So what exactly did Brass and Catherine talk about at the end of "Hog Heaven," anyway? You know the drill — CSI is not my sandbox. If it were, Jim would have never gone within fifty feet of Rita Nettles. I mean, passive-aggressive whackjobs? Really, Zuiker? Really?
Hindsight
By Alice Day
Catherine Willows poured a finger of Scotch into one rock glass and pushed it across the desk, waiting until her companion picked it up before filling her own glass. "First off, are you okay?" she asked gently.
Jim Brass took a healthy slug of his drink, welcoming the burn. "I'll live," he said. "When that scumbag slid into my car, the door whacked me in the hip. I'm gonna be limping for a couple of days, but apart from that I'm good."
She sighed. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"Yeah." He took a deep breath. "Rita. I feel stupid, more than anything. She wasn't exactly one of my shining moments, you know?"
"I figured." Catherine sipped her Scotch, giving him a thoughtful look. "When did it start, anyway?"
"Back in December." He shrugged. "Would you believe I met her at the supermarket? She was in the frozen foods aisle, crying over one of those stupid Meals for One dinners. And me like a dummy walks up to her and asks what's wrong. She said she hated eating crappy food by herself. I figured it's Christmas, I should be a nice guy, so I tried to cheer her up, make her laugh a little. Next thing I know, we're at this little diner down the street, having some decent chow and talking."
He looked at his drink. "She didn't want to go home -- said her place felt empty. And I...yeah, I was kinda lonely myself. So she came home with me." His closed expression made it clear what happened after Rita Nettles arrived at his place.
Catherine decided she didn't want to go there. "And you didn't know she was married?"
"She wasn't wearing her ring -- I checked." He huffed out a chuckle. "I do have some class, you know. Turns out she'd left it in her bathroom. I didn't see her wearing it until a week later -- when I asked her about it, she said she was kinda separated. I should've known it was bullshit, but...Christmas. It's a crappy time of year to be on your own."
The CSI swirled the amber liquid in her glass. "Did she know you were a cop?"
"No. I should've told her -- I thought I did." His head shifted from side to side, as if he was shadowboxing with a memory. "I know she saw my gun one night -- maybe she thought I worked security or something. Thing is, people look at you funny when they find out you're a cop, like they think you're going to be a hardass. And I just wanted to relax, you know? Leave the badge at work and just be Jim for awhile. Does that make sense?"
"Sure," Catherine said softly. "So, you were just Jim with her."
A slight flush spread across his cheekbones. "Yeah. And...yeah, it was nice. And then--" He was silent for a long moment. "A couple of nights before New Year's, she asked me to get something out of her purse. She had one of those pocketbooks with the clear plastic accordion thing for pictures, and it was kinda open. So I look at it, because I'm nosy like every other cop out there, and the first damn thing I see is their wedding picture. The next thing I saw was a picture of her husband in uniform."
He scrubbed a hand over his face, unable to look at her. "I was screwing another cop's wife. I mean, Jesus, you just don't do that. All these years, I hated that scumbag O'Toole for what he did to Nancy and me." His hand dropped to the desk, clenching slightly. "And here I was, doing the same damn thing."
"Okay, whoa," Catherine said, leaning forward. "First off, you are nothing like Mike O'Toole, all right? You're a good cop, and a damned good man. Secondly, if she'd been honest with you to begin with, you never would've slept with her."
He stared at his desk. "Maybe. But I should've stopped it when she told me she was separated. I just didn't want to. I thought, maybe he's an asshole. Maybe he hits her, that's why she left him. I didn't want to know -- I didn't care. Until I saw his picture."
His eyes, now a stony blue, were bleak. "I called her on it. That's when she said he was on assignment. She kept telling me that he'd changed, he wasn't the man she married, that she was falling in love with me, for Christ's sake. I told her I couldn't do this, and asked her to go. She grabbed my arm and started crying, begging me to let her stay. I tried to be gentle, I swear. She wouldn't put on her jacket, so I put it around her shoulders, and then I got her out the door and closed it behind her. I could hear her standing there for a couple of minutes, sobbing her heart out, and all I could do was hide on the other side like a goddamned coward."
He took another sip of Scotch, grimacing a bit as it went down. "After a while, she left. She called a couple of times and left me these godawful voicemails, begging me to take her back. I just erased them. Eventually she stopped calling. The next time I saw her was when Ecklie and I went to her house. When she opened the door and looked at me, I could literally feel my balls crawling into my throat, it was that kind of an 'oh, shit' moment."
Catherine kept her expression as neutral as possible. "So why didn't you just recuse yourself?"
His lips pressed together, hard. "Because I would've had to tell Ecklie what happened, and I'm not giving him that kind of ammunition. It's bad enough that I shot Bell -- if word got around that I slept with another cop's wife while he was undercover..." He drummed his fingers on the whiskey glass. "I didn't need that getting around the department. It was a fuckup of epic proportions, yeah, but it was also an accident. And I thought, I dunno...maybe I could help her out somehow, make up for what I did to her. If nothing else, I could find the scumbags who killed her husband." He shook his head. "I swear to God, it never even occurred to me that she dropped a dime on him. And then she strolled in here and played me like a rookie. That's what pisses me off the most."
Catherine's heart ached at the hurt and anger in his eyes. She reached for the bottle, offering it silently.
He shook his head. "No, thanks. And I'm sorry, by the way."
"For what?"
"For lying to you when you asked if I had a conflict of interest. I, uh...I panicked."
One side of her mouth quirked up. "That's what you look like when you're panicked? Remind me never to play poker with you."
"Yeah, yeah, I know -- the Great Brass Face." He gave her his classic deadpan scowl, then sighed. "See, that was the other thing that kept running through my mind -- how the hell was I going to explain this to you?"
"You just did."
Dark blue met light blue, locked and held. "Yeah. And I wouldn't blame you for getting up and walking out of here right now," he said quietly.
She wished she could reach across the desk and take his hand. "Jim, I'm the last person in the world who's going to give you grief about a crappy relationship," she said. "In fact, I think I'm still way ahead of you in the I Dated a Loser stakes. I'm just sorry that you got hurt."
He shook his head. "Don't be -- it was a self-inflicted wound. And compared to Jack Nettles, I got off easy." He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I don't know why you put up with me, baby. I really don't."
"You put up with me, too," she said simply. "And my kid, and my mother. Plus you make me laugh, and you cook killer omelets. Oh, and you're dynamite in bed." She gave the large window that overlooked the bullpen a wry look. "In fact, I wouldn't mind a little demonstration of that right now, but I don't think you want to give Vartann and Vega a free show."
He glanced at the window and winced. "Not really."
"Didn't think so," she agreed. "Although it would be funny to see the looks on their faces." She put her now-empty glass on his desk and stood up. "Anyway, I need to get home and take a shower. And I'd really like my ichiban bath boy to wash my back, so don't stay here too long, okay?"
He was already reaching for his tie. "I'm right behind you. And Catherine?"
"Yes?"
"Thanks for the drink."
She winked. "Anytime, Jim."