I DID NOT HAVE SEX WITH CATHERINE WILLOWS
Before the rumour - before the knowing smiles and saucy winks twisted the gossip into legend - there was the hole. It had started ordinary enough, with a summons to a dead body found deep in the Mojave desert, a landscape so remote that Sara had fallen asleep in the car in the near three hours it took to drive there.
She did not wake until Grissom hit the brakes, and the smooth dirt track lurched into desert gravel. Jerked from her seat, she opened her eyes with a start.
She realised that sometime in the last few hours the sun had risen. The blistering heat was already cooking the desert sand. She squinted against its blinding intensity.
"Good morning," Grissom greeted, casting her a glance.
He looked casual in his shirt, sunglasses on.
"You were dead tired," Nick observed, watching her from the back seat. "You get any shut-eye yesterday?"
"A little," she answered.
She avoided his gaze, looking deliberately out into the parched landscape. The memory wafted back like a pleasant drug, pulling at the corners of her mouth. She had spent her daylight hours resting, though in Grissom's bed. Sleep had never quite made it into the picture. She worked to keep her face neutral, profressional.
She saw Nick's eyebrow raise slightly, curiously, just as providence made Catherine interrupt.
"I think we're here," she declared.
Sara saw it, too; a lone squad car beside a run-down galvanised tin shack. In the front seat sat Brass, door open and tie off, sipping water. He had the look of having dismissed his juniors, the scene so remote that it necessitated only one of them waiting in the sizzling heat.
He stood as they pulled up. As she stepped out, the heat hit her in the face like a sledgehammer. She slipped her sunglasses on, dimming the light.
"Welcome to Nowhere," Brass greeted. "Population, one corpse."
Catherine's eyes brushed over the landscape with fond old familiarity.
"Old Blind Man's Valley," Catherine recited. "I never thought I'd end up here more than once in a lifetime."
Sara glanced out at the desert. It stretched flat and barren all the way to the distant horizon. There was not a speck of plant life. She was surprised that Catherine had even seen it once, let alone twice.
"Blind Man's Valley?" Warrick repeated, grabbing his case.
"It's an old legend," Grissom said. "When the first white explorers came to survey the landscape, they arrived woefully unprepared. They didn't anticipate the intensity of the sun out here. They drank all their water in just twelve hours. Their bodies dehydrated, they became confused, lost their way. After several days, the power of the sun reflecting off the sand began to burn their corneas. They spent their last days blind, wandering desperately in circles, shaking a fist to the fates. They died in agony."
"Yeah, I've heard this one," Nick added. "They say if you're out here at night you can still see their ghosts. That their souls are trapped on Earth, wandering for eternity, seeking vengeance."
Sara stared out at the desolation.
"I can't believe that anyone would ever be out here at night to know that," she said doubtfully.
"I was," Catherine said. She threw a reminiscent smile of an old flame. "Nineteen years old, with Max McLean. He promised me stars, a scary story and a good time."
"Did he deliver?" Nick asked interestedly.
Catherine failed to reign in her smile. Her eyes teased, saying nothing and yet hinting at everything.
"Enough that she remembers this place thirty years on," Warrick answered.
In the meantime Sara had wandered to the tin shack. There was a rusty old tap which she knew would be from bore water, but a peek around the wall showed nothing but dirt and cobwebs. She glanced out at the desert again, but there was nothing but scorched dust.
"Where's our scene?" she asked.
"This way," he indicated, turning.
They fell into stride beside him, each carrying a kit. Sara suddenly spotted his target; a small hole in the ground with a metal ladder disappearing down.
"Step up, you're gonna love this one," Brass started. "It's an old mine shaft, abandoned years ago. They used to dig up gold here, but when they pulled up stakes, the tunnel was never sealed. Guess they thought no one would ever be moving in again."
"But they were wrong," Grissom concluded.
"Yeah," Brass said. "Our new inhabitant was found yesterday. Ranger saw scavenger birds hanging around the entrance, it caught his eye."
They arrived at the shaft. It was a round metal opening that resembled a man-hole, an old metal ladder disappearing into darkness. She pushed up her sunglasses. The opening was tiny; the shaft's diameter little more than what a child could squeeze down.
"You're not serious," she said quickly.
"Our scene's down there?" Catherine echoed.
She gave Brass and Grissom a sceptical look.
"We had a rookie drop down earlier," he said. "There's a room about twenty feet down. It opens up."
Catherine was honest. "Did he come out alive?"
"It's a bit of a squeeze," Brass offered. "But you'll be fine. We have the safety gear all here to help you on the way down."
He indicated ropes and harnesses all ready beside the hole. Sara felt a sudden flutter of nervousness ripple through her torso. Even if she squeezed in, her shoulders would be hard against the walls either side. It was also a long way down, dark, and a foul smell wafted out of the centre.
