Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Sooo, if you read the last chapter before I had a chance to edit it, I just want to reinterate that I was dumb and used Ecklie as the person calling Grissom before I realized that he wasn't in charge of Grissom this early in CSI. Sooo, I'm sticking with it for consistency's sake, but if you like the idea of it tying back into canon, by all means replace the name 'Ecklie' in your head with Mobley or Cavallo or whoever was really in charge in the first season, because at times it's dramatically unclear. :)

Oh, and Grissom drove himself to the airport, not Catherine, which is how his car is there. I checked before I wrote it, because even I wasn't sure! :) I appreciate the review though... if I do make mistakes like that, please tell me!

Anyway, thanks and enjoy! 3 I'm going to guess (though I can't be sure) that this is the last update today. I have laundry to finish before the new week and True Blood is on tonight! Yay! :)

Chapter Eighty Seven:

I left Gil to sort out Catherine, telling myself that despite my anger at the woman, I was glad that she cared about Gil enough to be angry at my perceived indiscretions. I closed the door behind us, blocking out the sound of their voices, taking my first look around Gil's home. It was dark. Very dark.

I smirked, extending a hand to turn on lights, thinking that he had told me all his windows were covered in blinds that entirely blocked out light so he could sleep during the day. The light immediately above me turned on and Ayla looked up at it. I slipped out of my shoes and flipped another light switch, watching the light in the room beyond come to life.

I hitched her up on my hip and stepped from tile to carpet, noting as I moved around the corner that if the blinds were open, the place would have been light and airy. …It was very much a bachelor's pad. There was furniture, but no homey touches—no throws slung over a chair or pillows on the couch. There was a messy desk that was a prominent feature in the room, though the electronics on the walls were more so—a large television, an even larger sound system. They were each framed by bookcases, but not heavy wooden ones, as I would have imagined—they were sleek and modern, black and silver and open on all sides. Stark and utilitarian.

I frowned a little, noting that the only thing that didn't seem to be… stark and utilitarian… were the many, many framed butterflies he had lining every open space of wall. I moved through the living room, smiling softly despite myself—it might not be my choice for the way to decorate a home, but it was distinctly like him and the lack of a feminine touch reassured me that he hadn't been with anyone else in the time we'd been apart. I moved into his kitchen, finding that very similar—somehow simultaneously lived-in and sparse. I glanced back at the door before deciding to snoop.

I pulled open his fridge and immediately recoiled—the top shelf contained a carton of milk, two bottles of water, six Petri dishes containing unknown substances and stacked haphazardly on top of Tupperware containers that held… not food. Tucked in the back, with the label partially obscured, was a brown bottle of what I was fairly certain was chloric acid. The second shelf had lunch meat and cheese and a Ziploc bag of meat that might not be entirely spoiled yet but which was certainly not fresh. I had to mentally remind myself that he'd been in Boston, with me, for four days. He hadn't had time to plan for the trip and decide to not unfreeze hamburger because he wouldn't be around to eat it.

I shook my head, glancing at the bottom shelf which held the rest of the case of bottled water, the bottles still wrapped up together in plastic, and several more questionable Tupperware containers. On the door there was a carton of eggs, butter, condiments that were sticky—chocolate syrup, ketchup, jelly… all of their exteriors covered with what ought to have been on the inside. Finally, I pulled open the two drawers at the bottom, finding no fruits or vegetables, but several more Petri dishes and one jar which I was quite sure contained actual insects, though I could not have told you if they were alive or not.

With a shudder, I closed the door and moved back into the living room, thinking it seemed a little bit safer. I mean, really, I had loved seeing the insects in the rainforest… and Gil's giddiness had seemed cute at the time. …But the idea of eating anything from that fridge, even if I scrubbed it out and made him keep his creepy things elsewhere… it made me feel sick, quite frankly. In the living room, I noticed Ayla staring at one of the frames on the wall which housed three rather large, rather bright butterfly specimens. I moved over to it, watching her eyes get wide as she reached out a finger and pointed at the brilliantly red butterfly that had caught her eyes. I peered down at Gil's neat handwriting beneath the beautiful creature: "Cymothoe sangaris sangaris, Nigeria."

I smiled softly, glancing down at the others—one a multi-colored masterpiece in iridescent pastels, the other striking black and teal, both from parts of Africa as well. "But-ter-fly." I enunciated for Ayla, who attempted to repeat me, managing to only make the 'lie' sound at the end intelligible. I sighed, glancing at the door again—I had not imagined exploring his home alone. I had imagined him walking me through, showing it to me with gentle smiles and shy eyes and sheepish shrugs of his shoulders. ...I also hadn't imagined bugs in the kitchen, to be fair.

With a final glance at the door, I headed down the hallway, peering into rooms as I came across them. The first was a half bath which, although it looked seldom used, was in nice condition. The walls were white, the pedestal sink was white, the toilet and trash can beside it were white. The towel on the silver ring beside the sink was white. I frowned, flicking the light off and moving forward. The next door was a very small bedroom that was currently housing a very large ant farm. I stepped inside, wanting to get a feel for Ayla's room and thinking that ants were not so bad if they were contained. I turned on the light and passed a row of shelves, thinking I would check the size of the closet, but instead was stopped in my tracks by a loud Hiss!

