Title: Electron Bonding (CSI/Buffy)

Series: Better Living Through Science

Authors: Amireal and Beccat

Pairing: Greg/Grissom

Rating: NC - 17

Summary: Electrovalent bonding occurs when one atom releases an electron and another accepts an electron.

Feedback: YES! YES YES YES! Please send to either amireal@gmail.com or blueraccoon@gmail.com

Archive: Ask first.

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Anthony Zuiker and Jerry Bruckheimmer are gods. We merely play in their worlds.

**************************************

It was halfway through shift when his cell phone rang. The low buzzing sound could only be heard because it jostled some half flung papers that partially obscured where it sat on the back table. Cell phones, as a rule, were to be set on vibrate in the lab, so they didn’t accidentally blow stuff up. Because, really, they apparently did a pretty good job of that themselves anyway.

It was possible that no one would have noticed Greg stumble quietly before blindly searching for a chair to sit in if he hadn’t been in the middle of one of Grissom’s pet projects. It was even plausible that the sharp, staccato sounds of a cell phone clattering on the floor would have been ignored if it hadn’t been accompanied by Greg frantically diving after it and resuming his hushed conversation on the floor.

Of course, it didn’t work that way.

A pair of dark pant clad legs came into view as he was finishing the conversation, hastily scribbling a phone number on the palm of his hand. The person on the other end said a terse good bye and Greg snapped the phone closed. Despite the urgency, he found himself just staring at the phone, blinking repeatedly.

“Greg?” The legs spoke.

Finally paying attention, he looked up. Oh hey, Grissom got to see the freak out. Yay. Greg must have looked like crap if Grissom of all people asked if he needed leave time for a family emergency.

Greg, despite the hazy fog of panic, knew an out when he saw one. “Yeah, that’d be good.”

Grissom squatted next to him. Oh right, he was still on the floor. “Do you need someone to drive you somewhere?”

“No!” Okay, so he’d overreacted. Then again, being Mister Cool was never something he’d ever managed around Grissom anyway. He took a deep breath. “No. I’m cool. Just gotta get some feeling back in my legs.”

Grissom offered him a hand up and he took it, getting a head rush as he approached upright. “Whoa.” He stabilized himself on a nearby table. He got a look from Grissom that almost read concern, and a little bit of clinical curiosity.

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride?” Grissom asked.

Greg began haphazardly gathering his things. “I told you, I’m cool.” He hit the lab door hard enough to feel it all the way to the locker room.

He was mostly packed to go when he realized that Grissom had followed him. Of course, that realization happened *after* he’d salted his pocket and shoes. Nick and Warrick’s presence blinked in sometime around the third piece of jewelry he slipped on.

“Got a date?” Nick drawled.

“No,” he answered distractedly as he counted the pieces of jewelry one last time. Which he really shouldn’t have done, because when nothing else was forth coming it was like he could feel six mini pinpricks of laser beams on his back, all attached to six prying little eyes.

Greg silently shouldered the knowledge that with Grissom being the only one who had any idea as to what was going on, there’d be little or no dissemination of information while he was gone. When he came back, there’d be at least twelve rumors and eight thousand questions. As if his week wasn’t going to be bad enough.

His phone vibrated against his side and he jumped before he realized what it was. He answered it quietly “Yeah? Yeah. I’ll be out in five.” Click.

Bag in hand, he ran.

“Greg?” Grissom called from behind.

He stopped. Grissom wanted answers and it was safer to give him some.

“When will you be back?” Grissom was slightly winded from having run after him.

Good question. “Uh..” He checked his watch. “Day after tomorrow.” Maybe. He turned to go, but stopped. “Hey Grissom?”

Grissom, who had been satisfied enough with the answer to return to his office, halted his progression and faced him again. “Yes Greg?”

“If I…” He stopped, not sure what to say that wouldn’t launch a full scale investigation. “If I’m not back by then, someone will call.” There was a finality in his own voice that made him wince.

Grissom eyed him carefully before he nodded slowly. “Right.”

Greg nodded back, and left the building.

The car was sitting outside, plain blue with Vegas plates and layered with so many shields Greg could nearly taste them. They cracked open long enough for him to slide in and then slammed shut around him again.

Andrew gave him a small smile. "Hi, cuz," he said.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

"Giles is gone. Willow--" Andrew swallowed. "She's gone. I don't know where. I mean, I know where her body is but I don't know where *she* is. We gotta find her, Greg."

"What happened?"

Andrew worried at a thin gold chain around his neck. "Here. You drive. I--I'm not sure how I got here, to be honest. Willow's at the hotel, and we've kind of got to get back there first. The room...well, it blew up."

"You *blew up* a hotel room?!" Getting into the driver's seat wasn't easy, but they managed to trade places with only a minimum of jostling and banging into each other.

"No! Well, not really. The bad guys did. Giles and I--we were getting this book--and they just showed up. Took Giles, and the book..." Andrew swallowed again. "He was screaming, Greg," he said in a small voice. "He looked--there was all this light, and then there was this *hole* in the air and then no one was there and the room looked like a bomb went off and Willow did *something* and her hair went white and she fell over. She's at the Desert Paradise.”

"In the same room that blew up?" Greg demanded, taking a corner on two tires.

"N-no. There was an empty one next door. I picked the lock and put her in there."

"Okay." One less worry, at least, although the cops finding an unconscious white-haired woman on the bed in a hotel room next to a crime scene wasn't high on his list of things he wanted to deal with tonight. "What book were you and Giles getting?"

Andrew bit his lip. "I don't know for sure. I mean, I don't know that much Latin, and he never really said, but--"

"Andrew, what was it?" Greg snapped.

"I think--I think it was Pandora's Box."

Oh. Shit.

When they arrived at the hotel, Greg was assaulted by the blinding flashes of police lights. Doing mental math, he figured they probably had another half hour or so before they needed to start ducking from faces he knew. “Is there a way to get to the room without passing by the one you guys blew up?”

“We didn’t blow it up, the bad guys did. And yes… I think.” Andrew was looking very shaky and Greg laid odds that something ooky had happened to him in that room as well.

Greg didn’t like sneaking around cops; he hated it in fact. Worse, Andrew had a habit of sticking out like a sore thumb.

Of course, Greg had to admit, it took balls to pick a hotel room lock right next a crime scene and two bored looking cops. Just in case, he positioned himself to block Andrew’s hands.

Slipping into the room was a welcome relief. Until he saw the pale semi-redhead languishing on the bed. “Oh yeah, today is gonna suck.”

“What do we do?” Andrew sounded scared.

Greg didn’t really blame him. “Close and lock the door first.” He searched the room for anything helpful. “How much of your stuff did you get out of the other room?”

Andrew looked at him from the door as he clicked the deadbolt. “I got what survived of Willow’s bag, but there wasn’t much left.” He ducked his head shyly. “I think I’m gonna have to borrow some of your clothes.”

Looking at him, Greg saw what he meant. Andrew's clothes looked like he'd been caught in the middle of some sort of explosion (And don't we know what *those* are like, his brain piped up) and Andrew himself wasn't looking much better. "If we make it out of this, you can borrow anything of mine you want, except my old Circle Jerk shirt," he said absently, digging in Willow's bag for anything that might be useful.

"I don't like that anyway." Andrew sat down on the bed, looking more than a bit unsteady. "What are you looking for?"

"Anything that will help us clean and seal the room before the cops get here. We *don't* want them to find us." Aha--salt. And an athame, although it was clearly Willow's and he didn't really want to use it. He could get by without one. "Get me some water, okay?"

Just walking the circle around the room was more difficult than he'd thought. Either he was seriously out of practice or the bad juju next door was making it really hard to focus.

Or both.

He'd just finished casting the basic circle when he heard voices next door. Andrew started, looking worried, and Greg motioned him to be quiet. Who--

"Looks like a bomb went off in here." That was Catherine. Shit.

"But why is the damage so contained? No external problems, no evidence of anything outside this room. A bomb wouldn't do that."

Grissom. The one person he *didn't* want to hear.

"Maybe it was a small bomb. Self-contained."

"Find the point of origin."

Crap. Craptastick.

Now all he needed was for someone to comment on adjacent unoccupied rooms in the vicinity of someone who saw them walk in.

Double crap.

“Water, quick!” He whispered.

Andrew hurried to the bathroom, the sounds of rushing water filled the room.

Greg was searching his pockets for a lighter when Andrew came barreling back into the room. Greg shifted left, which obviously Andrew didn’t see because he ran smack into Greg, splashing water all over Greg’s shirt and over half of the circle.

“Damnit!” He swore loudly and tore off his shirt. “Towels Andrew and wring this out.” He tossed his shirt in the direction of his cousin.

Large fluffy towels were hovering inches above his hand when- *KNOCK KNOCK*

Quadruple crap.

"No one's in here." Unfamiliar voice, had to be the manager. "Here--"

Click of a key, door handle turning...Greg saw it all as if in slow motion. He had time to spare one glance at Willow, looking a bit odd with dual-colored hair, before the door opened.

"Greg?!"

He wasn't sure who'd spoken first, Grissom or Catherine. "Uh...it's not what it looks like," he said, suddenly aware what it *could* look like.

"Really." Cat arched an eyebrow. "Then why don't you tell us what it *is*?"

"Well...I would, but you wouldn't believe me." Greg ran a hand through his hair, sparing one moment to look down at the now-destroyed circle. Great. He was going to have to walk it again, assuming he got the chance.

"Try us." That was Grissom, who was prowling around the room, examining it for evidence. "No damage," he said absently. "None at all."

"Well, the room didn't exactly blow up," Greg started.

"Greg? What--" Andrew emerged from the bathroom, saw Gil and Catherine, and froze. "This isn't good, is it," he said uneasily.

"What happened next door, Greg?" Grissom ignored Andrew for the moment.

"See, I'm not sure exactly, because I wasn't there. But it didn't blow up." Greg shrugged and wished he had a shirt. "Sometimes portals to other dimensions can do that."

Catherine just stared at him. "Greg, I think you've been drinking too much coffee," she said after a moment.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t believe me?” Greg shivered as his damp skin protested its exposure to the open air. He watched as Grissom carefully took note the items he’d scattered on the other bed when he’d been searching through Willow’s belongings.

Grissom’s glove clad fingers skimmed the items, stopping abruptly over the athame and giving Greg a long look.

Greg shifted nervously as something pushed at his back, like a large clawed hand pushing at him, dead center. He pushed back, struggling to focus on Grissom.

It was probably why he didn’t notice when Catherine came up behind him; her latex covered hand was warm and a stark contrast. He jumped and stifled a small girly scream. “Don’t *do* that.”

Catherine quickly lifted her hand and made a big show of not touching him “Sorry.” She didn’t look sorry, but she did seem a little put out, “Excuse me for worrying when you turned whiter than your lab coat.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Greg…” Andrew’s shaking voice called to him from the other side of the room.

"What?" He ran over.

Andrew pointed at Willow with one trembling finger.

Oh. No.

Her body was starting to twitch, hands and feet jerking spasmodically. Behind her eyelids Greg could see movement. This was not good. This was so not good, even though it meant that Willow was probably finding her way back to her body, and okay, yeah, *that* was good, but having her do it now was just...

"I don't feel so good," Andrew said in a small voice, right before he passed out.

"Shit!" Greg caught him and managed to wrestle him onto the bed, next to Willow.

"Greg?" Grissom asked. "What's going on here?" He came over to stand next to Greg.

"Andrew passed out," Greg said hastily. "I guess--he was in the room and I guess he's just kind of shocky. He'll be fine."

"We should call the paramedics," Grissom said, looking worried.

"No! No--I mean--it's fine. Really. He's just kind of--he'll be all right." Greg shifted, hoping Grissom wouldn't notice that Willow was shuddering all over now.

Fat chance of that. "And her?" Grissom asked.

"Uh--nightmare?" Greg offered weakly. At least Willow didn't look like she was...

Her whole body tensed and her back arched off the mattress and her eyes snapped open, only they were glowing and completely white. There was a low rumbling sound, the room shook, and a second later it was all over.

Willow sat up slowly; her hair had turned back to pure white again and she looked like moving hurt. "Ow," she said, blinking. And then she looked around.

"This is not good," Greg muttered.

“Uh… hi?” Willow stared at them, eyes wide.

“Willow?” He asked, suspiciously. Because really, with the luck he’d been having, her body could have been possessed by some evil, oily, black sludge creature from the black lagoon, with really bad fashion sense.

She frowned, thoughtfully at him. “That’s not fair, you with the name knowing and me… clueless and--” she turned her head--“next to an unconscious Andrew.” She poked him. “Which I’m sure is against some sort of Scooby by-law somewhere. Xander will throw me out without even a ‘nya nya nay-nya-nya.”

Greg took a deep breath, mildly annoyed at the insult to his family member. But if that babble didn’t match the descriptions Andrew had given him occasionally, then it was a pretty clever evil thing and it deserved some credit. “Hi. I’m Greg.” He offered a hand.

“Hi,” Catherine practically butted in, bypassing Greg entirely, “I’m Catherine Willows and this is Gil Grissom.” She pointed to Grissom who was still across the room looking at them all warily. “We’re with the Las Vegas Crime Lab and we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

"About what?"

"Do you know anything about the room next door?"

"It's there?" Willow offered with a bright smile. "At least, it was last I looked."

"It looks like it blew up," Gil said. "Would you happen to know anything about that?"

Willow blinked. "The last thing I remember blowing up was my friend's car, but it wasn't really his fault cause the mechanic rewired something wrong on purpose--well, we think it was on purpose but there was no real way to find out because he kind of blew up with the car. Rooms blowing up? Not my area of expertise."

Greg hid a smile. She was good.

"But why were you in here?" Catherine pressed. "The manager said this room was unoccupied."

Willow shook her head. "No, it wasn't. Andrew and I checked in earlier. We were searching for an old book for a friend and went out. I wasn't feeling well, so he brought me back to the hotel. I guess I passed out or something, cause next thing I knew..." She shrugged

"And you're sure you checked into *this* room," Catherine said, clearly not quite buying it.

"The key worked," Willow offered. "See?" She held out the key (and Greg really wanted to know how she'd done *that*). Catherine took it and went over to the door, testing the lock.

"It works, all right," she said. "Still...I find it hard to believe that you were here this whole time and didn't notice anything."

“Despite my grades, I can be surprisingly oblivious.” Willow shrugged.

“You’re in college?” Grissom asked.

Willow’s head tilted to the left, “Well… I was. But I’m not anymore.”

Greg watched as Catherine and Grissom had a wordless conversation that clearly stated they didn’t believe a word of what had been said, but there was nothing they could do about it.

“Is your friend going to be ok?” Grissom asked, curiosity lacing his words.

“I’ll be fine.” Willow said, swinging her legs off the bed. “Just needed a nap.”

“I think he meant your other friend.” Catherine pointed out.

“Oh, Andrew?” Willow scrunched her face up with mild annoyance. “He’s just a big baby. He’ll be fine.”

Greg was very happy to let Willow blindside his colleagues with babble and innocence; the less he spoke the better.

"You have some interesting items over here," Grissom commented.

"You went through my bags?" Willow asked, horrified. "I told you, I was just asleep."

"There's a crime scene next door, miss, and--"

"See, those are the key words. Next. Door. Not here." Willow stood up, looking perfectly fine. "I don't mean to tell you how to do your job, but maybe you should look at *it*, instead of me. I should probably throw some cold water in Andrew's face or something, and he whines a lot, and you don't want to be here for that, trust me."

"Will you be leaving town anytime soon?" Grissom asked

"Andrew and I are headed back to California tomorrow."

Grissom nodded. "Thanks for your time." He and Catherine left.

As soon as the door closed, Greg's legs folded and he sat down hard on the bed. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. Or, I will be. You tried to do a circle in here?" Willow asked.

He nodded. "Didn't finish it."

"Let's get it done, then. There is some *serious* bad stuff next door and before we do anything, we kind of need to talk about it, and I don't want to do that until we can shield the room." Willow looked down at the salt, sighed, and muttered something in Latin. The salt disappeared. "You're Andrew's cousin, aren't you?" she asked, picking up her athame and the container of salt.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"He mentioned you. Once I had your name it was pretty obvious." Willow gave him a small smile, nothing like the bright grin she'd given Grissom and Catherine. "He said we should look you up while we were here, although I don't think this is what he had in mind."

Greg started laughing and managed to stop when he realized he was approaching hysteria. "Is he going to be okay?"

