Bring On The Rain, a csi fanfic

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer. The song 'Bring on the Rain' is that of JoDee Messina. And I love it.

Note: The book 'Broken Wings', is written by Kahlil Gibran. Thanks, Juliet, for the suggestion!!!

Gotta Thank: Allison, dear Allison, for reading this, and being the first person to truly know the whole plot and nothing but the plot. You waited, you read, you suggested…you were great, and thank you!!! And the Graveshift CSI group…you guys are my greatest muses!

Bring On The Rain

By Manda

Gil Grissom leaned around the oak doorframe as, in the dark of his bedroom, a tall, svelte outline bent over to tuck a slumbering blond haired child into bed. It was a large bed, the king-sized mattress and navy blue down comforter almost swallowing the small figure beneath the sheets.

"Is she all right?"

"She will be in the morning." Sighing heavily, Catherine Willows bushed back strands of wispy blond hair from her own forehead. In doing so, her fingers brushed over a purpled, quarter-sized bruise along her temple, and she suppressed a wince. "Thank you, Gil."

"It's all right, Catherine." He stepped aside as she backed out of the room, closing the door to allow but a sliver of light to peer in from the hallway. "You're welcome to stay as long as you need."

She edged past and he followed her into the small, manageable kitchen. It was almost customary for Catherine to make herself a drink when she'd had a rough night, although much to Grissom's surprise, she didn't turn toward the refrigerator. Rather, she turned to him, sliding onto a bar stool and smoothing her hands wearily over her face.

"I knew he took out a second on the house- but I never imagined I'd lose it." Grissom remained silent, padding across the hardwood floor and toward the cupboard, where he extracted a glass and an unopened bottle of vodka. "If Eddie finds out that I don't have a place to live…he's going to come after Lindsey again."

"He won't do that." The glass was generously filled, and Grissom paused at the refrigerator door. "Catherine- you've got a good job, steady income…how much of that does Eddie lay claim to?"

She didn't answer. Exasperation, exhaustion and worry had begun to root deep furrows into her forehead, causing her thirty-nine years to morph into something similar to Grissom's forty-six. Eddie was as much of a thorn in her side as Catherine could handle, and as in nature, the thorn was notorious for wrenching itself deeper into wounded flesh. If Eddie were to drive himself any deeper under Catherine's porcelain skin, Grissom found himself worrying that he might be witness to it cracking.

A splash of orange juice, and the elder CSI slid the glass across the Formica-topped Island dividing his kitchen and sepia toned living room. Wrapping her slender fingers around the smooth glass tumbler, Lindsey's mother stared into the orange liquid within. She couldn't have been anything else at the moment, had she wanted to be. Neither Cath, nor CSI Level Three, Willows, Catherine. Her worries at present rested solely on the shoulders of Catherine Willows, the only parent among the nightshift crew. Not for the first time, Grissom worried her position might prove to be a lonely one indeed.

"Do you know why I married Eddie?" The salt-and-pepper head shook, once, in the negative, as Grissom made his way to the wall of bookshelves nearest the mouth of the hallway. A stereo was neatly wedged between stacks of National Geographic and hardcover Tai-Chi instruction books, and wordlessly, Grissom slipped a CD of Mozart into the player. "It was because I loved him…or thought I loved him, then. Men admired me, they lavished me with praise…but it was Ed who made me feel needed."

She took a more generous swallow of liquid and continued, a shiver running down her spine from the tart combination. The art of mixing drinks had never been Grissom's forte, and the time passed from her last visit to his townhouse had made little difference.

"He needed me for his own selfish reasons…his ego, his damned need to spawn a child who could be just like him. But it turned out that he needed his whores more than he even needed my stroking his ego."

"But Lindsey needs you now, Catherine. And you'll beat this; like you've beaten everything else Eddie's thrown your way. You didn't overcome all of those mountains to get stopped by a molehill."

She snorted, lightly, hand depositing her glass upon the countertop with a light thump.

"Leave it to Gil Grissom to bring entomology into this conversation." It was amusement that tinged her voice, not exasperation, and Grissom found a smile at that. "We'll be here for a week, Grissom…no longer than that. There's room at my sister's house for Lindsey, and I can have her things sent over there tomorrow."

"And what about you?"

"I…" Catherine abandoned her glass and rose, walking into the living room to run her fingers over the shelves of thick texts, medical terminology books and anatomy guides. Grissom was the one they all turned to for the answers to questions involving death, decomposition, and entomology. But life…it was the live ones, she knew, that scared him. "Gil…I've put in my resignation."

"I didn't get notice." Grissom responded, watching Catherine move her fingers across the lower bookshelves, pulling out random titles and peering at them absently.

"I put it in on Monday." The innocent expression upon the face of her superior, mentor and friend sent Catherine to the couch, where she collapsed heavily onto the sienna leather cushions. "Grissom- I didn't think I'd have to tell you this way."
"A piece of paper makes it easier?"

"It does for me." Catherine ran her fingers through her hair and let her head fall back. "Grissom…I can't tell you how hard it was to even come to this decision. If it weren't for Lindsey…I don't know how I'd be able to accept it."

"Accept what?" He didn't join her on the couch, choosing to sit at the dining table instead, settling back on a redwood chair, rungs poking him in the back.

"I'm working at Dream Dolls…it's not the classiest place in town, but they've cleaned up a bit. I know the owner…"

Her words vanished into the air like flour dissolving in water, leaving a tension so thick he could have cut it with a scalpel. You're too good for that. Grissom couldn't count the number of times he'd thought that to himself, hearing Catherine discuss her past life so vividly, as if she were still there. He knew she hated it, hated knowing that all of the work she'd done was only to support her deadbeat husband. But the blame was easy to place, and he placed it.

"When did you start?" The words were calmly spoken, but Grissom could feel the anger mounting, muscles in his neck clenching as he ground his teeth to keep the words in his head from spilling out.

