Locked, a csi fanfic

Disclaimer: It's been a year; hopefully by now everybody knows: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation does not belong to me.

Author's Note: Always for b8kworm, Mr. Hathaway. For Mark - this is for all the related and non-related memories from the past seven or so years; it's been a blast. And for old time's sake: FORK YOU! Thanks, Angie, for the beta.

Summary: It was intriguing to think of Gil as someone capable of living outside the law he worked every night to uphold. However, like he said, he was a ghost and merely wanted to see how far he could take it.

Rating: PG

Archives: the Graveyard, Working Love, mine. Anybody else, email me. I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): G/C

Spoiler(s): None.

Responds to the Hidden Cache challenge, case #5151.

***** ***** *****

Title: Locked

Author: Laeta
Email: ladylaeta@yahoo.com

The bureau looked deceptively innocent - without a lock and lacking any decorative concealment. It met her in height, though the legs of the piece rose to her waist. Seven drawers in total; they were long and thin, the type one would showcase pinned butterflies.

It belonged in this spot of his bedroom for as long as she could remember, and that went back a considerable span of years. Never in all that time had she ever seen this bureau's contents. Curiosity always sang to her on this point and, for once, she was going to satisfy it, even if it meant temporarily incapacitating Gil.

Funny though it may be, she still found herself sneaking into his room during their routine dinner after the week's shifts. He should be busily preparing their meal and she forwent her usual drink. Knowing he would be arms' deep in his culinary masterpiece, she felt free to seek and explore her target.

First, she wandered towards the armchair by the window and made a show of relaxing into it; she could never resist the comforts of that chair. She retained many a good and happy memory of talks in it. Then, when she was sure he thought she had fallen asleep in it, again, she quietly made her way out of the living room and down the hall. Making sure to avoid that one creaky floorboard across the hall to the bathroom, she made the trip without incident.

Just as she had known it would be, his bedroom was shrouded against the brightening day; those heavy curtains playing dual roles as they blocked the sunlight to allow the man to sleep during the day and guarded against migraines whenever they made an appearance. Catherine made another mental note to ask where he found them since, to a degree, they also managed to dull some of the noises of day.

Her foot nearly came down on another loose floorboard and her heart began to race. Oh, so close and she almost busted herself. She supposed it was a piece of evidence that she was not cut out to be on that side of the law though she could clearly see some of the perks.

Taking care to skirt that offense piece of floor, she beat a circuitous path through his bedroom - bed on her right, armoire on her left, ajar closet door on her left - to greet that offensive bureau in all its glory as it sat in the farthest corner. Glancing over her shoulder towards the door, she thought offhandedly that she ought to have left it open as was his custom when the room was unoccupied.

Shrugging that shoulder, she equally dismissed the thought; she really was not aiming to be secretive; she merely wanted this bureau's secret to give.

Gently, she pulled open the topmost drawer and the bureau kept its secret. Locked. Yet, there was no apparent catch on the piece. Taking a step back, she studied her nemesis and drew her hand hesitantly along the left-hand side of the bottom - where the drawers on top met the legs on the lower half - and found a dial, an inch in diameter.

Located towards the front of the piece, she tossed another cautious glance towards the door - still closed. Whatever was in there either must mean a great deal to Gil or was proof of a hidden life. She opted to hope for the former.

Turning the dial a quarter turn towards the window with one hand, she heard a low-pitched gear shift and tugged experimentally on the lowest drawer with her right hand. Voilà!

And what she found had her completely shocked: two rows of perfectly aligned - forks!

Forks? Why would Gil have forks?

And why would they be aligned so precisely, looking like pristine butterflies in a glass casing?

Her mind crash landed back into normality; all this for forks! The man better have some good answers. She turned to confront him when he delivered her another bolt of shock: there he was, sitting on his bed, leaning against the footboard with the most irritating amused expression on his face, and accompanied by his all-knowing smirk.

Catherine's gaze glanced between the bureau and the man to which it belonged, trying to figure out how a typical piece of furniture took on the exact qualities of the man. Finally, she spat one word while gesturing to the still open drawer: "Explain."

