A/N: Just so if any of you have read my other story (Of Mothers and Daughters) I haven't forgotten about it, just some serious writers block. However, this story should make up for it.
Enjoy, and remember please, reviews are our friends!
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Catherine's words continued to replay in his mind incessantly. Reminiscent of a mantra that would not, no, could not, relieve itself of his presence. "You know, with they way she's slipping through your fingers, I'm amazed at how well you can handle those bugs of yours."
Las Vegas criminalist, Gil Grissom, was undeniably a genius of sorts; it was what allowed him to excel at his job. But he knew his long-time friend and co-criminalist, Catherine Willows, was right about one thing. His considerable lack of knowledge in the world of relationships was inexcusable. Especially due to, what he deemed as, his old age. Truthfully, age fifty was one to be proud of… if you weren't in love with your thirty-five year old subordinate.
"You know, with they way she's slipping through your fingers, I'm amazed at how well you can handle those bugs of yours," Catherine had said, mockingly. Oh, how he loved his entomology. So predictable; precise to the most negligible degree. He could pinpoint exact times of death with just one insect and some patience. And then, there was a one Sara Sidle. Somehow, throughout his vast brain, he could not locate one piece of knowledge containing the instructions on how to deal with such a case as he was presented with.
While he was pondering this, he had completely forgotten that Catherine was still there. "Grissom?" His eyes found hers. "Hey, there, butterfingers! Lost you there for a second."
"I apologize." He looked down. He couldn't even talk to his friend. How was he ever going to deal with Sara? "What were you saying?"
"I was saying that you better go talk to her before you lose her for good. No one deserves to be yelled at the way you yelled at her tonight. Go apologize." Grissom nodded in agreement and continued sitting in his chair in his kitchen. Catherine stood up to be right in front of him. "Now!" she said, as if talking to a two-year-old.
Grissom, finally understanding, got up quickly and exited his over-sized, monotonous townhouse. "I guess I'll just lock up," Catherine said to no one in particular as she gazed around the kitchen. "Men," she blatantly declared as she took in the bleak nothingness that was his humble abode.