So … I've posted a fan fiction here, a few days ago, a grillows fan fiction. And I got some beautiful reviews to which I didn't know how to answer. But suddenly I had an idea; how about writing another grillows story? This is set after episode 9x05. I couldn't understand why Gil hadn't talked to Catherine, since she's his friend, more than anyone I think. So I tried to find a reason … here it is, written in "a couple of" words.

Hope you like it.

Ps: I can't stand Lady Heather that much.

AND THAT WAS ENOUGH

*

It was dark.

Shadows had fallen over the city and over the floor of his mind. With a sigh he entered the flat and closed the door behind him, while turning on the light. Then he lifted up his face to search for his dog, and he saw her.

"Hi, Gil"

She was wearing a sweater and a pair of jeans. All the feelings she had were buried under a soft, tired anger, as he could see from her lips, from the cheeks of her, from her fair eyes. Next to her was sitting his dog. He looked angry too, he looked like 'uh, have you forgotten about me?'.

"Hi" he said simply, letting his arms reach his waist.

He didn't even have the istint to ask himself why she was there. Because, somehow, he knew.

"We solved the case"

"I know. Nick told me."

"You could have phoned me."

"You're right. I just -"

"Please, don't."

He suddenly stopped and looked to her. She turned around and took a few steps in the room.

"How's she?"

He frowned.

"I mean Heather. How's she? Beautiful as always, I hope."

The sarcasm of her voice, her graceful, shaking voice, stole him some heart beats. Gil looked at the windows, into the night, her words still floating among his thoughts, all suddenly trapped in the middle of his head. They stood like tall trees in a desert park. He knew he didn't need to answer, so he just waited Catherine to go on. As she started again, he noticed all her sarcasm had vanished.

"I'm trying to find a reason why you don't talk to me, Gil. I'm trying to understand you, but believe me when I say it's hard to get into someone's mind if he doesn't open it to you. I don't … I really can't understand why you haven't come to my house, to my office, to any place I could be." she sighed "I was worried. I was terribly worried and I was looking to you, at work. Always looking to you."

He was still stuck a few metres beyond the door, staring at her body. He could understand how she felt, but couldn't move from there. Maybe the distance made her sadness, or his feeling of guilt, decrease. But then she turned around to face him, and he became scared of what she would say.

"What are friends for, Gil?" she asked "I wanna talk with you, and I want you to ask for my help if you need it. I'm here, near you, I've always been and always will be. But … but maybe she's better in healing you. Maybe she knows the right words, maybe she knows how to make you feel better. Does she make you laugh? Do you and her have fun together? Do you cry together? What the hell were you doing there, Gilbert Grissom, while I was here worrying for you and thinking about you, not able to concentrate a little moment on my fucking life?"

To finish the last sentence she had almost shouted, and he couldn't say a word, he was just keeping his eyes on her. And he was even more scared, because now it was is turn.

"I …" a long hesitation "to be honest, I don't know why I went there."

And then a painful, horrible silence.

"Oh Gil for God's sake! You and my husband and my daughter have always took from me all the patience I could have." she closed his eyes, and finished, in a wishper: "You're lucky I don't hate you, yet".

Then she bent over the sofa to get her bag and started searching for the car's key, while walking toward the door. He'd given again his eyes to the window, but as soon as she was close enough he clasped her hand.

"Sara sent me a video" he murmured, after some istants "We've broken up."

She observed his face and bit her lower lip. He was so, deeply sad. And hurt. Benting the fingers of the hand she went closer to him and finally placed it over his cheek, sure that the subtle pressure she was giving him was the reason why a painful breath escaped his mouth. She moved the hand to his shoulder, and with the other she turned off the lights. Then she hugged him.

Not too strong was the embrace, not too light. She wasn't forcing him to stay; and every muscle, every fiber of his body gradually started to talk to her. The long beard a few inches above her head said he was tired and unable to sleep. The shivers running up his arms meant he was scared of being alone, he was scared of the lack Sara had just left in his life. But his breath calming down said I'm okay with you, and Catherine started relaxing too, her body right against his, there, in the pale darkness of that night. The heart beating into his chest and knocking on the redhead's ear said I haven't slept with her.

A few minutes later his hand lifted up, and reached her back. She stopped taking breaths in and waited, counting again and again the five fingers he'd laid upon her body.

Then, from his lips, came the lowest whisper of all his figure.

"Thank you"

And that was enough.

*

I'd like to continue this story, but I don't know if my ispiration will let me. We'll see! Criticisms are welcome and useful, since I'm Italian and English isn't my first language; I write in English also to enrich it and make it better, so alywas tell me if I got wrong. Thank you for reading …