I don't own anything CSI or CSIish unless it comes from my brain!
Author: koolio19 or as know onother sites tabby19
Rating: M
Summary: Eeriecoincidences occur at a scene Catherine is working. What do they all mean and who is behind it? (I'm not good at summaries but please read anyway! =)) Grillows! Yay!
Just so you know this takes place after Warrick dies and before Grissom leaves. Lindsey we'll say is like 15 years old. (Cause I'm not really sure how old she's supposed to be now in the show.)
*********
Coincidence
Chapter 1: Slice
I heard the soft click of the front door as it closed, then the muffled thud of a purse and shoes being discarded, in the closest available place to the discarder, followed by the patter of socks on the hardwood. Slowly it became increasingly louder until the two size seven feet came into the kitchen.
"Hi Mom," the teen said to my turned back.
"Hey Linds, how was the movie?" I asked, still keeping my attention focused on the tomato I was slicing.
"Sadly it wasn't as good as we had hoped it would be. It was actually kinda lame." she replied as she headed for the fridge.
"Oh well that's too bad," I replied while trying not to laugh. I told her that Space Monsters Here We Come probably didn't sound like an incredibly entertaining movie, but she swore it would be great.
"What's for dinner? I'm starving," she complained as she searched through the over stuffed fridge for a soda pop.
"I'm almost done with burgers; can you live with out food for another ten minutes my poor starving child?" I mocked.
"Yumm! I love your burgers!" she smiled as she opened a root beer.
"Good, do you want onions?" I asked as I threw the ends of the tomato into the garbage and rinsed off the knife.
"Only always!"
"Ok I'll finish them up, if you set the table. Sound like a deal?"
"Only if they come with French fries." she said jokingly as she grabbed the ketchup and set it on the small, square table top.
"Of course," I laughed. I listened to the rattling of plates and the clanking of silver wear as I flipped the patties and found an onion in the cramped fridge.
"So…," I could hear the hesitation in my daughters' voice as she tried to decide whether or not to continue, "How's Uncle Gil?"
"Oh," I said as I began cutting the onion into thin slices, "He's great! We just wrapped up a case that evolved bugs and you know how happy bugs make him." I giggled smally under my breath.
"When are you going to tell him?" she asked as she busied herself with folding a napkin to look like a bird or something so she wouldn't have to meet my eyes when I turned and looked at her.
"Tell him what exactly?" I asked, my brow scrunched as I tried to figure out where this was going.
"You know, that you… well love him." she said bluntly.
Totally surprised by these words the knife in my hand missed the onion and sliced my palm instead.
"Shit!" I gasped; quickly dropping the knife onto the cutting board and applying pressure onto the wound in my left hand with my right, but the blood continued to seep out from between my fingers and trailed down my forearms.
"What? What happened?" Lindsey cried as see saw the blood drops racing down my arms to the floor.
"I just cut my hand. It's nothing, I'll be fine in a minute." I said trying to keep the pain in my hand from creeping into my voice seeing that she was scared enough. "Just grab me some paper towels and the first aid kit and I'll be as good as new."
She ran from the room and I could hear her in the bathroom riffling through all the stuff in the medicine cabinet looking for the first aid kit. As soon as she found it she came dashing around the corner grabbing the roll of paper towels off the rack as she came.
"Here," she said setting the things before me on the counter, "How bad is it? Do you think you'll need stitches? Is it my fault? I'm sorry! I-"
"I'm fine, I'm ok." I said cutting off her rapid fire questions. I would have grabbed her hand to calm her down, but considering it was covered with blood I didn't think that would have helped. I looked at her kindly and said, "It wasn't your fault. I," putting an emphasis on the I, "wasn't paying attention."
She sat quietly and watched as I began dabbing at the slowly clotting blood until I could see the gash in my palm. It wasn't too terribly deep, which I was thankful for, because then I wouldn't have to bother myself in going and waiting in the ER for 5 hour just for a cut. And after a few more minutes of nursing it I had it carefully wrapped in gauze and ready to go.
Lindsey stood when the beeper on the stove went off, took the patties out and set them on the buns I had laid out, and then took them and their makings over to the table. While I took the bloody towels over to the garbage, put the knife in the dish washer, and cleaned up the few drops of blood that had won the race to the floor before I could catch them in my towel.
For the first few minutes we ate in silence. I didn't know whether it was because the food was good or if we just couldn't think of anything to say.
"I'm sorry I surprised you and made you cut yourself. I didn't mean to," she said quietly, her head down as she slowly swirled a French fry in the pool of ketchup on her plate.
"I know you didn't mean to so don't blame yourself, hon. I'm fine."
Slowly she looked up and met my understanding eyes and smiled. I reached across the table with my good hand and squeezed hers to reinforce my words.
"The burgers are good thought. Thank you," she said trying to brighten the mood.
I laughed, "Your welcome."
Slowly my laughter died down and we ate in silence again, but this time it was a comfortable silence.
"So are you going to answer my question?" Lindsey asked, eyebrows raised and waiting.
"What question might that be?" I asked even though I knew perfectly well what she wanted me to answer.
"Why don't you tell him that you love him?"
"What makes you thinks I love him?" I asked mostly to get on her nerves, but also wanting to know if it was really that obvious.
"Well, you always giggle like a school girl when you talk about him-"
"I do not!" I said open mouthed.
"No! Do not interrupting me when I am speaking to you young lady," she mocked trying to sound professional. "Now where was I? Oh yes; the way you look at him when he's not looking and you two know every thing about each other. Every good thing and bad, there are no secrets between the two of you. So if he didn't like something about you or you about him you wouldn't still be best friends."
She was right when I thought about it. Especially on the last part, we didn't have secrets (well except for the fact that I love him). He knew my life story and I his, so there wasn't like there was some secret demon lying with in me that he doesn't know about.
I looked up and noticed the smirk and her face as she waited for my response. She was right and she knew it.
"Ok, yes, I do love him," a huge grin spread across her face, "But," and with that one word that grin disappeared as fast as it came, "He's my best friend and he has been for twenty years, I won't risk that on some fantasy. And not to mention it's against lab policy to have a relationship with a coworker especially a supervisor."
"Screw lab policy!" she yelled.
"Language!" I yelled back.
But she went on as if I hadn't said anything, "When two people are made for each other like you two are a stupid peace of paper shouldn't be able to stop you from being together!" Her voice suddenly lowered into a plea," Can't you tell how his face falls every time you tell about your next date with some random guy you meet in a bar only the night before. It crushes him!"
She stood up and threw her hands up in the air when I didn't respond, but I couldn't say anything even if it I wanted to. I had to get the lump out of my throat first so words could follow, but that would mean crying and I couldn't do that, not in front of her.
"But I guess you don't care! So go ahead, find another drunk guy to make out with! I'm sure Uncle Gil will get over it eventually!" She yelled then stormed out of the room, up the stairs, and slammed her door.
As soon as I was sure she wasn't coming back down I allowed the tears to cascade down my face like waterfalls. I slammed my fists down on the table only to gasp in pain as my left hand made contact and made me want to cry even harder. I cradled my hand against my chest until it stopped throbbing and the waterfalls had dried. Then I stood up gathered the dishes, being careful of my swelling hand, and dumped them into the sink.
Slowly I climbed the stairs and walked down the hallway to my bedroom. The bedroom I hadn't shared with someone for years. As if on autopilot I changed, brushed my teeth and crawled under the covers. Wrapping myself in the warm, sheltering blankets I drifted of into a deep nightmare filled sleep.