"I think so." Willow sprinkled salt carefully. "He got caught in the backlash. If we can cleanse him of the residual taint, he should be fine."

“Cool.” Greg sighed and let her take control. He was all for not being in charge. “Though, I think I should warn you, those people who were just here? I work with them.”

Willow stopped her preparations and made a face, “Oh well. We’ll think of something before we leave.”

Greg watched as she effortlessly walked the circle and raised it. As it locked, he felt something unintelligible and heavy lift itself from his shoulders. “Wow. I hadn’t realized…” He let himself trail off, not really sure what to say.

Willow winked at him and waved him over and together they got to work.

******

Greg sat on the bed, more tired than he expected. Whatever had sunk its claws into Andrew had been rooted in tightly. He grabbed a free pillow and hugged it to himself. “So, someone wanna tell me what’s going on, or do I get to go into work tomorrow with nothing?” Not that he’d actually tell anyone what had really happened.

Andrew looked at him, dazed. “It was like the season finale of Enterprise.”

“Excuse me?”

“A train wreck.” Andrew mumbled, eyes on the ground.

"Right." Greg turned to Willow. "Can you explain that in a language other than geek metaphor?"

She rubbed her eyes. "I can try, at least. Andrew and Giles--" her voice caught and she swallowed. "and I came here to get a book from one of Giles' contacts. We thought it had clues in it to dealing with something that came up back home."

"Something as in apocalypse something or as in every day demon something?" Greg asked, fairly sure he didn’t want to hear the answer.

"We weren't sure. So Giles and I decided to come get the book, and Andrew wanted to come along, so..." Willow wrinkled her nose. "Car trip with him, not really my idea of fun, but he and Giles geeked out a bit and I had a chance to do some research, so..."

Willow trailed off when she noticed him tapping his foot and projecting a mildly annoyed look.

She shook her head. "Anyway. We picked up the book and came back here and thought we'd look at it and spend the night, cause driving back to Sunnydale in one day? Not really with the happening. And..." She sighed. "One moment we were looking at the book, the next there was this *hole* and these demons came out and before you ask? Not so much with the familiar here. Giles had the book, and they just...grabbed him. He screamed, Greg. I'd never heard him--" Willow swallowed again. "Everything kind of went white, and I think I tried to get him back, but the hole closed too fast and the backlash knocked me out. And then I had to find my way back to my body. Well, once I realized I wasn't *in* my body. That took longer than I thought. And here we are."

Greg was impressed; he didn’t think she’d actually taken a breath. "What was the book?" he asked.

Willow shook her head. "We didn’t know for sure. The little problem we have going on back home has all the earmarks of a fairly famous myth or two. And, you know one of the demons was muttering Pandora in a Latin dialect," she finished with a nervous laugh.

Was there such a thing as quintuple crap?

They sat in silence for several minutes, going through the possibilities of what to do next.

“I need to get into that room,” Willow said suddenly.

Uh oh. “That’s gonna be more than impossible, you know that?” Greg could see it now, Grissom letting the biggest puzzle to hit him months go like it was nothing. Odds were higher monkeys would fly out of his butt.

Willow smiled grimly, “I do impossible things all the time.”

And Greg really had a bad feeling about where this was going. “Look, Willow, I wanna help, really. I’m here, aren’t I?” He began pacing. “But you have no idea what you’re talking about here, the people I work with? They *love* mysteries and more importantly, they love *solving* mysteries. They’re really good at it too. The fact that they’ve seen *me* here is going to cause no end of problems and now you want to get into a crime scene?” Hyperventilating was a new thing for him, really.

“It’s better than that.” Willow stepped in front of Greg’s path. “I need to get my hands on whatever they take out of the room too.”

“What?!”

*****

"This just doesn't make any *sense*," Catherine complained, pushing hair off her face with the back of her wrist. "The point of origin either doesn't exist or was in the middle of the air. The damage *looks* electrical, including the fried clock, and yet there are no signs of an electrical fire. And we've got the manager telling us there were people in this room and that girl next door saying there weren't."

"No, she just said she wasn't in here. She didn't say anything about who was." Grissom shone his flashlight over the walls. "Although I have to agree with you. The evidence is rather confusing on this one."

She sighed. "So what do you want to do about it?"

"Collect what we can. We'll sort it out when we get back to the lab." Grissom picked up his camera and began snapping pictures.

"Well, *someone* was in here," Catherine said, kneeling by the bed. She held up a pair of cracked and dirty horn-rimmed glasses. "Question is, where is he now?"

“Hmmm.” Something in the corner of the frame caught Grissom’s eye, he kneeled, getting a closer look.

“Got something?” Catherine asked.

“Think so, liquid, thick, greenish, yellow.” He carefully took a sample.

“Biological?”

“I don’t know.”

"Great." Catherine sighed. "I've got fingerprints on the nightstand," she said, carefully lifting them. "Looks like at least two different people. I'll run 'em when we get back."

Grissom nodded. "Catherine, does it seem odd to you that Greg had a family emergency and then we found him here?" he asked casually.

"I don't believe in coincidence." She straightened up and stretched. "So my guess is that he's involved, along with his cousin the fainter, and that white-haired girl."

"Red," Grissom corrected. "She was a redhead."

Catherine looked at him. "Gris, her hair was white. Probably a bleach job gone wrong."

Grissom frowned. "Her hair was red, Catherine."

"Why don't we see her again and find out?" Catherine finished packing up her equipment and slung her kit over her shoulder. "She's probably still next door."

*****

“They’re going to come back.” Greg warned.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

“See?”

Willow cast him a scowling look before opening the door. “Oh look, it’s Busybody and his best friend Snoopy.”

Greg cringed.

“It’s good to see you too, may we come in?” Grissom said at his most awkwardly polite.

“If I said no?” Willow asked.

“We’d probably find cause to come back with a search warrant.” Catherine said.

Willow pouted. “You take all the fun out of being negative,” she said as she let them pass.

Greg was glad he’d gotten his shirt back on, though he wasn’t sure why that particular thought crossed his mind

“I see… Andrew is it?” Andrew nodded. “Is up and around, feeling better, young man?”

Greg internalized a groan. Great, go for the weak one.

Catherine looked at the carpet oddly, “What’s that?” She bent to look at it more carefully, taking out a sample collector as she did. She looked closely at what she pulled up. “Salt?”

“Messy eater,” Willow offered.

“Ah,” Catherine said as she continued to prowl.

Grissom just stood in the center of the room and stared.

Not good. A mental siren in his brain screamed ‘distract!’ “So uh, Grissom, what’s going on?”

“You mean other than the three of you standing here looking guiltier than the time you accidentally spilled the salt in the sugar?” Grissom had this weird beguiled look down pat.

“Um yeah, that.” Greg’s ‘oh crap-o-meter’ was pretty much deafening.

Grissom stared intently at Andrew, “Oh, this and that.” He plucked something small and thread-like off his shoulder. “Normal stuff.”

Greg had always wondered what the inside of a sinkhole felt like.

"Greg, could I talk to you for a second?" Grissom asked politely.

"Uh. Sure." Greg let out a deep breath and followed Grissom over to a corner of the room.

"Care to explain what's really going on here?" Grissom asked quietly.

"Uh. I don't know?" Greg offered weakly.

"Mmm. Well, let's follow the evidence, shall we? There's salt on the floor and a water glass with a few droplets left in it, indicating that someone in here raised a circle of protection. You're wearing at least three amulets of protection and I saw you put salt in your shoes and back pocket before you left, which would seem to mean that you're afraid of something. Judging by the speed with which you left, and the state your friends are in, I'd guess it has something to do with what happened next door."

"You wouldn't believe me. Honest." Greg scrubbed a hand over his face. "I mean, I barely believe it. And what do you know about this stuff, anyway?"

Grissom shrugged. "One of the coroners in LA was a Wiccan. I learned a few things."

Greg closed his eyes, his head pounding. "Would you believe me if I said it was a portal to another dimension that caused the damage?" He asked.

"Do you have corroborating evidence?" Grissom asked.

Greg’s eyes snapped open and he felt his jaw drop and he just stared at Grissom.

"Willow, wasn't it?" Catherine asked. "Do you have a last name?"

"Most people do," Willow said cheerfully.

"Can I *have* your last name?"

"You've already got one of your own. Why would you need mine?"

Catherine sighed. "For our records, Willow. I need your full name."

"Why? I've already *told* you, I don't know anything."

"And you?" Catherine asked Andrew.

"He doesn't know anything either," Willow said impatiently.

"Would either of you happen to know anything about these?" Catherine held up the bagged glasses.

Greg wasn't sure whether it was good or bad that Andrew chose that moment to fall over again.

“Andrew!” Willow’s annoyed voice yelled. “Oh, for Goddess’ sake now is not the time.” She knelt on the floor next to him and poked at his face.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Catherine said smugly as she put the glasses back into her pack.

Willow stood up, still nudging Andrew with the toe of her boot. “Okay, I think we’ve been pretty good about this, but now I’m gonna have to get serious.” Willow started making shooing motions.

“Catherine, meet me outside.” Grissom said, still looking at Greg intently.

She eyed him suspiciously, but nodded and left.

Grissom turned back to Greg. “Corroborating evidence?”

Greg stared at him dumbly. “Uh…”

“I want to help Greg, but I can only help you if you tell me everything you can.” Grissom put a hand on Greg’s shoulder.

Greg stared at it like it was some large foreign insect waiting to eat him. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it had, either. Greg looked at Willow and she shook her head fractionally. ‘The words ‘Not yet’ echoed in his head. “Look, I would if I could but I can’t. Mostly because I *really* don’t know what happened.”

"But you do." Grissom turned to Willow.

"None of us do," Greg protested frantically.

"Then why did Andrew call you at the crime lab? Why did you run out of there like your pants were on fire? And how did all three of you end up here, next to a crime scene that frankly, makes no logical sense? I don't believe in coincidence." Grissom's hand left Greg's shoulder. "And this stretches even the bounds of possible chance."

Greg buried his face in his hands. This wasn't happening, this wasn't happening...

“I’ll make you a deal,” he heard Willow say.

His head shot up to watch.

“A deal?” Grissom seemed intrigued.

“A deal.” Willow crossed the room to them. “I need to get into that crime scene.”

Grissom’s eyes went wide and his head tilted as if to say, ‘Haven’t you done enough?’

“I’ll tell you what I can, maybe it’ll be enough to file your paperwork, or whatever it is you do and you let me in there.” Willow’s face looked deadly serious.

“That’s not exactly a compelling offer.” Grissom countered.

“It’s the only one I can make.” Willow shrugged, offering her hand.

Grissom stared at it, gnawing his bottom lip. With a deep breath he took it and they shook hands.

Was that a crack of thunder Greg heard in the background?

"Give me a moment." Grissom stepped out of the room; Greg heard the murmur of voices and then heels as Catherine left. "Let's go," he said, poking his head back into the room.

Willow visibly flinched as they crossed the doorway. "Oh, Goddess," she murmured. "This is not good."

"What isn't?" Grissom asked.

"You can't--" Willow sighed. "No, I guess not. Bad stuff happened here. And the energy's still here. We're going to have to cleanse it when we're done." She shook her head slowly, walking around the room. "It had to be tied to the book," she said, almost to herself. "Triggered so that when he opened it..."

Greg followed her into the room and the throbbing in his head came back with a vengeance.

"What book?" Grissom asked. "And who is Giles?"

"The book we came here to get. It had to have some kind of trap spell linked to it, something to prevent it from being read or even acquired." Willow's eyes narrowed. "I bet it was that creepy dealer. I *told* Giles I didn't like him. I mean, okay, demon, but they're not all bad. Like Anya, only she wasn’t a demon anymore. But I didn't like this one."

Grissom glanced at Greg, who just shrugged, still too preoccupied on the feeling the room was screaming like a siren to say much. Willow had also lost him back around the trap spell.

"But if the demons were here for the book, why take Giles? I mean, they didn't look that bright, but..." Willow shook her head. "It doesn't make *sense*!"

“Is there anything here that will help?” Grissom asked.

Greg just stared at the damage as Willow shook her head sadly.

“Well, walk me through it.” Grissom ordered.

“What?” Willow asked distractedly.

“Tell me what happened,” he clarified.

“Okay… okay. You let me in here. So you get a present.” Willow walked the room. “But first, the bad mojo has to go or we’re all gonna get fried.”

"What do you need?" Greg asked.

"Salt water. And you." Willow gave him a sad smile. "I can't do this on my own."

Greg nearly fell over. "But--you--"

"It's not the power," she said dismissively. "It's what's involved. There's just so much here, I need someone as a focus."

"Great. You *do* know I haven't done this in a while, right?" Greg asked warily.

Willow patted him on the head, “It’s like riding a bicycle. Scraped knees and all.”

Oh yeah, that was really a calming statement. “If I come out of this with a heart condition I’m so blaming you,” he muttered. “How many of these,” he pointed to his charms, “d’ya need me to take off?”

Willow studied them closely. “That one and that one.” She pointed to two of the stronger ones. “Give them to him.” She pointed to Grissom.

Greg did as he was told, handing the slightly warm necklaces over to a very curious looking Grissom. “Ah. You might actually want to put them on. God knows what this is gonna do.”

Greg shivered as he felt whatever was in the room settle over him more firmly. “Let’s get this over with.” He offered his hands, palm up.

Willow took the salt water from Andrew, who had managed to get some without being noticed or spilling it.

Greg cast a wary eye, expecting Grissom to speak up at any moment, but he didn’t.

“Okay.” Willow took a deep breath. “Let’s get groovy.”

At Willow's instructions, he settled himself in the circle, cross-legged. "I just need a focus," Willow said, sitting opposite him. "You remember how to do that, right?"

"Yeah. I think so." Greg sighed. "Andrew can't do this?" Willow gave him a Look and he sighed again. "Right. Let's get this show on the road."

It was like...falling into light. He lost track of time, lost track of everything but the light he felt spreading through him and the room, burning away the sticky darkness.

It was easy enough to know when it was over; they both fell over, breathing hard. Greg opened his eyes blearily. "Did we do it?" he asked wearily.

Willow groaned. "Yeah. Thanks." She pushed herself into a sitting position. "Okay. You wanted an explanation?"

Grissom nodded, eyes wide. “Greg…” He pointed dazedly. “Your hair…”

“Hmm?” He wiped some sweat off his brow and tried to look up. He only succeeded in crossing his eyes.

Willow gave him a guilty look. “You went white early.”

His hair did the white thing? Damn. “Really? That’s uh... impressive… and a little creepy.”

“I’d have to agree.” Grissom threw in. “But it does give me corroborating evidence.” He smiled.

Greg just blinked at him. Maybe he was still a little out of it.

“Ok, explanation time. But I’m gonna do that from right here.” Willow patted the floor lovingly. “Because that was like, the second out of body experience in as many hours and I’m pooped.” She blew a stray hair out of her face. “Giles, Andrew and I cam from Cleveland-“

“I thought you said California.”

“Yeah well, you were all questiony and I was tired from being on another plane of existence. Sue me.” Willow glared. “As I was saying. We came from Cleveland hoping to buy a book that was going to help us with a big, doomy type problem. It was a really important book, really old. And the only way we could get it was to come down here and pay for it in person. Only we did the deal and Giles opened the book to check the merchandise and… and… boom.” Willow finished lamely.

“Boom?” Grissom questioned.

“This is where it gets cloudy, the book was booby trapped. Big time boob trapped. Bad mojo, suck your soul out, wish you were *dead* booby trapped. I’m not clear on all the details, what with me trying to make sure all of Las Vegas didn’t get sucked into hell.”

She frowned, looking very sad. “But it wasn’t enough, and Giles got sucked into some portal… and I don’t think it was a good place because before it closed…” Her voiced faded to a whisper. “He screamed.”

“Which is a big deal.” Andrew piped in. “Mr. Giles might look old but he’s a tough guy, I mean, he’s been tortured before and everything.”

“Andrew!” Willow warned.

But it was too late, Grissom’s head had snapped to attention the moment the word had been uttered.

"It's a long story," Willow said, rubbing her eyes. "Involving vampires with souls and vampires without souls and demons and people getting sent to Hell--which is not where Giles is, I'd know. Don't ask, you don't want to know and it's not relevant to what's going on, at least I think it isn't." She frowned. "Last I heard, Angel was still in LA, so I doubt he has anything to do with this. Anyway." She shook her head. "The problem now is that we have to find out where Giles went and get him back, along with the book. But I have no way to track the demons who took him."

"Would this help?" Grissom held out the vial of liquid.

