In the Darkness Bind Them
-Grissom's POV
-PG-13 probably
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even the title, which I stole, obviously, from J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings.
AN- This is my first ever attempt to write fan fiction. I have no idea where this came from. It just all came out and it just went where it wanted to go.
Many thanks to graveshiftCSI for all their support, hilarity and great writing.
Special Thanks to Angie for beta-ing this and for Lauri for offering.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dust swirling, floating litter dancing across the four lanes to be sucked under the rumbling body of a yellow cab. Cars swooshing by, the buzz and clunk of the switch box as the light changes, farther away, the music from the entrance of the forum shops, farther still, the faint dinging of slot machines as a door opens. Sounds recorded, burned into memory. Listening so intently I can almost feel the tiny hair cells in my middle ear vibrating.
Sunrise on the Strip: when the bright gleam of the neon lights blends into the hot orange glow of the desert sunrise. Vegas night has an aura of seedy glamour; all the lights lit up, making everything seem exciting, whether it's the MGM Grand Casino or the Denny's. People dressed up going to see white tigers or pretentious French circus shows for $75 dollars a seat. The darkness hides the disintegration: the dirt and trash lining the streets: the homeless looking for a quarter to buy booze or hit a slot machine at the liquor store. The darkness disguises the cracks and lines on the surfaces of the buildings, not to mention the cracks and lines on the faces of the showgirls.
But come morning, one sees it all, the blinding orange sun reflecting off the miles of filthy sidewalk and cheap strip mall souvenir stores. In the light of day, I'm always grateful for the shimmering heat slithering up in waves, blurring my vision and for the calming darkness of my sunglasses softening the edges of the daytime world.
Cath thinks that's why I keep my townhouse dark. So I can stay in the soothing shadows of night. She says it's easier to keep secrets in the dark.
The darkness has been both friend and foe to us. Our jobs have always been in the night. Moving freely through duskiness, our path clear but leaving no tracks. We've learned to use that darkness, to bob and weave with only penlight-narrow glimpses of illumination guiding us.
I close my eyes behind my sunglasses and remember a different Catherine, bobbing and weaving and wrapping her lithe body around a glittering silver pole. Slithering in and out of the stage light, her body impossibly beautiful, impossibly erotic, and impossibly unreachable. Men panting in the darkness waving dollar bills and room keys hoping for her attention. The darkness shielded me then, watching her from the back of the club, gulping down too much cheap scotch and hiding my erection, imaging her glistening white skin under my fingertips.
Later, under the harsh white glare of the dressing room lights, her skin seemed pallid, bruises visible. The soft glistening of her body revealed to be body glitter mixed with sweat. The whiteness of the powder she snorted glowing almost translucent.
We'd wear our sunglasses in the diner, avoiding even the yellow glow of the lamps. Pretending to study and drinking scalding black coffee until I was sober and Cath was practically jumping out of her skin. I loved the twitching of her flesh, the goosebumps she got from the air conditioning. She felt like night to me, like everything about Vegas night that was both seedy and beautiful; everything that drew me in and kept me in this odd, harsh city.
Now the city is somehow softer, now it feels like Disneyland for addicts. And now Cath and I work together each night, moving through city streets or stranger's homes bathed in the dimness. We've learned to see into the murkiest corners, the blackest shadows to find what we need. Sometimes I still hide in those shadows and watch her work. No longer shimmying around a pole grinding and thrusting. Now I watch her glide her brush across hard surfaces; I watch her flirt with men, or snap at women---always the ones younger than she. The only glaring white glow illuminating us now is the evidence table, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes and the fine lines deepening when she concentrates on her experiment. The bruises are gone, there is no more Eddie to give them to her. The coke is gone, her addiction conquered with a daughter to consider. We no longer burn out our stomachs with bad diner coffee in the wee hours of the morning, preferring now to meet at our houses for our breakfast ritual. Now we even eat food, the coke and the alcohol no longer stealing our appetites. It is better now. We are happier. But somehow, I miss the crackling harshness of our early days, as if our spirits have softened along with the city.
