Seeing Him First, 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: For b8kworm, Mr. Hathaway. For the naggers who I tried to ignore that night but did their job with amazing efficiently. I toast Angie for the beta, thanks.

Summary: To this day, she wondered how her life would have ran if she had spotted Gil before Eddie.

Rating: PG-13

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

Pairing(s): G/C

Spoiler(s): Recipe for Murder, Too Tough to Die.

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

Title: Seeing Him First

Author: Laeta
Email: ladylaeta@yahoo.com

His casual invitation had been accepted with the slightest of gestures. The meal created in harmonic silence and choreographed melodies; table set, drinks poured, portions divvied all under the easy symphony of friendship. Unbeknownst to either, they had cooked a ludicrous meal - a combination of the heaviness of dinner and the light quality breakfast usually is. They ate nothing that would have been the norm at De Breff, and they sipped milk from hardball glasses.

She knew he would be the first to break the silence.

"So, you were a waitress?"

"Yeah. I never told you about that?"

"I'm asking now."

Catherine sighed, knowing there was a reason she never told him. 'Never look back' she once told him and did her best to live it. She should have known you can run but you cannot hide - from the past and especially from Gil.

At her prolonged silence, he looked up from his plate and his eyebrows drew fractionally together. Silently, she laughed; how could people think he was devoid of feeling? She read him as clearly as he read her now.

He wondered at her thoughts and puzzled out the memories were part fantastic, part frenzied, and entirely non-remembering material. What he did not know was that it had been the start of her own personal Middle Ages. That particular job had been the catalyst for her Fall of Rome and she honestly did not want to relive hell again. It had taken years to come out on top, to have the tools necessary for a rebirth of sorts, a renaissance in every meaning of the word.

She meant it when she said all the action was in the back and, above all, the code was to protect the kitchen. As a newly hired waitress, she was the lowest of the low; waitresses ranked beneath even the dishwashing boys since they were in the kitchen, privy to all that went on there. And yet, the waitresses bonded by their commonality as plebians and kept each other in the know.

One day, she was catapulted to the top when one of the chefs' assistants let on an attraction. Suddenly, she served the tables with the heavy and open wallets. Per the restaurant's tradition, half went to the kitchen staff. She raked in hundreds - on account of her ready smile, witticism, and physical features and grace. She became the liaison between the front and back.

Until, there came an acceptance of another kind; she was introduced to the heady world of the kitchen - and cocaine. Keep in mind, this was Las Vegas in the eighties, a place that did not know the sixties with its free flowing drugs and sex were passé elsewhere. And she had loved the high, the man who brought her into that world, and merely living for the day.

Like everything good, it came to an end. Abruptly, she wanted to dream, but the signs were always there in hindsight. Spearheaded by the hire of another young, naïve waitress, her man abandoned her to join the other hormone-driven, drug-addicted pricks to pursue her. Left with a habit that was all too happy to remain a companion, she sought ways to maintain the high.

By day, she was the sultry waitress who still brought in hundreds; by night, she stripped as the tempestuous, lithe succubus of the strip. Eventually, there was no need to waitress; dancing paid much, much better and she kept all her tips. It was by chance that one of the gentlemen who dined regularly at the restaurant saw her strip tease. One private performance later, the word spread that she was at the French Palace.

Night after night, she saw familiar faces who no longer had to slip in a grope amongst proper and prim female companions; they came and freely let their money flow as she set their hearts racing and their minds lost into innumerable fantasies. The high was practically constant now. The cash streamed in and out as she kept herself a healthy supply of cocaine.

Then, one seemingly normal night, she saw Eddie. Completely different from the pressed suits of 'her other men', he caught her attention with rugged looks and offish charm. It would be years before she would know Gil also came that night, sitting on the opposite side of the club, wearing a leather jacket, open necked button down shirt and jeans. To this day, she wondered how her life would have ran if she had spotted Gil before Eddie.

One thing she did know though, both men would have succeeded in helping her kick the habit. During that time, she spent much of it under the throes of withdrawal, ensconced in Eddie's arms. She gave herself to him at the darkest moment, if only for a reprieve against the pain. She miscarried that first child, probably due to her body's emptying of the cocaine. There was no point mourning the loss; the neonate's life would not have been easy.

By now, she had found another drug - Eddie. She discovered sex possessed another metaphysical layer - at least she thought it had with him - and she carried her second child to term. Completely clean off cocaine, they celebrated Lindsey's conception with their wedding, planned and executed in the whirlwind time of two weeks.

Then came Lindsey, her pride and joy, and divorce. She wondered yet again how life would have been with Gil. She knew she would be clean, still capable of resisting the call of cocaine when she spotted it at crime scenes. How about the rest? Would she have two healthy children? Would she be celebrating her fifteenth anniversary and not her third year as a single woman?

He was still watching her as she fast-forwarded to the here and now. He was still waiting for her - in so many ways.

She felt her heart ache for the man who always had been there, on the outskirts but so central to her life. And suddenly, she did not want to accept the position he claimed for himself; she wanted him physically where he had been for so long.

She surprised him when she rose from her chair and had him in her arms, drawing him unresistingly into a kiss. Her head spun as he gave as good as he could, desiring only to give what he thought she needed. So noble a man, he knew on some level the emotive quality of the memories; his kiss infused comfort and warmth into her. To her physiology, however, it ignited a passion dormant for her entire life.

In her mind's eye, she saw Fate give her another chance at love. She may not obtain everything she would have had if she took this path years ago, but she knew she would celebrate the fifteenth wedding anniversary. With Gil, at this moment, it was all she needed.

She changed the tone of the kiss, communicating her reciprocation of his love, wanting his heart for hers if the offer yet remained. When he finally broke away to ask the ever persistent why, she only had to respond with, "I've always wished I saw you first."