"Actually, yes." Willow frowned at it. "I wish I could call Anya," she said, tilting the vial this way and that. "She'd know."

"Anya the ex-demon?" Greg asked

"Yeah. She used to be a vengeance demon but then Giles smashed her focus and then she was human. But she still knew a lot." Willow leaned her head back against the bed. "But she died when Sunnydale was destroyed, so now we have to find the dealer. Fortunately, he's an ozkris demon, and they're pretty easy to find."

“Does he have a name?” Grissom asked.

Willow blinked at him. “Guy Flannigan.”

“Does he own a business?” Grissom pressed.

Willow’s eyes narrowed, but a glimmering of comprehension showed through. “Old Stuff, LTD.”

Grissom snorted. “Greg, if this was a regular case, what would we do now?”

Startled out of his near daze, he shook his head a few times before answering. “Yellow pages?”

“Yellow pages,” Grissom confirmed. “I just think maybe we should try there first, before you go for anything more complex, you’re both starting to look a little worn around the edges.”

Greg was okay with that, because his legs were doing a damned good impression of wet noodles.

*****

"Whoa. What's with her?" Nick muttered to Warrick, watching Catherine storm through the lab.

"Dunno, man. She went out with Gris on that suspected arson."

"So...where's Gris?"

Warrick shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"You two going to stand there all night talking or can I get some help here?" Catherine snapped.

Nick winced. "What's up, Cath?"

"Right now, we've got a busted pair of glasses, some fingerprints, and a lot of electrical damage that doesn't seem to be caused by an electrical fire. You tell me." Catherine handed over the glasses. "There's some residue on those, too. I don't know what it is."

"I'm on it." Nick took the glasses and headed off.

"You want me to run the prints?" Warrick offered.

"Yeah. I've got first names on two people who might be involved--Willow and Andrew. See if you can come up with anything close to that."

Warrick watched Catherine storm out and got to work.

A few minutes later he blinked in surprise at the ease of the hit off the print. “Andrew Wells.” He said to himself as he read the file. His eyes widened in surprise as he read the file. “Destruction of public property, felony burglary, accessory-felony homicide…” He printed the picture and file out and went to find Catherine.

*****

Catherine’s eyes scanned the file quickly. “That’s him alright. Though I wouldn’t have suspected the fainter to have anything this hardcore in his jacket.”

“Fainter?” Warrick asked.

“He wasn’t really the hardcore criminal type.” Catherine shrugged. “Why isn’t there any follow up investigation in these files?”

“You got me.”

"Can we contact Sunnydale and find out?"

Warrick snorted. "Cath, you have got to get out of the lab more often. Don't you remember? Sunnydale fell into the ground last year? Big explosion type thing?"

"The whole town?" Catherine blinked.

"Yeah. Big mystery; no one's ever been able to figure out what happened."

"What do you want to bet that our Miss Willow came from Sunnydale too?" Catherine asked thoughtfully.

Warrick shrugged. "Her prints aren't on file."

*****

"Old Stuff, LTD..." Greg hit enter on the search engine and waited. "Nope. Nothing."

"It's not in the actual phone book, either," Grissom said, flipping it shut. "A few Flannigans listed, a few Flannigan, Gs listed, but no Guy Flannigan."

"Not surprising," Greg said thoughtfully. "He probably set up shop to lure in Giles and then shut down. Which makes me wonder..." He frowned, scrubbing a hand under the baseball cap Gris had given him. "What if the book wasn't the target? What if Giles was?"

Grissom nodded thoughtfully. “Why don’t you do a search on him too, see if we hit something that sparks our interests.”

Greg was already furiously tapping away on the keyboard. “Hrmm. The most likely thing is an out of date webpage for a place called ‘The Magic Box’. It says it was in Sunnydale, which makes sense because that’s where Andrew used to live.”

Grissom peered over Greg’s shoulder, “Does it give a first name?”

Greg nodded, slightly thrown by the heat of another body. He shook his head, trying to clear the aftereffects once more and began typing again. “Rupert Giles… No hits in AFIS… I don’t think trying anything more worldly is a good idea…” He faded off as he got absorbed in the task.

Grissom didn’t move as he watched the screen intently.

“Well, if it isn’t Laurel and Hardy.” Catherine’s cool voice startled them both.

"Catherine," Grissom said, straightening up. "How's the processing going?"

"Interesting." She handed him a printout. "Did you know your cousin has a record, Greg?"

He winced. Now was not the time to even try and explain. "He fell in with a bad crowd," he said weakly. "He's straightened out now."

"Mm-hmm. What's with the baseball cap?" Catherine tapped the bill lightly. "Everything okay with you?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Andrew just spilled some soda in my hair and I'd rather not have to explain..." Greg's voice trailed off as Catherine pulled the cap off his head.

"Greg, your hair is white," she said in disbelief.

Greg stuttered momentarily before grasping onto the first thing that came into his mind. “I needed a change.”

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “Between the hotel room and here?”

Putting on his best confused look wasn’t terribly hard at that moment in time. “What?”

“Your hair was not white at the hotel.” Catherine’s voice was firm.

“Um, was too.” Greg jumped back as the baseball cap was thrown at him.

“Catherine,” Grissom stepped up, trying to distract her, “did you find anything else?”

"I don't think we should be talking about this in front of him." Catherine crossed her arms over her chest. "He's personally involved in the case."

Greg tugged the cap back on over his hair and wished he could just sink under the desk, out of sight.

"All right," Grissom said, surprising both of them. "Greg, why don't you go back to the hotel and check on your cousin and Willow?"

"Ah--yeah. Okay. Sure." Greg scrambled to his feet and fled.

*****

He stopped in the hallway. "Damn," he whispered, realizing he had to go find the evidence before he could leave...which meant that he was probably going to run into Nick and/or Warrick.

"I could really strangle you, Andrew," he muttered, heading for Nick's space.

"Hey G, what's up? I thought you took off for the night." Nick greeted him cheerfully.

He shrugged, trying to look casual. “Took care of what I needed to do more quickly than I thought I would.” Greg sauntered to the table. “Heard you caught an interesting one," he said as off-handedly as he could manage. "Mind if I take a look?"

"Sure, go ahead. All we've got so far is a pair of glasses, some prints, and a lot of swabs that look like electrical damage. Warrick's got the prints." Nick passed over the glasses and Greg snapped on a pair of gloves before picking them up.

Pain, red hot and jagged, black fire--he dropped the glasses on the table and stumbled back, hitting the wall. "Oh, Gods," he whispered, not daring to even go *near* them again.

"Hey, you okay?" Nick asked, looking worried. "What was that all about?"

"Sorry--headache--" Greg swallowed. There was bad stuff on those glasses, but it wasn't a residual taint. It was what Giles had felt as he'd gotten dragged through the portal.

He had to find a way to get them to Willow. Maybe the two of them could get past the initial reaction and use the glasses to track Giles...

His back was still pressed against the wall as he tried to get his knees unlocked when Nick came around the table with a worried look on his face. “I dunno G, you went pretty pasty there, sure you’re not coming down with something?” He reached out to offer him a hand.

Instinctively Greg shied away from the touch, moving sideways and then around. “No—its fine—just a headache really.” He moved back to the table, but at the farthest point away from the glasses. He braced himself on the solid surface, because he still wasn’t sure if his legs were going to hold him. “Found anything interesting?”

Nick eyed him warily before moving back to the table. He picked up a specimen collector. “Was about to collect some of this gooey substance.”

Greg nodded absently; the realization that there were probably numerous small bits and pieces of that hotel room being analyzed had his mind reeling. He watched Nick seal the container. “I’ll take that to trace if you want,” he volunteered, seeing an opportunity.

Nick blinked at him. “Sure.” He stretched the word out, eyeing Greg.

Ok, so maybe his eager puppy bit was a little much. He took off his gloves and offered an open hand, just wanting to get as far away from those glasses as possible.

But Nick was staring at him funny. “Where’d you get that hat, Greg?”

"Oh. Um. Gris lent it to me. Bad hair day." Greg ducked his head sheepishly and reached for the container.

"Uh huh. Can't be that bad. Your *normal* hair days are bad enough." Nick grinned. "C'mon, let me see."

"You really don't want to. Trust me." Greg winced.

He reached for the container again and Nick playfully knocked the cap off his head. "What happened to you, man?" Nick asked, holding the cap. "Your hair--"

"Bad day," Greg muttered. "Really. Bad. Day."

"I've heard of premature gray, but this is ridiculous." Nick shook his head slowly. "Here, go take this to trace, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay." He shoved the cap back on his head and headed out the door. Maybe he had a spare bandana in his locker or something, because this was just getting ridiculous.

*****

Greg peered through the window to Trace and mentally winced as he saw Hodges hunched over a microscope.

He thanked whatever deity that was watching over him that the sludge he was carrying only had a residual slimly feel which was quickly dispelled.

He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall briefly, God he was tired. He took a deep breath, pushed himself off the wall and went to face the beast.

“What do you want?” Hodges asked without even looking up.

Greg carefully placed the specimen on the counter and pushed, causing it slide several inches. “Gift from Nick.”

“Suck up.” Still not looking at him.

Maybe this would be easier than he thought.

"Got anything else here?" he asked.

"Does it look like I do?" Hodges said irritably. "Aside from this?" He shoved his chair back, gesturing at the fabric in front of him. "Some weird substance on here. Damn if I can figure out what."

Greg wasn't entirely surprised. Demon blood wasn't something most lab techs came across. "Can I take a look?"

Hodges snorted. "Sucking up to everyone tonight, aren't you? Yeah, sure."

Greg pulled on a glove and touched the fabric gently. Same residual flash, same black fire and agony, but it was fainter now, muted. He was able to step back without falling on his ass. "I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "

"Yeah. Whatever." Hodges turned back to his microscope, clearly dismissing him.

Greg escaped out into the hall. He was exhausted from the glasses, the fabric (probably Giles's shirt, he thought), and everything else and wanted nothing more than to go *home* and sleep for a day.

"What are you still doing here, Greg?" Catherine asked.

So much for that idea. Before he could open his mouth to answer, the world tilted and his balance fled.

Grissom appeared out of nowhere, catching him under the arms before he could hit the floor.

“Whoa.” His vision prickled with reds and greens and then faded in and out. “Not feeling so hot.” His head tilted back, hitting another body, stopping the motion and the stomach threatening swirls the world did when he moved it.

He dimly heard Grissom call for help and then the clomping of heavy feet. His legs were hoisted off the ground and his vision grayed again. “God, don’t move me.” But whoever had him didn’t listen and he clung to the arms around him until finally being settled onto something long and cushy and best of all, not moving.

They didn’t leave him alone for long; someone soon pried his clenched eyes open and his eyes flinched back at the incredibly bright light and then, thankfully, it was gone again. He curled onto his side and held onto the nearest surface for dear life.

“Greg?” Grissom’s voice floated somewhere over his face. “Greg, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

"Too much," he mumbled, moving one incredibly heavy arm over his eyes. "Overload."

"Do you need a doctor?"

"Of course he needs a doctor!" Catherine said incredulously. "Look at him, Gris!"

Greg shook his head and immediately wished he hadn't. He clenched his jaw, trying not to throw up. "Willow," he managed. "Get Willow."

"Okay. We will. Just lie there, okay, Greg?" Grissom sounded concerned and Greg would have been touched if he hadn't felt so sick.

Apparently, the slimy residue hadn't completely gone away after all. He curled himself into a little ball on the couch (at least, he thought it was the couch), trying to breathe without puking.

He'd never felt anything like this before. It was like slime and mud and all sorts of disgusting things, covering him, smothering him until each breath he took was tainted by it. Added to it was the sheer energy and emotional overload he'd been through already, leaving him trembling and sweating on the couch, caught in a rapidly spiraling vortex he couldn't find a way out of.

He had to find a way to control this before it--he--exploded. Blowing up the DNA lab was one thing, but this...this would be Bad. Very Bad.

“Willow!” Catherine shouted. “Let me get this straight, Greg nearly passes out in the hallway, is lying there, obviously sick and we decide what? That all he needs is a good hand holding from a friend?”

Greg winced as the anger hit him like an almost physical blow. God, why did Catherine have to be a projector? This was why he’d stopped, because once he started, opened up, it all crashed in. This one afternoon he’d learned more about the people he worked with than he’d learned in his previous years. Of course, knowing your colleagues’ psychic makeup wasn’t always a good thing.

Just as he was getting his head on straight, another swirl of darkness swiped by him like broken glass. He took a shallow breath and the smell of rotting corpses and sewage filled his nose and mouth and this time his stomach cramped and his back muscles bunched as he tried to hold back a heave.

Large, gentle hands titled him and he heard the hollow echo of a receptacle in front of his face and he stopped fighting.

He didn’t breathe for a long time, his body shaking and twitching and spasming in a brave effort to expel what it could not. Finally, he stopped and collapsed in a heap, his head landing on something firm but yielding.

A hand stroked through his hair and with it came a calm wave of something that cut through some of the turmoil; white warmth bathed his bleeding wounds, stemming the tide of bitter black sludge that threatened to drown him.

He heard quiet murmurings above his head before something cool and wet touched his lips. "It's just water," Gris said, holding the glass to his mouth. "Can you drink some?"

Water was good. He managed to swallow some, fighting back the heaves that wanted to wrack his body. "Thanks," he whispered, his voice cracked and hoarse.

"Warrick and Nick went to go get Willow. She'll be here soon." Grissom's hand--it had to be Grissom--was still stroking through his hair, giving him an anchor. Something that didn't feel like raw sewage and death. "Just take it easy, Greg."

He was so solid. So calm and solid and *there*--Greg couldn't remember the last time he'd met someone as centered as Grissom. He clung to that feeling, wrapping it around him like a blanket. It wasn't enough to get rid of the darkness, but it was enough to keep him from throwing up again. At least, for the moment.

The stabbing pain behind his eyes receded a bit. He wasn't about to try opening his eyes, but at least he didn't feel like his head was going to fall off if he moved it. Unfortunately, with the lessening of pain came the realization that he was lying on the couch with his head in his boss’s *lap*, and said boss was petting his hair like...

Greg groaned.

"Greg?" Grissom sounded concerned. Not upset, not like he was wondering why he was caught in this ungodly mess, just...concerned. "What's wrong now?"

Wrong? Was something wrong? No. Of course not. Everything was peachy. “Um… nothing new.” But even as he said it, the breaker in the waves was being slowly worn away and it could easily be another 20 minutes before Willow showed and the black claw was already pressing into his sternum.

With a great effort he lifted his head off of Grissom’s lap, momentarily losing his balance as Grissom’s hand slipped away from his hair and moved behind his shoulders to help him up.

“You should probably stay laying down.” Gris commented blandly, shifting his grip as Greg leaned into his shoulder.

“Probably.” Greg agreed eyes still clenched shut. “But I need to ask a favor.”

“Okay.”

“I need you to help me.” Greg explained. “And I need you to trust me.”

Grissom was silent for what felt like forever and Greg contemplated just sliding back down and leaving it to chance.

When Grissom finally spoke, his voice sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet space. “What do I have to do?” He asked.

The whirring in his ears, still nearly drowned out the response. Greg nodded slowly. “You’re a righty?”

”Excuse me?”

“You’re right handed?” Greg pressed, getting desperate, too many more wasted minutes and he wouldn’t be able to concentrate enough to do what he was planning.

“Yes.”

“Give me your hand. The right one.” The arm on his shoulder shifted again, settling at his waist, Greg twisted so his back was to Grissom’s side, his legs stretched out on the couch. He took the hand, his fingers felt like blocks of ice on the heated skin. “Now your left, anywhere on my torso.” He felt a tentative touch on his side, and thinking about it, he realized that their new position was probably a bit worse than when he’d been using Gris’s lap as a pillow.

He positioned the right hand, palm up, and placed his own palm down, barely in an inch away. The recognition of Grissom’s presence behind his eyes was almost instantaneous. Breaking through the barrier at his hand was like poking through tissue paper and as the edges of their energy’s touched he felt/heard/saw Grissom take a sharp breath.

“Now you just have to push….” Greg’s whisper was harsh and raw. “Just… soothe.” He amended.

The tentative feel of Gris sending to him nearly made him sob in relief. He'd been so afraid this wouldn't work...and although it was awkward and hesitant, there was enough there for him to cling to until it got steadier and stronger. Clean, white, completely untainted, it flowed into him and gave him the strength he needed to push away the darkness.

