ARMOR
By The Madhatter
Disclaimer: If I owned CSI, I wouldn't be writing fanfics now, would I?
Spoilers: Everything up to the third season.
Details: I was in an angsty mood when I wrote this, so I hope it's not too bad. *ducks* This is a Catherine piece, kind of a reflective. I'm tempted to say this is a stream of consciousness, though. Well, hope you enjoy. Review, please! Those really make my day. :P
You retreat to the safe haven of your bedroom, where nothing can touch you; nothing can hurt you. Your bedroom is your fortress from the world. You keep everything in your bedroom, hidden and locked away where not even the best CSI could find it. Everything important is stored away in the recess of your mind. Every little detail of those events sticks out clearly in your mind as if they happened a minute ago. You never forget.
Sliding into your bed, you pull the covers up to your shoulders and close your eyes, trying to get some sleep. Only you find you are too wound up to sleep - something is nagging on your mind. You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to focus your frustration and anger onto something else before you explode. It's been like this for the past few nights. You can't sleep for more than a wink. You constantly find yourself awake and alert. Your mind whirls around and around like those roller coasters that Lindsey loves to ride, with thoughts that you don't want to explore. But only when you're alone do those thoughts ever surface, only when you're vulnerable.
Whipping the covers off your slim body, you walk to your window and tear the curtain apart, letting the bright sunlight stream in. What's the point in sleeping anyway? You only get three hours, maximum. Even then, you can still run on about 36 hours straight before you feel tired. Your job requires it. Except it's been nearly 72, yet your mind still won't let you rest. Your body screams and aches to just take a break, but your mind won't let you. And there's nothing you can do about it.
You open your window and inhale the dry Vegas air. The warm, dry air of Nevada doesn't refresh you; in fact, it only infuriates you even more. As of late, the simplest forms of life could set your temper off. You hate it when people ask how you are or how you feel or try to sympathize with you about Eddie's death, when all they were giving was their pity. With every question asked, with every condolence, with every glance of pity, you just want to jump up and strangle them until they can no longer talk. So you lock yourself up and withdraw, afraid to do just that.
Exiting your fortress, you walk to the kitchen to grab a drink. Automatically, you reach for the orange juice in the refrigerator and the hidden vodka to make your infamous screwdriver, but this time you hold back. No point in being less alert than you already are. You're slipping up. No matter how many times you tell yourself you're okay, everything is fine; you dig yourself deeper and deeper into a pit of lies. All the sleepless nights you've had are finally surfacing. You're slipping up at work, making small mistakes that only he would notice. Then, you made the worst mistake of your life - you blow up the lab, and hurt Greg in the process.
The glass slips from your hand and clatters on the table, spilling the clear liquid everywhere. The mess reminds you of how the lab looked like after the explosion. Standing up immediately, you turn and grab some paper towels to clean up the mess, not wanting to delve into the topic anymore. But just as you do that simple task, it reminds you of the times when Eddie was drunk, sloshing and spilling beer everywhere. You remember how the powerful stench assaulted the senses so strongly you almost felt like throwing up. Damn, you curse softly as you throw away the paper towel, everything reminds you of the past.
You place the glass in the sink and walk out of your house. You just need to get away from it all, away from the lies, the deceit, the past. Gripping the porch railing tightly, steadying yourself, you fuel all the built up anger into your hands. You're gripping the railing so tight your knuckles are bone white. When it's gone, you take a deep breath and sit down on the porch swing. A smile touches your lips as you remember how you and Lindsey would sit under the stars and just swing back and forth, enjoying the company. Ah, the good old days. How you miss them.
Slowly, your mind sorts through various memories, good and bad. You remember all the physical fights you and Eddie had, all the times you kicked him out of the house so Lindsey wouldn't have to hear everything. You remember the walks in the park you had together as a family and how perfect the moment seemed. You remember how you found Eddie cheating on you with some bimbo who didn't have half the brains a baby had. Your anger burns again. You've been burned way too many times.
But you've healed - somewhat.