"Yesterday." The evidence had been there, and he'd overlooked it. Catherine calling at four a.m to report that her locks had been changed since she'd come back from Reno. Eddie's phone call at five a.m to inform 'his wife' that the house was being sold at auction in three days. Catherine and Lindsey had arrived between five and six, Catherine leaving the child to sleep in the car as she stumbled in and out of Grissom's townhouse in a haze, carrying what little luggage she'd packed for their trip to visit Sam Braun. And Grissom hadn't paid attention. Not to the addition of an over packed makeup bag to his bathroom, not to the overly high heels strapped to Catherine's shapely feet. She hadn't taken off her jacket until everything was inside, including Lindsey, and while he'd held the little girl in his arms, Grissom had taken brief note of Catherine's smoky aura and offered to let her shower while he tucked her daughter in to his bed. She'd declined, and the aura still hung there, although not as defined as before, in his entryway.

"I see." He was angry, and by the look in her eyes she was more than aware of it, although she didn't volunteer anything more by way of information, and he didn't request it. They sat, the sunlight just beginning to peer through the Venetian blinds above the couch, sending shafts of gold to cast themselves upon Catherine's tawny hair. "It's past seven, Catherine…why don't you go to bed?"
"Where are you sleeping?" She stretched, slowly, as if the strain in the room was preventing her from moving her weary muscles further.

"I'll take the sofa." He rose and headed for a closet on the opposite side of the room, opening it to pull down a brown cotton blanket, edges visibly frayed. A pillow followed, and he pivoted to meet her gaze. "There should be room in my bed with Lindsey."

"Good night, then." Catherine was off the couch and down the hall within seconds, her own anger visible as she tugged off her heels and tossed them into a laundry basket she'd left by the door. Purple handles, painted with daisies and trailing vines…Grissom had automatically pegged the basket as belonging to Lindsey, but Catherine had corrected him, informing the 'assuming' scientist that he should 'let the evidence speak to him'. The basket was indeed hers, painted one sunny afternoon when she was pregnant with Lindsey and had felt the urge to own something as light and sunny as she'd imagined her child would be.

Grissom settled onto the couch with blanket and pillow, turning his head toward the window and inhaling gently. The scent of honeydew melon was tinged with cigarette smoke- and he could imagine Catherine's hair, whisking over her shoulders as she danced in the smoke-shrouded club. Dream Dolls…he'd never been there, and doubtfully ever would…but the thought of his most valuable CSI working there infuriated him.

Another day has almost come and gone…

I can't imagine what else could go wrong…

Sometimes I'd like to hide away

Somewhere and lock the door

A single battle lost, but not the war….

Cause tomorrow's another day…

And I'm thirsty anyway…

So bring on the rain…

"Mr. Grissom?" He was shaken awake by the sound of a child's voice, soft as it began, but louder as the shaking of his arm grew more persistent. "Mr. Grissom…"

"Lindsey." He sat up and stretched, the muscles in his neck protesting the long night spent on the cramped confines of his leather sofa. Obviously, it hadn't been constructed for sleeping. The small child threw one of her mussed braids over her shoulder and stared at him, large blue eyes unblinking as she waited for him to gain his bearings. "What is it?"

"Where's Mommy?"

"Where's…. your mother?" Grissom swung his legs over the edge of the couch and pulled himself upward, Catherine's daughter backing up as he did so. "Where did she say she was going, Lindsey?"

"She didn't say anything. I didn't see her." Lindsey bent and began to fold the blanket Grissom had so carelessly allowed to slip from the couch and onto the floor. She held it to her face a moment, and smiled. "It smells like Mommy does."

Grissom spun on his heels and headed down the hallway, strides longer than usual as he flung open his bedroom door. The sheets and coverlet upon the bed were mussed, but only on one side, with a teddy bear and bunny slippers in attendance. As he stepped inside, the absence of Catherine's specific scent was first on his mind, with the sudden realization that he'd missed something in the hallway.

"Lindsey? Do me a favor…" The child appeared in the doorway within seconds, and Grissom turned to kneel at her level, gazing at her intently. "Now…I want you to go to the front door and tell me if your Mommy's Tahoe is still outside."

"It isn't." Lindsey responded promptly, Grissom's blanket held snugly within her arms. "I just checked. Mommy always told me I could do that, if she wasn't home when I woke up. Sometimes she has to work late."

Where are you, Catherine?

"Okay…" He let his breath out slowly, straightening his legs and turning his head to stare momentarily at the empty bed. The bed Catherine had never slept in. "Lindsey…why don't you go into the kitchen and get a glass of orange juice? I'm going to give your Mommy a call, and maybe she'll be back in time to have breakfast with us."

The blond head bobbed in understanding, and as Lindsey scampered off, Grissom reached for the drawer in his bedside table, where his cell phone lay in wait. Catherine's number boasted first place on speed dial, and his finger pressed it without hesitation. It wasn't like her to vanish without a trace, and their altercation the night before…or, rather, early that morning…surely hadn't left her with reason to go without telling him. And to leave Lindsey was unthinkable, adding more fuel to Eddie's fire, if he were to ever learn of it.

"Hi, you've reached Catherine Willows. I'm not here right now, but if you'll leave a message, I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

He swallowed, and let his head rise to meet the late morning sun, streaming through his open bedroom window. The words were difficult to form on his chapped lips, but once formed, they fell like water from a duck's back.

"Where are you, Catherine?"

It's almost like the hard times circle round.

A couple drops, and they all start comin' down.

Yeah I might feel defeated,

And I might hang my head.

I might be barely breathin', but I'm not dead, no.

But tomorrow's another day,

And I'm thirsty anyway…

So bring on the rain.

Eggs sizzled on the stovetop as Grissom stirred yellow yokes briskly with a wire whisk, Lindsey sitting several feet away, legs dangling over the edge of the island counter.

"Mr.Grissom?"

"Yes?" He deftly added salt to the eggs with a flick of the wrist, shoveling a spoonful onto a china plate, the smoky blue color in stark contrast to the fluffy yellow scrambled eggs. "Do you want toast, Lindsey?"

"No, thank you." There was every indication of Catherine within the child, through demeanor and style, and none of Eddie at all, save for the golden blond on the child's head. Every thought of Catherine sent a jolt of worry into Grissom's otherwise calm exterior, and he placed a hand on the counter to steady himself. "Mr. Grissom, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He was preparing to load a plate for himself when the phone rang, and while Lindsey picked eagerly at her scrambled eggs and toast, Grissom reached for the sleek black portable phone, hanging from the wall. "Grissom."

"Gil?"

"Catherine." He released her name in a single breath, turning his body away from the kitchen to cradle the handset against his shoulder.