He felt the hint of concern, the curiosity, and tried to back away from that before he saw more than he meant to. The intimacy involved in this was unavoidable, but he didn't want to read his boss's mind if he could help it. Fortunately, Grissom's formidable self-control kept too much from leaking over and Greg was able to focus on the energy instead. He took a deep breath, and another, letting it wash through him.

Grissom's hand was warm on his side, fingers spread; Greg felt every point of contact, the solid strength of Grissom's body behind his, the man's pulse, beating in rhythm with his own. It had been so long since he'd done this he'd forgotten how hyper-aware it made him, how attuned he was to Grissom now, and it was that more than anything else that made him need to end the flow.

It wouldn't get rid of the taint, but at least now he wasn't going to collapse or explode before Willow showed up. Reluctantly, he pulled away, gently severing the connection. "Thank you," he managed, throat dry. "That...helped. A lot."

Grissom just nodded, looking at him with that same hint of curiosity in his eyes. "I--" Greg swallowed. "I'll explain later." Assuming they all survived this.

Grissom nodded, though he didn’t need to. Greg could feel the gentle acceptance of his answer and the curiosity being stored away for later. He moved, as if to sit on his own, but his right hand felt a fractional increase in pressure and he looked down to see that their fingers had curled around one another, lacing together. He squeezed back and stopped trying to move.

They breathed together.

Greg could still feel/see/taste Grissom at the outer edges; without trying he could skim the surface and see little ripples form and fall in on themselves. He shouldn’t touch, he knew that. But it was right there, warm and surrounding him, fighting down the worst of the spikes that still existed. That was when he realized that Grissom was doing it on purpose.

"You--" It took him two tries to speak. "You don't have to do that," he said at last.

"I know."

But Grissom didn't pull away. "Lie down," he said gently. "You're still white as a sheet."

"I shouldn't. I'm okay now. Well, better. I mean--" Greg sighed.

"Lie down," Grissom repeated, and Greg didn't have the energy to refuse. He curled up on the couch, head in Grissom's lap again, feeling Grissom stroke his hair, warmth and safety surrounding him.

Their right hands were still tangled together and Greg realized it might have something to do with the fact that he was clenching it like a life line. He tried to pry his fingers away, but only succeeded in pulling the hand closer and tucking it into his chest.

“Is it always like that? Whatever it is you did?” Grissom’s quiet voice flowed into him.

He’d felt the question before the words had even started to form. “It’s always different.”

Greg mumbled. “Every person is different.” He held back a small moan as Grissom figured out how to harmonize with him, tweaking their energies into song. “Every combination is different.” He finished with a gasp.

Resonance built and grew for a time, until Greg abruptly cut them off. Grissom reflexively shuddered and pulled Greg up, his free hand migrating from Greg’s hair to his face, brushing against it with the back of his knuckles.

“…sorry…” Greg murmured, leaning into the touch, his lips ghosting over the back of Grissom’s hand.

Grissom’s understanding wafted around him. “…my fault…” he whispered.

Greg made a sound of agreement. It came from the back of his throat, a deep hum that vibrated through him. “…definitely…” Their foreheads touched, temple to temple. “Gris…” He started, ready to warn, but a swirl of Grissom swelled into him stopping the thought in its tracks. “…oh…” he gasped, his head tilting further into Grissom.

He felt Grissom’s lips scant millimeters from him and he leaned in, ghosting their noses, an almost nuzzle. A crackle of connection sparked and they were drawn together, lips brushing softly.

They pressed their lips together, moving slowly. The kiss was tender for a few seconds before turning open mouthed and greedy, their tongues stroking, sending a shudder through them both. Greg finally released Gris’s hand and brought both of them up fisting them into Grissom’s shirt, needing to hold onto something.

Grissom’s arm wrapped around him while his other hand buried in his hair, tilting his head and the new angle allowed Grissom to lean into him and kiss him long and hard and messy. The slick pull of Gris’s lips warmed him inside and out, nibbling at his edges. They pushed and pulled into each other, his tongue thrusting into Greg’s mouth rhythmically matched the pulsing of the energy around him.

Have to stop, have to stop, have to stop. Greg threw the thought at Grissom even as matched the kiss movement for movement, his body arching into him and pulling him down on the couch.

Grissom pulled his mouth away and Greg gasped in both relief and loss, but it was only so Grissom could work his way down Greg's throat, mouth hot against his skin. "We--oh, God--we have to stop--Gris--" Greg gave up on speaking and let his head fall back. "Oh..."

Teeth grazed his skin and then Grissom let him go, looking a little flushed himself. "Not now," he said huskily, sitting up. "You're right. We--we have to stop."

Greg blinked and pushed himself upright. His lips felt swollen and his body thrummed with energy, both his and Grissom's. But--"Not now?" he repeated. "Is that--I mean--"

Before Grissom could answer, the door swung open and three people walked in. Nick, looking confused, Warrick, also looking like he was short a few answers, and Willow, who made a beeline straight for Greg. "What happened?" she asked immediately.

"Overload," he said. "And--" he glanced around, but neither Nick nor Warrick looked inclined to move. "I touched something I shouldn't have."

She crouched next to the couch, chewing her lower lip. "What was it?"

"I'm not sure. Either the glasses, or..." Greg rubbed his forehead. "It might have been the part of the shirt."

"His?"

Greg nodded. "All I got were flashes, though. Nothing more than bad stuff."

Willow looked worried. "How bad?"

"Um. Black fire agony screaming bad?"

Willow swallowed. "Did it get you?"

"I'm okay for now."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Greg glanced at Grissom and tried not to blush. "I'll be okay until later."

"Okay." Willow glanced between him and Grissom and grinned. "Oh, that's so sweet!"

"Did I miss something?" Nick said to Warrick.

"Man, I think we both did. Someone want to explain what's going on here?" Warrick asked.

"I need to see the glasses. And the shirt. And anything else you've got," Willow said to Grissom.

He nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

"Whoa! You're going to let a civilian look at crime scene evidence? Gris, that's illegal!" Nick protested.

"It's an unusual case. Consider her an expert consultant."

"In what?" Warrick asked.

"Ritualized killings," Willow supplied.

"We don't even have a body," Nick protested.

"So either I'm here to help you find one or prevent there from *being* one." Willow smiled brightly. "Either way, it's a win-win situation for you."

"What kind of credentials do you have?" Warrick asked skeptically.

She wrinkled her nose. "Years of field experience."

“Yeah, but from which side of the law?” Nick asked.

“Now you’re just being a big downer.” Willow frowned at Nick before turning back to Grissom. “So, think I can get a look at those things?”

Grissom nodded. “Warrick, Nick, can you gather the pieces into one of the work spaces? We’ll come and find you in a minute.”

Warrick and Nick both looked confused, but left, holding in their questions for now.

When they were gone Willow turned back to both of them. “You really okay?”

"As long as I don't try to do anything really insane, like stand up, I'm fine," Greg said ruefully. His legs were still doing their liquid jello impression and he felt decidedly wobbly.

"The energy transfer didn't help?"

"It did. Before that I couldn't even *sit* up. Kept heaving." Greg rubbed his forehead. "Look, you and Gris go look at the evidence. I'll be here."

"I don't want to leave you alone," Grissom said.

"I'll be okay, really."

Willow shook her head. "He's right. I can feel it on you and if we leave you alone it might come back."

"It's sentient?" Greg's voice nearly squeaked.

She shook her head again. “No more than a really smart animal trying to survive.”

Greg made a face. “Oh good. Because that’s really comforting.”

Willow patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, anything I can do to help is too involved to really do here.” She looked at Grissom. “If you can control that thing you’re doing, he should be okay for now.” She winked at them.

This time Greg did blush even as he realized that while Grissom had stopped actively ‘pinging’ him, there was still a soothing trickle keeping him sane.

Grissom nodded solemnly, a telltale flush on his face as well.

Greg blinked at the pinked skin stupidly as Grissom wrapped an arm around him and asked, “Are you ready?”

For what? Oh. Right. Standing. He was lifted with surprising ease and held against Grissom until he found his own legs were solid. He felt a surge of warmth before he was slowly let go.

“Can you make it to the evidence?” Grissom asked quietly.

Greg took a tentative step and was impressed when he didn’t fall flat on his face. “Maybe.” He took another step, the world feeling a little wobbly but stable enough for now. “Just don’t go too far away.”

"I won't." Grissom slipped one arm around his waist and didn't seem inclined to remove it.

He supposed they had to make an odd picture, walking through the halls--himself, half-supported by Grissom, and Willow, torn between wanting to rush ahead and wanting to make sure he was all right. But they made it without garnering too many strange looks, finding Nick and Warrick in one of the spare labs.

"Whoa, Greg--what happened to you?" Warrick asked.

Greg realized he'd forgotten to put the baseball cap back on and winced. "Bottle of peroxide...bad day...don't ask."

Warrick gave him a strange look but didn't push it.

"Here's everything we got," Nick said, clearly thinking his boss had gone insane. "I've got no idea how you're going to find a killer from this."

"Same way we do, Nick. Follow the evidence." Grissom eased Greg down in a spare seat, hand rubbing over his back before he stepped away--but not too far.

Willow pulled on a pair of gloves with the ease of long experience and walked over to the table, frowning at whatever she saw. She picked up the glasses carefully; Greg saw her pale, but no one else seemed to notice.

“I heard something about a scrap of fabric?” She asked.

Nick picked up a small brown envelope. “Here you go.” He said and tossed it in her direction.

Willow carefully spilled the contents into her hand, closed her eyes and took a few shaky breaths. “Yeah, this was Giles’s.”

"How--" Nick sputtered. "What, you were *there*?" Nick looked confused. “And who’s Giles?”

She ignored him and turned to Grissom and Greg. "Well, at least now we have a place to start."

“The body we’re hoping we don’t find.” Grissom answered Nick.

Willow looked grave. “Let me just take a quick look through the rest of this stuff.”

Greg watched Willow slowly separate the evidence into two uneven piles. Most of the electrical damage was pushed away. Only three other samples were added to the pile with the glasses and the fabric swatch.

"What's so special about these?" Warrick asked, reaching for the glasses.

And Greg panicked "Don't--" He reached for them, not wanting Warrick to touch them. Only it didn't work quite the way he'd hoped. His hand brushed Warrick's, which was bad enough, but then they both hit the glasses and he had that searing flash of fire and pain and the echoes of someone screaming again and fell back into darkness.

When he blinked his eyes open, he was lying on the floor, head in Grissom's lap, with Nick and Willow staring at him. Warrick looked more than a bit freaked, and Greg thought vaguely that he'd never seen a black man with skin quite that color before.

Grissom’s fingers combed through his hair and Greg had a vague notion that he should probably check a mirror sometime soon. But that thought floated away as he felt the small trickle from Grissom wrap around him.

Greg closed his eyes and reflexively leaned into the touch before looking at Willow. “He’s… sensitive…” He whispered.

Willow’s eyes widened in comprehension. “Oh!” She turned to Warrick, “Are you okay?”

He nodded. "Don't ask me, ask him," he said, nodding at Greg.

"I'll be fine." Greg struggled to sit up, but only succeeded in slumping back down against Grissom. It was really unfair, he thought, that the man felt so good.

"We should get him out of here," Willow said, kneeling next to Greg. "Too much...stuff, and he's been wide open since, well, everything." She wrinkled her nose. "Poor thing."

Grissom nodded. "I take it the hotel room is not a good idea?"

“Bad idea.” Willow confirmed. “The spawn of two bad ideas… if you know… ideas could get married and procreate…” She got this mad, far away look. “Which, all things considered, I wouldn’t be surprised if THAT happened before…” She trailed off.

Everyone in the room shifted uncomfortably.

Greg felt Grissom shift beneath his head.

“Arms around my neck, Greg.” Grissom said before he sent another soft burst.

Greg lifted his arms and clung as he was shifted into a sitting position.

“Bend the legs.” His arms wound around his way around Greg’s waist. “Now push up.”

The world spun sickeningly as he stood, only Grissom's support keeping him from falling on his nose. "Take it easy," Grissom said, carefully sending him strength through the link. "Can you stand on your own yet?"

"I--don't know." Greg swallowed, hating to admit it and knowing it was the truth.

"Okay. We're not in a hurry here."

And he knew that was a lie, but for the moment he was willing to just stand there and soak in the strength and support Grissom was giving him.

"What the hell?!"

Greg jumped at the sound of Catherine's voice, tried to pull away, and nearly fell flat on his face. Grissom caught him again, one arm firmly around his waist and the other holding his upper arm, keeping him upright by sheer physical presence.

“Hi, Catherine was it?” Willow butted in, stepping between them and giving Greg a buffer for Cath’s overflow of emotion.

“You gonna be all right?” Nick had sidled up next to them.

“Um… yeah. I just need some time.” Greg began to carefully separate himself from Grissom just enough so they didn’t resemble Siamese twins.

Catherine was seething, and Greg didn’t really blame her.

“I came in here to ask why our suspect is sleeping in the lobby chairs.” Cath’s hands were firmly planted on her hips and she was blocking the door.

Greg firmly believed she’d do a fair linebacker imitation if they decided to just run.

"Suspect?" Willow looked dumbfounded. "You mean Andrew?" She started giggling, hiding her hand behind her mouth. "Oh, Goddess," she said, wiping tears from her eyes. "Please. You can't be serious. He's sleeping out there because I dragged him along when I came to check on Greg."

"Uh huh." Catherine wasn't buying it.

"And since no one's actually been *arrested*, and Greg is about to fall over, and I'm sure you have *much* more important things to do than stand around looking all fierce and stuff, we're just going to get out of here now." Willow flashed Catherine a bright smile. "C'mon, Greg. Can you walk?"

“Think so.” Greg said while taking an experimental step. Grissom came with him, not letting go.

Catherine didn’t move. “Yes, no one’s been arrested. But we found those prints at a crime scene and those prints brought up a rap sheet that you should have sent directly to Brass. That young man should be in an interrogation room right now.” Catherine nodded in Willow’s direction. “And so should she.”

Willow tilted her head and looked Catherine up and down. “Don’t get me wrong, the fierce look on you? Kinda hot. But we really need to get going.”

Greg heard Nick and Warrick choke back a snort of laughter; he even felt a wave of amusement coming from Grissom. He had to admit, it was kinda funny.

"Catherine, I'm taking Greg home," Grissom said. "I'll have my pager if you need me."

She stared at him in disbelief. "But--"

"Until anyone's been arrested, we're not staying here. And you really don't have enough for that." Willow smiled. "I know a lot of lawyers."

"I just bet you do," Catherine said, eyeing Willow narrowly.

"Granted, most of them are evil, but I guess that comes with the territory." Willow shrugged. "Still doesn't stop them from being good lawyers. Unless that's an oxymoron. Anyway. C'mon, Greg. Let's get you somewhere not here before you fall over and Grissom has to carry you out. Not that that wouldn't be cute, because it totally would, but I don't think he'd appreciate it."

As she spoke, she was guiding them toward the door, as inexorable as the tide. Greg was too dazed and battered to do anything other than follow, Grissom's arm around his waist the only thing keeping him moving. They were gone before Catherine had a chance to say or do anything else.

As they walked slowly but determinedly down the hallway Hodges came at them from the other direction, barreling down on them like a determined dog.

“Oh great.” Greg muttered. Train Wreck. Twelve O’clock.

“Grissom! I could have figured out what that substance was, you didn’t have to send Nick to collect it.” Hodges was pacing them and inching in on their space.

Greg curled into himself as sharp spikes of Hodges attacked him.

The hand on Greg’s waist worked under the edge of his shirt and the soft pad of Grissom’s fingers soothed against his skin.

“I wasn’t punishing you.” Gris’s voice was terse and dismissive.

“I just needed a few more minutes,” Hodges pushed.

It was like a brillo pad against his brain. A small pathetic sound escaped from the back of his throat and he felt Gris’s arm tighten around him, his whole hand slipping under his shirt, fitting itself, warmly against his waist.

"We'll talk about it later," Gris said shortly. Hodges opened his mouth again and Gris gave him a Look. "Later, I said."

Hodges grumbled and stalked off, the jagged edges of his aura receding as he left the hall. Greg sagged against Grissom, pathetically grateful for the warm hand on his waist and the solid presence at his side.

"Come on," Gris said quietly, thumb stroking over Greg's skin. "Let's get you out of here before you fall over again."

The way he felt at the moment, that wasn't such a far-off possibility. Fortunately, they made their way to the lobby without further incident and collected Andrew, who was sleepy and groggy enough not to ask questions.

