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~ Take Me Away ~

Summer, 1990

"Fine!"

She screams into the phone and throws it against the wall, without bothering to turn it off first. Phone shatters into million pieces, few of them reaches her bare feet. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

She's not going to freak out, she's not going to act like one of those jealousy women. Just because he's spending one more night in LA it doesn't mean he's cheating on her. And just because he's lying to her it doesn't mean he doesn't love her.

Right?

"Bullshit!" She yells to an empty room, before grabbing the nearest thing she could find and slamming it against the wall again. Crystal vase breaks in unequal parts, water smears all over the wall, slowly dripping down on the soft carpet while the white roses, which he gave to her, rest in the pool that is slowly expanding.

She breaths heavily, her adrenalin rises from the anger he provoked. She turns, making the half opened robe she's wearing spin around and topple the glass on the wooden table. Luckily it was empty.

She walks over the cold tiles, cooling her hot feet. Word 'betrayal' keeps ringing in her head, making her insane slowly. Pushing the old wooden bathroom door of their apartment, she lets the robe glide down her body as she steps into the shower.

As the cold water runs down her spine she wonders if she's going to mourn after him for the whole night like she did the night before, and the night before that.

She pulls the shower curtain and just before she became invisible to the outside world she sees her reflection in the mirror across the tub. Smirk graces her face.

Not if she has anything to do about it.

Hour and ten minutes later, she's walking down the street dress to kill. Black, too tight jeans that shrink her already thin legs and a baggy, off-the-shoulder black top with a 'Rolling Stones' sign on it that gives away just a hit of her red lacy bra underneath. She wears red shoes with a size of a heel that makes your head dizzy by just looking at them, but she has no problems walking in them.

Night is hot. Dampness in the air is noticeable. It makes her hair curly and she hates that. Her half smoked cigarette is safe between her fingers, an old habit she tries to abandon. Sirens honk, men scream through open windows but she pays not attention to them. She's just continuing her walk, eyes straight, her goal – the night club.

She's gonna get drunk tonight. She left the apartment with those thoughts. Her mind is still screaming at her, her jealousy is eating her inside. If he can cheat why can't she? In her mind this sounds more like a statement than like a question.

She took a week of vacation just for the two of them and the next day she finds out that he has to go to LA, to 'record' some songs for some wanna be Whitney Houston. Yeah, right! And the craziest thing about everything is that she believed him.

She inhales the smoke, letting the nicotine soothe her broken soul.

He told her he'll be back in two days. That was three days ago. The rest is history.

Yelling crowd shake her from the trance. Looking at the screaming group of people that is standing underneath large pink neon sign that says 'Opium', fighting with the security, only makes her laugh. Her previous job may be a little unsophisticated but it brought her a lot of priority too. One of them is entering a bar without waiting.

"Hey Jo…" She raises left hand, waving at the tall, bald guy with the sunglasses on.

"Hi gorgeous…" He grabs her hand, kissing it gently before pulling her through the crowd. "You off the clock tonight? And where's that man of yours?"

"I'm off the clock for the whole week… And the man is God knows where." She lifts herself at the tip of her toes, placing one loud kiss one Jo's cheek. "Thanks, Jo…"

With a shy wink she leaves him there, blushing, to fight with the screaming crowd.

The second she enters the room loud music overcomes her mind. She closes her eyes feeling the beat. Her heart races faster, her mind remembers the stage, the looks and the lust in the eyes of the viewers. The last thought makes her sick.

She walks through the club, unknown people pass her by, their sweaty bodies rub against her smooth, smelly skin. Scent of weed is sensing in the air. She turns her head at the sight of a guy pushing girl's head to do a line of coke. For her, past should stay in the past.

Before she even gets a chance to place her hands on the bar, her drink waits for her. She looks at the blue glass, crystal clear liquor with olives and smiles.

"Steve…" Her eyes wander over the grinning face of a hot bartender. "You know me too well."

She watches as he puts down a tablecloth he's holding then leans over to kiss her powder-cover cheek.

"Cathy sweetie, you know I'm the only one who knows all of your secrets."

She feels his lips way too close to hers. She likes the feeling of that. A new feeling. A new moment. She slightly pushes herself away. Lack of self-esteem is a bad thing. Her hand reaches the glass, her fingers dig through the cold liquid searching for the olive. Steve is already ten feet away, taking someone's order. She pops the fruit into her mouth, not chewing it right away.

An idea runs through her mind.

She smiles.

"Hey Steve", she bits the olive in half. "When do you get off?"

The taste is bitter but she likes it.

***

There is something in the taste of his lips that make her forget about Eddie for a few seconds. But she wants more. She wants to forget completely.

Steve pushes her further into the soft cushions, kissing her martini flavor lips. Loud speakers send music beat right to their bones, shaking them to their core. His hands touch every part of her body whether is cover or uncover. He roughly squeezes her thigh and presses her back, making her arch towards him.

She can feel his arousal but she doesn't feel a thing for him. Maybe all of this is a mistake, she tells herself as the sweaty leather sticks against her body. Steve's mouth leaves hers and now slowly they make a way down her collarbone. She can feel the wet trace of his tongue on her skin, from her neck to her breast.

He smiles as he sees the red lacy bra. He always had a thing for red. And now in his arms was long wanted redhead, his fantasy, his dream. She literally offered herself on the silver plate tonight and he couldn't say no. She's like a doll in his hands, molding herself against his needs. He likes her kisses, they are full of passion. Her skin is like smooth porcelain with the incredible smell. His only aim for tonight is to please her, to please her like no man on this planet ever did.

She pushes him back, position of her body feels uncomfortable to her. His lips are back on hers and his sweaty hands are clutching the fabric of her shirt, trying to pull it up. But she's not paying any attention. She looks around the club, eyeing its occupants as his mouth ravishes hers.

