Making Beds
By: Manda and Allison
Chapter 3: Terrycloth Robe Comforts
A/N: It's a bit longer than the last two chapters, complete with a small flashback... Sorry for the wait. And enjoy!
Catherine shrank back to the opposite side of the vehicle, plastic bag in hand. In truth the stash she kept in her coat pocket had been there for one reason, and one reason only. As a reminder of a habit that had led her nowhere in life except into a swirling black hole that seemed to pull her farther and farther downwards. But at that moment, after standing face to face with the woman she hadn't seen in years, and seeing the look on her face, one full of shame and disappointment, she longed for the mind numbing affects of the drug once more.
"Catherine. Catherine, I know it's you. Come out and give your father a proper hello," a booming male voice called from outside the door. Hugh Burke's voice was thick with tension and anticipation. As if he wasn't sure whether he wanted to hug his daughter when she came out of the beat-up rental car, or hurt her for all the worry she had put him through.
Stuffing the unopened bag in her pocket, Catherine let in a deep breathe and set her hand on the lock. Unsure of what she should do.
"Coming, Daddy." She leaned back against the smooth upholstery for a moment, puffing air from the corner of her mouth to push stray bangs away from her face. The memories of childhood were vague, but she could remember the nights her father's voice would boom up the stairs and into her bedroom, calling her to the dinner table, or to feed the cows before bedtime. She'd never enjoyed that chore, but came without resistance, taking the time to stuff condoms or copies of Playgirl underneath her mattress. The entrance to teenage years had given her a glimpse to her future, and she'd been drawn to the forbidden fruit. Daring outfits, cajoling her older schoolyard friends...these tactics had gotten her what she wanted, and she'd never been caught with the unclean goods.
As she exited the vehicle, she hastily stuffed the bag deeper into her coat pocket, embracing her father's bulky form with shaky arms and a quickly beating heart. "Hello, daddy."
"Hello, Velvet." Childhood on a ranch had also introduced many a horse movie, on Saturday nights with the overstuffed couch and a bowl full of popcorn. National Velvet had become her favorite movie, and as young Catherine constantly babbled off lines from the film, her father quickly pegged her with the name she most admired. With hair like velvet, he told her, it would be a fitting nickname.
Hugh Burke wrapped his arms around his eldest daughter, a bit shaky as he did so. He'd never, in his heart, wanted her to stay away from home for so long, and regretted that he'd ever let her get away in the first place. As he gazed upon her now mature, beautiful features, he realized he hadn't even spoken to her since that fateful day in August when she 'd last shown up on their doorstep, begging for a second chance.
And as the cool Montana rain began to quicken in pace, Catherine pressed closer to her father, hearing the beat of his heart rise above the sound of water beating upon the pavement. It was a calming sound, soothing to her nerves and her state of mind...and she dreamt of what it would have been like, had they never been estranged for so long.
"So what has my velvet pony been up to?" The question was weak, strained, as if the man was at a loss as to how one would open a conversation with a stranger. And that's what she was, a stranger, no matter what name she carried, or what familiarities she shared with these people. A stranger in a strange land, asking for directions down an uncertain path.
"I'm a forensic scientist." She pulled away and glanced up into eyes as green as the grass between the streets and the sidewalks, weak stalks poking up and standing to provide a glimpse of nature in civilization.
His smile was bright, pride radiating from his face. "I always knew you'd make it Velvet, have you spoken to your mother about it yet?"
"No," she replied, tearing her eyes from his. She knew if she stared at them long enough, they'd find a way to dig their way into her soul, and unveil her secrets. "I didn't get that far."
"Well, then, Catherine Marie Willows...we'll just have to do that now." He looped her arm through his and took her hand, patting it gently as they made their way back up the stairs and through the front door, where the entry branched into the deeper catacombs of the apartment: living room on the right, kitchenette on the left, staircase straight ahead of them. Quite different from the sprawling, single floor ranch house Catherine could remember as a child...but without the footsteps of giggling children, there was little point in such a childhood dream existing any longer.