"Where are we going?" Greg asked as Grissom eased him into the seat of the SUV.

"My place."

"Oh." Greg didn't bother asking why. It was too good to just rest his head against the window and let himself drift.

He heard some subdued voices and was sort of aware when the car stopped briefly and there were two muffled clicks and thumps indicative of car doors opening and closing. He faded out again because next thing he knew, Grissom was shaking his arm gently.

“Come on Greg, time to get up.”

He cracked his eyes open and blinked at the glare of the streetlights. Never more grateful that he worked the nightshift, it took him several seconds to realize that Andrew and Willow weren’t with them.

He waited for Grissom to come around to his side of the car before asking.

“I dropped them off at their car, they’re going to your place to pick up clothes and supplies.” Grissom grasped his forearm and pulled him out of the car, braced Greg against his side as he closed and locked the vehicle. “She said they’d call when they were on their way.”

"Okay." Greg stumbled on his way into the townhouse and was barely aware of Gris easing him down onto the couch.

"What do you need, Greg?" Gris asked, sitting down and shifting Greg so his head was in Grissom's lap. "What's going on?"

He shook his head, feeling the fabric of Grissom's pants against his cheek. "Just... need… sleep. Build up my barriers again. Shower, maybe."

"You can't shower alone. You'd drown." Gris sounded almost... affectionate, and Greg felt the warmth and the amusement in his voice and shivered.

"Would not," he managed, trying to sit up and failing.

"Greg, you can barely sit up, let alone stand. I'm not letting you take a shower by yourself until you're more recovered." Grissom stroked his hair gently, his touch soothing and strengthening.

"You can stop that," Greg said reluctantly. "You don't need to--" Gris sent him a pulse of energy, not entirely platonic, and Greg abruptly forgot how to speak. "Gris--you--"

“Shhh,” Grissom soothed.

“You--” Another wave wrapped around him before he could get the words out. “Oh.” The words caught in the back of his throat and his eyes rolled back. “Really-- Gris--” He felt a hand travel from his hair down the side of his face leaving ripples behind. It stroked down to his stomach where it curled over his own hand, mimicking their earlier position in Grissom’s office.

"I--Gris, wait--don't--" Greg knew he sounded like an idiot, but he couldn't seem to manage more than one-syllable words. It took all the strength he had to pull away. "Energy transfer can--can have side effects, and--" Grissom's other hand caressed his throat, fingers resting lightly over his pulse. "And--I don't--I mean--"

"Greg." Grissom sounded amused, and certain, and there was such a wave of warmth and *want* in his voice that Greg shut up. "I'm not going to regret this. And I'm not going to do anything you don't want. Besides," he said, thumb smoothing over Greg's throat, "you're too drained to do anything. Just come here, okay?"

This was just too weird. Greg was pretty sure he'd fallen into an alternate dimension somewhere along the line, because that was the only way to explain all this. Numb, he let Grissom tug him into his lap, his head resting on Grissom's shoulder and Gris's arms around him. "Just relax," Gris said quietly, and the wave of comfort that surrounded him made tears prick behind his eyes. "You're safe here."

"This is too weird," Greg mumbled. "I think I fell down the rabbit hole."

"Should I call you Alice?"

Greg lifted his head to glare at Gris, who was looking as serene as a Buddha statue. "You--why are you being so cool about this?" he asked.

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." Grissom smiled a little. "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle said that."

"I read Sherlock Holmes," Greg admitted.

"I saw Willow's hair. I saw your hair. I feel this between us." That was emphasized with a soft swell of energy. "What else can I do but trust in the evidence?"

And that was just so Grissom that Greg started laughing, knowing it was tinged with hysteria but unable to stop.

Until Grissom kissed him.

His mouth was soft and warm and inviting, the beard faintly rough against Greg's skin. "Oh," Greg said faintly, and Grissom kissed him again, deeper, longer, his hand sliding into Greg's hair and holding him close.

Greg wrapped his arms tightly around Grissom holding on while something frissioned between them. He could only feel warmth and want and need with an undercurrent of electricity that felt incredible. He moaned around the kiss and searched for Gris’s right hand. He grasped it firmly, dimly aware that it was the stupid way to do it, and for the first time since Grissom’s office, he purposefully reached out past that tissue thin barrier.

Grissom gasped against his lips and twined their fingers tightly. Greg entered smoothly, this time pulsing against Grissom before gently wrapping around him with want.

He drew back just enough to see Grissom's face--eyes glittering, dark with lust, his whole expression intent with desire and need and so focused on him Greg swallowed. "I shouldn't have--"

That was all he got before Grissom pressed him back against the couch, mouth hot and demanding, all over his mouth, his jaw, nibbling kisses down the side of his throat. One hand caught Greg's wrists and pressed them over his head; the other slid under his shirt, stroking over smooth, warm skin.

"Consider this a promise," Gris said huskily. "For later."

Greg swallowed again. "But--you--I mean--and I--"

"I'm not just doing this because of this," Gris said, sending a gentle pulse through the link. "I'm doing this because of you." He kissed Greg gently and let go of his wrists. "But you're exhausted, and drained, and it wouldn't be fair to either of us to continue this now."

He stood up and held out a hand, lifting Greg to his feet. "You need to sleep," he said, his free hand stroking over Greg's face. "And I happen to have a bed."

Greg was so confused and dazed that he followed along meekly as Gris led him to the bedroom and got him settled, stripping off his shoes and socks and jeans and tucking him under the covers. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked.

"Please?" It came out more tentatively than he'd meant.

Gris smiled. "Okay." He kicked off his own shoes and stretched out next to Greg, one arm wrapping around his waist. "And Greg?"

"Mmm?" Greg was already half-asleep.

Gris kissed his neck. "My name is Gil."

*****

Willow slid the car into park and checked the address Grissom had given her one last time. “Come on Andrew, let’s go.”

Greg’s apartment door opened easily with the key Grissom had fished out of Greg’s pockets.

Looking around, Willow spotted a knitted afghan slung over the end of the couch. “You can sleep there.” She pointed it out to Andrew. “I get the bed.”

Andrew looked at her confused. “But I thought we were just gonna pick some stuff up.”

Willow started checking doors, looking for one with a bed behind it. “I can’t do anything until I nap. And I despite Mr. Grissom being incredibly reasonable, I don’t think he’d appreciate us crashing at his place.” Ah ha! One queen size bed, complete with sheets. “Besides,” she murmured to herself. “They practically screamed ‘We need alone time.’”

“What?” Andrew’s voice called from the living room.

“Nothing, go to sleep Andrew so I don’t have to hear you whine about how tired you are later when we’re running for our lives.” She ducked out of the bedroom, threw a pillow at Andrew and climbed into bed.

*****

Greg woke up slowly, feeling a soft warm blanket over him and a solid warm body behind him. Gris--Gil, he corrected himself--had one arm thrown over his waist and a leg tangled with his own. He tested his barriers carefully and was pleased to see that they'd come back most of the way, although his link with Gil seemed to have faded while they slept.

Slowly, he tried to extricate himself from Gil's hold, only to have Gil's arm tighten around his waist. "Don't go," Gil murmured against his back. "I like you here."

"I didn't want to bother you," he admitted.

"You'd only bother me if you left." A soft kiss against the back of his neck and Greg's eyes fell shut. "Tell me something, Greg," Gil said quietly.

"Hmm?"

"How much trouble is this situation?"

Greg sighed. "I don't know. A lot." Greg relaxed into the body behind him, relishing the small pleasure. “I’m not really the one to ask, but from what I’ve heard I know I’d be peeing in my pants if I knew the whole story.”

Gil’s lips brushed against the side of his neck. “Tell me what you do know.”

Greg had to wait for the lips to recede before he swallowed and tried to find enough spit to answer. “What I do know? I know that a lot of myths and legends have a stronger grain of truth to them than most people give them credit for.” He sucked in a startled breath as Gil’s tongue traced a wet path around the edge of his ear.

“Ah.” Greg cleared his throat. “Willow said something about Pandora’s box--” His breath caught as Gil gently sucked on his earlobe. “--Pandora’s box and since the story ends with plagues and war and death and doom? I think there’s something very bad going on.” He finished in a rush, eyes fluttering closed to enjoy the sensation.

"What about Giles?" Gil's hand worked its way up under his shirt, smoothing over his stomach, his chest, one finger flicking over his nipples.

"Ah--" Greg swallowed, arching into Gil's hand. "He--he's kind of everyone's mentor, I guess. Older guy. British. Knows a lot." Gil's teeth scraped over his neck and Greg gasped, head falling back.

"So it's a bad thing that he's missing."

"Y-yeah." How did Gil expect him to think when he kept doing things like this? The leg between his own pressed against him, Gil's thigh settling *right* where he wanted it and he made a soft high noise.

"Focus, Greg," Gil murmured. "Focus."

He tried to twist away, out of Gil's arms, but Gil held him securely and he couldn't go anywhere. Not, he admitted, that he really wanted to. "I--yeah. It's bad that he's missing. We--we should contact Willow."

"She called earlier," Gil told him. "She and Andrew crashed at your apartment. They'll be by later."

"Oh." That came out a bit higher than he wanted, although Gil's fingers playing with his nipple might have had something to do with that.

“You ready to tell me what that was?” Gil asked.

“What ‘what’ was?” Greg asked, trying to concentrate on something other than Gil’s hand. Because if he didn’t, he was pretty sure speech would be a fond memory.

“That thing you did in my office,” Gil elaborated, punctuating it with another kiss to the back of the neck.

The thing in the-- oh! Right. The office. The thing that had started out like he’d been taught, like he’d done a handful of times before and then had quickly spiraled into something bigger and different. Of course, every time was different, Greg knew that. Energy was as unique as fingerprints. The taste of it, the smell of it, the feel.

“Everyone calls it something different.” Greg began. “Everyone perceives it differently. We as people are more than just the sum of our parts. There’s something intangible, just beneath the surface.”

He felt Gil nod, nuzzling behind his ear. “What I did was…” He trailed off, momentarily distracted.

“Go on Greg.”

Gil’s voice was low and husky in his ear. He shuddered before continuing. “Energy, I guess is the best word for it, though I hate using it because it’s been corrupted by commercialization and New Age hacks. I tapped you because… well… because you were so easy to tap…”

“Is this something I should worry about?” Gil asked.

Greg shook his head. “No, I should have said that you were easy for *me* to tap. You were just… there. And you were… warm.” His face heated as he realized what he’d just said.

“Warm?” Gil chuckled low and deep.

“Like I said,” Greg went on, slightly embarrassed. “Everyone sees, hears, smells and tastes it differently. I was drowning in something…” he didn’t want to think about it long enough to describe it, “really gross… and I was blasted wide open from that hotel room and you were just… there… so I set up an energy transfer.”

“But it’s more than that, right?” Gil guessed. “It’s not just energy… calories as it were, it’s… essence, a little part of the person… complete with their personality, their uniqueness.” His voice was breathless against Greg’s ear.

"Yeah." Greg swallowed. "It's--the way it feels depends on that, on how well-matched two people are."

"So what does that mean about us?" Gil asked, nuzzling Greg's jaw.

"Ah--well--it means that we match resonances well," Greg managed.

"And?"

Greg dropped his head back against Gil's shoulder. "And what?"

"What else does it mean, Greg?"

"You--" It was like a light bulb turned on. "You wanted me," he said, realization dawning. "Even before--"

"Smart boy," Gil whispered, pressing a kiss behind his jaw. "I figured you'd catch on eventually."

"You wouldn't have been that open otherwise. I mean--I should have realized--" Greg blushed. "But you--I mean--"

"I'm human too, Greg. And you're a very desirable person."

"I'm a lab rat with a music and Playstation fetish," Greg muttered under his breath.

"Greg, I race cockroaches for a hobby. I wouldn't be too concerned about geekiness."

Gil's voice was so dry, Greg couldn't help but laugh.

"Do you feel better now?" Gil asked, still lazily petting him.

"Yeah. Thank you." Greg shifted in Gil's arms, turning to face him. "For--"

"You don't need to thank me." Gil bent his head ever so slightly and kissed him. It was gentle, soft, and then Gil pulled back. "Do you want a shower?"

Greg hummed in pleasure, letting it settle through him before opening his eyes. He blinked in surprise. “You shaved.”

Gil quirky his head and his lips twitched. He traced a finger down the side of Greg’s face. “You were getting beard burn.” He cupped Greg’s cheek. “Wouldn’t want someone to think you had some sort of rash.” He leaned in and kissed Greg again, a little longer, but just as slowly. “So, shower?”

“Umm.” Greg shook his head slightly pulling his attention back to the question. “Yeah. I’m feeling a bit grungy.”

Gil tapped him lightly on the cheek. “Bathroom’s that way.” He pointed to a doorway just across the hall from the bedroom. “Come on, try and stand up.”

Greg found himself being hauled up into the sitting position. Those insects of Gil’s must be heavier than they looked, because Gil had had been hauling him around like a rag doll most of the day.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pushed himself up. He wobbled a bit and could feel Gil’s hands hovering ready to catch him. But he steadied quickly. Straightening up the rest of the way gave him a small head rush that weakened his knees and this time Gil did wrap an arm around him. “I’m good.” He was quick to reassure.

“Maybe I just wanted to cop a feel.” Gil smiled at him.

Was that a little leer?

Greg shook his head mentally. He couldn't let himself be drawn into this. Gil said he wanted him, but... and if he thought about it too hard he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else. "Across the hall, you said?"

Gil nodded. "I'll get you some towels."

Part of Greg wanted to invite Gil to come with him. The rest of him was grateful for the chance to get his bearings. He turned the water on as hot as he could stand it and stripped, stepping under the spray and letting it drench him.

He closed his eyes, letting his tension run down the drain along with the water streaming off his body. Water was one of the oldest cleansing techniques, and one of the best. As he soaped and rinsed and washed his hair, he could *feel* the taint fading, scrubbed away by Gil's unscented soap and Suave clarifying shampoo. He wrinkled his nose at the bottle, but at least Gil had conditioner. His hair was having a bad enough day.

By the time he shut off the water, his skin was flushed pink from the water and he felt... clean, inside and out.

"Feel better?" Gil asked from the other side of the shower door.

"Gah!" Greg nearly fell over in the stall. "I didn't know you were there."

"I did say I'd get you some towels." Gil's voice was rich with amusement. "Are you going to come out?"

"Can I have a towel first?"

A thick blue towel was tossed over the door and Greg caught it, hastily rubbing himself down and tying it around his waist before sliding the door open and stepping out into the steamy bathroom.

Gil was leaning casually against the door frame, a small smile gracing his lips. “The electric razor is next to the sink if you want to shave.”

Greg nodded mutely.

“Feel free to use my comb too, it’s next to the razor.” Gil added.

Greg just nodded again and turned to the sink. He found a clean hand towel waiting for him, he used it to wipe the fog off the mirror and stared at his face. He was completely unprepared for the touch of cool fingers on his back. He spun around to find a grim looking Gil.

“I hadn’t realized there’d been scars.” Gil said quietly.

Scars? Oh. On his back. When the lab had gone boom. “Yeah.” His voice shook slightly. “Chemical burns will do that.”

Gil’s hand hadn’t moved when he’d turned and it now rested solid against his stomach. “You came back to work before they’d healed.” Gil didn’t have to ask, he knew as well as anyone they worked with the average time for things like that to heal.

Greg nodded mutely, still rather focused on the hand.

The hand slid up to his chest, fingers catching on the sparse hairs before moving to his neck and face. Gil’s thumb stroked against his cheek and Greg couldn’t help but close his eyes and lean into it.

Soft lips touched his brow and then mouthed a trail to his temple past his cheekbone. They stopped briefly under his jaw, nibbling gently. Greg gasped and his hands grasped at Gil’s shoulders. Gil moved in, closing any space left between them as his mouth finally closed over Greg’s panting lips, leg sliding into the terry cloth towel, bracing Greg in just the right way.

Long, hot wet kisses tangled them up in each other. Greg knew he should pull away; this was insane, stupid, there were so many things they had to do, they didn’t have the time to get caught up in each other. But Gil's hands were warm and firm on his back and his mouth felt so good, demanding and giving and teasing, that all Greg could do was cling to him and let the sensations wash over him.

When the phone rang, it startled them both badly. Greg jumped, his towel falling, and Gil pulled back abruptly. "Th-that's probably Willow," Greg said hoarsely.

Gil nodded. "I'll get it." He left the room; a moment later, Greg heard him speaking.

