Disclaimer : No, they are not mine. "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me" belongs to Elton John. Take the time to read through the lyrics. I love this song, especially when he sings it with Billy Joel.
Author's Note : [Cath/Griss] Last chapter; long chapter...Catherine. I hope this measures up to your expectations. This probably takes place around season one or two. I forget when Catherine actually says aloud she's getting a divorce. Feedback would be nice. Thank you for sticking with me, everyone.
Penny For Your Thoughts (Part VI)
CATHERINE
"Catherine? Are you drunk?" Gee, what a warm welcome he gives.
"A little."
"How little is a little?"
"Two - Three - Four."
"You never even drink more than two."
"Yes, well, I was especially fervent about it tonight."
"Were you driving?"
"Oh, Father, I cannot tell a lie. I chopped down your cherry tree."
"That's very funny, Cath. You could've been killed."
"Could've been. Didn't."
"You still could've been."
"But I didn't." I collapsed into the comfort of his couch.
"Is everything okay?"
I sighed loudly. My eyes watered. I couldn't be certain if it were from the shots I had, the words that were about to leave my mouth, or the glaring lights of Grissom's townhouse. You could always count on someone or something to make you miserable. No doubt about it.
"Hey, Cath? Is everything all right?"
"I'm divorcing him." I forced the words out of my system. "There, I said it. I handed him the papers this afternoon."
Grissom sat down beside me, letting out a short, tense, edgy breath. "I'm sorry, Catherine."
"Grissom, shut up."
"What?" He raised an eyebrow at me.
"Don't say 'sorry'. I hate that word. It's a fake. Especially from you on this matter. Don't say things you don't mean, and have the nerve to say what you do mean."
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He stared vacantly at the floor. I bet my life he's going to quote something or say something mind boggling that'll take me another twenty four intoxicated hours to figure out what the hell he was trying to say. Four, three, two, one...
" 'Beating women is just like stepping on baby chickens.'" Perfect timing.
"Zora Neale Hurston." I replied without missing a beat. " 'I'm a cracked plate.' "
"Fine. I'm not as sorry as I should be." He said as if we were holding two different conversations. "I'm relieved. It's about time this happened." He admitted, then, "Okay, NOW I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
"Were you hoping for it?"
"Would you be angry if I said 'yes'?"
I shook my head. "I don't know."
"How do you feel?"
I thought about the question for a moment. Then, "Free. I feel liberated. Like I had been held captive for the last nine years. Like I'd been dead or something."
"Well, it's never too late to start living again."
"You sound like a fortune cookie."
"Do you wish things were different?"
"No sense in wishing for something I never had."
"Lindsey doesn't know yet?"
"Lindsey doesn't know yet." I stood up from the couch and made my way shakily to the kitchen counter. I proceeded to unscrew a bottle of vodka.
"Catherine, don't." He was at my side. He reached over and grasped the neck of the bottle, easing it out of my hand.
I closed my eyes. "I just want..."
"What?"
"I just want this pain to go away."
"I know. I know you do."
"But you have no idea what it's like."
"Catherine, if..." I ignored him. I hated how he spouted nonsense whenever he didn't know what to say. For god's sake if you don't know what to say, then don't say anything. I prefer the silence. But no, Grissom couldn't leave it at silence. He had to say a whole lot of crap about Charles de Gaulle or Dan Rather or something or other. Who knows.
I turned on his stereo, and Ravel's "Bolero" blasted on. Good song, but not now. I switched to radio. He was still talking. This time about Susan B. Anthony.
"Grissom, dance with me."
"I think you're too drunk to dance."
"I guarantee I'll still dance a whole lot better than you."
"This isn't much of a dancing song."
"Come on." I slipped my hand into his. "Just dance with me."
I can't light no more of the darkness
All my pictures seem to fade to black and white
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.
I'm growing tired and time stands still before me
Frozen here on the ladder of my life
I smiled at his nervousness. The last person who had been so tense and uneasy about dancing with me was, well, Eddie.
It's too late to save myself from falling
I took a chance and changed your way of life
"Grissom?"
"Yeah?"
One, two, three, four.
"Grissom, are you afraid of me?"
But you misread my meaning when I met you
Closed the door and left me blinded by the light
"What?"
"I know you heard me."
"What do you mean by 'afraid'?"
"You're avoiding the question."
Don't let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see
"Right."
"Are you afraid of me?"
"What man isn't?"
"Are you?"
He looked at me for the first time, and slowly whispered, "Terrified."
- three, four. One, two, three, four.
