Slow and disoriented was a novel way to wake up. Gil was used to jerking awake, or coming to sharply, digging through the threads of foggy dreams that made his skull ache and his brain throb. His dreams had been distressing, sickening, but they faded away when he opened his eyes. The bedroom was dark, and he was nice and warm, curled up comfortably on his side. No bright white rooms where the lights never turned off, as many blankets as he liked, and a comfortable mattress.

The bed was just big enough for two, and that was why he heard snoring instead of dead silence.

Now that was surprising, as was the flung out arm that half draped over him, and the body tucked in close. Greg. He had to think a while how on earth they had reached a situation where Greg was sleeping in his bed. Admittedly, it looked like he was fully dressed, and not exactly in a conventional post-romantic style but most definitely there.

It came to Gil eventually. He remembered talking with Greg, and agile fingers rubbing at his shoulders, and a sense of almost-relief that had settled over him, a suggestion of... hope that had set in at some point.

Gil looked out into the dark hall that was beyond the bedroom, and closed his eyes again. There was a little feeling, like a bubble popping low in his stomach. So he wasn't the only one awake.

Was that a definite movement? Oh... god, yes it was. The first one. The first internal proof that there was something living inside of him, something real. He caught his breath a moment, undecided whether he should be pleased or horrified but sure that thoughts of sci-fi films should be pushed far from his mind.

Gil tried to keep his shaky inhalation quiet, even when he dropped a hand to press against the curve of his stomach. It wasn't quite an alien, but he'd had about as much choice as a person in a sci-fi film had with whatever symbiote that had infected them.

It was a flutter, like butterfly wings under his fingers. Life flickering there.

The snoring had stopped beside him and he could hear Greg's breathing going ragged again. Maybe his slight shift away had just been enough to set that off.

Gil shifted, scooted back slightly and put himself back into contact with Greg. It moved again, that same flutter and it made it sharply real. He couldn't feel it through his fingertips, but the skin beneath, inside, could feel it. Moving, rolling around, and getting comfortable. Maybe it was even hungry.

Speaking of which, he was actually a little hungry. He glanced at the clock and was amazed to see how late it was. That had to be the longest sleep he'd had in.... well, since it happened.

Greg was making small sounds in his sleep. Half words that were difficult to distinguish. They appeared to be along the lines of 'stop' and 'gotta find' and his own name mixed in.

It took concentration to get all of his limbs moving, and Gil shifted to lie on his back. "Greg?"

That seemed to startle the other man enough to shock him into disorientated wakefulness, gasping for breath.

"Oh man... mmm..." Greg blinked and seemed to realize where he was. "Uh... Gil?"

"Morning." He didn't move to lean up yet, just turned his head to look at Greg, hand still on his stomach.

"Am I really in your bed?" Greg asked, still sounding a little blurry around the edges.

"You are." Gil said it cautiously, waiting for Greg's eyes to focus while he sat up. "Should I turn on a light?"

"Nah, I'm okay." Greg pushed himself up a little. "You okay? Been awake long?"

"No. I just woke up. The clock says nine thirty." This meant that they'd actually gotten a more than sufficient night's rest for once.

"Wow. That's like... sleeping right," Greg replied yawning. He obviously noticed the way Grissom was resting his hand on his stomach. "You feel okay? No pain or anything?"

"It's moving a little. Nothing I can feel in my hand, but..." Gil shrugged, and started to sit up, moving his hands to the mattress to sit up. "Do you want to try making breakfast, or go into town?"

"The baby's moving?" Greg sat straight up. The look on his face was akin to awe rather than shock or horror. "You stay there, I'll make something for you. What do you feel like having?"

Awe, and not shock and horror, which was what Gil wrestled with while he finished sitting up, and then paused to wonder what he'd done with his t-shirt. "I feel like getting out of bed and helping, Greg."

"Okay." Greg rifled around and found the screwed up garment. "Here." He swung his legs out of the bed and thumped to the floor. "I'd almost forgotten what it could be like to actually sleep."

"So did I. I appreciate what you did. It helped." Gil unwound it, and turned it back right side in to pull it over his head again.

"Well, hey if it helps you sleep then we can do it every night," Greg replied, getting up and stretching. "You know, if I was going to work I would have been late waking up now."

"Same here. It's been a while since I got this much sleep." He rubbed a hand through his hair, and finally put his feet on the floor. "We could take a shot at pancakes."

"I do good pancakes," Greg announced happily. He was a far cry from the young man who had stood at his doorway only a couple of days before. He seemed a little more like his old self -- glimmers of it showing through. "If you've got the ingredients, I can do them up for you. And me. I like a nice pancake."

"I do, too. You know, Greg, I can cook. Just for reference, since you seem to be happy to take over the kitchen." While Greg headed out into the hallway, finally turning on a light, Gil followed.

"I like to feel useful," Greg replied in a statement that revealed far too much about him. "If you want to cook then that's cool. I was just hoping to repay your hospitality."

"You're useful. Just promise to show me how you make pancakes," Gil decided as he shadowed Greg into the living room and the kitchen space that it led into.

"Sure. Now these are something that Poppa Olaf used to make for me when I was staying with him. He made the best ever -- without mixes or anything," Greg rambled on. "How do you usually do it?"

"Flour, baking powder, an egg, milk, and that's it, I think." Gil tilted his head, and then nodded to himself. "That's it."

"Sounds like all we'll need. Sometimes we'd put a bit of vanilla in... that tastes good," Greg said as he rattled around in the kitchen looking for pans and bowls and putting them on the side. "He froths the milk but doesn't over-beat the egg. That's the trick to it."

"Frothing the milk?" Gil leaned back out of the way, and watched Greg move

"Yeah. I bought him one of those little hand held gadgets that you can use for cappuccino to use for it," Greg seemed happily distracted by his cooking endeavors. "But I can use a whisk or something. And he said that the trick to a good omelet it to lightly beat the egg. Apparently, whisk it too much and it beats the air out. But with the milk, you beat the air in."

He certainly seemed to know what he was doing. So Gil leaned back, after reaching forward to pull open the drawer that would have a whisk, and just watched, taking in the sight of Greg moving around the kitchen like he belonged there. And maybe he did, better than Gil did. "You know, you're doing a pretty good job without help..."

"I'm trying to impress you," Greg said with a part smile as he took the whisk. "You'll probably heave them all up or something."

"I've had the free time to very scientifically take note of things that make me sick. Normal coffee is one of them." It was hard not to sound a little grumpy at that, but he did have good instant, even if it was so fake that it was caffeineless.

"Probably too acidic. Julie used to like these smoothies I made with fresh fruit and yoghurts. She seemed to think that they settled her stomach. But... I mean it might be different for you. I'm not sure how it's working. It might be that it's difficult for you to digest or something," Greg answered as he cracked eggs into one bowl, put the pan on to heat with a little oil, and then whisked at the milk in another.

"We'll try it some time." Some time. He'd been trying to be cheap with his grocery shopping, because he wasn't getting his supervisor pay. It didn't matter that he didn't have to pay for the cabin, but he was as good as temporarily unemployed. His sick-leave pay had already ended, and living out of a well-padded bank account was... uncomfortable when Gil knew that he hardly had anything going back into it.

Catherine seemed to know that, and her spontaneous trips to get supplies had become more frequent. The FBI kept reassuring him that somewhere he would be recompensed for the time and effort, but he wasn't going to count on that.

"Well I guess we have to go into town sometime right?" Greg asked. "Where is this appointment we're going to?"

"Reno. You'll see when we get there, and it's still a few days away." Gil watched him, and then added, "I was actually thinking about telling you then. Waiting to tell you, I mean."

"Like a... seeing is believing thing?" Greg asked, looking over his shoulder at him. "Maybe I still need to do that, you know? I'm still sorry I reacted like that. I know you wouldn't lie to me."

"It's not exactly something that people expect to run into in their day-to-day lives. I know seeing it will help..." Gil shrugged his shoulders a little. "If you're all right in here, I'm going to check my e-mail..."

"Sure, you go ahead," Greg replied. "It'll take a little while to do up a stack."

"If you need help..." Gil offered one last time as he turned to head into the living room and towards his laptop. He had a lot of people keeping in touch through e-mail, from his mother to Sara, and he hadn't checked it since Greg had arrived.

It didn't take long to fire up and he kept toying with the means of how exactly he should tell his mother. It wasn't an e-mail sort of discussion. Half of him just wanted to hide it, but there was going to be no hiding the consequences. He probably did need to speak to her face to face. With proof.

So, after the appointment he'd get the newest ultrasound and hopefully it would look less like a blob and more like a baby. That didn't make it any easier, but if he did survive, he couldn't exactly show up with a son or a daughter and not expect his mother to react sharply even if he pretended there was an absent mother. He couldn't do that. It was very hard to lie in sign language; the nuances were more profound in movement than they were in voice and tone. Maybe he should invite her up -- she was continually offering. Worried about him, she said.

No wonder she was worried. He'd been missing for three months, and the department had been all but ready to declare him dead. He hadn't stopped by, hadn't visited, hadn't done more than write stilted letters full of careful wordings because there was no way to give voice to the things that were haunting at the edge of his mind.

Gil tapped the space bar a little boredly while he waited for his mail program to unfreeze and download his mail.

Interesting haul today. One from Brass, who wasn't the world's greatest fan of e-mail. Two from Catherine, a sizable one from Sara. What looked to be a joke forwarded by Warrick and one from Nick. Greg's visit seemed to be a catalyst to get them in contact. Oh yes, and one from his Mom.

Gil hovered a finger over the touch pad, and then moved to and clicked on the one from Jim. It wasn't that he was procrastinating; it was just that he was stalling. Simple as that.

It was short and a little disturbing.

Gil,
Hope Greg got up there okay. Heard a tip from the FBI that they're closing in on the last couple of people from the 'Experiment Factory.' One guy, a Dr. Rosharo and another who seemed to be one of the muscle -- only caught the first name Andrew but alias of Tiger. Be on the look out. They picked up the trail because they located one of the other victims. FBI doesn't want to worry you, I think. Call if you want to talk about it.

Jim

To the point. Gil should have only expected Jim to mail him if it was an emergency, and he clicked reply before he could think of an answer to reply with. Gil shifted, juggling the laptop on his lap, and sat back as he tried to think. Did he tell Greg, and throw him back into a fit of nerves?

No.

I'll call sometime, Jim. Greg got here in one piece and everything seems all right. He's eating, and it's a start. Thanks for the heads up -- I'm not going to tell Greg, but I am going to keep an eye out. Did they happen to harm the other victim, or... ? I'll call when I think you'll be off shift. Thanks.

Gil

At least someone was looking out for him. He'd much rather know than walk right into the problem and freeze up or something. It made him a little wary about the other e-mails. He hoped there wasn't too much bad news. He didn't think he could deal with much more.

Gil hesitated over the mails, and then clicked on the mail from Nick. It couldn't be a coincidence that Greg's arrival was heralded with so much mail.

Hi Grissom,
I know I haven't sent an e-mail for a while, but since you've taken time off to be away from the lab, I kinda thought that would be at cross purposes with what you wanted. Anyway, we're all wondering how you are, and Greg too. We weren't expecting Greg just to go off like that -- didn't hear about the medical leave until after he had gone (he told you about that right?). I've had a couple of calls from his parents, really worried because they can't get hold of him and he hasn't replied to e-mails for quite a while. When I said he had been suspended from duty on medical grounds they nearly freaked. Not sure, but I think they might be on their way to Vegas and maybe up to you somewhere. I hope you can get through to him. It was killing us not being able to do anything.
Same goes if we can help you, Griss. You know my number, even if I'm not sure I can do anything to help you that you haven't already done yourself.

Talk to you soon,
Nick

Greg had told him that he'd thought about just staring at the ceiling. So was it better to have him back in Vegas doing that, or there with Gil, underfoot and a little overeager, but awake and interacting with his environment? It wasn't a hard question to answer.

Nick
If they contact you again, give them my cell phone number. Greg just arrived early yesterday, but he seems to be doing all right. I'm going to make sure that he rests and hopefully by the time that he comes back, that I come back, he'll be closer to the Greg you remember.
I appreciate you sending this mail, and I'd like to hear how the lab is and how all of you are doing.

Gil

Somehow things felt a little less disconnected with Greg there. Perhaps they all felt less embarrassed asking that he was okay and using that as a means to say 'hope you're okay, too' without it sounding too contrived or forced. It looked like Greg would have the same problem that he would have about telling his parents. He wasn't sure what to make of Greg's reaction to pregnancy in general. This 'Julie' had to be young, and he wasn't sure, but it sounded like Greg had wanted there to be more because of their closeness.

It hadn't happened, obviously. Gil peered over towards the doorway into the little kitchen, and then sat back again. Catherine's mails next, because it was easier to deal with her than Sara yet.

Gil,
So what actually happened? Telling me you're both fine and everything is okay and to carry on driving back to Vegas doesn't fill me with confidence after I've just been cut off by someone passing out on me. I nearly turned right around and came back, you know that?
I hope you aren't cursing me too much. Look, if it doesn't work out, then let me know. I'll make sure Greg doesn't make things harder for you okay?

And I'm still on at the Feds for that 'maternity pay' for you. Damn bureaucrats!
Love
Cath.

The second one was short and to the point.

How the hell am I meant to get two bodies out of over six foot of solid tar?
Answers on a postcard...
Cath

He answered the second one first, after a moment of thinking.

Cath, try liquid nitrogen, If you freeze it, you should be able to chip it away like ice.

Then the first one, but Gil took his time to reread it while he contemplated how to reply.

I'm not sure what to say, except that we're both fine. He's making breakfast now. He seems to have taken the news well, and when he passed out, he managed not to concuss himself. The best I can do is to make sure that he eats and sleeps and keeps mildly busy.
I think that it's going to work out, even if I'm not pleased with the way that you forced my hand. I know that it had to be done. He slept in my room last night, and sometime we need to get him winter clothes. If you maybe can get a spare key from Nick, or... ? And get into his apartment, I'd appreciate if you mailed a box of heavier clothes up here. He seemed to forget how cold it gets up here.

Gil

That would cause some raised eyebrows, he knew that. Catherine knew how wary he was about letting people into his personal space. Tar. Damn, he would have liked to try that himself.

He looked at the unread e-mail and hesitated. Maybe he could ignore the rest.

Except that his mother would be worried, and it wasn't as if they did call each other, and oh. Look, there was still a mail from Warrick to read, and Sara, so he clicked on Warrick's first.

It was in fact a joke, funny enough to bring a slight smile to his lips and a short note at the bottom telling him to stay in touch before Ecklie ate them alive without him.

He shot back a quick mail that he'd be back before Ecklie got that bad, and to keep in touch. Warrick would do all right. Warrick could probably take over the shift for Catherine just fine.

That left the mail from Sara and the mail from his mother.

He wasn't sure what would be most painful. Different difficulties but difficulties nonetheless.

Maybe his mother's would be best. Resolutely, he clicked on that one.

It's been a while since we talked Gilbert. Yes, I'm using your full name just so you know I'm not letting you get away with it forever. I know you're protecting me from something -- didn't you always say that you could never get anything past me? I've been waiting for you to tell me, but you talk as if your fingers were broken along with something inside of you. Gilbert, please... I've survived a great many things, and no doubt I'll survive a few more before my time is through. I think we need to have a proper talk about what happened to you in your ordeal. I know you. You don't like letting other people so close that they can hurt you. I'll fly to Vegas the moment you tell me it's possible.

All my love.
Mom

Gil closed his eyes for a moment. That was what he'd been expecting her to write; that was what he'd been waiting for. And where to start? That there was something growing inside of him, but his fingers were fine, and he was trying to protect her from something, and that he wasn't even in Vegas anymore.

I should have written you sooner. I know that, but I never knew where to start. I still don't. I'm not in Vegas right now. I'm out on a sabbatical until I'm ready to go back. I'm living in a cabin up in Jackpot, still in Nevada. It's in the north. The other CSI that was taken when I was has been put back on medical leave, so he's staying with me. I'm not sure for how long.
There are a lot of things going on that I can't articulate right now. I can't quite explain everything that happened. There are some things that I need to tell you, but I think e-mail is the wrong medium. At the same time, I don't know how I'd tell you face to face.

Your son.
Gil

If he knew his mother, she would come after him one way or another. She had always found her own way in life, and set an example of independence. He'd often wondered if that had been why he never seemed to have a compulsion to have someone, anyone... because she never had.

There was no putting it off any longer. Sara.

Grissom... Gil,
Maybe this is the wrong time or the right time to say something, I don't know. I was never much good at this sort of thing. I can't help but think my last chance is slipping through my fingers somehow. I came to Vegas because you asked me to, because I thought there was something more than just a spark between us in San Francisco. When you and Greg were taken, I could feel everything falling apart. I know it must have been horrific for you. Greg pretty much said it was his fault. I wouldn't blame you if you resented him for that. I just wish you would come back. I miss you so much.
Maybe this experience has changed your mind, maybe.... what I do know is that you need someone who cares with you. Someone willing to do anything for you, someone you trust.
I think you know what I'm talking about.
I moved to Vegas for you -- this wouldn't be that big a change. Don't let the moment pass.
Your
Sara

Somehow, coming up with an answer to that was harder than sending a mail to his mother. Gil reread it, and then leaned out a little from the sofa. "Greg? Do you need help in there?"

