A/N: This story takes place probably between the first few eps of season 6.
Big huge thanks to my new beta Catherine G. for her hard work on this (and for making time for it through her busy schedule, lol).
Thanks also to Sharon for all the PMs she sends, and the encouragement she's given me :)
Rollercoaster
"Why don't you just admit it?"
Gil Grissom blinked himself out a reverie to hear Catherine Willows' voice at his right side. He heard her sigh, and he glanced out of the corners of his eyes to see her shift restlessly in the passengers seat.
"Admit to what?" he asked of her, turning his attention back on the road ahead, his fingers lightly poised on the steering wheel.
"That you're lost."
"I'm not lost," Grissom protested flatly, staring ahead. There was nothing but what seemed to be endless road stretching out and disappearing into the darkness. There were no lights save the Denali's headlights, and there had been no other cars spotted for quite some time now.
"You said that two hours ago," Catherine rolled down the window and let her elbow rest on the door. The cool night breeze stirred her hair. "We should have passed by three gas stations by now," she pointed out, "I haven't seen one – I haven't even seen any signs. How lost are you?"
"I'm not lost," Grissom repeated, growing a little more agitated.
Catherine rolled her blue eyes at him and shook her head, "Why is it men can never admit they're lost?"
"Mystery of life. Perhaps it's the same reason women can't admit they're wrong," Grissom responded, perhaps being more judgmental than he had originally intended, but feeling it was warranted. He'd been listening to Catherine's non-stop criticism for six hours straight in the car, and he was beginning to lose his patience.
"Women are usually right," Catherine remarked, "and you, Grissom, are lost."
"Cath…I'm not lost. We're taking the longer route because one of the main roads is closed off for repairs. If you'd been listening to the radio when the traffic reports were on, you'd have heard."
"That's man-talk for 'I'm lost'," Catherine retorted.
Grissom inwardly cringed, his hands tightened on the wheel. He took a deep breath and silently counted backwards from ten to one. Feeling the anger begin to wane with each number, he loosened his hands on the wheel again and spoke; "This argument is getting pretty old now."
"Look, just pull over and check the map," Catherine replied, although Grissom was convinced it was more of a command than a suggestion.
"I already did. We're on the right road."
"Maybe you have the map upside down," she suggested.
He sucked in a breath, "I know how to navigate a map, thank you," he said coldly, and hoped this would bring enough closure that she'd drop the subject completely.
"Your navigation got us lost," Catherine grumbled.
Grissom groaned in response but chose not to respond to her.
It had been a long three days. A lot of that time had been spent on the road, with two conferences on new forensic techniques. Of course, there had been the option to fly out to the conference, but Grissom had preferred the option of driving there and back again.
The quiet solitude of his car had always been much more comfortable than a busy airplane full of strangers and flight attendants. The news that Catherine was attending the same conference hadn't come until the last minute. Being courteous as always, Grissom had offered her the option of traveling with him.
Wish I hadn't offered her a ride at all, Grissom thought dully, he momentarily caught the annoyed reflection of his face in the wing mirror.
In the past, being on a road trip with Catherine Willows had always been somewhat enjoyable. While he'd drive, she'd play with the radio, constantly switching stations to find something she could listen to. They even had a game they'd play to keep themselves entertained when the journey began to bore them both to tears: Grissom would reel off tiny vague details from previous cases they'd worked on together in the past without mentioning names or specifics. Letting Catherine try and guess the particular case was always amusing, especially when he'd throw in trick clues just to throw her off the scent.
But this trip hadn't been nearly as amusing as the others. Catherine's whole character had changed over the past few months. Her promotion to swing shift supervisor had somehow adjusted her attitude, and her company as of late had been less enjoyable and more – Grissom hated to admit it to himself – annoying. He didn't like to dwell on it much, but the thought that a little too much power might have gone to her head had crossed his mind once or twice. He'd hoped that the transition from swing shift supervisor to supervisor back on graveyard would have adjusted her attitude and made her a little more tolerable again. No such luck.
More than once tonight he'd considered kicking her out of his car and telling her to walk to Vegas. Of course, he didn't have it in him to be so cruel as to strand her in the middle of nowhere, but the thought of leaving her standing at the side of the road with a bewildered expression offered a slight relief to the stress that had been building over the past few days.
Catherine only remained quiet for a few moments before starting again, this time, picking up on another subject he wasn't in the mood to discuss. "You're pissed off about Terri Miller, aren't you?"
"Not at all," Gil responded quietly, he pressed his lips tight and fought the urge to tell Catherine to mind her own business.
"Oh come on," Catherine huffed, "it didn't bother you?"
"Why would it?"
"She got married."
"I already knew she was married, Cath. That happened years ago," he mumbled.
"She's four months pregnant."
Gil sighed, "And why should this bother me?"
"You went out with her," Catherine pointed out.
"Once, Catherine, once. Not exactly a long term relationship, is it?" Gil swallowed back the swell of anger that had begun to rise in his throat.
"Still…it's always hard seeing an ex."
"She doesn't even count as an ex, Catherine. She was a woman I dated one time, it didn't work out, and I'm happy for her. End of story," he uttered, trying to finalize the conversation by using the authoritative tone he tended to use at work.
"Right," Catherine snorted, disbelieving.
Grissom wanted to slam down on the brakes and ask her why she was trying to instigate arguments with him when he'd done nothing to warrant it. However, as tempting as it was to lose his temper with her, he remained calm, and tried to concentrate on the road instead.
