemed to be cutting off the edges of his every word when he spoke. "I... just get restless sometimes."

Gil got a hand on Greg's shoulder, and walked him back inside.

Greg looked at him a moment. "I'm sorry about... you know, laughing and everything. There's no excuse for it. I know you don't screw around with people like that."

"That's all right," Gil shrugged, and maybe the gesture was a little tight. "I know how it sounds. My cover story if anyone in town figures it out isn't much more believable."

"Yeah? What's that?" Greg asked still looking at him carefully.

"Female to male transsexual who never had the bottom operation performed." He wasn't sure what that careful look was, but Greg wasn't staring at his stomach like Catherine did.

"Wow. Wouldn't have thought of that. Griss... Gil? Can we sit down and talk about this?" Greg seemed to be focused on that talk which he hated the thought of.

"I guessed that you might have questions. So." He could do it, even as he and Greg backtracked to the living room, and Greg started to look for socks and his sneakers. "Start."

"Okay, I'll start with some general stuff from me," Greg said. "I'm sorry I freaked -- I'm... well I guess you know I haven't been too stable recently and I know now, knowing this is real that acting like I did was pretty shitty." Greg's words were tripping over each other as if he expected to be stopped at any moment. "I guess I want to apologize for that and for not being around when you needed someone. Because I... I know this must be weird in a big way and the least you could expect is someone to be there with you. So. I hope you're not too pissed at me."

"I'm not angry at you." Gil moved to sit down, watching Greg move and fidget, restless. "I kept it from you, because I don't think you need to deal with it. I'm fine. I'm coping."

"That's because you're stronger than me. Me? I would've freaked out by now, I think," Greg replied. "So. Look, I'm on medical leave, which means I want to be here. Help you, be with you so you aren't on your own with this."

Which had been Catherine's idea, but Gil hadn't quite seen the sense of it, either. "Greg, I, it's not like it's some exciting development. There's very little to deal with. If you'd rather be somewhere else..."

Greg shook his head. "I was contemplating staring at my ceiling for several months," he said lightly although it didn't seem entirely like a joke. "It's your prerogative to be looked after right? That's what the father does."

"In an ideal situation, I suppose." And their current situation was less than ideal, but not in the normal ways. Gil leaned forward a little, folding his arms and resting his elbows on his knees. It took a little of the ache off of his back. "This... I don't know what to do. I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"You're supposed to let people help you," Greg said firmly. "That'll be me if you don't want to tell anyone else, and Catherine, too. And you're meant to concentrate on yourself and relax and let off steam when you need to."

Greg did seem much more together now than he had when he had arrived. Like he had some sort of focus that was pulling him together that he lacked before.

"I'm not very good with letting off steam. I prefer rollercoasters, but I've been advised against it right now." Gil tried to make it a light comment, and knew that he'd probably failed.

Greg managed a weak smile at that. "I'm sure we'll find something. Look, I want you to say what you feel to me if you want to. Don't try and hold off on me because you don't want to add to my problems. Truth is, this'll help more than anything."

"What? You want me to what?" Gil tilted his head, watching while Greg finally stopped fidgeting.

"I want you to be able to say the stuff you can't say to anyone else." Greg said stopping pacing a moment. "I want to be able to help you."

"Greg, I." He tipped his head down, and shook it, trying to think of what to say or how to say it. Gil wasn't good at giving voice to his emotions, and that was why everyone at work thought he was something other than mortal, something both beneath them and above them at the same time. Maybe he was only strong because keeping a calm head was all that he knew how to do.

So, he what? He was angry, he wanted control back but he couldn't have it, he didn't want to die but he couldn't quite kill it, and.... And Greg had laughed at him, just like if he lived, everyone would laugh at the idea of Gil raising any child, because he was an unemotional robot and he could never do normal things even in an abnormal way. "I can't even do this without fucking it up."

Greg moved over to sit himself down next to Gil on the couch. "Fucking what up? You're not doing anything wrong."

Gil didn't look over at Greg, just kept studying the pattern of the rug that covered that part of the hard wood floors. "I can think it, I just... never say it."

"You say stuff with me," Greg pointed out. "Like after the explosion. And, I'm getting better at working out all the subtle nuances of your mood." He reached tentatively to rest a hand on Grissom's leg. "Come on, you know I'm like the world expert on observing you."

"But not as..." Gil sat back a little, and glanced at Greg. "Unfathomable as Sara."

"The Marianas Trench isn't as unfathomable as Sara," Greg managed with a slight smile. "I'm a simple guy."

"No, you're not." Gil gave him another look, and then rubbed at his eyes for a moment, some of the damp stinging feeling edging away. "The best I can promise is to... try."

"Yeah, me too," Greg answered softly. "But that's pretty much all anyone can ask for, right?" His hand moved, hesitantly reached for Gil's shoulder and then slid around him. "Doing the best they can and being there,"

Gil almost wished that he still didn't have his jacket on, the warm leather deadening the sensation of an arm over his shoulders. He twisted, just a little, and halfway leaned into Greg. "Right."

"So you wanna go out for that walk, or sit like this on the couch and heckle at one of my DVD's?" Greg asked after a long pause, looking surprisingly comfortable with the other man's closeness.

And that was good. At least he, and the fact that he was somewhat of a freak, didn't bother Greg, or if it did, it wasn't in any overt way. "I... probably should walk. Are you up to it?"

"Sure. Declared unconcussed right?" Greg said reaching for his jacket. "As long as we don't go on a three mile hike. My leg isn't up to that yet."

"I tire out fast, so it shouldn't end up more than half a mile either way." Gil could tell that Greg was still... not quite together, because he didn't have his shoes on yet. So he leaned forward again, looking pointedly at Greg's feet, and waited.

"Okay, I get it. Shoes. Feet. With you," Greg bent over to drag them on. "I walk around all the time at home without anything on my feet. Very relaxing. Okay, I'm cool to go."

"As long as you don't try to walk through the woods barefoot. I do it around the cabin. It's not as if there's much space." Gil stood up again, and cracked his back.

