Title: Who Needs Pictures
Rating: PG
Summary: Catherine thinks back on her life with, and without, Eddie
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or any of the characters, or the song "Who Needs Pictures?" by Brad Paisley
Spoilers: Post-Lady Heather's Box
They say that a picture speaks a thousand words. But right now my mind can only think of one: pain. Not just the physical kind, although he inflicted that type of pain on me many times over the years of our marriage. But there was the emotional pain too - the pain that came later on, after I left him. Pain that often woke me up in the middle of the night, shaking with violent sobs.
I could never imagine my life without him. Even those nights when I went to Grissom crying, faint bruises already beginning to show under the thick cover of my tears. Even then, I never wanted to leave him. I just couldn't imagine a life without him, and I didn't want Lindsay to grow up without a father.
And now, even after his death, while he lies under six feet of cold, hard ground, I can still feel the pain.
I look out into the fire, and feed another photograph to the flames. The red-orange sparks reach out like millions of fingers, trying to hold onto the crinkled paper that was feeding them.
For a brief second, a pang shot through my body, and I almost reached back through the flames to grab hold of the photographs. I had to catch myself at the last moment, however.
Wiping the tears away with the back of my hand, I let myself get lost in the brilliant beauty of the flames. "Besides, who needs pictures," I whispered to myself, "with a memory like mine."
Rating: PG
Summary: Catherine thinks back on her life with, and without, Eddie
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or any of the characters, or the song "Who Needs Pictures?" by Brad Paisley
Spoilers: Post-Lady Heather's Box
They say that a picture speaks a thousand words. But right now my mind can only think of one: pain. Not just the physical kind, although he inflicted that type of pain on me many times over the years of our marriage. But there was the emotional pain too - the pain that came later on, after I left him. Pain that often woke me up in the middle of the night, shaking with violent sobs.
I could never imagine my life without him. Even those nights when I went to Grissom crying, faint bruises already beginning to show under the thick cover of my tears. Even then, I never wanted to leave him. I just couldn't imagine a life without him, and I didn't want Lindsay to grow up without a father.
And now, even after his death, while he lies under six feet of cold, hard ground, I can still feel the pain.
I look out into the fire, and feed another photograph to the flames. The red-orange sparks reach out like millions of fingers, trying to hold onto the crinkled paper that was feeding them.
For a brief second, a pang shot through my body, and I almost reached back through the flames to grab hold of the photographs. I had to catch myself at the last moment, however.
Wiping the tears away with the back of my hand, I let myself get lost in the brilliant beauty of the flames. "Besides, who needs pictures," I whispered to myself, "with a memory like mine."