Physical contact is not the same as emotional. And tonight she's offering him physical part of her. She's gonna soothe his hunger, to be his release, but for her he's only a revenge. A possible scar in the heart of her boyfriend. A burning pain.

Steve almost fells to the floor as she pushes him off her. Somehow he manages to grab the end of a table and to hold himself. He looks at her.

"Are you OK?", he yells trying to out loud the music.

She straightens, pulling her shirt down in the process. She doesn't know why she did it, why she pushed Steve. But the second she saw him she become tense, and her reflexes reacted immediately.

"I'm sorry…", she takes her purse and leans in for a quick kiss. "But this is a mistake." She slides pass him, knocking the vine glass with her hand and spilling it all over his lap.

He watches her leaving, too embarrass to move. He looks down at his lap, at the red stain on his jeans. Stain looks like blood, blood that was dripping from the scar on his heart. His head falls back against the soft cushions as he slowly absorbs the beat of another sad song.

***

Bright light in the ladies room hits her eyes, making her eyesight blurry for a second. She walks to the first available toilet and enters, locking herself. Leaning against the cold metal doors, she stares into the empty space in front of her.

Slowly, the dots disappear.

She bites her nails, peeling off the red nail-polish. Remembering that it's a bad habit she removes hand and stares into the empty space again. The same question screams through her head. What is he doing here?

Emptying the content of her small purse on the semi-clean toilet she first reaches for her mirror. Light in the booth is not the best but it will serve her. She looks at the smeared lipstick and the traces of mascara underneath her eyes.

Ten minutes and few rubs with the wet-tissue later she looks perfect again. Her combed hair is spilling over her shoulders just how she likes it. Half of lip-gloss tube for sexier lips and a spray of her favorite perfume for head-turns. She shoves everything back into her purse and she's ready to go.

But as she turns around and grabs a knob, she stops and asks herself what she's doing. She can't casually walk out, approach him, order a drink and start a normal conversation. She can't sweetly smile, bat her eyelashes and pretend she's having the time of her life. She can't grab his collar, pull him closer and kiss him passionately.

Or can she?

Two minutes later she spots him in the left corner of the bar, leaning against the counter, two bottles of beer in front of him - one is half full while the other one is empty. He's all alone. She makes her way through the dancing crowd; her eyes are fixed on him. He hasn't seen her or at least she hoped he hasn't.

She pushes young girl out of her way and casually leans on the counter in front of him, grinning from ear to ear.

Sensual scent of famous perfume makes him turn his head. Pleasant feeling overwhelms his body as he sees her beautiful face. Her wonderful smile. And her so sad eyes that she's trying to hide with a perfect disguise.

Gil Grissom smiles back.

They don't need greetings, everything they want to say to each other will see in their eyes. That was the part that scared him. They've known each other for maybe two years and they already had incredible communication. Something, he was sure, he didn't share with his previous colleagues.

"What are you doing here?" She's gently leaning towards him, wondering if she should take a sip of his beer. At the last second she decides not to. "I thought you're working…"

"I was…" He shifts his eyes to foggy, tall glass of beer. She catches hint of his breath. Apparently, it was more than just two beers. "They removed me from the case…"

He looks back at her and notices her pouting lips. She's three seconds away to ask him why. He wonders if she knows how well he knows her.

"Ouch!" Her eyebrows furrow. "Why?"

For a few seconds he listen harsh words of an angry singer through the speakers, singing about heartbreaks. He wonders if Catherine knows she's slowly doing the same thing to him.

Even in Gil's medium state of drunkenness, Catherine knows she should wait for his answer, knowing she's going to get it at the end. She looks into his eyes trying to see into his soul. But this time he puts on a wall. Between her. Between everyone. She questions herself why is that bothering her so much.

"Cause I hit a suspect" His answer comes after some time. His words are tipsy just like his mind. He's looking at her reflection in the mirror behind bartender's back. He can see she's carefully studying him. Her gaze feels good on his skin.

"Oh my God! Why?" She leans closer, heat from her body radiates through his pores.

He remembers words that were said to him not an hour ago as her eyes scans him. They're twirling in his head making him insane slowly. He wants to erase them so he could save his mind.

And hers too.

"He… deserved it."

He's not going to tell her he worked strip club homicide. He's not going to tell her that the main suspect knew her. He's not going to tell her that he vividly started describing private session he had with her in the back room. He's not going to tell her he punched the guy because of her.

His tipsy fingers reach for the glass only to tumble it down. He gasps from the shock and his slack body slides from the bar chair. But Catherine is there to hold him.

"Whoa!", she tightens grip around his waist and helps him back on the seat.

He watches her worried eyes through the smoky air. God, how pretty she is! His mind is screaming from the burning desire at him while the alcohol mix with blood boil in his veins, giving him just enough strength to make a move he never dreamed about in his normal condition. He sees that her lips are moving, they are forming words he's not aware of. He cuts her blabbing with a single sentence and a simple touch.

"God, you're so beautiful!", and then he touches her neck.

Catherine isn't sure if she leaned toward him or he pulled her against him but what she is sure of that the pain is slowly disappearing, fading away. His lips remove the fragile side of her, silencing the demons inside of her head.

She feels demanding hands on her body, passionate kisses on her neck. He is clouding her judgment and giving her exactly what she wants.

He gently bites her lower lip.

Revenge.

She can feel his breath against her ear.

Passion.

He pulls her closer.

Greediness.

She shivers as he runs his hand along her waist line.

Appreciation.

He touches her cheek before placing his lips on hers again. She closes her eyes and surrenders herself to him completely.

Pain-free…

- tHe End -