"Grissom, I need a favor. I need you to watch Lindsey for a few days.

"Catherine," Lindsey was oblivious, and Grissom stepped into the broom closet, sliding the door closed behind him. "What's going on? Where are you? "

"I'm in Carson City. Eddie and I…got remarried."

"You got married." His response was more of a statement, as Grissom collapsed against the wall of the closet in disbelief at the sudden news. She'd vanished, gone without an indication of where and how and when…and a call, barely a day later, informs him of her marriage. To a man who was surely the bane of her existence. "Catherine, what's going on?"

"I'll call in a few hours, Grissom." He heard a muffled sound in the background, and all fell silent, the dial tone his only company in the dark, cramped enclosure. Her news had come as a shock, certainly, and although he was certain Lindsey would be pleased…he was not. There was more to this than a suddenly love-struck Catherine. Though spontaneous and passionate, Catherine Willows was not one to make the same mistake twice, and not for reasons such as Eddie.

"Do you know why I married Eddie? It was because I loved him…or thought I loved him." Catherine's words were as vivid in his mind as if she'd just spoken them, and he gripped the phone tightly in his fist, recalling that moment.

"Apparently…you still do."

"Mr. Grissom?" He withdrew from the closet a disappointed man, yet found a smile on his face when he encountered the eager Lindsey, still perched on the countertop, empty plate in her lap. "Can we go to the park today? Mommy said she'd take me."

Well, your Mommy said a lot of things…

"Maybe later." He hefted the child from her perch and took the plate, sliding it into a sinkful of soapy water and an additional heap of blue assorted dishware. Catherine had helped him to pick out the new color, insisting that it matched his eyes and gave the kitchen a decidedly 'Grissom' aura. "Your mommy gave you permission to stay with me for a few days, all right? You can come to work with me, and feed the bugs."

"Mommy says that what you do is important."

"What your Mommy does is important, too." Lindsey nodded vigorously, and Grissom couldn't prevent a smile from touching his lips at the pride exhibited in the miniscule person. Once Lindsey had retreated to get dressed, Grissom slid onto a bar stool and let his chin drop, staring at the phone on the countertop as if it were a snake preparing to bite him.

Sometimes, knowledge could the most fatal of all poisons.

She did call, hours later, although between taking Lindsey for ice cream and dropping her off at the lab to be with Sara and Nick, Grissom barely intercepted the call. His machine had turned on just as he burst through the door, and his oddly steady finger hushed the electronic sounds as his free hand snatched up the handset.

"Catherine?"

"Gil…" She sounded breathy, and distant, leaving Grissom to wonder if she was still in Carson City, or elsewhere in Nevada…if even Nevada. "Gil…is Lindsey there?"

"She's at the lab, helping Sara and Nick. Catherine…what's going on?"

"I'm in Vegas, Grissom…Eddie's taken off. Can you meet me at The Embassy…in an hour?" She was peculiarly cagey; edging around the point of a sword Grissom was certain had been jammed into her back. This wasn't the Catherine Willows he was familiar with, and certainly not the woman he…. wanted to hear.

"I'll be there." The phone was dead again, as was much that Grissom touched with his hands. The cold plastic was even colder than usual, and without a thought he dropped it onto the hall table and reversed his steps to exit the townhouse quickly. The Embassy was a small coffee shop he and Catherine had frequented in their younger days, when she had been a cadet and he the entomologist-in-training, who had recruited her from her dancing days. She was beautiful then, smiling at him from across the table, fingering an unbuttered bagel, crisp toasted edges crinkling under her manicured nails. She'd bombarded him with questions about cases, past and present.

She was beautiful now, but he feared that beauty would be squashed by her sudden remarriage to Eddie Willows. And to witness that would be the nightmare Gil Grissom had hoped to never face.

Catherine Willows arrived with the dusk, sliding into a booth at the now seedy Embassy diner and wincing as the fake leather upholstery squelched noisily against the leg of her black leather pants. It took several moments of reveling in her coffee cup before she was able to look into the face of the man who sat across from her, and even then…moments passed before she could speak.

"How's Lindsey holding up?" The first words were of concern for her child, and Grissom felt measures of his anger dissolving at that. Catherine had never been one for abandonment, and sure as hell didn't seem prepared to change sides now.

"She's fine. Sara's got her in the lab…there's that cot you've left her. She's learning how to fingerprint." Catherine's delicate features curved into a smile, although the skin around her eyes remained drawn, her eyes themselves stricken with a sadness reflected deep within the pools of cerulean blue. "Catherine, what the hell's going on? You vanish in the middle of the night...and you call to tell me you've married Ed. I need an explanation, Cath."

"And I wish I could give you one." She seemed increasingly pensive, wrapping slender fingers around the smooth exterior of the cheap, melmac mugs provided by the establishment. Grissom didn't push, didn't poke at her peculiarly fragile shell to see if it would crack, leak all the answers to all the questions he couldn't pose. "Grissom…don't ask me something I can't answer."

"Why did you do it?" He did it anyway, asked the one question he'd hoped would jolt her weary façade. It didn't, and he sighed inwardly at the futile attempt. Catherine shook her head, sending shocks of curly hair over her forehead, obscuring her eyes. She never obscured her eyes from him, not usually, and this action sent all logic spiraling from Grissom's mind.

"I love him." And she still didn't look up, didn't meet his driving, determined gaze with her own. A waiter deposited a toasted, unbuttered bagel at the table, and she accepted it without a word, perfect teeth the color of pearls tearing into the dry, crispy dough. Silence ensued…as there was nothing to say while she chewed, and while his mind gnawed at the facts…what little there were. "Not everything is about listening to the evidence, Grissom. Eddie and I…we came to an understanding about things. I'm dancing again, and I love it…and he has a job. He's going to help make payments on the house, if Lindsey and I will move back in with him. And we should, now…we're a family."

But why…was the smile on her face not spreading to her eyes? He wondered at that, wondered how a woman who had everything she seemed to want the most could be so distressed.

"What now?" He had the respect of a co-worker in his voice, utilizing the politics she had taught him, although he'd never imagined he'd be using such cool procedures on his closest friend. "What's the next step?"

"I just thought you deserved to know what was going on, Grissom." That was the most explanation Catherine seemed prepared to give at the moment, and he Grissom turned his head to glance out the window, where it had begun to rain. The large drops splashed in rogue patterns along the pavement, dabbling along the roofs and windshields of parked cars along the curb.

