Title: Beautiful Boy
Rating: PG-13 (for adult situations) for now, it could get worse...not sure
Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters are property of CBS. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit of any kind is being made. If I owned the show, the wouldn't be on the net, you'd be watching it (which is probably why I don't own the show!)
Warning: Mentions of child abuse and mild references to rape. Slavery is a major concept in this story. (Doesn't mean I don't think it's wrong)AU
Summary: When Sara's turning 11, her birthday present is a slave of her very own. That slave just happens to be...Gil Grissom. Eventual GSR as they age and it becomes appropriate.
Gil rolled over on his side and let out a quiet breath as his mother ran her hand through his curls. "It will be alright." He could make out her hands signing in the near darkness when he heard the door open. The cot squeaked as he sat up and stared at the guard in the doorway. His mother's arm was wrapped around his chest, and he felt a scar on his bare skin.
"C'mon boy." The guard from the doorway called to Gil. Tears threatened to fall as he stood and his mother grasped his hand, crying quietly.
Just as he turned around to sign that he would look for her, Gil was grabbed around his small waist and pulled out. His mother's cries were audible as they closed her door and dragged him down the sterile hallway to a metal door. Pushing through it, he saw that against the right wall of the room, three teenage boys were lined up with their hands tied behind their backs. Unceremoniously, he was thrown into the line and his hands were bound with some twine as well.
The guard left but quickly retuned with an owner behind him. The male was in a dark suit with his wife on his arm and a small girl with brown hair trailed behind the couple. When the girl made eye contact, Gil flinched and tried to bend his knees to hide himself. Immediately, the girl walked up to her father (Gil guessed it was her father) and tugged on his sleeve.
"I want that one Daddy." Her small, pale finger was pointing at his chest. Following the pointing digit, her mother walked up to Gil and looked him over with extreme scrutiny.
"How old are you?"
"I'm…15." Couldn't help but blush when her hand ran over his stomach.
"He's strong," she turned to her husband, "he'll be a man soon."
"Please Daddy?"
"How much is he?"
Upon being asked, the guard in the corner of the room stepped forward and pulled out a clipboard, "Number 4052? $70,000."
"He's expensive, Sara."
"Daddy, I want him."
Gil was expensive because he had been well proved in the sex trade over his years of enslavement. With this little girl here, he hoped this family wouldn't be using him for that.
"Well, I suppose it is a birthday gift. Okay, we'll take that one."
Gil was grabbed roughly by another guard and led by his cuffed hands outside into the light. There was a large, black car awaiting them, and someone lifted him onto a blanket on the floor of the backseat. The carpet was soft enough, and in an attempt to block out the pain, he curled up and closed his eyes, trying not to think of his mom.
Most likely karma was paying him back for dozing off, because he woke later with an extreme need to pee. Cautiously, curiously, he looked up from his spot in between the front and backseat. The girl, Sara, was playing with something electronic which beeped often. Reaching out a tentative finger, he tapped her shin. She started, but looked down at him. "Yes?"
"I hate to be a bother," he apologized quietly," but do you know if I'll be able to…um…use the washroom anytime soon?"
"Of course." Sara tapped on the window separating the front from the back, and Gil heard it slide down. "Mommy?" she asked, leaning forward. "Can we pull over? He has to go to the bathroom."
"I suppose we can't have him staining the rug."
At her words, Gil winced. No matter how often people talked about his as if her were a beast, not even there, he would never get used to it. The window closed and in a moment, they stopped. Kindly, Sara helped him out of the back, but he wasn't allowed to walk far. His hands were still tied behind his back, and when he came back, Sara's mother frowned at the mess he had made on himself.
"Look at that."
"It's not his fault, Mommy," Sara retorted, as Gil looked bashfully at the ground. "You have to untie his hands, he's a boy." His face was flaming and he climbed into the back seat before anything else could be said about the current situation.
"I'm sorry about her, she's not always like that, though, I swear. It's not your fault, what happened. My dad and I know it." Situating herself in the seat before the car started moving again, Sara tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear amd she smiled down at him. "I can untie your hands if you like."
"Yes, I'd like that very much. Thank you." Grateful, he rolled over so she could undo the difficult know in the twine and felt his wrists quickly released from the confines. Unable to control himself, Gil pulled his hands around to his front, massaging the sore, red marks. "Thank you," he grinned sadly at her and she smiled back.
"You're welcome. I don't think it's fair for them to tie you up like an animal, you're not one."
"Thank you," his voice cracked and, embarrassed, he rolled over to face the back of the seat.
"What's your name?" she asked. Meaning to comfort him, Sara placed a hand on his shoulder, but he flinched.
"Gil…"
"Gil? That's an…odd name," she took her hand away.
He rolled over to look up at her, "It's short for Gilbert. How old are you?"
She smiled down at him, "In two days, I'll be eleven years old."
"Oh."
They were both silent for the remainder of the ride home. When the car pulled into the courtyard and stopped, someone opened the door and Sara stepped out of the vehicle before turning and helping Gil out. "Come on, I'll show you where you're sleeping." Her parents watched, frowning slightly as she carted the young man off.
