Title: Promise

Series/Sequel: No

Author: Nicci

Email Address: nicci@nicias.org

Website Address: http://www.nicias.org

Pairings: Gil Grissom/Warrick Brown

Rating: NC 17

Fandom/Crossover: CSI: Crime Scene Investigations

Archive: Yes to WWOMB.

Feedback: Love it.

Summary: A bit of spoiler for 1st season episode 'Friends and Lovers.' Previous relationship established. Gil is upset. Warrick tries to solve the problem. Beta'ed by
Franky.

Disclaimer: You know the deal, strictly for entertainment purposes. Not mine characters.

Promise
By Nicci
June 2003

Today had not been a good day. Tonight wasn't turning out any better. Warrick had worked almost 24 hours straight grabbing an occasional nap in the break room. The case was hot. Gil had worked relentlessly to solve it. And if Gil worked it, so did he.

It seemed like forever, but in reality, only a few months had passed since the last time he'd worked on a case with Gil as a team, exclusively, except for the people who'd
performed the necessary lab work. Since then, much had changed that made him happy and made him sad. The unhappiness, he tried pushing it deep in the recess of his mind, refusing to dwell on it. He knew thinking about what had been, was futile, and yet, tiny seeds of hope were never far away despite his best intentions. Hope kept him going;
encouraged him to wear a smile on his face that fooled everyone and sometimes even himself.

What was it his grandma had said: hopeful wishing never got anyone anywhere. It was all he had, though. And no one could ever accuse Warrick of giving up too easily. Not in this lifetime, and not part of his makeup. But still, maybe everyone was wrong, because after so many months of nothing, how much longer could one keep hoping?

As it was, the part of him that had refused to accept rejection had compelled him to come here. To do something so out of character as to chase after someone who didn't want to be caught, and especially since the person he chased was rude, had snubbed him without concern for his feelings.

Besides, he was doing something he had become damn good at: waiting and standing on the sidelines. As he had been for the last couple of months as significant changes at CSI
settled into routine, and the seeds of hope grew each passing day.

But the chase was definitely on. The one he pursued had suffered pain today at CSI. He couldn't stand by and do nothing. All he cared about was making sure Gil was okay. Be damned to any supposed promise made in the past.

For this reason, Warrick stood on wooden planks instead of lying in bed at home catching up on missed sleep. Which he had had a hard time doing, anyway, after he had tried to reach Gil without success at his condo. He bounced nervously on his feet as he zipped up his jacket to ward off the chill in the night air. He stuffed his hands in his pants pocket and watched the rollercoaster zing by.

The racketing of the car on the steel tracks tingled his senses as the coaster flew upward to the next highest peak. It seemed to totter at the top. His breath caught in his throat, his stomach churned as he saw and imagined the feel of the sharp drop downward at a terrifying high speed.

"A cleansing effect," Gil had told him.

Sure, but it felt more like the insides heaving to rid the stomach of gravitational pull instead of cleansing his head of minor irritations. Warrick had humored Gil. Even let
himself be dragged on occasion to the amusement park to keep Gil's company. It was a cool experience seeing Gil having fun, but riding a rollercoaster wasn't exactly on top of
Warrick's list of fun things to do. He would rather get his thrills in the sweaty, musky-scented skin, and in the smooth, slightly podgy curves of his partner.

Watching the coaster as it careened down the tracks, Warrick shook his head and wondered whether this phenomenon would work for Gil tonight, give him the release he sought. Warrick had guessed where Gil had gone after the police department had arrested Bobby for murder. He wasn't so sure this *cleansing effect* would be the balm to ease Gil's mind.

He stepped closer to the gate when the ride came to a screeching halt. Only a handful of people spilled out of the ride. The place felt eerie with so few people in attendance. To Warrick, amusement parks were meant to be loud, boisterous, filled with crowds of people scrambling to amuse themselves. Tonight most of the rides sat stagnant, waiting for adults who were probably at the casinos having a good time, and for the kids who were probably in bed dreaming the things that kids dreamed.