"Catherine…" Let me into this…tell me what I can do… The words came easier in his thoughts than on his lips, and as he attempted to form them, he felt Catherine's extraordinarily cold fingers against his mouth.

"Grissom…I'm sorry for all of this." Her voice dropped to a whisper as she leaned over the table, her v-necked plum blouse revealing a hint of cleavage that Grissom was certain had never been revealed before. Being married to Eddie changed many things, he knew, things that she'd reversed when divorcing him. But remarriage…brought out things in Catherine he'd never thought he'd see again.

Her lips were close to his, glistening with moisture from the coffee she had ingested, and the coffee-colored lipstick that seemed hastily applied. He blinked, staring into the mesmerizing eyes the color of a frozen pond, and felt her gaze boring back into his.

"Tell my daughter that I love you both." And she was gone, a bell above the diner's entrance signaling her swift retreat.

Ooh, no I'm not gonna let it get me down,

I'm not gonna cry.

No, I'm not gonna lose any sleep tonight…

'Cause tomorrow's another day,

And I'm thirsty anyway…

So bring on the rain…

She made it back to her motel room within moments, splashing through the gray, dreary sidewalks without a thought to the effect water would have on her new leather boots. Grissom's face embedded in her mind, the curiosity embedded deep within his eyes haunting her intensely. He wasn't one to be easily thrown off the trail…although she'd tried tirelessly to force him away from it. The mind of Gil Grissom was easily compared to that of a terrier gnawing on a bone…the clues tough and gamy, yet never once turning him from the trail, no matter how cold it might be.

As she slipped into the cold, damp room, crimson light from the flickering 'Motel' sign the only illumination to guide her, Catherine cast her jacket wearily upon the chair nearest the door. Eddie was sleeping in the double bed down the short hallway to her left…and she headed to the right, opening a functional mini-fridge by the kitchenette to withdraw a pre-mixed screwdriver, downing a quarter of the beverage with ease. The night called for it…her encounter with Grissom had been something she'd been needing…and although the situation had warranted it, she now wondered if it had indeed been the right thing to do.

She made it to the bathroom with bottle in hand, changing swiftly into a cerulean tank top and gunmetal gray sweatpants, before sliding into the mussed, flower-spotted sheets alongside Eddie Willows. The thought alone made her skin crawl…but no more than the thought of what would happen if he were to know where she had been…and how much she could have compromised everything.

When Sara dropped Lindsey off that evening, Grissom sat hunched over a plate of salad, broad leaves of Spinach, dried tomatoes and sunflower seeds presenting a colorful array upon his cracked china plate. His fork remained untouched, and a file folder lay open near his elbow, attention focused only on the contents, spread in fan-like formation across the kitchen countertop. His fingers worked their way down a listing of travel records, cell-phone logs, and personnel evaluations done by those higher up in the bureau than him.

Catherine Willows: Travel Log, January 31, 2002- January 31, 2003.

"Grissom?" Sara's voice rang out in the hallway, and Grissom tucked the folder out of sight beneath a placemat as the blond haired, shorter version of the two Willows women came bursting into the kitchen, energy barely curbed by Grissom's scolding 'don't run in the house' look. Hardly as potent as the gazes of her mother, and yet…the effect was the same, when utilized correctly. "Grissom!"

"She found me, Sara." Swooping Lindsey onto a chair, Grissom pointed her in the direction of a bowl containing mixed nuts, while he sidled into the hallway to address his co-worker. "Thank you for taking her."

"No problem. Hey…what's going on with Catherine?" The laundry basket, filled with lingerie and high-heeled boots, was still residing by the front door. As Grissom noted this, it occurred to him that forgetting to remove it would most likely result in more gossip than he had bargained for. "Grissom?"

"She hasn't been feeling well. Her apartment…is being fumigated." He raised an eyebrow in finality, as Sara handed over a cache of lumpy items within a ragged plastic bag, the grin on her face enough to make him wary.

"They made casts of her hand using the snow wax…Greg kept an eye on her while Nick and I took care of a hit-and-run. Held her hand in icy water for half an hour before Warrick caught him in the act. But the molds came out pretty good…Catherine might be able to make a business in selling ashtrays."

"Uh-huh. Thank you, Sara.' Shaking his head at the obvious waste of resources, Grissom plopped the bag into the laundry basket near the entrance and retreated back to the kitchen, finding Lindsey pushing Brazil nuts and Cashews into a symmetrical outline of a butterfly on the countertop. Obviously she was appreciative of the specimens on his wall…or possibly just a bit un-entertained. She stared at him openly as he entered, wide eyes reflecting the ounces of curiosity she'd managed to keep pent up inside for the majority of the evening.

"Did Mommy call back yet?"

"Not yet. She's going to be home soon, though." Grissom reached for a cashew and pinched it between thumb and forefinger, allowing his thumb to gently glide over the exterior. Strange, how the cashew seemed to be smiling at him, mocking him as if it were better off. And with one angry swoop of his arm, Grissom was able to successfully squash the item upon the countertop.

"Mr. Grissom…if you wanted to make peanut butter, you need to have peanuts," Lindsey explained, matter-of-factly, moving her eyes from the 'butterfly' for barely a second. The man wanted to hug her, hold her close in the absence of her mother, and assure her that everything was going to be fine. But in the case of Lindsey Willows, ignorance was undoubtedly bliss. "That's a cashew."

"I see that. Thank you." His heart wasn't in carrying on a conversation with a nine-year old, so Grissom slid back onto his stool, several feet away, withdrawing the folder from beneath the plaid-woven placemat. The first pages still lay on top when he opened it, bold faced lettering staring up at him with Catherine's most recent travels typed out upon it. While her personal Tahoe was in the shop, she'd borrowed a company Tahoe and frequented Carson City, as well as made several trips to Henderson. The company required that extensive travel logs be kept, and by reading Catherine's, it seemed that she had been spending a great deal of her spare time in those two areas, more than any others.

The pattern was there…he just had to find it.

"What have we got?" The call from the lab had come in around midnight, and Grissom, after tucking Lindsey into the cot they kept in the break room, slid into his seat in the conference room without incident. Sara cast a questioning look in his direction, and after careful scrutiny, Grissom snatched a nearby paper towel to remove a splash of grape jelly from his wrist.