"We have a guest room up the stairs, if you're planning on staying long." Her father was a big man, that being an unspoken requirement for running a ranch, and Catherine had a difficult time picturing he and her mother living in such a small, confined space. The wide-shouldered, now cheerful parent stood beside her in the doorway, large right hand gesturing up the stairs. "The door to the right...across the hall from the bathroom."
"Thanks...I'll only be staying for a few days." She'd left her things in the car, having been uncertain as to her father's reaction to her presence. As they stood there, a silence ebbing between them, Hugh Burke gave his daughter a prideful glance, up and down, and finally spoke.
"You're beautiful, Catherine...a bit different than I remember you, but just as beautiful as you were when you were my little girl."
"Except I'm not you're little girl anymore." Catherine folded her arms across her chest, letting a playful smirk appear on her face.
"Cat, you may be all grown up. But you'll always be my little girl." He hugged her once again before motioning for her to head up the stairs. "I'll go grab your things...you go wash up. Then we'll catch up. You're going to catch a cold in those wet clothes."
"Sure," she replied stifling a yawn and pushing her wet hair behind her ears. Suddenly she was cold, and she hugged herself tighter in efforts to fight off the chill.
The flight of stairs was short, and upon reaching the top Catherine entered the small bathroom, corners of her mouth quirking up once again at the decor, much like that of her own bathroom back home. Walls were eggshell white, sky-blue rugs thrown haphazardly over mottled blue-and-white linoleum. The shower stall was in the corner, and quickly she stripped, stepping into it and allowing the warm water to wash over her shivering form. Towels were piled up on a rack beside the stall, fluffy masses folded in alternating piles of blue, gray, and white. She'd always had a fondness for blue, attracted to the color in the sky, sun glistening on the ocean, and the mirthful glints in Grissom's eyes when they worked a case together. Apparently, she hadn't simply come into the love of blue on her own...genetics certainly had a say.
"Cath....your things are in your room, and your old bathrobe is on the hook behind the bathroom door!"
Her father's voice crept through the bathroom door and thick veil of steam, and Catherine smiled. It was strange to be among the home folk again, hearing the faint traces of Montana in their voices, when she'd become so accustomed to hearing diversity, as Vegas was rife with.
She stepped out of the shower twenty minutes later, droplets of warm water reacting with the cool bathroom air and causing her skin to become riddled with delicate goosebumps. She dried quickly and reached for the robe her father had spoken of, lifting a terrycloth article from the hook and regarding it thoughtfully. Edged with pink lace, the 'housecoat', as she'd called it as a child, was embroidered at the sleeves with tiny roses, and at the breast, thread curled into a recognizable 'C.M.B'. Sighing heavily, she recognized it as the robe she had been given a year before her departure, for her birthday, and that her parents had kept it around meant so much.
At the time, the robe, now faded, had been a size to large for her. Money was always tight in the Burke household, so any new item was bought to last, and the robe was no exception. But Catherine loved it nonetheless. Upon opening it on her 16th birthday, she had squealed with delight at the prospect of something new, not used, and completely hers. A tiny bit of soft feminity, in contrast to the daring, dangerous clothing she often snuck out of her house in. More her than anything else that she had ever owned.
"Try it on sweetie," her mom had told her with a warm smile. And she slipped into it, the soft terry cloth comforting to the touch.
She wanted to, now...to slip into the comfort as she would a warm bath, basking in the faint recollection of childhood. But the robe was too small, and would barely fit over her arm, let alone torso. So she pulled it from the hook and stood, naked and dripping with cold water, holding the soft garment in her hand, and wondering if Lindsey would someday find it as pleasurable as she had.
"Catherine! It's time for dinner!" She could hear Hugh...her father's voice coming from downstairs, and she hastily wrapped herself in a towel from the floor, darting across the hall to dress. Grey tank top, form-fitting black pants...brushing her hair until it shone like spun gold. Kay had always run her fingers through it, in better days, telling her daughter that someday, she could be just like Rapunzel, with golden hair that rivaled the fictional princess.
'If only life were like a fairy-tale,' she thought as she descended the stairs, knowing full well it never was. Nor could it ever be.