"That's where we're going? The woods?" Greg asked as he stamped on his shoes and stood as well. "The woods at dusk -- sounds good."

"There are wolves in the woods, so I tend to carry. I haven't seen one yet, but there's always a first." And Gil had wandered off that first time without thinking about that, without stopping to get his gun like usual, but now he was going to get it.

"How do you know then?" Greg asked as he shrugged on a jacket more comfortably.

"Dead animals, appropriately sized feces. In town, they like to discuss how there's a roving band of wild bears, but I think the beer they serve there is toxic. You'll have to stop in and test it for me." Since he couldn't drink, one of them might as well.

"Only if I can bring some back. I'm not leaving you here alone while I go out drinking," Greg replied. "I'll feel like some sort of character in a Hallmark special."

"I wonder what it'd be called. This certainly doesn't seem like a Hallmark special." Gil reached for his gun holster, and shrugged off his jacket to put it on.

"I seem to have lost most of my ability to joke," Greg said as he waited. "It's pretty sad being told you used to be a pretty fun guy." He shrugged a little.

"Who's told you that?" Their conversation was a little meandering, but that was starting to relax Gil by the time that he had the gun holstered properly and zipped up his jacket again. He reached to open the door for Greg.

"Hodges. Can you imagine being told that by Hodges?" Greg stepped outside. "This is the point where you realize your life is in the toilet and someone is working on pulling the flush."

Since Hodges' idea of fun was kissing ass and trying to get the attention of people who had higher positions than him. "It could be worse," Gil suggested. He stopped to lock the door, even though the chances of them being robbed was slim to nothing. "Ecklie could have told you that."

"Measure me up for a box, I'd be heading out feet first," Greg said affecting horror. "My usual sparkling wit is pretty grungy. You probably haven't noticed any difference."

"To be honest? No." Gil led the way past their parked cars, and headed down a path that was pretty familiar to him except he waited for Greg to fall into step with him. "But you haven't been here long and we've both been a little preoccupied."

"Yeah, I guess." Greg kept pace with him, limping with his left leg though he didn't say anything. "Long enough to make a drama out of a crisis though."

"I think you were allowed to faint." Now that he was calmer, past that surging urge to lash out or do something, Gil could admit that.

"I've been having a few problems that way recently." It sounded like he hated admitting it as well. "Hyperventilating and things. It's stupid, but I can't stop it very easily. Not in my sleep anyway."

"Nightmares?" Gil tilted his head a little, watching Greg's face in the twilight. The sun was just on the cusp of falling below the horizon, and it made Greg seem a little less pale.

"Yeah." Greg didn't elaborate on that. "And system shock or something. Medical stuff. I just wanted out of the hospital as quickly as I could."

"Since you're going to be staying here, maybe you should tell me anything I might need to be aware of." There, a little tit for tat.

Greg walked in silence a bit as if he were trying to think of a way not to answer him as they headed into the trees. "I guess... I don't really sleep if I can help it. Eating's been pretty difficult too, not because I can't be bothered but because I can't keep it down. Uh, I find it hard to walk far on this leg. I can't stand people being too close and it's weird because you're the only person who's touched me since that I haven't shrieked like a girl over... I can't stand being on my own. I... don't know, there are probably other things though."

Other things. Other problems, probably, other little twitches, but Gil was pretty sure that if anyone lived with him for very long, he'd piss them off with his own problems. Gil would probably end up pissing off Greg, but for the moment, Gil walked quietly beside him. "Then we can be wrecks together."

"Nightmares, too, right?" Greg shifted just a little closer as the sun colored the sky and made ink of the trees.

"Four hours of sleep a night has proven to be a pretty ambitious goal. And I'm still on nightshift hours." All that did for him was give him an excuse not to interact with people in town much.

"I'll try not to disturb what sleep you are getting," Greg promised. "You need the rest. You could nap maybe at other times?"

"I try. How about you?" Gil dodged a low-hanging branch, looking over at Greg.

"I don't know, I haven't tried. I've been at work and when I'm at home it's just like... trying not to think too much, you know?" Greg replied. He ducked a little at the last minute. "But then all I can do is think, and go over what I did wrong..."

In general, or just at work? "What do you think you did wrong that's keeping you up?" The woods were quiet, and except for them, completely devoid of people. A bush rustled a little out in front of them.

"It's my fault we were caught. Definitely that you were. I called you over, remember?" Greg said calmly. "Stupid thing to do. I should have said I'd heard something and then waited for the officer. Not called you over into danger."

"It's not your fault." Gil shifted his hands, stuck them both in his jacket pockets. "I must have played that moment through my mind a few hundred times every day. No matter what you did..."

"Or what I didn't do. If it had been Nick or Warrick, anyone else, I'm pretty sure they would have put up some sort of fight," Greg replied as if he were reciting facts. "Not dropped like a stone."

"I hadn't put you in the field with Nick and Warrick very often, Greg. Everyone responds differently to danger. There's no way of knowing." Gil shrugged his shoulders, and tried to smile over at Greg. "I didn't put up much of a fight."

"That's all I could think of. How disappointed you'd be that I made such a stupid mistake," Greg admitted seeming to disbelieve Grissom's assertion that he hadn't fought much. Gil could remember him being in the middle of saying something and then a sudden silence. He hadn't had chance to fight.

"It was bad luck. One minute you were talking... I didn't help, trust me, Greg. I didn't put up a fight. I wasn't even carrying my gun." Not that he would have had time to draw and fire, let alone aim. "Don't blame yourself."

Greg shook his head. "I can't let go of it, you know? I needed to find you. I guess I got obsessive about it. Have become obsessive about it. I kept thinking, what if they're doing this to Grissom?"

'This', sexually assaulting him, and whatever else they'd done to Greg. Gil knew it wasn't the right time to pry for answers about that, knew it wasn't the right time to ask what 'this' was. "I'm sorry, Greg. But we're not there anymore."