"Situation over in Henderson. Lots of blood, no body." Sara tossed him a manila folder, and he flipped it open to gaze at the police report. "Brass is waiting for you. Nick and I have a body of our own. Sandbar Park…Looks like a jogger was attacked on the trail leading into the center."

"That's a large park, Sara. Take Warrick with you." Warrick's look indicated, plainly, that he'd wanted otherwise, but Grissom held up his hand in a final gesture.

"Hey, Boss…" As the team pushed their chairs away, Nick lingered momentarily, giving the others just cause to do the same. "What's the deal with Catherine? She's been off for two days…Wasn't she due back by now?"

The events of the past few days had driven Grissom into corners he'd never anticipated…shown him how delicate life could be if it were handled incorrectly. Catherine hadn't seemed wounded; she hadn't seemed upset…and still, what little he'd seen wrong with her was enough to send him catapulting over the edge of reason, and into the pool of frustration that had been forming within his mind.

This question had pushed him in, just a little deeper.

"What Catherine is doing isn't anyone business." He managed to keep his temper in check for that much, placing his palms on the tabletop and bracing his body as he leaned forward, head dropping briefly. When he raised it, he found the collective group gathered around him, arms crossed and heads tilted, patiently waiting for him to finish. "She's going to be out for a few more days…that's all I know."

"Weird." Sara pursed her lips and was off after Nick, who just shook his head in a mixture of frustration…his way of letting them know that he didn't understand. Warrick lingered behind, after whispering a short message into Sara's right ear.

"Gris." Head hanging again, Grissom allowed himself a deep sigh, before sinking down into his chair.

"What is it, Warrick?"

"What's really going on?" Catherine had forged a relationship with this lanky, sometimes troubled young man…both having been addicts of a different type, in their shadowed pasts of their lives. "Catherine isn't coming back, is she?"

"No, Warrick…" He paused, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily. "She's coming back…but I'm not sure when. We're going to give her some time on this."

"On what, Gris. What's she doing?"

"Warrick…just leave it alone." He shook his head in what he hoped to be an action conveying his completion of the conversation…and Warrick vanished, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

The scene that lay before him was no different than any he'd ever encountered, although there was something about this one that made Grissom wary. Brass had met him at the end of the driveway leading to the squat, tan-sided residence, perched just at the edge of Henderson. The roads were lonely in the suburbs at three o'clock in the morning, and Grissom was able to freely stroll along the center of them, veering off to the right in order to encounter Brass.

As usual, the officer wore a neat suit-and-tie ensemble…although at current, wrinkles were beginning to make themselves known in the dusty, well-worn material, and the tie was as gaudy as Grissom had ever seen them.

"House belongs to a Steve Tyler…neighbor confirmed his ownership of the home." Grissom clutched his silver flight case and followed Brass into the dark recesses of the home. Spartan décor seemed to indicate that there were no other residents present, although as Grissom so often quoted to his team, the evidence had to speak for itself before a hypothesis could be made. "Signs of a struggle…broken coffee table, couple of empty pill bottles…"

"Blood splatter." Making his way into the scarcely lit living room, Grissom sidled behind a sofa to set his case down and withdrawing a collection of collection swabs. "But no body…and some hairs." He gently collected the stray hairs, tilting his head in bewilderment as the light glistened against the golden strands. They were long, possessing a slight wave…and at closer inspection, a host of skin cells, tag clinging to the root as it were a lifeline. A host of DNA just waiting for identification, and as Grissom carefully bagged it, he mused over the possibilities.

"Find anything?" Brass still lingered, hands deep within the pockets of his coat as he studied the pictures dangling along the wall. Groups shots, several single shots of a smiling middle-aged man, his fawn-colored hair falling in shocks over one stark blue eye. As Brass came into closer proximity of the photographs, Grissom became aware of the interest, and at the sound of his name, he rose.

"Grissom, take a look at this." Brass gestured to a framed group photo, the edges beneath the simple wooden frame slightly wrinkled, as if shoved indelicately beneath the glass in an attempt to satisfy someone. As Grissom came close, he peered over his glasses at the snapshot, and a deep frown formed on his lips.

"This looks like…"

"Eddie Willows. And if I'm not mistaken," The silence settled in as the two men continued to view the image, and at long last, Grissom reached up with one gloved hand to remove the hanging frame from the wall. "That's Catherine, in the corner."

The youthful, shining face of Catherine Willows stared at them from a moment in time, frozen in what appeared to be a happy moment with neighbors grouped around a grill. Presumably their backyard, Grissom mused, as a large chain link fence provided the background, and a cherry-red charcoal grill provided Catherine with a surface upon which to lean. Her face was round with pregnancy, cheeks softly pink and hair falling around it in a smooth curtain. Grissom didn't see Eddie gazing at her in appreciation…and didn't see her gazing at him at all.

Prying loose the tacks holding the picture in, Grissom tossed the frame aside and peeled the photo from its cardboard backing, turning it over in order to reveal words scribbled lightly…in Catherine's own hand.

Our first barbeque with Steve and the gang…

The year was smudged, waterlogged, and as he bagged the photo, frame and glass, Grissom found himself puzzling over that. A situation like this required him to be completely objective, and to have his thoughts in order…but the state of affairs concerning Catherine and Lindsey had him floundering madly and seeking sanity. She could easily have cried over this picture, and he could imagine she would…with loose hairs on the scene, and with blood on the floor, a host of scenarios ran rampant through his mind.

"Brass? Can I speak to the current owner of this house?"

The solemn look on the officer's face sent a frustrated pang through Grissom's gut.

"In Hawaii for the next month. On business." Brass responded, and Grissom shook his head wearily.

"Brass, have your men check all traffic going into Alliewan Memorial in the last twenty-four hours. It's the nearest hospital…if anyone comes in with a concussion, broken limbs…even so much as a bald spot…I want to hear about it."

"Where's your cavalry?"

"Busy. We're shorthanded tonight." As Brass exited, Grissom shook his head in near-surrender, and he knew damned well that he was nearing the breaking point. If this picture involved Catherine…if this situation involved Catherine…then everything had just become a great deal more complicated.