"Only with the eating," Greg called back. "Nearly done." It smelled nearly done as well, rich inviting scents drifting out of the kitchen. "Don't know where you keep the syrup though."

"Inside door of the fridge. I'll help you in a minute, I just want to finish my mail." Almost finished, except that in his brief exchange with Greg he hadn't come up with a miraculous answer for how to reply to Sara.

But he started, fingers hesitant over the keys.

Sara,

I'm staying away from Vegas because there are a lot of things going on in my life. I need time to feel more like myself, I need to heal. I appreciate your offer, but the department needs you more than I do right now, Sara. I don't resent Greg. His view of events is skewed with a heavy case of survivor's guilt.

I miss you, too, Sara. But I can't... I can't. I'll try to come back to Vegas soon. A few more months.
Gil

It said a little, but not everything. Whatever he said wasn't going to be enough for her. Besides, the odds were firmly in favor of him not being around after a few more months.

"Pancakes are served," Greg called out. "Come and eat 'em while they're hot."

Gil leaned forward and set his laptop down on the coffee table, closing the lid in the same motion. So many bits of information to think about, and making sure that Greg was doing better was a useful distraction from his own issues, wasn't it? "Coming."

There were plates out waiting and places set for them both. "Any interesting bits of news?" Greg asked, placing the haphazard stack of pancakes down in the middle of the table and then snagging one for himself as he sat down.

"Nick says hello, and that your parents are in a panic. Sara... is Sara. Catherine is concerned, and Warrick says hi." Gil pulled his chair out, and slid into his seat.

"Shit. I forgot to call and tell them I was coming up here," Greg looked uncomfortable. "Guess I wasn't thinking straight. Nick..." He grimaced a little and poked at his plate. "I wasn't really speaking to Nick and Warrick."

"Or anyone?" Gil prodded a little while he took two for himself, and offered Greg the syrup first. "I can't criticize, since I've been up here being a hermit."

Greg took it and poured some. "Yeah well. I was okay like that, y'know? Then Nick and Warrick got me drunk and..." He flushed with embarrassment. "I just hated them knowing."

Gil didn't ask what they knew. It wasn't his place to ask that, or expect that he knew as much or more than they did. He just watched Greg pour the syrup, and asked, "Do you regret having told me what I know?"

"No. No, I mean it's different with you because you were there and you know what it was like," Greg replied eating some pancake. "But I told them stuff about... the assaults and things. I'm not sure... I don't know what you'd think of me then."

"You think that I'd think of you in any particularly bad light because you were sexually assaulted? I'd... be a hell of a hypocrite if I thought like that, Greg." Gil splashed a little imitation maple syrup over his two pancakes, and started to cut them quickly.

"Did they? I mean..." Greg was looking at him with anxious dark eyes as if the thought of it happening to Grissom was horrifying in a different way.

"Just once. I think it was before they were sure who the donor was and who was the recipient." Before they knew for sure who was fair game, Gil guessed. He speared a couple of triangles of pancake.

Greg closed his eyes a moment and then looked down at his plate. "I'm sorry. I'd hoped that it hadn't happened to anyone else. Stupid I guess."

"Don't apologize. You had nothing to do with it, Greg. It wasn't your fault." He only stopped reassuring Greg so he could eat a little.

Greg put down his fork a moment as his hand appeared to be shaking. "I can't help it. I can't help feeling that I should have been able to stop it. Every time it happened. I tried to make myself think that maybe... if it was happening to me it wasn't to anyone else."

"And it helped you cope at the time. But realistically, we don't know how many other people were there. We never saw them, and no one's told us what happened to them, or who they were or where they came from. I just kept hoping that whatever was being done to me wasn't happening to you, but just because I didn't think it hard enough..."

"Ecklie told you what they did to me, didn't he?" Greg asked. "He didn't say a word about you. My imagination is pretty bad."

"Bad because it runs wild, or because it didn't come up with much?" Gil set his own fork almost down, playing with another sliver that he'd cut. "He told me what had happened to you, what he could. About your leg and your general condition, when we were discussing what my options were."

"What did he say?" Greg seemed desperate to know. "What do you know?"

"That a bone in your leg was fractured, and that you showed signs of repeated sexual trauma." Gil clicked the tines against the plate a little. "Nothing more. You told me more last night. I know we both told more to the interrogating agents that took our statements."

Greg exhaled. "Yeah. I just feel weird about it you know? More like fucked up. Fucked over. Whatever."

"I understand, Greg. It... It's not comfortable knowing that people know." He picked up the fork again, watching Greg.

Greg did likewise, glancing up at him as he took another mouthful. He looked away again. "I know I kinda flirted a lot but I didn't think I was a slut. It was pretty much all talk. I...."

"You dreamed big?" Gil shrugged his shoulders loosely. "Lots of people do. It's normal to make the motions and not take the steps."

"I guess." Greg was looking uncomfortable. "I guess I feel like no one will want anything to do with me after what happened. You don't know, Griss, I mean... it was bad. Really bad. They weren't worried about me being in one piece."

"I had a little taste of it, and that was... enough to last me a lifetime. I can guess how bad it got. But the idea that no one will want you or that you're used goods... ? It's false. Even if they didn't care about you being in one piece, you have friends and family who do care. I care. Nick cares. Warrick cares -- the whole office sent me mail, just to get an answer to make sure that you're all right. You should check your own mail box before it explodes."

"I don't know what to say to any of them," Greg replied. "Besides, what's happening to you is more important."

And Gil knew what to say to them, himself? "It's... not more or less important. It simply is, and it doesn't trivialize what happened to you or make it less. We were each treated to our own separate hells, and I don't want to play the one-upmanship game with that."

"That's... That's not what I meant Griss," Greg said quietly. "I mean, it is important. It's important to me, you being okay is important to me. I..." He seemed like he was half ready to bolt but he didn't. "I liked you before all this but now..."

"Liked me?" Gil missed it, and had to think for a few seconds before it started to sink in. Of course Greg liked him. Greg had all but fallen over himself in happiness the night before when he'd invited Greg to sleep with him. "I... like you, too, Greg."

Greg gave him a startled look. "No you don't," he said decisively. "You put up with me. You... I guess, you indulge me. That's not the same as liking."

"So you think I asked you to come stay here because I wanted to indulge you?" And how did he fix that? Should he even bother trying to correct that perception, or did he just let it lie because it was easier to do so?

"Didn't you?" Greg asked a little weakly with the sort of expression that meant he knew he had made some sort of grievous error somewhere.

"No." He'd done it partially out of pressure from Catherine, and partially because she'd been so cryptic about how Greg had been doing. And that had been much worse than Gil had previously been led to believe.

Greg just stared at him for a long moment. "Okay. Okay. God I feel like an idiot. I might as well make a complete fool of myself. I'm... I'm obsessed by you. I more than l... like you."

Gil picked up his fork, and started to eat again, giving a faint gesture to Greg to try to do the same. "You were watching me sleep last night? Or not sleep?"

Greg obediently ate a bit more. "Yeah. I guess I was. I woke up with a nightmare and I just needed to know where you were and that you were okay. Not just wanted it, but needed it. They told me it was a coping mechanism but... Gil, I feel... different when it comes to you."

Different. He felt different about Gil, that edge of something more that Gil picked up every time that Greg talked about Julie. Maybe it was that all over again, or maybe it wasn't. Gil ate, watching Greg and not quite answering him, trying to think. "Greg, I... honestly have no idea what to say."

"I know. I know, it's okay. There's no expectations or anything," Greg said hurriedly with a nervous laugh. "I just wanted you to know why I've been doing some of the freaky things I've been doing."

It explained things a little, and helped in an odd way. "I... why don't we just see how things happen, Greg. I wouldn't call anything you've been doing 'freaky', just..." Just not quite normal for someone that Gil had always guessed was your average T&A guy.

"Me being me," Greg ate some more of his pancake. "Don't feel the urge to throw me out then?"

"No, not particularly. We're... I mean, neither one of us is a picture of normalcy right now." Gil ate another forkful, and then started to stand up. "Do you want any 'coffee'?"

"Sure. This being the fake coffee right?" Greg asked looking up. "That will fix everything."

"Fake coffee fixes all?" Gil scooted his chair out, and moved to get the water to boil. "Have any aspirations for the day?"

"Aspirations?" Greg poked at another pancake. "Well you said you might want to teach me stuff. So maybe after I've cleared up and done domestic duties we could do that. Or a movie. I play chess too. Anything really."

Gil flipped the water on, and then peered over his shoulder at Greg. "Domestic duties?"

"You don't think I'm going to let you do all the work?" Greg asked in surprise. "I'm well trained for a single guy. I can do laundry and put stuff away."

"But... It's a small place, Greg. There isn't much to do but set the dishes in the sink to soak." Gil tilted his head at Greg and put the water in the microwave. "I appreciate the offer and I'll remember that when it's been a while since the laundry's been done. We have to go into town to do it."

"Well, I offered," Greg shrugged. "Looks like I get to bug you some more. If you want time alone, just say okay? I won't be offended."

Or he would, and he'd just try not to show it. But it was the best thing that Greg could probably offer and the most that Gil could expect. "If I need time alone, I'll say it. But... It's good to have company."

The microwave beeped at him.

"Yeah. I don't freak out with you close like I do with the others." Greg mused a moment. "I nearly hit Brass when he put a hand on my shoulder."

"You would have hurt your hand if you had." Gil shifted to get the mugs and the powdered coffee, falling into the routine of making it. "I'm glad you don't see me as a threat."

Greg smiled a little at that, the expression seeming to touch him more and more even in the short period they had been together. "Only a threat to my feet."

"And I have no samples of bacteria here." He poured the water over the powder in each mug, and took his time stirring them up. "Chess. There's a set in the bedroom closet."

"You play?" Greg asked watching him make the coffee. "I thought you were into poker?"

"Poker, chess... Games have a human element to the strategies used in them." He turned back towards Greg with the mugs in hand, and set Greg's down before he slipped back into his chair again. His back twinged a little. "I'm a better poker player than I am a chess player. Warrick can tell you that."

"If you can beat Warrick then you have to be. He clears me out of our chips made of chips regularly. Last time he..." Greg paused a moment and shook his head. "God, that was before everything."

"Actually, I've never played poker against Warrick. I meant chess. He's very good at it." Gil took a sip of the luke-coffee, and started to finish his pancakes. For a moment, he hesitated, and then took another from the stack in the middle of the table.

"You like them?" Greg asked. He'd managed about one and a half and was leaning back as if he was full.

"They're good. Are you done?" If he was, he'd have to try to get Greg to eat more later. Gil cut up the one he'd taken, and used it to quickly mop up the last of the syrup.

"Yeah. I guess I'm not used to eating too much," Greg replied. "I'll eat them cold later or something."

"I was just thinking that. I try not to waste food, so..." Gil shrugged, eating a little more before he sat back with his coffee cup in hand, nursing at it.

Greg sipped at his. "I haven't played chess in a while. I might be rusty." He looked at the cup a moment and then sipped again.

"You'll still probably beat me." Gil scraped the last piece around the plate, and then ate it. "I'll get the set out."

"Want to set up in the living room?" Greg asked. "A bit more comfortable there?"

"That was just my thought," Gil admitted as he got to his feet again. "We'll play a few games and then... do whatever. Thank you for the wonderful breakfast."

Greg smiled. "Glad you liked it. I like cooking when I have time for it. I'm usually on the way out somewhere, though, so I do quick and easy." Yogurt. Ramen. Ice cream. Gil knew.

"Well, we won't be in any particular rush up here. You can take your time doing anything you want." And Gil hoped that included Greg mailing his friends and family, but he wasn't going to press more than he'd already done for one day. "I'll get the set if you want to wrap the pancakes up and put them in the fridge."

Greg nodded. "That I can do," he said, standing up and reaching to clear up even as Gil headed off to the other room.

Greg was still jumpy and Gil still wasn't sure how to deal with him, but it seemed that didn't matter to Greg. Just being there was almost enough. It was flattering and a little worrying at the same time.

It couldn't be that simple, and he was no one to rely on. Not him, not the way he was now. He'd meant it when he'd told Catherine that the best he could do was try, but what if that wasn't enough to help Greg?

Gil took his coffee with him, and headed back towards the bedroom. He'd just have to hope it was.

For the second day in a row, Greg was sleeping. He was warm and if nightmares plagued him, the warmth close to him comforted him enough to keep him under.

He had been awkward about asking to sleep in the same bed again. In the end, he had just offered Gil the massage again; and like before, both of them relaxed as part of the process. The downside was that over three months and more of sleep deprivation tried to cram itself into his brain and keep him well and truly asleep.

Greg woke to a cold startled sweat from a nightmare of being trapped and a thumping noise and realized it was someone at the door. Jesus, his heart was racing, but Grissom was sleeping comfortably and that was rare enough not to spoil so he slipped out to send them away. This was the middle of the night to them.

He padded out barefoot, mussed and still unaware of how rough he looked as he cautiously opened the door. And nearly staggered back in alarm.

That was his father standing in the doorway, a crumpled piece of paper in one hand, and the other poised awkwardly to knock again. His mother was standing back by Greg's car, peeking into the windows, their own sedan double-parked behind Gil's SUV. "Greg!"

"Mom... uh..." Oh crap. How had they found him? "Hi..."

His mother was bearing down on him, her dark blonde hair and blue eyes showing clearly where the Scandinavian descent was in their family tree. Greg had taken after his father in many respects. "Greg! We were worried sick about you!"

"Uh, I'm okay, Mom," he protested, trying to work out how he suddenly felt like he was ten again.

"Well, I don't think that's really true, do you?" she said as she reached for him and despite himself he stepped back, nearly tripping.

He wasn't supposed to flinch back from his parents. He knew he wasn't supposed to, because they were his parents, and he wasn't flinching from Grissom, so how fucked up was that? He was sleeping with Grissom, and stumbling back over the door edge was probably going to wake him up. "Rane, don't start yet. Greg hasn't even had time to say hi. We were worried about you and your friends..."

"Dad, I'm doing okay," Greg said nearly tongue-tied. "Why... I mean how did you get here?"

"Well, it seems that some of your friends at least recognize that we might be worried about our son not answering calls, or e-mails or any form of contact," his mother replied. "Peter, tell him how worried you've been. And look at you! Look at him. Have you eaten a thing since the last time we were here?"

His father at least cleared his throat a little, peering past Greg and into the dark little living room. He and Gil had left the chess set up on the coffee table, but it had been pushed back in favor of some of Gil's favorite texts. Gil had seemed to delight in the idea of keeping Greg 'into' forensic science.

"We're letting cold air in, Rane. Why don't we talk inside?"

His parents were an unstoppable force. He'd always known that. "Uh, yeah. As long as we're quiet. Grissom is still sleeping and he hasn't been sleeping well."

"I'm not surprised. I thought he vanished, sweetheart?" his mother let herself in past him.

"He needed time away," Greg defended automatically. "He went through a rough time."

"So, we believe, did you. If you'd talk about it to us." Rane Sanders looked around the place. "I should have brought up some feng shui mirrors. I've just added them to the Higher Nature Catalogue."

The urge to squeak 'mirrors?' at her was hard to resist as his parents all but backed him into the living room. It was dark, but Greg was comfortable moving around in the darkness, while his father steadied himself with a hand on his mother's shoulder. "That might not be a good idea, since I think there're vampires living here."

"Vegas time. Difficult habit to shift, Dad," Greg said absently trying to smooth his hair some more. "I uh... Gil has some decaf coffee if you want some. Um. Yeah. How did you find us?"

"I told you, your friends. The ones you also haven't been speaking to," his mother said firmly. "Or have you forgotten them, too?"

Greg winced a little at that. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, worry you. I wasn't thinking." It was easier to take the blame somehow. It always was, rather than watch his mother become so wound up she was like a tornado waiting to happen.

"Just the occasional answering of your mail, son. After what happened, it... it's scary to have you drop off like that. You came up here so fast that your friends in Vegas were worried, and after you were put back on medical leave, which we had to find out from a friend of yours..." His father was going on and on, and the only saving grace was the sound of the bedroom door creaking the rest of the way open.

Gil had thrown real clothes on, a button down shirt and pants, which was fine except for the part that he peered out into the hallway with a gun in hand. "Greg?"

Greg looked around from where he was feeling harried and fraught. "It's... it's okay, Griss, it's my parents. They uh, tracked me down."

"Which we shouldn't have had to do. You should have come home with us. You weren't ready to go back to work," Rane spoke up. "Medical leave. That's not good, is it? If you had said, you know I would have given you some herbals to boost your system. Lord knows I sell enough of them to know the good things."

Gil hesitated, and then started down the hallway towards them. "Mr. and Mrs. Sanders, it's a pleasure to meet you both." He offered Greg's dad his hand first after having moved his gun to his left hand. There wasn't really any place to put it down, and Greg's father watched the motion. He'd done a few things like that that Greg could remember.

"Call me Peter. This isn't exactly a professional meeting."

"Rane," Greg's mother introduced herself. "We've heard a lot about you, Mr. Grissom."

That was a phrase guaranteed to make Greg even more nervous. "I'll uh, make some coffee then." Or run out of the house, down that path and disappear into the woods. God. How was he going to deal with it? His parents. He couldn't expect Gil to cope with them.