I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me
I met his eyes, searching for something I wasn't sure was there in the first place, but half wished were there.
I can't find all the right romantic lines
See me once and see the way I feel
It was all ambivalence to me. He was my best friend. But, god, we were so close. I could taste it.
- two, three, four.
Don't discard me just because you think I mean you harm
But these cuts I have, they need love to help them heal
He couldn't seem to look away either as much as it looked like he wanted to. And I knew it. I knew he wouldn't make the first move. I was positive he -
Don't let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see
My mouth suddenly against his, I drew the lightest kiss from him.
I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me
"Uh, what was that?" His voice was barely audible.
I smiled faintly, "If you don't know, I'm certainly not going to tell - "
And he kissed me. We stood still in the middle of his living room. Releasing my hand, both of his found their way up my back and in my hair. I could feel my stomach twisting into tight knots. His hand brushed against my cheek.
Don't let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see
My mind swam with incoherent thoughts. I mentally sighed and I pushed him away.
"We shouldn't." I said, catching a raspy breath. Damn conscience.
I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me
"Yeah. We better not." He didn't look at me. He turned to the stereo and switched it back to his classical music. God, he was going to shut me out.
I couldn't move. I could barely breathe. I stood there, paralyzed. Sometimes I really hated him and his insensitive tactics.
"Can I still stay here tonight, Gil?" He looked at me with surprise in his expression, not because I said that, but because I used his first name. "I don't want to be alone right now." I added.
"You know you can." He said softly, avoiding my eyes again. He turned up the volume of one of Haydn's piano concertos, signifying that he didn't want to talk anymore.
"Look, do you want me to go?"
"Why would I want that?"
"Well, you clearly don't want me here."
"I never - "
"You didn't have to say it." I shot back.
He didn't answer.
Cursing him under my breath, I grabbed my leather jacket that was laid on a chair, and headed for the door, knowing he wouldn't follow me. But he surprised me. I felt his hand at my elbow, holding me back.
"Catherine,"
I turned around and faced him. Maybe he'd say something, something significant.
"You're not sober enough to be driving." He said.
Great. That's just great.
"Wonderful."
"Cath, just stay. Really. I want you to stay. I know you could use the company. Besides, you look burned out."
"I feel burned out."
"You can take my bed. I'll - "
"No. You wouldn't sleep well out here."
He shook his head. "I wouldn't sleep well in there knowing you were out here."
"How 'bout we both stay out here then?"
I dozed off within a minute on the couch, Haydn's humorous musical phrases still running through my mind. I wish he would turn off that damn -
I woke up a few hours later to the sound of the refrigerator door opening. My eyes searched in the dark to find Grissom dropping some ice cubes into a glass and then filling it with vodka. From the looks of it, it seemed like he already had too much. He clumsily lowered himself on the hardwood floor, his back leaning against the counter. The streetlight slanted through the window, illuminating him - sharp, well-defined shadows cascading to the opposite wall of the living room.
I raised my body from the couch, made my way over, and sat down beside him. He didn't seem surprised I was awake. Maybe he was too inebriated to care or even notice. Something about it tore at me, a heart-wrenching kind of feeling. Like he was trying to drown out my pain for me.
"You shouldn't be drinking alone." I said. I removed the glass from his hands and swallowed a gulp, wincing as the liquid burned its way down my throat to my empty stomach, then handed it back to him. "Is everything okay?"
He stared at me for a long time mixture of disbelief and something else, then, "I'm...I'm fine, Catherine."
"Did you sleep?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I didn't want to."
"Okay." I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He seemed preoccupied. "Penny for your thoughts..."
"I was just thinking - "
"So, what else is new?"
"Catherine?"
"Yeah?"
"May I ask you a question?"
"Didn't give me a choice there." I smiled to see him smile. And he didn't let me down. "What kind of question? What family Star of Bethlehem is classified into; who Emperor Claudius' older brother is; or what year Commodore Matthew Perry arrived in Japan?"
"A personal question."
"How unusual."
"You seem surprised."
"Only because I am."
"Liliaceae; Germanicus; 1854."
"1853."
"It's 54."
"Moving on. What's your question?"
"It's 54."
"You're not going to let this go, are you?"
"I'm telling you; it's 54."
"Fine. It's 54. What's your question?"
"You're going to think me strange."
"I already do."
"Encouraging."
"I concur."
"It's actually more of a comment than a question."
"Okay."
"Well, no, it's more of an observation than any - "
"Grissom, quit stalling and just tell me what's on your mind."
