Work Text:
And Tomorrow Say Goodbye
by Tobias Charity
The door to his condo slammed behind him and Grissom let his bag and coat drop to the floor, collapsing back against the door and sliding down it, his cheek pressed to the cool metal and eyes squeezed shut.
God, but he was tired. His body couldn't handle thirty-six hours with no rest anymore; he wasn't a young man, much as he liked to fool himself into thinking he was. Cases closed, yes, but oh, what a price he was beginning to pay.
"Grissom?" He heard Greg pad around the corner and lean against the wall. "I, um. I'm going back to my apartment."
Grissom cracked open one eye and raised an eyebrow. "What? Is there something wrong?"
Greg raised a hand behind his head and scratched it absently. "I'm, well, leaving. For pretty much good." He waved vaguely in the direction of the bedroom. "My stuff's all packed—I
brought my own boxes over--your extra key's on the counter, and, um...I'll see you at work on Monday." He started back towards the bedroom, but Grissom struggled into an upright sitting position, bewildered.
"Greg, wait. What're you going on about?" He put his hands on his knees and hauled himself to his feet, looking eye to eye with Greg, whose stared back with a cold expression.
"Grissom, do I have to spell it out for you?" Greg's eyes narrowed. "Me, leaving. You, staying. Us, no more." He tapped a finger to his temple. "Comprende, si?" He turned to go back to the
bedroom.
Grissom moved with a fluid motion and grabbed his wrist, spinning Greg around to face him again. "Greg, why?" he demanded, tired brain automatically going through the motions of the break-up. "I mean, this is…" he waved a hand back and forth between them, feeling like he wasn't in control of the situation and hating it. "This was…Can't we talk about it?
Greg let a sigh ease out from between clenched teeth. "I've tried, Grissom," he said, his voice cracking. "You—no one confronts you and survives, you know?"
Grissom stared, at a momentary loss for words. He knew that this called for sputtering and stammering, but those are hard to produce on cue. "You're scared of me?" was all he could manage to think of.
Greg picked half-heartedly at Grissom's fingers, still clasped around his wrist like a living bracelet. "Not exactly," he said lamely, and seemed to be reaching for something to say. "My—your—the communication skills in this…relationship…aren't--weren't really up to par."
Grissom's eyes widened. "You don't think that I talk to you enough?" he repeated, slightly disbelieving. Why, he and Greg did nothing but talk some nights! Crimes, bugs, the latest breakthroughs in science…Greg loved to hear Grissom talk.
The realization of what he'd just thought hit Grissom hard. That was it, he thought. Grissom did all of the talking in this…relationship, he hesitated to call it. And all of the talking was about things related to work. "My God, Greg," Grissom said hollowly. "Why didn't you ever say something?"
Greg smiled thinly. "Communication skills go both ways, talking and listening," he reminded Grissom.
"I can listen now, Greg." He tried to tug Greg closer to him, but Greg braced his weight against Grissom's and didn't move. "God, Greg, talk to me."
"You're not going to like what I have to say, Grissom."
Grissom tightened his fingers around Greg's wrist. "I want to hear it, Greg. I care what you think."
Hollow laughter again, this time from Greg. "Care?" he said mockingly. "My God, that's a word I never thought to hear coming from you."
"You don't think I care about you?"
A bitter smile this time, instead of that laughter. "God, Grissom, you're so oblivious. You're so wrapped up in yourself, I don't think the word "love" is in your vocabulary. Your work, your cases, your bugs—what about me? The one in your bed every night, hmm? Remember me? Or am I just another fucking experiment to you?" His voice was rising now. "Oh yes," he said, pitching his voice to sound like an ironic version of Gil's. "Let's see how many of my coworkers I can make fall for me. Let's see which one gets pissed off the quickest." He held up his right hand, smirking. "This is the control, Ms. Sara Sidel, who has a perpetual crush on me. Let's weigh the value of the experimental, Mr. Greg Sanders, against her." He held up his left hand. "Oh, looks like a tie! Let's string them both along and see what happens when we bestow compliments upon both." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, Sanders seems to react quite well—oh, look at that! His work performance and clearance rate both skyrocket! Sidel, on the other hand, just seems to follow me around more. Mm, interesting. Sanders likes it when he's complimented. Hypothesis: If I treat Sanders like dirt, he'll get pissed off the quickest. Let's try not talking to him about anything other than work for a month! Let's refuse sex for him! Let's--"
"Greg, stop it." Grissom finally found words after standing dumbstruck throughout Greg's tirade. "Do I—Oh God, I don't really act like that, do I?"
"Worse."
Grissom clutched for Greg's wrist again, holding it tightly like a safety blanket. Greg just looked at him with something verging on pity in his eyes. "Let me make it up to you. Give me one more
chance. Tell me, Greg. God, tell me everything, everything that's wrong."
Greg stared back at him coolly for a long moment. "I'm sick of the disrespect," he said at last. "I know we agreed to lay low at the office, but I still deserve the same amount of respect you give
to everyone else. Just because I sleep in your bed does not mean you get to treat me like I'm a bug you stepped on, Grissom."
"More like a puppy that won't get out of the way." The words left Grissom's mouth before he could think about them, and the briefest tremor of regret coursed through him as Greg's face crumpled in on itself. Oh, Greg, Grissom thought to himself. You're so naïve. How could you possibly be so naïve? Has no one ever hurt you before, left you out on the stoop for a night before, let you cry yourself to sleep before? Oh, Greg. This won't be the last time.
"Precisely why I'm going to be out of your way shortly," Greg said hoarsely, and one by one pried Grissom's fingers from his wrist. "This puppy's been kicked one too many times. There's nothing more for you to do; you just blew your last chance." Grissom watched as Greg turned and fled into the bedroom, coming out a few moments later with his coat on, two shoeboxes stacked in his arms, and a bag slung over his shoulder. "G'bye, Gil," he said, laying his free hand on the shell-shocked Grissom's cheek. "It was fun less often than not."
The door slammed closed behind Greg with a finality Grissom tried but couldn't make himself care about. "Goodbye, Greg," he said to the door, and slumped back down against it.
/fin/
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