She crinkled her nose, not tempted to volunteer.
"Well," Nick said, with an admirable air of positivity, "You wanna flip for it?"
"There's no point," Warrick replied. "That entrance is child-sized. I wouldn't fit even if I tried."
"I'm with Warrick," Sara contributed. "You'd need someone thin to squeeze down there."
She had not intended to suggest anything, but watched as Grissom's thoughtful eyes raked over first her, then Catherine. His eyes lingered on Catherine, by far the slimmest of the team.
"We're not even gonna draw straws?" she complained.
"No," he said simply.
His gentle eyes stared her down. After a moment she sighed, and glanced down at her designer leather jacket.
"Just let me get changed."
She was a professional, and did not complain further as she retreated to the SUV. She opened the back doors, grabbing an old backpack of spare clothes they all habitually carried with them. She shed her jacket, folding it carefully, and then grabbed the hem of her shirt.
Sara noticed the guys had not looked away.
"Uh, guys?"
Nick looked around. Sara struggled not to smile, watching him.
Catherine's voice sang out from behind the car. "This isn't a show, boys! Turn around!"
They turned, and a moment later Catherine reappeared, dressed in a white tank top and an old pair of jogging shorts. Sara dug a hair tie from the pocket of her jeans, and held it out.
"Hair tie?" she offered.
"Thanks," she replied.
She scooped up her red hair into a ponytail, and then eyed the safety harness held out by Nick.
"Saddle up, Indiana Willows," he said cheerily.
She smiled and held onto his shoulder for balance as he helped her strap it on. She moved to sit on the edge of the hole, legs dangling.
Grissom started to reel off instructions. "If you start to feel claustrophobic, just pause for a moment and take a deep breath. Don't rush. If you get into trouble just yell out, and we'll pull you back up. We'll wait here while you process."
"Right," she said.
She put a hand to the top rung of the ladder, and hastily pulled it away again, hand smothered in dirt.
"Great," she said. "Over two hundred miles to the nearest shower."
"There's a hose behind the shed," Grissom offered calmly.
She gave him a look. "What am I, a poodle? You want me to take a leak in the corners too?"
Brass smiled at her humour, but Grissom did not need to respond. With an air of getting it over with, she grasped the top rung and climbed down onto the ladder. Her thin frame fit comfortably in the hole, though there was little room to spare. Sara knew that none of the men would have fit.
"Steady," Nick said, a hand on her shoulder.
"I'm fine -"
She began to climb down, slowly descending into the abyss. Sara watched from the top with the others, holding onto the rope in case she slipped.
"You doin' okay?" Brass asked, calling down into the emptiness.
"I feel like a tampon!" she called, her words echoing.
"That's okay," Grissom assured her seriously. "We have the cord. If you get stuck down there we can pull you out."
Sara gave him a look, trying not to laugh. If she had been alone with him, she would have said something else altogether.
Instead she called down, "You're doing fine, Catherine. Keep going."
She heard a few gasps and winces, but after another moment the cord slackened.
"I'm down!" she reported.
There was a pause as she glanced over the scene.
"First impressions?" Grissom asked.
"I don't think a ghost did this," she answered. "It's hot as hell down here. Smells putrid. Victim shows some kind of stab wounds." There was a pause. "This place is a complete mess. Air's barely breathable. I'm gonna need some help."
The words arrived unexpected, and were soon joined by Grissom's eyes brushing over her frame. They stopped there.
"This is sexist," she protested.
"It's not sexist, it's simple mathematics," Grissom disagreed. "You're the thinnest here."
His eyes lingered on her torso, and for a moment she could read in them what he was thinking. Her mind returned to the bedroom the day before, when he had done far more than gaze at her. She sighed. It was unfair that he could manipulate her so easily with a compliment.
"I'll buy you an ice cream," he offered, raising an innocent eyebrow.
She tried not to grin, bit it back just in time.
"I'll go," she volunteered.
A moment later, the harness retrieved from Catherine, she found herself strapped in. The elastics around her thighs and groin nearly cut off circulation, but the decision made, she resolved to see it through quickly.
Her shoes echoed against the metal rungs as she stepped onto the ladder.
"Sara's coming down!" Grissom announced, calling down the shaft.
A moment later Sara was descending, sliding further into the darkness with every step. She knew at some point below her there was light from the room, but had no room to glance down. Her shoulders touched either side, the walls hard and claustrophobic. After several feet she closed her eyes, able to climb easier without seeing them.
"You're doing fine," came Grissom's voice. "Keep going."
She realised she had paused, the claustrophobia intense. She took a deep breath, but gulped only thick, hot air. She clenched her hand tight on the rung.
