Disclaimer: I don't own.
A/N: So, this one is short too. I probably could have combined this one and the last one. ...Just imagine that I did. :)
See? I'm already making it all better. Nobody get your hopes up though because then you'll all be angry at me again. Lol.
Chapter Thirty One:
Catherine knew something was wrong. She always knew. After a while, Brass suspected as much too. He started asking if I wanted to grab a drink after shift, while Catherine showed up at least once a week sometimes with Lindsey in tow and sometimes without, depending on the rationalization she gave for being there. They ranged from "Lindsey missed you… she wouldn't stop whining until we came to see 'Uncle Gil,'" (The five year old would look at me and giggle, trying not to give away her mother's lie, and I would roll my eyes and put in the Disney movie she'd brought.) to, "Eddie's being such an ass. You've got vodka, right?" (While holding up a fresh carton of orange juice…) to, "I just thought we could talk. We never talk anymore." (To which I would reply, "Are you my wife?" But this never deterred her either.)
And really, I mean… the first year was rough. I let Jim take me out in late July, on their one year anniversary, and got drunk enough to thoroughly embarrass myself and my friend. He called Catherine to help him get me home, in part because he'd had too much to drive, and in part because he couldn't handle me on his own, especially when he was half-gone himself.
I heard a lot of shit the next morning, but I didn't care. It was the one real breakdown I'd allowed myself since that day in the park, after I'd kissed her. …I dreamed of that kiss constantly. I had stopped taking care of my needs myself, because it always ended in tears, which meant the dreams came more and more often, and far too vividly. …But at the very least, they didn't reduce me to crying, which helped me feel like I hadn't left my balls along with my heart in San Francisco.
That's another thing—that damn song, "I left my heart in San Francisco…" For some reason, Greg decided he liked it. A lot. Like, better than punk rock. It was always on in the damn lab. Seriously, couldn't I just catch a break?
It was right around Christmas time that Catherine staged an intervention. Well, kind of. I mean, I'm pretty sure that it was mostly for me. In any case, she asked me in what I believed was a hypothetical question, where I would go if I could go anywhere in the world to get away. I told her Costa Rica, or the Galapagos. That was where I would feel closest to Sara, without having to relive every moment of pain from San Francisco. She asked this in… early November.
Two weeks before Christmas, she presented me with a Christmas present—two tickets on a cruise ship leaving out of L.A. that would take us to both Costa Rica and the Galapagos. I blinked at her in surprise and she huffed, throwing her hair over her shoulder and sitting in the seat across from me in the abandoned break room.
"Look, Gil, let's just lay our cards on the table here. You're burning out… you've hardly been functioning for more than a year. …With Eddie cheating on me and the divorce, I really just need to get away. My mom offered to take Lindsey, Jim approved the time off, and I promise we have a room with two beds. It's exactly where you want to go, and while you're off chasing rainforest bugs, I can lounge by the pool on ship and drink cocktails. It's win-win."
I protested. I mean, really, I did.
But she was right—work was the only thing sustaining me, and if I screwed up on a scene because I wasn't myself or if I burned out entirely… I would have nothing. She was my best friend and the only woman who I would believe would orchestrate this trip in an honestly platonic way. Besides, she had been looking worn out lately. I had been tempted to invite her over for the screwdrivers she used to force on me. She was pale, she had bags under her eyes, and she was snapping at people. The divorce was really hard on her, and she needed the time, and it had already been paid for.
I gave in, and as if to make sure I wouldn't back out, she insisted we call the airport and book our plane tickets right then and there. We were going on a cruise, apparently, over Christmas and New Year's.
I spent hours writing detailed notes to the CSIs who would take over my cases while I was gone, because I had taken on any many as I could manage in order to get through the days, and Catherine came over when I said I was done packing, going through what I had packed and then proceeding to fill an entire other suitcase for me. I grumbled, telling her she'd better watch it or I might 'misplace' my passport. The look she gave me warned me that I would rather bring six bags than misplace anything.
On December 20th, we flew from McCarran to LAX, and were in our tiny cabin by four in the afternoon. The room was really very tiny—in order to have two beds, we'd each gotten a single, and I wasn't immediately sure if I would even fit in the shower in the bathroom, but Catherine assured me that we wouldn't be in the room except to change clothes, shower, and sleep. She immediately disappeared into the bathroom, coming out with a tank top and shorts over a red bikini.
I shook my head. "You know that we're still in the states right now, right? It's probably only sixty degrees…"
She huffed but indulged me, pulling on a sweatshirt over her arms. "Better, dad? Now come on, I think they've got free drinks this first night. …You're not wearing that, are you?"
Rather than fight with her, I changed into jeans and a t-shirt, because I had no intention of wearing swimming trunks, and I had no faith that she wouldn't choose them if I let her. Within minutes, she was leading the way out of our tiny cabin to the deck of the ship, talking about the different restaurants and bars and pools on board, not to mention the activities. She swore she'd beat me in shuffle board, which I doubted she even knew how to play, but the enthusiasm in her voice was catching, and for the first time in more than a year, I felt myself smiling without thinking.
Maybe she was right. Maybe all I needed was some time to relax, let go, enjoy myself. After all, Catherine was not the only woman on board who seemed to think that sixty degrees was bathing suit weather, and while I might not find someone to compare to Sara, I could certainly find someone who would occupy my time.
I snorted absurdly at the idea of discussing the tie-on-the-door concept with Catherine, but let her lead me into the crowd. While I was here, I'd let her take the lead.