"No, but you kinda are," Greg replied seriously. "With the pregnancy thing. It hasn't ended for you, and here's me making a self-centered drama over everything."

"It isn't as if the existence of one precludes the existence of the other." Gil glanced left, watching the bush rustle a little again as they passed it before a squirrel bolted out.

"I was bitten by a squirrel once," Greg said randomly. "Had to have the rabies shots, because they usually only attack if they have something wrong with them." It was difficult to tell if that was a distraction or Greg himself was easily distracted.

"How old were you?" If Greg was going to be random, Gil was going to go along with it, going to play along with it. As long as Greg kept talking while they walked through the well-trodden path.

"About fifteen I think," Greg replied musing aloud. "They had some mother of all needles for that. I wouldn't say I'm phobic about needles just that I have a good base of experience, that I hate them. Scares me shitless giving blood."

"So when I cornered you for a blood donation just after you were hired, that was more than the usual first day employee trepidation?" Gil watched an insect dart by them, and wished he'd been paying more attention so he could have identified it.

Greg actually laughed. "Yeah. There's me, desperately wanting to impress all the CSI's and trying not to be a wuss about it. I was pretty proud of myself actually. Usually when I give blood, I have to force myself. But you and I have the same blood type so I guess you get the same calls about it."

"To donate? I just go... went regularly." One more thing he couldn't do now. He needed his blood.

"Yeah. So you noticed huh?" Greg said. He shook his head. "I go to a lot of trouble to be noticed for the good things, not my screw ups."

"It's not a screw-up. I notice a lot of random things about people." Gil glanced at Greg, watching the tilt of his head. "And I miss a lot of things."

"You don't miss anything worth missing," Greg replied looking out at the darkening trees.

"I miss a lot of things that most people find important." Gil reached out to twist a leaf off of a tree that they were passing. "I assume things I shouldn't, that everyone reacts the way I do."

"Like what, Griss?" Greg turned a little to look at him and steadied himself on the other man's shoulder.

"Should I start with the number of times I've been unable to properly connect to my coworkers, or that I thought you needed me to leave you alone?" He turned a little, and let Greg steady himself.

"But then you wouldn't be you," Greg replied and his hand lingered a moment. "And you had reason. You always have a good reason."

A good reason for stumbling awkwardly over social situations? Gil wasn't sure. "Do I?"

"Yeah. Like being pregnant. That's a pretty good reason not to want to talk to me," Greg reasoned.

"No, I... that's not why I didn't talk to you." Gil cleared his throat, and looked out into the darkening woods around them. "I, uh, why don't we keep that topic to the cabin?"

Greg looked around. "Shit. Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't think..." He exhaled a moment. "Sure you want me to stick around?"

"Yes." He could at least answer that fast enough that Greg couldn't doubt whether he was telling the truth or not. But it wasn't because he needed Greg there, but that Greg needed to be near someone. And Gil seemed to be it. "Just... a little discretion."

"Discretion. I can do that. With any luck." Greg looked unnaturally pale in the dusk light, the shadows accentuating the pits and hollows malnutrition had caused.

Gil reached a hand out to touch Greg, fingers staying on his arm because it was 'safe' territory. "I know you can, Greg. I trust that you can, and if you somehow can't... that's why I have a backup plan. I'm starting to feel a little tired. I think Catherine wore me out while she was here. Do you want to head back?"

"It's getting dark. That squirrel may come after me," Greg agreed. "You're feeling okay though, right? Anything I can do?"

"You could stop asking me if there's anything you can do, Greg. I'm fine." He kept any heat out of the words, and turned back around, hand still on Greg's arm. "Leg all right?"

"Aches some. Probably all the driving," Greg replied, shrugging slightly. "So. I think I was meant to bring some food in or something. I... uh... kinda forgot. You want me to cook something for you or go into town for something?"

"You can cook?" Gil tried to keep from sounding dubious, but the idea that Greg could cook hadn't ever crossed his mind before.

"I can cook. I went out with this guy once who was a chef?" Greg replied casually. "I might not be totally expert but I had high standards to live up to when I cooked for him. Taught me a few tricks."

Greg always could do or say something that surprised Gil, and that was no exception. "So you cook, collect coins, play chess, know about surfing and latex..." And. And a lot of other things that Gil didn't know. Except that he was tolerant of eccentricities.

"Yeah. Weird huh? Of course I don't try and do them all at once," Greg replied as they headed back. "So. You feel in the mood for something? I can make something out of anything. I like cooking. It's the eating bit I have problems with."

"You're going to have to," Gil pointed out as he kept up with Greg. It was a slow pace back the way they'd came, and Gil estimated they were lucky if they'd gone a third of a mile.

"I'll find something," Greg promised and walked on in silence for a bit. The fading light very nearly obscured his expression when he spoke again. "I missed you."

God knew why, except that before it had happened, Gil had been trying to make sure that Greg was up on his training; that he was on the path to getting certified and passing his proficiency. "I missed you, too." Even if Jim had joked to Gil a few times that Greg had all but been stuck to Gil's shoes.

"You're just saying that. I know what Brass used to say," Greg answered, but his voice sounded lighter. It didn't take much to affect his mood it seemed.

"I'd like to know since when Jim and I speak with one voice," Gil snorted.

"Well, Sara and the others would go on about me puppy-dogging you. I guess it's a little late for embarrassment." He shrugged. "I make a fool of myself sometimes."

"And I never have?" Gil let go of Greg's arm at last, and put his hands back into his pockets. "Everyone does. And what they think doesn't matter to me, and it shouldn't matter to you."

"No. I guess none of it really matters anymore," Greg agreed even as he walked very close. He ducked suddenly. "Jesus, was that a bat or a cigar sized moth?"

Gil's hand shot out to steady Greg, pressing against his back. "Bat. The moths don't get quite that large around here. If I leave the porch light on, I can show you."

"That'd be cool," Greg replied and seemed to mean it. Just like he seemed to draw something from being touched and his arm gently settled around Grissom again for the last part of their walking back. "I went camping once with a group of college friends. There were these hawk moths? Like flying cigars. Really vivid colors. Though I have to say, we were throwing ourselves to the ground at the time."