He sighed without meaning to do so, drawing Catherine's attention to the fact that something was bothering him.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he responded wearily.
"Tired of driving?"
"A little," he admitted, and shrugged.
"Want me to drive?" Catherine offered.
"No. You always adjust my mirrors and I hate that," he frowned a little, he tried to stifle a yawn against the back of his left hand, keeping his right hand steady on the wheel.
"Griss, we need to stop for the night. You're tired, I'm aching from sitting too long in this seat, and we could both use something to eat," Catherine suggested.
"Look, another three hours, we'll be in Vegas," Gil remarked.
"Another three hours, you could fall asleep at the wheel," Catherine uttered, "and I might not be able to grab it in time to stop you from crashing us both into a tree or another car," she glanced ahead, "motel, five miles," she said, gesturing to a sign. "First sign I've seen in hours."
"Look, it's very hard to get lost in America, and it's even harder to stay lost," Grissom uttered.
"So you'll admit, we're lost."
"No, I'm just trying to set your mind at ease…"
"Lets stop at the motel for the night and get some rest. We can re-examine the map and see where you went wrong."
"We're not lost," he reiterated, "I know where I'm going."
"Man talk," Catherine rolled her eyes.
Grissom spent the next few moments reflecting on what should happen next. Another three hours, he was positive they would be back in Las Vegas – but this meant a three hours drive with an irritated Catherine next to him.
Go to the motel. It'll shut her up. We can get separate rooms and spend some time away from each other. By the time we get some rest, wake up, and have a shower, we'll both be in better moods. It's a better solution than sitting in this car arguing like an old married couple who can't stand each other's company.
"Fine, we'll go to the motel," Grissom gave in.
Catherine nodded, apparently satisfied to get her way. "Good."
By the time Grissom pulled his Denali into the parking lot at the front of the motel, a heavy rain had begun to pour down. A red 'vacancy' sign was flickering in the large bare window of the small managers office located on the first floor of the L-shaped building. The vacancy sign cast a bright harsh red light on both colleagues as they stared out of the windows.
"The Bates Motel was homier than this place," Catherine cracked.
"Maybe Norman will give us a discount rate," Grissom mused with a little smirk, the tension from their ride together beginning to ever so slightly ease now that they weren't in such close quarters.
Grissom adjusted the collar of his jacket so it would protect his neck from the rain and left the car, closing the door with a quiet thud.
Catherine climbed out to follow, holding her purse over her head to shield her hair from a soaking. She jogged in her high heeled designer Italian boots until she was protected from the rain by the above balcony lining the second floor. She shook the water off her purse and examined how soaked her pants legs were with a groan.
They entered the small managers office together, where the Hispanic guy behind the counter looked less than enthusiastic to see them both. Instead of offering them any service, he turned his attention back to the small black and white TV he was watching. An old horror movie was playing, the reception of poor quality, perhaps from being so far outside of the rest of civilization, or perhaps just affected by the rain, Grissom couldn't be sure.
Catherine took charge, she moved over, "heyyyy, we need rooms."
The guy behind the counter didn't even raise his eyes from the TV to respond, "only one room," he responded in a broad accent. He had a bowl of popcorn in his lap and he popped a piece into his mouth.
"No, two rooms," Catherine tried again, she spoke slowly, "separate rooms. One room for me and one room for my colleague here."
Grissom sighed silently, shaking his head, her manner seemed somewhat unnecessary.
"Then your luck is out. Only one room is left," the guy shot her a strange look.
"Only one?" Catherine asked, "Those rooms all look pretty empty to me," she said gesturing to the ceiling, more or less indicating the second floor.
"Lights are out. It's one am, what do you expect?" the Hispanic guy gave her a strange look as if he thought she might be very well verging on insanity.
It was obvious Catherine was becoming even more exasperated with the guy. She stared at the little name tag pinned to the pocket of his shirt, "Look…Jonny," she used his name in the most intimidating way she could, "Are you sure there's no other available rooms?"
Jonny gestured to one key hanging on a hook on a numbered plate on the wall at his back, "one key. One room. Room twelve. Take it or leave it."
Catherine didn't seem to be very happy about his response, "Your attitude is—"
Grissom placed a strong hand on her shoulder and gripped hard. He wasn't in the mood to listen to her complaining, he'd heard enough of it in the car. "Cath…it's fine. We'll drive until we find somewhere else or we'll just keep going until we're back in Vegas."
"You're heading to Vegas?" Jonny half-laughed, half-snorted as he raised a dark eyebrow, his eyes glittering in amusement, "man, you're a long way off."
"About three hours drive, according to the map…" Grissom admitted.
"What map are you reading, man?" Jonny demanded, "it's at least a six hour drive to Vegas from here."
Catherine spun around and swatted Grissom's arm hard, "I told you we were lost!"
Grissom put a hand to his head and sighed, he found himself wishing he'd listened the first moment Catherine had tried to convince him they were on the wrong road. Six hours. Six long painful hours in a car with Catherine – having had barely enough sleep to even concentrate on the road. The last six hours had seemed bad enough, but an additional six would be surely be a torturous hell while she was in this mood.
"Even I'm prone to mistakes every now and then, Catherine. I'm only human."
"A human who never listens," Catherine uttered.
