INDECISIONS

9:15

Grissom shook his head almost imperceptibly. He’d been sitting in his car fifteen minutes now.

He ventured a glance at the building on the other side of the street. Five-story high, moss-green with gold railings on the all the balconies, a name - ‘Aurora Apartments’ - etched in huge black letters over the front door -not a five-star place but not a dump either. Just an apartment building like many others in Las Vegas...

To Grissom it had started to look like a fortress.

Greg’s building.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done this –sit in his car and glance at the building. He’d done it a couple of times before, right after dropping Greg from one of their ‘dates.’ He’d looked up at the building and wondered all sort of questions about it, ('were tenants screened?' 'did it have a back emergency exit?' 'Was it really safe?' because, after all, it was a building like many others in Vegas, and he’d seen a lot of them in his job).

Mostly, though, he’d sat and wondered whether he should have accepted Greg’s invitation to come in –and whether Greg was serious about it, in the first place. It was hard to tell, sometimes. ‘Let’s go inside and have a drink,’ he’d say, using a line from the first movie they’d seen together -a drama that hadn’t aged well- and ably mimicking the hero’s tone. And he always smiled -a slightly ironic smile that only widened when Grissom muttered an excuse.

He obviously didn’t believe Grissom’s excuses, yet they were all true. Gil did have something else to do –he always did. And not just at the lab; there were tasks awaiting him at home. There was always so much to do…

Now he wished he’d said yes to Greg, at least once. Maybe then, the idea of going up to the building wouldn’t seem so daunting.

He didn’t even know if Greg was home. It was a Saturday –he could be anywhere. Grissom had picked up the phone to find out, only to put it back every time. What he had to say couldn’t be said over the phone; he needed to face Greg when he told him –well, whatever it was that he was going to tell him. It wasn’t something he wanted to rehearse for.

Idly, he looked at his watch again. 9:53. He’d been sitting there for 23 minutes now. 23 minutes. He shook his head. He couldn’t understand it. All he had to do was open the damn door, get out, cross the street, ring up Greg’s apartment– It was simple, really; so why couldn’t he do it? He couldn’t even let go of the steering wheel, he noticed; his hands were tightly wrapped around it, almost as if his life depended on it.

It was the sight of his hands on the wheel that finally stirred him into action. Determinedly, he reached for the door handle, he grabbed it -he almost opened the door –

But a new glance at Greg’s building made him stop.

There was someone standing by the door now. Lurking, actually. A young man. Dark-haired, dark-skinned, muscled and tall, he was looking at someone or something down the street, and for some reason, Grissom followed his line of vision. It was hard to tell what he was looking at; was it the street vendors? The hooker standing in the corner? The cops coming out of the donut shop? Not that it really mattered -the guy was a stranger, and he didn’t seem particularly menacing despite his muscled arms. But for some reason, Grissom kept looking.

And then, he saw him. Greg, coming out of the corner deli shop, his arms laden with grocery bags, a gym bag hanging from a shoulder. He nodded a casual greeting at the cops, at the street vendors, even the hooker. He didn’t notice the stranger till he was face to face with him, the young man practically blocking his way. Greg seemed startled, then visibly relaxed. He smiled, said something, then exchanged a kiss on the cheek.

The young man playfully tugged at Greg’s bags, then pretended to pick something from one of them. Greg protested, but they were smiling all along. Friendly. Then the man touched Greg’s bicep and made a comment. Both laughed.

The man’s hand remained where it was, his fingers lightly stroking Greg’s arm. A gesture that bespoke of familiarity… And intimacy.

Grissom abruptly looked away. He forced himself to stare ahead. There was so much to look at, fortunately. From this angle, he could see most of Greg’s neighborhood: A little park, two blocks down; a second-hand bookstore –the one he’d fantasized of going into with Greg by his side; an Italian restaurant and a taco & carnitas place that, according to Greg, were owned by the same Pakistani man; and dozens of small businesses dotting the street. Sometimes, after sitting there for a long while, he got the impression that he wasn’t in Las Vegas but a small town, the kind of place where everybody knew everybody else.