"Where were you camping? I know that as a species, they're exceptionally fascinating to look at, even if they do occasionally scare people. We tend to have Sphinx moths around here, more often."

"Somewhere in the foothills of the mountains, I forget exactly," Greg replied easily. "Kind of a shock to the system to find wildlife outside of the bars."

"When you're in college? I'm sure it was." Gil removed his hand from Greg's back, almost reluctantly, and slipped it back into his pocket.

Greg, on the other hand, did not move his, content to walk like that. "Seems like a long time ago now."

"It was quite a long time ago for me. You're not allowed to get nostalgic about college until it's been ten years and you've paid off your loans." He didn't mind the arm around him, the strange way that Greg had decided that he suddenly had a right to be in Gil's personal space.

"Paid all the way," Greg replied with a hint of smugness. "No loans to be paid off."

"Full ride. You still have to wait ten years," Gil pronounced, randomly deciding to stay firm about that.

"Yes, sir," Greg smiled as they headed back up to the house. "Okay, kitchen will be my first stop. You should sit down."

They crunched over the partially gravely dirt, back to the front door. Maybe they could make it work, if they took it day by day. "If you're going to cook, you need to eat."

"I'll... I'll try. If only to show you it's edible," Greg promised. "Then you can show me the bugs. Or we can watch a movie."

Gil leaned against the door while he dug out his keys, carefully unlocking both doors. "Or both. It's a deal, Greg." After all, the best they could do would be to try. Try and function, try and get Greg better, try to get through every day.

And maybe somewhere along the line some of what was happening would start to make sense.

---

It was a sad thing to wake up to the sound of whimpering and then to discover it was yourself. Greg had his now customary moment of panicked thrashing around as he came to in an unfamiliar room, looking at an unfamiliar ceiling.

He lay back, trying to force his breathing back into a sensible rhythm so he didn't end up passing out. He could still feel the lump on his head from his rather embarrassing reaction to being told he was a father. He felt like he should have been videoed for some cheap funniest videos show.

He had slept longer, which was a testament to how much effort he had put in the day before. His first night he hadn't really slept at all despite being dog-tired and exhausted to the point of fuzziness. Then he had spent the day being... attentive. Or trying to be.

He had been tired that night when he finally crashed out, but even exhaustion wasn't reassurance enough. He still woke up alone.

The sofa was pretty comfortable, Greg had to admit, for a pullout that had required the coffee table to be shoved aside. But it was on wheelie thingies -- which Gil had said was at Catherine's insistence -- so a good brush of the knee was pretty much all it took to shift the coffee table aside. It didn't seem to matter where he slept, though; he was restless.

The clock on Gil's DVD player read 4 p.m., though the blackout blinds didn't let him check by the amount of daylight in the room. The clock was all he needed to look at to know that he really should have been sleeping for another few hours.

He hated waking up in the quiet of the 'night'. All he ended up doing was thinking. All the nights when he had been locked away, thinking and wondering what was going to happen next, when it was going to stop hurting...

And what had happened to Grissom. It was still there, that feeling like a conditioned response. He knew what the psychiatrist said; he knew that the 'obsession' with Grissom's well-being and presence was a projection of the needs and feelings that were denied to himself. Or something, he hadn't been listening that hard, but he knew that maybe they weren't normal. And maybe they didn't go away because the danger had technically passed. He felt it burning in him like a restless internal sun of energy. Where is he? How is he? What's happened to him? How can I make this right? How can I make things better... over and over.

Except now he could answer the questions, even if they were strange, uneasy answers, even if they were answers that made him wonder at his own sanity. Gil was just sleeping in the bedroom, where Greg had put his suitcases because there was room in there; Gil seemed to be doing okay, to be handling things; Greg knew some of what had happened.

And as for how to make it right, better...

All he could do was try; even if that weirded Gil out from the looks of it. Making him dinner, which Greg had managed to eat some of before his stomach felt full, clearing up things. Making drinks, offering to run into town when Grissom made a passing comment about something he might possibly like.

Grissom kept looking at him in a way that made him feel like he was going to run to the hills to get away from the crazy Greg.

Not a good thought, considering his obsession. He listened, trying to pick up any faint sound.

It was easy to pick up on quiet noises, because the cabin was dead silent, except for the occasional click and humming of the heat coming on. It was colder up there than it was down in Vegas, and Greg probably should have brought more warm clothing with him. Sweaters and shit, since it didn't seem ready to go over sixty degrees any time soon and November was creeping up.

Gil snored a little. Or faint noises or something, something that Greg could hear through the partially opened bedroom door.

He sat up, watching the door in the dim light as if that would help him hear and then half considered trying to get something else from his case if Grissom was actually asleep. It took him ten minutes to decide to act and then he was creeping in towards Grissom's room to get a jacket or a shirt. And maybe just to check he was okay. Just to make sure he was sleeping okay and that everything was okay. That the baby was okay, and that was a thought that twinged at him. Baby. Pregnancy. That he was going to be a dad instead of just a neurotic guy who couldn't get to sleep and needed to make excuses to himself to check up on his object of obsession.

It hadn't really sunk in that he was going to be a father. He wasn't sure if and when it actually would, and he had no real preparation for it as a concept. But then most people didn't.

He crept in carefully, peering around the door to look at Grissom.

Gil was curled up on his side, sheets and blankets wrapped tight around himself, right up to his chin. Fingers were poking out, but that was it. He looked... a little younger with his beard shaved, and Greg halfway wondered why Gil had shaved it after he'd had it that way for so long.

Maybe he'd ask him. He liked him like that -- he looked good, a little relaxed. There wasn't any possibility of anything ever happening with them, not even the faint dreamlike hope he'd possessed that Grissom might wake up gay one day. That wasn't going to happen, and after this ordeal, he'd be lucky if Grissom wanted to see him again. If he survived.

