Work Text:
A Little Night Music
by Charlie MC
George climbed into bed, sighing. Some nights it was especially hard to go to a lonely, cold bed...
He reached out for his current book, but found himself starting to nod after only a few paragraphs. He was dead tired. It had been a long day of staring at the computer screen and searching endlessly for various clues to their current case.
George liked working with Rachel... even though he still missed having Sam around. Today had been one of 'those' days, though -- where he was way too aware of the voice of John Grant when John was the person directing his searches...
Damn it! Why did he let John get to him that way? George didn't like thinking of himself as being so unprofessional that he'd allow his attraction to another man -- and especially a man he worked with! -- to creep into his mind when he was doing his job. That was what hetrosexuals
always assumed about gays; that they were incapable of keeping their sexually out of the workplace. George wasn't going to allow the people he most admired in the world -- the members of the VCTF -- to see him in that light!
Still, didn't everyone -- even straights -- think about people they felt an attraction for at inappropriate times now and again? George wasn't really sure. He had always known his own sexual preference, even as a small boy. So it was hard to put himself into 'straight' shoes and attempt to know what someone like, say, John Grant, might do...
Yawning, George dropped the heavy book gently to the floor, and reached to snap out the lamp. The room was inky dark, which was what George preferred. The womblike darkness, and comfort of his own bed soon had George falling into dreamland...
And this was actually one of George's favorite 'places' to go! Often his dreams were more exciting and more romantic than his real life...
George suddenly felt frightened. The room he was standing in was glowing with red lights strung out high overhead. It was large, and filled with big, wooden crates, and circular bins. He realized he was in some kind of warehouse, and the windows were so grimy they admitted almost no additional light at all.
There was no dreamlike quality to what George was experiencing. It was far too real, in fact, and George knew there was cause for his strong apprehension. What was going on here, and why was he standing here alone???
"George!" came a hissed whisper from behind him. Strong hands gripped his arm and drug him back into the shadows. "What are you doing here?"
George turned to face a grim-faced John Grant, who had grimey streaks on his face and clothing, and a long, red scratch on one cheek. George wanted very badly to put his fingertips to the scratch, which looked as if it was still bleeding, and quite painful...
"Are you listening to me? What are you doing here???" This time Grant's voice was more insistent, and George shook his head to clear it.
"I... I'm not sure. Oh, yeah! Bailey needed this map -- right away. I thought he was here..." He reached out his hand with a colored map that had obviously been printed out from his computer...
John snatched the map. "Great! This is exactly what we need..."
As is often the way in dreams, suddenly the map wasn't a map at all, but a blueprint of a building. In spite of this sudden change, the moment still seemed completely real -- but even when a dream didn't make sense, it seemed to while you were dreaming it. John Grant was carefully studying the blueprint, and George leaned close to get a better look.
John's finger was tracing over the paper. "I think this is where we'll find him," he said to George, and George knew he was talking about Bailey. He also knew that something must be wrong with their boss, and this was why John was so on edge...
In some ways it was as if George was outside himself, watching what was going on. He could actually see his own expression of concern about Bailey Malone.
"We'd better move fast," he was saying to John. "Actually, I think this is where we need to be," he said, pointing to a corner of the blueprint.
George was now holding a highbeam flashlight, and they were walking closely together while they wound their way through the building. They referred often to the paper John carried, and were soon deeper inside the building. It seemed as if they were in some deep, sub-basement.
John's phone rang, and they both started at the sound. George knew they were trying to evade someone, and that they were anxious to avoid making noise. John quickly answered the phone, breathing quietly into it. "Grant."
John's face changed as George watched it. Suddenly the tension was easing, and features were softer with obvious relief. Bailey Malone was okay. They didn't need to keep looking for him.
"What now?" George asked. "Do we just work our way back out of here?"
John suddenly grasped him and shoved him down. George heard the approach of heavy footsteps, and glanced at John, expecting to see his gun in his hand.
John read George's look. "Lost it. Climbing into the building my hoslter got caught on a metal outcropping. The gun was thrown in a tangle of old metal. I had to let it go."
George could see the fear clearly on John's face. A man like John hated to be in a dangerous situation without his gun! George wished he was in the habit of carrying his sidearm.
"Don't worry, George, I'll protect you." John's face was a study of intensity. George felt a flood of desire washing over him. This was the John Grant he knew and admired...
Then John was jumping out from their hiding place and struggling with a much larger man. George watched as they fought, and longed to help. But he felt as if he was frozen to the spot, unable to move a muscle.
John grunted and made a superhuman effort, felling the larger assailant. He rejoined George, a gun in his hand and a grin on his face.
"I told you," he said, obviously proud of himself.
George only nodded at him, waiting. Waiting for what???
John holstered the gun, and moved closer to George. Suddenly his arms were around George, and George was falling -- no pushing -- into the other man's embrace, with hungry passion.
John face pressed into his, and George closed his eyes, waiting for John's soft lips to touch his...
The room was suddenly filled with the sounds of an alarm going off, and George knew they would need to run...
The ringing continued, and George sat upright in his bed, utterly confused for several seconds. He reached out and picked up the receiver of the phone.
"Uh, yeah," he managed.
"George? Are you okay? I was worried about you?"
George was amazed to hear John Grant's voice on the other end of the phone.
"Sure. I mean, I'm fine. Why?"
The phone was silent for a second, then halting laughter ensued. "I... don't laugh, George. I had a bad dream."
George felt himself smiling. It was actually pretty touching - John calling him after some bad dream. Even if he did ruin George's moment in his own dream!
"I know what you mean," he answered. "I was having a dozy myself."
"Well, I'm glad you're okay. See you tomorrow, George. Sorry to wake you."
"No, don't be. I'll see you tomorrow."
George replaced the receiver and sat for a moment smiling. Then he slid back under his covers, turned over and went back to sleep.
The End
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