Tonight, the emptiness and the quietness of the park suited Gil's mood. Gil had the propensity to withdraw within himself, to think inside of his head. This kind of atmosphere would feed on that tendency, and Warrick didn't like it, not one bit.

Gil was a charmer, an elegant man people were attracted to, more than he realized. Didn't he understand he had friends, and a team that cared for him? Humans weren't without flaws, and Gil had a big faulty dent in his armor.... he held friends at a distance as if they were of no consequence, and Warrick had never understood the reason why.

Yeah, he saw Gil walking the planks alone in the dark enshrouded by the park's dimmed lights. The moment he laid eyes on him, his heart caught in his throat, cool reasoning went south. Heat puddled in the middle of his stomach and sent tingling sensations through his nerves. He couldn't help it. He wanted to wrap his long legs around that lovable body, comfort Gil with the slide of naked skin against his. Warrick felt like a thunderbolt had hit and rendered him senseless. The restraints he had imposed on himself withered away as he watched the slow gait of misery make its way to the gate.

Too late, Warrick realized he had blown his safety net. It dawned on him they were alone on neutral ground, a place beyond the boundary of CSI and beyond the need to act in a
certain way. No holds barred. He had just complicated the situation with the unleashing of his feelings.

"Go away, Warrick."

"I don't think so."

"I mean it. I'm not good company at the moment."

"That's why I'm not leaving, Griss."

The haggard face lit up with an imposing stare, a meaningful look, the kind Gil wore to put his difficult subordinates in their place. Warrick disregarded Gil's expression. They
were not on company time, and this was his playing field.

Lips flattened in a straight line, eyes full of sparks and head tilted on an angle, Gil gazed at Warrick as if the strength of his presence would send him scurrying away. Warrick outfaced Gil, held his stance with his arms crossed on his chest. Seeing that neither one was going to win the pissing contest, Gil's cold regard shifted, he abruptly walked around Warrick and kept going. Nerves already strung tight, Warrick's tension rose still further at the snub he had just received, but he wasn't going to let his feelings deter him from his goal.

"Come on Griss, stop. Wait up, man." He picked up his pace catching up with Gil. The man didn?t respond.

"Okay you win," Warrick said, throwing up his hands, striding beside the silent man. "I'll just mosey along for the ride."

Gil halted on the spot and snapped, "Warrick."

Warrick scowled at the grave face and ignored his implied warning. "It's chilly out here. I need a drink. Let's go."

