Disclaimer: CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer own CSI…
Authors Note: Sure, I'll rate it PG, just for the light swearing in narration, and all that…
Marriage of ConvenienceBy Manda
When I first left Eddie, I left him with only the clothes on my back, a shoulder bag stuffed with family photos, and my half-empty bottle of vodka. The bastard had hidden my car keys somewhere on his person, and as he slept, sprawled drunkenly over our unmade bed, in the sea of snowy white sheets and silken black comforter…I ran. Left the house with my bag and my bottle, holding my breath as I eased out of the disheveled house and walked down the quiet sidewalks.
Lindsey wasn't even conceived yet…I didn't have a glimmer of a thought at the time that I would ever again allow the man to touch me, let alone father a child. What fragile soul could have a chance in a world where her father was anything that Eddie was? If she were ashamed of me…I could live with it, as long as she would be able to exist happily…but there was no one else for a child to turn to in a time of need. Not in my family.
I made the call to Grissom once I'd reached the convenience store, a cigarette and liquor shack at the corner two blocks from our house. He was my knight in black leather, jacket form fitting and squeaking with freshness against the upholstery of his Tahoe as he slid out from the driver's side, walking around the front to greet me. I'd always imagined he'd be there to save me, ever since the fateful day on campus, when he'd provided me with enough chemistry notes to ensure I make it through classes until I found my lost notebook. Peculiar, that he would have been in class with me for the entire semester, and I hadn't noticed until I needed help. Then he was there, in his black, button down shirts and charcoal gray pants, walking alongside me as I traveled the quad and poured out my woes to this man I'd barely met…and yet I felt as if I'd known him forever. Eventually, we became friends.
"Catherine…what happened?"
"Can you…Grissom, can you just drive?" I stood up, holding my bag to my side and brushing at my plum colored peasant blouse. He watched me carefully, until I gestured at the car keys dangling from his right hand. "Gil, are you hearing me?"
"Where to?"
"I don't care…anywhere. Just take me anywhere." I climbed into the passenger seat and didn't say a word after that, settling my hands in my lap and staring out the window into the rain that had just begun to fall, lightly, upon the sidewalks. "Thank you for coming to me."
"You know I wouldn't hesitate." That had been his noble trait in college, and although things had changed through the years, that quality hadn't lessened. I remembered thinking that although this wasn't a man whose demeanor radiated 'marriage'…Maybe I would have married him, in a second, had he ever asked. But Gil Grissom just wasn't the marrying kind, and I'd turned to someone I'd imagined was of that variety.
When we pulled up to a sidewalk twenty minutes later, I hesitated to leave the confines of the vehicle, and he didn't notice my reluctance until he'd made it halfway up the front stairs. He came back for me, opening my door and kneeling to stare up at me with the wide, blue eyes that reminded me of days back home, childhood…water rippling in the wading pool in our front yard, refreshing and cool to our blistering skins. My soul was blistered, and it took Gil Grissom's open, concerned stare to draw me out of it and onto the sidewalk.
"Where are we?"
"My new townhouse…you haven't been here yet, have you?" It was a rhetorical question…he would have remembered, had I ever set foot in his humble abode. He remembered everything about visitors, as he rarely had any. And I could remember his old apartment as clearly as if it had been yesterday, the brown leather couch and the old, faded afghan his mother had knitted when he was in college. I knew every story regarding every piece of furniture, every towel, every braided rag-rug. Not one for homemade knickknacks, Grissom had collected a range of objects, the majority of which had come from his mother, who although was deaf, had not been handicapped in her ability to work with her hands.
"Not that I remember." The inner workings of his townhouse were different than the apartment had been, although similar in the colors…so much brown, black, and grey, spread over polished hardwood floors and against cream colored walls. The framed butterflies from his early entemology years had been hung in places of honor against the walls, and bookshelves sported leather-bound volumes by Macchiavelli, Freud, and William Shakespere, all huddled in order against a glistening black stereo system. I didn't doubt for a moment that there were CD's of Chopin and Vivaldi clustered in the drawers beneath it. Grissom had always been the type who appreciated beauty in sounds that carried themselves gracefully through the open air. He'd once described Vivaldi to me as a dancer in a field, legs stretching and carrying her body through waving stems of emerald grass. I'd translated it in my own mind to the beauty of the daughter I dreamt of someday having, her delicate dancing along the beach in the sand, when Eddie and I would someday take her to Maine. She'd float along the crests of gentle waves in a vibrant pink inner tube, braids flying behind her when she flew through the salty air, and I'd want to be there with her.
At the moment, I was afraid of the water, somehow, afraid that if I were to envelop myself in that freedom…that I'd never want to come back. There were the days when Eddie was violent and crude, the days I'd wanted to run away, go home to my mother…who wouldn't take me, even when I was sixteen and without money to spend. If I had run into the waves, I knew that I would ever to look as happy as my dream child did…and if Eddie were to see that happiness, I didn't want to lose it to a later battle that took place in a lasting war.