Gil shook her hand, and sidestepped to put the gun down on the coffee table. "Have you? Well, it's good to meet you, too. Greg, the other mugs are over the microwave. So did you two drive all the way up here from San Gabriel... ?"

"From Vegas, actually," Greg heard his father tell Gil. "Nick mentioned that you said Greg needed more winter clothes, so we have a couple of boxes in the car."

Gil had told Nick that? When had Nick spoken to Gil? He knew that he wasn't speaking to Nick and he had to know how he felt about other people at the moment.

"We do tend to get worried when our son goes quiet," Rane said looking at him pointedly.

Gil cleared his throat slightly, and finally leaned away to put the gun down on the coffee table, on top of his laptop. "Mrs. Sanders, after... what happened, it's normal for people to..."

"Stop talking to other people entirely? It might be normal, but it's not healthy, Mr. Grissom."

Maybe it wasn't too late for him to run outside and just hope the wolves were up early and had designs on eating him alive. It was never too late to dream, was it?

Gil sounded like he was at a loss for words when he answered, "Would you like to sit down?"

"Thank you," Rane sat down elegantly. "It's difficult to help someone when they won't be helped."

Greg shifted uncomfortably. "Mom, look I'm sorry, okay? I said I'm sorry... I just... needed to get away." And now he felt like he was apologizing for what happened to him. He was still half tired and dazed and he knew he wasn't thinking as clearly as he should be. "I didn't really think it was a problem."

"Obviously not," Greg's father went on. God that pedantic, lecturing tone meant he was in for it, both barrels from both parents. "Since you didn't answer your mail or your phone, or--"

"Mr. Sanders?" Gil's voice cut him off, tone softly sharp, the way he was when a suspect was lying to him in interrogation when he had the evidence to back up that it was a lie. "Greg came up here to rest and relax, so his medical leave is put to a good use. I know you'd like to carry on with your interrogation, but you're not accomplishing anything with it. If you keep on like that, I'm going to have to ask you to leave my property, and I don't want to have to do that."

From the stunned look on the faces of his parents, Greg was pretty sure that no one had tried speaking to them in that tone of voice before. He would have enjoyed it had it not been for the fact that they were right. He had worried them, he had made things worse and they did get angry when they were worried. That was their way.

"I apologize for worrying you, Mom, Dad. I didn't mean to. I've just been having a hard time."

His mother cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, too. We were just really worried, Greg," she said in a much softer tone. "It's not like you."

Greg gave a hesitant weak smile. "Yeah well... I'm not much like me at the moment, Mom." And Gil wasn't much like Gil, and nothing was really anything close to normal.

"We just... were so sure that everything was all right."

"People change when they're under duress." Gil sidestepped Greg's parents, and then passed Greg, getting into the kitchen space behind him, a hand briefly resting on Greg's back. "I'll take care of the coffee."

Wow. Hand on the back and he felt somehow more settled.

"Well, I wanted everything to be all right," Greg shrugged a little. "I wanted to believe it myself, but I guess I'm not as good at bouncing back from stuff as I thought." He nearly winced a little. He was pretty sure that they knew he had been raped and abused but they had never once referred to it openly. Just in terms of his 'recovery' and his 'injuries'. He couldn't go through it with them, not every single little thing. Even the experiments.

"Perhaps we did, too. I'll never forgive myself for not being here when you needed me," Rane said.

That was rich considering that it had nearly been Poppa Olaf that raised him more than his folks since they were busy working. Not that they didn't care; they were there, and Greg could only imagine what it had taken for both of them to gang up on him like that. Not that his dad was on call or had to worry about that with his position in the force, and with his mom running her own business... Still. It was just short of a miracle.

"Or being able to do more," his father added, looking up at Greg now that Gil had edged him out of the kitchen. At least the coffee would end up made, even if it was on the sweet and undercaffeinated side.

"I'm doing better now," Greg said, grateful that it wasn't a lie. "Since I've been up here. It helps being with someone who's been through the same kind of thing. I can talk about it."

"You can talk about it to us, sweetheart," his mother said. "We're your family, we want to be there for you."

"Mom, it's not the sort of thing I can talk about with you guys. It's not that easy." Greg couldn't think how to get it across.

It wasn't normal to connect better with your boss than your own family, except he was. He was because Gil didn't demand a thing of him, except that he eat and get out of bed eventually. Gil didn't have to demand, he gently poked and prodded and herded Greg, and it was okay. It was good.

"What I think your mother is trying to say..." And his dad shot her a look to verify in that weird eyebrow language that yes, he wasn't going to get slapped for going on. "Is that we want to understand and help you. You shouldn't have to feel like we can't help you. We can, and we want to."

"I know that, Dad, and I'm grateful for it but... I'm not exactly comfortable with bringing it all up to myself, let alone discussing it with other people." Greg shook his head. "You don't know... you can't know what happened, okay? It's... It's not anything I want either of you to imagine."

"I think we're capable of empathizing," Rane said looking at her husband. "Both of us have had a lot of experience with life. Your father..."

"Will not have seen or experienced anything like what happened at the Experiment Factory in all his years on the force." Greg felt he had to correct them.

"Experiment factory?" The faint confusion on his father's face was strange to see there. Apparently he hadn't heard it called that yet.

"It's what we've taken to calling it, though the FBI coined the phrase," Gil called back from the kitchen. There was a clink clink clink like he was stirring the coffee up "The place had a certain... Mengele touch to it."

Thank God for Gil who, it seemed, had the magic touch of being able to say things that just quieted his parents.

"Experiments... ? Dear god, Greg. What kind of experiments?" Rane sat on the edge of the couch as if preparing to leap up. It made him feel oddly nervous.

"Uh, not good ones?" he said weakly.

Things like knocking up Gil. With his DNA. And good old fashioned rape and.... "No experiment done on a human being is a good one. Greg..." His dad trailed off, like he was at a loss for a moment. "You never said, and we didn't think that was even a possibility."

"Well I assumed you and Mom had been given the low down on my medical state," Greg replied awkwardly. "I mean, while I was unconscious. Uh. Right?"

"They told us a fair amount, but they were worried about how much blood you had lost and internal damage?" his mother said looking alarmed. "They didn't really say anything about how you got it?"

"It's easier to determine cause of injury on a dead body than it is a living breathing person. I'm sure that at the time, they were unaware." Gil shouldered open the door, balancing four mugs. "Greg, do you want to grab a chair and sit down?"

Greg found himself obeying automatically even though part of him still wanted to be able to flee at any given opportunity. He reasoned that passing out had worked before and he would be more comfortable doing that sitting down if it came to it.

"So what is it that we don't know?" Rane asked looking pale under her normal tan. "What exactly happened in this 'Experiment Factory'?"

"I don't think Greg wants to talk about it," Gil offered at the same time that he offered a coffee mug to her. "We were there not for a few hours or a few days or even a few weeks, but three months. A couple of days short of thirteen weeks."

She took it as if he was offering her some sort of lifeline. "But it's not healthy not to talk about it. " She looked at Greg and he glanced up at her. "I mean look at him. He looks ill."

"If you're boosting my confidence, Mom, it's not working," Greg said trying a half nervous smile. "I'm recovering. Kinda."

"How much... medical leave do you have?"

And his dad still seemed a little cowed, now that Gil was in the room with them again, Gil who'd snapped at them with all of the politeness he could probably muster on just a couple of hours of sleep. Gil sat up mostly straight in the chair that he'd grabbed for himself, leaning forward ever so faintly because the hang of his clothes hid things better that way.

"Um, I don't actually know. Until I'm declared fit I guess," Greg replied suddenly realizing he didn't actually know. He hadn't been thinking about anything in the future when Ecklie sent him home.

"You should come home with us," Rane declared and looked at her husband for back up.

"It isn't as if we don't have the... space." Peter looked around the small living room, that didn't even have enough room for two sofas, so Gil and Greg had to use kitchen table chairs. "And the means. You need... could benefit from therapy, Greg, and this being in the middle of nowhere stuff can't be helping."

Gil was quiet, taking a sip of his coffee, watching both of Greg's parents. "It's not dangerous isolation, but a chance to relax. No expectations for some miraculous recovery."

"I really want to be here," Greg said with more firmness than anything else he'd managed to say all through their initial arguments. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? If you're going to keep trying to make me see someone... then I have been. Compulsorily with the department. I've had therapy, Dad, and sometimes it's just too big a problem to fix."

"But with help, they can do all sorts of things...."

"They can't make me forget, Mom." Greg said flatly. "There's no pill that will make me comfortable looking at myself in the mirror again."

Damn, he wished the words back as soon as he said them. His parents weren't stupid.

He was glad that his mother hadn't brought those damn feng shui mirrors with her.

"You.... can't look at yourself in the mirror?" Peter was all but blinking at Greg. "Son, I'm sure that therapy could..."

"It just happened, Mr. Sanders. Recovery takes time. It's not immediate, and I'm sure the kind of therapy that could put a dent into it is the kind that involves being committed. That would put Greg right back into a situation where he has no control and everything happens to look like the facility that he just got out of did. White walls and beds with restraints."

"White walls and restraints?" Rane's voice had cranked up an octave or so and Greg knew that was a sure sign of trouble ahead.

"I thought you guys knew?" Greg intervened trying to defuse things. "Or had some idea."

"You think we would ever have gone home and left you if we knew?" Rane nearly gasped out. "Do you think I would have taken your word for it that you were okay to go back to work?"

It was a good point. Was that what he thought? Well, yeah it had been. "I thought I said something about it. Most people seemed to know, or work it out."

Thinking about it, they had worked it out. Maybe his Mom and Dad didn't know what certain internal injuries meant.

His dad should have, but his dad wasn't a CSI. So maybe... maybe not. Brass wasn't always so quick to pick up which injuries implied what, and he was a good regular homicide cop.

"Well, we didn't. Jesus, and they let you go back to work?"

"It was probably better than letting him stay in his apartment all day," Gil countered, calmly. So damn calmly as he sipped at his coffee again. It was still pretty hot, but Greg knew it wouldn't last for long. Microwaved water was weird that way. "You can't change what's already passed."

Greg exhaled, noticing that he was gripping his coffee cup with the fervor of a man clinging to a last straw. "I'm sorry, I'm just not comfortable talking that much about it. If you want the technical stuff then yeah, I've got post traumatic stress. That's what they tell me. I've been trying to ignore it and that hasn't been working so I've come here to sort of... deal."

"With someone who is also likely to have post traumatic stress?" Rane looked at Grissom speculatively.

"Gil deals with things better than I do," Greg said immediately.

"And why's that?" Peter peered over at Gil, eyeing him in a way that clearly made Gil uncomfortable.

"Because I do." What Greg had said was true, or at least it seemed to be true. Gil snorted, shaking his head a little. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Greg. I've had experience with burnout and various other things, and sometimes... this sort of thing is the only way to clear one's head. My head. I don't know if it's going to work for Greg, but it's worth trying."

Rane looked at them both. "Well, I guess it's a good thing you finally got together before all this happened so you can..."

"Mom!" Greg was practically ablaze with embarrassment. Great, now he couldn't look at Grissom. Oh god, oh god. He might have said something but he had made it seem like nothing not that he'd been talking and talking about what could happen.

Gil twitched an eyebrow at both of them, at Greg's mom and at Greg, while Greg's father just groaned a little. "Rane..." Yeah, he was in hell and maybe he could pass out. Maybe if he just held his breath...

"I suppose it is a good thing."

Now he was staring at Gil, eyes wide even as his mother carried on.

"Well I guess it was only a matter of time considering how smitten he's been since he started at Vegas. And a relationship can be vital in helping recovery if it can survive the stress."

Greg wondered exactly what horrible misdeed he had done to undergo the peculiar torment of being outed by his own parents.

It was hard to tell which was worse -- that they'd done that, or that Gil was cavalierly playing along with it so Greg wouldn't be further mortified. Or something. There had to be a reason for it, and it was probably related to pity. "I'm afraid I didn't help that by disappearing up here for a few weeks."

"Well I can understand that," Rane said sympathetically. "If you went through a similar ordeal. Of course, if you both wanted to come back with us, I'm sure that would be fine, wouldn't it, Peter?"

Greg felt like he was trapped in some horrible nightmare that would never end. "Mom, we're okay here. Please."

"Are you sure? It's just... so small." His father looked around again. "Does the heat work well?"

"It's working now," Gil shrugged. "I tend not to run it so high when we're sleeping."

His mother nodded knowingly and Greg was convinced his coffee cup was going to shatter from the pressure his fingers were making. He had to concentrate on his breathing.

"Well. What can we do to help?" his mother was asking and he desperately wanted to say 'leave'. He loved them both but he couldn't quite deal with their own special brand of caring right now.

"I..." Gil glanced over to Greg, and put a hand on Greg's, over top of the mug. It was just a moment, but. "Greg? I can't think of anything."

"I uh... I don't know," Greg replied thinking hard. "I was thinking about getting some more groceries?"

"This reminds me of you being at Stanford," Rane replied. "If getting you to a sensible weight again, and making sure your body is healthy is something we can help with, then we'll do that. Would you like to go out to dinner somewhere? Your father and I obviously can't stay here."

Greg blessed the tiny size of Grissom's house instantly.

"... but we can find somewhere in town, I'm sure. And make sure you have everything you need. I'm not one to throw money at a problem but if it's the only thing we can do..."

"Then we want to do it." Greg's father leaned forward a little, and glanced at his watch. "So, why don't we take you to dinner in town?"

Gil was trying hard not to smile. "The town isn't blessed with a selection of restaurants -- you might have noticed it on the way through."

"They must have something? Or something close?" Rane asked looking between them both.

"I didn't see much. I think there's a diner somewhere," Greg said helpfully. His mother hated diners with an unholy passion that only someone that made a living from health foods and herbal product could muster. His dad would probably kill to go there.

"There's a bar that serves food. It seems to be a local hangout," Gil agreed. He took another sip of his coffee, and shifted, sitting back. It was hard for Greg not to look at the faint curve that he could see beneath Gil's shirt.

"We could try there." Peter looked over to Rane.

Should they tell his parents? How the hell could he tell them that without telling them everything else? Is wasn't that his mother wouldn't understand the technicalities. She was brilliant in her own way and his dad often joked she knew more than any of their doctors. It was the sheer concept of it. If he did, he'd have to tell them everything, and that filled him with complete dread.

"If there's nothing better..." Rane conceded which was a sure sign she was worried. Greg know she'd make her husband drive fifty miles out of their way rather than stop at a diner when he was a kid.

"I'm sure it will be fine," Greg put in. "Why don't Grissom and I meet you in town a little later?"

His father's eyebrow twitched a little at the last name usage. "It's that small? Look, I'll leave my cell phone on and... your mother and I will try to find a hotel or a--"

"Motel. I think there might be a bed and breakfast. I'd say you could stay here, but all I have to offer is a pullout sofa." Gil said it so apologetically.

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Grissom," Rane replied looking at the sofa. "But I'm not actually sure it would be big enough for two."

"It isn't," Greg said without thinking. "Uh, not really. Give me your number, Dad, and you can call us when you're settled."

"And maybe you can finish up getting some sleep, hmm?" Rane said nodding at them both.

Or not, since he was shortly going to be stuck alone with Gil and then Gil'd ask him what the hell was going on. "We'll do that." Gil stood up, and it was like a signal, since Greg's father finished off his coffee and started to stand up, too.

"It'll at least be a couple of hours, so..."

"I'm sure we can find something to look at for a couple of hours," Rane said, and Greg belatedly pushed himself up as he saw his mother doing the same. She started to walk to the door as if it was her idea that they were leaving and Greg felt compelled to follow. Even so he wasn't expecting to be ambushed by a hug. "I'm glad we found you safe and sound."

He could barely hear the words through the rising surge of panic and unreasoning fear, but he forced a stiff nod as his father did the same and he tried to pretend he was normal. Fuck. Tried to pretend that he wasn't almost hyperventilating by the time that Gil came up behind him. "Do you, uh, have the -- my cell number? It's on and charged. There's no landline phone, so..."

"Unless you've changed it recently, I believe we have it as a contact number," Rane replied, giving Greg a strange look.

Greg was busy trying to stop the roaring sound in his ears and ignoring the hint of gray around the edges of his vision. He'd felt so much more stable with Grissom that he'd forgotten how he had been at work, at home. It had felt like a distant memory, and the idea of going out to dinner with them seemed impossible. In public? Eating and trying to be relaxed, and....

"Good, thank you. It's still the same number." Gil seemed to hurry a little, and he put his arm around Greg's shoulder. "Drive safely."

They gave them both smiles and headed back to their car and Greg found himself leaning into Gil more and more as they waited for the polite moment to shut the door.

He needed to sit down. Quite possibly he needed to put his head between his knees just for a moment. But that, he reminded himself, was a perfectly normal feeling after being visited by his parents.

Grissom finally shut the door and he tried to make it back to a couch.

Gil followed close after him. "Greg? Are you all right?"

"Just... Just give me a minute..." Greg sat down hastily and bent forward to get the blood to rush to his head. "Fuck. Fuck, I've been doing so well with you, I forgot how hard it is with other people."

"That's all right. You did great." Gil perched beside him on the sofa, a hand rubbing hesitantly at Greg's back. "That's a hell of a way to wake up. You were doing fine."

