The Call



Copyright April 2002

A knock on the door wrestled Greg away from the edge of a restless dream.


Greg squinted against the bright light intruding into the shadows of his old bedroom. "Yeah?"

"Telephone. Itís Gil."

Struggling to escape the tangle of sheets trapping his lower torso, Greg reached for the cordless, knocking it off its base. With a grunt, he scooted forward and caught the phone, bringing it to his ear.

"Gil?" Silence met his inquiry. A lopsided grin appeared on the young manís face as he remembered to click the phone on.


"I know itís late but Warrick insisted I call you before I go to bed."

Greg put aside the fact that his lover needed to be told to call. Instead, he sighed happily, allowing Gilís voice to blanket him with a comforting warmth. "I miss you, Gil."

"Me, too. Your substitute, Jackson, canít seem to get anything done on time."

Greg listened to his lover shift against his pillows. "Is Warrick there? I want to give him a goodnight kiss."

"Heís not here at the moment. Volunteered to cover the weekend so Nick could go to some concert."

Greg tugged the quilt off the floor and spread it across the bed. "Will you tell him I miss his hugs in the morning."

"Sure thing. Howís your mother?"

Sighing heavily, the DNA specialist snuggled further under the covers. "Sheís nervous about tomorrow. This is her first surgery and with the inconclusive results of her biopsy hanging over her head, sheís really worried about what the doc will find." Greg rubbed his hand over his face. "Actually, weíre all pretty worried."

"The feelings the three of you are experiencing are quite understandable."

Greg looked up and caught sight of the small, framed photo of his mother on his nightstand. "UhÖ Gil? Do you think?" He shook his head and looked away from the face that gazed lovingly at him. "Never mind."

"Spit it out, Greg. Do you need me to come up there? I can call and get the next flight out."

Greg chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes focusing on the trio of thin gold bands that circled his left wrist. "Would you do that, Gil? Would you do that for me?"

The older manís sigh chastised Gregís doubts. "Look, Greg. Your family is my family now. Iíll come if you want me to. But you need to tell me. I wonít make the decision for you."

Greg sat up, the sheets and quilt pooling below his slim waist. Moonlight from the roomís single window chased across the small tattoo hidden in the hollow of the young manís left hip. Greg traced a finger over the intertwined names of his lovers.

"Greg?" Gilís voice demanded a prompt answer.

Greg glanced once again at the framed photograph of his mother. His words caught on a small sob. "PleaseÖ please come, Gil."

"Iím on my way. Iíll be there in time for you to cook me breakfast."

Greg released the breath he was holding. "Thanks, Gil. Itís just so hard right now and if they findÖ." The young man couldnít go on.

"Weíll deal with it, Greg. Thatís all we can do."

Greg tightened his grip on the phone. "Hurry, Gil. I need you."

The sounds of Gil slamming drawers open and closed could clearly be heard over the phone. "Iím coming, Greg. Close your eyes and lay down. Iíll tell you a story as I get ready."

The CSI supervisor cleared his throat. "One hot summer day, a father and son were out in the desert, playing fetch with their dog."

Greg yawned and snuggled once more under the covers. He listened to his loverís mesmerizing voice for several minutes and when Gil paused to take a breath, Greg rushed in and whispered, "I love you, Gil."

"I love you too, Greg. NowÖ the bone was examined closely and pronounced human. Once this fact was established, volunteers were called toÖ."

Greg closed his eyes and fell asleep, the comforting spell of his loverís words protecting him from realityís nightmares.

The end