"There's orange juice in the fridge…and the spare bedroom is down the hall. First door to the left." Again, I nearly smiled at the futility of having a spare bedroom, in Grissom's case, as his desire for privacy was strong enough to defeat the purpose of a guest residence. But with only my bottle in hand and patent leather bag slung over my shoulder, I wandered down the dimly lit hallways, eyes trailing over the framed Nevada landscapes until I found the first door to the left, and entered readily.
I'd turned right. When had I lost the realization of what was right, and what was left?
The world of Gil Grissom had, until that point in my life, been familiar and comforting to me. A warm cocoon of solitude and routine that I'd grown accustomed to and become fond of in the passing years. Frequent visits to his old home, mornings of scrambled eggs and toasted bagels had given me a host of memories to hold on to when I needed them most. Dreams of sleeping with the man whose existence was, for that time, only that of my co-worker and my valued confidant. Not my lover, not he whose embrace I so coveted, on the nights when I would return home from wild gropings and g-string plucking, wishing only to be comforted by the one person I needed most.
My fingers reached back for the doorknob, and my feet moved stealthily in reverse, but as I pivoted on dancer's feet, my eyes caught the glimmer of silver to my right. A polished wooden bedside table, items scattered carelessly upon the surface, the gentle smell of lemon furniture polish wafting up into my nostrils. There was a comb, blue, with salt-and-pepper hairs tangled among the teeth; a pair of reading glasses, folded and resting upon a soft washcloth…and a velvet box, the blue exterior soothing to the tips of my fingers, and the inside presenting me with a glimpse of an item I'd never imagined to see in this place. The ring twinkled in the light shed from the hallway, a band of silver engraved with curling ribbons and a pair of toe-shoes, diamond chips lining the edges and causing them to stand out even more brightly against the polished surface.
"Catherine, I've got extra towels, and the bathroom is-" His voice, behind me, gave me cause to pivot once again, and my eyes guiltily met his, latching on to the wounded sea of cobalt with little effort. He was handsome in his own right, boyish and attractive, and when pain made itself evident in his features, it marred the existence of beauty that had always been present. This time, I felt it in my own face, and glanced down at the box that I'd unknowingly picked up to examine.
"I'm sorry…you invited me in, and I've been-"
"No…I would have shown you, eventually." With an armload of fluffy ivory towels, Grissom stepped into his bedroom and turned on the light, further illuminating the interior. For the first time I saw more of Gil Grissom than I'd expected, pictures on the wall showing youth and experience, son and mother sharing activities…Grissom in a suit and tie, accepting honors for achievments far surpassing expectations. Heavy curtains of navy blue framed a single window, and an oriental rug sporting gilt edges and cream-colored fringe extended across the majority of a wooden floor, ending beneath the king-sized bed, a dark indigo comforter spread over it's mattress. "Before you married Eddie…"
And I knew what he was going to say, but didn't know if I wanted to hear it.
"Gil…"
"Catherine…before you married Eddie, I wanted you." His words came quietly, as easily as if he'd practiced them, although I couldn't imagine him needing to do that. "I wanted you so badly, watching you dance, watching you sit on my couch and watch the Marx brothers at three a.m. You're beautiful, and successful, determined…and you love life with a vivacity I've never seen."
I stared at him, sinking onto the bed and allowing my bottle to drop upon the comforter, my bag sagging to plop gently onto the floor. He wandered over to the window and turned his head to look at me, eyes settling on the box in my palm and moving up to gaze at me. He never looked at me as much as he used to, but once I'd gotten married, it had seemed as if the rope that stretched between us and held us together had been broken, cut by an invisible hand wielding scissors sharpened with my time spent in the company of Eddie Willows. If Grissom had wanted to love me more than Eddie claimed to, then he had chosen the worst of times to admit it…or perhaps a better time couldn't have been found.
"I love your life, Catherine…but I couldn't give mine to you."
"I know." I realized that I answered too quickly, perhaps, and chose instead to fall backwards onto the bed, staring up at ceiling instead of at him. "I didn't ask for it, Gil…I never tried to."
"But that doesn't change anything, Catherine. I bought that the first day I saw you, and I want you to have it now." His footsteps started and stopped at the bed, and I closed my eyes against the sight of him gazing down at me. The sounds that followed, bedsprings creaking, caused me to turn her head, and I blinked to absorb the view of him kneeling on the bed. "Try it on."
I reached upward and he pulled me back into a sitting position, taking the box from my hand and withdrawing the band within. My finger felt warm, secure in his grasp, and I slipped off the tarnished ring of gold before allowing him to replace it with the glistening silver halo he'd purchased a decade ago, perhaps…for me.