Alone in the bathroom, he closed his eyes and leaned against the counter, suddenly cold despite the lingering steam.

He dressed slowly, slipping his underwear and jeans back on like armor. His shirt was nowhere to be found; instead, there was a clean black t-shirt on the counter and a blue button down shirt on a wire hanger hanging from a hook on the door. His fingers skimmed the material, they were both soft and crisp and very *Grissom*.

He pulled the t-shirt on, surprised when it was only slightly large. He eyed the one hanging on the door, hesitating. It wasn’t his usual style, but the extra layer would be comforting. He pulled the crisp cotton down and slid it on. He left the cuffs unbuttoned and let the whole thing hang on him. He checked himself out on the mirror--between the clothes and the lack of hair gel he looked like a completely different person.

He padded out into the living room, following the sound of Gil's voice. "Yeah, we're all right now," Gil said. "Mm. Hold on, he's right over here." GIl put his hand over the phone, turning to Greg. "You all right?"

Greg nodded. "Is that Willow?"

"Yes. She wants to bring over some items and needs to know what you have and where they are. Feel up to talking to her?"

No, not really. But the whole day was such a mess to begin with—at least his hair had mostly gone back to blond, even if it was lighter than it had been and his highlights were completely gone. "Sure," he said.

"Hey, Greg, how're you doing? I took a nap in your bed, didn't think you'd mind. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm all right. Fell asleep for a bit, took a shower. What do you need?"

As they spoke about herbs and stones and other assorted items, Greg felt a hint of warmth wrap itself around him. It was shortly followed by Gil's arms around his waist and the man's chin on his shoulder.

"Okay," Willow said at last. "I'll gather up what I can, wake Sleeping Beauty over here, and we'll be over soon."

"What do we do then?" Greg asked a little apprehensively.

Willow sighed. "We try to find Giles."

“Right.” Greg said into an empty phone line. Willow had already hung up. Greg clicked the cell phone shut and sighed.

“She say how long she’d be?” Gil’s voice was hushed in his ear.

Greg shook his head. “Just said she’d be heading out soon.”

Gil took the cell phone from his hand and it disappeared somewhere, but Greg couldn’t follow it because he was being nuzzled behind his ear.

"I'm glad I kept that shirt after it shrunk," Gil murmured, hands sliding up Greg's chest. "It looks good on you."

Greg shivered, head dropping forward.

"Once this is over..." Gil pressed a gentle kiss to Greg's jaw. "And we have more time..." His teeth grazed Greg's neck. "You have no idea what I want to do with you."

Greg closed his eyes. "It's the energy," he whispered. "Isn't it? This isn't--can't be--"

Gil's arms tightened around him. "No, Greg. It's not. I won't lie and say that the energy link you created did nothing, because I wouldn't have done or said anything otherwise. But that doesn't mean I didn't want to." One last kiss to his throat and Gil stepped away. "What are we going to do once Willow and Andrew arrive?"

Greg swallowed and shook his head. "I don't know. She said we had to find Giles, but... I don't know how."

Gil nodded and started walking towards his kitchen. “Well, I may not know all the rules in what we’re dealing with, but I’m willing to bet that the immutable fact that energy is energy no matter what the form still holds true.” He was bent into is fridge, sorting through the contents. “How do you like your omelets?”

Greg blinked dumbly as he watched Gil putter around the kitchen. There was something so… hot about Gil barefoot and cooking for him.

“Well?” Gil leaned on the counter, staring at him affectionately. “Any allergies I should be aware of? Food that you find completely inedible?”

A mental shake. “Um… Onions. No onions.”

Gil grinned and went to the fridge, taking out a variety of items. Greg sank into a chair and watched him whisk eggs in a bowl, heat a pan...it all seemed so *normal*, so bizarrely routine, that he was more confused than he'd been when he was dealing with the slime trying to invade his brain.

Okay, so he'd been more sickened and revolted then, but the idea was the same.

"Earth to Greg?" Gil said, setting a plate in front of him. "You there?"

"Oh! Sorry, I guess I zoned." Greg looked down at the overstuffed omelet in front of him and blinked. "Is there anything you *didn't* put in this?"

"Onions." Gil ruffled his hair affectionately and went back to the stove. "Eat before it gets cold."

He took a bite, nearly groaning as eggs and cheese and mushrooms and peppers and tomatoes exploded with flavor on his tongue. He was halfway through the food when Gil sat down opposite him, setting a plate of toast on the table as well as his own omelet. "Hungry?" he asked with a wry smile.

"Energy work does that," Greg said, swallowing. "And this is really good."

"I'm glad you like it." Gil buttered a piece of toast and took a bite. He set it down, looking thoughtful. "I never told Willow where I live," he said slowly.

Greg snorted. "She'll find it."

"She's very powerful, isn't she?" Gil asked.

"Yeah. Probably the most powerful witch out there these days. She had some trouble, but...I think she's okay now." Greg took another bite of food.

They ate in surprisingly companionable silence, not that Greg could have said much between stuffing his face full and breathing. Despite the teasing Greg, noted that Gil was just as hungry. He was just slower at inhaling his plate.

When they were finished Gil cleaned the table, dumping everything into the dishwasher before wandering to the couch. “Come on, I think I have cable,” Gil called after him.

Greg shuffled after him and found Gil slumped into the corner of the couch, legs stretched out and balanced on the coffee table. Greg sat next to him and was enveloped in a warm hug. Greg settled against his side and was surprised to find the remote control settled into his hand.

Gil smiled at him. “Come on, let’s digest.”

Greg settled on the History Channel as an unspoken compromise and they watched in comfortable silence.

Gil’s hand settled back into his hair, stroking through with slow, lazy movements. Greg found himself holding back a purr. His own hands strayed over Gil’s chest in sedate circles.

When the knock on the door came, it startled them both. Gil kissed the top of his head and stood up. "Stay there," he mock-ordered before going to open it.

"Hi," Willow said cheerfully. "You shaved! It’s a look that works on you. Are you guys hungry? Because we ate on our way over, but we could run out and get more if you wanted. Although I'd like to put this stuff down first. Not really liking the whole "getting caught by a cop with a backpack full of arcane items including an athame and a wand" idea, especially since Blondie seems to have it in for me."

"We had food already, thanks. Come on into the living room."

Greg sat up a little straighter, watching the three of them walk in. "Hi," he said.

Willow looked at him carefully. "Well, you look a lot better than the last time I saw you, although I doubt that would have taken much. And you're cleaner, too."

"I took a shower," he said dryly.

"So not what I meant. Unless--" Willow set her bag down on the floor and crossed over to him. "Oh, you used it to do a cleansing, didn't you?"

He nodded. "Oldest and most reliable way I know."

"Worked well, too. Nothing left." She grinned. "Not so out of practice after all, are you? Which is good, cause we're going to need all the help we can get. I think I know where Giles is, and if I'm right..." She chewed her lip nervously. "It's not good."

"I kind of got that impression from the screaming agony echoes on his glasses." Greg leaned forward. "How bad is it?"

“And is he going to need a hospital when he gets back?” Gil asked.

Willow favored them with a sad look. “I’ve got some supplies, I’d rather just get into the car and back as soon as possible.” She turned to Greg, “As for how bad is it? There are some places that humans aren’t meant to go and some forms of transportation that humans aren’t meant to experience.”

Greg digest that while Willow unpacked the supplies. His eyed widened in surprise as Gil removed a dated and sealed evidence packet from his pocket.

“The swatch from the shirt,” he said shortly. “Ideally I’d rather not break the chain of evidence like this, and I’d appreciate if you didn’t destroy it, because if anyone did check it would probably be noted and logged. But we’d learn nothing from it that we couldn’t get from any of the other bits of evidence, there were two other pieces, as you noted, and I highly doubt this will lead to a trial, in any event.” Gil explained.

Willow took the packet carefully, barely touching the plastic with her fingertips. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "This will help a lot." She turned to Greg. "What we'll need to do is create a circle and then use this to go find Giles. His blood is on the shirt, so we've got a link to him. We just need to *find* him and bring him back here."

"Why do I think this won't be as easy as that?" Greg muttered.

"It never is." Willow grimaced. "Is there somewhere we can do this? Someplace with enough space to create a circle for all four of us--and yes, Andrew, that means you--and room enough *in* the circle so that if Giles shows up he won't land on someone?"

Gil nodded. "The living room should have plenty of room. We can push the furniture against the walls if it’s not big enough."

"Great." Willow picked up her bag again. "Let's go do this before I lose my nerve."

Before *she* lost her nerve? Greg swallowed nervously.

The living room was bright and open. Greg took a moment to take in the sparse conditions. Gil pushed the coffee table against the couch, leaving the floor open and waiting. There was plenty of room for four of them, and Greg was reasonably sure they wouldn't have to worry about Giles landing on anyone's head.

Assuming they got him back.

Willow set her bag down and began rummaging through it, taking out a quartz wand, salt, and a few other things Greg didn't even recognize.

Willow handed Gil a diagram, roughly sketched onto scrap paper. “It’s all labeled and you seem the type to enjoy this sort of thing.”

Gil nodded ruefully and began sorting through items.

“Greg, you help him while I sit here and try not to throw up.” Willow took a nearby chair and sat clutching at the packaged fabric before she grabbed a bowl and began preparing some sort of concoction.

Greg grabbed a piece of chalk. “I’ll draw the runes, I at least recognize most of them.”

Gil nodded absently as he began sorting through various sets of stones, incense and bone fragments.

They worked easily together, creating the odd diamond like pattern on the floor. Gil was just placing the last of the candles when Willow wandered over, carefully placing the bowl in the center.

“Everyone pick and point and sit.” Willow said, before doing just that.

Greg ended up facing Gil, with Willow on his left and Andrew on his right. He settled himself cross-legged, noticing that they were all doing the same. Gil gave him a warm look and he felt the faintest brush of energy over his body before Gil pulled back.

"Okay." Willow took a deep breath and let it out slowly, rolling her head around on her neck. "Greg and I are going treasure hunting. You're going to be his anchor," she said, pointing at Gil. "And you're going to be mine." She pointed at Andrew. That was followed by a slightly dubious look at Andrew. He looked scared out of his wits but nodded.

"What do we need to do?" Gil asked.

Willow chewed her lip, looking like she was trying to find a way to explain. "You know how you were supporting him earlier?" she asked. Gris nodded.

"Same idea. Keep him from falling too far into...well, wherever we go. There should be a connection between you two. If it starts thinning out or looking fragile, pull him back." She looked at Andrew. "Same for you." She looked thoughtful. "We're going looking for Giles, and some places...well, humans aren't meant to go there. It would be all too easy for us to get lost, or..." She swallowed. "Like I said, you'll be able to see some kind of cord or connection between yourself and Greg, or in my case, me and Andrew. You need to make sure that cord doesn't fray or break or something. If it looks like it's starting to get stretched too thin, pull on it. But *don't*, whatever you do, follow us."

They all nodded solemnly and Willow closed her eyes and settled into a trance.

Greg made eye contact with Gil, holding it hoping to convey something of the whirling emotions in his mind. He felt the power prickle over his skin as the circle was closed. Gil’s eyes widened as he got a small wafting of Willow’s Talent. Greg gave him an encouraging smile and sent out a probing tendril. He was met in the middle and the familiar feel of Gil surrounded him

“Ready?” Willow’s question interrupted his fog. She was giving both of them a knowing smile which made him blush.

"Yeah. Ready." Greg swallowed. His hands were ice-cold, but he closed his eyes, following Willow down into trance. It was easier than he'd thought it would be, and he realized that was probably due to the gentle warmth and support of Gil around him, cradling him like a blanket.

He felt Willow's presence and reached for her; she took his mental 'hand' and linked firmly, trusting to follow her lead wherever they were going. "Follow the blood," she said, her voice echoing strangely in his mind.

If he looked with more than his eyes, he saw the trail leading off from the fabric. It was murky and blackish-red with sullen sparkles of black light. He shivered inwardly; he did *not* want to follow that path. But they didn't exactly have a choice.

It was like crawling through a sewer, complete with extraneous garbage. Willow was like a bloodhound furiously zooming in on every piece of the trail. Endless black tunnels, dark sucking tentacles brushing against him, feeling colder and colder until finally he felt Willow stop. ‘There.’ He heard before he saw a darkening glimmer of light. He felt Willow reach for it and mimicked her actions, grasping onto the light strongly.

"Goddess," he heard Willow whisper. "Oh, sweet Goddess..."

The two of them pulled, extricating the light bit by bit until a vaguely human-shaped form stood in front of them. "Giles?" Willow sounded tentative.

The form nodded, but didn't--or couldn't--speak. Greg swallowed. They'd found Giles...he hoped. Now they had to get him back into his body and get his body back to Las Vegas.

He hoped Willow had an idea, because he didn't.

Greg felt an enormous build up of energy all around him, power surging and pulsing and it took a moment before he realized it was Willow. The space around him condensed and thickened, coalescing into something almost firm. Willow took his ‘hand’ and together they ripped the solidity.

Pain. Sharp and biting, burned through him. He screamed, but didn’t stop. Together they pulled and ripped. Something burned its way up his arms and Gil was fading from his consciousness.

‘Push him through.’

And he did, he pushed even as his skin was stripped layer by layer and his hands slicked with blood. He pushed.

And then he was flying back, pulled with such force that he gasped as he landed back in his body. He opened his eyes to see two very worried ones looking right into him. ‘Thanks.’ He whispered just before passing out.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Willow lying on the floor as well and another man, his skin red and blistered, lying in the center of the circle. "We did it?" he croaked.

Gil nodded. He'd moved to kneel next to Greg and for the third time that day, Greg had his head in Gris's lap. "How long was I out?"

"About a minute. He hasn't moved and Andrew and I decided to let you and Willow wake up before we did anything else."

"Oh." Greg swallowed. "Okay."

Willow groaned and pushed herself up. Her hair had gone white again, Greg noticed vaguely, which probably meant that his had too. "Ow," she said, raising one hand to her temple. And then she saw Giles. "Oh my Goddess," she whispered. "Andrew--get the first aid kit. Now."

Andrew scrambled to his feet and ran for the bag.

Greg reached out a hand. “Help me up.”

“Are you sure?” Gil asked even as he was helping Greg sit up.

“No.” He answered as he shifted onto his butt, leaning heavily on Gil. He watched Willow and Andrew tend to Giles with a practiced ease.

Gil eased an arm around Greg, pulling him close. “I have to admit, that was probably one of the scarier moments in my life.”

“You didn’t see it from my end.” Greg poked at the still tenuous link between them and was oddly reassured when it burned a little brighter.

"I meant when I nearly lost you." Gil's voice was low and serious. He tilted Greg's face and kissed him soundly before tucking him back under his arm. "You weren't *there*, Greg. That cord--it got so thin I was afraid it was going to snap before I could pull you back."

"I'm here now?" Greg offered weakly, and Gil's arm tightened around him fiercely.

"Yes. And if you think you're going anywhere anytime in the near future..."

Greg flushed and turned his head into Gris's shoulder.

"How is he, Willow?" Gris asked.

"He's still unconscious," Willow reported. "Which is good, given the state he's in. Do you have a spare pair of sweats or something? His clothes didn't exactly come back with him and Giles would likely be mortified to wake up naked in a stranger's house. Not that he won't be mortified anyway, but there's a difference between being terminally British and constantly embarrassed and, you know, actually having a reason for it."

Gris smiled a little and got to his feet, caressing Greg's shoulder as he did. "I'll be right back."

Greg wondered if he was the only one who noticed that Gris hadn't necessarily been speaking to Willow.

He had just returned with a pair of worn gray sweatpants and Willow and Andrew had begun working them onto Giles, trying to avoid contact with his skin as much as possible, when there was a fierce knock at the door.

"Blondie," Willow said with a groan. "We so do not need this now."

Gris waited at the door until the sweats were mostly in position. He unlocked the bolt and smiled brightly. “Catherine. How can I help you?” His body was conveniently blocking most of the inside view.

“You shaved.” Catherine’s serious yet slightly bewildered voice said.

Greg fervently hoped that the new clean shaven Gil would continue to be a distraction.

“Yes, I shave.” Gil answered her ruefully, probably hoping that he wouldn’t continue to be a distraction, at least at work. “How can I help you?” He asked again.

“Aside from explaining why we’re missing evidence you mean?” Catherine answered before her voice softened. “Look Gil, there’s obviously something going on here that you’re not telling me, or anyone else for that matter. But you took evidence out of the lab and that’s the kind of thing that’s going to get noticed.”