Greg glanced up, aware that he was clammy and cold again and the hand felt warm. "Hey. You're the one that survived the Sanders parental experience with flying colors."

"My mother is a far more subtle manipulator, and comes on much more gently, but efficiently." Gil was watching him, but still rubbing slowly. "You feel cold. Let's get you back to bed."

"Yeah, especially as we now appear to be a couple," Greg grimaced taking a few slow deep breaths. "Dammit, they're my family. I can't have panic attacks at them touching me. How am I going to cope when we go out?"

"Tell me what makes you panic that way," Gil murmured. "And we'll see if we can circumnavigate it."

Greg shook his head. "I don't know. Just... I guess that people only touched me for the wrong reasons from the Factory all that time. I can't help it. I didn't then, that's the crazy thing. I didn't panic when it was happening."

He'd fought, he'd screamed, he'd cried but he hadn't actually panicked.

"I did. So you did better than me." The whole 'my parents think we're a couple' thing apparently had gone right over Gil's head. "So you were all right until they hugged you?"

"I... well aside from terminal embarrassment, yeah. I guess." Greg breathed out and sat up. "That's better. Much better."

"You still feel cold and I think you might do better if you were in bed." Gil kept faintly moving that hand on Greg's back. "Think you can get some more sleep in?"

"Are you coming, too?" Greg asked. He could live in hope. Truth was, he still felt exhausted, even more so for that close encounter.

"Yeah." Fingers slowed, tracing over the ridge of his spine for a moment. "Even if I can't sleep, I'll try."

He looked up at the older man, infinitely grateful for that. He wasn't going to stop it or deny it. He needed it too much to say no. "Thanks, Gil. For all of that. For everything."

"There's nothing to thank me for." Gil stood up, and twisted a little to pull Greg up when he made the motion. "Let's try to sleep more, and we'll deal with them when they call back."

He followed gratefully, if a little guiltily. He kept telling himself he was there for Gil, he was there to make things easier for him and so far there had been precious little evidence of that and a lot more of Grissom helping him.

He was bound and determined to crack this so he could be that person Gil needed. Where he couldn't motivate himself for his own needs, he could for Grissom. For Grissom, he'd already proven he could do something everyone thought was impossible. And with any luck, he could help Grissom do the same.

He could get used to it.

Gil could get used to it, the feeling of Greg weighing down the mattress behind him, of lean fingers half-reaching out in a doze to cling to him, and disappearing again like nothing had happened when Greg woke up. There was no talking about it, no thinking, and no explanation. What was simply was, and that was how Gil needed to handle it. Greg thought he was coping so well, and it made Gil want to cope better somehow instead of gathering up all of the unspoken assumptions in his life and living off of them. But it worked -- the assumption that Jim would understand what was going on, the assumption that Catherine would somehow always be there and help when he felt at a loss, the assumption that Greg's sick-leave would go on and on and he wouldn't be left alone to deal with it.

Gil had a sneaking suspicion that Greg was only going to have a few months, maybe one, maybe two, and then it would be sick restless nights and silence and the twitching knowledge that they were out there somewhere, looking for them. For him and for Greg.

It would have been easier never to have contacted Greg again than it was to contact him and know that it was only for a little while. When Greg got better, if Greg got better, then he'd go back to Vegas.

But for now Gil was getting behind the wheel of his SUV, waiting for Greg to buckle up.

Greg had stayed close, unobtrusively and he looked like he had been thinking as he slid into the front seat. This was verified when he cleared his throat and spoke. "Gil?"

"Mm?" He wasn't going to broach any more topics on Greg unless they were mindless and easy to deal with for both of them, at least until Greg's parents went back to California.

"Do you think we should tell my parents about you. Me being a father?" Greg was staring straight ahead, purposefully not looking at him.

Should they? Probably not. Probably not, because the likelihood of it happening, everything aligning just so, and him surviving and the baby surviving -- and when had he started to think of it as a baby and not an 'it'? -- was so slim. But if it all went wrong, someone needed to know. Someone other than Catherine, because Greg would need more help than just that. He was already enamored with the idea of being a father, or... whatever it would make him. Gil could tell from the way his eyes lit up whenever Gil had mentioned that the baby was moving a little.

"If you're comfortable with it."

"Well, comfort is a relative thing," Greg said and he sighed. "Because to tell them? I know I've got to tell them everything. Or they won't understand."

"I'm not... sure what everything you have to tell them." Gil glanced over at Greg, taking in his slouched posture.

"Everything that happened to me," Greg said glancing quickly at him. "I... I think I probably have to do that at some point. Don't I?"

"If..." Gil trailed off, braking a little as they started down a curving hill. "You want to. I sound like a broken record. I just... can't say what you're comfortable with or not. You don't have to do anything."

"I'm asking you Gil. This is about you. I have to know if you're okay with it. Otherwise I'll say nothing. Or wait. Or whatever," Greg replied. "I've got to start facing things, not falling apart."

"I think they should know. Just in case. And if everything works out, they would have found out eventually. You just... have to make sure they don't tell anyone. I want to keep as few people in the know as possible." People that knew them, at least. He had no control over FBI officers and the doctor that was on the government pay and that doctor's nurses.

"Who does know?" Greg asked glancing at him. "Aside from Catherine obviously."

"Aside from her? My doctor and his nurse, a few FBI officers. The doctors at intake who didn't want to let me leave..." Gil slid his eyes firmly onto the road, concentrating on his driving as he talked.

"And me," Greg said. He exhaled. "Maybe I can't deal with telling them that on top of everything else. You've seen my mom, she's probably gonna freak when I tell them they were using me as a fuck-toy, too." The words sounded uncharacteristically bitter and sharp.

But it was allowed. Greg was allowed to be angry and throw words around. "She is," Gil agreed. "Just... I wouldn't tell her at the restaurant. Tell her what you're comfortable with."

"Maybe... after we've eaten, if you don't mind, I'll suggest I go back with them to their motel or whatever and you can come on back," Greg suggested. "They're not going to believe it unless they have proof I guess. And they can look at the proof all they want in their room, not in the restaurant."

That was logical, even though Gil wasn't comfortable of letting Greg out of his sight. He hadn't been able to handle being hugged by them -- how would he do showing them his scars? Even just talking about it... ? "Are you sure you're... comfortable with that?"

"No." Greg replied and managed to smile at him. "No, but I hate the fact that I'm falling apart all the time. I hate being a person who can't deal with his family touching him. I hate not being able to laugh because it feels like it's something impossible. I hate being a coward."

"You're not a coward. It takes time, and.... I'm just not sure it's a good idea, unless you're sure you're going to be all right. I'll leave my cell phone on, and if you can't do it..." He'd pick Greg back up in a heartbeat.

"They won't go until it happens. You ought to have seen them when I was dithering about telling them I was bisexual," Greg said ruefully. "She practically camped outside my apartment door until I confessed everything. I mean, they were amazingly cool about it. Even Dad, who isn't as comfortable with it, but Mom is of the embarrassingly supportive type. That side of things isn't a problem, it's... I don't even know why it's difficult."

"Because you have to remember what happened." Gil shifted his hand on the steering wheel, one handed and loose-moving as he drove. "And memories can be astonishingly vivid."

"I have to do this. Otherwise I'm useless to you," Greg said resolutely. "I mean, look at what I've done for you since I've been here? Not much. Passed out, disrupted everything, pressured you, forced my way into your room. This is not the kind of support I had in mind."

"It's been surprisingly effective." He tried not to grit that out as he took another turn. "Really. I've been sleeping better, it's easier to cook well for two than just one, I... I enjoy your company."

"You like teaching me things," Greg managed another smile at that. "I've made up my mind. I'm going to do this. If I have a reason to do it, then I can. And I think if I can do this once, then... I'll be able to talk about anything."

Gil almost wanted to dissuade Greg at the tones he was using, but it wouldn't have gotten them anywhere. He pressed on the gas a little more, and made himself nod his head. "All right. I just want you to call me when you're done."

"Or I'll get them to bring me home to you."

Home. It seemed strange that after so little time he was referring to Gil's little place as 'home' and coming back to him.

"All right." Gil shifted the way he was holding his steering wheel, and reached a hand over to pat Greg's knee gently. "You'll do fine. Try not to think about it through dinner. I'm sure the local wildlife will distract your mother pretty well."

"I'm okay with you there. Half of it was surprise," Greg replied. "Them turning up like that. I liked being hidden."

"I do, too." Gil cleared his throat a little, "Don't feel bad about not having told them. I still haven't said much to my own mother."

"Then we should?" Greg answered. "If... if I tell mine, then your mom needs to know. She's deaf, right?"

Gil wasn't quiet sure what difference that would make, but he nodded. His hand was still on Greg's knee, and it didn't seem to matter. "She reads lips well, and speaks very well, but yes. She is."

"I want you to teach me enough sign language so I'm not... rude, I guess," Greg asked looking at him. "That's how you two talk, right?"

"It is. But I'm used to translating for her," Gil excused. "We'll figure it out later, I think... we have enough going on right now." Greg's parents, Greg trying to work out how to seize control on his own again.

"Yeah. Sorry, I think I'm just trying to distract myself," Greg said. "I can do this. I can do this... right?"

"You can do it," Gil confirmed. He gave another pat, a gesture he wasn't sure was his to give. It was hard to tell what right he had to do that, except that Greg seemed to react well to it. "You can. I know you're capable, and you can tell them as much or as little as you want to."

"As long as you're sure." Greg exhaled settling a little. He kept glancing sideways at Grissom and back again, still not totally comfortable.

"I'm sure, Greg. You're underestimating yourself." Gil shifted his thumb, tracing the edge of Greg's patella through his jeans. "And I understand why."

"Griss..." Greg had turned to look directly at him. "Gil...." His eyes were very dark and bright suddenly.

"Yes?" Gil could only glance over for a second, because he was trying to keep his eyes on the road. They were almost onto the main road into town.

"I... really, really want to kiss you," Greg confessed quietly. "I just thought you ought to know that."

Like it was a piece of data that Gil was supposed to tuck away and smile and nod to so he could pull it out later and go, 'Yes, evidence of Greg's insanity'. That was the tone Greg used, that softly shirking tone as if he was expecting a bad reaction from Gil. Gil checked his mirrors, and then pulled over onto the shoulder of the road.

Greg was still looking at him. "Either you want me to get out of the car or...?"

Or. Or he could talk, but it took him a moment and he probably looked like a fish being told it had to breathe air for the first time in its life. "I... prefer physical evidence to statements."

"Phys... oh.." Greg twisted a little and leaned across, tentatively reaching out with one hand to brush the side of Gil's cheek and into his hair as he bent to brush lip to lip, softly, hopefully.

So hopeful and so careful, when Gil knew he didn't need that kind of care but knew that Greg might. He leaned into it, kept the touch gentle for Greg, leaning against his seatbelt as he fell into the friction of lip on lip, just mouths, Greg's a little open. It wasn't a stunning first kiss, but it was sweet and slow, and Gil didn't want to pull back. Didn't really want to go to dinner.

Neither did Greg it seemed even as he drew back a little to peer up at him with dark eyes. "I... I never thought I would ever be able to do that."

Gil exhaled, and reached a hand up to cradle the side of Greg's face, twisting free of the shoulder part of his seatbelt. "Expectations are different from reality?" Gil didn't understand why Greg would have wanted to, but...

Greg smiled. "Reality is better." It was a proper smile, a Greg-smile that said for one brief moment that life was good and the reason why it was good was right here in front of him. "I've always wanted this but I never thought it was possible. Maybe it still isn't but I haven't got much left to lose now."

"Neither of us does." Gil traced his thumb over the edge of Greg's cheek, and leaned in again. "One more, and then we should go before they start to worry."

This kiss was less tentative, more certain and sweet. Greg kissed him like he had jumped off the edge of a cliff and had to fit all of life that was worth living into that contact. It was more complicated than just passion; in fact passion and sex were only the merest part of the kiss, subsumed by need and deeper emotion.

Maybe a little desperation.

Gil kept touching him, tipped his head a little, feeling the wet friction and the way that Greg sucked on his bottom lip for a moment, a touch that was enough to make him groan and lean into Greg more, over the center console and the parking brake, seatbelt be damned.

There were fingers in his hair, gentle and with none of the tremors that he had seen from Greg before. It was as if this was the only thing the younger man was certain of out of everything.

Eventually he had to come up for air. "Told you... I was obsessed."

"Do I seem bothered?" Gil brushed his thumb over Greg's cheek one last time, and didn't pull away to sit down just yet. If Greg's parents hadn't been in town, Gil would have already been making a three point turn to get back up to the cabin.

"I find it difficult to tell," Greg said with disarming honesty. "I... when I come back, can I still share the same bed?"

Gil leaned in again, hand still on the side of Greg's face, and brushed a kiss against his mouth -- faint, with a hint of apology. "Yes." And then he had to sit back, and struggle for a moment to get back into the seatbelt he'd almost crawled out of.

Greg smiled again. "I call that being goal orientated. Reward for going through with this."

"Going home and getting to sleep?" Gil managed to twitch something like a smile back at Greg, and he took the parking brake off that he didn't quite remember setting.

"Yeah. With you," Greg replied again. "That's all I've pretty much wanted."

All he wanted. Gil sucked in a breath, and then shifted, adjusting his seatbelt as he turned the steering wheel and pushed on the gas pedal to pull off of the side of the road. "Really?"

"Yeah." Greg ducked his head looking a little embarrassed. "You've never heard the others joke about it?"

One of the downsides of being 'the boss', Gil guessed, even though he'd been too fully aware of Sara's obsession with him. "No?" They were only going to be late by a couple of minutes. A short delay.

"Ha, I knew I wasn't as obvious as they made out. But you were the boss. And there was... Lady Heather and so on," Greg said. "So, you know, some impossible dreaming going on there."

"There was Lady Heather. I'm not sure what that and 'so on' is related to, though." Gil checked his rearview, and merged over a lane before he turned onto the main street that ran through town. It would coast them right down to the parking in front of the 'restaurant'.

"I'm talking about the fact that the only interest you've ever expressed in anything remotely resembling intimacy was with a woman," Greg replied. "I kept praying that you'd wake up gay or something. Although I'm sure that's pretty much blasphemous."

That made it hard for Gil not to smile, and he sat back, finally getting comfortable now that the drive was over. "I didn't have to wake up gay, Greg. I've found interests both ways since college. I just don't advertise it."

To the point of using non-gendered words, like telling Jim that he had a date, and letting Jim assume. Cops were cops, after all, and Gil was interested in living his life, not getting lectured on it from people who weren't going to be budged in their views anymore than they were going to budge him. "I would have made a move, I guess." Greg paused. "No, that's a lie, I had too much to lose. Now there's nothing."

The first time Greg had said it, Gil was willing to agree. But now, when he could think and process Greg's tone of voice, and find it uncomfortable, he reacted differently. "You have a lot of things going for you, still. There's just less risk. No risk at all, since I..."

"No. No, don't even say that," Greg interrupted. "Maybe it's forced me to act but I don't want you just because of this. Not because this is going to be difficult and there's less risk. If I was interested in less risk I would have said or done nothing." Greg said that firmly and clenched his hand. "You have to make it through this, Gil. We'll talk with the doctors,"

While Gil wasn't sure what any more talking to the doctors would do, except to make the situation clearer for Greg, he nodded. "We will. And you'll get to see it moving. They might even be able to take a guess at the gender." A gentle steering away from the topic, but Greg didn't need any more morbidity.

"A boy," Greg said immediately. "Well the genetic probability is high. Two XY's combining give a 75% chance of a boy. Actually..." He considered. "YY isn't viable so it would be 66% of viable genetic combinations."

"Right." Right, and the first attempt had been something nonviable, a one in four shot that had meant more surgery, more cutting and drugging and restraints. After all that time in Vegas, Gil knew not to trust the numbers. That there was a slim chance of something happening didn't mean you were safe from it. "I... still don't feel like its sunk all the way in."

"Sorry." Greg seemed to realize he was rambling on. "Anyway... uh.. we're not too late, are we?"

Gil checked his dashboard clock, and then his watch. "Not too late." Nothing that couldn't be attributed to a difference between watch readings. He slowed, and started to turn it to park. "That's their car, isn't it?"

Greg nodded and was visibly taking deep breaths. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do this. We can do this and, hey, they're paying right?"

"If they aren't, the place is cheap enough that we'll be all right." He'd have to show Greg his budget, a notebook scratched full of numbers. And he'd have to work Greg into it for as long as Greg was there on medical leave.

He parked, and then turned off the engine, shifting so that his coat hid things better. It was the best reason to go out only at night -- no reason for him to take his leather jacket off.

"I've got money, it's okay," Greg glanced at him as if he might realize there was some tension around the subject, but he didn't say anything. "Hope you don't mind staying close."

Gil hadn't quite popped open the driver's side door yet, but he did unbuckle. "Staying close?"

"Like you did before. Just to start with," Greg replied. "It helps."

"Oh." Gil nodded as he looked at Greg, and finally started to open the door. "I hadn't thought of doing otherwise. Are you ready?"

Greg took another breath as he popped his door. "As I'll ever be," he said as he got out. He looked grimly determined.

If that was what it was going to take, then Gil would do what he could to get Greg through it, as far as Greg wanted to go. He opened his door, and caught sight of Greg's mother sitting at a table right up against one slightly dirty window.