The lab was strangely quiet as Grissom returned from the crime scene, prepared to look up a background on his crime scene. Sara, Nick and Warrick hadn't yet returned from their adventure, and he would revel in the silence until they did.

"Yo, Grissom!" Greg Sanders slid past the doorway to Grissom's office, grabbing the doorframe in an attempt to steady himself. "Where have you been?"

So much for silence, then.

"A crime scene, Greg." Speaking with the lab tech, on occasion, was akin to speaking with small children. Contained within Greg's wannabe cool exterior was the personality of a high school teenager, and the enthusiasm that burst forth was often the cause of many a smile throughout the lab. "Do you have something for me?"

"I have those results from the hairs you had sent over. As you know, you recovered three distinctly different hairs from the crime scene. Two belonged to the alleged owner…Steve." Greg tilted his head for a moment, and his eyebrows wriggled in interest. "Say, Grissom…did you notice that your suspect has the same name as the lead singer in Aerosmith?"

"He isn't a suspect yet, Greg." Grissom let out an exasperated sigh, running his hand over his eyes wearily. "And who are you talking about? Is there a point to this?"

"What? Oh…right. The other hairs…when my mother used to write me letters, she used to put this at the bottom." The younger man paused, as if waiting for Grissom to yield an answer. And when he didn't, but rewarded Greg with yet another impatient stare, then it was time to continue. "Male."

"Do…we…have…a…match?"

"Yes." Flipping open a manila envelope clutched within his grasp, Greg pulled out a sheet of thin, white paper, holding it into the light with enthusiasm. A cloud of confusion moved over his face, and he lowered the paper to gaze quizzically at Grissom, before advancing to hand the supervisor the stiff printout. "Alleged rape case, a few years ago. Catherine handled it."

His heart sinking, Grissom swore that he knew the answer before Greg offered it, but he remained impassive, waiting for the other shoe to strike the floor.

"It matches a suspect…proven innocent. Eddie Willows."

"You're sure?" Grissom held the paper securely in his right hand, scanning the contents with a critical eye. "And the blood?"

At this, the typically energetic expression fell away, leaving concern and suspicion in its wake. For once, Greg was more than prepared to give up his information, and without any side-comment, he stepped forward to produce a manila folder; edges rolled and wrinkled, Grissom assumed, from nervous pacing as the lab tech prepared to present the news.

"You're not going to like it."

"Greg…what I like and what I don't isn't an issue." Without presentation, Grissom flipped the envelope open, and withdrew a printout. His heart fell within seconds, and his hope along with it, clattering in the silence left by two curious and concerned individuals. "It's Catherine's blood."

As he waved Greg away, Grissom placed the folder upon the desk, leaning forward and propping his head up in his hands. There was always hope without a body, but with the presence of a great deal of blood, it could only be assumed that this wasn't quite a flesh wound, but yet…

As he stood to leave his office, his eyes fell upon a picture, glass frame cracked into several jagged pieces on the floor before him. The clattering that had broken the silence had not been his heart…but it might as well have been.

And Catherine's smiling face watched him from the photograph as he hurried from the room.

No, I'm not gonna let it get me down,

I'm not gonna cry

And I'm not gonna lose any sleep, tonight…

She rolled over in the sweat soaked sheets; nose wrinkling at the first sign that Eddie had been smoking in bed. Crushed cigarette butts littered the floor along the side of the bed…her side, which meant he had been sitting there and staring at her while she slept, again. A habit he had picked up when they had first gotten married…he'd managed to retain it, and while she found it irritating as hell, he found it strangely arousing.

Thank god she'd always stopped him.

The light of morning filtered through the half-open Venetian blinds, revealing more of the room in the smoky illumination, and Catherine groaned deep within her throat. They'd rented a flea-trap, the kind of place they'd taken their honeymoon in, because Eddie had either been too cheap, or spent all of his money on drugs…she'd never been sure. But now…he was gone, just as he had been on their 'first' honeymoon, when she'd awoken to an empty bed to discover that her husband had taken the tramp of a chambermaid out to breakfast. Said his 'wife' was too tired to get up…and Catherine had slapped him, viciously, upon his return. Earning her a black eye and a slight headache, which she'd had far too much fun explaining to her co-workers.

She rose from the bed and padded across the worn Berber carpet, toes curling into the rough material as she entered the bathroom and splashed cold water over her exhausted features. Wrinkles, a tiny network of them, had begun to develop around her eyes, and she squinted at them in silent frustration. Good makeup could cover them up, make them disappear for but a moment in time…but if it weren't for Eddie, and his damned ways of screwing things up…she was sure she wouldn't have them in the first place.

Once clean, and deeming herself presentable in a pinstripe suit with crimson shirt slightly visible beneath the opened jacket, she knelt beside the bed. The rug, although littered with remains of Eddie's nasty habit, was still somewhat comfortable through the knees of her trousers, and she was grateful as she fumbled sightlessly beneath the stained, obviously well-used mattress for the one thing she required to make the day just a little bit brighter.

Her hand closed around a sleek object, and as she withdrew it, manicured index finger patiently dialing familiar digits into the lit number pad, her eyes roaming the room impatiently as the shrill rings echoed in her ear.

"Hello?"

"It's twelve-o-one, Agent Culpepper. Do you know where your suspect is?"

It hit in waves, the steamy Las Vegas night turning into a rush of water, raindrops once again splattering on the pavement with the sickening slop akin to the sloshing of blood from a victim. As she moved swiftly across the parking lot, she ducked her head beneath the silk lining of her suit, so intent on keeping her head dry that she never saw it coming.

And then it came, hitting her head-on with a force consistent with oncoming traffic…although the body of Eddie Willows slamming into her was far from oncoming traffic. It was less painful, more silent and swift than a car…. Although with the look of anger in his chocolate brown eyes, as her head bounced painfully off the asphalt, Catherine wondered if dying in a collision would be more merciful.