Warrick tugged him forward to his car, which was parked next to Gil's vehicle. He didn't even think how odd it might appear with him pulling an older, white man by his arm through the parking lot. No, Warrick didn't give a rat's ass who thought what. He was just thankful that Gil came offering no resistance.

~~~~

The silence in the car stretched as long as the road from the amusement park. Warrick, while driving, had considered turning on the radio for company. Gil, ignoring him, had
simply gotten into the car, slumped down into the passenger seat, and closed his eyes.

Gil's drawn appearance had surprised him. At the amusement park, Warrick had received the distinct impression that the problem was deeper than he had realized. Gil had appeared lonely and without purpose. And his face was bloated, pale against the darkness of his knit shirt, and the eyes, bleak and bloodshot. Had Gil been crying?

"Are you okay?" Warrick said. His voice broke up the quiet atmosphere still charged with tension.

"Honestly, no."

"At least you're being honest."

Gil sucked in air. Warrick could've kicked himself for being testy.

"There wasn't anything we could do. Evidence sets you free in one way or another. Those are your words. Bobby accepts that," Warrick said.

"I know, doesn't mean I like it."

"One day, he's going to make a mistake. We'll get him then." If Warrick believed in anything, it was this one thing: that Ethan boy was too cocky; his arrogance would be
his downfall.

"If you mean that scumbag, Ethan, you're damn right. I hope I'm around when it happens," Gil said angrily. "Warrick, you did good work on the case. We worked well together."

"Thanks, man."

"How are the others treating you?"

For a moment, Warrick heard nothing but the regular sounds of breathing of two guys in the same car and the purring of the car's engine as he drove through the darkened streets.
He wished he had turned on the radio. He was annoyed at Gil's attempt at evasion, resentful at him for finally asking about his welfare several months too late.

"It's getting better. Don't think there's any love lost with Sara. Nick treats me the same. Catherine is sweet. She's a great lady."

"Yeah, Catherine is a good friend and colleague. She's a smart lady. It'll get better, Warrick. It takes time."

"How would you know?"

"I know Sara. She doesn't have good people skills, but when she gets to know you, you guys will work out just fine. She'll get past it."

Warrick had to hand it Gil. He was smooth. He knew how to turn a conversation away from himself, and of course, keep Warrick at arm's length. Gil's actions made him angrier.

"I'm not indestructible, you know."

"Don't, Warrick..."

"There's one thing I regret."

"What is it?" Gil had sat up in the seat and was observing him through questioning eyes as if he was a specimen under a microscope.

"I regret Holly's death. I regret what happened and that I contributed to her death. Man, I'm so sorry for that."

"Do you need to talk to someone, Warrick? It might be a good idea."

Typical Gil, he sighed. "It's rough, sometimes, remembering what could have been. The silence in my apartment seems heavy, and I've to keep moving around to keep from getting depressed. But Catherine is good. Sometimes I call her and we talk through it."

"If you want, I can setup an appointment with the psychologist."

Warrick didn't know how to respond. He didn't want to meet with a psychologist. Gil had had plenty of times in the past to talk with Warrick about his feelings.

"There's no shame, Warrick. The police department has them available for a reason."

"Yeah, okay." Gil knew how he felt about outside influence, telling his business to complete strangers. They'd had more than one conversation on the subject.

"Well, the offer still stands. You shouldn't have to pay when it's part of the benefit plan."

"Griss?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad they made you the nightshift supervisor. They picked the right person for the job."

"Thanks."

"But there is one more thing I regret."

"Go on."

"That you didn't feel me worthy enough to come to me. You're hurting and you need someone to talk to. You've friends. You forget life exists outside the job. I'm here
for you. If this idea of me seeing a psychologist makes *you* feel better, sure, go ahead and sign me up with the doctor."

Warrick gripped the steering wheel and looked straight ahead. This was so not his intention. The anger and resentment had been building for a while, ever since Holly's
death and Gil's promotion. He thought he'd had his emotions under control. Maybe he should turn the car around and take Gil back to the amusement park. Let him work out his own demons.

~~~~

"I thought we were going to a bar," Gil said. He ran a hand through his graying hair. Weary eyes blinked.

"I never did say where we were going. I've liquor here."

"I don't think this is such a good idea."

"Come on, man. At least you don't have to spend money."

Gil grabbed his jacket from the car seat and threw it on his shoulders. He headed for the entrance to Warrick's apartment with weary slowness. Lights on the pathway illuminated the dark colors of his clothing, his body, the bowlegs, and the gray hairs on his head.

Warrick got a good look at him. Saw him through a lens of a different kind -- needy and lustful. Warrick shivered, thinking about the last time they had been together like this: no job, no cases, and no colleagues coming between them. It was just Warrick and Gil, alone.

Warrick took his good time as he followed Gil to the front door of his apartment. Gil stood leaning against the brick wall. Eyes shuttered, and the jacket was now lying across
his arms folded in front of him. Gil looked as tired as he felt. It had been a long day.

With the door unlocked, Gil entered the apartment. The jacket found its way onto the living room sofa as he passed through going straight for the kitchen. Warrick headed the
other way. He grabbed the jacket from the sofa, and strode down the short hallway to the bedroom where he hung it in the closet. He removed his and placed it next to Gil's.

He didn't think about what he had done. Warrick's reactions were spontaneous. The hanging of Gil's jacket was as familiar to him as drinking water.

He crossed over the bedroom to the bathroom and took care of business. He washed the hands, and splashed cold water on his face, softly sighing at the rejuvenation.

