Title: Fear
Author: Scarlettmithruiel
Classification: R
Rating: PG? PG-13?
Disclaimer: I can't even begin to tell you how much I don't own this.
Author's Note: This whole thing was to fulfill a challenge by meine sehr guten Freundin, ScullyAsTrinity. If you haven't already, check out what she's written. Especially Stalemate. Oodles better than this.
Challenge Requirements:
Quote: "He's a hottie, you should do it."
Apple Martini
Muffin
West Wing mention
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He was walking down the hall, prepared to head for his apartment, when he heard it. He stopped, paused, as if on a precipice, and listened for it again. He heard the unmistakable sound of a woman laughing. And not any particular woman that worked in the lab, whether it be intern, grad student, or technician. It was the woman his fingers longed to touch, his lips longed to kiss, and his soul longed to have. His lips set in a grim smile as he continued down the hall, toward the sound. It flowed through the air, almost dancing on the molecules, before arriving at his ears.
"For my twenty-first birthday, my friends took me out to a club. Not just a club, but the hottest club in town at the time. Somehow, we managed to get in. I had been dancing with this guy for a while, and my friends and I were celebrating so we ended up getting smashed. Then, out of nowhere, he invited me to his VIP room. I didn't know who this guy was, but my friends were all for it. 'He's a hottie,' they said. 'You should do it.' I was a little unsure, but I went anyway. We didn't really do anything. I was drunk, he was drunk and a philosophy major. He ended up talking about Plato and Grecian phallocracies the whole time," Catherine recounted. He moved even slower now. It wasn't that he wanted to eavesdrop. It was curiosity.
His eyes peered into the room and fell upon one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. She was sitting in a chair, opposite Catherine, who was recounting a tale with spark and enthralling gesticulations, a muffin lying half-eaten between them, her face lit up with joy and happiness. Her cheeks were flushed a soft shade of pink and she was grinning at the hilarity of the situation in Catherine's tale, or so he assumed.
His mind, never a slow-moving device, seemed to rush even faster now. The image of her at a gala of any kind, swathed in violet or burgundy tulle, an apple martini in hand, with the scantest amount of make-up seemed to just appear in his mind. She would appear completely at ease, her hair done up simply, with the same grin. She would be happy…the way she should always be.
Nick, Warrick, and Greg walked down the hallway noisily. "Hey, Boss," Greg greeted. His eyes shifted from corner to corner, but he swore he could feel Catherine's gaze. Greg looked into the room. "You guys doing anything?"
"Nothing really, but sleep. Why?"
"Nick's got about a month's worth of West Wing episodes taped. We're going to go back to his place and watch them. You guys wanna join?" Catherine smiled.
"Maybe," she replied. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Sara followed them. "Hey, Grissom?" He diverted his attention back to her. "'To fear love is to fear life.' There's nothing stopping you but you, you know."
He sighed and his eyes followed the path she had taken moments ago. "I know."