You build walls around yourself. Within those walls, your heart is covered with armor stronger than steel. Every time you've been burned, it's caused dents and cracks in the armor. But by the next day, another layer is placed, strengthening and covering the bruises from before. You move on. You have to. There's not enough time to deal with the past. Life's too short, you keep telling yourself. And you move on.
You start to swing back and forth, thinking about the friends you have now. Warrick is the first person to pop into your head. Somehow, you got him to open up to you more than the others. He knows he can trust you, and in turn, you trust him. He's almost like the younger and dependable brother that you never had. He tries his hardest to succeed in your eyes, in Grissom's eyes, in his own eyes, and you can't help but admire the courage and dedication he shows. You both know how hard it is to break a habit, to stop the addiction. You saw him suffer after Holly Gribbs' death and how he tried to stop gambling. You see him suffer every time he walks into a casino, and see the longing of playing, just to feel the smooth cards between his fingers. But he doesn't, he holds back. With every year that passes by, he's made it a bit easier on himself, even if he doesn't know it. Your heart soars with pride in him.
Then comes Nick. Nick's a sweet guy. He trusts you enough to tell him a bit about his past - his disturbing, secret past that no one knows about. When he told you what happened to him when he was nine, you were angry with the person that violated him. Who could touch such an innocent child? But looking at him now, he's put it past him. Either that, or he's extremely good at hiding it. And you're proud of him for that, too. At least one of you can move on.
Sara. She's the newest member to the group, yet you can't help but feel maybe a bit protective of her. She knows her limits, but she always pushes past it. You have a feeling she'll burn herself out one day with all the work she puts in. Not only that, but her heart might never be the same. You've noticed all the subtle hints and signs she gives Grissom. You'd be a fool not to. But you also notice how Grissom subtly puts them down. He's just teasing and nothing more. You fear that Sara might take it the wrong way and have her heart crushed. That's a mess that no one wants to clean up.
And last but not least, there's Grissom. A small smile appears on your face. You've known each other for nearly fifteen years now, and can hardly believe it. Even if he never knew the full extent, all the details of your past, he was always willing to listen to you. He was always there if you needed a friend to talk to, or just for the company. He was always giving, never wanting to receive anything in return. To you, your friendship is just as important as Lindsey. You'd do anything for him, no matter what. When you found out about his hearing, you felt a bit crushed. You weren't hurt at the fact that he didn't tell you. No. You could see why, but more with the fact that he was suffering, slowly and quietly - alone. But he's not alone anymore. You were there for him before his surgery, and you both understood how deep your friendship went. Nothing can break that bond.
Bonds. Friendships. Trust. All of them are important to you. But they've also hurt you. All the people you've trusted your entire life have betrayed you at one time or another. Your first boyfriend left you for an older woman, leaving you to fend for yourself. Your family disowned you, basically. They didn't want you in their life anymore. Then came Eddie. He cheated on you, broke the trust you put in him fully. The vows you made to each other became obsolete. Even Grissom betrayed you - once. He knew about the affair, yet refused to say a word. Then Sam Braun - someone you looked up to - murdered one of his waitresses and found out to be your biological father. Everyone hurt you, burned you, and betrayed you at least once in your life.
And you put another layer on top of that metal armor. You move on.
And you have moved on. But tragedy strikes again when Eddie dies. That nearly sent all the walls you built around yourself to dust. The armor you put around your heart rusted and cracked, almost exposing the tenderness beneath. As much as you told yourself you no longer loved him, your heart disagreed. He was your one weakness, the thorn in your side that you couldn't deny. So, you salvaged what was left and tried to appear strong in front of your colleagues. But as soon as you got home, everything crumbled and you let the floodgates go. It was time to heal.
It was time to rebuild. So you desperately stack layer upon layer of steel around the heart. You quickly rebuild the walls, and fix the cracks. The fortress is back.
You rise from the porch bench and get ready for work. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, you head outside to your car. You take a deep breath before getting in and starting the ignition. You make sure that there are no dents, no cracks, no burns, no rust in that thick armor of yours. When you're satisfied, you start up the engine and back out of the driveway.
You're ready to face another day. Your armor is set. You move on.