Dinner was going to be something special.

It was cold in the woods. Correction, Greg thought as his teeth practically chattered together, it was fucking freezing. The woods around Jackpot were dense, overcrowded with trees (unsurprisingly) and treacherous holes that appeared just about Greg-sized.

Now the initial panic had worn off, he was trying to think how in any part of his mind he thought this had been anything like a good idea.

It wasn't. And he knew, knew how could it could get in the desert at night. It was hard to imagine how he'd thought it might somehow be warmer or more tolerable further north, out of the desert, but it wasn't. He could see his breath, and sitting in as small a ball as he could didn't seem to help much.

He shouldn't have tried to leg it back to Grissom's. It was a decent drive from there to town, even though Gil went the speed limit, and he'd tried to walk it.

But the truth was by the time he had confessed all, 'stripped his sleeves and showed his scars' to paraphrase Shakespeare, only there was no Grissom around to impress, he had been such a turmoil anything that meant moving away from the devastation he had caused had been grasped at.

Rather stupidly, selfishly perhaps, he hadn't factored in how upset his parents would be by what he was saying. That they would be hurt by it; that they would treat him as if his mental state had collapsed and... well, much like he had considered Grissom to be when he first told him.

He'd been too wrapped in the flashback to notice at first. Secretly he'd been hoping they would take his word for it.

And just... leave it at that. Except they hadn't, hadn't been sure, or hadn't wanted to believe it, and Greg had shown them, and he probably shouldn't have. Everything from nail marks to cuts to thin swaths of scar from where they'd taken samples, neat flat scars that had faded from angry red to rare-meat pink to a pink-edged white as were the most serious ones where they had tampered with him. And the holes that marked cigarette burns and marks that had nothing to do with surgery and everything to do with bored sadists.

He still hadn't shown them everything. And he'd had to run, had to leave, which...

Which if he thought about it was just what Grissom had done after he'd told Greg. He'd put Greg in the shower, and he'd left a note taped to the wall about going out for a walk. And he hadn't let Grissom do it. Maybe they were more alike in the way they dealt than Greg thought, except for that part where Gil had had a coat and his cell phone and his gun...

What he would've done for a whistle. That was the trick, wasn't it? To sit still, hug a tree, and blow a whistle until someone found you? Except he didn't have anything on him, and he didn't know where in the woods he was or even how to get back to the road. Once the sun came up, maybe he'd get a sense of perspective.

All he had to do was make it to the sun coming up and not think about the look on either of his parent's faces. Now they knew what'd happened to him, but they still didn't know everything.

He'd tried to tell them everything, he started talking about the taking out of tissue from his body, the genetic samples but all he could see in his parent's eyes when he told them about Gil being pregnant was a deep and utter conviction that he was unhinged. He guessed it was turnabout being fair play. He had thought the same when Grissom told him and he'd hoped he hadn't looked like that. Pity in his eyes. Horror. Drawing away.

Drawing away and a hint of a calculating look that said they were trying to figure out What to Do About It. Capital letters being a necessity, because figuring out how to get their son committed was probably deserving of that kind of capitalization. Then he'd started to fall apart and he'd gone on and on, and Gil would have understood. If he hadn't run out without his cell phone, if he had actually called him.

There was rustling in the bushes and he stared into the darkness with another surge of panic. Wolves and the locals talked about bears.

Great. Fuck. If there was one thing that he wanted now it was to get out of there and be there with Gil.

He'd kissed Gil. Actually kissed him and thought he was going to explode.

Greg couldn't figure out what was going on in Gil's head, or why or what, but there was a start, there was something, some sliver of a fantasy that Greg had held for years. And now he was going to be eaten by wolves, and that was the dumbest thing he'd ever done. He was still being less than helpful to Grissom, and now his parents were going to try to get him psychiatric help, and he wouldn't need to worry about either of it because he was going to be someone's lunch.

There was a definite animal sort of sound from the bushes and he froze still, staring. What the hell had he done to deserve this? Aside from apparent terminal stupidity?

A large shape was moving around in there. A too large shape. He prayed that it was a deer. Yeah, it could be a deer... but did they really make all that noise?

And did deer look that big, a dark shape in the dark when all Greg wanted to do was hide and sleep? No, deer didn't make that kind of lowing sound, a rumble that made Greg's muscles go tense. Fuck, fuck, he was going to be eaten by wild animals and they'd have Grissom out here investigating his death, and he'd never get to find out how bad a father he was or anything else.

He wanted to live to be a father. He wanted Gil to live to be a father too. Jesus, all this skirting around the issue with hints at obsession and caring and projected instincts. It could be so much simpler if he actually just admitted that he loved Gil. There. So much easier than psychobabble and every other rationale. If he was going to die, he could at least be truthful to himself. He had blamed himself because he loved him, he had held it together by focusing on Grissom because he loved him and finally pulled off the much vaunted miracle escape because he loved him.

Okay it was unrequited but there it was. The truth.

He needed to find a tree. That was a bear.

That was a -- shit, that was a bear, and even though he had his back to the tree, it was the wrong type for climbing. A pine tree wasn't going to help him, not one that tall with branches that high, and he had to damn well get moving before the bear spotted him.

He got up carefully, trying not to hiss or gasp at the protest from his over strained leg. He was shaking again, but now it was adrenaline as he edged carefully towards a likely looking tree. It was a little distance away, but it had low looking branches, if he could get there. He moved just a little, praying for cooperation from his body, and from the environment.

No random tree roots, not too much underbrush to trip him up, and the bear seemed not to notice him or care to notice him -- except there was an interesting growling noise and that gave Greg a kick in the ass that got him climbing up that tree.

The sound of the animal coming closer had him scrambling blindly, adrenaline numbing his leg as he got up high. He wedged himself high up and could see through the sparse bows, the bear ambling around, its coat silvered by the moonlight.

Why the hell wasn't it hibernating? Didn't bears start hibernating now? Maybe it was looking for a bedtime snack? Greg really didn't want to be a bedtime snack. Greg wanted to get home, crawl through the door of the little cabin that Gil had, and sleep. Even the sofa seemed good, homely in a weird quiet way. Gil's laptop and the TV set, the DVD player, the neat piles of books.

It would've been a lot better than climbing a tree.

The tree shook as the bear pushed at it and he clutched wildly to the branches around him.

He wanted to be there with Gil. For Gil. He wanted to make sure he survived. Fuck, he even wanted a kid. Maybe no one would guess he would, but that process had always amazed him. Miracle. And he was part of another miracle as well, no matter how it had happened. He wanted that to work.

For the moment, doing his part to make it work meant surviving the night, even if it meant clutching desperately onto tree branches until daylight. Or the bear went away. Whatever happened first.

The bear seemed to be in love with the tree, so he was likely to be stuck here a while. Wherever here was. He just hoped he could last that long.

Who was he kidding? He had lasted through three months of sexual and physical torture. He could last a few hours up a tree. It was only time.

Loneliness was a state of perception.

While he hadn't been lonely before, he felt it now, a loss, a missing space where he expected a little quiet company.

Greg had apparently chosen to spend the rest of the evening with his parents, and Gil had to admit that it was the healthy choice for Greg. Rebonding with his actual family, interacting with other people. It didn't keep Gil from watching the clock.

Only the fact that he was still on Vegas time had him even awake during those quiet hours. They dragged. He hadn't realized how much of a difference Greg being in his space had made.

The kiss had helped. The kiss had been unexpected and.... wonderful. Something to make the ordeal of being in public go away. He had to admit it had helped him and it had seemed to help Greg. He was just a little disappointed that Greg hadn't called to say he was staying there.

Maybe he was just that busy. It was a good thing if Greg was that busy, wasn't it? It was, Gil reminded himself as he sat back, laying his book on his lap and rubbing at his temples.

It was good. Greg was so busy that he didn't have time to call Gil and give him a heads up. It wasn't as if Greg owed Gil the minor nod to propriety that a call would've been. Greg didn't have to call Gil at all, for any reason, if he didn't want to.

The knock at the door startled him. It was early morning for most, but it could only really be Greg coming back. He probably would knock even after everything, especially if his parents were giving him a lift.

He got up wearily, making his way to the door. Gil actually found himself wanting to know how things had gone, and hoped that Greg's parents weren't going to hang around too long, even if he expected some questions.

Uncomfortable questions. Questions he didn't want to think of, and the way they looked at him... Gil straightened his shoulders, and pulled the door open.

Rane and Peter... no sign of Greg. Maybe they had talked Greg to his senses after all.

"Good morning, Mr. Grissom." Rane looked terrible, her throat sounding hoarse as if she had been crying hysterically. "We uh... we have Greg's jacket here..."

"We were hoping he'd want to speak to us," Peter interjected.

Speak with them? Gil opened his mouth, staring at them both for a moment before he could get his mouth to work. "But I thought he was with you?"

Rane stared at him in return. "But he left last night, practically ran out saying he was going to call you for a ride home!"

Peter held up the jacket. "He left this behind -- we thought he'd headed back to the diner to call. Rane was... well, we both were pretty upset. We didn't realize there and then he'd left it." He looked grim. "He... he wasn't terribly stable. He told us this... frankly insane story..."

Greg had left his jacket -- and so his cell phone -- there, and there was... Fuck. They were looking for them, the free running people who were responsible for some of their abuse, and Gil knew that his eyes weren't quite focused when he tried to look at Greg's father. "Get in your vehicle, and go back to town. I want you to -- hold on." Gil back stepped, letting them in. He needed to get his jacket back on, and get his gun. "They didn't catch everyone. One of my friends from back home gave me the heads up on it. I'm going to need you to call the local sheriff's office and report a missing person."

"What? You are saying some of the people who did that to Greg are still out there?" Rane looked shocked. "Peter?"

"Rane love, if Mr. Grissom thinks there's a danger then we've got to take it seriously."

"But... why? Why would they do this?" They stepped into the house, concerned for completely different reasons.

Gil paced into the bedroom, leaving the door open so he could keep talking while he put his holster on. "I don't know, but they attempted to re-kidnap or, or harm one of the other people who were there, and if they found him, and Greg's missing now, then... I want you to contact the sheriff while I check the local paths."

"We can do that," Peter Sanders said, nodding in agreement.

"But... but, Greg wasn't that... I mean, Mr. Grissom, he went as far as to tell us that you were pregnant. I know it's ridiculous." Rane wavered. "But could it be that he's just.... I don't know..."

Mad? Crazy? Certifiable?

Gil fastened his holster as he came back out, halfway shrugging on his heavy leather jacket. "Go on. Keep talking. Because you don't and can't understand what they did to us in there. If you don't want to believe what he was telling you, that's fine. But go talk to the sheriff." He stopped by the table long enough to write down an address and a phone number.

Rane was staring at him. "Are you saying that it's true?"

Her husband took the address. "Rane, I don't care if it's true or not right now. I'm worried about our son and if there's the slightest possibility that he's been taken again we need to act now. He's been missing... nearly ten hours."

"If Lt. Brooks protests that it hasn't been long enough, have him call my cell and I'll forward him to the FBI officer in charge of our case, so he can be convinced of the seriousness." Gil glanced at both of them, and then gestured them to leave ahead of him so he could at least lock the door on the way out. It wasn't time to think about Greg being really missing yet. It was time to look, and just look, and not let himself think.

Peter Sanders, it seemed, was an experienced member of the force and nodded again. "We're on it," he said curtly. "Rane, come on. Quicker we do this, the quicker we'll find him." He practically had to drag her away but once they were on the move, they did at least move quickly.

Gil didn't wait for them to head down to their car. He started down the side path that branched off of the house that he'd taken Greg down, half-poised to draw his gun if he had to.

He wasn't sure where he was going exactly, or why this was a logical place to start looking, but it was a logical place to get lost around Jackpot. The woods had paths that hikers used but in the dark maybe a short cut would have led to disaster. Or if Greg had been pursued he might have run into the woods for cover rather than into town. If he had been in town, Gil was sure he would have called him by now. That much was obvious to him. Greg, no matter how upset he was, would not have left his parents or him wondering for that length of time if he had any real choice.

And that was what worried him.

Something had to be wrong. Something had happened to Greg or something was stopping him from calling either Gil or his own parents. Someone like the people who'd taken them in the first place, and Gil's vivid mind was painting pictures of the body of one of the hulking guards laboring over Greg's too-skinny frame, hurting him again, fucking him.

Walking the paths looking for evidence of what had happened to Greg was part hope, part stress-relief.

He remembered what his one experience had been like. He shied away from the thoughts in his head about it, but they haunted him. What would it have been like to have that over and over. And worse? Greg was continually saying that he was the one who had the worst done because of the pregnancy but...

But he didn't really know how bad it had been. Hints and vague suppositions. Extrapolating from behavior that it had been bad.

His insides clenched with the fear of what they could be doing to him. How it would feel to find himself back there. What Greg might be feeling right now.

Maybe they shouldn't have ever gone to the middle of fucking nowhere. Sure, no one would look for him there, but then again, no one -- good people included -- could find him there. Did he really want to stay in that kind of situation, where if things went wrong, Greg could end up hurt?

Gil picked up his pace, and kept scanning the trees on either side of him. "Greg?"

Nothing. Just trees.

He kept walking. Picking the trails that headed between there and town, moving with as much speed as he could muster. He was pretty far in when he smelt something... unsettling. Metallic tinge to the air, the slow familiar buzz of flies gathering. Somewhere off to the right from the trail.

It was a forest, of course. Animals died in the forest, and Gil had come across some interesting dead specimens in his early morning walks, which he tried not to poke at with anything other than his eyesight and occasionally a stick. But his stomach started to sink a little as he started stoically towards the smell.

He could see the color of fresh blood still congealing around a dismembered carcass.

Deer, not human. Thank God. But...

He peered at the evidence. That was no wolf. Something bigger, more powerful had taken down the other creature. Deep solid impressions in the scant leaf litter showed fresh evidence that the local's stories were not all hot air.

Gil sidestepped around it, almost relaxing. There were massive marks on the deer's corpse from claw swipes, and wolves didn't use their paws in that way, not swiping to knock down and eviscerate an animal all at once. Something large, a large cat or a bear, disturbingly close to his cabin at that.

The bear... from the looks of the trail had spent a fair amount of time around this area. He followed the trails of paw prints back a ways up over a rise that looked down towards a clearing that wasn't far from the lower loop of one of the trails from the town from his vantage point. He had to squint a little because there was something slightly odd about one of the trees down beneath him.

There was something in it, and it was bigger than a bird nest. Not a bear, and Gil was fairly sure that no sane bear would climb a tree that small looking.

"Is anyone down there?!"

There was a movement from the huddled mass, and a barely audible "Fuck!" as whoever it was seemed to lose their balance and half fell, half slid from their balance point.

"Jesus... Griss?!"

Greg. It was Greg, and he was alive, and for the moment, the fact that he had a steep slope to get down and that he didn't know where Greg had been for almost half a day didn't matter. "Greg! Stay where you are, I'm coming to you."

"I'm trying to stay where I am but I keep kinda falling out of the damn... tree." Greg called out a little shakily. "Whoa..."

And there he went off of his branch, bouncing down the comparatively short drop to the ground.

Gil could just about hear swearing as he hurried down.

It was harder than it had looked, and Gil had never been happier in his life to have decent footing on slopes. He managed to only scrape his palm up while holding onto some hardy underbrush four feet from the bottom. Then he hurried over to Greg, almost tripping over a knotted root. "Have you been up there all night?"

"Uh... mostly. From the point where the bear turned up," Greg was shivering as he tried to push himself up. "A fucking bear! Of all the things to run into!"

"It killed a deer closer to the house." Gil got close enough to Greg to offer him a hand up, and couldn't just stop at that. He had to step forward, had to reach for Greg. "Don't do that again, Greg. You can't just run off like that."

"I... I... was trying to get home." He took Grissom's hand and he felt freezing. "I wasn't trying to run off, just to get back to you." He stood awkwardly, grimacing with pain.

"You're hurt. I think we're closer to the road than the cabin. I'm going to call your parents and we can get them to meet us on the road." He slid an arm over Greg's shoulder, his free hand, and didn't let go of Greg after he'd pulled him to his feet.

"My damn leg," Greg held on to him. "It gave up on me. Then the bear... I thought, the world's out to get me, you know? I was sorta halfway back before I realized I was even walking."

He'd just set out. Probably restless and agitated and tired because his parents had said things that Gil could probably accurately guess at. It was easy just to hold onto Greg for a while, just to hug onto him and nod before he pulled back a little to get his cell phone. "It's okay. I thought someone had taken you again."

"Nah, just a near bear eating episode," Greg steadied himself. "Why would you think someone had taken me?"

"Jim... mentioned something." Keep it vague, keep Greg calm. Keep himself calm. It was hard to keep hugging Greg and dial Greg's parent's phone number on his cell phone. A mostly sharp memory had never helped Gil so much in his life.

"That doesn't sound good," Greg shivered. "I'm okay, really. Well aside from being stupid, but that's more of a chronic problem. How did you know to come out after me?"

"Your parents came up to the cabin with your coat and cell phone. They wanted to apologize." Gil moved his hand, rubbing at Greg's cold shoulder. "Jesus, you're cold. Here, take my coat..."