"Are you okay?"
His voice was tender. She let his words wash over her, comforting. It was several long seconds before she moved again, resolving that if Catherine had made it with her sense of humour intact, she herself could make it at least without complaining.
She felt below her for the next rung, and climbed down several more feet before she could not feel any more beneath her.
Catherine's hand landed on her back.
"You're fine," she reassured. "You're here."
Sara opened her eyes again, and saw not the dirty black walls of the shaft ladder but a dimly lit concrete chamber. In the corner lay a dead body, the blood dried into the concrete. The first thing that hit her however was the unusual heat; despite being below ground the temperature was far higher than it had been on the surface. She glanced around, searching with her eyes for the heater. She felt sweat dripping in her armpits, gathering on her face.
"It's ridiculously hot down there," Sara observed, glancing around.
"This place is an oven," Catherine agreed, wandering back to her corner as Sara unharnessed herself. "We would leave the body down down here and cremate it."
Sara dropped the harness to the floor. Her jeans were stifling. She wished suddenly that she had thought to change. Catherine's shorts were not fashionable, but she looked marginally more comfortable.
She twitched her nose, drawing in the smell she had only tasted on the surface. The rotting flesh nearly imploded her lungs. She coughed.
"That smell is ... potent," she said.
"Don't stand still," Catherine said idly, photographing the body. "It'll rot the toenails straight off your feet."
She tried to ignore it, but failed. She made up her mind yet again to get it over with ASAP, and moved to begin surveying the scene. She crossed to an abandoned desk, littered with paper. She slowly turned over the papers with her gloves. Most were business letters - far out of place in the desert - others newspaper clippings. They worked in silence for several minutes before they spoke, when Sara heard Catherine emit a frustrated sigh.
She looked over. Catherine's white tank top was now wet with patches of sweat. She saw her run a hand over her tied hair.
"You okay?" Sara asked.
Catherine stood, shaking her head. "If I don't cool off you're gonna be peeling me off the floor."
She glanced at the deserted shaft.
"They're not joining us?"
"I doubt that's a possibility," Sara said confidently.
"Good," she replied.
And with one swift movement she pulled her tank top over her head.
Sara stared; jolted from where she had been examining a new pile of papers. Catherine stood in her jogging shorts and black bra, her tank top tossed onto her kit. She looked relieved, refreshed.
Sara stared for another moment, until Catherine caught her.
"What's up?" Catherine asked.
Sara quickly looked away, returning her attention to the papers.
"Nothing," she covered.
But after another moment she realised she had to ask, the question itching.
"You're actually going to process the scene in your underwear?"
Catherine looked up, for some reason she looked thoroughly amused.
"You're not gay, right?"
"No," Sara replied quickly.
Grissom flitted again through her mind, and she tried not to smile at the question. If only she knew ...
Catherine returned her attention to her camera, photographing the scene.
"Then we don't have an issue," she concluded.
Her voice was casual, completely at ease. For another moment Sara continued to process, out of the corner of her eye marvelling that Catherine was processing a scene while half naked, and that it seemed not to bother her in the least. She knew that after Catherine's younger years on the strip, she was not in the least self-conscious about her body. Yet she had never seen anyone in the LVPD strip off for a scene.
After several moments she spotted that Catherine was still smiling, amused.
"Does it bother you?" she asked, still taking photos.
"No," Sara said quickly, not wanting to seem like a prude. "Not at all."
She hoisted a look of indifference, opening the desk drawer.
She heard Catherine laugh softly to herself.
"What?" Sara asked innocently.
Catherine sighed, cast her another amused look.
"Sometimes Sara," she said seriously, "you can be so straight-laced."
"I am not straight-laced," Sara replied quickly. "I just ..."
But her vocabularly abandoned her, and in her silence Catherine only grinned wider. Sara felt herself smile, wrong-footed.
"I am not straight-laced," she repeated, talking slow for emphasis.
"Fine," Catherine replied casually.
She snapped another photo.
"Bet you fifty bucks you don't have the guts."
Sara stared in amused disbelief, felt her mouth drop open. "I don't have to prove anything, I -"
Catherine ignored her, snapping a photo.
"I feel fine how I am," Sara lied, feeling her jeans constricting her.
"What are you worried about?" Catherine replied. "You think Grissom's gonna scoot down that ladder?"
Sara stared, the vision of Grissom slipping down the ladder and finding them both in their underwear momentarily making her smile. Catherine had no idea what she was saying.
"You should never be afraid to live a little," Catherine went on, snapping photos.
As if emphasising the point, she slipped off her shoes, walking in bare feet.