The bed looked inviting but Warrick only sat down to remove his shoes and socks. Exhaustion spread throughout his body. Yet, the edgy excitement he felt kept him from crawling into the bed and flinging the bedcovers over his head. He sighed deeply to calm his nerves. It wouldn?t do to get this excited. Gil was here only to talk. But he was here,
finally inside his apartment.

Warrick lay back on the bed, attempting to rest for a moment or two, to get himself under control. He had a good idea of what Gil was doing in the kitchen. He wanted to give him a few minutes to collect himself.

What could he say? Where could they start? The thoughts consumed his mind as he closed his eyes. Perhaps Gil was right, maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Too many
memories surrounded him here, of the bed, of the man in the other room. It wasn’t so bad when he was alone, but now-

"Is this what you want?" Gil said, sarcastically.

He felt Gil's presence in the room, heard the sarcastic tone that invaded his peace. He rested an arm across his forehead, and when his eyes fluttered open, he could see the
arrogant stance from underneath the curve of his arm: leaning against the doorframe, wine bottle and empty glass in one hand, and a full glass of wine in the other. The
scent of wine permeated the air. Gil sipped from his glass, and looked down at Warrick just before he strolled confidently to the chaise longue and eased himself down.

The chaise longue was wide, made in a long, sweeping style with big, thick, padded arms, cushions, and pillowed back. It was big enough to hold two people and it had been the place of many afternoons of sweaty lovemaking. It was the best investment Warrick had made for his apartment. It used to be Gil's favorite chair.

"You know what I want. Talk to me."

"Here, you need to catch up," Gil said, after he poured a glass of wine for Warrick.

The invitation forced Warrick up. He grabbed the glass from Gil, his hand briefly touching the pale fingers. He put it down on the table nearby, and he slid backwards on the bed until his back touched the headboard. Warrick crossed his legs on top of each other in the traditional Indian style.

"Have you ever wished you'd chosen another profession, Warrick?"

"No," he said, and savored the taste of bitter sweetness.

"Before I came to CSI, I was offered a professorship at UCLA to teach young adults like Bobby, the theories on insect life, procreation, survival and life expectancy. I wonder
what my life would have been like, grading papers, and imparting knowledge.? Gil stopped for a moment and drank from his glass. He wiggled in the chair getting comfortable.

"It's not you. You love the action at CSI," Warrick said, rolling his shoulders, loosening tense muscles.

"Yes, but do you know insects have different life spans? The Mayfly lives as an underwater nymph from one to three years. When they evolve into adults, their life expectancy diminishes to one day. Just when they've reached the prime stage of life, they die"

"Now cockroaches, those bugs have great resilience. The species is very difficult to kill off. They adapt quickly to their environment. You can spray them with any kind of insecticides, and they build up immunity to the stuff. Extremely tenacious, those cockroaches. How do you think a Mayfly like Bobby will survive among the tough cockroaches?" The expression on Gil's face changed to one of pain.

Warrick studied Gil, watched the moisture form in the corners of his eyes as he sat upright in the chair. Gil was right, of course. The cockroaches would devour an innocent
Mayfly like Bobby.

Warrick put down his glass of wine on the night table and stretched out his legs on the bed. "I hear you. You're not to blame here. You did your job."

"Oh yes, I did my job well. If I hadn't asked to see Bobby's arm, we wouldn't have known, would we?" Gil grabbed the bottle and refilled his glass. "Bobby was so sure that he hadn't harmed his friend. He told us that repeatedly. I killed his illusions about himself. He wants to die because of me." Gil gulped down half of the wine.

Warrick had known Griss for years. In all that time, he'd never seen Griss devastated by a case. Warrick scooted to the edge of the bed and planted his feet on the floor. He leaned forward, yearning to reach out and touch Gil.

"You like Bobby, don't you?" Why hadn't he realized this before? The signs were all there: his attentiveness to Bobby, the over-the-top hatred for cockroach Ethan, the way
Gil softened in Bobby's presence.