"Okay." He drew in a deep breath. "You're the only woman I - no, wait." I rolled my eyes though I couldn't help smiling. "I mean, you're the only person I know who - No, I mean..." He sighed and shook his head a little, "I mean, you're my best friend, Catherine."
"I'll take that to my advantage."
"Why do you put up with me?"
I laughed mentally. "Did I just hear you correctly?"
"Probably." He took a sip from the glass he was still holding. "I mean, it just seems like you have so much to deal with: your daughter, Eddie, everything. Why do you keep asking for my problems?"
"Because I know you can't carry them all on your own."
"You're right, you know." He didn't say anything for a long time, staring at the rings in the hardwood, then, "You're always right."
"Don't give me so much power. I get uppity."
"No one else has enough patience for me. Just you."
"I pride myself on it."
He turned to me. "You better get some more rest."
"Will you be okay?"
He smiled weakly. "You know I'll be."
I stood from the floor and sank back into the couch. My head was spinning to much for me to want to argue.
I woke to the rhythmic sound of rain pounding against the window panes. It was morning. I rolled over on my stomach and raised myself to rest against my elbows. Blinking back stars, I surveyed the room to find Grissom standing next to his bookshelf, flipping through a hard-covered book. I watched closely as he skimmed the lines of the pages, searching for something he couldn't find. I must have watched him for at least ten minutes before he stopped at a page, and frowned, ruminating over the billion things he probably had in his head.
"Good morning." I said, at last.
He glanced up, " 'Morning." And he turned his attention back to the page.
"So,"
"Yeah?"
"You gonna tell me or what?"
"Tell you? Tell you what?"
"Whether it's 53 or 54."
He looked up from the book and removed his glasses. "How'd you know - "
"It's 53, isn't it?" I said, knowingly with a clever smirk.
With a short laugh, he nodded. "Yeah. It's 1853. You were right."
"Looks like you're making breakfast."
"I wasn't aware that we made a bet."
"We didn't." I agreed, then, "But you were going to make me something anyway."
"You know what, Cath?"
"Yeah?"
"I really hate...how you know me so well." He smiled.
"You know, I never got to thank you."
"For what?"
"For...for everything, Gil. For saving me from myself."
He shrugged as if it were some mundane task. "Someone had to do it."
"Well...I'm glad it was you."
[End]
Author's Note : [Cath/Griss] Last chapter; long chapter...Catherine. I hope this measures up to your expectations. This probably takes place around season one or two. I forget when Catherine actually says aloud she's getting a divorce. Feedback would be nice. Thank you for sticking with me, everyone.
Penny For Your Thoughts (Part VI)
CATHERINE
"Catherine? Are you drunk?" Gee, what a warm welcome he gives.
"A little."
"How little is a little?"
"Two - Three - Four."
"You never even drink more than two."
"Yes, well, I was especially fervent about it tonight."
"Were you driving?"
"Oh, Father, I cannot tell a lie. I chopped down your cherry tree."
"That's very funny, Cath. You could've been killed."
"Could've been. Didn't."
"You still could've been."
"But I didn't." I collapsed into the comfort of his couch.
"Is everything okay?"
I sighed loudly. My eyes watered. I couldn't be certain if it were from the shots I had, the words that were about to leave my mouth, or the glaring lights of Grissom's townhouse. You could always count on someone or something to make you miserable. No doubt about it.
"Hey, Cath? Is everything all right?"
"I'm divorcing him." I forced the words out of my system. "There, I said it. I handed him the papers this afternoon."
Grissom sat down beside me, letting out a short, tense, edgy breath. "I'm sorry, Catherine."
"Grissom, shut up."
"What?" He raised an eyebrow at me.
"Don't say 'sorry'. I hate that word. It's a fake. Especially from you on this matter. Don't say things you don't mean, and have the nerve to say what you do mean."
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He stared vacantly at the floor. I bet my life he's going to quote something or say something mind boggling that'll take me another twenty four intoxicated hours to figure out what the hell he was trying to say. Four, three, two, one...
" 'Beating women is just like stepping on baby chickens.'" Perfect timing.
"Zora Neale Hurston." I replied without missing a beat. " 'I'm a cracked plate.' "
"Fine. I'm not as sorry as I should be." He said as if we were holding two different conversations. "I'm relieved. It's about time this happened." He admitted, then, "Okay, NOW I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
"Were you hoping for it?"
"Would you be angry if I said 'yes'?"
I shook my head. "I don't know."
"How do you feel?"