A man opened the huge front door for them and Sara led Gil up a set of stairs to their left. As soon as they reached the top, they turned to a door on the right. In the room, there sat a mattress and a small orange crate, a window showed the garden in the backyard.
"I know it's not much," she said apologetically, letting him in.
"It's okay," he said, clambering onto the mattress and pulling the single sheet over himself. "I'm really tired." There was a tone of finality in his voice that made Sara's mood fall.
"Okay," she frowned, hurt, "I'll come back later."
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When Gil woke, he had kicked his sheet off, most likely because he wasn't used to having a sheet. He heard a slightly muffled noise and stuck his ear to the wall, both hands splayed out like stars against the dividing structure.
"It's not fair, Mommy! He's embarrassed. He's uncomfortable."
"He's not my child. I do not have to."
"Then give me money, I'll go buy him some clothes."
"You don't even know his size. I'm sure he doesn't know his size!"
"Gil is my gift, and I want him to be treated well. At least buy him some underwear."
He blushed and buried his face in the mattress. No one except for his mother had ever cared so much for him – even if Sara did consider him an object.
"Fine, Sara, you are so odd. I'll buy the boy some underwear. Happy?"
"Yes. Thank you."
As he heard steps drawing towards his room, he relaxed his pose and slowed his breathing. He was good at pretending to be asleep after all of his years of service. Sara opened the door quickly, not worrying about waking him.
"How much did you hear?" she asked, stepping in and closing the door behind her.
He rolled over slowly, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. "What?"
"I came in before to check on you and you were on your back with your hands on your stomach. Now you're lying on your stomach. I know you were awake."
"Oh, I um…I just…"
"'How much did you hear?' I asked." It was the first time he had heard the slightest bit of annoyance or sourness in her voice.
"I…I…just clothes." He could hardly get the words out in his fear. But why should a fifteen year old boy be so frightened of an eleven year old girl?
"My mom will be back soon with some underwear for you."
"Thank you."
Sara looked out the window behind Gil's head, an awkward silence slowly growing between the two. Gil was honestly contemplating suicide if it was always going to be so awkward with his new and extremely candid owner. "Will you tell me about your history?"
"You could read the chart." He was squirming under her gaze and pulled the sheet over himself. He wasn't sure why, but for some reason, he felt like a pervert for being naked around her. It wasn't really as though he had much of a choice.
"I don't want to. It's too…impersonal."
"Ok…well, um…when I was five, my father's business went under, so he sold me and my mother for money. The first lady who bought us was really nice. She let us live basically the same way we had until I was six. She couldn't set us free – stipulation of the contract. Then she died and we were given to some…very evil men. We've been together until now, and my mom educated me while we weren't being…uh…used."
"Used?"
"We were both sex trade slaves."
Even in Sara's young age, the hateful term wasn't lost on her. The most expensive and most abused slaves were sex trade, used only for their bodies. She could see why someone would want this boy just for his body. His smooth skin and agile body made him as beautiful as any male could be. She knew if he was treated well, muscles would grow where they should be. She cringed.
"You were only five?"
"I honestly think it was harder on my mom than me." He looked at his palms, willing himself not to cry. He didn't want to consider where his mother might be at the moment. "They mostly made her…watch…" Swallowing thickly, he looked up at Sara, his eyes glazed over with contained tears.
"How long were you at the auction house?"
"A month. When I turned fifteen, they were allowed to sell me on my own."
Sara studied him for a moment, so old for her age, before taking a breath as if she was going to speak. Then she closed her mouth for another second. "Gil…my parents won't do that to you."
"Oh. I didn't thi-"
A hand stopped him, "It's okay, you're not in trouble, I'm just telling you."
"Alright."
"Are you hungry?" Much to his relief, she changed the subject.
"Yes."
"Let's go get something to eat." After leading him down to the kitchen, Sara situated herself on a stool at the breakfast bar. "You can look around. You'll have to get used to where stuff is."
The cabinets were made of a beautiful, varnished cherry wood, and Gil ran his fingers over them before browsing the contents. "You have a lot of money," the thought escaped his mouth before he could clamp his lips shut.
"Yes. We do."
The box of cereal he picked was a pale yellow color, and after setting it down, he began the dubious search for a bowl and spoon. He felt oddly exposed in front of Sara, despite the fact that he had spent so much of his life without clothing. "Do you want some cereal, too?" he asked once he discovered the dishes' hiding place.
"I'm not hungry." Sara watched as he poured the flakes into a stone ware bowl. She was so enraptured by his actions, watching the tensing and shifting of his few muscles, that he startled her when he asked a question.
"Is it that obvious?" Again, the words seemed to tumble out of his mouth before he could prevent their escape. As though they were never meant for human ears.
"Is what that obvious?"
"The way that I feel." He looked at the chair, not wanting to ruin the cushion. "Could I get a towel?"
"Yeah, I'll show…" Sara began to rise from the stool before turning to him, her eyelids only half open, "No, it's not that obvious."
Gil had taken a shower and was sitting in Sara's room in a pair of new boxers, white pinstriped with green. The girl was lounging on her large bed, reading a book about fantasies, occasionally taking a break to glance at Gil. He was stoic, staring at her wall, and she couldn't help but think that he must have been a hard one to break.