"Bobby reminds me of someone. He had the same dark-colored hair, and wide-open sweet eyes. He was a good friend, and a lonely boy. His parents neglected him. My friend used to help me hunt for dead animals and seagulls on the beach."

While Gil had been speaking, Warrick had slipped to the carpeted floor. With one knee bent to his chest, he wrapped his arms around it as he listened to Gil. His voice sounded
sad. A weary smile somewhat brightened the otherwise bleak face of the man staring off, looking back into memories.

"Are you guys still friends?"

Gil heeled off his shoes. He looked comfortable, reclining in the chair, yet the comfort didn't reach his eyes, and the smile had disappeared. "No," he said.

"What happened?"

"I killed him."

"Huh," Warrick gasped. What the fuck? "That's not possible."

"I'm good at killing friends." Gil shot him a deliberate look.

Warrick threw back his head at the expression and frowned. Was Gil trying to tell him something? The mysterious response shed some light on the older man's feelings.

"Where's your friend now?"

"We lost contact years ago."

"You guys just grew apart?"

"Not really," Gil said, looking down at his drink. "He, um, fell in love with me. I couldn't accept his feelings for me, and I didn't want to acknowledge that I was attracted to my own sex. Anyway, I had time for only one thing in my life."

"Science."

"Yes, science. It's how I lost myself. I was young, Warrick."

"And how seeing Bobby made you remember your friend?"

"Bobby is a carbon copy of him in appearance and manner. I'm not saying Bobby is gay. Do you remember me telling you about the time I'd worked for the Marina Del Rey county morgue?"

"Yeah, I remember. You were the youngest coroner on payroll at sixteen."

"I wasn't really on the payroll," Gil said with a weak smile. "I think I was about eighteen. One day I went to the local police department to drop off paperwork for the medical examiner. My friend was there. Somebody had beaten him so badly I almost didn't recognize him. We hadn't spoken in five months. I'd heard he'd gotten involved with
this tough gang, and he was doing more than just fighting and stealing." Gil's head dropped to his chest as he rubbed his hand over his face and eyes.

Warrick had crawled over to the chair, was kneeling beside Gil as he told his story. He patted Gil on his arm. "We choose our own path. We take responsibility for our own
decisions."

"Sounds reasonable to me," Gil said, his hand splaying against the side of Warrick's face.

Warrick leaned into the warm fingers brushing across his cheeks. Saw eyes hazy with drink staring at him. The wine had relaxed Gil, had made him become mellow, less sarcastic.

"But if I'd been honest with my feelings, my friend might not have run off with that gang. If I hadn't been so damn concerned about Bobby, I might not have discovered the bite
marks on his arm. I sent them both off into the midst of cockroaches. How long do you think Bobby will survive in prison?"

Warrick was stunned at the raw pain he heard in Gil's voice. Gil had never opened up to him like this. Always, he'd managed to keep a part of himself hidden from Warrick.
Warrick had often wondered if he would ever have and see the real Gil... warts and all.

Seeing Gil blushing from embarrassment was weird. Gil didn't do blushes. He could almost visualize the struggle taking place within Gil as if Gil knew he'd exposed too much of himself to Warrick. Warrick stroked Gil's leg trying to comfort the body quivering under his hand. Gil swallowed the rest of the wine in his glass.

Warrick knew no amount of words could ease the guilt Gil felt. He knew that from experience, after Holly had died on his watch. Only time had a way of healing suffering. He was here, though, just for Gil. He loved him, even more so after Gil had given him the gift of his inner self, and in spite of his rejection, when he desperately had wanted to lay down his soul to Gil.

It seemed that the changes in their life together - Gil's new job supervising the unit, Gil taking heat from doomsayers for keeping Warrick's job at CSI, Gil protecting Warrick from upper management, and Gil's desire to run a smooth unit.... had wreaked havoc on their relationship. He thought the pressure Gil had felt must have been great. It was no wonder Gil had needed distance from him. But he also had needed Gil.