I thought about the question for a moment. Then, "Free. I feel liberated. Like I had been held captive for the last nine years. Like I'd been dead or something."
"Well, it's never too late to start living again."
"You sound like a fortune cookie."
"Do you wish things were different?"
"No sense in wishing for something I never had."
"Lindsey doesn't know yet?"
"Lindsey doesn't know yet." I stood up from the couch and made my way shakily to the kitchen counter. I proceeded to unscrew a bottle of vodka.
"Catherine, don't." He was at my side. He reached over and grasped the neck of the bottle, easing it out of my hand.
I closed my eyes. "I just want..."
"What?"
"I just want this pain to go away."
"I know. I know you do."
"But you have no idea what it's like."
"Catherine, if..." I ignored him. I hated how he spouted nonsense whenever he didn't know what to say. For god's sake if you don't know what to say, then don't say anything. I prefer the silence. But no, Grissom couldn't leave it at silence. He had to say a whole lot of crap about Charles de Gaulle or Dan Rather or something or other. Who knows.
I turned on his stereo, and Ravel's "Bolero" blasted on. Good song, but not now. I switched to radio. He was still talking. This time about Susan B. Anthony.
"Grissom, dance with me."
"I think you're too drunk to dance."
"I guarantee I'll still dance a whole lot better than you."
"This isn't much of a dancing song."
"Come on." I slipped my hand into his. "Just dance with me."
I can't light no more of the darkness
All my pictures seem to fade to black and white
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.
I'm growing tired and time stands still before me
Frozen here on the ladder of my life
I smiled at his nervousness. The last person who had been so tense and uneasy about dancing with me was, well, Eddie.
It's too late to save myself from falling
I took a chance and changed your way of life
"Grissom?"
"Yeah?"
One, two, three, four.
"Grissom, are you afraid of me?"
But you misread my meaning when I met you
Closed the door and left me blinded by the light
"What?"
"I know you heard me."
"What do you mean by 'afraid'?"
"You're avoiding the question."
Don't let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see
"Right."
"Are you afraid of me?"
"What man isn't?"
"Are you?"
He looked at me for the first time, and slowly whispered, "Terrified."
- three, four. One, two, three, four.
I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me
I met his eyes, searching for something I wasn't sure was there in the first place, but half wished were there.
I can't find all the right romantic lines
See me once and see the way I feel
It was all ambivalence to me. He was my best friend. But, god, we were so close. I could taste it.
- two, three, four.
Don't discard me just because you think I mean you harm
But these cuts I have, they need love to help them heal
He couldn't seem to look away either as much as it looked like he wanted to. And I knew it. I knew he wouldn't make the first move. I was positive he -
Don't let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see
My mouth suddenly against his, I drew the lightest kiss from him.
I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me
"Uh, what was that?" His voice was barely audible.
I smiled faintly, "If you don't know, I'm certainly not going to tell - "
And he kissed me. We stood still in the middle of his living room. Releasing my hand, both of his found their way up my back and in my hair. I could feel my stomach twisting into tight knots. His hand brushed against my cheek.
Don't let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see
My mind swam with incoherent thoughts. I mentally sighed and I pushed him away.
"We shouldn't." I said, catching a raspy breath. Damn conscience.
I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me
"Yeah. We better not." He didn't look at me. He turned to the stereo and switched it back to his classical music. God, he was going to shut me out.
I couldn't move. I could barely breathe. I stood there, paralyzed. Sometimes I really hated him and his insensitive tactics.
"Can I still stay here tonight, Gil?" He looked at me with surprise in his expression, not because I said that, but because I used his first name. "I don't want to be alone right now." I added.
"You know you can." He said softly, avoiding my eyes again. He turned up the volume of one of Haydn's piano concertos, signifying that he didn't want to talk anymore.
"Look, do you want me to go?"
"Why would I want that?"
"Well, you clearly don't want me here."
"I never - "
"You didn't have to say it." I shot back.
He didn't answer.
Cursing him under my breath, I grabbed my leather jacket that was laid on a chair, and headed for the door, knowing he wouldn't follow me. But he surprised me. I felt his hand at my elbow, holding me back.
"Catherine,"
I turned around and faced him. Maybe he'd say something, something significant.
"You're not sober enough to be driving." He said.
Great. That's just great.
"Wonderful."
"Cath, just stay. Really. I want you to stay. I know you could use the company. Besides, you look burned out."
"I feel burned out."
"You can take my bed. I'll - "
"No. You wouldn't sleep well out here."