"You sure? Don't want you getting sick. Because if I'm gonna get sick, it's probably too late by now," Greg managed still shivering. "Shit, I didn't mean to scare anyone. That includes me. Because, you know... that wasn't one of my better moments. Damn bear was in love with my tree or something. Just wouldn't go away right up until dawn sort of time when it headed off over that ridge you came down. But I could still hear... like stuff, you know?"

"It killed a deer." Gil held the phone up to his ear as he shifted out of his jacket, swapping hands, waiting for the ring ring ring to become a pickup while he wrapped his leather jacket around Greg. "Zip it up. I'll be fine for a few minutes."

Greg nodded and slipped into the garment even as the phone answered a little breathlessly. "Pete Sanders." He could hear sounds in the background as if he was in an office of some description.

"I found him. He was up a tree after a run in with a bear. Can you meet us on the road out of town? We're going to head that way, because it's closer than walking back to the cabin." Greg was okay. Cold, probably hungry and tired, but he was okay. It was the most that Gil could process just then, sliding an arm over Greg's shoulders again.

"Thank God." Greg's father sounded relieved. "We'll be there. I'll tell the Sheriff. He was just about to try and get the FBI. You'll be okay getting to the road?"

"We'll be okay getting to the road." Even if he had to drag Greg along, and as tired as Greg seemed, it was possible. He couldn't carry him, though. The best he could do was to loan Greg his jacket. "Call me back when you're headed out." And before he could get a response, he hung up.

"We need to start walking."

"Great. I think I can manage that," Greg said with what seemed like cheerful optimism. It was a little strained. "How close did I get to your place?"

"Probably three miles. And as thick as these woods can get, that's close." Gil started to walk, and then shifted his hand so instead of on Greg's shoulder, his fingers were beneath Greg's armpit, holding him upright. "Let's hope the bear's napping somewhere."

"Yeah." Greg started moving forward, very obviously stiff, cramped and in a fair amount of discomfort. "I... I'd just like to say before the lectures start, I know it was a stupid thing to do and if my brain had actually been talking to me in any shape or form I wouldn't have been out here. Mom and Dad are probably right, I'm nuts."

"You're no crazier than I am. I shouldn't have left you to do it alone. I should have been waiting for you in the SUV outside." Possibly without telling Greg, and damn the impression of them that it gave Greg's parents.

"You know, I thought I took the whole thing badly but... I'm guessing their reaction is more normal." Greg managed short bursts of nervous talking in among their slow progress. "They're probably waiting there with the comfy padded strait jacket or something." His voice shook a bit. "They didn't believe me. I told them and they didn't believe me. I think my Dad would have preferred to have a son that died back there than have one back that had been raped."

Gil moved his fingers every so often, short bursts of rubbing that probably weren't giving the full comfort that Greg needed. "It's hard for parents to deal with. We see it at work, Greg. He probably wishes there was some way he could have protected you. I wish there was some way I could have protected you."

"Like I do for you. I just thought..." Greg squinted a bit at the morning sun. "I was standing there thinking, Wait a minute, why am I the one being understanding? It's not like I even told them some of the really bad stuff in detail. They saw some of the scars. I just... Well I guess I was hoping they might understand a little. Maybe care rather than freak at me."

"They care. It's just a shock, and, maybe they didn't handle it the best way, I..." Would have handled it better, Gil knew. He kept Greg close to him, kept stepping over underbrush and guiding Greg around trees. It was damn cold out, and the wind wasn't helping. "I don't know. You shouldn't have had to do that."

"I've done it now. If it means I'm on my own, then I'm on my own. Ow. Should've had more physio on this leg." Greg was shivering still. "I'm pretty tired. I didn't want to worry you. I just wanted to come home and maybe... I don't know. Reassure myself I wasn't crazy."

"You're not crazy. You're doing better than a lot of people would be in this situation..." Gil steadied himself and Greg by proxy on a tree trunk as he passed it. Hopefully Greg's parents would have the heat on. "Your mother thinks you're a little cracked, but I can't blame her. You probably thought the same about me."

"Well maybe. To start with. But that was because I haven't been convinced I'm not going over the edge." Greg clutched at his leg a moment, wincing. "But I shouldn't have reacted that way. You don't lie to me. It was like... betraying you or something. "

"There's no betrayal in not believing a very far-fetched sounding truth." Gil stopped when Greg clutched at his leg, and tried to take a little of Greg's weight. "Put your arm over my shoulder."

Greg willingly did so. "I decided I didn't want either of us to die when I was sitting up that tree," he said conversationally. "Because maybe I was reading stuff into it, but that kiss. Well, you know. I was thinking as a starting point, it has potential you know?"

"Potential for... ? Just to make sure we're on the same train of thought here." Having deep conversation trekking back through the woods in home of finding a road.

"Us. Things. Maybe like... a relationship. I mean, you might not want one and that's cool but..." Greg had to catch his breath a moment and cough. "You know. No matter what happens, I don't want go back to how I was. I don't think I can."

Relationship? As screwed up as they were, and Greg had to use that word, the word that implied stability, if not some semblance of sanity. "I... We could try it. We're both pretty out of shape right now, and I don't know if either of us is thinking with a clear head."

"You could say that about me at any time," Greg said with a partial smile. "Thinking, no, but feeling? This isn't a new feeling."

"No?" Gil had half been counting on it being a new feeling, but it wasn't, so... So Greg would still be leaving when his medical time was up.

"No. But it's a new way of looking at it. Of admitting it to myself." Greg grimaced and then smiled. "I don't care any more. They took everything but this from me and I'm not going to try and hide it anymore, not even from myself. Everything makes a lot more sense when I just admit that I've had a classic case of unrequited love."

"A..." Gil trailed off so he didn't seem like he was just repeating every other word out of Greg's mouth. His mind immediately snapped to Sara, and while Greg had come up, while Greg had gotten them out of that place, Sara had sent meandering letters and tried to cut Greg down, putting words in Gil's mouth. "Huh."

"Yeah, that's about the sort of reaction I was expecting," Greg said softly almost to himself. "It's okay, Gil. I just had to say it. No expectations."

"I'm not good with people. If everything goes all right... You need to be around. I don't know what to do between you and me and...." Gil shrugged his shoulders a little, still trudging along with Greg. He could hear cars, so the road wasn't far. Another half a mile or so, then. "I don't know what I'm saying."

"Neither do I, but I'm a little blurry," Greg managed. "See how it goes then. Most people get sick of me after a few months anyway."

"Let's just... talk about it when we get home. You probably can't feel your toes," Gil pointed out, stepping over a felled tree. He was starting not to be able to feel his fingers.

Greg half laughed and coughed. "You're right. Or my fingers. Or most of my face actually. But I can feel my leg. Really feel it. I'm talking crap again, right?"

"You're tired and cold and probably need to eat and sleep, Greg. That you're talking means that you're at least semi-coherent." As long as they put one foot in front of the other, they'd eventually make it to the road. Gil just wondered when Greg's parents were going to call him back.

He wondered what the Sheriff thought about it all. He had unwittingly revealed why he was there if they had been talking to the FBI. He could expect some pertinent questions no doubt.

They stumbled on a little closer to the road and then finally the phone rang even as they could see the road. Greg was looking flushed, which was strange and at odds with his chill even as he reached to answer his cell.

"Grissom." Maybe he could give them all his cover story. It was embarrassing, but slightly buyable, wasn't it?

"Mr. Grissom, it's Sheriff Brooks. I'm bringing Mr. Sanders up from out of town. We had to have the doc see to Mrs. Sanders a minute."

It explained the delay at least.

"Dale?" Gil was going to take some pleasure from knowing that Greg's mother was going to be seen to by a vet. "What happened? We're almost to the road, and we should be easy to spot."

"She got a little hysterical after she spoke to the FBI. Something about going to be a grandmother," Brooks replied. "We'll slow up. You or the kid need medical attention?"

"Nothing serious. Just have the heat on in your vehicle. Greg has a case of exposure." Hopefully mild. Greg was still walking, even when they started to walk down a steep slope that would drop them out to the edge of the road.

"Won't have to have him put down then," Sheriff Brooks said with his wry humor. "We're about three miles from your place. I'll slow down. You on the road yet?"

"Almost. We're about three miles straight out from the cabin, so you might need to back up. We're..." A few half-tripping steps, and they were at the road's edge, the slight lip that would keep traffic from hitting them. "We're on the road now."

"See any distinguishing features?" The sheriff asked even as Greg leaned on him again. "Look familiar at all? We're turning and heading back towards town."

"The cliff edge is about a hundred feet past us..." Gil leaned back a little, turning his head to watch Greg's face. He was cold without his jacket, but Greg had to feel colder.

"I know the place." Of course he did. Brooks knew everywhere. "One minute and we'll be there."

He hung up, and Greg stopped looking at the road surface long enough to look up at him, and meet his gaze. Something was different about him. It was as if, just for Gil, there was nothing shuttering away anything in his eyes. It was like he was saying 'I'm an open book, read me. Browse... whatever. It's up to you.'

Gil didn't know where to start or what to do. He wasn't used to having to deal with people that way, wasn't used to dealing with it and not ruining it. He spilled coffee in those open books, or sent them to jail for questioning, or just misread it. Gil closed his cell phone, and slipped it into his pants pocket. "They're on their way."

"Great. Because I'm feeling a little shaky, you know?" Greg admitted still clinging to him. "Did you say something about my mom?"

"She... apparently had a hysterical moment. The local vet's seeing to her." Gil shifted his stance, locking one leg a little so he could take more of Greg's weight.

"The local... vet?" Greg started half laughing and coughing. "Is this some guarded way of saying my mother is a bitch?"

The Sheriff's SUV was coming into view even as he coughed and clutched at him.

"Not really. The vet is also the town's coroner," Gil answered blandly, trying not to smile too much while he turned his head to look at Lt. Brook's SUV. Even if he thought that Greg's mother was a bitch.

It pulled to a halt even as Greg's dad flung open the door and ran over to where they both were. "Greg! Thank god... what the hell were you doing out in the woods?"

Greg looked awkward even as his Dad embraced him. "Um. Trying to get home I guess," he mumbled.

"We spoke to the Feds... I uh... look we'll talk about it later, okay?" Peter Sanders stepped back. "We've got to get you somewhere warm."

"It gets pretty cold up here in Jackpot," the Sheriff said as he strolled up. "Mr. Grissom. Glad to see you haven't lost your touch. Bear, huh? Unusual for this time of year."

"That's what I thought. It killed a deer about three-fourths of a mile that way," Gil said, pointing as he stepped back to help support Greg. "Can you help me get Greg into your vehicle? He needs to be warmer than this."

"I've got him," Peter Sanders said hastily. "Okay, son?"

"I'm fine, Dad. Sorry about all the trouble." Greg said automatically. "I didn't hurt myself any more, it's just the leg. It's not up to night hiking."

"Most people wouldn't be up for that," the Sheriff added. "In you get. Back to your place, Grissom?"

"We'd appreciate that." Once Pete had opened the door, Gil moved to get into the back seat with Greg, staying close. He didn't want to sit in the front -- not without his jacket on. In the back seat, it was harder to look at him.

Greg made a few noises of discomfort getting in, but once there, he unselfconsciously leaned into Gil as his father took the front seat and the Sheriff headed out towards their house.

"You sure you're okay, son?"

"Nothing a hot bath wouldn't cure, Dad," Greg replied sounding tired.

And food, and sleep, and some judicious usage of blankets, but Gil understood why Greg was keeping the answer simple. He wanted to ask where Rane was, but he already knew that she was at the vet's, and that sparked a small piece of amusement in him as he slid his arm around Greg's waist.

"Only you could find a bear, Greg," his dad said in amazed relief. "You should've come back, not tried to walk back."

"I should've done a lot of things, but they involved, you know, rational thought," Greg murmured. "I'm a little light on that at the moment."

"Hiking at night without a coat or a phone? I'd say," the sheriff commented. "But I guess you already know that, so no point going over it again, right? Let the kid rest."

"I'm not that young," Greg protested. "Kid's kind of extreme."

Kid was very extreme; even Gil hadn't thought of Greg as a kid in a very long time. Young, energetic, silly, yes, but nothing said any of that was bad. It wasn't bad. Greg was so very alive, even now, even half-frozen and tired and feeling kicked down from comments like that. "It is. Just... let Greg rest. Anything else can be dealt with later."

"Just keep him awake until we can offload you guys." Brooks replied. "Mr. Sanders, do you want to stay with your son or head back to town?"

Peter Sanders twisted in his seat and looked back at Greg. "I... uh..."

Greg looked at him tiredly. "I'm just gonna go sleep, Dad. You go see to Mom. She needs you. "

"It isn't as if we'll be hard to find once you're finished." As if they'd be anywhere but bed, in the quiet of the cabin. Gil's fingers moved a little, rubbing over the worn leather of his jacket.

"... you sure?" Pete Sanders sounded torn. "Rane wouldn't want me to leave you if you need help."

"Dad, I've got help." Greg looked at Grissom as they drew to a halt. "I'm okay. I'm cold, and tired and I ache but nothing else happened."

"If you're sure..."

"Sounds like they are, Mr. Sanders. I'll swing by and check on them later on when they've had a chance to rest." the sheriff reassured him. "This is your stop, you two. Call if you need to see the vet for any reason." He smiled at them both.

Gil had never been happier to see the back of Greg's beat up blue Jetta in his life. He popped the door open, and started to rifle through the jacket Greg was wearing to get the keys out. "We're fine. Thank you for your help, Lt. Brooks. Peter? Call or drop by later, when Rane is feeling better. There are probably some things that need to be discussed..."

"Yeah, I get that to be an understatement," Brooks replied. "Don't worry. We're pretty filled in on the Feds' side."

Greg's dad nodded. "I uh... we'll talk about it when Greg is feeling better, and his mother." And when he'd had a chance to get used to it, too, from the looks of it.

Filled in on the Fed's side? Gil hoped, hoped that they'd given Greg's mother and father and apparently the sheriff Gil's pre-planned cover story and not the reality. There wasn't much he could do but hope, even as getting out of the SUV he could feel a sinking feeling. "Here, Greg. Steady?""

"Yeah, I'm cool," Greg replied. "See you later, Dad. Say I'm sorry to Mom, okay?"

"Nothing to be sorry for, son. Go get some rest."

That was exactly what he had in mind as he leaned into Grissom as they reached the door. "I'm fucking freezing. Small talk is killing me here."

Gil fished in his pants pockets for his keys. "We're almost inside. Just..." Keys in hand, he almost shoved it into the lock, fingers shaking a little before he turned it. "Finally."

"Thanks..." Greg stepped inside the moment the door was open. He coughed again. "Damn, I don't want a cough. You okay?"

"A little tired, worried." Gil closed the door behind them, locked it, while he readjusted to the almost shivering heat of the cabin. "Here, you need a hot shower..." He stripped his too-big leather jacket off of Greg, let it fall to the floor.

"Sorry. I really didn't plan to worry anyone." Greg started stripping off his pants, and shoes. He seemed oblivious to the fact he was showing what he had hidden so fervently only the night before. "Truth is, I wasn't thinking much of anything."

"I know how it goes, Greg, but..." Gil reached down to Greg's waist to pull up Greg's long-sleeved t-shirt. "Please don't run off like that again. Jim told me that not everyone has been caught..."

"Well, if I'd known that, then you probably wouldn't have got me away from you no matter what," Greg said allowing him to help pull up the top. "Did he say who was still around? I thought they had them all?"

He still hadn't worked out what Gil was doing which was a sure sign it was taking a lot more of his energy than was immediately obvious just to appear normal.

"He..." Gil faltered for a moment. "I'll have to reread the mail. There's two of them, and I've forgotten their names..." They were important, names at the tip of his tongue, but his mind caught and faltered every time he reached for it. Gil dropped Greg's shirt on the floor, and gestured with his eyes. "Bathroom. You're cold."

"Yeah... I am." The younger man was oblivious to the fact he was standing there, marks and scars all the more livid because of the chill to his skin. He seemed to be unaware of what he was doing. "Won't be long."

He started walking, staggering towards the bathroom.

Gil was torn between watching Greg, or shadowing him, and he finally started to walk once Greg was halfway to the bathroom. "Greg? Do you need help?"

"Mmm what kinda help?" Greg called back.

"Standing up?" Gil offered it a little lamely, but it only took a few steps to catch up with him. "Or it might be better if you took a bath. I just don't want you falling over."

"Does that mean you want to come in and help me?" Greg asked with the same sort of lack of restraint that someone would show if they were drunk. "Hell yeah!" He turned to look at Grissom and nearly tripped over his clumsy limbs.

The best Gil could do was to reach out and try to steady Greg at his shoulders. "That enthusiastic about a bath, huh?" Gil nudged him forward into the dark bathroom, and hit the light switch with his elbow.

The light coming on seemed to make Greg blink as if he had forgotten something. "Don't... I don't like to use the bathroom with the light on." He frowned as if trying to remember why that was even as he hesitated about going further.

Gil leaned back, moved one hand to turn the light back out. There was light from the hallway, from open windows, so the bathroom wasn't completely dark. "All right. We can do this in the dark, too. The tub's just a few steps that way..."

Greg made it over and started running the bath, even as he still shivered. "If I'd had the shower I could have pulled you in with me," he said conversationally. "But maybe that's something for a moment when I don't have hypothermia or something else ridiculous."