By The Madhatter
Disclaimer: If I owned CSI, I wouldn't be writing fanfics now, would I?
Spoilers: Everything up to the third season.
Details: I was in an angsty mood when I wrote this, so I hope it's not too bad. *ducks* This is a Catherine piece, kind of a reflective. I'm tempted to say this is a stream of consciousness, though. Well, hope you enjoy. Review, please! Those really make my day. :P
You retreat to the safe haven of your bedroom, where nothing can touch you; nothing can hurt you. Your bedroom is your fortress from the world. You keep everything in your bedroom, hidden and locked away where not even the best CSI could find it. Everything important is stored away in the recess of your mind. Every little detail of those events sticks out clearly in your mind as if they happened a minute ago. You never forget.
Sliding into your bed, you pull the covers up to your shoulders and close your eyes, trying to get some sleep. Only you find you are too wound up to sleep - something is nagging on your mind. You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to focus your frustration and anger onto something else before you explode. It's been like this for the past few nights. You can't sleep for more than a wink. You constantly find yourself awake and alert. Your mind whirls around and around like those roller coasters that Lindsey loves to ride, with thoughts that you don't want to explore. But only when you're alone do those thoughts ever surface, only when you're vulnerable.
Whipping the covers off your slim body, you walk to your window and tear the curtain apart, letting the bright sunlight stream in. What's the point in sleeping anyway? You only get three hours, maximum. Even then, you can still run on about 36 hours straight before you feel tired. Your job requires it. Except it's been nearly 72, yet your mind still won't let you rest. Your body screams and aches to just take a break, but your mind won't let you. And there's nothing you can do about it.
You open your window and inhale the dry Vegas air. The warm, dry air of Nevada doesn't refresh you; in fact, it only infuriates you even more. As of late, the simplest forms of life could set your temper off. You hate it when people ask how you are or how you feel or try to sympathize with you about Eddie's death, when all they were giving was their pity. With every question asked, with every condolence, with every glance of pity, you just want to jump up and strangle them until they can no longer talk. So you lock yourself up and withdraw, afraid to do just that.
Exiting your fortress, you walk to the kitchen to grab a drink. Automatically, you reach for the orange juice in the refrigerator and the hidden vodka to make your infamous screwdriver, but this time you hold back. No point in being less alert than you already are. You're slipping up. No matter how many times you tell yourself you're okay, everything is fine; you dig yourself deeper and deeper into a pit of lies. All the sleepless nights you've had are finally surfacing. You're slipping up at work, making small mistakes that only he would notice. Then, you made the worst mistake of your life - you blow up the lab, and hurt Greg in the process.
The glass slips from your hand and clatters on the table, spilling the clear liquid everywhere. The mess reminds you of how the lab looked like after the explosion. Standing up immediately, you turn and grab some paper towels to clean up the mess, not wanting to delve into the topic anymore. But just as you do that simple task, it reminds you of the times when Eddie was drunk, sloshing and spilling beer everywhere. You remember how the powerful stench assaulted the senses so strongly you almost felt like throwing up. Damn, you curse softly as you throw away the paper towel, everything reminds you of the past.
You place the glass in the sink and walk out of your house. You just need to get away from it all, away from the lies, the deceit, the past. Gripping the porch railing tightly, steadying yourself, you fuel all the built up anger into your hands. You're gripping the railing so tight your knuckles are bone white. When it's gone, you take a deep breath and sit down on the porch swing. A smile touches your lips as you remember how you and Lindsey would sit under the stars and just swing back and forth, enjoying the company. Ah, the good old days. How you miss them.
Slowly, your mind sorts through various memories, good and bad. You remember all the physical fights you and Eddie had, all the times you kicked him out of the house so Lindsey wouldn't have to hear everything. You remember the walks in the park you had together as a family and how perfect the moment seemed. You remember how you found Eddie cheating on you with some bimbo who didn't have half the brains a baby had. Your anger burns again. You've been burned way too many times.
But you've healed - somewhat.