Even the hookers pacing the street looked wholesome.

Grissom smiled and shook his head at that last thought. He’d been looking at Greg’s neighborhood through rose-colored glasses. If he looked closer, he’d probably see the decay in the buildings, the diseases lurking under the make-up.

And if he looked at the other side of the street again -

But he wasn't about to do that. He didn’t move, except to put his hands back on the steering wheel. He sat and stared ahead, he didn’t know for how long, until a noise caught his attention. Someone tapping on his side window.

Greg. He was huddled against the car to avoid passing traffic.

When Gil lowered the window, Greg put a hand on the edge of the glass, as if to keep it from closing again.

“You ok?” he asked, eyes filled with concern.

“I’m fine,” Gil said good-naturedly enough.

“I waved at you through the window and you didn’t seem to recognize me.”

“I didn’t see you,” Gil frowned. But then, he wasn’t really looking.

Greg nodded slowly. He stared at Grissom for a couple of seconds, obviously waiting for some further explanation. He got nothing.

“I was surprised to see you here,” he said casually. "When I saw your car, I thought maybe you were on a case. I was half-expecting to see Brass or Vartann -" he smiled.

"I'm not on a case," Gil said quietly.

"Then I thought maybe you were here for the books.” He tilted his head in the bookstore's direction. Grissom shook his head. “You sure? They’ve got a great collection of medical books in there. History, too. There’s even an early edition of Walden –it’s not on sale, but still… You might want to check it out.”

Greg was giving him an easy way out, Gil realized; a simple explanation for his presence there.

“Unless you’re here for the food,” Greg added good-naturedly. “I’d recommend the Italian place; the carnitas are only good if you’ve got plenty of Pepto Bismol in the glove compartment. Do you?”

Gil shook his head. “I didn’t come for the food.”

“All right,” Greg said slowly. He was having some difficulty with his grocery bags by now. “Look…. I can’t hold these anymore. Do you wanna talk, or something?”

Gil didn’t reply. Instead, he simply leant sideways and opened the passenger door. Greg hesitated, then walked around the car and got in. He put his bags on the floor.

“So,” he said.

Grissom was looking at the grocery bags. One held DVDs, the other, food: bags of snacks and two large subs wrapped in waxed paper.

"Another balanced meal, Greg?"

"Hey, this is good food," Greg said. He picked one of the subs and waved it at Grissom, "These are famous around here. Besides, I ordered them with extra vegetables." He was speaking lightly, but the tone seemed to be forced. Now that he was sitting next to Gil, he found it difficult to look him in the eye.

Grissom nodded at the bag filled with DVDs.

"It looks like you’re going to spend the weekend holed up at home.”

“I just might.”

“What movies did you get?” Gil didn’t wait for an answer; he actually picked a DVD from the bag. He examined it, then glanced at the others. “Ah,” he smiled. “The immortal works of Mick Sheridan.”

“Hey, it’s great entertainment,” Greg replied, irked by Gil’s tone. He took the DVD and put it back in the bag. “But I guess you’d rather watch something deep and meaningful,” he muttered, “A tearjerker -”

Gil smiled.

“You’ve never cried at the movies, Greg?”

“Nah,” Greg said. “Well, yeah,” he amended, “I did, a couple of times, when I was a kid. I cried when King Kong died -”

“Who wouldn’t?” Gil smiled.

“- and I also cried when the guys from OCP gunned down RoboCop.”

Gil frowned.

Greg saw the look. “Hey, I was barely eight when I saw it the first time,” he said defensively.

“I never saw RoboCop,” Gil said, struck by the realization.

“Then you missed a great movie, Grissom. Parts 2 and 3 sucked, but the first one’s a classic.”

“A classic?”

“Yeah. Oh, I know you think it’s a kid’s movie, but it’s not; the story's an allegory of the evils of Reaganomics, and -”

“It’s still a movie about a cop turned robot, Greg.”

“It’s more than that. Look, I’ll get you a copy, ok? Then you’ll see for yourself.”