Gil reached past Greg to put the stopper in the bottom of the tub. "It is," Gil agreed. "Why don't you get in while it fills up? I'll get the gel out from under the sink, and then go make you some coffee or cocoa or.... what would you like?"

"Wow, cocoa. I haven't had that for... years." Greg turned bright, slightly unfocused eyes at him. "Cocoa, and then we can go to bed right?" He stripped off his underwear in the dim light and stepped into the steaming bath.

"And then we'll go to bed," Gil confirmed as he watched Greg's eyes. He seemed a little disoriented, almost concussed, and the best Gil could do was make sure he didn't fall asleep in the tub and drown. Exposure could have that sort of effect sometimes, and it had been cold out there, and Greg had little in the way of insulation.

"Great," Greg managed as he lowered himself into the steaming water with a lot of grimacing and muttered oaths as cold skin evidently hit hot water. "Oh God, that's... good. Yeah." Greg leaned back and closed his eyes as the water started to cover him.

It was time to leave, time to back up to the kitchen to make cocoa for Greg, but it took an effort for Gil to back step and head back into the hallway. "If you need anything..."

"I'm great, thanks," Greg replied opening his eyes for a moment and remembering to turn off the water. "Feeling much better already."

"Good." Gil forced himself to turn away, to walk back down the hallway. With any luck, it would be a few hours before Greg's parents decided to come by and say hello, or demand answers. With any luck, he could get some sleep. And with any luck, Greg wouldn't disappear like that again.

Making cocoa was mechanical, easy, a matter of pouring packets of Swiss Miss into mugs and boiling milk instead of water while Gil tried to blank his mind.

He didn't want to think of the consequences of the actual story getting out, though he had a sneaking suspicion that Greg's mom hadn't been very discrete in her shock and hysteria. A lot depended on that and whether the FBI had told them the cover story or the real thing in connection with a possible abduction. No doubt they would turn up at some point as well. As if the whole deal of being pregnant wasn't hard enough to deal with, he had shocks like these to deal with.

He wished Al was there to give Greg a once over. His mind kept skipping back to the evidence over Greg's body that he had glimpsed.

Scars and marks to go with skin blanched from cold. And he could still only guess what had happened. Guess and think, and make mental leaps, and it was making Gil's head hurt. He fiddled with a spoon, and closed his eyes while he waited for the microwave to finish murdering the two cups of milk he'd put in it.

One step at a time.

He could have easily lost him. He remembered thinking the same when Nicky had been attacked by the stalker, when Catherine had been apparently kidnapped, whenever a moment came too close to taking one of his team away from him. But this had been different somehow. He wasn't entirely sure how, but it felt different.

It had been a stupid thing, and common sense showed that Greg had put himself in danger and he was okay so everything should be fine.

He was fine. He was in the bathroom in hot water, warming up after a night out in the cold air. Greg was fine, they were both fine. Stories or not, no matter what information was out there now, Gil would deal with it as it happened, one moment to another to another, for as long as they carried on their charade. For as long as Gil managed to stay alive.

He took his time preparing the cocoa, hearing vague splashing noises from the bathroom that reassured him that Greg hadn't fallen asleep in the bath.

He still wasn't sure what to think about what Greg had 'confessed' to him as they had walked to the road. Unrequited love? Or Greg thought it was love. Sometimes the line between thinking and being were close, close enough to make Gil wonder if pushing Greg away was worth it. Realistically, he was going to be dead soon. Realistically, he had a few months left. And if Greg wanted to believe that he was in love with Gil for those few months, what was the harm?

Aside from the fact that he would lose him. But then he might well be left holding the baby assuming that part of things was successful so perhaps it was the least he could do.

He had a feeling, contrary to surface opinions, that Greg would be a good father. He would never have considered the thought before but he had been surprised. He also got the impression that though Greg's parents cared, their world had never revolved around their son. Not quite. Their jobs seemed a little more to the fore of their concerns, in a different way than Catherine. Catherine made time for Lindsey, did her best in the face of adverse circumstances. Greg would do the same, in a way that even Gil wasn't sure he would. He didn't know what kind of parent he'd be, wouldn't probably find out.

Gil poured the milk into each cup, stirring it quickly.

"Greg, are you all right in there?"

There was a pause before he got an answer. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm warming up." The younger man sounded a bit drowsy, even as there was a splash as if he tried to move.

"Good. I'll be in there soon." Food, too, to go with cocoa, except Gil couldn't think of anything that would help Greg. Protein, maybe? "Are you up to scrambled eggs and toast? Or a sandwich?"

"Sandwich would be great.... I just kinda want to go to sleep," Greg called out and there was more splashing and then the sounds of someone doing their best attempt to get out of the bath. "Shit."

"You all right?" Gil put the mugs down on the counter, starting towards the hallway just in case.

"Fine, fine... just not as steady as I like getting out here," Greg called out. "I made it though. Score one for me. Um... I'll just borrow your robe, is that okay?"

"That's fine." Gil stopped in the hallway, listening for a moment while Greg fumbled in the dark. "If you want to lie down, I'll bring you food."

A tousled looking Greg padded out towards him, enveloped by his robe. "I can hang on for you to join me," he said sounding a little more coherent and he had color in his cheeks.

A little more alive. Gil back stepped, and gestured to the sofa. "Why don't you sit down, and... here, drink this." He reached over the countertop and picked up the mug to shove into Greg's hands. No, he wasn't a nervous ball of energy, or a calm one, not at all.

"Thanks," Greg took it and sipped at it. "Mmm. Not bad Griss. " He sat down carefully. "They will not believe I got treed back at the lab."

"Probably not." Along with everything else that had happened. Gil opened the refrigerator door, and pulled out a jar of jam and a jar of peanut butter. He'd cook something when they woke up -- for now, pb&j would hold them out. He got the bread out, and started to make two quick sandwiches. "Did Ecklie say anything about when you have to go back?"

"No. I didn't even think about that," Greg replied, looking at him. "I... want to stay here through everything."

"I know you do, Greg, but... if you have to go back..." Gil cleared his throat. "I'll send a mail while you eat, and ask."

"I'm not going back." Greg seemed to make that a final decision. "They managed without me for three months. They've had double shifts from me continuously for the rest of the time. They can fire me if they want. I'm staying."

"Greg, that's..." Gil slapped down peanut butter and jelly on two slices of bread, and then laid another piece on top of those two. Then he was joining Greg, sliding a plate in front of him. "Don't quit."

"I'm not going to quit, I'm just going to make my priorities clear," Greg replied taking a sandwich and a big bite from it. "Ecklie believes I'm a straight jacket buckle away from a full melt down."

Maybe they both were. "Oh, does he?" Gil sipped at his cooling cocoa, and settled down across from Greg, sitting there with drying hair sticking up at odd angles.

"Uh-huh. Like my parents do. Until I came here, I wasn't too sure myself," Greg replied as he devoured the sandwich and went back to the cocoa. "I'm not worried about money. Mom and Dad will throw money at us as their contribution. That's what they usually do."

"I'm worried about it," Gil countered, after a sip of cocoa, "because I prefer to be self-sufficient. I've worked since I was fourteen, Greg. I'd be surprised if I'm not a straight jacket buckle away from insanity by the time this is done."

"Then we can live off of my sick pay and savings. I was saving to try and buy a place. I've got enough," Greg said, seemingly fine with the fact that he was evidently trading in all future plans for the here and now.

"It's... not that. We could manage fine off of what I have, just..." Gil cleared his throat before he took a bite. "I don't want you to quit your job for me."

"Griss, I'd never forgive myself for not being here." Greg replied. "This isn't just for you, it's for me, too, okay?"

For Greg, too. Greg seemed calmer around Gil, and maybe that was all it was. Calmer, and a sense of satisfying the infatuation. "I don't know what you're getting out of it."

Greg stared at him a moment. "Are you kidding? I'm getting you, Gil. Or at least a chance at you, and maybe, god... maybe being a father, too, and a reason to be alive."

And if that was Greg's only reason to be alive... Then things weren't really going so well for either of them. Gil nodded slightly, the words not quite sinking in as he finished his sandwich. "All right. I can accept that."

"Good. You ready to go to bed?" Greg asked looking at him again. "I mean, you must be tired, too, right?"

"I had my exercise for the day hiking to find you." Gil leaned his elbows on the table, taking another sip of the cocoa. He hadn't stirred it well, and it got a little thick towards the bottom. "I'm hoping that your parents take a few hours to get around to coming back."

"They will. They've probably had to sedate Mom or something," Greg said exhaling again. He closed his eyes a moment. "We could just lock the doors and hide."

"We could," Gil agreed, softly. He drained his mug, reluctant to waste food, and then set his mug down. "Or we could just go to bed and hide."

"I vote for your plan," Greg said finished his cocoa and clearing his throat. "With immediate effect."

"All right. Finish eating that and I'll change out of these clothes." The fabric still felt oddly cold. Some clothes weren't meant to retain heat and warmth.

"I'll meet you in bed," Greg said taking a last bite of the sandwich. "I'll... try and warm it up for you."

Warm it up for him? Gil headed down the short hallway to the bedroom. He could change in the bathroom if Greg wanted to try to get the sheets warm by getting under them.

By the time he came back, it was obvious what Greg had been intending. He was still wearing the robe but he was well and truly under the covers and already looking drowsy. He seemed to have forgotten their care and boundaries they had worked on before.

Gil wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but he was tired, and doing more than peeling back the sheets was too much effort for him. He knelt on the mattress carefully, and then shifted to lie down.

He'd barely settled when Greg curled up close to him. "I promise... I'll do your massage later," he mumbled.

"This is good enough." He wasn't sure if it was, but he let Greg get that close, face to face, and shifted to slide one arm over Greg's side.

"I'm sorry to worry you," Greg murmured again. "Wouldn't do that for anything. It's gonna be okay now, I promise."

"Or something close to it." Gil moved closer to Greg, almost face to face, heads on their separate pillows. "Rest."

Rest, and Gil would pretend that Greg had underwear on.

He probably wasn't aware of what he was doing or saying. People did tend to get a bit disorientated by exposure and Greg was acting like his lucidity was fading in and out. It was probably best to think of him as drunk. As tired as they both were, he doubted he would have any problems with the younger man.

He hoped.

Gil closed his eyes, and tried to relax himself. It wasn't as hard as he'd expected, and after a few deep breaths...

Sometimes, everything didn't work out. It was a thought that crossed Gil's mind more and more, as he lay still in bed and tried to keep breathing calmly. Too early, but they'd gone to sleep early, so maybe waking up at four was fine. Eight hours of sleep was pretty good, pretty bearable to be woken up out of sleep by a general sense of anxiety.

Greg was still asleep beside him, and had barely stirred except to drape arms over him, and shiver a little. Now he was running a twitch warm in his body heat which probably meant he did have a chill, but it didn't seem serious enough to worry about. A few tablets and he would get through it.

The touch of skin to skin was disconcerting though, even if any touches were inadvertent.

He was fine... sharing the bed with Greg. No problem. Being close was almost a comfort, and Greg was very tactile. It was just the knowledge that Greg was naked that was making Gil's muscles go a little tight, half twisted fear, half worry for Greg, and worry that Greg would react badly. So he winced for the both of them when Greg pressed against him again, bare stomach against where Gil's t-shirt had ridden up.

It was definitely time to get out of bed.

There was no reason to wake Greg. He could... maybe check his mail. What with everything, he hadn't yesterday and no doubt Greg's parents and Lt. Brooks would be around in the not too distant future.

Very carefully, he slipped away from the younger man, trying to avoid feeling the brush of his skin against Greg's own.

When he did feel it again, he tried not to let his mind linger on it. He'd slept bare-chested with Greg before, no problem, so it was hard to guess why it was hard now. Something passing, Gil decided as he stood up, getting his bearings in the darkness.

And he was interested to see what their reaction would be to his news. He wondered how Catherine had gotten on with the tar -- he would have liked to be there for that one.

He left the door a little open behind him as he grabbed some clothes and left the room. Waking in a room alone could be disconcerting at the best of times. It was easy to turn on the laptop as he went to make himself some coffee, and maybe toast. Toast he could handle until Greg got up and they decided what they were eating.

Toast just required the toaster and bread, and a little margarine, and Gil keeping an eye on it. He carried the laptop over to the 'dining' table, and leaned against the back of a chair while he waited for the toaster and the microwave to yield him his foodstuffs.

He downloaded his mail even as he made his toast.

Answers to all of them from the looks of it. Oh, and an FBI mail, too; probably checking up on him. Or Greg. One or both. Gil hovered his mouse over one, then chose Catherine's before he turned away to grab his water before the microwave beeped.

Hey Gil,
Well you get the prize for the liquid nitrogen. Sara and I spent forever chipping away at the damn stuff. I'll remember that for the next tar covered DB. Got a good imprint and likeness shaping up and have a lead on someone... mail order brides. Sara is going overboard on this guy. She could be right, could be an abuser.
Anyway, glad you and Greg haven't killed each other yet. If you got him to sleep, or eat anything, that's more than we could manage and believe me, we were trying. I know you weren't happy about what I did, but I guess sometimes, I have to be the bad guy. Comes from being a mom. Those sorts of decisions start to become second nature after a while. Nick passed on about Greg's parents. If he'd told me before, I would have warned you both, but we didn't know they had come on up until Nick tried to call them at their hotel. He did say that he passed on my message about clothes and stuff, though.
You've got an appointment soon right? See if they can check him out, too. Oh, and finally, I filled in the paperwork for the 'grant' for you. It's a lot of money, Gil. Enough that you wouldn't have to work again anyway -- though I know damn well you will. It's a scientific one, based on the terms you already agreed. I think you've been undervaluing quite how big a deal this really is to them. You're going to be a world changer, Gil. But you've always been that right? Just not quite so spectacularly.
You should get notification from the Feds soon. Let me know if you want me to go to Reno with you, okay?

Love
Cath

He skimmed it, and then he poured the hot water into his mug, stirring as he sat down at the laptop. His toast would pop up on its own with a minimum of noise while he started to type out an answer to Catherine. He didn't know where to start, or what to say exactly. Except that maybe, yes, he had been undervaluing how big a deal it was. He preferred it that way, felt a little less like a science project as long as he did that.

Cath,

Congratulations on the case. When I get back, I'll have to take a look through the file. It sounds interesting. Was he dumping them? Was there more than one body?
We haven't killed each other. Greg went for a long walk last night and was treed by a bear, but that's been our most eventful adventure. He's still asleep, and I've been getting him to eat. He'll probably run a fever for a day or so. His parents have been... interesting so far. I need to remember to get his clothes out of the back of their vehicle.
Do you have any idea how much sick leave Ecklie gave him? I think Greg is going to go with me to Reno, but if something comes up, I'll let you know.

Thanks, Gil.

It was good to know she was still thinking about him. Sorting things out for him even while he was in Jackpot, puttering around and buttering his toast. He'd wait and see about the money turning up in his account before he started spending it, though. Hopefully she could find out from Ecklie how long Greg could be off without it being too obvious. He couldn't imagine anyone even offering to give up their job for him. It just astounded him.

He munched on his piece of toast thoughtfully.

Greg would do it. And maybe it was time to stop thinking about things so morbidly? After all, dwelling on it, whether he was being realistic or not, didn't help to change his situation or make it better.

He clicked on the mail from Jim, juggling his toast and coffee mug into one hand.

Still waiting for that call, Gil,
Not like that's anything new. Anyway, the other vic? Tried a grab on him. I know the Feds are downplaying what happened to everyone there, but he was apparently a prototype organ host. Science way over my head but sounds pretty sick to me. The Feds shit themselves over it and stopped spending their time making speeches and caught up with the thug guy, 'Tiger'. Dr Rosharo is still out there. They had the vic for maybe four hours? He's in hospital more for trauma than physical damage.

Keep your head down. I don't know exactly what they did to Greg but he flagged up under several of their 'alerts' after that one. See if he knows anything about the 'organ hosting'. Could be an issue. And watch out for yourself. There's no way that Dr Rosharo and whoever he was working for will let you slip. Though, cold comfort but if I was them? I'd leave it until the last minute then try and grab you.
Call, Gil. Ecklie can't snark like you do.

Jim.

Call. Call. Gil leaned his chin on his hand, and then smirked a little as he balanced his toast on top of the edge of his coffee mug.

Jim
Sorry I didn't call yesterday, but I really have a very good excuse. Greg's parents came into town, and took us out to dinner. And then Greg was treed by a bear, and we had to call the sheriff to find him, but we made it back alive. Mostly. His parents are still in town, so I'm not sure when I'll call you, but I will.
I'll ask Greg about the other issue. We're keeping out heads as low as possible. I'd prefer if I could just stay in this cabin and not have to interact with anyone at all until it's over.

Gil

He would like to see Jim. They had senses of humor that connected even if they mocked each other. He listened a moment to the noises in the other room. Greg might be stirring. He was a little worried about the implications of what Jim mentioned though. Organ host? Didn't sound good. Didn't sound good at all, and the best he could do was ask Greg about it and wonder if Greg had been told about it at all. He leaned back and tapped the touchpad to open the mail from Sara. Then the FBI one, and then his mother, and then... then maybe Greg would be awake.