That terrified him: that Grissom might die. It was worse than contemplating the same happening to him.

If, if Gil died because of what had happened to him... Greg just didn't know what he'd do. The scientific significance, the reality of what was happening paled to nothing once Greg took into consideration that it could kill Gil.

But Gil was all right. Gil was sleeping, and making a quiet complaining noise before he pulled at the sheets.

Maybe he wanted or needed something. Before he knew it, Greg found himself stepping silently closer. He couldn't explain why it made himself feel better to worry about someone else but it did. Maybe the psychiatrist was right and it was because he could do something about changing things for them and not for himself.

Gil could need him at any time really.

Maybe that was why he was anxious. Just watching Gil shift restlessly in his sleep was enough to put Greg ready to spring into action to do... something. He wasn't sure what, but he could do something. Other than getting that warmer shirt to wear.

Shirt... yeah. How long had he been standing there again? His leg ached. God he hoped he hadn't started losing time or anything. He turned to look for his case, and immediately looked back at a soft sound from Gil. Not awake but...

It was like when he had been a kid and he used to watch for shooting stars with Poppa Olaf. He'd stare and stare at the sky and sometimes he'd see one and sometimes not but he knew if he looked away then something dramatic would happen. So he'd end up with a cricked neck and dizzy from trying to watch the whole sky.

At least Grissom was easy to focus on. Somehow he had ended up sitting, back against the wall just watching Grissom in bed.

At least he was sitting beside his suitcase, so he could paw through it with half of his attention. There was one of his favorites, a comfortable long-sleeved NiN t-shirt. Most of the clothes that he'd packed were 'favorites', old and well worn and familiar to him. Clothes that were definitely his, because he could remember sitting down and stitching clumsy under over stitches to the bottom of the left hem to tack it back up when the original thread had broken there.

One of Gil's legs jerked, and he grumbled something when he moved to draw it back up, curled in on himself.

He was half reaching towards him even before he realized what he was doing. What did he think he was going to do? Climb in with him? He shook his head and grabbed the top, pulling it on carefully, impatient to be able to see again as it went over his head. Grissom watching -- it had to be like bird watching or something. Maybe he could start a club.

It could have at least two members. Sara, Greg knew, would kill to be there. And Gil hadn't called her to be there with him, probably because if Gil had little to no idea what to do with Greg, he would have had a panic-attack's worth of no-ideas about what to do with Sara.

That made him smile just a little as he settled back. Sara was just worried. Apparently they had all been worried. Mainly about Grissom, but that was only to be expected. Grissom was their mentor; he was just a CSI wannabe. Never-going-to-be more like. Getting your boss kidnapped, experimented on and pregnant was probably a bad career move.

Not that Gil would ever say that. Not that Gil, if they could magically somehow get back to Vegas, would say anything to Greg other than 'So, where did we leave off?', and pick up training him again. Maybe, maybe he could get Gil to do it while they were there, under the table and unofficially, just so Greg didn't forget everything. Maybe he could ask about that.

Gil twisted in bed, shifting to lie on his back, one arm flung out of the sheets. Restless sleep was just about as bad as no sleep at all.

That couldn't be good for him. He needed to relax more and rest more. Make things as easy on his body as possibly. Maybe he could offer him a massage. Nah, he'd freak. But maybe he could offer it anyway. Gil didn't deserve his nights to be so troubled, when he had a big enough problem to deal with in the daytime.

So, maybe he could give it a shot. No harm, no foul, and Gil had been pretty forgiving of Greg's touchy-feely weirdness. Gil probably didn't get that it was a miracle for Greg not to almost soil himself when someone touched him.

The stupid thing was he knew it was to be expected. He knew all the things they told him which was why he decided he was probably as well off as he could be. He'd sat through the 'trauma of being a victim' lectures over and over. He knew how it fucked him up. How it probably fucked Grissom up. They hadn't discussed the in-depth details of what had happened, but he was pretty sure his ordeal had been more... traditional, and Gil's more medical and creative. He couldn't get his head around all of it.

It was strangest of all to think Grissom was beautiful.

He'd always thought it, pined and waffled from crushing on him to being fascinated by him and back again, and there had been a lot of years and sides of the man that he'd seen to make him decide against crushing on him, but everything that happened... It just seemed to add more depth to Grissom. Even Nick, who'd finally stopped living hand to mouth on Gil's praise, still bloomed when Gil approved of something he did.

It had always been funny how Gil approved of Nick most when Nick was pissed off and veering in a completely different direction than Gil on a case. And if that independence was what Gil admired best in people, then what did it make of Greg?

He didn't know. He had to blink his eyes open a moment, disorientated. He'd built an impossible rescue around the need for Grissom's approval so he couldn't let go of that just then. He'd carried him, and kept moving even after they'd shot him. That was a hellishly powerful emotion.

His counselor had suggested it was either unhealthy, or it wasn't just approval.

Even if it wasn't just approval, then it was probably still unhealthy, but hey. Gil was too fucked up, too, to bother pointing that out to Greg, and neither of them talked about what they'd experienced in that place. Greg... almost wasn't sure if he wanted to know at all. Was pretty sure that he didn't want Gil to know at all what had happened to him.

Gil sighed, and it sounded pretty awake.

Should he try and sneak out or just... hide or confess he was here?

He was never one for being overly backwards in coming forwards.

"Gil? You okay?" he whispered

He went quiet for a moment, and then drew in one shuddering breath, and then another. "Fine. Just... tired, can't sleep."

"That makes two of us," Greg replied and then felt he had to explain. "I uh, came in for another top. I got cold."

"Mm. If you're going to be here through the winter, you're going to need warmer clothes." Gil was looking up at the ceiling, and finally shifted to sit up, the bedsprings creaking. "What woke you up?"

"Usual," Greg said being deliberately vague. "You know."

"White walls." Gil shrugged as he sat up, leaning forward and rubbing at his face. "Been up for long?"

"Not sure. Since around four I guess," Greg answered leaning back against the wall. "Anything I can do to help you sleep?"