Sara opened her mouth to retort, but stopped. A faint sense that she was losing the debate was fast rising within her, and was extremely irritating. She felt her feisty stubborness rise to the surface.
"I am not afraid," Sara insisted.
"Okay," Catherine said, putting up her arms in mock surrender. "Whatever you want."
Sara stared, paused.
"Fifty dollars?" she asked.
"In cold hard cash," Catherine replied.
Sara thought for a moment, and then made her decision.
It was half an hour later that they finished, and emerged clothed into the blinding sunshine. Compared to the furnace of the chamber and its jammed heater, it felt like a welcome relief. Sara took the harness off as Catherine handed their gathered evidence to Nick and Warrick.
"All done," Catherine reported, taking an offered bottle of water.
"Good job," Grissom said. Then, as though compensating for their dislike of the task in the first place, added, "Thank you."
Sara smiled, the task no longer bothering her.
"I have just one question," he continued.
Sara looked up, alert. She saw Catherine do the same.
"What happened?" he finished.
His tone was bewildered as he glanced over her torso. Sara looked down, but saw nothing unusual.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
The corner of Nick's mouth hard curved up in a grin. "You realise both your shirts are inside out, right? Twisted around?"
Sara looked down, saw in horror that the seam was on the outside.
"I ..."
She glanced at Catherine's, saw hers too was inside out.
"There's a rational explanation," she finished.
But she stumbled on her words. Nick's grin widened. Grissom raised an eyebrow.
She deflated.
"We had sex," Catherine said suddenly.
Sara jerked to stare at her, mouth falling open. She saw Grissom's eyes widen, in a flash searching hers. Brass, Nick and Warrick did not dare speak.
Catherine passed her water to Brass.
"Could you hold this please?"
And she walked completely at ease back to the car.
Sara stared, horrified.
"I did not have sex with Catherine," she said.
"Sure you didn't," Nick said.
But his grin widened, taking in her shirt. She had never seen Warrick's smile so wide.
She stumbled, wanting to reassure Grissom but knowing she couldn't in their presence.
She tried to hoist a look of dignity.
"Would you excuse me, please?"
She followed Catherine to the back of the SUV, where she had already changed into her former clothes. As she arrived Catherine pulled the hair tie from her hair, and held it out for her. Her grin was even wider than that of the boys' as she watched them from across the plain.
"Why did you say that?" Sara asked.
"What were you going to say?" Catherine asked.
"I don't have a clue. But something other than that."
Catherine laughed. "Relax. They don't believe it for a minute. A stupid question deserved a stupid answer."
Sara glanced over her shoulder. All of them were still watching.
"They're salivating so much this could turn into a desert oasis," Sara said.
"You're gonna have them eating out of the palm of your hand all the way back to Vegas," Catherine said.
She looked heavily amused at the possibility. Sara felt herself smile. If it hadn't been for Grissom, she would been up for stringing them along all the way back to the city.
Catherine took out her wallet, offering out a fifty dollar note.
"It's rightfully yours," she said.
Sara did not take it. "That looks like I did you a favour."
Catherine smiled. "You still wanna tell me you're not tightly wound?"
Sara smiled, stubborn.
"Fine," Catherine said, pocketing the money.
She moved back towards the men, helping them with the equipment. It was a dazed moment before Sara realised Grissom was by her side. She resisted the urge to launch into a profuse explanation.
"I did not have sex with Catherine," she repeated.
"I know," he said simply.
His eyes said that he had never doubted it, that he had already deduced what must have happened from their complaints about the heat. She suddenly felt like an idiot, and found herself wondering if Catherine had been right.
She watched as Catherine carried a kit back toward the car, as she was flanked each side by Nick and Warrick, still grinning and asking questions. Catherine looked like she was thoroughly enjoying herself.
"Am I straight-laced?" she asked quietly.
He looked puzzled by the question, saw his mind working furiously to put the pieces together. He glanced toward the others, looking wary of their company.
"Is it a conversation we need to have now?" he suggested.
Sara sighed. No, it wasn't.
Feeling suddenly entirely relaxed, she watched as their team continued to walk toward them, as Nick and Warrick bantered with Catherine. Even Brass was smiling, looking at ease for once. She knew very well that it was going to be one long trip home.
"How far is it back to Vegas?" she asked.
"Two hundred miles," Grissom replied.
"Great," she replied dully.
But a moment later the feeling dulled, lost in the jovial whirlwind. She got into the car smiling. If she could not avoid it, she might as well enjoy herself. She was not tightly wound.
She made a mental note to collect the money from Catherine.
Wrote this to see if I could write something in under 2,000 words. As it turns out, I can't. But I had sure had fun trying! Also wanted to prove to people that I can write something light-hearted. I really hope someone enjoyed this! Just something a little different.