Jonny stood tapping his fingers impatiently on the counter, seemingly irritated by their presence.
"I'm sorry, are we keeping you from your movie?" Catherine asked, the tone of her voice practically dripping with disdain.
With an exasperated sigh Jonny smacked his hand off the counter, "look, do you want the room or not?"
"Fine, we'll take it," Catherine muttered, "but I'm speaking with your supervisor in the morning."
"Fine," the guy replied, giving a nonchalant shrug.
Catherine shook her shoulders a little, Grissom had the distinct impression she was trying to shake away the hostility she had building up. "It's twin beds, right?" she asked.
"Yup."
"We can charge this to the department, right?" she turned to Grissom, "business expense…" she trailed off.
"Ecklie wouldn't like that," Grissom remarked.
"Ecklie can kiss my ass," Catherine muttered. "It was his idea for us to attend the damn conference in the first place. It might be your fault we're lost, but it's still his fault we're here," she added.
"Excuse us," Grissom said politely to Jonny, and then he took Catherine by the elbow and led her outside. The rain was still coming down heavily, bouncing off the asphalt and streaking the windows of the cars parked outside.
"What's going on?" Catherine asked of him, pulling her elbow out of his grip. She glanced up making sure the above balcony was protecting her from the rain.
"You and I can't share a room," he said in a firm tone.
Catherine gave him a look, she didn't even need to ask 'why', it seemed she already knew he was going to relay the reasons to her.
"It would be uncomfortable, inappropriate, and not to mention idiotic."
"Idiotic?" Catherine folded her arms. "Don't hold back, Grissom. Say what you really feel."
"You want to charge this to the lab. Ecklie would notice right away ONE motel room charged to the lab – not two. He puts two and two together and comes up with five. Then you know what would happen. You know how Ecklie talks, Catherine. His mouth runs away with him, and rumors would spread around the lab faster than wildfire – everyone would get the wrong idea."
Catherine just gave a laugh, "You're paranoid. No one is going to get the wrong idea," she shrugged, "Besides, I'm almost pretty sure most of the people at work think you, uh…might be gay."
"I'm quite aware of that," Grissom remarked hotly. He'd heard more than a few whispers behind his back recently. He wasn't quite sure how this rumor had started – although in the back of his mind he suspected Conrad Ecklie might have had a hand in it.
"You've never tried to correct them on the subject," Catherine pointed out.
"Why should I? Let them make their judgments if they want – nothing I say is going to change their minds otherwise," he shrugged, "I know I'm not gay. You know I'm not gay. I don't have to prove myself to anyone, what I do in the bedroom is my own affair, it's no one's business."
"Do I detect a note of hostility in your voice?" Catherine said, somewhat amused. Her eyes twinkled mischievously, and Grissom could clearly see she was getting some kind of private enjoyment out of annoying him as much as possible tonight.
"Catherine…"
"Fine. We'll pay with our own hard-earned cash. Split the costs. What do you say?" she asked.
"I say it's still inappropriate."
"Gil," she said strongly, "we're both tired, we're aching, we could both use a shower – not together I might add. We've been friends for a long – emphasis on long – time. Nothing inappropriate here. We're two adults who just happen to need to share a motel room – just for a short while to get some rest."
Grissom made a face at this, he really didn't like the idea of sharing a room with Catherine. He'd spent too much time in her company as it was – the thought of sharing close quarters even for a few hours was almost unbearable.
"I could sleep in the car…" Grissom offered.
"Oh please," Catherine rolled her eyes at him, she opened the door to the office, ready to head back inside, "way you're acting, you'd think I have cooties or something," she teased, but smiled.
"Fine. We'll share the room. But this goes no further, understand?"
"Perfectly," Catherine responded, "You think I'm going to go bragging I spent the night in the same room as Gil Grissom? That'd put a cramp on my sex life."
It was Grissom's turn to roll his eyes now. "Right."
Room twelve was nothing special, and there was nothing particularly welcoming about the drab color of the walls, the tacky candlewick bedspreads on the twin beds, or the bad lighting. The carpet was dingy brown, there were cigarette burns on it near the leg of a chair by the large window.
"Well…it's certainly not the Bellagio," Catherine sighed as she dropped her travel bag on the floor by the doorway. "But it'll do," she dropped her purse on a bed to claim it, yanked her jacket off and tossed it to the chair.
"Reminds me of every motel murder scene I've ever investigated," Grissom confessed, glancing around, one hand still on his own bag. He found himself wondering if anyone had ever died in this room – died one of many mysterious deaths such as the ones he'd investigated over the years.
"Do you have your field kit with you?" Catherine asked.
"Why would I have my field kit with me at a conference?"
"Because you're you. You never go anywhere unprepared," Catherine smirked, "So, do you?"
"It's in the car," Grissom responded, "why?" he put his bag at the bottom of the other bed.
"This place is shady looking. I want to make sure the sheets have been washed."
"You'll know if they've been washed, Catherine," Grissom ran his fingers through his wet hair absently. He slipped his phone out from his phone out from his inside jacket pocket, he checked for messages.
"Any messages from work?"
"Nope."
"Weird," Catherine shrugged, she pulled the covers from the bed to examine the sheets, "looks clean enough," she admitted to herself, "wish I had a UV light handy, though."
Grissom slipped his jacket – which was now thoroughly soaked – off and laid it on the chair beside Catherine's equally wet jacket.