I open my eyes again, the sun rising higher, the heat beginning to build. July can be brutal, like living in a kiln. And the daylight lasts too many long hours, lingering on and on into the night like an unwanted guest. It's not where I'm comfortable. It's not my world.
I walk quickly to my car, the black interior still cool, not the oven it will be later today when I slide into it to go to work. Now it is a cocoon, dark and solid, filled with sound from the CD player. Not classical, softly melodic and refined, no this is a ferocious dance mix, something Greg would like, the driving bass thrumming through my body. Harsh and loud, that's what I need. That's what drives me forward today, through the heat and the dirt, towards my destination.
Moving forward from one air-conditioned cocoon to another, I step into my townhouse. Dropping my bag by the door, I am overwhelmed by the quiet. There is no harshness here; it is all cool, soothing solidity. I grab the remote and turn on the stereo. Throwing in the same pulsing club CD I turn the volume up loud. I rest my head against the bookshelf feeling the music surge through me making me ache for a drink and a cigarette. I jerk when I feel hands on my back. I turn and look at my breakfast companion. She was there ahead of me, letting herself in with her key to start making the waffles she promised me. There is no vodka in her orange juice this morning, no powder on her nose. She is still, all these years later, impossibly beautiful, impossibly erotic, and now impossibly confused by my choice of music.
She looks at me, eyebrow quirked, amused smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She begins to move unconsciously to the rhythm of the music. The sunlight filters in through the blinds, highlighting her hair, blonder now and curly. I reach up and run my fingers through the silky strands, ignoring her surprise at my touch. How can I explain to her what I need? How can I justify my desire for the bond of our rough past? How do I balance the light and the dark?
I clench my hand, controlling her head with a fistful of hair and dragging her closer to me. She gasps, startled and presses her hands against my chest. I move my mouth to her ear speaking just above the music. I know what I need.
"Catherine---dance for me."
-Grissom's POV
-PG-13 probably
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even the title, which I stole, obviously, from J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings.
AN- This is my first ever attempt to write fan fiction. I have no idea where this came from. It just all came out and it just went where it wanted to go.
Many thanks to graveshiftCSI for all their support, hilarity and great writing.
Special Thanks to Angie for beta-ing this and for Lauri for offering.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dust swirling, floating litter dancing across the four lanes to be sucked under the rumbling body of a yellow cab. Cars swooshing by, the buzz and clunk of the switch box as the light changes, farther away, the music from the entrance of the forum shops, farther still, the faint dinging of slot machines as a door opens. Sounds recorded, burned into memory. Listening so intently I can almost feel the tiny hair cells in my middle ear vibrating.
Sunrise on the Strip: when the bright gleam of the neon lights blends into the hot orange glow of the desert sunrise. Vegas night has an aura of seedy glamour; all the lights lit up, making everything seem exciting, whether it's the MGM Grand Casino or the Denny's. People dressed up going to see white tigers or pretentious French circus shows for $75 dollars a seat. The darkness hides the disintegration: the dirt and trash lining the streets: the homeless looking for a quarter to buy booze or hit a slot machine at the liquor store. The darkness disguises the cracks and lines on the surfaces of the buildings, not to mention the cracks and lines on the faces of the showgirls.
But come morning, one sees it all, the blinding orange sun reflecting off the miles of filthy sidewalk and cheap strip mall souvenir stores. In the light of day, I'm always grateful for the shimmering heat slithering up in waves, blurring my vision and for the calming darkness of my sunglasses softening the edges of the daytime world.
Cath thinks that's why I keep my townhouse dark. So I can stay in the soothing shadows of night. She says it's easier to keep secrets in the dark.
The darkness has been both friend and foe to us. Our jobs have always been in the night. Moving freely through duskiness, our path clear but leaving no tracks. We've learned to use that darkness, to bob and weave with only penlight-narrow glimpses of illumination guiding us.