And Warrick still did, in the worst possible way. He rose up on his knees, and stretched over to press his mouth against Gil's.

"We can't do this, you promised," Gil murmured, his body trembling with emotional stress.

"Your promise, not mine. We *can* do this. You need this, Gil. I need this."

~~~~

Warrick kissed sour flavored stern lips. Gil resisted, refusing to return the kiss and let him in. Warrick pressed the side of Gil's face and whispered, "Give, Gil. What is a
promise if it makes you unhappy?"

He grasped Gil by his shoulders and pulled him tightly against himself, as much as he could in the position he was in and invaded that mouth, refusal denied. He took no
chances because he feared the answer and the possibility of failure. Yes, he would walk if Gil told him to take a hike but the thought of doing so was death. He had been standing
on the sidelines too long.

Warrick's hand traveled over Gil's body, the touches gripping and demanding. He couldn't still, couldn't keep still the harsh need in him to take Gil. He sucked in the
breath of a panting Gil, and stroked, grasped, and manipulated until he'd drawn from Gil what he wanted, for now. Heat seeped through clothing as Warrick caressed the growing bulge in Gil's pants. So good feeling the result of what he could do to Gil.

Not once letting the mouth escape his touch, his long legs crawled over and he eased down on Gil's body. He poured all the warmth and longing he had into the man beneath him. Pale arms embraced him, and Warrick was thankful to whatever deity that held power over one stubborn man. He could lose himself a thousand times over, just touching him, soaking up all the heat surrounding him.

But he released Gil, not wanting to take advantage of his vulnerability. Warrick stood up, and grabbed the hand of his flustered partner. A frown knitted Gil's forehead, and his mouth opened as if to protest.

"We don't have to," Warrick said.

"It's okay, I want to." Gil grasped the hand holding his and placed it on his chest.

"Had to be sure," Warrick said, rubbing Gil. Warrick pulled him over to the bed, between his shaky legs as he sat down. He clutched at Gil's hips, and buried his face in the cloth-covered stomach. He felt fingers thread through his hair, twirling the strands gently, and then those fingers roamed down to his ear, tugging at the his ear lobe.

"Take off your clothes," he whispered, gazing up, his hands moving along the surface of Gil's clothed body.

Blue eyes darkened with lust smiled down at Warrick. As Gil removed his top, Warrick nipped at bare skin as it was revealed. The thick bulge grazed against his face. With
Gil's help, he slid down the pants and white cotton briefs. Rubbed the coarse textured gray-black hairs, and breathed in the male scent of his lover. Warrick's tongue roamed over his own lips to apply moisture and to soften them. Then he licked at the base of the scrotum and followed his tongue as it dug in the hardness, tasting and enjoying the taut skin.

He felt Gil all but lost his balance as his mouth settled on the sensitive head. Gil thrust into his mouth. Warrick engulfed him, repeatedly.

"Warrick, no. Too fast," Gil said, harshly, and attempted to pull back.

Just one more kiss, and Warrick slowly pulled away from Gil, hearing the murmured complaint of his lover. No, they were just getting started. He stood and removed his clothing, made difficult by hands and mouth skimming over him.

Warrick grabbed the captivating body of his lover, and flung his lover onto the bed. Landing on top, legs entangled, hungry hands grasping anywhere they fell, on each other, on the sides, squeezing between them, their bodies now moist from excitement and friction.

"Ah, God," Gil moaned.

Did he ever think he would again hear the sound of Gil's moans, Warrick thought? The needy voice of his lover sent shivers through him as much as the twisting body did beneath him.