He knows…

"Cath, what the hell were you thinking?" He pinned her to the pavement before she could retaliate, fingers on his left hand curling over her collarbone, right hand pinning her arm, his body leaning too far to the left for her to struggle. It hadn't ever been like that when they'd been in love, although she could recall telling Grissom, in so many words, of Eddie's preferences. She hadn't put any thought into what she'd do if Eddie were to try anything on their…'honeymoon'. But it didn't look like she'd need to worry, after all…

"Ed! Ed!" She shook her head, feeling the grit of the parking lot grinding into her freshly shampooed hair. The scent of almonds mixed in with the scent of Eddie's cheap cologne, cigar smoke and cheap women…who possessed a scent all their own, blending with sex, lies, and videotape. It had been a life she shared with them, a life she was all too familiar with, once…

And Grissom thought she'd gone back to it. Grissom and his bugs, forever penned in that office, cockroach racing and watching the Discovery Channel… waiting for another puzzle to piece together. His life's work, day-by-day…. "Eddie, let me up."

"Not until you tell me when you found the time to screw around with that bastard, Catherine." The pain was there, now, almost tangible in her ribs, if she could just get her fingers loose to touch it. His elbow ground in, and the rocks pressed into her back, and her Versacci suit began to tear…, as through it all she smelt the almond in her hair. Lindsey loved almonds, on tossed salad with lite vinegarette dressing…like Catherine. Strange kid, really…wanted to be a CSI when she grew up…worshipped her mommy better than any man ever had.

"Wh…o?" Her breath was beginning to leave her, now, and she blinked away the ink blots from her peripheral vision. "Grissom?"

"When did you get to see him, Catherine? How did you do it? I took the Tahoe…didn't leave you any money…"

"Don't you trust me, Eddie?" She laughed, short, a sound she'd never heard from her own lips…sharp and humorless, as cold as the glint in his eyes. His eyes…Lindsey was lucky she hadn't gotten his eyes, his voice…his face…or it would have been harder than anything to tuck that little girl in at night, and tell her that her mommy would always love her daddy, in that special way.

"Trust you?" As the click of metal filled her ears, she swallowed sharply, and his grip only lessened on her left side, enough to banish the black spots…the pain in her ribs replaced by a pressure…new, cool, and ominous in it's mystery. Not much of a mystery, though, when she heard his finger fumble against the trigger. "Catherine…I haven't trusted you since you took that cocaine from the table…and don't tell me you didn't, whore. I took you from that place when you had nothing, and I've taken you back again…but you steal my cocaine; think I never saw you do it. You didn't use it, yourself…you're too good for that now." His laugh was worse than she had ever heard it, and the liquor on his breath enclosed her face in a cloud of foul aroma that made her begin to wish her breath would leave, spare her the moments she'd need to inhale.

"I told Lindsey we'd be a family again, Eddie…"

"Yes, well, we're not going to be much of a family without her mother around to cook us breakfast, will we? You're too good for all of it, Catherine, with your entomologist boyfriend and your smooth, professional attitude. Don't use cocaine, so if you think I'm stupid, Catherine…tell me, now…while you still can."

She struggled against the ground, still, the rain pouring down to soak her clothing and pelt off the back of Eddie's brown leather jacket, his hair pressed close against his head, hers snaking across the wet ground. Rain was beautiful, sometimes, when she could sit inside with her feet wrapped in a crocheted blanket, snuggled into the overstuffed sofa with a copy of Broken Wings and a drink. Sometimes vodka, sometimes rum...sometimes water, with a slice of lemon floating neatly atop the smooth ice cubes.

Eddie used to make her drinks…and she wondered, briefly, if she'd live to make her own drinks again.

"Grissom's…not my…boyfriend. I…"

"Tell me you love me, Catherine, and I'll shoot you now. Don't test me." He was irate, yet strangely so, drunk yet sober in his accusations and his cold-blooded, pre-meditated post-murder actions. She wasn't positive he'd kill her, yet wasn't positive he'd let her live…because there was no answer she could give anymore that would suit him. She'd let her poker face slip long enough to get to Grissom…and she'd gotten caught.

The seconds eased by as she stared up into his face, the water dripping into her eyes and onto her cheeks, already pale as if death had settled in…masqueraded as rainy chill. Eddie Willows had been her first real adventure…leaving her with a coke habit to quit and a child to raise…and out of the ashes of his fire had come Catherine Willows, determined and brash, prepared to kick an ass now and again, if only for the thrill of the chase and the conquest of solving a crime. She'd proven to the world that she'd always possessed a brain that could do more than move her feet…it could calculate blood drops, dig skeletons out of closets and bury them, all in a days work.

And the gun cocked with a voice louder than the roar of the steadily building downpour…loud only in her ears, resounding in her chilled, panic-soaked brain.

She didn't hear them coming…

He slowly pressed it closer…

And she felt the first tear fall, like the rain, hidden in a cacophony of tear drops from the gray clouds above, crying for what they had to witness and what Catherine could not control.

"Drop it, Willows!" The first yell was louder, sharper than a gunshot, and Catherine pried open her eyes that she'd never realized had closed, eyelashes blinking up into the stormy sky as the glint of red and blue flashed off puddles in her peripheral vision, a mixture of colors more soothing than she'd ever imagined. Blue and red, merging into purple at all the right places, as purple as the bruises Eddie used to bestow upon her body…the bruises she could feel forming on her collarbone, ribs, and arm as she lay beneath his heavy frame. The cold of a weapon in her side…pressure not lessening, despite Agent Culpepper's hasty calls for Eddie to release it. "We've got you surrounded."

"You remember those old westerns, Cath?" His voice was in her ear, reminding her of the sensual whispers, rough rumbles in the backseat of their car, while he'd speak what he thought were endearing terms to a lost girl in a skimpy g-string. "They caught him or they didn't…and he rode into the sunset."

"There's no sunset today, Eddie."

"You're right." He didn't lift his arm, didn't lift his head, ignoring the presence of everyone around them. "But there's no happy ending, either, Catherine…not as long as you have me."

And there was slow motion, as he rolled away and pulled her with him, a last ditch attempt to roll their bodies into the nearest ditch and flee for the convenience store down the block. She knew the scheme, knew the routine had been mapped out in his head a dozen times before, in case a day would come and they would need it…but she, like he, had never imagined it would come. Or so soon.

And the gunshot…not from his gun, thankfully, but from somewhere to their left, striking Catherine in the leg and Eddie as well, their wounds symmetrical, deep red gashes through pinstripes and blue jeans, impeding their movement. Catherine cried out in pain, kicking away from her husband with the unwounded leg, and crawling madly away…the gun lying on the asphalt, her fingers curling around it. The feel was right…the grip fit…and she aimed for Eddie, his legs folded and face contorted in pain as he stared at her, unfeeling.