"You've been pretty quiet on this trip," Catherine admitted, as she'd opened her bag and was raking through it.
Grissom stared out of the window, admiring the way the asphalt outside seemed to shine with the rain and the red light from that flashing vacancy sign in the office window. "Have I? Sorry."
"You haven't been you usual self lately."
That makes two of us, Cath, he wished he had the nerve to say, but instead held his tongue. He wasn't in the mood to instigate any arguments. Arguing with Catherine was futile; she always won.
"Everyone at work has been weird lately," Catherine took a hairbrush out for her bag and ran it quickly through her hair, then slipped an elastic band around it to keep the damp tendrils away from her face.
"How so?" he asked.
"Nick has been…I don't know, he didn't like being on the swing shift but now that he's back on graveyard, he's not the same…not that I blame him…"
"Of course," Grissom nodded in agreement. The less said about what had happened to Nick months ago, the better. The whole thing still seemed too close to the surface and Grissom wasn't sure he could face having to relive it all again in his mind.
"And then there's Sara…Sara has been…" she trailed off, she couldn't seem to find the words.
Grissom said nothing, he knew what Catherine meant despite the fact that she couldn't seem to find the words.
"I think she was pissed because Ecklie sent me to the conference instead of her," Catherine admitted.
"She was interested in the new scientific techniques that would be demonstrated at the conference. She didn't see the need for two supervisors to attend the conference," was all Grissom had to say on the matter.
"I bet she was interested in more than just the new scientific techniques, Grissom," Catherine smirked a little.
Grissom glanced over his shoulder at Catherine, "Whatever do you mean?"
"Oh come on – you and Sara?" Catherine asked, "obvious and unobvious at the same time. You suggested her to Ecklie for this conference – that's probably why Ecklie sent me instead of her."
"Ecklie sent you because he feels it's necessary for a supervisor to know all the newest procedures," Grissom replied.
"Uh huh," Catherine tilted her head, her expression telling him she didn't believe it.
"I'm not sure what you're trying to imply, Catherine," Grissom remarked haughtily, although he fully understood what she was implying.
"You and Sara have this thing. Conference, three nights away from work – would have been a good excuse to get something going."
"Despite what you think, I did suggest her to Ecklie because she wanted to go purely for the conference itself. She had suggested wanting to go long before Ecklie even told me I'd be going," Grissom explained. "There's no ulterior motives."
Catherine shrugged.
"What thing?" Grissom suddenly asked.
"Hmm?"
"You described me and Sara as having a 'thing'. Enlighten me as to what's that supposed to mean."
Catherine sat on the edge of her bed, slipped her boots off, placed them neatly on the floor and then set to rubbing her pinched toes, "You know…the flirting."
"Did anyone ever tell you that you have an overactive imagination?" Grissom asked, keeping his gaze on her all the while.
"All the time. Especially in bed," Catherine replied with a mischievous wink. "You think I don't notice when you and Sara are standing close together and she deliberately moves so her breast kind of touches your arm?"
Grissom's cheeks flushed deep crimson, "I've never noticed," he lied. In truth, he'd noticed more than a few times. It was only human to notice, right? Still, he was convinced this was just inadvertent contact and nothing more.
When you're trying to look at something someone else is doing – especially over their shoulder – it's hard not to brush against them. I don't think Sara is the type of woman who would deliberately push herself up against me in such manner.
"The only way a man wouldn't notice something like that is if he were dead – which in your case is probably close enough, but still…you couldn't miss it," Catherine crossed one leg over the other. "Someone as observant as you isn't likely to miss something like that, Grissom."
"I'm sure that it's unintentional," he stared back out of the window.
"Unintentional my ass."
"Catherine, it's easy enough to mistakenly touch someone in such a way. Remember the time I tripped, tried to steady myself on you and grabbed your right breast by accident."
"That wasn't an accident; that was you looking for confirmation that I had breast augmentation."
"It was an accident," Grissom retorted huffily.
"How much longer are you going to stay in denial, Grissom?" Catherine slipped her bracelets off and placed them on the small cabinet by her bed.
"I'm not denying anything," he frowned, "it was an accident. And for your information if I'd been looking for confirmation that you had breast augmentation, I'd have asked you."
"I'm not talking about that, I'm talking about Sara," Catherine replied quickly.
Grissom said nothing, simply stared out of the window, trying to ignore her question as he reminded himself of the many reasons he should have just kept on driving instead of deciding to stop at the motel for the night.
"You get jealous any time she's dating anyone. You seem to know just when she's out on a date and find some reason to haul her into work…but then she's single and you hold her at arms length…" Catherine paused. "Just like you're doing now."
Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, Grissom thought at her desperately.
"Sometimes I think you don't want to be with her, but you don't want anyone else to be with her either," Catherine pointed out. "Have your cake and eat it."
"Can we please just drop this subject?"
"Whatever you say," Catherine gave a laugh, "I'm gonna go take a shower," she grabbed a towel from her bag.
"Isn't that a hotel towel?" Grissom raised an eyebrow.
"Everyone expects you to steal hotel towels," Catherine smirked, "besides, you think I'm going to use a motel towel…imagine the kind of stuff I might find on one of those…" she made a face.
Grissom smirked a little and watched her disappear into the bathroom.