I close my eyes behind my sunglasses and remember a different Catherine, bobbing and weaving and wrapping her lithe body around a glittering silver pole. Slithering in and out of the stage light, her body impossibly beautiful, impossibly erotic, and impossibly unreachable. Men panting in the darkness waving dollar bills and room keys hoping for her attention. The darkness shielded me then, watching her from the back of the club, gulping down too much cheap scotch and hiding my erection, imaging her glistening white skin under my fingertips.
Later, under the harsh white glare of the dressing room lights, her skin seemed pallid, bruises visible. The soft glistening of her body revealed to be body glitter mixed with sweat. The whiteness of the powder she snorted glowing almost translucent.
We'd wear our sunglasses in the diner, avoiding even the yellow glow of the lamps. Pretending to study and drinking scalding black coffee until I was sober and Cath was practically jumping out of her skin. I loved the twitching of her flesh, the goosebumps she got from the air conditioning. She felt like night to me, like everything about Vegas night that was both seedy and beautiful; everything that drew me in and kept me in this odd, harsh city.
Now the city is somehow softer, now it feels like Disneyland for addicts. And now Cath and I work together each night, moving through city streets or stranger's homes bathed in the dimness. We've learned to see into the murkiest corners, the blackest shadows to find what we need. Sometimes I still hide in those shadows and watch her work. No longer shimmying around a pole grinding and thrusting. Now I watch her glide her brush across hard surfaces; I watch her flirt with men, or snap at women---always the ones younger than she. The only glaring white glow illuminating us now is the evidence table, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes and the fine lines deepening when she concentrates on her experiment. The bruises are gone, there is no more Eddie to give them to her. The coke is gone, her addiction conquered with a daughter to consider. We no longer burn out our stomachs with bad diner coffee in the wee hours of the morning, preferring now to meet at our houses for our breakfast ritual. Now we even eat food, the coke and the alcohol no longer stealing our appetites. It is better now. We are happier. But somehow, I miss the crackling harshness of our early days, as if our spirits have softened along with the city.
I open my eyes again, the sun rising higher, the heat beginning to build. July can be brutal, like living in a kiln. And the daylight lasts too many long hours, lingering on and on into the night like an unwanted guest. It's not where I'm comfortable. It's not my world.
I walk quickly to my car, the black interior still cool, not the oven it will be later today when I slide into it to go to work. Now it is a cocoon, dark and solid, filled with sound from the CD player. Not classical, softly melodic and refined, no this is a ferocious dance mix, something Greg would like, the driving bass thrumming through my body. Harsh and loud, that's what I need. That's what drives me forward today, through the heat and the dirt, towards my destination.
Moving forward from one air-conditioned cocoon to another, I step into my townhouse. Dropping my bag by the door, I am overwhelmed by the quiet. There is no harshness here; it is all cool, soothing solidity. I grab the remote and turn on the stereo. Throwing in the same pulsing club CD I turn the volume up loud. I rest my head against the bookshelf feeling the music surge through me making me ache for a drink and a cigarette. I jerk when I feel hands on my back. I turn and look at my breakfast companion. She was there ahead of me, letting herself in with her key to start making the waffles she promised me. There is no vodka in her orange juice this morning, no powder on her nose. She is still, all these years later, impossibly beautiful, impossibly erotic, and now impossibly confused by my choice of music.
She looks at me, eyebrow quirked, amused smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She begins to move unconsciously to the rhythm of the music. The sunlight filters in through the blinds, highlighting her hair, blonder now and curly. I reach up and run my fingers through the silky strands, ignoring her surprise at my touch. How can I explain to her what I need? How can I justify my desire for the bond of our rough past? How do I balance the light and the dark?
I clench my hand, controlling her head with a fistful of hair and dragging her closer to me. She gasps, startled and presses her hands against my chest. I move my mouth to her ear speaking just above the music. I know what I need.
"Catherine---dance for me."