Author's Note: Okay, so I know this idea is really out there, and I think it may have been done before, but I had a dream about it (isn't that weird?) and I really just had to write it. It's okay if y'all hate it, because I'm not even really sure what to think of it myself. It's written from Catherine's point of view, and doesn't take place at any particular time, just when Lindsey's about twelve, maybe eleven, maybe thirteen. That general time frame. There will be eventual GCR (by the way, this is my first attempt at that too, so bear with me). Also, I know it's really short, but this is as far as I want to go just to get a feel for it. And I'd like to know your thoughts before I go any further.
Lindsey is playing with bugs.
What's gotten into her, I'll never know. But there she is, lying on her stomach in our backyard, surrounded by luscious green grass, poking various bugs that walk in front of her. She's been lying there for over an hour, and she's not bored yet. Well, she doesn't appear to be.
It's almost suppertime. I'm expecting Gil any second now for dinner. Right on cue, the doorbell rings. I go to answer it and there stands the most enigmatic man I know, holding a bottle of wine.
"Hi, Gil," I say. "Come on in."
"Hey, Catherine," he replies as he steps inside. "I brought this for you," he says as he hands me the wine.
"Thank you," I say.
"Smells great in here," he comments. "What are you cooking?"
"Lasagna," I answer. I know it's his favourite, and Lindsey loves all sorts of pasta and casseroles too. I never much cared for the stuff myself, but I know how much Gil likes it.
"My favourite," he answers, just as I knew he would.
I go to the sliding glass door at the back of the house and open it. "Lindsey!" She doesn't respond. She's been doing that more and more lately. I think it's her lame way of trying to be defiant, or independent, or something like that. "Lindsey!" I call again, this time a little louder. She still doesn't respond. Either she's ignoring me or she's pretty engrossed in some bug.
Gil, who has followed me to the back of the house, asks, "What's she looking at?"
I shrug. "I don't know what's gotten into her. She's obsessed with bugs."
His eyes light up. "I'm going to go see what she's looking at," Gil says. Typical Gil. He never passes up a chance to look at bugs. He slides the glass door open the rest of the way and goes out to see her.
Meanwhile, the oven starts beeping and I pull the lasagna out. Hmmm. Not quite done. I put it back in and set the timer for another eight minutes. I peer out the window and laugh. I can see Gil letting a bug crawl all over his arm as he enthusiastically tells Lindsey all he knows about it – which, I realize, could take a lot longer than the eight minutes it will take for the lasagna to finish cooking. What really astounds me is that Lindsey is intently listening to every word he says, absorbing all the information she possibly can. Too bad she doesn't apply herself the same way in school.
I spend the next while just watching the two of them together in the backyard. A loud beep startles me out of the wondering and pondering I had been doing, and I open the oven door to see that the lasagna is finished.
"Hey, you guys!" I call. "Dinner's ready!" Gil gently puts the bug back on a blade of grass and he gets up. I notice that he has to tap Lindsey on the shoulder to get her to stand up too. Gil continues to talk to her the whole fifteen feet back to the house about whatever bug it was. Finally, he shuts up as the three of us sit down to dinner.
Conversation flows naturally between us, despite the age differences. Occasionally, I notice that Lindsey is being very quiet and paying way too much attention to her food, and I have to say her name a few times before she reincludes herself in our conversation. This is the third time she's done that this week. Now, I'm starting to have a few suspicions.
Gil always stays late whenever he comes over, and as a result, he is still here long after I make Lindsey got to bed.
I bring up my concern to Gil once I know for sure that Lindsey's asleep and she can't hear us.
"Gil," I say tentatively, "Was Lindsey acting weird with you out there?"
"Weird how?"
"Did she seem like she was straining for anything while you were talking to her?" I ask. I'm trying not to give away my suspicion, but even the great Gil Grissom, who is the most socially awkward man alive, knows me better than that.
"Straining…to hear?" he clarifies.
I gulp and nod.
"Every once in a while, yeah. But only for a few seconds, and it only happened two or three times," he says.
Now I'm nervous. I think Gil can see it.
"Catherine…" he says, shifting his hands on his coffee cup, "What are you getting at?"
I take a deep breath. No beating around the bush now.
"I think Lindsey may be your daughter."
Author's Note: Confused? Don't worry, all will be explained next chapter! And next chapter may come sooner if I get reviews!