You build walls around yourself. Within those walls, your heart is covered with armor stronger than steel. Every time you've been burned, it's caused dents and cracks in the armor. But by the next day, another layer is placed, strengthening and covering the bruises from before. You move on. You have to. There's not enough time to deal with the past. Life's too short, you keep telling yourself. And you move on.
You start to swing back and forth, thinking about the friends you have now. Warrick is the first person to pop into your head. Somehow, you got him to open up to you more than the others. He knows he can trust you, and in turn, you trust him. He's almost like the younger and dependable brother that you never had. He tries his hardest to succeed in your eyes, in Grissom's eyes, in his own eyes, and you can't help but admire the courage and dedication he shows. You both know how hard it is to break a habit, to stop the addiction. You saw him suffer after Holly Gribbs' death and how he tried to stop gambling. You see him suffer every time he walks into a casino, and see the longing of playing, just to feel the smooth cards between his fingers. But he doesn't, he holds back. With every year that passes by, he's made it a bit easier on himself, even if he doesn't know it. Your heart soars with pride in him.
Then comes Nick. Nick's a sweet guy. He trusts you enough to tell him a bit about his past - his disturbing, secret past that no one knows about. When he told you what happened to him when he was nine, you were angry with the person that violated him. Who could touch such an innocent child? But looking at him now, he's put it past him. Either that, or he's extremely good at hiding it. And you're proud of him for that, too. At least one of you can move on.
Sara. She's the newest member to the group, yet you can't help but feel maybe a bit protective of her. She knows her limits, but she always pushes past it. You have a feeling she'll burn herself out one day with all the work she puts in. Not only that, but her heart might never be the same. You've noticed all the subtle hints and signs she gives Grissom. You'd be a fool not to. But you also notice how Grissom subtly puts them down. He's just teasing and nothing more. You fear that Sara might take it the wrong way and have her heart crushed. That's a mess that no one wants to clean up.
And last but not least, there's Grissom. A small smile appears on your face. You've known each other for nearly fifteen years now, and can hardly believe it. Even if he never knew the full extent, all the details of your past, he was always willing to listen to you. He was always there if you needed a friend to talk to, or just for the company. He was always giving, never wanting to receive anything in return. To you, your friendship is just as important as Lindsey. You'd do anything for him, no matter what. When you found out about his hearing, you felt a bit crushed. You weren't hurt at the fact that he didn't tell you. No. You could see why, but more with the fact that he was suffering, slowly and quietly - alone. But he's not alone anymore. You were there for him before his surgery, and you both understood how deep your friendship went. Nothing can break that bond.
Bonds. Friendships. Trust. All of them are important to you. But they've also hurt you. All the people you've trusted your entire life have betrayed you at one time or another. Your first boyfriend left you for an older woman, leaving you to fend for yourself. Your family disowned you, basically. They didn't want you in their life anymore. Then came Eddie. He cheated on you, broke the trust you put in him fully. The vows you made to each other became obsolete. Even Grissom betrayed you - once. He knew about the affair, yet refused to say a word. Then Sam Braun - someone you looked up to - murdered one of his waitresses and found out to be your biological father. Everyone hurt you, burned you, and betrayed you at least once in your life.
And you put another layer on top of that metal armor. You move on.
And you have moved on. But tragedy strikes again when Eddie dies. That nearly sent all the walls you built around yourself to dust. The armor you put around your heart rusted and cracked, almost exposing the tenderness beneath. As much as you told yourself you no longer loved him, your heart disagreed. He was your one weakness, the thorn in your side that you couldn't deny. So, you salvaged what was left and tried to appear strong in front of your colleagues. But as soon as you got home, everything crumbled and you let the floodgates go. It was time to heal.
It was time to rebuild. So you desperately stack layer upon layer of steel around the heart. You quickly rebuild the walls, and fix the cracks. The fortress is back.
You rise from the porch bench and get ready for work. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, you head outside to your car. You take a deep breath before getting in and starting the ignition. You make sure that there are no dents, no cracks, no burns, no rust in that thick armor of yours. When you're satisfied, you start up the engine and back out of the driveway.
You're ready to face another day. Your armor is set. You move on.