Disclaimer: Grissom and Catherine, C.S.I and the other characters involved- all belong to Jerry Bruckheimer…
An episode addition to 'Too Tough to Die". Takes off right after Eddie was 'thrown out' by Grissom.
After the Fall
By Manda
Grissom watched closely as Catherine leaned against the wall, her breathing having slowed considerably in the past few moments, and tinges of color beginning to spread across her porcelain skin. Her facial muscles were tight, jaw clenched tightly. He found that it took little scientific imagination to see the blood vessels in her neck swelling horrifically.
"Catherine, are you all right?" He repeated the query he had posed in what had seemed like hours prior, although few minutes had scarcely passed since his authoritative and threatening approach had sent Eddie stalking from the building, and away from his troubled and vulnerable ex-wife. Grissom wasn't insensitive to that… his stark blue eyes sought out every inch of pain and suffering displayed upon Catherine Willows' svelte figure, as she bent at the waist and wrapped slender arms around her upper body. A distinctly finger-marked bruise was beginning to show, purple and angry against the skin of her upper arm, her own fingers touching it and probing the injury wearily.
"And if he had done this somewhere else- where would you be then, Catherine?"
"I always knew you two had a thing."
Eddie had meant for the comment to be hostile, but to Grissom, it merely instigated a train of thought that he hadn't boarded in quite some time. The idea of a 'thing' between he and Catherine had never occurred to Grissom… or maybe it had, over cups of early morning coffee, sitting beside her on the black leather couch in the break room and piecing together the puzzles that they worked so hard to bring to rest. Maybe the thought had come and gone over plates of scrambled eggs and unbuttered bagels, he making breakfast because she was too tired to cook, or too lonely to go to an empty home. Those nights, those mornings when her daughter had been with Eddie and Catherine had no other plans than to return home and sleep the day away… the thought had come and gone but was so fleeting that Grissom could barely recall the sensation of a tickle in his mind. Then the stir was no more, dissipated like a whirlwind in the desert, sand collapsing without the momentum to continue.
But now, leaning with concern over the form of his closest friend, Gil Grissom found himself akin to that thought.
"I don't know the answer to that, Gil." Catherine inhaled slowly, wrapping her slender arms more tightly about her torso as her body attempted to straighten upward, shoulders squared and chin boldly turned upward. Grissom let his hand fall onto her shoulder, and he leaned forward, seeking out her eyes with his own. As her head began to bow downward, his right hand caught it and lifted, forcing her to look back into his eyes before he released her.
"Come sit down." He kept one hand on her shoulder, leading her away to the cool, dark, cluttered office that had only recently become his own. Directing her onto the couch, he stepped back and leaned onto the corner of his desk, regarding the woman with a disquieting eye. "Are you all right, Catherine?"
"Gil, I said I'm fine." She sagged against the smooth brown leather, a couch that was much like the one sitting in the living room of his townhouse. She'd once referred to his living quarters as 'functional', and 'sensible', two adjectives that more than likely pertained to the owner as well as the furniture. "Eddie's an asshole…but I can still say that he knew how to sweep a girl off her feet."
"You are beautiful, Catherine." Grissom confirmed the reasoning behind Eddie's once-upon-a-time chivalrous attitude, conveying one of his own as he rose from the desk and moved to join her. "But Eddie could have destroyed all of that, if you'd let him."
"Since when have you cared about beauty?" She asked, with mild effort involved to restrain the smile tugging at her lips. The boyish face became thoughtful, and Catherine leaned toward it, slightly, anticipating a lack-of-response. Grissom turned away for a moment, and stared up at the framed collection of butterflies he had mounted on the wall above his desk. The flawless symmetrical wings were opened, displaying the near-perfection of nature to anyone who would walk into the cluttered space. That was Catherine. Near-flawless, and he understood how very hard she tried to hide her flaws. The way she buried herself into her work as much as possible. And he realized, in that very moment, how much she was like him. And to tell her when he had begun to appreciate more than just the butterflies…would be to admit his own weakness, his own crack in the defensive wall.
"Since I met you."
She took the comment well, eyebrows raised slightly as they sat together on the sofa, cushions yielding to the combined weight without a sound from the old and careworn springs within. Grissom shifted, his hands falling into his lap and folding, thoughtfully, and he felt her cool fingers wrap over his callused hands.
"Grissom, you've known me for years… and you've never once told me anything like this. My daughter adores you, we have breakfast every week, and you've never once admitted to me that you've even thought…"
"I'm a ghost," he responded simply, shrugging his shoulders in a manner to suggest nothing mattered, and nothing could be gained from the conversation between them. Catherine's grip on his hand tightened, and she leaned toward him, shocks of her hair swinging around her face as she stared into his eyes. A quirky smile spread over her lips which, for so long after the hallway skirmish, had been tightly drawn and white with the effort of keeping her feeling drawn in. But now, the smile alit her features, making the smooth contours of her face seem even more beautiful, and Grissom was drawn into how simple it was to enhance the basic beauty already present.
"You're not a ghost, Gil. You're as much a part of this team as I am- and if you hadn't been here, as my friend…then although I may have handled it, I don't know if Eddie would have gotten the lesson the way you gave it to him." Her hands lingered, and her smile grew. "I certainly don't think Greg could have thrown him out as eloquently as you managed it."
"Boxing in college." Was his straightforward reply, as he brought his fingers up around hers to squeeze them, the action as comforting for him as it was for Catherine. "It was a hobby."
"Oh? And here I thought entomology was your one true love." She was sly, sneaking that into the conversation, and by the glimmer in her eyes he could sense that she sought an answer to that statement.
"It was."
"Was?" Her brows wriggled again in a mixture of amusement and contemplation, and Grissom chose that moment to adjust his grip on her, his middle fingers moving to his lips, and then to gently graze the bruise on her arm.
"When I realized that there was more to my range of love than my butterfly collection." He leaned forward, meeting her lips with a gentle touch that made her pain melt away. "And I can't think of another hobby I'd rather convert to."
It was Catherine who stopped him, palm on his chest pushing him gently backward. She smiled, a quirky smile at home apon her lips.
"Just as long as you don't expect me to start taking boxing lessons, Gil."
"That's fine." He kissed her again, and in his mind, the train began to pull into the station, the once lost idea taking form once more. "You can't box after drinking your Screwdrivers, anyway, Catherine."
-Fin