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)