The sound of Catherine's shower filled both bathroom and bedroom. The bathroom had no door, and Grissom had to assign himself to the other side of the room far from the sight of the door. Normal men would have been tempted to peer in to see Catherine Willows take a shower. Grissom, on the other hand, was more interested in staring out the window and observing the occasional cars that sped by on the lonely road.
He wished Catherine hadn't brought up the subject of Sara Sidle. He'd been doing fine all day without thinking about her. Being far from Sara had given him time to relax without needing to worry about where their relationship was – or wasn't – going.
Catherine had to open her mouth, Grissom thought dejectedly as he pulled the drapes closed. He picked up his phone and checked for messages again surprised that none had come through. Still no messages. What's going on? By now I should have had my phone ringing every half hour…
"Still no messages?"
Grissom turned to see Catherine crossing the room wearing nothing but a towel, her skin red from the heat of the shower, hair hanging in damp tendrils around her bare shoulders.
"Maybe it's broken," Grissom tried to reason. He shifted his eyes from Catherine and focused on the phone instead.
Catherine grabbed a nightgown from her bag, "Must be unnerving. You must be thinking the lab doesn't need you anymore," she teased, a smirk playing around her shiny scrubbed face.
Grissom felt the sting of those words more than perhaps he normally would have. He had to admit, he certainly had been thinking along the same lines. Catherine's confirmation she was thinking it herself only seemed to make it worse. It was as if Catherine had just poured acid into an already raw wound.
"If anything, it's not unnerving," he lied. "It's reassuring that the lab can survive without me there."
"Right," Catherine said, sounding like she didn't believe him as she went back into the bathroom to change. From there, he heard her continue speaking, "Have you thought of calling the lab to check in?"
"No," Grissom answered loudly so she'd hear him from where she was.
Catherine returned a moment later wearing a cotton nightgown that hung midway down her thighs. She stood, by her bed, towel drying her hair, "maybe you should, since it's obviously bothering you," she smirked.
Grissom put his phone down on the cabinet beside his bed, "It's not bothering me," he quietly responded. He sat down on the bed and stared around the room, letting himself be lost in thought for several moments.
"You've been tense for the past two days," Catherine suddenly remarked, her forwardness didn't surprise Grissom in the least when she added, "You need to get laid."
Grissom couldn't help but roll his eyes, "No, I don't. I need peace and quiet – something I rarely find when I'm in the company of you."
Catherine gave laugh, not offended by these words at all, "Hey, you offered to drive me here."
"I know," Grissom wearily rubbed the back of his neck, driving for such a long period without rest had left the muscles in his neck and shoulders feeling as if they'd been tangled, knotted and stretched like some worn rubber bands.
Catherine slung the towel over the arm of the chair and moved over to sit behind him, "poor Grissom. Stuck with me another night," she knelt behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders, squeezing hard.
He winced in the pain, "You're ruthless."
"I'm good at this," she assured, massaging hard into his flesh rather as if she were trying to knead a lump of dough.
I'm being an ass. Okay, Catherine is hard to take in large doses, but I'm not exactly a picnic either. If I was a better traveling companion, I would have listened when she said I'd taken the wrong turn.
Grissom jolted in pain as she began working the back of his neck with fingers he was sure were far too strong to belong to any woman he knew, "that's sore."
"It's sore because your muscles are tight because you're stressing. You really need to relax," Catherine sighed without a hint of remorse, "what's wrong with you?"
"Nothing is wrong with me. I just want to get back to the lab so I can do my job."
"And be with Sara."
"Sara has nothing to do with it."
Catherine puffed in objection, her fingers squeezed at the nape of his neck. "You make everything in your life so damn complicated, you know that?"
"Life is complicated," Grissom retorted sharply, then regretted using that tone.
Catherine, however, didn't seem to even be offended by his tone. She slid her hands to his shoulders and began to massage hard, "Okay, I'll admit, life isn't always a bed of roses. If it was, I'd be shacked up in this motel with Tom Cruise and not stuck with you on a stupid business trip," she teased, "He'd be a lot more fun to give a massage to."
Grissom couldn't help but smile at the concept, he could almost see Tom Cruise stuck in a room with Catherine. He imagined Tom might be a little panicked under those conditions.
"If it were you and Sara, would you have shared a motel room with her?"
"If Sara and I were on this trip, we'd have continued driving through the night to get home to Vegas," Grissom commented.
"I'm sorry I'm not her."
"Catherine, I don't want you to be her. I'm quite happy sitting here with you, as much pain as you're putting me in right now," he rolled his neck and winced at the pain.
"It'll ease up, I promise…" Catherine trailed off for a moment, "Gil…"
"Yes?"
"Why haven't you asked her out?"
"Hmm?"
Catherine dug her fingers hard into his neck, "Sara. Why haven't you asked Sara out."
Grissom became increasingly frustrated. It was becoming obvious Catherine had no intentions of letting the conversation drop. He sighed. "When I was a kid, my mother gave me a piece of advice. She said 'if you can think of ten reasons not to do something, don't do it'."
"And you have ten reasons not to be with Sara?" Catherine asked, sounding confused, she stopped massaging.
"Nine," Grissom corrected..
"So the problem is…?" she trailed off.
"It's too close to ten," he replied softly and kept his eyes on the wall.
"Care to elaborate what the nine reasons are?" Catherine queried, beginning to massage again.
"Not really," he lowered his head, staring at the floor now.
Catherine pinched the nape of his neck, "You don't trust me?"