"I'm not sure." He lifted his face out of his hands, curly hair sticking up at odd angles before he ran a hand back through his hair. He was wearing a t-shirt, too, but the way he'd leaned forwards, Greg couldn't see what it said on it, if anything.

"Is that I'm not sure in an 'I have an idea but it sounds stupid, or might freak him out' way?" Greg asked interpreting the hesitation as some sort of thought on Grissom's behalf.

It at least got a laugh out of Gil. "Not really. I haven't found any way to get back to sleep after I wake up. It's..." He glanced over at the glowing red LED clock beside his bed, and then shifted to lean back against the headboard. "Five. So I've had four hours, and you've had three? We're both going to go crazy if this keeps up."

"Hey, that's the longest I've had in a long time," Greg protested. "It's more important for you to get rest though. This may sound stupid but I was going to offer to, you know, give you a massage or do the feet rubbing thing. One of my college friends, Julie, used to love that when she got pregnant."

Gil seemed to be staring at Greg, and then his facial expression shifted towards something like baffled. "I... Uh, I'm not sure if it would help, but if you're comfortable with the idea..."

"Sure. I wouldn't offer if I weren't comfortable with it," Greg replied as he pushed himself up. "Don't worry, she made sure I knew how to do it right so it wouldn't do anything to the baby. Can I... uh, come up there?"

"You can't really do it from the floor," Gil pointed out agreeably, still watching Greg like a hawk. "What should I do?"

"Just lie there and relax," Greg said getting up properly and moving to the bed. "However you feel comfortable. I'll work around you."

If it was happening differently, Greg decided it would have been a wet dream to have Gil pushing back the sheets, shifting to get comfortable for a massage. Now it was awkward and Gil looked... funny. Less clothing, sweat pants and a t-shirt, revealed just how much weight Gil had lost, and how much of it still seemed to be sitting at the front of his stomach in that paunch. "I've actually never done this before."

"In which case I'll try not to weird you out," Greg replied, eyes drifting inexorably to that swell. "Shout if it feels weird or anything." Greg climbed up and settled on the bed. "Just relax," he said again as he warmed his hands by shaking them and then reached for Gil.

Gil tried to help him along by moving so that his back wasn't right up against the headboard, giving Greg room to get behind him before he put his hands on Gil. So at least he was willing and able, or just plain willing. The t-shirt material was pretty thin, and Gil felt warm, shoulders hard as rocks beneath Greg's hands.

"Wow. Tense doesn't even do it justice," Greg commented. "Let me just sit and you can lean into me, I'm going to be here a while." It felt good to be doing something useful. Something that might help and he could feel himself relaxing as well.

"Lean into you how... ?" Gil sounded a little nervous, too, holding himself still with the muscles in his back.

"Here." Greg put one leg on either side of him, and propped himself up by the head of the bed so he could take his weight. "Just lean back okay? I won't break. I'm kinda bony, but I won't break."

"If you're sure." He still seemed hesitant to lean back, even though he did it. Gil had been hesitant to tell him at all, because he didn't want to 'add to' what had happened to Greg.

They still hadn't quite worked out how to communicate in that respect. Greg was hoping this was a little more direct. He kneaded at the rock hard muscles patiently and deftly. It had been a while since he had done this to anyone, lover or friend, but he never lost the knack. "Tell me if I hit a sore spot. I'm bound to, tight as you are here."

"Everything is a sore spot," Gil offered, but he didn't try to move away from Greg. He'd dropped his head forward a little, which seemed to be as close to relaxing as he'd go.

"I'll take it easy," Greg promised in a low voice, working up the neck and knowing from the feel Gil must have had some killer headaches. It was absorbing and therapeutic to get lost in the patient exploration of touch even if it wasn't the daydream fantasy come to life.

If it was his daydream fantasy, they both would have been naked, and Gil would have been lying on his stomach, and there would have been cheesy porno lighting and oil. Somewhere in the mix, really hard sex. Not both of them in a blind-darkened room in the middle of the day for most people, and him behind Gil just because it was an easy position.

He'd take what crumbs he was given. There was certain liberation in feeling the worst had happened; normal inhibitions didn't apply. He smoothed gentle circles with his thumbs, pressing hard to shake out the crackling tension in the muscles.

Gil finally groaned, a deep noise that didn't seem to be full of pain. It was more strung out with pleasure, and Gil shifted back to his hands finally, head dropping forward a little more.

"Good?" Greg asked in a voice barely above a whisper. "Bet you're getting bad headaches with a neck like this."

"Relatively bad," Gil groaned, shifting his shoulders a little under Greg's hands. "That feels good."

"That's the general idea," Greg murmured. "It'll take a while to get you fully relaxed I think. But hey, I've got time, right?"

"Right." Another rough almost-laugh, and Gil leaned into him a little more. "Would it be easier if I took my shirt off?"

"If you're comfortable with that, yeah," Greg replied, not missing a moment. "That's up to you." Up to Gil, but Greg really wanted it to be a yes. Then Gil leaned forward a little, shifting to pull off his t-shirt, pulling it up over his head and them dropping it to the bed. The light in the room was pretty bad, but Greg could make out discolorations on his back. Scars, skin paler than Gil's usual semi-tanned state.

He touched a couple of them gently before he went back to massaging. "They did some to you, too, then?" he asked eventually.

"They had me restrained for a while," Gil answered, casually, except that Greg could feel the muscles of his back tensing again. "I wasn't 'cooperating' well."

"Mm. I know that one," Greg replied having to resist the urge to land a soft comforting kiss on the back of Gil's neck. His reactions were skewed, he had to remember that. His fingertips traced along the lines. "Then they moved on to experiment right?"

"And experiment, and experiment. I think... they were confused for a while. About who they were going to do this to." Gil's voice fell quiet, the way it did when he was describing gruesome crime scenes to warn other people on the team what they were in for when they joined him on the case. "I'm glad it wasn't you. There were... others there, you know? Other victims."