"You're going to shoot me, Cath?"

"No, Eddie." The pain was great, and she pushed it aside, concentrating long enough to send it into her subconscious, to be dealt with when possible. "No, I won't do it…but I'll let them do whatever they want to. Goodbye, Ed." His head flung back as she spoke the final words, as if a slap had been delivered…although as she climbed shakily to her feet and hobbled away…she realized he had collapsed, wet and miserable, to the earth. A wave of officers closed upon him, and she turned away from it as Agent Culpepper caught her arm, supporting her weight easily.

"You all right, Willows?"

"I'm fine." She was sorely tempted to take back her maiden name, although the amusing irony hit her…Willows was, in a sense, her maiden name at that point. "Culpepper…do me a favor?"

"Name it."

"Get my marriage annulled…now." She knew she could smile again, and did, as the paramedics swooped in as angels of mercy, depositing her body upon a stretcher and sailing it away…as far away as angels could fly…and away from Eddie Willows. Again.

'Cause tomorrow's another day,

And I am not afraid.

So bring on the rain….

Returning to work had been as uneventful as her first day as a rookie, the mundane atmosphere and the nonchalant attitudes of her colleagues reminding Catherine of those first, fateful weeks in her new career. Coming in early to nightshift had been her idea, having Culpepper instruct Grissom to deposit a reluctant Lindsey at her sister's house. It couldn't have been easy on Grissom, to hear from the man they'd all despised as much as a snake in the grass…but if there had been any other way…

She hadn't been ready to speak to him, then…and she wasn't sure she was ready to see him, now. Everyone was aware of the scenario…they'd arrived on the scene shortly after the ambulance had whisked Catherine off to the Julileader Memorial Hospital, and Culpepper had told her of their arrival via telephone, an hour later.

Eddie had made it, the fighter that she knew he was, suffering a minor contusion to the side of his leg, from the bullet… as had she. With the addition of a minor concussion, and numerous scrapes and bruises. The Versacci hadn't survived well, and Catherine mournfully allowed the hospital employees to do away with it as they'd seen fit. The only expensive thing Eddie had ever bought her…and with money from drugs, making it as tainted as their wedding vows, on either occasion.

"Grissom?" She entered the break room, rubber-tipped crutch lightly rubbing against the smoothly tiled floor. Gil Grissom bent over a table, intent on a crossword puzzle, and a smile spread over her face as she took the opportunity to lean on the doorframe and watch him. He was handsome, as always, and a month away from him couldn't change that. It was fortunate that it hadn't been longer…she was grateful for the lack of effort involved in solving the case, and that she had a job to return to, once they had. "Genius level?"

"Advanced. I didn't expect you back for a while, Catherine." He didn't meet her gaze, and she knew the cause, slowly hobbling toward him, leaning her crutch against the table and slipping into a green upholstered chair. Her leg throbbed, and her hand strayed absently to the bandage, hidden well beneath a pair of flared black cotton pants. Her feet were comfortable in azure and charcoal sneakers, and she wrung her hand into the hem of her blue-gray sweatshirt, deep thought causing wrinkles to dig into her forehead. She hated confronting Grissom…knew he would want to confront her, and not for the first time she wished that he was better with people, and that he could berate her. Just once would be enough to ease the guilt…somewhat.

"Grissom…I'm sorry."

"For?" He still wouldn't look up, didn't nudge his glasses onto his nose to look over them, in her direction. She missed the gaze of the blue eyes; color the same as a sunny day over the desert…and perhaps his eyes were that warm and comforting. She liked to imagine his arms would be, and clung to that thought as he continued to push her away, with his silence and cold shoulder.

"For not telling you…I wish I could have. If Culpepper…"

"You couldn't tell me the truth, Catherine." His voice became soft with warning, anger tingeing the surface like a burn on a slice of toast. She could almost scrape it off with the knife she'd stabbed into his back, when he hadn't been looking. "I hated putting Sara in that position…and Culpepper worked her against me. When you couldn't even tell me the truth…"

"Do you think I enjoyed this, Grissom? I was married to Eddie again…I had to pretend I loved him, kissed him, let him touch me the way he used to…thank god he had more important things on his mind this time!" Her anger flared as well, as did her pant leg as she pulled it up to reveal the tightly wound bandages on her thigh. "If it hadn't been for Eddie, this could have been worse, Grissom…and it might have been you who would tuck my daughter in every night, tell her that her Mommy wasn't coming home because her Daddy killed her. I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth, Gil…but look at the price it could have cost me if I had."

Grissom fell silent as she raved, glasses slipping down until he finally removed them, leaning closer over the table to examine her shrouded wound. His eyes came up to meet hers, and at that moment she realized that she'd begun to tear, eyes fighting back the tears welling up inside them.

"I'm sorry, Catherine…I shouldn't have…"

"No, you had the right. And I wish I hadn't been the cause of that anger, Grissom. Culpepper approached me a long time ago…said that Eddie was the reason they had so much trouble with the drug market, lately…and I was the only person anyone could think of to get close enough. He's always loved me…in his own way."

'His own way' meant bumps and bruises, marks she couldn't explain and reasons she couldn't go to work at night. 'His own way' had been a way that hadn't worked for Catherine, and as Grissom watched her sitting before him, he saw the effects that way had left upon her, again.

"You must have done well." He reached for a file folder to his right, sliding it over to her and leaning back. "Culpepper sent over a report this morning, recommending you take on a position as shift leader. Ecklie's stepping down in three months…that'll leave a slot open for you."

"I don't want shift leader." She murmured, and closed the folder with a deep sigh. "All I wanted was to come home…and now that I'm back, I just want to get back to work."

"They'll be glad to see you, Catherine."

"I know." A smile caressed her lips, and she realized that it was the first she'd shown in quite some time. "I've missed them too, Grissom."

Her hand slid over the table, and his covered it, the two sitting in the early evening silence, serenity of the pre-shift break room settling over them like dew on the grasses at dawn, leaving them content to hold on to one another. The bustle of shift broke the spell, and although Catherine settled immediately back into routine, and order…

She couldn't bear to leave Grissom's side.

Tomorrow's another day,

And I'm thirsty anyway…

So bring on the rain…

**End? I really need my muse for this**