Late Night



Copyright July 2004

Grissom rolled over and slammed his nose into Warrick's elbow. Groaning softly, he repositioned his lover's arm and moved closer, laying his head on the black man's shoulder and lightly smoothing his hand down Warrick's chest to his flat abdomen. Tracing his fingers around the man's navel, Grissom whispered softly, "Are you awake?"

Warrick flipped a pillow over his face before capturing the hand tugging on the hair that led to his groin. "I think the tenting of the sheet is sufficient enough evidence to provide you with your answer."

Grissom chuckled and wrapped his hand around his lover's erection, tenderly caressing the hard shaft. "Where's Greg?" he inquired with a yawn. "My back needs warming."

Removing the pillow, Warrick lifted his head and glanced at the vacant spot beside his lover. His gaze then shifted around the room and he noted Greg's undisturbed pajama bottoms. "Looks like he hasn't come home, Gil."

Confirming Warrick's observation, Grissom turned over and ran his hand across the mattress. "Bed's cold. He definitely has not been here."

Warrick punched his pillow and settled back down. Not bothering to hide his yawn, he grumbled sleepily, "Maybe he's still working. You did kinda load him down with extra work last night."

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Grissom sat up and rubbed his hands over his face, cursing softly, "Shit. The Anderson case."

His gaze lost in the darkness, the CSI supervisor reflected over the past several hours.


A newborn baby had been murdered and finding the body had unlocked some personal demons for Grissom. He had focused his entire attention on this one case, pushing all of his people unnecessarily hard. A backlog of work in the DNA lab had delayed extremely important results and that simple holdup had set off Grissom's normally controlled temper.

Leaving Warrick standing in the hallway with his mouth hanging open, Grissom had stormed into the forensics lab and confronted Greg. "I hear you're backlogged."

The young tech nodded his head and indicated the pile of paperwork on his desk. "Yeah. Twenty unknowns from some drug shootout. FBI special request. Sheriff told me to clear it off my counter before I do anything else."

Grissom pointed to a specimen cluttered cart beside the tech's desk. "These?"

Greg nodded his head. "Yeah. You can almost smell Quantico, ya know?" Greg jerked back as Grissom gathered up the FBI files, dumped them on the cart and shoved it across the room, sending it out into the hallway.

The CSI supervisor then leaned forward and pinned Greg with an angry look. "There. Now they're off your counter." He picked up a file and waved it at his young lover. "Zachary Anderson, date of birth 01-23-01. Date of death . . . three hours ago. Until we find out how and why . . . ." Grissom slammed a tray of test tubes down on Greg's desk. ". . . this is the only case you work on."

Totally caught off guard by his lover's uncharacteristic reaction, Greg sat back and stared at Gil. "Yes sir." Concerned, he reached out a hand toward the older man but Gil jerked away and strode out of the room.


Grissom groaned and hung his head in shame. "Damn. I'm such a . . . ." Pushing off the bed, he grabbed for his discarded clothes and began to hurriedly dress. Warrick crawled across the mattress and picked up his lover's watch from the bedside table, silently handing it over when Gil reached for it.

Grissom slipped the timepiece on before bending down to kiss Warrick. "I'll be back shortly. Don't let the sheets get cold."

Thirty minutes later, Grissom pulled his Tahoe into the department's parking lot. Greg's motorcycle was still in its spot and the sight of it made the older man frown. Entering the building, Grissom nodded absently to several of the day shift personnel, stopping once he reached the forensics lab. Poking his head inside, he discovered Mark Harris bent over a microscope.

"Morning, Mark. Seen Greg?"

The gray-haired specialist smiled at Grissom. "You just missed him. He was heading toward the breakroom for some more java."


Grissom turned down the hallway and quickly made his way to the employee breakroom. He stood in the doorway and shook his head at the scene before him. Greg was leaning against the far wall sound asleep, his coffee cup gripped loosely in his hand. Noting the housekeeping cart just two offices down, Grissom stepped inside and closed the door to the room.

Taking the empty cup from Greg's hand, he gathered the younger man in his arms and kissed him gently on the forehead. "I'm sorry," he whispered to his lover.

Greg stirred and blinked wearily at Gil before pushing against his chest. "Almost finished. Another . . . another few hours and I'll have . . . ."

Grissom kissed Greg again, this time briefly on the lips, the unexpected show of affection silencing his lover's protests. "It's okay, Greg. I should not have imposed my anger upon you."

Greg buried his face against Gil's neck. "I thought you were mad at me."

Grissom felt a pain slice through his heart. "No, Greg, and I'm sorry I made you think that. Finding the baby's body yesterday . . . ." Words failed the CSI supervisor.

Greg yawned and rubbed his face. "Can I go home now? Just for a nap, maybe? I got Mark working on things for me and as soon as I pull some major z's, I'll come back and get those results you need."

Humbled by Greg's willingness to return to work on his day off, Grissom guided him out of the breakroom. "Let's get you home and into bed. Warrick's waiting for us."

Grissom watched Greg stumble exhaustedly down the hallway in the direction of the exit, and shaking his head with regret, he followed his young lover into the sunshine.


The end