TBC.
By: Manda and Allison
Chapter 3: Terrycloth Robe Comforts
A/N: It's a bit longer than the last two chapters, complete with a small flashback... Sorry for the wait. And enjoy!
Catherine shrank back to the opposite side of the vehicle, plastic bag in hand. In truth the stash she kept in her coat pocket had been there for one reason, and one reason only. As a reminder of a habit that had led her nowhere in life except into a swirling black hole that seemed to pull her farther and farther downwards. But at that moment, after standing face to face with the woman she hadn't seen in years, and seeing the look on her face, one full of shame and disappointment, she longed for the mind numbing affects of the drug once more.
"Catherine. Catherine, I know it's you. Come out and give your father a proper hello," a booming male voice called from outside the door. Hugh Burke's voice was thick with tension and anticipation. As if he wasn't sure whether he wanted to hug his daughter when she came out of the beat-up rental car, or hurt her for all the worry she had put him through.
Stuffing the unopened bag in her pocket, Catherine let in a deep breathe and set her hand on the lock. Unsure of what she should do.
"Coming, Daddy." She leaned back against the smooth upholstery for a moment, puffing air from the corner of her mouth to push stray bangs away from her face. The memories of childhood were vague, but she could remember the nights her father's voice would boom up the stairs and into her bedroom, calling her to the dinner table, or to feed the cows before bedtime. She'd never enjoyed that chore, but came without resistance, taking the time to stuff condoms or copies of Playgirl underneath her mattress. The entrance to teenage years had given her a glimpse to her future, and she'd been drawn to the forbidden fruit. Daring outfits, cajoling her older schoolyard friends...these tactics had gotten her what she wanted, and she'd never been caught with the unclean goods.
As she exited the vehicle, she hastily stuffed the bag deeper into her coat pocket, embracing her father's bulky form with shaky arms and a quickly beating heart. "Hello, daddy."
"Hello, Velvet." Childhood on a ranch had also introduced many a horse movie, on Saturday nights with the overstuffed couch and a bowl full of popcorn. National Velvet had become her favorite movie, and as young Catherine constantly babbled off lines from the film, her father quickly pegged her with the name she most admired. With hair like velvet, he told her, it would be a fitting nickname.
Hugh Burke wrapped his arms around his eldest daughter, a bit shaky as he did so. He'd never, in his heart, wanted her to stay away from home for so long, and regretted that he'd ever let her get away in the first place. As he gazed upon her now mature, beautiful features, he realized he hadn't even spoken to her since that fateful day in August when she 'd last shown up on their doorstep, begging for a second chance.
And as the cool Montana rain began to quicken in pace, Catherine pressed closer to her father, hearing the beat of his heart rise above the sound of water beating upon the pavement. It was a calming sound, soothing to her nerves and her state of mind...and she dreamt of what it would have been like, had they never been estranged for so long.
"So what has my velvet pony been up to?" The question was weak, strained, as if the man was at a loss as to how one would open a conversation with a stranger. And that's what she was, a stranger, no matter what name she carried, or what familiarities she shared with these people. A stranger in a strange land, asking for directions down an uncertain path.
"I'm a forensic scientist." She pulled away and glanced up into eyes as green as the grass between the streets and the sidewalks, weak stalks poking up and standing to provide a glimpse of nature in civilization.
His smile was bright, pride radiating from his face. "I always knew you'd make it Velvet, have you spoken to your mother about it yet?"
"No," she replied, tearing her eyes from his. She knew if she stared at them long enough, they'd find a way to dig their way into her soul, and unveil her secrets. "I didn't get that far."
"Well, then, Catherine Marie Willows...we'll just have to do that now." He looped her arm through his and took her hand, patting it gently as they made their way back up the stairs and through the front door, where the entry branched into the deeper catacombs of the apartment: living room on the right, kitchenette on the left, staircase straight ahead of them. Quite different from the sprawling, single floor ranch house Catherine could remember as a child...but without the footsteps of giggling children, there was little point in such a childhood dream existing any longer.