He dipped the tip of his tongue in the cleft of Gil's chin.

"What are you doing?"

"Licking you. What else."

"My chin, Warrick?" Gil smirked.

"Stop complaining. You know you like it," Warrick said, smiling.

"I do," Gil said.

A leg rose between Warrick's legs, and arms encircled his back. He suddenly felt a push and found himself rolling underneath Gil. Oh yeah, smooth, that was one fine move, he
thought, giving Gil a little help with his sneaky maneuver.

Gil slithered back and massaged the wide expanse of his chest, nipped the buds on his breast with his teeth. He didn't stop there. He continued to press fingers in the muscles of his hips, under thighs, down to his legs, kissing parts of him as he moved along his body. Warrick hissed at what those demanding hands did to him. He curved into Gil and pressed his hot skin against those hands, gasping at the sensations pooling into his groin.

"Did you know the color on the back of your leg is slightly lighter than the front?" Gil brushed the leg, admiring the skin.

"Yeah, I know," Warrick groaned. Oh no, he was under examination again. It made his dick stand straight up. He loved being under the microscopic eyes of one Gil Grissom.

"Fascinating. It would make for an interesting analysis one day." Gil licked the leg, making Warrick shudder.

"It's how the melanin is accumulated in the skin. All people have certain amount of melanin. Sometimes it forms patches in the skin creating dark spots and freckles."

Gil laughed seductively. "I see you know a lot about pigmentation."

"Um, Gil. I'm a scientist."

Only Gil could turn science into foreplay. He was unique that way. All talk ceased, though, the moment Gil gripped his cock, and the warm hand splayed over his sensitive head moving in a rhythm that had him wanting to shout out his need. Fervor soared through his veins.

"Beautiful," Gil said as he stroked Warrick's balls with his fingers. "I want you."

"You got me," Warrick said, thrusting into the hand gripping him.

Gil played him, though, kept showering attention on his body until he couldn't take it any more. He tugged lightly at the graying hair brushing against his hips. "Come here, and
fuck me," he said.

"Yes."

Warrick wrapped himself around Gil as the weight of his lover pressed him to the bed. Slow, burning sensation assaulted his nerves, and turned into pure, hot pleasure. Gil rocked against him in an even pace. Unhurried. Warrick opened his senses and his soul to receive Gil, coveted everything about him, and directed him to the center of his being.

This wasn't between supervisor and subordinate. Nor was this loving act between teacher and student. Couldn't Gil see and feel? He gave him everything so he would remember what they had before the changes. Trust me, he wanted to growl. Trust yourself to accept what we could have together.

Warrick reached deep for Gil, mentally, and with his body. "Trust me." He said the words aloud as if the meaning would sink into the head of the pale body pounding into him.

Gil tensed in his arms, seemingly at the request spilled from his lips. But more likely, the body had stiffened from the intense pleasure it received as he rose up to meet Gil's
increasing thrusts. Gil rocked hard and deep inside of him, and a hand tangled in his thick, curly, brown hair.

"Warrick."

They fought to hold back the inevitable, muscles straining as they thrashed the bed, pain-pleasure overwhelming Gil's face.

"Gil." He breathed the name into the mouth pressed against his lips. Offered the solace of his body, encouraged him, and helped him until he heard a growling sound fill the air. After months of being alone, of living off hope, finally Warrick had Gil there, right there where he should be. With him, and loving him senseless.

