Disclaimer: I do not own CSI. I am simply using the characters to write a fanfic.
Summary: Heather's life seems to have diminished before her eyes. Her daughter is dead, she nearly whipped a man to death. Can things get better with Gil there? Gil/Lady H
Author's Note: I've been thinking about writing this for a long time and just now got around to it. Hopefully it's worth reading.
Heather sat wordlessly on the stairs leading to the second floor of her dominion.
No sounds came from any part of the large house. Usually shrieks or cries of pain echoed throughout the halls, but not tonight. She had given all of the girls permission to leave. She needed to be alone. For how long was undetermined.
Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, trying to hold back all the pain and tears.
Her brown hair stuck to her pale cheeks. Tears stains were almost noticeable but not unless you were looking for imperfections. And on a face so lovely, who would be doing such a thing?
The doorbell rang twice, the sound making her jump. She shivered and realized she was cold.
Visitors didn't appeal to the dominatrix. No one else understood the agony she felt inside.
Three knocks came from the door. The person on the other side was insistent on seeing her.
She stood up and slowly walked up the stairs, the knocking continued behind her.
"Go away!" She shouted.
Nothing could comfort her right now. She needed to be alone.
More knocks came from the door. Followed by, "Heather! Open the door! It's Grissom!"
She had known who it was all along; No one else had come to visit her. Not even her closest friends.
With a heavy sigh she became aware that he was the only one who cared. No one else was willing to stay with her during this tragic time. She had to accept any help he was offering.
The night before, Lady Heather Kessler had whipped Johann Wolfowitz. She had severely injured him, to the point where he would staying in the hospital for a few weeks and then would need physical therapy to regain his ability to walk. Gil had stopped her; He had pulled the whip away from her, then had held her while she sobbed.
Now he was there, at the dominion.
"Heather! Please let me in!"
With a sigh, Heather walked down the stairs to the door. She unfastened the locks and opened it. She stepped to the side to allow him room to step in; After a moment, Gil walked into the empty house.
"How are you holding up?" He inquired.
Heather shrugged. She didn't feel so well; To say she was feeling shitty would be an exaggeration. But she couldn't let Gil know that, so the shrug was her answer, for if she tried to speak an endless stream of tears would begin. And she couldn't allow him to see her like that again.
"Do you need anything? I'll make you dinner if you'd like," Gil offered.
"I'm not hungry," Heather replied, swallowing hard to keep her tears back. She walked away from Gil and out onto the large patio. Just outside of the double doors, a slight breeze greeted the dominatrix. Her hair blew gently in the wind as she continued walking; Her pace was slow but steady as she strode toward one of the chairs on the patio.
As Heather sat down in an elegant black iron chair, she crossed her legs then rested her right palm on her knee. She peeled back the white gauze bandage covering the injury, revealing the wound. The cut, nearly the entire width of her palm, had been acquired the previous night, most likely from holding the whip so tightly. It had taken nineteen stitches to close the abrasion and Heather had been instructed to keep gauze on it, to keep out infection. With diabetes, she was at risk to contract gangrene; But she knew as long as she took proper care of the wound, that was unlikely.
"How's your hand?" Gil interrupted Heather's surveyance of her injury.
"Fine," She retorted, placing the gauze back over it.
"Let me see."
Gil grabbed Heather's hand, not so hard it hurt but hard enough to make her look at him in surprise. He took the gauze off to examine her wound. Heather noticed his brows furrowed in concentration; He gently traced his finger alongside the cut, studying the stitches and her hand in general.
"It looks better than it did last night," He commented. Expressionless, he released her hand. Heather let it rest back on her knee again.
"Why are you here?"
Gil was silent. He pursed his lips as if ready to answer, but no words escaped. He thought for a moment. He wasn't even sure why he was at the dominion. A part of him felt he was there to check on Heather but yet another part felt he were there for something more. Something that couldn't be explained and was something he had never felt before.
"I don't know," He truthfully answered. "I guess I thought… that maybe you would need someone to talk to. About anything."
Heather studied Gil for a moment. He was offering to listen; Did she dare let herself fall for him again? Did she want to put herself into that position again?
With a sigh, her decision was final. "I do need someone to talk to."