He shook his head. "I wouldn't sleep well in there knowing you were out here."
"How 'bout we both stay out here then?"
I dozed off within a minute on the couch, Haydn's humorous musical phrases still running through my mind. I wish he would turn off that damn -
I woke up a few hours later to the sound of the refrigerator door opening. My eyes searched in the dark to find Grissom dropping some ice cubes into a glass and then filling it with vodka. From the looks of it, it seemed like he already had too much. He clumsily lowered himself on the hardwood floor, his back leaning against the counter. The streetlight slanted through the window, illuminating him - sharp, well-defined shadows cascading to the opposite wall of the living room.
I raised my body from the couch, made my way over, and sat down beside him. He didn't seem surprised I was awake. Maybe he was too inebriated to care or even notice. Something about it tore at me, a heart-wrenching kind of feeling. Like he was trying to drown out my pain for me.
"You shouldn't be drinking alone." I said. I removed the glass from his hands and swallowed a gulp, wincing as the liquid burned its way down my throat to my empty stomach, then handed it back to him. "Is everything okay?"
He stared at me for a long time mixture of disbelief and something else, then, "I'm...I'm fine, Catherine."
"Did you sleep?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I didn't want to."
"Okay." I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He seemed preoccupied. "Penny for your thoughts..."
"I was just thinking - "
"So, what else is new?"
"Catherine?"
"Yeah?"
"May I ask you a question?"
"Didn't give me a choice there." I smiled to see him smile. And he didn't let me down. "What kind of question? What family Star of Bethlehem is classified into; who Emperor Claudius' older brother is; or what year Commodore Matthew Perry arrived in Japan?"
"A personal question."
"How unusual."
"You seem surprised."
"Only because I am."
"Liliaceae; Germanicus; 1854."
"1853."
"It's 54."
"Moving on. What's your question?"
"It's 54."
"You're not going to let this go, are you?"
"I'm telling you; it's 54."
"Fine. It's 54. What's your question?"
"You're going to think me strange."
"I already do."
"Encouraging."
"I concur."
"It's actually more of a comment than a question."
"Okay."
"Well, no, it's more of an observation than any - "
"Grissom, quit stalling and just tell me what's on your mind."
"Okay." He drew in a deep breath. "You're the only woman I - no, wait." I rolled my eyes though I couldn't help smiling. "I mean, you're the only person I know who - No, I mean..." He sighed and shook his head a little, "I mean, you're my best friend, Catherine."
"I'll take that to my advantage."
"Why do you put up with me?"
I laughed mentally. "Did I just hear you correctly?"
"Probably." He took a sip from the glass he was still holding. "I mean, it just seems like you have so much to deal with: your daughter, Eddie, everything. Why do you keep asking for my problems?"
"Because I know you can't carry them all on your own."
"You're right, you know." He didn't say anything for a long time, staring at the rings in the hardwood, then, "You're always right."
"Don't give me so much power. I get uppity."
"No one else has enough patience for me. Just you."
"I pride myself on it."
He turned to me. "You better get some more rest."
"Will you be okay?"
He smiled weakly. "You know I'll be."
I stood from the floor and sank back into the couch. My head was spinning to much for me to want to argue.
I woke to the rhythmic sound of rain pounding against the window panes. It was morning. I rolled over on my stomach and raised myself to rest against my elbows. Blinking back stars, I surveyed the room to find Grissom standing next to his bookshelf, flipping through a hard-covered book. I watched closely as he skimmed the lines of the pages, searching for something he couldn't find. I must have watched him for at least ten minutes before he stopped at a page, and frowned, ruminating over the billion things he probably had in his head.
"Good morning." I said, at last.
He glanced up, " 'Morning." And he turned his attention back to the page.
"So,"
"Yeah?"
"You gonna tell me or what?"
"Tell you? Tell you what?"
"Whether it's 53 or 54."
He looked up from the book and removed his glasses. "How'd you know - "
"It's 53, isn't it?" I said, knowingly with a clever smirk.
With a short laugh, he nodded. "Yeah. It's 1853. You were right."
"Looks like you're making breakfast."
"I wasn't aware that we made a bet."
"We didn't." I agreed, then, "But you were going to make me something anyway."
"You know what, Cath?"
"Yeah?"
"I really hate...how you know me so well." He smiled.
"You know, I never got to thank you."
"For what?"
"For...for everything, Gil. For saving me from myself."
He shrugged as if it were some mundane task. "Someone had to do it."
"Well...I'm glad it was you."
[End]