"Of course I trust you."
"Then why not tell me?"
Grissom pulled away from her, and turned to look at her suspiciously, "Why are you so interested? You don't even like Sara."
Catherine gave a slight laugh, "I never said I don't like her."
"You don't need to say it. Past behavior seems to prove it," Grissom retorted and winced suddenly realizing he'd momentarily let too much emotion seep into his voice. He'd sounded far more indignant than he would have liked.
"Oooh, we are getting protective of Sara, aren't we?" Catherine was amused.
Grissom stood, straightening his posture, but he bowed his head graciously, "Sorry. It's not my place," he decided suddenly. "If you don't like Sara, that's your thing. It's none of my business if you do or not. As long as you can work harmoniously together for the most part I can deal with it."
"Look, I have nothing against her. Me and Sara don't always see eye-to-eye but big deal. Same could be said about me and Nick, or me and Warrick, or me and you," she pointed out. "Me and Sara had a falling out over a case and it's ancient history now," Catherine shrugged, moved to her own bed and stretched out over the blankets. "Already forgotten."
"If you say so," Grissom said quietly. He kicked off his shoes and lay on his bed fully clothed. Catherine had gone quiet for a moment and he hoped the subject was dropped.
"So come on, Gil," Catherine said, emphasizing on his first name just because she could. She was one of the few people Grissom let call him by his first name. "What's keeping you from asking her out?"
Grissom remained silent as he folded his arms over his stomach. Drop it, Cath, he felt like saying but bit his tongue to deny his mouth the luxury.
Catherine was staring at him, he could feel the weight of her eyes right on his face. "Aren't you going to answer me?"
"You answer my question first," he turned to look at her and gave her an intense gaze.
"What question?" Catherine played stupid.
"Why are you interested in what my thoughts are on Sara?"
Catherine paused almost dramatically, thinking about her response, then finally, she spoke. "You're what…fifty years old?"
"Nearly forty-nine, thank you very much," he muttered.
"You've never had a steady relationship in your life. If you don't start taking life seriously you're going to die alone in that lonely little condo – wait, I'm sorry – townhouse of yours."
So what? He thought but he just looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
Catherine mirrored his expression.
"That's not true," Grissom reacted calmly after a moment of reflection, "I'll have my pet tarantula, and my maggot farm."
Catherine rolled her sharp blue eyes but smiled nevertheless, "Don't you ever crave human companionship?"
"I get plenty of that at work, Cath," Grissom reminded with a wry smile.
"You can't go on forever just observing people, Gil. Eventually you're going to have to start participating with them. You're wasting what's left of your life…you have, what? Another twenty-five years left if you're lucky?"
"What would I accomplish in twenty-five years that I haven't already accomplished in forty-eight?" he challenged.
"A social life outside of crime investigation. Dating…getting engaged, married…having a couple of kids, possibly even grandkids, who knows?" Catherine shrugged, "You've conquered the academic word, you've conquered the forensic world, and the bug world. Try conquering the human world, it's a lot more challenging."
Grissom didn't have a response, so he quietly brooded to himself about what she was saying. As if she's an authority to give advice? My social-life might be non-existent, but her life outside of work is one nightmare after the other. She had a bad marriage that ended bitterly, her kid acts out all the time…and all Cath seems to do is date guys who later turn out to be Mr. Wrong. She's not exactly a role model for a great life.
"Are you scared of getting hurt? Emotionally, I mean." Catherine suddenly asked, which made Grissom's head snap back to face her again. He composed himself.
"No one likes getting hurt emotionally," he said coolly.
"Okay, you're the kind of guy who likes metaphors," Catherine sat up with her legs folded under her, hands on her knees, "Think of a rollercoaster – your favorite rollercoaster in the whole world."
"What?" he gave a laugh, but immediately started to rack his brains for his favorite rollercoaster. Before he could name it, she started to talk.
"It goes up, it goes down, swings left and right, and at some points, even turns you completely upside down," Catherine explained, "and you can even get hurt on a rollercoaster. You could fall out, the thing could come off the tracks and crash – things can go wrong. You could walk away from it unscathed or you could walk away damaged or not walk away at all. Every time you go on one of those things you take a risk. But you like the thrill of the ride – what's it you say it does…cleanses you?"
"Yeah…" he trailed off.
"Love is like that."
"Love is like a rollercoaster?" he asked, nearly laughing at her again. It was a corny metaphor. "Isn't that a song?" he asked chuckling.
"Shut up," Catherine commanded, "The point is…you take a risk, you could end up being hurt, but without the risk, where's the fun? It's all about the thrill…right?" she asked.
"Are we talking about love or a rollercoaster?"
"Both," Catherine stated matter-of-factly as she climbed under the covers, making a face. Grissom could tell she was hoping to God the sheets were really as clean as they looked. "Look at it one way, Gil," she said after she'd made herself comfortable. "Love is an adventure you haven't been on yet."
Grissom felt as if she'd just knocked the wind right out of his sails. She had put it down basically and un-poetically as he was sure was possible – in fact she'd made it sound so damn corny that it was almost hilarious. But the part that hit too close to home was that she was right. Love was an adventure he hadn't been on yet – and to be honest, he wasn't sure if he really wanted to embark on such an adventure either.
Unlike a rollercoaster, you can't see the track up ahead of you in love. You can't see where you're going or what's coming…you've no telling when it's going to go up or down. You never know when the coaster will go off the track.