He drawled, extending her vague sense of irritation longer, "Well, it only took you until now to find out what's in there."

She gave him the exasperated glare she knew he expected. Never one to disappoint, she showered him with them at every opportunity she could find an adequate reason. He merely shrugged and moved on, or simply looked past it to her real thoughts.

This time, he rose and approached her where she stood aside the bureau. She followed his gaze to the arrayed utensils and noted each had a small tag associated with it. Closer examination showed a place name, city, and date. Perfectly polished, these forks were dated somewhat sporadically - some from a few years back, some from a few months ago, and one from the other day. The other day?

Catherine leaned closer to examine that particular article closer and noted its similarity to the silverware she owned. Reading the fork's tag, she was amazed to find her name and address written there.

His voice drifted towards her as she straightened to shoot him a question.

"Do you remember when I said I was a ghost in high school, Cath?"

How could she forget? The case, any case, involved children and had her empathizing Lindsey in that situation. It broke her heart that high school even had a hierarchy, something she was not quite aware of during her time there. Then there was Gil, who remained inside as well as outside it all, somehow attaining the ability to skirt everybody's radar.

She nodded to show her participation into the conversation.

"Then let me say that everybody has that one friend who never lets any thing stop him or her. Makes you step out of your comfort zone, one way or another. In my case, I met her in college and she was able to persuade me to do some of the wildest things I have ever done."

"Stealing forks?"

He showed off a grin. "In a way. It started out as trying to see how much I could get away with. Then it became a reminder of her and her friendship; she died a number of years ago."

Catherine gave the usual response to such an admission, which Gil waved aside immediately.

"You would have loved her, I think, Cath. Two partners in crime, maybe. I have no doubt of the living hell my life would have become."

She laughed. Who would not at such a lovely compliment?

He continued sharing his story. "After her death, I kept doing it, using the forks as my own personal memento to mark the places I've been or to use instead of pictures to remind me of special occasions."

Two things clicked into place: that enjoyable dinner at her house and his having a fork from her house.

And as unusual as it seemed, the forks settled in to be a part of Gil, a nuance of his behavior that just made sense with all else she knew. While she could fault him for stealing, of all things, she knew if she had that ability, she would probably have done the same thing. Just to see how far she could get. If not-so-strait-laced Gil could do it, imagine how much fun she could receive from it.

Suddenly, Catherine felt the loss of the woman she never knew, wondering how much her friendship shaped the man with her.

"How did she die, may I ask?"

His surprise clearly showed he still had much to learn about Catherine, which made her gleeful considering her recent discovery.

"I just want to know," she said, accompanied by a slight shrug of shoulders. "There are friends whom I miss because of their impacts on my life; by not thinking of them, we kill their memories. Talking of them, stupid as it sounds, I think it makes them live and breathe, joining our lives again. They get one more chance to be a part of our lives."

For a long moment, she was afraid she spoke out of turn, sharing something intimate that he was not willing to know. She blamed the comfort camaraderie she felt at the very moment.

"Actually, she died in action as a military officer. She had septicemia from an injury."

He seemed reticent to talk about what caused the injury; maybe he knew, maybe he really did not know. Either way, so she let that thought die.

"Which branch?"

"Uhm - Navy."

"And you really think we would have gotten along?"

He returned to the present with those words; a twinkle like in Santa Claus's appeared in his eye telling her all she needed to know.

Yet he chimed in with: "Once you start a habit, it takes far too long to stop." Her laughter joined with his, Catherine knowing only too well the truth of that statement.

She allowed another minute to pass before she closed the drawer and turned the lock to the bureau, hiding its secret for another day. Someday, she would come back here, settle comfortably on Gil's bed and listen to all the stories behind the forks. Today, it was enough to know what lie within and the person who started it all.

She led them from the room, aiming for the cooling dinner all the while thinking of Gil.

It was intriguing to think of Gil as someone capable of living outside the law he worked every night to uphold. However, like he said, he was a ghost and merely wanted to see how far he could take it. She could go for that.

Though, why did it have to be forks? He never did say.