"I know." Greg exhaled and stopped his fingers shaking by starting the massage again. "It... it nearly was me, but they said my hips were too narrow and my metabolism was too fast. That they'd made the mistake before. They used me as tissue and blood donor I think because we match pretty closely."

He didn't say 'so it's my fault it was you' because he knew it would annoy Gil but that didn't stop him from thinking it. It also hadn't stopped them from doing what they had finally decided he was the 'perfect' type for in the end.

"They'd made that mistake... pretty recently from the look of one room we passed. I keep dreaming about that, because I thought that maybe they'd killed you, or..." Gil sighed, and it was almost as if he did it to cover a shudder. "You're all right, though."

"Yeah, battered and bloodied but I'm okay," Greg agreed stroking at Gil's hair absently. "I was so scared when I found you. I thought you were dead."

"I don't remember you finding me. Was that... just before we were taken out?" The hair stroking seemed all right, too, but Greg hadn't noticed he was doing it when he started.

"I got out. I hunted for you," Greg murmured. "I let out everyone I could but they must have realized I was going to try and find you. I... was carrying you and trying to run, and I just kept running. They were firing at us and I didn't move fast enough and I was hit in the leg, but I kept going. I'd found a phone before I came after you... lifted it off the hook so they could trace us. I dragged us to... the outside and hid us both."

Dry facts made it sound so much simpler than the messy frantic experience it had been, every breath painful, every movement possibly his last and knowing what they would do if they were caught. Kill them, or kill him and keep Gil alive, because Gil had been some kind of commodity. And they were just two of the victims. Greg was glad, in a way, that he hadn't really met any of the others, that he didn't know their stories, that everything was kept as hushed at the FBI could manage it. No media, no hounding, no one asking him questions. It was just him and Gil out in the middle of Bumfuck, Nevada, cleverly named 'Jackpot'.

"I remember the gunfire." Gil shifted his head, glancing back at Greg for a moment before he relaxed again. They were both alive and safe, now. For now. "You're why we're alive."

"I don't remember a whole lot else," Greg replied, shrugging a little. "I passed out. Bled too much or something. Nick said I sort of mumbled some and then went out cold. Stayed that way for a long time."

"You probably used all of your energy up. I'm not light." Greg had trailed off of his massaging, but Gil still didn't move from that position, didn't say anything to stop him from just touching, idling. "I'm sorry. I should have kept in contact with you. I just..."

"No, no. It makes sense," Greg reassured, massaging again. "And my stuff is nothing in comparison." He totally believed that, implicitly.

After all, at least those people were being held, at least they weren't there hurting him still. Gil's ordeal had followed him home. Well, to Jackpot, which was home to Gil for now. "No, what happened to you, Greg... They shot you."

"Yeah. It wasn't how I imagined -- being shot. I mean, doing what we do, we have to think about it and...." Greg paused a moment as the memory came back. "I was running and it was like something like a metal bar had swung and hit my leg. It twisted us against the wall. If I had gone down completely, I don't think I would've got back up. It didn't hurt just then, my leg just turned into a useless dead weight." Greg was surprised he could recite the facts so calmly. He could remember the panic, but it wasn't surging over him like it usually did.

It was just like... describing a crime scene to Gil. Except that he was massaging Gil's bare back and shoulders and neck, fingers tracing up and down, over scars and up to the nape of his neck, and somewhat wild curls of hair.

He cleared his throat, trying to focus again on what he was doing. "So I kept going somehow. And then it started hurting, and they were chasing and I knew I had to get outside. I don't know how I did."

The doctors hadn't known how he had either. His leg had been broken and he had still carried on. One of them called it 'wounded comrade' response where someone just kept going regardless of their physical state because of someone else. Greg hadn't asked anyone if he could have extended 'wounded comrade' response, because he was pretty sure it had gotten him through the whole ordeal to start with, before he'd been shot and had a bone shatter.

Somehow it had made his own ordeal seem less. Less important, less devastating by wondering all the time about Grissom. Daydreaming that at the least they could comfort each other if they had been together. That somehow things would have been better. Instead, that thwarted compulsion had wound tighter and tighter to the point when everything else had broken, that was a bond of titanium and steel. The only thing left.

"Greg?" Gil had turned around, had a hand on Greg's side, and twisted so he could look at Greg. "C'mon. Stay with me, right now. Whatever you're seeing or remembering..."

"Sorry. Sorry..." Greg took a deep breath. "I never know when that's going to happen. Sometimes it just comes on, you know?" The hand felt good just there, warm and right.

"I know." Gil didn't embellish, but he didn't need to, not for Greg. Yeah, Gil knew, Gil had scars and worse still with him, Gil was a walking science experiment waiting to go wrong.

Gil was watching Greg like a hawk, albeit a sleepy one.

"Massaging. I'm supposed to be massaging," Greg brought himself out of the zone and started again. "Anyway we got out and I think we hid somewhere. I don't remember much. It might have been a shed or something. A garage. And then it started to hurt. So much I couldn't see what I was doing." His hands were slow and deliberate in his ministrations.

Once he got Gil to turn back around, at least, even if he seemed a little reluctant. But he still leaned into Greg's hands and their careful motions. "You got us out of there."

"After three months. Three months of hell... and this for you." Greg replied in a low voice. He sighed.

Gil exhaled a little shakily, and shifted a hand to rest over his stomach, the curve that stood out while it seemed like the rest of his body was starting to melt away. "It could have been worse."

"We could be dead?" Greg nearly laughed. "Sorry. I'm meant to be relaxing you."

'We could be dead," Gil agreed calmly enough. "Or we could still be there. If this is..." Gil paused, seemed thoughtful. "They're tentatively going to try to remove it in an early c-section in eighteen weeks. The date could shift either way. If we were still there, I don't think they'd be trying to put into such consideration what timing is most likely to keep me alive."

"No they weren't." Greg replied and then winced. "I mean, some things they said make sense now."

"I probably shouldn't ask, but they weren't particularly communicative towards me." Gil shifted his shoulders, and then brought a hand up to cover a yawn.