Greg was glad it had been Cath who’d noticed, because she at least trusted Gris. Maybe.

Giles took that moment to groan loudly.

"Gris?" Cath's eyes narrowed. "What is this?"

"Andrew's not feeling well," Gris said blandly. "I think he may have the flu."

"Uh huh."

Greg glanced between Grissom's back and Willow kneeling next to Giles and barely kept himself from curling up into a little ball.

"What--Willow--" Giles' eyes fluttered open.

"Ssh," she said softly. "You're all right now. We got you back, although I don't know what happened to the book."

"Destroyed," Giles said with a groan. "I--"

"Tell me later," she said, her hands hovering over him. "You're in pretty bad shape."

Cath pushed pack Gris and stopped short in the hallway, staring at the scene in front of her. "Gris? What the *hell* is going on?"

Gris ran a hand through his hair. “Well to be perfectly honest, I didn’t understand all the particulars myself.”

The snap of the latex gloves made Greg wince as Catherine slipped them on. “That’s probably not something you should be telling me right now.”

All pretense left Gris’ posture. “You won’t need those.” He picked up the small brown envelope laying next to Willow and handed it over. “It wasn’t even taken out of the bag.”

“It’s still useless in court.” Catherine checked the seal carefully.

"I really don't think we're going to have to worry about that," Gris said wryly. "Unless you want to try and convince a jury how this all happened." He nodded at Giles, who was looking better but still pretty lobster-ish, and Greg, who still felt as though he'd been caught up in an undertow, rolled around, and spit up on a rocky beach.

"Gris, I don't even know *what* happened, let alone how I'm going to convince a jury of anything."

“You’re not.” Came an accented voice from Grissom’s front door.

“Wesley!” Willow squealed. She jumped up and sprinted across the room practically bowling their new visitor over.

“Excuse me?” Catherine protested. “And who exactly are you?”

The tall man pulled out a business card. “Wesley Windham-Pryce, Wolfram and Hart.”

Catherine ripped the card out of his hand and studied it carefully. “You’re a lawyer?”

Willow giggled. Greg had never seen a lawyer do business in a jeans and a t-shirt.

“No, I’m not a lawyer.” Wesley pushed past her and went directly to Giles. “But a whole lot of them work for me.” He smiled at Willow. “I got here as quickly as possible.”

Willow made a face. “I bet that’s easier when you have, like, your own private plane.”

Wesley made a tsking noise. “Jealousy doesn’t become you, Willow.” He checked Giles’s pulse. “How’re you feeling?”

"Oh, just lovely," Giles said, voice still hoarse. "I went from a nondescript hotel room in Las Vegas to a place I fervently hope never to see or hear from or about again to here. Somewhere along the way I seem to have misplaced my glasses, my clothes, and--oh yes--the bloody *book* we came here for in the first place." He sat up carefully, wincing at the movement.

"So it's been a rather standard day, then," Wesley said.

Giles sighed. "Much as I hate to admit it, yes."

"What happened to the book?" Willow asked, carefully spreading antibiotic cream over the blisters on Giles's shoulders.

"I don't know. I think it's back...there." Giles shuddered when he said it.

Wesley nodded solemnly. “Then it’s a good thing I brought all of my research.”

Greg watched as they helped Giles stand up. Willow and Wesley maneuvered him to the couch. He looked up when a hand grasped his shoulder.

Gris smiled at him. “Come on. Time to get off the floor.”

Greg took the proffered hand and let himself be hauled up, Grissom, par for course, tucked an arm around him. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Catherine.” Gris tried again. “Every person who was in that room is alive and I’m fairly sure not going to file any charges.”

“And Wolfram and Hart is willing to cover any damages the hotel itself might be demanding.” Wesley added.

"So what you're saying is that we shouldn't do anything because no one cares?" Cath demanded incredulously. "They--" she gestured at Willow, Andrew, Giles, Wesley, and Greg was pretty sure her wave included him, as well--"may not want to *press* charges, but what about charges against them?"

"I highly doubt you could come up with anything that would stick," Wesley said matter-of-factly. "After all, it isn't like they *intended* to open a portal to another dimension and thereby destroy the hotel room."

"We didn't even do it!" Willow protested.

"And there you are."

"A what?" Catherine stared at Wesley. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Where do you think he came from?" Gil asked matter-of-factly, indicating Giles.

The look Catherine threw at Grissom cleared said she was starting to wonder about his sanity. “You actually believe that.”

Gris's hands tightened around Greg and a small frisson of affection swelled into him. "I've had the chance to examine the corroborating evidence."

"Corroborating evidence?"

"I'm too tired for a demonstration," Willow said, rubbing her eyes. "Greg?"

"Uh." Greg looked at her helplessly. "Maybe if we both..."

"Could you--" Gil asked Greg.

He shook his head. "She's too closed off. At least, from me."

"Would someone please explain what's going on here?" Catherine demanded impatiently.

Willow groaned. She let her head fall back against the couch and gestured with one hand, mumbling something under her breath.

The candles on the floor lifted into the air and spun around a bit.

Catherine’s mouth gaped and she stared at the floating object. “I give up.”

“Finally!” Willow let the objects down.

“How’d you do it?” Cath asked.

Greg dropped his head to Gil’s shoulder and moaned.

"Magic," Wesley said with a slight smile. "Or, in scientific terms, the manipulation of external energies to create a result that cannot always be explained by traditional scientific processes."

"No. There's no such thing," Cath said stubbornly.

It was Willow's turn to groan this time. "Greg, I need your help," she said wearily.

"What do you need?"

"Link with me."

It was a measure of how tired they both were that they fumbled the link. 'Ready?' Willow asked him and he nodded, grounding himself in Gil's solid presence.

This was so much harder than lifting a candle, or even two. Catherine was a living person, one who moved and breathed and wasn't too happy about being raised off the floor even an inch, let alone moved into the living room and set down on the floor. She stumbled a bit when they set her down, although Greg wasn't sure if that was her or them.

They had just enough finesse left to break the connection without backlash before Greg’s legs dropped from under him.

“Greg!” Gil said alarm as he caught Greg before he dropped to the floor.

“Sorry.” Greg apologized. “Just really, really drained.” He was moved to a large, comfortable chair, which he sank gratefully into. Gil knelt in front of him and pressed two fingers into the juncture of his neck and jaw. Gil’s presence swarmed him in one large gentle burst, infusing him with sleepy warmth. He smiled tiredly. “I’ll be fine.”

Grissom nodded while counting under his breath. Obviously the gesture was more than just a pretense. “A little high, but you’ll be fine.” He patted Greg on the shoulder, stood and joined Catherine a few steps away.

"I don't understand any of this," she said, staring at the strange tableau in front of them. Willow had fallen over again on the couch, leaning against Wesley. Giles was looking much better now; the redness was starting to fade from his skin and his eyes were clear, if a bit haunted. And Andrew--well, he was doing his usual Andrew-thing of curling up in a ball in a corner and hoping no one noticed him.

"It's been a strange day," Gris said wryly.

She shook her head and turned to him. "Magic?"

"Can you come up with a better explanation?"

Catherine grimaced. "No, but I'm still not sure I believe *this* one."

"What else is there to believe?" Gil asked, almost rhetorically.

"Good question." Catherine crouched down next to the pattern on the floor, looking at it intently. "So what, you all just sat around in a circle and--what?"

"Willow and Greg went looking for Mr. Giles, over here. Andrew and I just made sure they didn't get lost."

"Hello," Giles said politely.

Catherine blinked. "Hi. Who are you?"

"Rupert Giles." Greg noticed that his accent was similar to Wesley's. "I came here with Willow and Andrew and managed to get myself lost. I doubt I'd have been able to get back without help."

"You didn't get lost, you got kidnapped," Willow mumbled sleepily.

“Willow, let’s not irritate the nice lady more than we have too.” Giles admonished.

“Party pooper,” Willow muttered before finally succumbing to sleep.

Wesley took her vitals like a pro and nodded reassuringly to Andrew and Greg. “We’ll give you two a chance to recover and then I’ll drive you to the airport. Angel told me to offer you the services of his personal plane.”

Giles began to object but Wesley cut him off. “And he said to tell you not to be a bloody wanker about it and that I was to shoot you if you tried.”

Giles looked at him dryly. “You wouldn’t shoot me.”

“I don’t know, you *were* a bit of a snot to me back in Sunnydale.”

“That’s because you were a right wanker.”

Greg sensed some history floating between them and decided that it was probably better if he didn’t ask.

"How long will it take them to recover?" Gris asked.

Giles glanced at Willow, then at Greg, and Greg felt a quick scan run over him. "We'll be able to leave within an hour or two, I believe. Once Willow wakes up."

They were talking about things, things that didn't involve him, and Greg put his head down on the arm of the chair and gave up the fight to stay awake.

*****

Greg woke to quiet voices in an intense conversation. He shifted in the seat carefully, stretching out his kinks, and heard several distinct pops as his back arched. He looked around the room and saw Giles, Wesley, Grissom and Catherine sitting at the dining room table.

Grissom casually disentangled himself from the conversation and came to check on him. “Good morning,” he said quietly.

“’Morning.” Greg’s voice came out a whisper. “How long?”

Gris brushed the back of his knuckles across his cheek. “Not long, little more than an hour.”

“Mmmkay.” Greg closed his eyes and enjoyed the touch before taking the hand in his own. “Help me up.”

“You sure?” Gris asked, even as he was pulling.

Greg nodded. “Need food.”

"I’m sure we can manage that." Gil guided him into the dining room and got him settled in a chair. "I'll be right back." He squeezed Greg's shoulder and headed for the kitchen.

Greg sat quietly, listening to the conversation going on around him. Catherine seemed to be quizzing Giles and Wesley about Slayers and Watchers and demons, etc. There wasn't much he could contribute to that conversation, so he just sat and listened, inwardly amused at Catherine's stubbornness to find rational explanations for things that were just irrational by nature.

Gris emerged from the kitchen with two plates, each piled high with food. Pasta, from the looks of it, loaded with meat sauce and cheese and a thick slab of garlic bread. "We ate while you two were asleep," he said, setting one plate in front of Greg. "It looks like Willow's waking up, so this is for her."

"Thank you." Greg picked up his fork; his stomach growled loudly and he flushed with embarrassment. He ducked his head and started eating. It wasn't until the food was gone that he realized he'd pretty much wolfed it down, barely remembering to breathe.

“Is that why you drink so much coffee—because it’s the only way your metabolism can keep up?” Catherine asked.

Greg was never so relieved to see a teasing smile on her face. Being on the other side of her wrath was a scary, scary thing.

“He’s just replacing what he used,” Giles put in. “And he used quite a bit of it. Thank you.” The last two words were said with such sincerity that he blushed again.

Greg shrugged. “From what I hear, you would have done the same.”

“Darn tootin’” Willow called from the couch in between bites.

Greg chuckled lightly. “She’s the one you should thank, I was just along for the ride.” He leaned back in his chair enjoying his pleasantly full stomach.

“Poppycock.” Willow came over to him, handing her empty plate to Grissom on the way. “You came to that hotel room all by yourself, ready to help.” She stopped next to him. “You even claimed you were like a rusty nail with magic, which by the way is patently untrue.” She told seriously. “You’ve got some major mojo going on.”

Greg flushed. "I'm not, really. I just followed you."

"Uh huh." Willow gave him an intent look. "Are you always this self-deprecating? Cause I have a friend who's like that, and he ended up saving the world once." She wrinkled her nose. "Okay, so it was from me, but that only makes it more real, I think."

"We don't really need to go into that," Giles said hastily.

"No, we probably really don't." Willow dropped into an empty seat. "But--you could do some really amazing stuff. You just have to believe that you have the power first. Sounds really hokey, doesn't it?" She grinned.

"So anyone could do this?" Catherine asked.

Willow shook her head. "No. In order to perform magic, you have to have *some* kind of talent. What you can do depends on that, as does the amount. But after a certain point, it's a matter of will." She hid a yawn behind her hand. "Like, Andrew couldn't do much even if he believed he was Superman. But Greg could probably fly if he thought he could."

"Uh, I'll stay on the ground," Greg said hastily.

"Just a suggestion."

"And speaking of flying, we should get going," Giles inserted neatly.

“Excellent idea.” Wesley agreed.

The four of them worked quickly to pack their things. Greg had momentarily forgotten that there were larger things at stake, but as the pleasantries slid away he could see their urgency shine through.

“Greg?” Willow called across the room. “Come here for a minute?”

Curious, Greg stood and joined her. She handed him a small duffle he recognized as his own. “These are some of your things. I thought you might need them.” She winked.

Greg flushed scarlet; Willow patted him on the head.

“Is everybody set?” Giles asked.

"I think so," Willow said, surveying the room. She hugged Greg tightly and then surprised him by doing the same to Gil. "Take good care of him," she said lightly. "He's pretty special."

Gil smiled. "I will."

Giles and Wesley shook hands, Giles giving Greg an extra squeeze. "I won't forget what you did," he said quietly.

Greg flushed. "I--you would have done it too."

"Still. I won't forget."

One last round of goodbyes and they were gone, leaving Greg, Gil, and Cath in the suddenly echoing house.

Yeah. This wasn’t awkward. Not at all. Of course looking at the ceiling and whistling loudly probably wasn’t helping. But Greg was an awkward sort of guy.

“Right.” Catherine’s voice cut through the silence. “I have to get back to the lab and assure everyone that Gil Grissom signing out early and taking personal time is not the first stages in the end of the world--”

Coughing fit. Spit down the wrong pipe. Really. Greg resumed whistling.

“--you know what I mean.” Catherine glared at him.

“Don’t forget to lose some paperwork until Wesley’s law firm gets hold of the DA,” Gris added.

“Look at you Gil Grissom.” Catherine gave him a proud smile. “Practically destroying evidence.” She pinched his cheek. “Next thing you know, you’ll be dating.”

Greg moved the duffel behind his body, still attempting to look innocent and probably failing miserably.

Catherine was at the door before she turned around and called to him. “Greg, you need a ride anywhere?”

"I think it would be best if he stayed here tonight," Gil said, surprising them both. "It's been a long day and I want to keep an eye on him until we know he's all right."

Catherine raised an eyebrow, then nodded. "All right."

And with that, she was gone as well.

Greg had a sudden attack of shyness and his hands clenched on the duffel bag. "I--are you sure you want me to--I mean--"

Gil laid one gentle finger over his lips, stemming the babble. "I want you to stay here, Greg. It's been a long day and I want to make sure you're all right." The finger traced over his cheekbone, Gil's fingers skimming down the side of his throat. "And I think you know why else I want you here."

"I--" Greg swallowed. "Maybe--" He looked down at the floor. "Maybe this isn't a good idea," he mumbled.

That got him drawn into a warm hug, Gil's hands rubbing slow, soothing circles on his back. "Still think it's just the energy?" he asked softly.

"No, just..." Only he did. Sort of. He sighed and rested his forehead against Gil's shoulder, unsure what to do or say next.

Gil let him stand there for several minutes before pulling away enough to look him in the eye. "What exactly is the problem, Greg?"

Other than everything going 40 miles above the speed limit? Oh nothing at all. Greg searched for the right words to say. "This is--You are--" He clamped his mouth shut and screwed his eyes closed. He took a deep breath, held it for a five count and then gradually released it. Slowly, Greg opened his eyes to see Gil studying him with a worried

intensity.

Greg kissed him, soft lips intersecting and smoothing against each other. He kept it gentle and exploring. Their lips parted with a soft pop and their foreheads rested together. "This just doesn't seem like you." He said finally.

Gris let out a puff of air. "I'll admit that I'm an emotionally reticent man, mostly because I find it easier to not get hurt at all than risk myself." He kissed Greg lightly. "Talking about my feelings and wants and needs is... practically a foreign language. But with you... I don't *need* to say it. You can feel it."

A slow trickle of warmth and affection and lust swirled around Greg until he was cross eyed with want.

"I think...of everything that's happened today, this is the weirdest," he said, a little shakily.

Gil kissed him again, soft gentle kisses that deepened bit by bit until there was nothing else except heat and silk and the smooth glide of Gil's tongue over his own. Greg clung to him like a lifeline, dimly aware of Gil's hand in his hair and the other hand on his back,

fingers spread wide. "Weird doesn't have to mean bad," Gris whispered against his lips.

“N-no. It doesn't."

The hand in his hair tugged his head back and Greg shivered at the feel of Gil's mouth on his throat, licking and nuzzling and biting down oh-so gently over his jugular. "Much as I'd like to continue this," Gris murmured, "it's not a good time. You're still exhausted and I want the strangeness of today to settle down first."