"Catherine Willows…"
"Don't…please. " I didn't want to say no…didn't know if I had the strength to say yes…couldn't face the look in his eyes if he heard me say what he didn't want to hear. But the need to face reality…although a priority, I suddenly didn't want to face it anymore than he did.
"Would you have married me, Catherine?"
In a second, in a perfect world where I'd met Grissom before Eddie, where I'd fallen in love and reveled in life with a man whose first loves frequented areas I rarely cleaned. In that time, I would have married Gil Grissom and bore children whose vibrant blue eyes and youthful faces would be the sources of my everyday joy.
"Yes." I smiled, and felt his arms around my neck as I pressed my lips against his. It felt better than a bubble bath, relaxing and calm as I kissed him with the passion I'd reserved so long ago, and suspected I'd lost to Eddie's yearning for attention. For this one night, perhaps longer…I wanted to be Mrs. Gil Grissom, and wished for the chance to experience what I hadn't been able to have.
We made love until the sun came up…in four hours.
~~~
As I lay there alone in this big empty bed,
Nothing but thoughts of you in my head.
I think of the things that I wish I had said,
When you were still around…
~~~
When I woke up, my eyes adjusted to the darkness as quickly as they always did, as my job frequently required me to be in darkened areas for lengthy amounts of time. As adjusted as they were, it didn't take long for me to realize that Grissom wasn't in the room any longer, and I slipped out of bed, wrapping the sheet around my torso to seek him out in the remainder of the townhouse.
He stood behind the kitchen island, over a flat-topped stove with his right hand stirring sunny-yellow egg yolks in the afternoon sun. Unlike in the bedroom, venetian blinds weren't closed in the kitchen, nor living room, allowing light to filter in and wash over the well-maintained surfaces. He cleaned the place himself, and I could smell the hint of lemon polish once again, as I settled onto the brown leather sofa. We'd perched upon this sofa many a time, watching murder mysteries and discussing particularly daunting homework assignments, given to me by many a professor determined to test my skills.
"Breakfast?" These were the times I admired him most, standing over the stove, padding through the kitchen with bare feet soft against the floorboards. He wore the shirt he'd been wearing the night before, hastily buttoned in all the wrong buttonholes, untucked over baggy grey sweatpants. He always looked so settled and at home in bare feet and comfort wear, although I knew no one was aware of it, other than myself.
"Toasted bagel, no butter…and the eggs smell wonderful." He added certain garnishes to the scrambled eggs that I'd never been aware of when I'd visited his old territory…but now I caught climpses of colorful jars in a spice rack against the wall, and knew he'd expanded his tastes. "You didn't have to make breakfast."
"And you didn't have to get up. I'd planned on breakfast in bed." For the first time I noticed the intricately carved tray sitting on the sideboard, sporting a slim bud vase and unblossomed yellow rose, green leaves eagerly reaching over the lip of it's confinement.
"Then I'll go back to bed." I rose from the couch, re-wrapping the sheet around my body and shuffling across the living room floor. He caught my arm as I passed by, lifing my left hand into his vision, and a smile spread over his face, skin around his eyes crinkling handsomely.
"And I'll be there in a minute, Mrs. Grissom." I started down the hallway, sheet clenched together in my hand, and as if a trigger, I heard the shrill ringing of Grissom's cell phone as I folded my body back beneath the thick comforter upon the bed. I could hear him moving in the kitchen, and the sudden tremor of anxiety through my body propelled me back into the kitchen, to throw my hand over his before he reached the cell phone nestled in a bowl upon the bookshelves.
"No…Gil…don't answer it."
"Catherine, if it's Eddie…."
"I don't care if it's Eddie…I want to enjoy every second of this, Gil. You know…I have to go home eventually." We both knew that, but it hurt me more to see him struggle to accept it, nodding after a moment of silence had settled between us. I broke it with a kiss on his cheek, and he caressed my hair gently before returning to his project on the stove. But I couldn't resist calling over my shoulder as I returned to bed, a quirky smile on my swollen lips. "I love you, Gil Grissom!"
"Go to bed, Catherine." His smile was saddened, wistful, and regretfully, I returned to the bed where we'd consummated our 'marriage' only hours ago. It was a marriage of conveience for both of us…not permanent…a way for each of us to escape our own personal solitude. And as I gently rotated the ring on my finger, I wondered as to how quickly I would have to leave in order to annull the union with a minimum of pain.
When I heard him padding down the hallway, humming Vivaldi's four seasons and carrying a tray that rattled with the weight of it's contents…I was dressed in a worn flannel and my pants from the evening before, ready to face my would-be husband about going home to my current one.
I couldn't remember ever regretting anything more.
~Fin~