Catherine reached up to pull the string on the light on the wall and her side of the room fell into dim darkness. Grissom reached up and tugged on the string on the light above the headboard of the bed he was lying upon and the room fell into utter blackness.
"I don't think love is quite my thing, Cath," Grissom said with a sad smile in the darkness. He was glad she couldn't see his expression, he was afraid she'd be able to see right into his soul if the light was on.
"Love is everybody's thing," was Catherine's final comment before it all went silent and he realized she'd fallen asleep.
When the morning came, Grissom woke up groggy and far from feeling refreshed. The five hours of sleep he'd managed to get hadn't caught up with his face, he still looked exhausted and worn –he was sure he'd aged another ten years overnight. He felt drained and detached from the world, like a walking zombie until a quick cold shower brought him to life, startling him back into the world of the living.
After brushing his teeth, he tamed his now wet curly hair as best he could and dressed in loose fitting faded jeans and a blue t-shirt. Catherine was still sound asleep when he entered the bedroom. He yawned, stretched, and made his way over to the large window, pulling the drapes wide open letting the sunlight onslaught the dark room.
From the other side of the room, Catherine gave a grunt of protest and pulled the blankets over her head, then mumbled something incoherently.
"C'mon, Cath. Rise and shine," Grissom said, deliberately using an overenthusiastic tone, knowing it would get under her skin first thing in the morning before she'd had any coffee. "It's seven a.m."
"I've barely slept," Catherine grumbled and she curled tight under the blankets.
Grissom merely smirked, "Since I got us 'lost', you can drive today," he kept up with the cheery voice, despite he felt nowhere near cheery. It occurred to him that his being deliberately obnoxious was some small part of a revenge for her criticism on how he should live his life. Normally, Grissom wasn't a vengeful man at all, but the thought of getting under her skin this morning brightened his mood ever so slightly.
He went for a walk along the side of the road for some fresh air while Catherine took her time getting ready. He'd wanted her to be ready in ten minutes, but after returning back in twenty he found she was still not ready and was digging through her makeup bag trying to find the lipstick that matched the pink in her shirt.
"Still not ready?"
"Nearly," she located the lipstick and pulled the top off, "Listen, can we stop at work before you drop me off at my house? I need to grab some stuff from my locker."
"Fine. I need to check my messages, emails and mail at work anyway," he shrugged.
After Catherine managed to finish her makeup and grab the rest of her things, they were back in the motel office so Catherine could complain verbally to the daytime manager about their less than humble host, Jonny. Grissom stood with his back pressed against the wall and just observed.
I'll just let Cath vent all her frustration out on the manager then maybe our journey will be more peaceful than last night disaster, he thought.
Within another ten minutes they were back in the Denali, with Catherine now happily seated in the drivers seat contented with her complaint to the daytime manager of the motel and her control over the journey. After consulting the map, she seemed positive of where Grissom had gone wrong, and they had to backtrack for an hour and a half before they were finally on the right road. Even with a rock station on the radio, the volume up loud, and the sound of the engine, Grissom felt lulled into a sleep, and slept through most of the journey.
It wasn't until they were already in Las Vegas again that Grissom was roused, as Catherine hit a bump in the road and the sudden movement caused a sleeping Grissom to bang his head lightly against the door of the car. He blinked, yawned and stared around.
"Home sweet home," Catherine said, she had the window rolled down and her elbow resting on the door, hand loosely on the wheel.
"Indeed," Grissom stifled a yawn on the back of his hand and then spent a few moments trying to decipher the time on his watch through bleary eyes. It was just past one pm.
"You thought any about what I said last night?" Catherine asked as she adjusted her sunglasses and flicked her hair back from her face, leaning back in the seat comfortably.
"I forgot what you said," Grissom replied, and for merely a moment this was true; through his tired haze it was hard to remember much of anything. However, the memory came flooding back after he had time to think. The discussion of Sara and the metaphoric rollercoaster of love. The corny rollercoaster of love.
"You remember years ago when we were rookies and we'd be together on homicide cases?" Catherine asked completely out of the blue.
Grissom turned and looked at her curiously and took a moment of reflection. Yes, he remembered them well, the simple days, the days he sometimes wished he could relive. The days when responsibility in his job was minimal compared to now, and nothing in his personal life was complicated.
Finally, he responded, "Yes. Yes, I do."
"Remember how whenever you'd see a body you used to say 'what a waste of a life'?" Catherine continued.
"Yeah," he nodded and turned to look out of the passengers side window, watching the city pass by him.
"Every time I look at you I think that."
Grissom blinked, "But I'm not wasting my life!" he said almost incredulously, wondering how she could ever think this when he had put in so much hard work to make a difference. How could that be a waste of life?
"Aren't you?"
"We had this discussion," Grissom sighed.
"Yeah, but it still didn't feel quite…what's the word…" Catherine paused for thought.
"Concluded?" the word found it's way to his lips out of instinct.
"Concluded," Catherine nodded, "Yeah, that's it. It was never concluded."
"I thought it was," Grissom confessed.
"Okay…I'll make a deal, I'll ask one question and you have to answer it. After that I'll drop it completely," Catherine offered.
"Just one question?" Grissom asked, and before he'd really had a chance to think about it properly, he'd agreed, "Okay."