“Ok,” Gil said good-naturedly. They looked up at the same time, and this time their gazes locked. Gil looked for traces of their last conversation in Greg's eyes but didn't find any. At least, he didn't see any anger, and that was enough for him.

Greg leant back in the seat.

“So, Grissom,” he said, “If you’re not here for the food or the books… And if you’re not here for Ana María, over there…” he glanced in the street’s direction.

Grissom looked over his shoulder.

The hooker on the corner.

“Ana María?” he said, the tone incredulous. "You know her name?"

Greg shrugged. “Ah, she’s ok. Even the cops leave her alone. You’re not here for her, are you?”

Grissom smiled a little.

“No.”

They were silent for a moment. Idly, Grissom looked down, found that his hands were, again, tightly wrapped on the steering wheel.

“You know,” Greg said, “When I saw your car, I thought, ‘I’d better hurry; Grissom must be in my building, looking for me.’ But then I thought, ‘no way; he’s not at my apartment. He’d gotta be in his car.’ And I was right.”

Grissom nodded. “I was thinking -”

“-about the conference you didn’t go to?” Greg said, ironically. “How’s John, by the way? Does he know you’re here?”

“He knows I’m not there,” Gil said reasonably. And that should be evidence enough of his decision, he though. He was there –he’d made his choice.

But Greg didn’t seem to think so. He just nodded thoughtfully.

It wasn't going to be that easy, Gil realized. He took a deep breath.

“You were right,” he said then. “Last night, I mean. I should have said something. I knew you were courting me -”

Greg looked down uncomfortably.

“Oh, jeeze,” he muttered, “I was hoping you’d forget I said that.”

“Why?” Gil frowned.

“’Cause it was a stupid thing to say. And you’re my boss. It’s like you said, Grissom: it wasn’t the right time or place. Besides, you once said you wanted someone who wouldn’t judge you, and that’s exactly what I was doing. And I assumed; I assumed lots of things.” He looked up, “I broke your number one rule, Grissom. That must have that pissed you off.”

“It didn’t.”

Greg eyed him speculatively.

“Are you gonna tell me why you’re here?”

Relentless to the end, Gil thought. Well, he would hardly like the answer to that question –if Gil were stupid enough to give it. The truth was, he was there because he didn’t want to do to Greg what John did to him all those years ago. Rejection had done something terrible to him; he didn’t want that to happen to Greg.

What he didn’t realize was that Greg was an entirely different man; he would hardly crumble just because someone had said no to him. And he was hardly alone, Gil thought, glancing outside.

And where was the handsome, dark-haired man, anyway?

Before he could stop himself, he asked, “Where’s that guy?”

“Who?”

Grissom gave him a look. “The one you were talking to,” he said, tilting his head in the building’s direction.

“I thought you were thinking, not looking.”

Grissom didn’t reply; he just kept his gaze on Greg; his ‘I’m not moving till you give me an answer’ gaze –the one that worked so well on perps.

“’s a friend,” Greg muttered reluctantly.

“A friend.”

“Sort of. Yeah,” he added more casually. His initial discomfort seemed to be fading fast. “His name’s Carlos.”

“And he’s more than a friend,” Gil said casually.

Greg didn’t reply.

His silence was as good as 'yes,' anyway. Grissom looked away. Well, he didn’t really expect Greg to be celibate, did he? Just because he lived like a monk didn’t mean everybody else had to. Still… The idea of Greg with that man stung. And yet, it made sense to him. That guy –Carlos- had intrigued him at first sight, and when he saw him with Greg, he knew why.

They looked good together; they fit.

Gil could hardly imagine looking that good alongside Greg. It was sad, but true.

“YIsn't he?” Grissom insisted, even though he hardly needed the answer; his skills as an observer rarely failed him.

Greg kept his gaze on the street.

“He’s more than a friend,” he admitted reluctantly. “Or was,” he amended, “For a while.”

“And now he wants to be more than a friend again.”

“Yeah.”