Greg agreed. Too tired. Too new. Too soon. Too right. They needed to sleep. Preferably for a week. With one last lingering kiss Greg toddled to the bathroom, bag in tow.

He stared at himself in the mirror. Dark smudges under his eyes and hair once again, pristine white, flopping over his brow. It all worked together to make him look drawn and pale and tired. No wonder Gil had sent him off to bed.

He opened the bag the Willow had packed and found underwear, (he blushed a little at that), a pair of sweats, a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a smattering of toiletries. But no gel.

Damn. Well maybe the uncoolness of his hair style would detract from its glow in the dark quality. Some days it totally sucked working with scientists.

He found a spare washcloth and scrubbed his face, glad that Willow hadn't left him to the mercies of Gil's Ivory soap. The stuff worked, but it was murder on your face. Once he'd rinsed his face clean and brushed his teeth, he felt better, and he saw in the mirror that while his hair had no color, his face did, at least. He changed into the sweatpants and padded across the hall to the bedroom, deciding he was too tired to think about anything else that night.

Gil was sitting up in bed, reading something. The sheets were loosely pulled up to his waist and he'd changed into a plain white T-shirt. "Feel better?" he asked, setting his book down.

Greg nodded. "Yeah. I just wish my hair was something other than day-glo white." He tugged at a lock ruefully.

"It makes you stand out." Gil smiled. "Not that you really needed anything else for that." He patted the bed next to him, raising an eyebrow. "Are you going to stand there all night?"

"Um." Greg flushed and sat down on the edge of the bed, just as a soft tendril of warmth wrapped around him, like a hug. "Oh," he said softly. "You're...getting really good at that."

"I wouldn't be able to do it if you didn't want me to," Gil said thoughtfully. "Would I?"

"Not usually. Today's been so weird that I don't know, but normally..." Greg shrugged. "I'd like to think my barriers are better than that."

Gil nodded and held out one hand in silent invitation. Greg took it and let himself be tugged across the bed, half-lying on Gris with Gris's hand playing with his hair. "I've spent way too much time today lying on you," he muttered.

“I’m not objecting.” Gris responded, chuckling lightly.

“M’not usually this passive either.” Greg muttered and the tendril of warmth scorched momentarily. His breath caught in his throat. “Sorry.”

Gris leaned in and gave him a kiss that curled his toes. “Shouldn’t be sorry,” Gil whispered against his lips before they were claimed again.

Despite the overall fatigue, Greg gave as good as he got, bracing on Gris’ shoulders, using the leverage to press their chests firmly together before sliding his hands into Gris’ hair.

Gris’ arms encircled him, holding him in place as he ravaged Gris’ mouth. The smooth slide of tongues was electric on Greg’s nerves; he fell into the deep, roving kisses that stole his breath and had Gris moaning into his mouth.

They broke apart when a yawn erupted from Greg’s mouth. He was momentarily mortified but the amused look on Gris’ debauched looking face quickly squelched any embarrassment. “Right, sleep.”

Gris nodded. “Sleep.” He pecked Greg on the lips.

Greg slid off his lap and onto his side, curling around Gris. He closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep.

*****

He woke up in the morning to the welcome, if unfamiliar, feeling of a warm body against his and an arm wrapped tightly around his stomach. Against his back he felt Gil breathing, slow and even.

It was really stupid, he knew it, but he couldn't stop himself from tugging out a hair to see what color it was. "Ow," he muttered, looking at the hair in the faint light through the windowshades.

It was white.

"Damn," Greg sighed under his breath. He'd really been hoping it would wear off when he slept.

"Mmm?" Gil pressed a sleepy kiss to the back of his neck. "S'wrong?"

"Nothing," Greg whispered. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"It's all right." Gil kissed him again, little, gentle kisses across his neck and his shoulders, his hand on Greg's stomach sliding up under his shirt. "How do you feel?"

He had to think about that one for a moment. He still felt hollow, still a little echo-y on the inside, but on the other hand, he was warm, relaxed, half-hard, and he could feel Gil's erection nestled up comfortably against his ass. And that wasn’t even mentioning the way Gil was petting him, soft lazy caresses that made him want to purr. "Good," he said at last, head falling back against Gil's shoulder.

"Good." Gris kissed his throat, nuzzling the spot behind his ear and the spot below his jaw that never failed to make him gasp. "Do you trust me, Greg?"

He almost laughed. After everything they'd been through yesterday, Gil still had to ask? "Yeah," he said, fighting a smile. "Of course I do."

"I needed to hear it," Gris said, tugging on Greg's earlobe with his teeth. "Because I want you to relax. And trust me."

He could do that. Really. He closed his eyes and leaned back into Gil's warmth, letting Gil peel off his T-shirt one inch at a time, like he had to touch every inch of skin as soon as it was exposed. Light fingertips brushed over his chest, his nipples, grazing his belly and making him jerk in surprise. "Ticklish, Greg?" Gil murmured.

"Ah--a little." He couldn't hide the giggle when Gil drew his nails along Greg's ribs.

"I'll remember that."

Greg knew he would, too, but he couldn't bother protesting about it. Not when Gil was undressing him, hands sliding over his legs, thumbs brushing over the crease between hip and thigh, cupping his ass. And then he was naked and stretched out against Gil's body and Gil was tracing maddeningly light circles around his cock.

"Gris--" he gasped, trying to arch into the touch.

One sharp nip to his shoulder and he gasped. "My name is Gil."

"Sorry--just--touch me, please--" Greg shuddered, his legs splaying open wider. "More, *please*--"

"What do you want, Greg? Do you want my mouth? Do you want me to take you, to stretch you open and slide into you and take you? Or do you want this?" Gil asked softly, his hand closing around Greg's cock. "Do you want my hand?"

"Anything, God, I don't care, just *do* it," Greg said breathlessly.

"So gorgeous like this," Gil murmured, jacking him slowly, his hand twisting around Greg's cock in a sure, smooth motion. "So amazing."

Greg whimpered, head falling back. "Gil..." It came out as a moan and he didn't even care.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to see you like this," Gil whispered against his ear. "How much I've wanted to have you." Energy wrapped around Greg, teased him and caressed him and made him groan.

He wasn't going to last, not with the way Gil was working him and the amazing, incredible feel of the energy swirling around them both. Gil bit his shoulder, just hard enough to mark him, and that was enough for him--he cried out, body tensing for one long moment.

Greg sagged back against Gil's body, panting for breath. He was more than a little dazed and didn't really notice as Gil shifted them, pressing Greg back into the mattress and kneeling over him. He did, however, notice when Gil leaned down to kiss him, his mouth demanding against Greg's.

"Uh uh," he said, pushing himself up on his hands. "You had your turn. Now it's mine."

Gil raised an eyebrow. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice husky.

Greg smiled. "Do you trust me?"

Gil's mouth quirked, then twisted in an attempt to hold back the smile, and then they were both laughing, even as Greg's hands landed on Gil's shoulders and gently pushed him over until he was lying back against the bed. "You," he said mock-sternly, "are still wearing clothes.”

"Going to do something about that?" Gil asked.

"Mmm. I might." Greg bent down and kissed him, pushing up his T-shirt as he did. Gil groaned into the kiss as Greg flicked his nipples, playing with them until they hardened. "Gonna taste you everywhere," he muttered against Gil's stomach, rising up just long enough to pull off the T-shirt. "Gonna find out what makes you so hot you can't stand it, what makes you come."

"You do," Gil said, a little unevenly.

Greg bit his stomach before stripping off the soft shorts Gil was wearing. He couldn't stop himself from drawing the head of Gil's cock into his mouth, sucking and licking briefly before he raised his head. Gil groaned when he did and Greg hid a laugh.

He crawled back up Gil's body, skin sliding over skin, until his thigh was pressed between Gil's legs, Gil's cock hot and hard and leaking where it was trapped between his stomach and Greg's thigh. Gil was watching him, his eyes dark with lust and need. Greg sent out a little tendril of his own and felt desire, hot and heavy, hit him right in the pit of his stomach. His body was doing its best to get hard again, even though he'd just come.

He began to move, rocking his hips against Gil's, his thigh sliding over Gil's cock, rubbing against it. Gris gasped, eyes falling half-shut, reaching up to grab his arms and pull him down into a kiss, hot and messy and perfect. Greg kept moving, thrusting against Gris's body harder, faster, moving them both back against the pillows, the mattress shaking under them until Gris arched up and came with a low, deep groan.

Greg stayed where he was, braced on his hands. Gil pulled him down into a slow, deep kiss, and he rolled off and settled next to Gil, head on his shoulder. He was half-hard again but he ignored it; that wasn't important at the moment.

They panted together, winded but sated.

“So,” Gil raised himself onto his elbows. “Shower?”

Greg laughed. “It’s an idea.”

Greg decided that he really liked Gris’ shower; having a water heater completely to yourself was a gift from God. Of course Gris’ shower was even better with Gris in it. Shoving him against the wall, plastered against him and stroking Greg to his second mind melting orgasm of the morning. Good thing he’d already finished washing his hair, because after that there was no way he had enough gray matter left to remember the difference between shampoo and conditioner.

They shared the foggy mirror, trading off razors and tooth paste and combs, hips brushing together and elbows touching with purposeful intent.

Greg went through the miscellaneous clothing; taking clean underwear and the jeans out he set them aside. His hands hovered over the shirt in the bag for a second before decided to leave it and grabbed the two shirts Gil had given him yesterday.

Gil stopped him just before he opened the door to leave. Greg turned and found himself swept into a crashing kiss. They surged into each other, wave upon wave breaking into small little sparks that skittered down his spine and left little pleasurable quakes in their wake.

He was released and Gil opened the door for him. He stared dumbly.

“Greg, we’re going to be late.” Gil looked innocent, if debauched.

Greg gave him a look that told him he would pay later and as he passed he let a wave of lust roll off him that would curl the toes of a dead man. He smiled when he heard Gil fumble with his keys and gasp in surprise.

*****

They got to the lab and Greg ducked into his little DNA haven, setting some music on the CD player and seeing which CSIs would be the most pissed off if he didn't get to their work *right* *away*. He'd just started running some of Cath's samples when Warrick stopped in. "Hey," he said, looking a little uneasy. "You okay?"

"Looks like I should be asking you that," Greg said as lightly as he could. "Everything okay?"

Warrick nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, it's cool. What's up with the hair?"

Greg stifled a groan. "It was a bad experience with a bottle of peroxide. Don't ask."

"Uh huh." Warrick tinkered around for a few seconds before speaking again. “Hey, did you notice Grissom shaved his beard?”

Greg suppressed a smiled. “It crossed my mind.”

Warrick was silent again, but he looked like he had a question but wasn't about to ask. Greg sighed and put down the sample he'd been cataloging.

"It was real," he said tiredly. "What you felt--I don't know what you might have seen--it was real."

Warrick passed a hand over his face. "Yeah, I kind of figured that. My grandma always used to say I had a gift. I mostly ignored her, you know? But..." He shrugged. "Is everyone okay now?"

"Yeah. I think so, at least." Greg looked at him thoughtfully. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Warrick shrugged and gave Greg a half-smile. "It's a lot to take in. I...I think I just need to think about it, you know?"

"Yeah. Believe me, I know." Greg smiled back. "If you have any questions..."

Warrick nodded. "I'll find you. Don't worry about that."

"I'm not." Greg grinned and went back to work.

He’d just finished a rather large batch of DNA collection, nothing like an orgy to liven up the lab when his next interruption burst though the door.

“You paged me Gr—what the hell happened to your hair?”

He sighed and put down the eyedropper. “Hello Sara, how are you this lovely day?”

She ignored the question and moved close peering intently at his hair.

He rolled his eyes. “How was your day off? Was it relaxing?”

Sara shrugged. "It was a day off. What happened to *you*?"

"Bad experience with a bottle of peroxide. Don't ask." He wondered how much it would cost him to get his hair re-dyed, or if the white would fade out over the next few days...and how often he was going to be giving this explanation until then.

"Uh huh. *This* is why I don’t like to take days off. I come back and Grissom’s beard is gone, Cath's looking like she just discovered who the Zodiac Killer actually was, Warrick's just looking *weird*, and Nick--well, he's always weird, so..."

Greg had to stifle a laugh. Cath actually *had* found out about the Zodiac Killer last night; he'd been some kind of demon that had gotten itself killed. He wasn't sure of all the details, though. "It was a weird day yesterday," he said instead.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Looks like.” And then she was back on track. “You’ve got DNA analysis for me?”

Without looking, Greg rooted through several files before handing her one. “There you go. Hope it helps.”

But Sara was already walking out, grinning.

“You’re welcome.” He muttered to himself getting back to work.

Nick and Catherine were next on the list, he paged them as their results were printing and wasn’t surprised when they showed up not five minutes later.

Catherine smiled at him. “Hey, you’re looking better.”

Greg smiled back. “I am. Full night’s rest followed by stuffing my face did wonders.”

Nick peeked over his shoulder, aiming for the printout in his hand. He twisted out of the way, not wanting Nick to interfere with the presentation--and discovered that was a bad move.

“Well Greggo, looks like it was more than a good night’s sleep.” Nick was clearly staring at his neck.

Crap.

Catherine practically shoved Nick out of the way to look at Greg's neck. "Looks like someone got lucky," she drawled.

Greg shrugged. "Hey, you know how it is."

"Apparently I do," Cath said, and the look in her eyes made him wince inwardly.

He didn't want to be Gil when Cath found him later, that was for sure.

"Nick, go run these over to Brass, would you? I'll be there in a sec."

"Sure." Nick took the results and disappeared.

"Did you leave last night?" Cath asked.

Okay, forget Gil. He didn't want to be *himself* right now.

"Um, well, it wasn't--" Greg scrubbed a hand through his still-white and woefully un-gelled hair and sighed. "No, I didn't."

For a long moment, Cath just stared at him. "You--" She shook her head. "Whose idea was it?"

And now they were getting into territory where he *really* didn't want to go, so he ducked his head and just didn't say anything.

She waited for a long moment, then sighed. "All right. Fine. But you better believe I'm going to talk to him about this."

As she walked out, Greg could only think 'Better him than me'. He shook his head and got back to work.

About an hour later he knew something was wrong. The tiny spark of warm presence in the back of his mind turned icy and he got the impression that Grissom was pissed.

He closed his eyes and sent a reassuring burst before getting back to work, only to be interrupted by loud voices in the hallway.

“..none of your business!”

Fed up, Greg carefully put down what he was doing, removed his gloves and stepped out of the lab, walked resolutely down the hall, homing in on the argument and stepped directly between Catherine and Gris.

"I have an idea, how about this conversation happens somewhere else?" Greg asked Catherine. "Because, you know, there's work going on around here and I'd really rather my love life didn't become more grist for the rumor mill. Well, more than it already is."

He felt Grissom's amusement in the back of his mind. Catherine just stared at them both.

"My office?" Gris offered courteously.

Catherine stalked off down the hall. "Do I need to be there?" Greg asked, watching her storm into Grissom's office.

"No, I'll handle her." Gris smiled and Greg felt warmth wrap him up in a 'hug'. "She's just..."

"She thinks you took advantage of me," Greg said matter-of-factly. Even *with* his barriers up, that was kind of impossible to miss.

"Yes. She does." Gil didn't bother to deny it. "I'll calm her down."

"Good luck," Greg said wryly. He watched them walk down the hall with amusement before heading back to his own ‘office’.

*****

By the end of shift Greg had this crick in his back that was starting to ache and his energy had already been flagging for hours.

He stared at a printout, eyes unfocused, when a light, innocuous touch at the small of his back startled him.

“Working hard?” Gris smiled warmly at him.

"Is shift over yet?" He blinked blearily up at Gris.

"It's been over for half an hour. I was delayed. Are you done in here?"

Greg nodded and hid a yawn behind his hand. "I just need to leave some stuff for dayshift." He wrote a couple of notes, stuck them to various items, and got to his feet, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "I don't have my car," he realized, patting down his pockets for his keys.

"It's all right." Gris smiled. "I'll take you home."

"Okay." Greg was too tired to do anything but follow Gris out to his car. He dozed off, only waking up when they parked. "This isn't my place," he mumbled.

"I said I'd take you home, and I will." Gris took his hand, thumb smoothing over the back. "Later."

Greg blinked sleepily. "Okay."

Gil leaned in and kissed him stupid. Definitely okay.

THE END