Wasn't until after he'd agreed he realized if she thought she could conclude the discussion in one question then it had to have been a pretty good question. Catherine was shrewd and he should have never underestimated her even for a second.
"Are you happy?"
Grissom turned and looked at her, "Huh?"
"Are you happy?" she asked again, this time her voice firmer, her expression more determined.
He turned away from her again, the question caught him off guard and he frowned in concentration. He supposed he was really trying to decipher what she meant by the question and trying to decide what happy really was.
"The fact that you haven't said anything yet seems to point to the answer itself, really," Catherine admitted. "You're not happy."
"I'm content," Grissom finally stated resolutely, he looked at her and kept his eyes on her face all the while.
"Why be content when you can be happy?"
He had no reply to this.
"You said last night that your mother said if you have ten reasons not to do something you shouldn't do it…" Catherine reminded.
"Yes."
"You only have nine. And nine being too close to ten is not a reason."
Grissom frowned.
"Can you think of one reason why you should?"
He had to think about this, he could think of one reason, he could think of more than one, but he couldn't voice them, not to Catherine, not to Sara, not even to himself.
"Because one is enough."
"If you say so…" Grissom gave in; he was too tired of the discussion now to go on with it, and just wanted it to be over and done with.
"God, happiness is so hard to come by these days and you have it right in front of you…" Catherine stopped the car, and he realized she'd pulled the car in the parking lot in front of the CSI building. As he turned to look out of the windshield he saw Sara and Greg just coming outside, both looking terribly exhausted.
Grissom gave a quiet laugh, "Happiness is overrated these days," he replied and got out.
Catherine climbed out of the car, locked it and threw Grissom the keys, "Meet you out here in ten minutes," she said casually and she made her way into the building, giving a polite hello to Sara and Greg as they passed each other.
"Grissom," Greg said brightly, "how was the conference?"
"It was okay…," Grissom replied, "Why are you two still here anyway?"
"We had to finish a case," Sara yawned, she picked her sunglasses out of the breast pocket of her jacket and slipped them on. "Ecklie actually approved overtime."
"Wonders never cease," Grissom smirked.
"See you guys next shift," Greg yawned and he headed off towards the end of the parking lot where his car was parked. They heard him distantly complaining to himself about a bird having 'crapped on his beautiful car'.
Sara gave a slight laugh, "So…did you have fun?" she asked.
"Eh, fun isn't the word, but it was interesting," he admitted. "Has it been hectic here?"
"Kind of…we tried to get in touch with you but couldn't seem to get through – I guess your cell phone was out of range or something so we gave up," she shrugged, "but we tackled it ourselves, so it's all good."
"That's good," he nodded and an uncomfortable moment of silence fell between them. He was now unable to think of anything else except what Catherine had been talking about.
Sara stifled a yawn into her palm. "Well…I, uh…I better go…" her voice broke through his chain of thoughts, "I need some sleep. I'll see you later…"
As Grissom watched her leaving, a piece of Catherine had already worked its way into his head, and could almost hear her nagging him, telling him he was being stupid, that he shouldn't just let her walk away.
'Jesus, will you just ask her out already, this whole thing is getting pretty old'.
He watched the sway of Sara's hair as she walked, listened to the clicking of her heels growing quieter and quieter as she moved further and further away.
Cath is right…Happiness is obtainable if I just reach out and take it.
"Uh, Sara?" he called after her, and he took off in a slow run to her, watched her turn. She raised her sunglasses to look at him, the sun shone directly on her, her eyes were like liquid mahogany in it's warm light.
"Yeah?" she asked as she pushed her sunglasses into her hair, and looked at him. Not just at him, but into him, into his eyes; he was very aware she was looking for something – perhaps something she'd never quite found yet, but hadn't given up hope yet that she might one day find it.
"Listen, I uh…" he paused, wondering what he'd meant to say. That was the part he hadn't quite worked out yet, and he cursed himself for having gone off on the whim without considering things properly first..
"Hmm?"
"The conference, it…it was very fascinating. I'm sorry you couldn't go…" he confessed, it was the first thing that came to mind.
She shrugged, "It's okay. Ecklie wanted the supervisors to attend and he got his way as always. It's no big deal."
"Yeah, but you wanted to go…and you should have been there…but, uh…maybe we could discuss all the new stuff I learned at the conference…over dinner?"
Sara's eyes widened just a little, she blinked, and took a slight step back, "Dinner?"
"Yeah, that is if you want to…"
She seemed rather speechless, so Grissom decided to just keep talking.
"If you do…just, uh…let me know…and uh, we'll…find a time…"
"Oh…" Sara mouthed, she looked very confused, and he supposed he couldn't blame her. He still felt very confused himself. "Uh…okay…I'd like that…"
"Okay…just…let me know…" he nodded, he felt the strange numbness of having asked her what he'd been avoiding and unable to ask her for so long now. Was this his own doing, or was it Catherine's? He wasn't quite sure anymore. The only thing he was sure of was that it was too late now to back out of and he wasn't sure he wanted to even if he could.
"I…uh…will…" she agreed, still apparently as numb by the proposition of dinner as he had been.
"Hey, do you like rollercoasters?" Grissom asked, sure his eyes might be dancing with the private laughter of Catherine's metaphor.
Sara paused, apparently not too sure what to make of the question, or of his expression. Without answering, in an unsure tone she asked, "why?"
Grissom smiled serenely, "I'd…like to go on one with you."
The End