Grissom nodded. He pictured the young man’s predatory fingers kneading Greg’s arm, his own arms rippling with muscles -

“His body’s riddled with steroids,” Gil blurted out.

Greg burst into incredulous laughter.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“What, you haven’t noticed?”

“Well, yeah, but -” he paused. He was looking closely at Grissom, and as he did, his smile turned cynical. “Oh, I get it,” he said slowly. “That was a very good impression of a jealous man, Grissom.”

“Do you think it was an impression?”

“Sure. And if it’s not, then all I have to do is turn the tables around and ask you about John.”

“John doesn’t take steroids.”

Greg looked up suspiciously. Gil stared back, with a perfectly straight face. He was smiling though, and Greg reluctantly smiled back.

Greg kept his gaze on Gil for a moment, then reluctantly looked away.

“So," Gil said, "You and Carlos…”

Greg sighed.

“You know how it is, when you meet someone you could trust your life with?” he asked.

Grissom nodded solemnly.

“Well, he’s not it," Greg said. "But he’s fun. And he lives in Nevada,” he added pointedly. He paused for a couple of seconds, then he said, “He’s just not you.”

“That’s what I don’t understand,” Gil said softly, “Why me?”

“Why not someone more accessible, you mean?”

“Or younger."

“I don’t know,” Greg shrugged. “You said attraction couldn’t be explained, remember? Besides, you’re attracted to me –do you know why?”

“That's easy,” Gil said. “You’re devastatingly handsome.”

Greg gaped.

Gil smiled. “You still haven’t answered my question, Greg."

“What question?”

“About that guy. Where’s he?”

“He’s not here,” Greg said ambiguously.

“But you two had a date.”

“We did. Sort of. But then I saw your car –end of story. I had to bribe him, by the way,” he added, “Had to give him my double-pepperoni sub to get him to go.”

“It would take more than a sub to get me to leave,” Gil said gallantly.

Greg scoffed, but he looked pleased.

They were silent after that. Greg kept fidgeting and glancing at Grissom, but the older man was content with things the way they were. Sitting with Greg by his side was enough.

“You know," Greg said then, " I’d never taken the time to look at my own neighborhood; it’s nice.”

“It is, yes.”

“I feel like I could stay here all day, looking at it,” Greg added.

“Me, too,” Gil said.

Greg looked at Grissom one last time, then started picking his bags.

“What are you doing?” Gil asked.

“Gotta go,” Greg said matter-of-factly. “I have to put these in the fridge,” he explained, lifting the bag with the food. He paused when he noticed the surprise in Grissom’s face. “Look. The thing is… I like talking to you, Grissom. I like sitting here, bantering, and looking at people passing by. It’s cozy. And I have a feeling that if I stay, that’s all I’m gonna end up doing.” He took a deep breath. “I love you, you know. I really do. But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking while other people have a life.”

It was Grissom’s turn to gape. He looked on helplessly as Greg got out of the car and walked around it once more. He watched as the young man crossed the street, narrowly avoiding a couple of cars before reaching the sidewalk.

There was a slight hesitation in Greg’s step as he walked to his building, but once he mounted the stairs there was no turning back. He opened the door, pushed his way inside, and that was it.

He was gone.

Grissom remained motionless. He kept watching, even though he had little hope that Greg would come back. He kept watching, the way one does at the end of a favorite movie. And it was like watching a movie, he realized, suddenly struck by the truth behind Greg’s words.

He’d been a spectator all his life. From the safety of his car –or his office, or his home- he’d watched other people live while he merely studied them.

He took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled.

His hand was shaking when he picked his cell phone. His fingers hurt after being wrapped around the steering wheel for so long, but he ignored the pain. He punched a number, then waited, the ringing drowned by the beating of his heart.

Idly, he looked at the papers on the dashboard.

The invitation to John’s conference lay on top.

Grissom paused for a couple of seconds, then forced himself to look away.

A voice finally answered. A cautious, "Yeah?"

“Hey Greg?” Gil said, “What’s your apartment number?”

THE END