Hey Gil,
Guess I asked for that huh? I understand. Catherine doesn't tell us the details but we saw some of the evidence so I guess it's more than physical stuff that needs to heal right? I don't know why I sent that mail -- if you wanted to act, you would have done a long time ago, I guess. I just thought you might need the support. And maybe I could just be a friend rather than anything else.
I hope Greg is okay. I guess it was easier to take his word for it that it was his fault. I should have known better. Out of everyone I should have known better I guess so say hi from me, and tell him he's got to keep an eye out on you otherwise he answers to me.
You would have liked the bodies in tar, Griss, even if Catherine managed to take off half the face in the process. Meant I got to try my hand at reconstructive casting. You know, I did a good job? I think I have a flair for it. Next time I see that come up as a course, you're signing the paperwork for it.

Hope to hear from you soon,
Sara

Gil didn't hit reply right away. He'd save it for later, because he still felt at a loss for a reply to her. It still seemed like a stilted note compared to everyone else's, like she'd carefully chosen her words not to slight Greg more than she already had, or not to slight Gil in the process.

He moved on to the FBI mail, which was in fact confirming the allocation of scientific grant money to his 'case' and his 'voluntary participation'. Catherine had been right; there were way too many zeroes for the amount to feel real.

At the end was a note from one of the Agents who were one his case.

Sorry for the delay, Mr. Grissom. Red tape is the same everywhere. We had an inquiry call made by Lt. Brooks and a Mr. and Mrs. Sanders yesterday. Just confirming that the agreed level of disclosure was used and though not well received, it was apparently deemed sensible.

Agent R. Sykes

Gil sat back, holding the mug in both hands for a moment. One and a half million dollars -- tax exempt -- was a lot of incentive to be more cooperative with the Feds. And it wasn't as if he would have... not gone through with it, even with them hanging over his decisions, even if the thought had skittered through his mind now again, crowded up with bad coat-hanger jokes.

He set his mug down, and started to type as coherently polite an answer as he could manage.

Agent R. Sykes:

I appreciate you informing me what level of disclosure was given. Additionally, I appreciate notification of the grant's approval. On Tuesday, I'll give a full report of what happened re: Lt. Brooks and the Sanders.

Thank you for your time,
Gil Grissom

A little clinical, but then his relationship with the FBI was never cozy. He wondered if any of the other victims had deals like that. Greg seemed to have been cut loose, although that mention about alerts made him wonder.

His mom's reply.

I was glad to hear from you, Gil. I'll keep this short because I want you to have the opportunity to work out how to explain things to me face to face. I will be coming up to see you this next weekend, unless you specifically tell me not to. I don't think that you will. I can read between the lines. I am glad you have company, though, and I'd like to meet this other CSI.
If you want me to bring anything, I will. I'll stay either with you or in the nearest town. You know I can rough it with the best of them!
But I know you, Gilbert, and that was as tantamount to a call for help as I've ever heard you give in your life. I'll be with you soon, son.

Love
Mom

There was another noise from the bedroom -- he'd get up to see what it was in a few minutes, once he replied. Once he thought of a way to reply. Maybe his response to her mail had been a cry for help. Everything still felt desperately surreal, and he was tired, and he didn't want to think of what the Sanders thought of him now that they'd been told his cover story.

Oh, god, they'd been told his cover story.

"Griss?" Greg limped into view looking mortified. "Uh... you okay?"

His head jerked up a little, Greg's presence forcing him to type out the quick reply to his mother of, 'This weekend will be fine. I'm not sure what else I can say, and it'll make more sense this weekend'. No sign off, just a hit to the send button.

"Fine."

Greg was looking at him and looking much like he was remembering something very stupid he might have done. "I got into bed with you like this didn't I?" He glanced down at his robe, Grissom's robe.

"But at least you've tied it off now." Gil forced his mouth to try to twitch into a smile, and he closed his laptop. "I'd just had enough sleep. Did you know that your parents were told my cover story by the FBI?"

"Uh... no." Greg still looked very embarrassed. "You should've kicked me out. Griss. You can tell me what other embarrassing things I did and what the cover story is. I... if it clashes with the fact you're pregnant, then we're in trouble."

"Compliments it, actually. The best lies are ones that integrate the truth." Gil swirled his coffee a little, contemplating how to go on. "Your mother fainted because the FBI officer told her that I was a transsexual." He'd mentioned it to Greg originally, but obviously it had slipped his mind. No wonder, really.

"Trans..." Greg looked about ready to choke. Gil could see him examining the lie and Greg had to come over and sit down. After a moment of wide-eyed amazement he was obviously trying not to laugh. "Hey, this is good news for my Dad. I'm not technically gay."

"Supposedly you're not chromosomally gay," Gil agreed, trying not to smirk too much. Greg seemed as close to comfortable and loose-limbed as Gil had seen him yet. "It tones down the experimental factor, but it does make it more buyable for your parents."

"But it still happened at the... place right?" Greg asked grabbing a piece of bread to toast. "I need to know the details to play along."

"Those are the details," Gil agreed. "We never worked out how to explain the parentage that way. The cover story is pretty thin," Gil admitted while he stood up. "So... we need to work out the details ourselves. What do you want for breakfast?"

"Well, you seem to be making toast. You want me to cook up something? Least I can do after screwing up everything earlier," Greg replied as he watched him. "And we can work on the story."

"You haven't screwed up." He leaned against the countertop, watching Greg. "I was thinking scrambled eggs."

"Sounds good. You want me to do it?" Greg asked. He grimaced slightly. "Come on, Griss, lost in the woods, treed by a bear... Nick and Warrick will have a field day with that. Not to mention I dragged you out there looking for me. Which, incidentally, I'm very grateful for."

"Incidentally, I'm glad I found you. Are you feeling better?" Hopefully the Sanders wouldn't be coming by expecting dinner foods when they were both too sleepy to do more than burn something.

"Less cold I guess. I felt kinda drunk earlier on. I was trying to concentrate on what I was saying but I'm guessing I wasn't too successful," Greg said as the toast popped up done. "So... do you want to have it that this was part of the experiment? That maybe they 'reactivated' organs you never had altered?"

"Sounds plausible. It works with the implanted hormone pump." Which hadn't done much more that he could see except kill his beard growth and make him waffle and flip between subtle shades of mood.

Gil leaned to pop open the fridge and get the eggs.

"That's not going to work with your mom though is it?" Greg said as he spread margarine before he began to nibble the toast. "I mean, she knows."

"That I have a penis?" Gil snorted as he reached for a pan to do the eggs in.

"You do?" Greg teased just a little. "Cool. Yeah, I'm guessing that might have been obvious if you didn't."

"Right. I... haven't actually told her. She wants to come up next weekend." Gil gestured to Greg. "Do you want to crack those while I get the pepper?"

"Sure." Greg stood up and leaned over to grab a bowl. "I'm just hoping that once my parents are clued in, my moment of melodrama will be over. I do... feel better for them knowing about the other stuff. Even if they reacted badly. It's not like this huge weight of something I should be saying or doing anymore. Didn't realize how much it was pressing at me."

"Not talking about it, or trying to keep them from knowing?"

"Not talking and the not knowing I guess," Greg replied. "I still don't want people to know but... I could tell you now. I just don't want to give you any more problems to deal with. So we'll leave that for now."

"It isn't a problem, Greg. Just... I'd rather do it when we have time. And quiet." Just him and Greg, because it made it easier for Gil than it was when he had to fit other people into the equation, when he had to think about parents and friends and.... Everything but the two of them. Or three.

"Yeah. When you're comfortable with talking about some of your stuff," Greg said as he broke the eggs and lightly whisked them with a fork. "I feel kind of one sided here."

"You have been," Gil admitted as he added a little milk to the pan. "And I'm sorry about it."

"Hey, no... I was just worried about overloading you," Greg said hastily. "You might have noticed that I'm not good at subtle."

"Does this really need subtle?" Gil's voice fell low and quiet. "Given everything that's happened?"

"I guess not. A bit late for that," Greg admitted. "Just... I feel bad offloading all my crap. It's just in some ways you'll understand and in others you're the person I most fear reacting like my parents did."

And they'd covered that ground before, even though Gil had a feeling that they'd cover it again. "Greg? I'm not going to react like your parents did. To anything."

"I know. I know... sorry." Greg replied sheepishly. "I'll stop with it now."

Gil felt a pang of guilt, and reached a hand to massage Greg's shoulder. "We both have insecurities. But I saw your scars last night and they didn't make me think any less of you."

"You saw... ?" Greg looked a little alarmed. "What did I do? How... what?"

"You undressed in the living room." Gil's fingers moved a little, faintly rubbing before he prodded Greg into motion again.

"I did?" Greg looked stunned. "I can't even look at myself undress, and I did it in front of you?"

"Mmhm. You were a little disoriented." As if that were some consolation to Greg, that he'd been incoherent and could have done who knew what else while he was that way. "I got some food and cocoa into you, and after a bath, you went to bed."

"Dressed in your robe," Greg pointed out and groaned and mock beat his forehead on the table. "Well that very nearly makes number one on my list of top ten embarrassing moments. Disoriented? I sound as bad as if I downed a couple of bottles of vodka or something."

"Exposure can do that." Gil stepped back, contemplating the fridge door while Greg scrambled the eggs. "Do you want anything else? Coffee? Juice?"

"Juice, if you don't mind. I'm pretty thirsty." Greg said. "Well if I'd known that... it's a cheaper way than getting drunk. I could have spent a lot of time outside when I was a student."

"All the cool kids are doing it now," Gil smirked a little. He leaned in to grab the orange juice, and then got Greg a glass.

"I have a terrible feeling as memories come back I'm going to be horribly embarrassed," Greg smiled a little. "But that's nothing unusual. That's just normal."

"You said a few things," Gil half-warned. "But nothing... that I wasn't already considering myself." He tilted his head a little, eyeing Greg while he poured him a splash of the thick juice. "Do you remember any of it?"

"Vaguely. When I get reminded, I definitely remember saying it." Greg rubbed his forehead a moment. "I uh... did I say something about feelings?"

"Mmhm. But we can talk about it later. I didn't react badly, if it helps?" He offered the glass to Greg.

"Thanks," Greg said as he took it. "Wow, you know I took every boundary and just rampaged right on through them, didn't I?" He drank the juice thirstily.

"I'm still not sure what you mean when you talk about boundaries," Gil admitted as he reached to get plates out.

"Like recognizing you might be uncomfortable with talking too much, or getting too close or any of it." Greg put the glass down. "All the things I've had problems with."

"I'm... mostly comfortable with being close. I don't push myself to discuss it. You haven't crossed any of my boundaries." It was the most he could offer to Greg while Greg finished making scrambled eggs.

Greg got up and padded over to the stove. "You'll tell me if I do right? I'd like to know." He started making the scrambled egg absently. "Any good e-mail? I see you were online during breakfast."

"Sara, Catherine. They both say hello. So does Jim. They caught one of the two people I mentioned..." And it was already out of his mouth when he realized that there was no way of knowing if Greg had known it.

"Oh, God, yeah, you said something about thinking someone might have taken me again," Greg jolted a moment with the memory. "Who were they? I don't remember that."

"One was a thug who went by the code name of 'Tiger', the other was a Dr. Rosharo." Gil didn't wait for a reaction, but he did watch Greg's face while he went on. "The victim was involved in 'organ hosting'?"

He didn't need to ask if it meant anything to Greg. The look on his face told him he did know both who the people were and what organ hosting was.

"Which one did they catch?"

"Tiger." Gil paused for a moment, half reaching a hand to Greg again. "The person they caught up with is fine."

Greg hesitated. "I know Tiger," he admitted quietly. "And Rosharo. You probably did, too. He was the one that had the dark ponytail swept back and spouted semi-religious crack with the science."

Gil felt his stomach sink a little as he recognized the physical description. Finally the face had a name, but Gil could only guess that it would sink its way into his nightmares. "Don't tell me which one Tiger was, because I remember Rosharo." Gil shook his head a little as he offered Greg plates. "What's organ hosting?"

Greg clear his throat. "Uh. How best to explain?" He took the plates and served up. "Modifying somewhere in a host body to grow a surplus organ. It shouldn't be possible. But..."

"It is. Did they do that to you?" What organ, what kind of health repercussions were there. Gil had all of those questions, but he didn't ask them. Couldn't just then.

"Yes." Greg looked down at the egg. "Yeah, they did." He didn't elaborate but he glanced down at Gil's stomach a moment.

Something to do with that, then. Gil's mouth compressed, and he finally did move to slide a hand onto Greg's shoulder. "Why don't we sit down and... I don't know. I'm waiting for your parents to show up."

"They might even phone before they come this time," Greg said and sat down. "The stuff that disqualified me for... being in your position made me perfect for that. It's not a big secret. They grew the pseudo-uterus in me that I now know ended up in you. And some other things. Apparently it was a big breakthrough, working out how to stop the body rejecting it while it was growing. People died over it and R... Rosharo kept telling me how clever he was to figure it out."

"People died over... everything that happened in there." Gil reclaimed his mug, and poured milk into it before he sat down across from Greg. "We're lucky. And I plan to start concentrating on that fact. We're alive, we have friends and family that care..."

"Yeah. Yeah we do." Greg started eating his egg. "Choose the miracle rather than the disaster, Poppa Olaf used to tell me as a kid. In Norwegian, of course, so it sounded a lot more impressive."

"It still sounds impressive in English." Gil waved his fork slightly as he talked. At least Greg was relaxed enough to sit across from him, still wearing Gil's robe. "I... think having you here helps."

"Good. I mean that." Greg brightened considerably at the thought even as the phone rang and startled him. "I can guess who that is."

"Three guesses, first two don't count?" Gil popped a forkful of eggs into his mouth, and then got up slowly to answer it. "Grissom."

"Mr. Grissom, it's Pete Sanders. We're one our way over, if that's okay?" came the voice of Greg's father. "If Greg is still asleep though..."

"Greg's up and eating breakfast. Now is fine. I appreciate the call," Gil told him, turning around to look at Greg.

"No trouble at all. Uh, the Sheriff said he'd like to know a little more about the situation if the FBI is involved. Do you want me to call him and tell him to come over now so you don't have to go through it again?" Greg's dad sounded nervous, and Grissom had the vaguely uncharitable thought that he might want someone else there to help deal with Rane. If Gil were Peter, he'd damn well want someone else there.

He kept watching Greg, trying to gauge his reaction to the half-conversation he could hear. "I'm sure he would like to know a little more. If he feels he must, then it would probably be easier on everyone..."

Greg was watching him, seeming to puzzle the bits together. He didn't look happy, but he nodded agreeing to whatever Gil thought was best.

"Great. I'll call him," Peter Sanders said with a hint of relief. "We'll be with you inside of thirty minutes. Anything you want in town?"

The news that he wasn't coming was a possibility. Half an hour was long enough to get dressed properly and try to make himself feel more... like himself. Gil leaned back against the counter, and decided he could get back to breakfast after they left. "Nothing that I can think of, but Greg would probably appreciate some real coffee."

Pete Sanders chuckled a little at that. "We'll get him something. Rane knows what he likes. We'll talk soon, Mr. Grissom."

And with that he hung up.

"So are they going to be here in the next five minutes?" Greg asked, glancing down at the robe.

"Half an hour. With the Sheriff. I suggest we get dressed." Gil reached to pick up what was left on his plate. "We can reheat everything after they're gone." If either of them felt like eating.

"Yeah." Greg looked at it. "Tonight, I'm gonna make you something you like as a thank you for roaming around the woods looking for me." He looked up again. "Uh, you have any aspirin or something? I've got kind of a headache. Nothing major."

Of course it was nothing major. Just shock and whatever else could spur up a headache. Barometric pressure to stress and everything in between. "Ibuprofen and Tylenol are in the medicine cabinet." He offered Greg a hand up. "Remind me to get your parents to take the clothes they brought you out of their car this time."

"Oh hey, they brought more clothes?" Greg asked even as he took that hand up. He did look a little flushed, but he was smiling at him again. That was comforting in itself. "I think I packed more movies than clothes. I'll get changed quick." His hand lingered in Grissom's own, as if he didn't want to let go.

It was a nice feeling, even as that odd edge of insecurity rose up, jagged, at the back of his mind. There wasn't any sense in questioning Greg's motives, or wasting either of their time wavering. The why didn't matter as long as Greg got better, as long as they both hung in there. "Or take your time. I don't take long. Use the bedroom?" It was a heavily toned suggestion, because there weren't any mirrors there. No reason to have Greg dressing in a dark bathroom.

Greg nodded and padded off to get ready for the meeting ahead that was bound to be an ordeal for them both. It made him wonder how to handle it with his own mother. He just couldn't imagine her reacting in anything resembling the way that Rane Sanders had. Pete, Pete he could vaguely understand and empathize with but he couldn't imagine his mother going hysterical under any circumstances.

Then again, his mother wouldn't be getting an acceptable albeit strange lie to explain it. Just Gil and fumbling, unsure hand gestures, and no way to work out how to go on. At least he'd have one more appointment under his belt before he had to explain. A little more time of peace and quiet with Greg, which was different than peace and quiet with himself. Gil shook his head a little as he started to try to save breakfast.

All he could do was endure the time ahead and try and get his head around some of the things that Greg had said and done while under the influence of mild exposure. In some ways that was more important than the fact he was going to have to tell Greg's parents he was a transsexual who had made their gay son a father.