~~~~

He was right. It was just what the doctor ordered. Gil was fast asleep in his bed and in his arms.

Warrick couldn't sleep, though. He wanted to savor the musky scent of their lovemaking, wanted to store up the memory of this night. Where they would go from here, he had no idea, and didn't want to speculate. He just wished he knew his place in Gil's life.

Relaxed and satiated after months of tension, his mind was crystal clear. He feared that Gil in a vulnerable state had capitulated when otherwise, he would?ve held firm to the
promise he had initiated.

It was true, regardless of what Gil thought: he'd never agreed to their separation. To what purpose? Everything he had wanted and still wanted was right there in his arms.

Looking down at the sleeping face, he smiled. Gil looked at ease and the lines of exhaustion were gone. He brushed the gray-black, silky damp hair with his fingers. An arm tightened around his waist, the head on his chest stirred in sleep. Careful not to awaken Gil, he lightened up his stroking. It had been a difficult and a sorrowful day. He
also cared about Bobby. Hoped the young man would make it through tough times ahead.

"Warrick, you awake?"

He sighed. He hadn't wanted to disturb Gil's sleep. The voice was scratchy with fatigue.

"Yeah?"

Releasing his waist, Gil turned towards him and placed a hand on his chest, rubbing it. He wrapped an arm around the shoulders and pulled, feeling Gil forming an arch around
him. Gil?s flaccid dick caressed the skin on his thigh.

"Thank you." Gil kissed the bare chest.

"For what?" he said, looking into Gil's sleepy eyes.

"For being there when I need you. For putting up with a grouchy old man."

Warrick laughed. "Old? I don't think so. But grouchy, hell yes. You?re definitely that."

Gil gave him a stern look. "Is that a way to speak to your boss?"

"Hear me, when you're with me and away from the office and its social structure, you're Gil. Griss, the boss, belongs back in CSI." The words came tumbling out of Warrick's
mouth.

Gil pulled away, threw back the bed covering, and got out of the bed.

"Where're you going?" Shit, shit, shit. Warrick quickly sat up in bed. Damn your big mouth. He hadn't meant the words to sound so harsh. It was his insecurity speaking
out.

"Home." Naked flanks curved, as Gil searched for his clothing on the floor.

"You don't have to, Gil. It's late. Why don't you stay here?"

"I can't. We've work, tonight. I'm tired. We both need the rest. I think it's best, Warrick." Gil had found the last of his clothing. He pulled on his pants, and sat on his favorite chair. He bent over to retrieve his socks and shoes from the floor.

Warrick got up, not bothering to clothe his naked body. He simply walked over to where Gil sat and hunched down in front of the man. "I don't get it, Gil. I thought things would be fine." Reaching up, he tried to kiss the lips on the solemn pale face.

A hand pressed him back. "Don't. We shouldn't have done this. You should know better than anyone, I'm not good at this relationship thing."

"What're you afraid of?"

"Nothing, Warrick. Can I finish dressing?"

The sound of a door closing was evident, and once enacted, there wasn't much Warrick could do. No amount of talk would persuade Gil differently. They both had been to this place before, and Gil had become withdrawn, enclosed within himself. His eyes had lost their sparkle, darkened to the sheen of a dull blade. The lips, once vibrant, tightened in a straight line.

Warrick went looking for his clothes and saw them scattered on the floor.

"What're you doing?" Gil said, frowning.

"I'm taking you back to your car," he said, struggling with putting on his jeans.

"I'm calling for a cab. Go back to bed."

"Come on, man. It's not a problem."

"The cab will do fine."

Finished dressing, Gil stalked from the bedroom. Warrick sat on the bed, defeated. He heard Gil talking on the phone, making an arrangement for a pickup with the cab company. He damned himself for his big mouth, for pushing the envelope. Why he needed this man, he couldn't ever fathom. All he knew was that he was alive around Gil
Grissom, loved his mind, his lovable body, the conversations, and loved absorbing Gil into his system.

Warrick wanted to follow him into the living room where he knew Gil would be waiting for the cab. No doubt, Gil wouldn't bother with coming back here to the bedroom. But, he
just couldn't handle it the second time, watching Gil walk out of his life again.

Instead, Warrick headed for the bathroom, turned on the shower, and sat on the toilet seat staring off into space. Let him think that he was fine with this, that he'd finally caught the clue bus.

When he was sure it was okay, Warrick left the bathroom and listened. Would he still be here? Had Gil changed his mind? That everlasting hope was still riding the waves of optimism.

He hurried into the living room and saw that it was empty. Something caught his attention. On the coffee table, several pieces of shaped metal with lackluster sheen hadn't
been there before. He picked up the ring and twirled it around his fingers. Listened to the jingling noise it made as he focused on it with bleary eyes.

Gil had returned the one symbol that had kept Warrick's hope alive. He had been afraid of this day for a while because it signaled a closure on their relationship. With its return hope died, an extinguished flame. Chasing after Gil wasn't even a consideration. Waiting, that thing he was so good at, it died. And the promise that he had never believed in, that he had never wanted, was after all, fulfilled at last.


The End