Title: Catalyst
Author: ScullyAsTrinity
Rating: PG-13, though as we all know, rating it soooo very likely to change.
Disclaimer: Me and the rest of Locard's Advocates all pitched in and bought em... and CBS... and yet, I still can't afford school. Odd.
Summary: It all has to start somewhere.
-
Gil Grissom was seldom tired. Even if he was though, he never made a point to show any outwards signs of it. But now, sitting in a hard, cold plastic seat, he could think of nothing more than his bed, a hot shower and a good seven months of sleep.
"This is freaking unbelievable," mumbled the blonde to his right, stressing every word with a certain amount of distain. "Freaking unbelievable." Her head was in her lap and her hands were massaging her neck tiredly. She could have done with a nice hot tub right then; she could have also done with a few good months of pure, blissful hibernation.
Gil gave her no response; his tongue wouldn't cooperate in a civil matter even if he tried to force it. His head wished to loll to the side, but his long reigning composure held it up, startlingly erect. She was right though, the entire situation was un-freaking-believable.
Catherine huffed incredibly, her whole body moving with the force of it. "Is it so much to ask, so much, for a flight from Seattle directly to Las Vegas?" Apparently it was. "Apparently, it is. You know, as if an hour on a packed plane in coach wasn't enough..." Trailing off, she realized it was no use to complain, it was falling on deaf ears.
LAX was loud, it was very loud. And bright. And the chairs, well the chairs were not comfortable at all. "When's our flight?" She popped up, tired hair bouncing, as if trying to regain some sort of volume.
Grissom turned slowly to her, licking his lips. "Seven," he glanced at his watch and nearly cringed. Catherine's eyebrows shot up and he moved his hand into her sight range. Glancing at the shiny face of the time device, she groaned. Another two hours laid over in L.A., hell, though art an airport.
"Can't we just... take another flight?"
"Do you have four hundred dollars you want to spend on a flight for a one hour flight?" He glanced at her and she stared back, completely devoid of emotion.
"Exchange the tickets?" She posed, hopeful lilt to her voice, though knowing that it was of absolutely no use.
He slumped back in his chair then, allowing his eyes to slip shut. "Not if we want to pass it off as the lab's expense." And he left it at that, sighing, clutching his coffee cup tighter in his palm. The warmth spread the way up his arm and only served in making him feel far more lethargic. Catherine sighed again and turned to the side, flopping her tired, sore, feet onto a chair beside her. Her back was to him and he could feel the heat pouring off of her.
Grumbling incoherently, Catherine shifted in her seat. "Did we even learn anything at that conference anyway? I mean, did you? Because I didn't."
Grissom wanted to say yes, that it had been an enlightening experience, but it hadn't been. In fact, they two CSIs had ended up giving an impromptu seminar of their own, much to the consternation of the convention staff. It had been condescending of them, sure, but it had to be done, or the other attendees would walk away with nothing to teach others.
And Grissom just couldn't have that.
There had been the requisite small talk, the mingling and the attempting to listen to other CSIs drone on about their own personal accomplishments. There were few people there who Grissom could stand to speak with for more than a few moments.
Ruth Baxter, a CSI 3 out of Salt Lake City had suggested that he trademark and sell his Red Creeper. She didn't in fact truly believe that, but had been charmed by him, nonchalantly slipping him her number on a piece of departmental Post-It. He'd smiled sheepishly, not knowing what to do (and certainly not wishing to be rude), until the woman had ambled off and he'd released the shaky breath he'd been holding.
Catherine had leaned over and whispered into his ear, "Feels good to get hit on, doesn't it?" She left him with a coy wink and another glass of merlot.
It didn't. And she knew that. So he'd shot her a disapproving glare and began counting down the hours until they could leave the Emerald City. He really and truly hated these things.
Now, sitting in the overly boisterous, garishly lit lobby-type place, he wished that he was back there. At least they'd been put up in a nice hotel. Gil began to drift off, just lilting towards a light sleep when Catherine, saccharin in her voice, spoke.
"You keep that number that... what's her face gave you?"
"Ruth." He mumbled by way of an answer.
Catherine chuckled, true mirth drawn between her lips. "Right, Ruth. Didja?" She pressed, lips drawn back in a nasty but amused smile. He glanced at her, raised a brow and closed his eyes once more.
Catherine's face fell. "No." She spoke and huffed, disappointed. "You know what Gil?" He voice rose, intention and aggravation rising to the surface. He poked his eyes open once more, glancing at her with more distain that he was sure he should be able to fathom. He wasn't really angry just... irritated.
"You need to get laid." The blonde said solidly.
It was his first instinct to gawk at her, but once again, he held his composure like a well-trained assassin. Cool, calm, deadly. "Excuse me?"
From time to time, he admired Catherine's gutsy way with words, her gusto for life, her ability to seize the moment and form bonds with people. Now, right then, it was wearing thin.
"Yeah, that's exactly what I said. You need to get laid. And you had the opportunity, too!" She threw up her hands in surrender and he finished the rest of his coffee, watching her overreact. "Just, you need to let... something go. Just, let it all out. Have sex. Find a woman and just, just, go to town."
Grissom wasn't really stunned to hear her trivialize intercourse to a simple stress relief mechanism. He was sure that she'd used the act as such in the past. He was stunned to hear her suggest it as a coping mechanism for him. It nearly made him smile.
"What makes you think I haven't?' he asked between sips. She sputtered and gaped at him.
"You haven't!"
"No, but I did enjoy the shock the idea caused you," he said with his little wry grin. He continued, "Sex shouldn't be trivialized to such a degree. For it to relieve stress, it has to be enjoyable, and for it to be enjoyed there has to be some form of emotion behind it." Again, he paused. "Preferably some form of passion, or love, or… something akin to either of those two."
She immediately shot him down. "No it doesn't!"
"Perhaps not for you." It was said neither condescendingly not imploringly, just stated as any simple observation would be.
Catherine's face grew into a sly smile. She knew, she'd known for a long time, she just wanted a bit more evidence before she took it to be the absolute truth. Gil Grissom had a soft spot in his withered little heart. "Oh. Right. I see." And Gil looked at her with a withering look and snapped his head away.
"I see... so, about that..."
TBC