TITLE: The Touch of Your Hand
AUTHOR: Jo R.
CATEGORY: Catherine/Grissom Friendship/UST, slight angst.
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: None.
SUMMARY: Sometimes, it's the simple things that matter.
ARCHIVE: Catherine Willows, Working Love, Shipperworld and Graveshift are the
archives I've been told about (thanks, Clara!) so if you want it, it's yours.
DISCLAIMER: I know very little about CSI at the moment but I know that CBS
owns the show and most likely the characters. Whoever else is involved in the
production process owns them, too. No offence or copyright infringement is meant.
I'm just playin'.
DEDICATION: Clara, of course!! Thank you *so* much for getting me hooked on
CSI – I mean it!
=*=
The smallest of contact, the lightest of caresses.
Fingertips running lightly over bruised knuckles.
The moment lasted for only a few seconds but it was enough to remind her of what
was real and what wasn't. Of what was important and what wasn't.
With round, shimmering eyes, Catherine Willows looked up from the cold coffee
she'd been staring at sightlessly for the last hour - or was it the last two? She managed
an unsteady smile of thanks as her boss and best friend sat down opposite her,
relinquishing the precious contact, withdrawing from her personal space.
She wanted to reach out and take his hand but she didn't.
Couldn't.
She wouldn't let him see their most recent case was bothering her any more than he
already knew.
Gil Grissom watched as her gaze lowered once again, knowing that when she next
glanced up the tears would be gone and any sign of emotional discomfort would be
erased from her face. But not from his mind. Never from his mind.
It was the children that did it. The lost souls, the only true innocent victims.
He knew she thought of Lindsey whenever they were called to the scene of a child's
senseless murder. It didn't matter if the victim was boy or girl; for several fleeting
moments, the face Catherine always saw would be that of her daughter.
Grissom knew because it was the same for him.
Every murdered child, every case. It was personal for them.
"I'm fine, Gil." The words slipped out so easily. It was a standard phrase. One she
used whenever she was upset or trouble but didn't want anyone, not even him, to
know. "I just needed a while to collect myself."
"Sure." His nod was automatic, the sympathy and understanding in his eyes hidden
when she glanced his way for a second time. "Ready to get back to work?"
Pushing her chair back from the table and standing, Catherine closed her eyes briefly
as an image conjured by her own imagine assaulted her.
Lindsey. Still. Cold. A look of fear frozen on her features for all eternity..
Grissom was beside her in a heartbeat, his fingers brushing against hers, bringing her
back to reality. This time the concern remained in his expression when her weary eyes
met his. "You can step back, Cath. No one will think any less of you if you pass on
this one."
"I can do my job, Gil." She squared her shoulders and pushed her hair from her face,
holding her chin up high. No one would think any less of her – no one but herself.
"Let's go see what we can find."
Her back ramrod straight, Catherine strode out of the breakroom, leaving him to stare
after her with respect, sympathy and worry to wash over his face. He knew she was
strong, had no doubts that she couldn't do her job.. But everyone had a breaking point
and Grissom was worried Catherine was close to finding hers in their most recent
case.
A young girl. Eight years old. Murdered. Most likely the result of domestic violence.
The girl's mother wore bruises her father had given her but was either too scared or
too far gone to ask for help.
They knew who her murderer was. The hard part came in proving it.
Shaking his head, Grissom left the breakroom and followed her at a slightly slower
pace, not knowing if he'd helped or made the situation worse.
Catherine was sitting on her stool in the lab when he found her, calmly reading
through the facts they'd gathered so far. Her composure was back and with it, the
impassive mask that hid a multitude of sins.
He sat next to her, saying nothing, and started going over his own notes, hoping they'd
find the shred of evidence they needed to put the bastard responsible behind bars
where he belonged.
He didn't see the ghostly smile that curved the corners of the mouth ever so briefly,
nor did he see the grateful look that flittered over her face.
He didn't know, would never know, how much he'd helped her by just caring. He
would never know, wouldn't understand, how the simplest of touches could be such
an important link to reality, one that grounded her, kept her sane, gave her the strength
and the courage to go on.