"We have a guest room up the stairs, if you're planning on staying long." Her father was a big man, that being an unspoken requirement for running a ranch, and Catherine had a difficult time picturing he and her mother living in such a small, confined space. The wide-shouldered, now cheerful parent stood beside her in the doorway, large right hand gesturing up the stairs. "The door to the right...across the hall from the bathroom."
"Thanks...I'll only be staying for a few days." She'd left her things in the car, having been uncertain as to her father's reaction to her presence. As they stood there, a silence ebbing between them, Hugh Burke gave his daughter a prideful glance, up and down, and finally spoke.
"You're beautiful, Catherine...a bit different than I remember you, but just as beautiful as you were when you were my little girl."
"Except I'm not you're little girl anymore." Catherine folded her arms across her chest, letting a playful smirk appear on her face.
"Cat, you may be all grown up. But you'll always be my little girl." He hugged her once again before motioning for her to head up the stairs. "I'll go grab your things...you go wash up. Then we'll catch up. You're going to catch a cold in those wet clothes."
"Sure," she replied stifling a yawn and pushing her wet hair behind her ears. Suddenly she was cold, and she hugged herself tighter in efforts to fight off the chill.
The flight of stairs was short, and upon reaching the top Catherine entered the small bathroom, corners of her mouth quirking up once again at the decor, much like that of her own bathroom back home. Walls were eggshell white, sky-blue rugs thrown haphazardly over mottled blue-and-white linoleum. The shower stall was in the corner, and quickly she stripped, stepping into it and allowing the warm water to wash over her shivering form. Towels were piled up on a rack beside the stall, fluffy masses folded in alternating piles of blue, gray, and white. She'd always had a fondness for blue, attracted to the color in the sky, sun glistening on the ocean, and the mirthful glints in Grissom's eyes when they worked a case together. Apparently, she hadn't simply come into the love of blue on her own...genetics certainly had a say.
"Cath....your things are in your room, and your old bathrobe is on the hook behind the bathroom door!"
Her father's voice crept through the bathroom door and thick veil of steam, and Catherine smiled. It was strange to be among the home folk again, hearing the faint traces of Montana in their voices, when she'd become so accustomed to hearing diversity, as Vegas was rife with.
She stepped out of the shower twenty minutes later, droplets of warm water reacting with the cool bathroom air and causing her skin to become riddled with delicate goosebumps. She dried quickly and reached for the robe her father had spoken of, lifting a terrycloth article from the hook and regarding it thoughtfully. Edged with pink lace, the 'housecoat', as she'd called it as a child, was embroidered at the sleeves with tiny roses, and at the breast, thread curled into a recognizable 'C.M.B'. Sighing heavily, she recognized it as the robe she had been given a year before her departure, for her birthday, and that her parents had kept it around meant so much.
At the time, the robe, now faded, had been a size to large for her. Money was always tight in the Burke household, so any new item was bought to last, and the robe was no exception. But Catherine loved it nonetheless. Upon opening it on her 16th birthday, she had squealed with delight at the prospect of something new, not used, and completely hers. A tiny bit of soft feminity, in contrast to the daring, dangerous clothing she often snuck out of her house in. More her than anything else that she had ever owned.
"Try it on sweetie," her mom had told her with a warm smile. And she slipped into it, the soft terry cloth comforting to the touch.
She wanted to, now...to slip into the comfort as she would a warm bath, basking in the faint recollection of childhood. But the robe was too small, and would barely fit over her arm, let alone torso. So she pulled it from the hook and stood, naked and dripping with cold water, holding the soft garment in her hand, and wondering if Lindsey would someday find it as pleasurable as she had.
"Catherine! It's time for dinner!" She could hear Hugh...her father's voice coming from downstairs, and she hastily wrapped herself in a towel from the floor, darting across the hall to dress. Grey tank top, form-fitting black pants...brushing her hair until it shone like spun gold. Kay had always run her fingers through it, in better days, telling her daughter that someday, she could be just like Rapunzel, with golden hair that rivaled the fictional princess.
'If only life were like a fairy-tale,' she thought as she descended the stairs, knowing full well it never was. Nor could it ever be.
TBC.