I turned to the shelves in surprise, finding myself face to face with six of the largest cockroaches I had ever seen, hissing at me! …Now, I'm not usually a squeamish girl. The proximity of food and bugs bothered me, yes, but if I had been warned of the cockroaches I might have been curious, even. But to have them surprise you like that… I let out a squeal and hurtled myself out of the room, shutting the door without even turning off the light, panting a little.

Ayla was laughing, thinking that mommy running and spinning and shrieking was a game… but I knew that my hands were shaking and that I needed to get them under control—while Gil might find my reaction to his bugs humorous, I was pretty sure that seeing how startled I was would upset him… and my thoughts concerning his fridge would most certainly hurt his feelings. …I still couldn't believe I'd kissed someone who had eaten anything out of that.

I was mad at myself that I found myself actually tiptoeing towards his bedroom, already trying to come up with some explanation that he would believe for not wanting to spend the night in his home before our flight out early the next morning. …If I remembered correctly, the flight was at some crazy hour like 4 a.m. I could say that it didn't even make sense to sleep. …Have Ayla sleep in her car seat and Gil take me on a driving tour of Vegas. I mean, really, how much sleep would we really be getting anyway?

I winced as I turned the handle and pushed, letting the final door slowly slip open… and was pleasantly surprised. The walls were a warm tan with almost a honey tone to them, with a stripe of dark blue three quarters of the way up the wall. His bed was a large, four-poster made of dark wood with a bedspread that perfectly matched the stripe. The floor was hardwood, and there was a plush white area rug under the bed… all the furniture matched the bed, the sheets were white with blue pinstripes, and though the bed was unmade, all the bedding looked like it had been recently cleaned.

I slipped in and closed the door, flicking on the light and moving immediately to the closet, anticipating the shelves to be filled with terrariums and tarantulas and other freakishly large monsters… but instead, it held nicely hung work clothes, a court suit or two, and neatly folded jeans, sweats, t-shirts, and sweatshirts on the shelves. Frowning in confusion, I glanced around, moving to his dressed and opening the drawers I found there… underwear, socks, pajamas, undershirts… some shorts and a pair of over-bright swimming trunks. I glanced in one nightstand and then the other—one was empty, clearly only there as part of the set, the other had a book on top of it, and every picture of Ayla and every letter I had sent before he started ignoring me, carefully tucked inside.

I swallowed a little emotionally, glancing around and spying another door. The master bathroom. I moved to it, thinking that this was surely it—some bizarre water bugs swimming in his bathtub and crawling across the mirror… Instead, I found a room painted blue, with the brownish color from the bedroom coloring a stripe at exactly the same height as the one in the bedroom. The vanity area was clean, and a quick search of his drawers revealed nothing more interesting than a dusty box of condoms in the back of a drawer, under some cleaning supplies, and with an expiration date of two years previous. The towels in here were white with blue stripes, and there were even fuzzy rugs in front of the tub and shower combined, the toilet, and the vanity.

…Having explored the entire area and found it not nearly as frightening as I'd expected, I let out an audible sigh of relief and moved back into the bedroom, flopping onto the mattress with Ayla and finding it surprisingly soft and comfortable. Ayla giggled, and I did too. …We might need to buy a new fridge and build him a bug shed or something, but this wasn't so bad at all.

"Hey, there you are." I glanced up at him in the doorway, grinning.

"Hi…"

He offered me a soft smile and moved over to me, bending to peck my lips. "You so anxious to get into my bed that you couldn't even wait for me?"

I smirked at his tease, "You're bad, Gil Grissom. …There is a little girl in this bed."

"And her Mommy is a big girl in this bed. She doesn't know what I'm saying."

I giggled and pulled him down to kiss me again. "Catherine calmed down now?"

He frowned, giving me one more kiss before flopping down on the bed on the other side of Ayla. "Yeah… I guess I really should have answered my phone, but there was so much going on in Boston…"

"What happened?"

"We had a girl—daughter of a lieutenant over in traffic—straight out of the Academy starting that first night I was there. The night that…" He pauses, not finishing his clarification—the night we found Ayla, the night that Jace was killed, the night his mother tried to kill herself. "I was supposed to work with her, show her the ropes, but this came up… apparently she was shot at a scene."

"Oh my god!" I gasped, horrified—CSIs weren't supposed to be in danger like that. "Wasn't there an officer at the scene?"

"He left, for some reason… Anyway, I, uh… I've missed about a hundred calls from my assistant lab director since it happened, so I really need to stop in at the lab tonight and clear some things up… Is that okay?"

"Of course, honey. …Do you need to stay in town for her funeral?"

He shook his head slowly. "No… it was this morning. I'll just go in before he leaves at five and explain… I mean, it was an emergency and Catherine knew about it… it wasn't like I left without telling anyone. He doesn't like me though, so I'm sure he's blown it up into a much bigger deal that I wasn't there."

"…I'm sorry, Gil."

He frowned, tilting his head. "Sorry… that you called me to help? …That I came and quite possibly saved Ayla's life? …That we've now had a chance to clear some things up and we're going to be together now?"

I gaped, uncertain, and then shook my head. "…I guess I'm not sorry."

He smiled softly and pecked my lips again. "Good. Me either. …Now, do you want to see my ant farm?"