He remembered to keep massaging. "I'll tell you another time, Gil, after the massage."

"Sure." Gil understood that it didn't matter, Gil didn't protest that he wanted to hear it right then, even though Greg... probably would have told him. Maybe. "Catherine left me a 'first time parents' book. It said it should start moving more soon. You could probably get a laugh out of it."

"I need to read up on it all again. It's been a long time since I helped out Julie," Greg murmured still continuing with the massage. "She was a roommate at college and her boyfriend got her pregnant and enter Greg who was too geeky and too young to be mixing with the more extreme crowds and.... I spent a lot of that year helping her out."

Of course, helping out a hot fellow college freshman was pretty different from helping out Gil Grissom, the untouchable, brilliant Gil Grissom. Not that Greg thought that Gil was probably any less scared and freaked out and worried. "Then you've had experience. I... just remember Catherine and Lindsey. And that was further back in time than your friend Julie could have been."

"Not by much," Greg answered. "I liked doing it."

He had, he had got swept up in the closeness and miracle of it all and for a time he had wondered, even offered to Julie that he could be little Ben's 'father'. But she'd looked at him and said, "But Greg, you're gay."

He'd made some flip comment about it being bisexual actually and didn't that just prove that he was a sensitive guy? But he'd taken the point. Last he'd heard, she'd moved back home and he'd had an invite to a wedding a few years back which he had missed. He had a sudden thought. "Gil, when it does move, will you... will you let me touch your stomach?"

God, that sounded weird, but he'd loved doing it to Julie, and then listened to her moaning about how random strangers wanted to come up and put their hands on her belly.

"Why wouldn't I? It's... he or she is part of you, too. And if I..." Gil cleared his throat a little. "I want you to feel close to him. Her. If something happens to me..."

Greg's hands clenched a little and he had to will them to relax. "Don't say that. Don't think that," he said immediately. "That won't happen." He didn't go through all that to have Grissom die. "We'll both be there."

"I hope. But..." Gil made a soft almost-laugh. "It's funny. Death hasn't ever bothered me before. But I really want to live, now. I want to get through this with desperation that I, I can't explain."

"Will you hit me if I say maternal instinct?" Greg replied softly, easing Grissom to lie back against him. It seemed like a natural move.

And it must have been, because Gil went with it. He was warm despite being bare-chested, warm enough that Greg could feel him through the t-shirt. "I might." It sounded like Gil was smiling when he said it. "It's... easier not to be overly concerned when it's just you. I know that my mother would cope if something happened to me, but."

"But a baby is something different." And he wasn't sure how he would cope if something happened to Gil. He was still the steel and titanium holding him together even now. He twitched the covers over Gil, so he didn't get cold. "I think you underestimate your importance in people's lives, Griss."

"Maybe, but the department somehow managed to go on without me." For three months, and the FBI had taken the case right out of their hands. Maybe if the team had been allowed to look for them, they would have been found and it would have taken less than Greg's phone call to 911 to get them out.

"We're different without you," Greg answered softly. "Everyone is different. It feels different... we work because the job is right but you've always been a part of that. For me."

Great, Greg, why don't you just confess your undying love and be done with it. It would have probably saved them both time and embarrassment. Gil sighed, and he seemed to finally relax, leaning back against Greg like that. "You know, we could watch movies and TV until our brains rot out, or..."

"Or?" Greg asked exhaling gently as his arm looped gently around Gil. It felt good, how he had imagined and he was aware he ought not to allow it to feel too good.

"If you're interested, I could teach you things." There was a lot he wanted to learn from Gil, some of it probably not in Gil's idea of a lesson plan.

"How about we do both?" Greg asked. "If I ever make it back to being fit for duty or back in the field, I'd like to be good at it."

"You'll make it back to the field, Greg." Gil shifted, and lifted his hand to muffle a yawn. "I believe you can do it."

"Well, you can impart all your wisdom to me while I look after you," Greg murmured. "Think you can go to sleep now?" He actually felt like he could with a warm weight leaning on him. That was nearly a miracle in itself.

"I think I can. If you want to stay in here, Greg I think this room is warmer than the living room." Gil shifted a little, sitting up and turning around again, and there went most of the warm weight.

"I was... pretty comfortable how we just were," Greg said tentatively. Who was he kidding? "But sure, I could stay in here. Somewhere."

"I don't sleep well sitting up." Gil shifted, and put a hand on Greg's leg as he moved back a little more. "Sorry."

"Right. Right, of course. Sorry." Greg felt like a bit of a fool. "I'll... grab my covers or something. Bring them in."

Gil grabbed his t-shirt, but just held it in one hand, still leaning on Greg a little. "I think I have enough blankets in here. Unless you want to trade the futon for the floor?"

"No... no, I'd rather stay here, if you don't mind," Greg replied hastily. "If that's really okay."

"It's really okay." Gil shifted, waiting for Greg to move so he could put his pillow back in place, pulling tiredly at the sheets. "That felt good. Thank you, Greg."

"My pleasure," Greg said shifting to one side, hoping he had interpreted it correctly that he could stay there, just allowing Grissom to lie comfortably. "Hopefully you can get some more sleep."

Gil shifted to lie on his side again, and shoved his t-shirt up under the pillow as he made himself comfortable. "Nudge me if I snore."

Greg chuckled a little. "I can't imagine that, but I will," he promised as he laid down himself. He actually felt like sleeping. God.

Even if he was just looking at Gil's back all night, the back of his neck, the edge of his shoulders before they curled in a little, that protective sleeping position that seemed at odds with the man. "Night..."

Just a few inches between them, but it was closer than Greg had ever suspected he'd get to him, and it was going to have to do. He knew Gil was alive, that he wanted to keep living, and that was something for Greg to hold onto.

Just have something to hold on to was enough to let him feel a drowsiness of his own over take him and he curled in beside him. "Night..." he managed softly and for the first time in nearly three months, he fell asleep without tranquilizers or sedatives.