Disclaimer: CSI belongs to Jerry
Bruckheimer and CBS, and Alliance/Atlantis...
You Put the Lime in the Coconut
(Part 2)
By Manda
She could remember the first day she'd interviewed for a job in Vegas. Pulling off her clothes, violet faux-silk dress puddled on the floor at her feet for a panel of cigar-smoking men with loud t-shirts and hungry eyes glued to her sashaying hips. After ten minutes, the job had been hers; although she suspected that it wouldn't have taken that long if there had been any pressing business in the club. 'The Litter Box', full of 'Cat's' and 'Kit's', soon advertising Catherine Willows and Kit Travers as the headlining duo, dancing to the music of The Go-Go's and Michael Jackson.
The interview had
been set for late evening, and Catherine set out through her front door, her
boot heels clicking methodically upon the cracked cement that had been poured
long before Catherine could ever remember setting foot in Henderson, Nevada.
She'd watched neighborhood children on so many summer days, riding their
bent-frame bicycles and worn mental scooters up and down the block, while she
squinted through thrift-store lace curtains, drinking lukewarm screwdrivers and
wondering why the hell they never seemed to fall down.
"You shouldn't be
walking at night." A friendly voice and the hum of an engine drew her eyes
to the side of the road, and she paused in walking to stare questioningly at the
driver. Passenger window down, interior light shining, she recognized the driver
as none other than Gil Grissom.
"You shouldn't be
stopping to talk to strangers." She retorted, as the passenger door swung
open and she slipped into the seat beside the driver, his eyes focused on the
road as the vehicle continued its journey. There was the scent of toasted bread
in the contained space, and as she glanced behind them, a crumpled bakery bag
caught her eye.
"Bagels. There's a
bakery not far from here...they're wheat, if you're interested."
"No, thank you.
I'm a straight-bagel person, myself."
"Straight
bagel?"
"Plain, no butter." She crossed her legs and gazed out the window, the sun beginning to cast a tangerine glow over the horizon. Houses alit with the glow of television screens and small table lamps, slowly being left behind as the vehicle entered the heavier-trafficked areas of Las Vegas, where barking dogs were less frequent and bright lights a norm. "Do you normally drive through Henderson at this hour, Mr.Grissom?"
"Frequently. I live here. Refurbished brownstone."
The skin around his eyes tightened slightly as the lights of Vegas battled with
his vision and the gently tinted windshield, and without a word Catherine leaned
over to lower the drivers-side visor. "How long have you been living in
Henderson?"
"Four months. I'm
not living in a condo, though...but my dancing is enough to pay the rent on a
modest bungalow." She smiled at the thinning of his lips as they pulled
into four-lane traffic, and he took a moment to turn his eyes toward her.
"It's a townhouse,
Catherine- not a condo."
"I see. A
bachelor's pad...too cool to be referred to as a 'condo'." As they pulled
into an asphalt lot, she deftly flipped the visor back up, hand gently brushing
Grissom's wayward locks of salt-and-pepper hair. "I'm sorry."
"It's all
right." As they slipped out of the vehicle and headed toward the sprawling
building, a cool breeze began to stir up the fine layer of dust covering the
richly black asphalt, and Catherine pulled the collar of her jacket up to shield
her breathing passages. The action was repeated by Grissom, who stepped close
and offered his arm to guide her. "You'll be meeting with Brass."
"I know." She
smiled, shaking sand out of her hair, the strands feeling dry and brittle from
the momentary exposure. Warm fingers collided with herown nimble digits, and she
realized that Grissom had reached over to lend a hand, his own hair free of the
gritty particles. It had been...such a long time since a man had touched her
hair in any sort of gentle manner, and she tossed the mass over her shoulders
while casting a soft smile at the man who thought to look at her in such a way
that many men in her past had never considered her- as an equal in his field.
At the office of
Captain James Brass, they parted ways, Grissom wishing her luck as she tugged
nervously at her charcoal grey blouse, adjusting the collar as she knocked
hesitantly upon the door, shifted slender legs clothed in tightly fitting black
leather pants...and waited.
~~~
"Excuse me...I'm looking for Gil Grissom?" He was
up before the sentence was completed, sticking his head through the open doorway
of his cluttered, darkened office to catch sight of Catherine Willows, making
inquires of a white-coated lab attendant.
"I don't know
if..."
"Catherine?"
Reading glasses dangling, Grissom stepped out into the brightly lit hallway,
heels squeaking gently against freshly washed linoleum as he strode to meet her
halfway. "That didn't take long."
"No...it
didn't." She seemed shaken, hair mussed as she drew her fingers through it,
withdrawing several pins that had, until that point, held the mane safely behind
her ears. Without them, auburn and gold ran free, tumbling over her grey-clad
shoulders, and she shook it out further as her heels followed his into the tiny
office. "You have
your own office...impressive."
"You could call
the whole world my office, in this field of work-- so I'm afraid this isn't
doing it justice." He cleared a spot on the glistening brown leather sofa,
and she sat gratefully upon it as Grissom arranged boxes on the floor beside it.
"You don't look well...was it that bad?"
"I think he'd rather
add Ty Kapelos to his staff than a soon-to-be-former stripper." She
commented, settling back into the crackling upholstery. Grissom slid down beside
her, and she smiled as his hand brushed hers. Perhaps not on purpose, as his
cheeks colored to the shade of Nevada sunset, and he drew it subtly away from
her own...but
contact had been welcome. "I'm not sure if you knew what you were doing,
Gil, coming to get me out of that life. It might not be something that's meant
to be...yet."
"Of course it is,
Catherine. You're the best I've seen at what you're trying to do. Blood Spatter
Analysis- there's no one in the field...no one who has been at it for any amount
of time...who has the
eye that you do for it. I can see that from your training scores alone."
She nodded, and he
slipped his fingers through hers, lifting her hand up into the light that
filtered through the open doorway.
"What are you
doing?"
"Holding your
hand." He smiled, and lifted his eyes to meet hers. "You look like you
need reassurance."
"And how, Gil,
will holding my hand provide that?"
"Comfort can be
provided in the smallest amounts of contact." He responded, and with that,
the two sat in silence, until she at last leaned close, shoulder brushing his
own as her lips met his smooth, shaven cheek.
"Thank you for
that, Gil Grissom."
"...You're
welcome."
~TBC (Soon, I promise)