=*=
The End.
AUTHOR: Jo R.
CATEGORY: Catherine/Grissom Friendship/UST, slight angst.
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: None.
SUMMARY: Sometimes, it's the simple things that matter.
ARCHIVE: Catherine Willows, Working Love, Shipperworld and Graveshift are the
archives I've been told about (thanks, Clara!) so if you want it, it's yours.
DISCLAIMER: I know very little about CSI at the moment but I know that CBS
owns the show and most likely the characters. Whoever else is involved in the
production process owns them, too. No offence or copyright infringement is meant.
I'm just playin'.
DEDICATION: Clara, of course!! Thank you *so* much for getting me hooked on
CSI – I mean it!
=*=
The smallest of contact, the lightest of caresses.
Fingertips running lightly over bruised knuckles.
The moment lasted for only a few seconds but it was enough to remind her of what
was real and what wasn't. Of what was important and what wasn't.
With round, shimmering eyes, Catherine Willows looked up from the cold coffee
she'd been staring at sightlessly for the last hour - or was it the last two? She managed
an unsteady smile of thanks as her boss and best friend sat down opposite her,
relinquishing the precious contact, withdrawing from her personal space.
She wanted to reach out and take his hand but she didn't.
Couldn't.
She wouldn't let him see their most recent case was bothering her any more than he
already knew.
Gil Grissom watched as her gaze lowered once again, knowing that when she next
glanced up the tears would be gone and any sign of emotional discomfort would be
erased from her face. But not from his mind. Never from his mind.
It was the children that did it. The lost souls, the only true innocent victims.
He knew she thought of Lindsey whenever they were called to the scene of a child's
senseless murder. It didn't matter if the victim was boy or girl; for several fleeting
moments, the face Catherine always saw would be that of her daughter.
Grissom knew because it was the same for him.
Every murdered child, every case. It was personal for them.
"I'm fine, Gil." The words slipped out so easily. It was a standard phrase. One she
used whenever she was upset or trouble but didn't want anyone, not even him, to
know. "I just needed a while to collect myself."
"Sure." His nod was automatic, the sympathy and understanding in his eyes hidden
when she glanced his way for a second time. "Ready to get back to work?"
Pushing her chair back from the table and standing, Catherine closed her eyes briefly
as an image conjured by her own imagine assaulted her.
Lindsey. Still. Cold. A look of fear frozen on her features for all eternity..
Grissom was beside her in a heartbeat, his fingers brushing against hers, bringing her
back to reality. This time the concern remained in his expression when her weary eyes
met his. "You can step back, Cath. No one will think any less of you if you pass on
this one."
"I can do my job, Gil." She squared her shoulders and pushed her hair from her face,
holding her chin up high. No one would think any less of her – no one but herself.
"Let's go see what we can find."
Her back ramrod straight, Catherine strode out of the breakroom, leaving him to stare
after her with respect, sympathy and worry to wash over his face. He knew she was
strong, had no doubts that she couldn't do her job.. But everyone had a breaking point
and Grissom was worried Catherine was close to finding hers in their most recent
case.
A young girl. Eight years old. Murdered. Most likely the result of domestic violence.
The girl's mother wore bruises her father had given her but was either too scared or
too far gone to ask for help.
They knew who her murderer was. The hard part came in proving it.
Shaking his head, Grissom left the breakroom and followed her at a slightly slower
pace, not knowing if he'd helped or made the situation worse.
Catherine was sitting on her stool in the lab when he found her, calmly reading
through the facts they'd gathered so far. Her composure was back and with it, the
impassive mask that hid a multitude of sins.
He sat next to her, saying nothing, and started going over his own notes, hoping they'd
find the shred of evidence they needed to put the bastard responsible behind bars
where he belonged.
He didn't see the ghostly smile that curved the corners of the mouth ever so briefly,
nor did he see the grateful look that flittered over her face.
He didn't know, would never know, how much he'd helped her by just caring. He
would never know, wouldn't understand, how the simplest of touches could be such
an important link to reality, one that grounded her, kept her sane, gave her the strength
and the courage to go on.
=*=
The End.